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cerisahh · 5 months ago

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summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

#✐ᝰ cerisa’s writing #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #ekko x reader #silco x reader #vander x reader #viktor x reader

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lis-likes-fics · 6 months ago

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Caught Up

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 3.2k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering, swearing, Spencer being way to sweet for anyone's own good... A/N: I've had a major writer's block since the beginning of November and this is literally the only thing I've been able to write so I hope you enjoy this bite-size fic. Hopefully, I'll be back in my groove soon and I'll be able to write more again. Until then, thank you and happy holidays!

Your relationship with Spencer had caught the both of you by surprise.

You met at a bar. You were solemnly eating peanuts as you traced the lip of your first glass of a vodka cranberry, sipping slowly and hardly even touched. Spencer was out with Penelope, Derek, and Emily, who'd found time for a drink after a busy work day.

You hadn't intended to go home with anyone that night. You were bored and a little lonely, trying to find a way to pass the night that wasn't you cooped up in your apartment watching movies in bed.

Spencer had seen you there, sitting alone and looking far too pretty for anyone's good. Derek had to shove him just to get him to go talk to you—he'd been staring long enough that it's a wonder you hadn't noticed.

When Spencer came up to you, you took one look at his pretty face and your night was already improving immensely. He was so unbelievably beautiful—sharp-jawed, long-haired, with eyes of caramel and a smile as bright as the sun. He talked your ear off about things you knew nothing about and nearly stuttered every time you tilted your head while he spoke. He kept apologizing for ranting, to which you kept telling him that listening to him speak was the only thing you wanted to do (he'd get all flustered and fall into another bout about prions or how humans bred dogs to bark).

He was endearing and lovely and kept telling you that you were so beautiful, and you were immediately taken with him. You stared at him like he was the one who created the stars in the sky.

So you took him home that night—which had also come as a surprise.

You honestly hadn't meant for it to happen. You invited him over for a cup or coffee (the bar would close soon, you'd talked for that long), and in the middle of one of his rants, you kissed him. It would have just been a kiss, but Spencer Reid kisses like you're air itself and he's been suffocated for years. You found your way into his lap, and the next thing you knew, he was laying you on your bed and kissing you and touching you and making you feel like the most special girl on Earth.

The first time was full of care. He was kind, he checked up on you at every turn, he used soft lips and softer hands. He held you close during every embrace and backed every touch with another kiss just to make sure you were perfectly comfortable. When you woke the next morning, he kissed you again and greeted you with coffee. (He'd profiled you based on your coffee cabinet and managed to make it to perfection.)

You would spend that day wrapped up in him, listening to him speak and telling him your life story like you were a book and he was your first reader (too eager to be known that you share every single detail you have to give just so you can be held a little longer in someone's hands). It's important to note that his speedy words and listening ears were not the only thing to embrace you that day.

He treated you well, and you treated him just as well. He made you laugh, he made you smile, he made you feel safe and happy.

Through the time you've been together, Spencer has come to learn a lot about you. You don't like eating with big spoons. You have an analog clock because you love the way it looks (you don't really use it), and the ticking drives you crazy at night but you refuse to switch to digital. You love to bake but you still haven't managed to perfect a cake from scratch (which drives you insane because you really can bake, you swear!).

But one of the things Spencer learned quickly is that you have a very high sex drive. You told him that, for a while, you thought you were a nymphomaniac. Then he described the full psychology of a nymphomaniac, and you decided that it may have been a bit of an exaggeration.

Either way, he was very happy to satiate your needs. At first, it was difficult to spend time together without falling into bed. And it's not like you didn't try! But the more he looked at you and the more he spoke and the more he told you how pretty you looked, the harder it was to keep from jumping his bones. He had a similar experience with you.

He was no sex god like he assumed Morgan to be, but the more he indulged, the harder it was not to think about getting to hold you, to kiss you, to taste you. He found immense pleasure in your pleasure. He once burned his hand at work pouring himself a cup of coffee because he got distracted thinking about something as simple as holding your hand or kissing your lips, which led to worse and worse until he found himself lucky the coffee wasn't freshly brewed.

It was hard to deny the other. You couldn't even say no when he asked you to hold his hand while you walked down a street, how were you supposed to say no when he got on his knees and looked up at you like you were the moon? How was he supposed to say no when you looked at when you ran your fingers through his curls and kissed the spot behind his ear?

Even now, it's an accident. He's looping his tie in front of the big mirror hanging from your closet door, trying to get ready for work. He catches your reflection, laying across the bed in sleep shorts and a dainty tee, a pillow clutched in your arms beneath you as you watched him. You don't say anything, you don't move, you just look at him as he gets ready. And he thinks, How am I supposed to leave when she looks like that?

“Spencer?” You murmur after a bit, watching him card his fingers through his hair.

“Yes, angel?” He says it with all the sweetness of a kiss and all the familiarity of your name.

You smile at him, holding your hand out for him. He melts like butter, stepping toward you to take your fingers in the palm of his hand. He squeezes twice. “What?” he whispers without cruelty, without urgency, a simple question to know what you're thinking.

You shrug. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

His smile alone could make you cry. He bends down onto his knees, his elbows on the bed as he reaches for you. The pad of his fingers finds your temples, sliding gently into your hair until he's cradling your head like a basketball. He brings you forward, kisses your lips with the softest touch.

Your smile curves against his lips. You scoot forward enough to relieve some of the strain of reaching, tilting your head so your noses slide with each up and down of your heads. Your hands come to hold his wrists, gentle fingertips caressing the skin like you're testing the smoothness of marble.

When you break away, it's because a soft laugh erupts from his throat. You pull back in slight surprise, your brows furrowed in question as you chuckle lightly. “What?” you breathe.

He shakes his head, his fingers finding your cheeks. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I just don't know how I got so lucky…”

You can't handle it when he says stuff like that. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest, you think you'll have to go to the hospital. Whatever patterns it's taken up can definitely be described as irregular, and you're going to have heart disease.

“I'm the lucky one,” you try to say.

But he shakes his head again. “Trust me, it's me.”

You're the one who shakes her head next, kissing him again with your hands cradling his neck. “You're so perfect,” you mutter between kisses.

Spencer's hand covers your mouth. It's nothing cruel, just his fingers curling gently over your lips as an uncontrollable smile takes over his. “Stop,” he chuckles, though his voice is dripping with regret. “We can't.”

You move his hand down. “We're just kissing.”

He rubs the tip of his nose into your cheek, inhaling your scent before pulling away reluctantly. “We have a pattern.” He takes both your hands in his, stroking the back of your palms with his thumb. “Every time you kiss me with your hands on my neck, we have sex.”

You giggle, and it's the sweetest thing. “Not every time,” you smile.

He kisses you quickly, like a millisecond longer would lead to more than just kissing. “Eight times out of ten.” He looks at your face, sighing gently and feeling a pang in his chest knowing that he has to leave you soon. He can't be late again this week.

He paints a line down your cheek with his knuckles. “Do you want to come over tonight?” He pinches your chin gently. “Or I could come over and bring takeout?”

You caress his cheekbones with your nails, tracing the blush in his skin. “I'll bring you takeout tonight.”

He smiles. “You sure? I can get it.”

Your laughter is so comfortable, it sounds more like a giggle. “So can I. Let me spoil you.” You kiss him again.

He sighs, the sound fond in and of itself. “Okay.” Spencer stands to his feet, holding his hand out to you. “Give me a proper hug, angel.” It sounds more hopeful than it does demanding.

You stand on the edge of the bed, towering over him as you wrap your arms around his head. He holds you tight, laying his head on your chest and inhaling your scent. You stay there for a while, holding the other like it's the last time you'll ever hold each other.

You cradle his neck again, kissing him with a gentle sigh. His head tilts backward to give you the space, grabbing your waist as his thumbs trace your skin the same way your thumbs trace his cheeks. The more you try to break away, the deeper you make the kiss. His hands are so warm, and his lips are so soft. You'd be remiss if you didn't bask in him.

Spencer's lips slide off your own to kiss the corner of them, brushing against your jawline as you lift your chin to let him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a little whine. “I really need to go…”

You chuckle lightly, your breath thin the more he kisses your neck. “Go,” you sigh, the word quiet and half-heartedly, though not intended to be. “I'll see you tonight…”

His hands tighten on your waist, dipping beneath your shirt so he can feel your soft skin in his palms. He makes that sound again, dipping his head slightly to press open-mouthed kisses to your chest. Your lips part, shallow breaths passing through them as your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

He pulls you closer to him, one arm around your back as the other bends your knee. Your legs wrap around his waist, and he holds you up with strong arms. “I have to go now,” he mumbles between heated kisses.

You nod, making no move to unravel from him. “I know.” A kiss. “Have a good day, honey.”

He bends down, laying you on the bed and ducking his hand beneath your shirt. His palm gropes your breast, his thumb tweaks your nipple. You gasp against his lips.

His free hand grabs at your waist. He kneads it in his palm, he presses his fingers into your skin. He brushes his knuckles over your flesh and smiles when you shudder. “Feel good?” he whispers.

You nod, carding your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah. Really good.”

“Good,” he kisses your neck. His hand sinks lower, his finger hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “This okay?”

Your nod is quicker this time, more enthused. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please.”

Spencer pulls your shorts down your legs, helping you take them off without once ever pulling away from you. He strokes your newly exposed skin, humming deep in his throat at the feeling of it. You hike your knee higher up his side, opening yourself up for him.

His hand dips between your legs, fingers curling around the inside of your thigh. He strokes a short line up and down.

A tiny curse slips past your lips. “Can you touch me, Spence? Just a little?”

He whines again, heavier breaths puffing from parted lips. “I want to,” he says. “But I have work, and–” He interrupts himself, leaning down to capture your lips.

When he pulls back, you're nodding. “Y-Yeah. Go, baby. Go work and then… then when you get back–”

He pushes a long, slender finger inside of you. Your breath hitches, your lips pressing messily together. You feel the slightest shake of his head, his nose bumping yours. A second finger joins the first, splitting you open as a moan spills past your lips. A tiny smile spreads his mouth.

You tangle your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, your hips lifting toward his hand when he thrusts his fingers gently in and out of you. “Ah, fuck, Spence.”

His mouth latches onto your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his teeth lightly grazing as his tongue darts out to taste it. Your hand tightens a bit to take a fistful of his hair. You don't yank his hair, but you can hear the tiny grunts that come out of him at the light tugs at his scalp.

His fingers curl inside you, pumping deep and slow and building up the more you gasp around him. “Does this feel good?” he asks breathlessly into the skin of your neck.

You nod, clenching around his fingers as your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes, baby. Please don't stop,” you sigh with each in and out of his fingers. The deep strokes are warm and inviting, like shining a light through your fingers to see it glow. You roll your hips to meet the movements of his hand, and reward his intoxicating thrusts with short gasps.

He presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, and you feel yourself giving in. His lips and teeth and tongue trace your collarbone, and you know he'll leave you today with a wonderful mark just below it to remind you of him (although he'll apologize and ask you if he hurt you when he sees it, then he'll kiss it better, which will lead to this all over again).

His fingers stroke deep inside you, curling and pumping and pulling your release closer and closer. He's coaxing it out of you with the kindness of beckoning a scared animal. He loves on your skin and whispers how wonderful you are and makes it more and more impossible for you to let him go all day long.

You wish you could spend forever wrapped up in bed with him. You don't even have to do anything. You would be completely and utterly content laying against him and talking, or letting him talk, or sitting in silence and simply enjoying his company.

A knot is building in your belly—one that you've become quite accustomed to feeling these past few weeks. The tighter it wounds, the deeper you breathe as you arch your chest into his mouth. He continues to embrace you, whispering, “That's it, angel. Just breathe. I've got you, I promise. I'm right here. Let go for me.” He coos your name like it's the sweetest thing in the world and smiles when you coo his back.

Your hands cradle his head as the knot snaps and sends a wave of pleasure over your body, taking you under and letting you breathe in the ecstasy. It's not explosive by any means, but it's warm and comforting and covers you in goosebumps as you card your fingers through his hair and pet him and hold him as close as you can as he continues to kiss and coo and curl.

Your breath shudders and shakes with the rest of your body, interrupted only by whimpers and the humming of his name on your lips.

Spencer pulls his fingers from the wet warmth between your thighs and kisses you with all the intimacy of your orgasm. You sigh into his lips and let yourself be taken by his consuming care.

“You're so perfect,” he whispers into your lips, kissing you in short pecks over and over and over again like he just can't get enough of you. “You know that? I used to believe that it is statistically and theoretically impossible for a human being to be perfect, but then you come along and destroy any idea of it that I've ever had.”

You both laugh, happy breaths in each other's spaces as you indulge in the other between more drunken kisses. “Guess that's why you call me angel.”

His smile rivals the sun. You don't think you can stare at him much longer, but you also don't think you could ever forgive yourself if you looked away.

“You are my angel,” he says, another kiss. Then a sigh of regret and, quite frankly, remorse pushes out from his chest. “And I have to go to work now. Hotch will be furious that I'm late again.”

You kiss him again, keeping it short. “Sorry for keeping you, doctor.”

He laughs. He's full of laughs when he's with you. “I don't regret it one bit.”

You help him tidy up once more so that he looks presentable again. You smooth out his clothes, comb your fingers through his hair, and kiss his cheek to avoid getting distracted again. You walk him to your door, arms around backs and tucked into the other.

He opens the door and turns back to you, picking up your hands in his and squeezing them gently. “I'll see you tonight?” His eyes sparkle with all the hope in the world. He's going to give you irregular heartbeats. You're going to get sick and die.

“Of course, handsome.” You lean up on your toes, hands on his chest as you peck his lips. It's short and sweet, he doesn't even have time to close his eyes. Yet when you sit back on your feet, his eyes are closed.

He smiles, lingering for a moment. He looks at you. “You didn't touch my neck.”

You chuckle lightly, patting his chest. “Well…we have a pattern.” You pull his bag back up his arm, resting it on his shoulder. “I'll see you tonight, Spence.”

He cradles your elbows, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Bye, angel.” He gives you a dangerous kiss to your lips, and then he's gone.

You're left watching him walk down the hall, leaning on your door frame and smiling after him like some lovesick fool. To be fair, you are a lovesick fool. After all, your heart’s doing flips. You should schedule a doctor's appointment.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 @hits-different-cause-its-you Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake @imgonnaslurpu Tag yourself here...

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanficiton #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #female reader

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 1 year ago

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Maybe one with bunny!hyrbid!reader and Natasha “adopts” her and just fucks the shit out of her with her strap (or her real cock if you prefer to write that)

Run Rabbit Run

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!bunny!hybrid!reader x owner!Nat

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha can’t help but grant her bunny all her little wishes

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), ownership, size kink, strap on, artificial cum, slight breeding kink, pillow humping, slight somno, masturbation, crying during it,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What to do with all the money you make as an Avenger? That was a question Natasha had ask herself more times than she could count. Sure currently was her monthly pay check and all the money she made from interviews and social media was rotting away in her bank account, because she was never a fan of making herself gifts nor did she have time for it. But now with Easter just around the corner the Russian decided to not only do something against her overload on money but also against her loneliness.

She wanted a hybrid, not just some brainless pet but something that could actually understand her. The concept of owing a hybrid wasn't new of course it had been around for years, back in the days they actually hunted them from nature but nowadays there was no need after they got a hang of how to domesticate such a creature.

Natasha stepped foot in one of the only places in the whole of New York who sold these rare creatures- Tony had recommended it to her after once more bragging about his large collection. The over friendly employee showed her the different enclosures all while the employee tried to keep it together- after all you didn't see an Avenger daily not even when working for a prestigious company like she did.

Natasha first visited the cat hybrids, cute but too stubborn, then the dogs, too dependent, foxes were too clever for her taste though especially the polar foxes caught her eyes. Bears and any other large animals would be too much work and needed too much space. The right pick was right on her nose she wanted to get herself a bunny.

Standing in front of the enclosure which held you and a few of your companions Natasha and the employee stood, her gaze never leaving your body. You didn't alter much from a normal human, except for the fluffy bunny ears, little tail and over all smaller build you looked like any other girl. You were going to cost her a hefty amount of hard earned money but for your rare breed, Natasha couldn't care less about that in the moment. The way you stat there so carelessly reading some book which laid in her lap, made you different in her eyes more intelligent maybe? She wanted connection and not some braindead doll after all.

"The one in the pink collar… is she still to have?" Natasha asked the employee you gave her a quick nod. "Yes, she hasn't been here for long though the ones like her normally get adopted quite quickly." Nat only hummed in approval she couldn't wait to have you in her home. "I'll have her in a private kennel"

Meeting a potential owner made you nervous of course you had been trained to and prepared on how to act in such a situation, how to appeal to any potential owner - though you secretly hoped for a female buyer. You tried your best to hide your shy nature from the older woman who awaited you but Natasha found it charming how your, compared to your body, large floppy bunny ears hang low but twitched up when she spoke to you in a gentle manner.

Natasha approached the situation with a calm demeanour- she knew about the shy nature of a bunny like you. As soon as you were comfortable enough to approach her she started to pet over your smaller head with careful hands- and you loved it. By the end of your get to know each other you sat on the redhead's lap clinging on to her. But you weren't parted for long Natasha signed all the paperwork the same day and at the start of the next week you were able to move in with her.

She had given you a nice room, with many books, TV and games to entrain yourself with while she would be working. You came with the clothes from the centre, a basic white bluse, white skirt everything in white , like any other hybrid except for your coloured coded collar which adored your neck so the employees had an easier time keeping hybrids a part. Natasha started to take great joy in precisely choosing each outfit for you. Price didn't matter to Natasha, if she found something to be cute she bought it for you and Nat was known for expensive taste. Sooner or later your closet was fuller than hers, filled to the brim with shorts, blouses, floral summer dresses anything which had a playful feel to it.

Natasha was a busy woman though, often being away for days at a time, she normally made up with expensive gifts and extensive cuddling for her little bunny girl. But that hardly was enough to satisfy your need to be close to the older woman, not to mention that you were worried sick about your owner once you had found out that she wasn't a simple business woman but an avenger.

Natasha came home at around 3 AM after a long mission in Europe the jet lag and sleep deprive was killing her, and since she thought you'd already be asleep at such a late hour- and way past your agreed on bed time, she'd just go to sleep already. As soon as she had stripped to her underwear and her face had it the pillows she was dead asleep, little did she know that you weren't.

Next door you were awake, not only that but you were desperate. This had never happened before yet you immediately knew what it was. You had your first heat, and nothing helped, no toy's from the centre, no playing with yourself, no nothing. You had a pillow under your hips probed up at the seams you humped the pillow like your life depended on it.

You mewled as your already sensitive cunt graced over the edge of the pillow. You were close to cuming but you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. That's when you heard Natasha rummaging through the house you're floppy bunny ears twitching up to detect the source of the noise. You waited patiently in your room trying to find some sleep, maybe Natasha could help you out in the morning. But you could feels your juices sticking to the inside of your thighs.

With small steps you made it into Natasha's bed room tears of frustration already building in your eyes threatening to spill over your blushing cheeks. Carefully you climbed into her bed to find her in a deep slumber laying on her back. You sat down on her on her thigh your pussy making contact with her soft skin.

Slowly you started to rhythmically move it against the limp muscles of her thigh small whimpers falling from your throat in between the sobs of frustration paired with the cries of her name and the tears rolling down your cheek it made a whole picture.

Natasha peaceful face scrunched up in confusion of the sensation when she slowly woke from her slumber she was utterly distraught. Her sweet little bunny humping her thigh like a bitch in heat. With careful hands she stopped your hips and you immediately broke out into a new round of sobs and cries.

"Sheesh" she hushed you petting over over your low hanging ears "You're just in heat bunny, it'll be over soon" She assured you when you pressed your face into her neck. "I want it over now!" You cried out "what about the advice the centre gave you?" She tried but feeling you so desperate and need had an affect on her too.

"Doesn't work" You huffed out "I want you to play with me" Nat was startled by the request, was it morally right for her to sleep with you? It was the main point of criticism surrounding owing a hybrid, but what if not the owner but the hybrid wanted it. "Please" you whined and the assassin's strong will broke right there. "Wait here bunny I'll go get something" You nodded and released Natasha from your grace watching her go.

She came back with a noticeable bulge in her sleep shorts, which upon seeing made your thighs clench together. "It's not going to hurt bunny" She assured and got behind you pulling her shorts down to reveal her, to your body size massive, strap on. She pressed the fat tip against your entrance and your hooded eyes flew open in surprise at the shear size of the toy.

"Natty, it's to big" You mewled out your cotton tail twitching "It's not gonna fit" Natasha scoffed shaking her head as if you had just made an outrageous statement. "I'm gonna make it fit bunny" She pushed forward and your bunny hears flew up in surprise of the stretch. You hands dug into the soft pillow underneath your head as you whimpered in a mic of pain and pleasure.

"Natasha!" You cried as she bottomed you out the stretch being much greater than you could've accomplished with your little fingers. "I'm gonna move now bunny" You nodded and felt her starting with a comfortable rhythm which made the pain turn into pleasure.

By your sweet moans she could tell how much you liked it and fastened her pace to finally give you what you wanted. With deep thrusts she stroked your G spot making you see stars as she too enjoyed the feeling of the strap running against her clit. You mewled out some words she couldn’t make out but took at as a sign of approval for her to keep going.

With both of her hands on your hips she forcefully slammed into your tight heat making sure to not actually hurt you. You arched your back one hand sneaking to your neglected bundle of nerves rubbing it in tight circles. “Fuck are you close?” Natasha asked there was a certain tiredness in her voice still. She clenched down harder on the silicone and mewled out “Yes, please”

“Fuck cum with me” with a few more fast thrusts you came first you’re juicing coating the lower stomach of the black widow. She had a surprise for you when you noticed a thick liquid gushing from the strap into your womb as she came. After having cum herself she pulled out to watch in an awe how the white cum was dripping from your stretched out hole.

After having cleaned you up Natasha could finally rest but not without you resigning on her chest of course. Call it what you wanted for Natasha those feelings of affection were real and of no ill intent she just did whatever you wanted to ensure happiness. With that thought and still cum dripping from your hole both you and Natasha fell asleep.

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #lesbian smut #lesbian #wlw ns/fw #marvel woman x reader #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction

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missust3l3vision · 9 days ago

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Something new

George didn't love it when you went off with your girlfriends; he'd get to do some editing done, and you'd come home and shower him with love and gifts, sure, but you were still away from him, and that stung.

This time however you came back with something new. He had first noticed them when you gave him a hug, the subtle prick of your brand new nails digging into his arm.

Letting go and catching your hand, bringing it to his face, he saw them. Longer than usual with a cute French tip design, the pink matched the top you were wearing. They were gorgeous, but he couldn't lie, they were a bit scary.

"Those are something.." He trailed off "Did Connie convince you to get them?" He asked before bringing your hand to his lips and giving the back of your hand a tiny kiss.

"Nope, got them on my own accord." You smiled back, taking your hand back you opened one of the bags you were holding and took out a packet of Belgian biscuits.

It became a small agreement that every time you go out that he would be given a sweet treat as a peace offering. Biscuits being his current favourite. He reminded you of a dog waiting for his treat so that his bark wouldn't be as loud.

George graciously took them, giving Y/n a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, and went on to continue to cook dinner, him making jokes about you not being able to cook anymore due to their length.

The sparkles caught his eye every time the lights hit them. The shape looking both dangerous but alluring. He desperately wanted to touch them again, to feel the smooth texture against his skin.

Later while lying in bed with his head in your lap, you played on your phone, ignoring the sighs he dramatically made until you finally put your phone down and your hands found their way to his hair.

Lightly scraping your nails against his scalp. This was a new feeling for George. Letting out an involuntary moan at the sensation. His ears burnt red when he heard your giggling.

"Shut up." He murmured, turning his head into her legs, "Feels good." His words muffled as he spoke.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I get my nails done." You whispered as you continued to scratch his head. You waited a few minutes for him to respond, maybe even comment on the craziness that was occurring on the tv.

Finally, looking down, you were met with a sleeping George, his lips open and pressed against your thigh. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you grabbed the remote and switched off the tv, adjusting George and getting under the covers.

Making a mental reminder to book your next nail appointment to keep them at the new length. Seeing how much of an impact they had on George, this was a no-brainer.

#ukyt #uk youtubers #original ☆#x yn #x reader #george clarkey #george x reader #george clarke #george clarke fanfic #george c #george clarke x reader

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gabbytvclarke · 4 months ago

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The dog and the postwoman PART FOUR: Strawberries and Syrup

Part one here! ♥ Part two here! ♥ Part three here! ♥ Part five here!

• Summary: Arthur invites the reader back to his flat for the night while his flatmates are out... • Pairing: Arthur TV x female!reader (Also friend!George Clarke and friend!Arthur Hill) • Fluff, and slow burn SMUT • Warnings: alcohol, swearing, innuendoes, and (sober!!!) sex • Word count: 6,326 words • Note: Reader is on the pill • Note 2: I'm sorry for the middle pic

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

“My… my roommates are out of town too, so it would be just us.” He shyly adds, peering down at her with darkened eyes. Interesting.

She cocks her head, a mischievous smile tugs at her lips. "Arthur, what are you implying?" She jabs.

"Oh, um, it doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to..." Arthur replies sheepishly, sweat forming at the back of his neck.

"I'm kidding Arthur," she giggles, shaking her head at him, "I'm excited for some y/nTV, regardless of what we do."

"Oh." Arthur lets out the breath he was holding, his fingers still intertwined with hers as they continue walking to his.

"You do have a spare toothbrush and a shower in your hobbit hut, right?" She jokes.

———

"Sorry about the mess." Arthur mumbles as he closes the door behind her. She looks around his home and it's completely... spotless. She gently kicks off her shoes and tries to give Arthur his hoodie back, but he shakes his head and holds up his hand to stop her. "You can borrow that, looks good on you." He says with a warm smile. She giggles out a thank you and folds it on top of her shoes.

"You want another glass of water?" Arthur asks, it then dawns on him that he's never hung out with y/n alone before, outside of a discord call and digital cubic houses anyway. Luckily, he's too drunk for his nerves to completely engulf him.

"Yes please," y/n replies as she makes her way to the lounge area. She tests out which seat is the comfiest and figures it's the larger sofa. Arthur enters with two glasses of water. "Let me know if you want to order food too, I think a few places are still open." He offers kindly.

"Maybe later, I'd like a tour of your home first." She states with a smile. Arthur leads her around the flat. It's a nice place, and y/n can tell he lives with two other women, who she kind of knows through social media. His bedroom is her favourite. It's the perfect mixture of geeky, cozy, and neat. Not as many books as his video backdrop would suggest however.

Arthur stands beside his bed, suddenly feeling heated at the idea of messing up his neat sheets with y/n, but he remains stoic. "Oh!" He lets out, reaching into his drawers and grabbing one of his baggy T shirts and passing it to y/n. "You can change into something comfier if you'd like. I can wait in the lounge." He chirps as he also grabs her some spare pyjama bottoms and socks.

"Thank you Arth." She beams at him as he scurries out the room. She giggles to herself at his wholesomeness; inviting a girl back to his place and then letting her get dressed in privacy. That's Arthur.

He scrolls through Youtube on his TV, looking for something to watch. A more sober Arthur would've cleared his watch history so his homepage isn't flooded with recommendations for y/n's videos. When she enters the room, Arthur can't help himself.

"Y/n, you look adorable!" He calls out to her, smiling from ear to ear. His clothes fit her in such a flattering way. She looks so snug. Plopping down right next to him, she takes a couple sips of water and looks at his huge TV screen with wide eyes. He wonders if she'll make a jab about his video recommendations. "Oh god, I'll watch anything but my own videos!" is all she has to say while laughing. He adores her humbleness as it shimmers once again.

They settle on a video about ghost sightings. Arthur excuses himself to grab a blanket, returning in loungewear as he turns the lights down to add to the ambiance. He looks incredible, his hair extra messing from changing, a baggy black tee and some grey joggers. Does he know what he's doing? He sits next to y/n and instinctively puts an arm around her. The video seems a little lame at first, but the jump scares get the pair really spooked. "That really got you didn't it?" Arthur teases, his voice low and his breath fanning her face. He pulls her even closer to him, "C'mere, I've got you."

It feels right, comfortable. They lean against each other, not uttering a word as they continue watching. Arthur's hand rests on y/n's thigh, just above her knee. Her heartbeat was already rapid before, but it races even further. Arthur starts talking her ear off about his view on ghosts, which she listens to contently, the audio from the TV fading from her focus.

"Oh, the video's finished." Arthur realises midway through a sentence. Ironically, the ChrisMD video they both had starred in is queued up on the autoplay list and they let it load.

"Hm, let's see what the most replayed moments are, shall we?" Arthur says with a smirk, scrolling along and pausing at the spikes. Every moment is when they were both on screen, except for one; when Chip fell over. It's as if Arthur already knew, y/n did not. She sits next to him dumbfounded, her mouth open but curved up at the corners. "If you think that's crazy, now let's read some more comments" Arthur giggles.

"No Arthur, I can't..." Y/n groans as she hides her face in her hands. With one hand pointing the remote at the TV, he scrolls down to the comments so they're in big bold letters. With his spare hand, he pulls y/n's hands away from her shy smile. "Look, look: 'Arthur and y/n keep exchanging glances'!" He reads with a smirk.

"Stop it Arthur!" She chortles, her face burning as she covers her eyes.

But he doesn't: "'O-M-G get y/n and Arthur on more stuff together'"

"Arthur!" She leans over and tries to take the remote. Despite her best efforts, he pulls it further away from her reach, holding it behind him. "Oh this one's great: 'Look at at that eye contact, the tension is crazy'!" His giggles continue as his pitch and volume increase.

Tears are nearly forming in her eyes from laughing so much, she starts trying to climb over Arthur as he falls onto his back on the sofa. She crawls halfway over him and grabs hold of the remote, pinning his hand above his head. Their laughter dies down fast when they realise how intimately close they are; Arthur laying on his back with his legs apart, y/n with one knee resting in between his legs and the other to the right of his body; their faces mere inches from each other.

They exchange a look of intrigue and desire. One of them needs to say something, or do something. Arthur's free hand reaches up to hold her waist. Y/n looks to his lips then straight back into his eyes. "They're right about that tension." She jokes quietly, though her face serious as her eyes darken, watching his pupils dilate.

"Yeah." Arthur whispers, barely audible. His near black eyes focus on her lips. Illuminated by the red glow from the TV, they both slowly lean in until they meet halfway. Their kisses start as small pecks but become something more desperate. He lets out a sigh that fans her face and she smells the Southern Comfort on his breath.

She pulls away. "Arthur... wait." He stops immediately, his hand dropping as he looks intensely up at her, anxiety creeping across his face.

"Is everything OK?" He pants.

"Everything is more than OK," she whispers, equally breathless, "I really want this, but we're drunk. You especially."

Arthur nods slowly. She moves back to sitting next to him hesitantly and intrusively worries that he'll want her to leave, or lose interest in her.

"I'm definitely more sober than you and I really don't want to take advantage," she continues, she gazes into his eyes with genuine care, "can we put a pin in this for now?"

She awaits a response from Arthur, he slowly sits up too.

"You are completely right." He chuckles shyly, adjusting his T shirt over his jogging bottoms. "I guess I got a little carried away there, sorry."

"Do not apologise at all Arthur," she puts her hand on his knee shooting him a genuine smile, "are you... annoyed?"

"Not at all." He puts his arm around her. "Now where were we?" He points the remote back at the TV with a smirk.

"No Arthur!" She giggles. He chuckles as he exits out of the video, handing her the remote.

"You can pick [nickname]. What do you want to do, aside from me that is." He asks with a playful sneer, they both burst into laughter. She's amazed at how unbothered he is, how he can make her feel so wanted and yet can turn it off if she needs it to stop. Ironically, it makes her want him even more, but she needs to hold her ground.

They settle on a documentary about space, one that Isaac had recommended to Arthur before, and they sit in blissful silence as they learn more about the universe. They also decided on pizza, seemingly a pattern with their sleepovers. Arthur keeps pausing the TV to tell y/n a side fact he'd read somewhere, or heard from another documentary. Usually, y/n hates interruptions, but she doesn't mind it with him. This, out of everything, is the moment she realises she's head over heels for the guy.

When the film is over, Arthur stretches and asks y/n if she wants anything. "We can call it a night, or play some Minecraft if you're up for it?" He offers sweetly.

"Actually, I am pretty tired. Would you be OK with me brushing my teeth and hitting the hay?" She asks him, a yawn punctuating her sentence.

"Of course I don't mind y/n, I'll get you a spare toothbrush out." He heads to the bathroom. Y/n piles up a couple of cushions and lays the blanket ready on the sofa, before joining Arthur in the bathroom. "I got a spare towel and flannel out for you too in case you wanted a shower tomorrow morning, feel free to use my soap." He smiles, deciding to brush his teeth then and there too.

"You really are something Arthur." Y/n says with a delighted sigh.

"Something good I hope," He mumbles in response, his toothbrush still in his mouth and foamy toothpaste all over his smile. She can't help but grin at him as she nods. Once they’re both minty fresh, y/n starts making her way to the sofa. “Wait, what’re you doing?” He asks.

“Going to sleep Arth,” she replies with a confused chuckle.

“Oh no, you can take my bed. You’re not sleeping on a sofa!” He politely informs her. He rushes to her side, almost to guide her back to his room.

“Arthur, you’ve made me feel more than welcome tonight, you deserve to sleep in your own bed!” Y/n sweetly replies. They reach his room.

“Well, that settles it, we’ll have to share it,” Arthur shrugs, his face then getting more serious, “only if you want to though.”

She feigns thinking hard. "Which side of the bed do you prefer?" She then asks.

"Which ever isn't the side you want." He replies with a soft voice.

She rushes to the lounge area to grab her phone, charger, and water. Randomly picking the left side, she climbs in and sighs out another yawn. "Wow, your bed is really comfy," she exclaims, lightly jiggling herself up and down, "and bouncy!"

Arthur laughs at her cuteness. "It is bouncy..." He trails off, his mind going to darker places. He can just about see through his T shirt on her, noticing the way her breasts jiggle and has to tear his eyes away before she notices. And before he gets too excited again. "You OK Arth?" She asks sweetly, seemingly not noticing.

"Oh, um, I'm fine..." He answers, a little too immediate, yet too hesitant at the same time. "But I... usually only sleep in boxers and a tee. Would that be OK?" He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, slowly getting more sober by the minute at the thought of actually laying next to the girl of his dreams in his own bed.

"That's totally fine, I was about to ask you if I can do pretty much the same thing. I can't stand the feeling of loose fabric on my legs in bed." She giggles.

"Right? It's so uncomfortable!" Arthur yells, still not sober enough to control his volume apparently. He clears his throat and slowly pulls his joggers down, revealing fitted boxers underneath. Y/n pretends to check a phone notification that doesn't exist, as an excuse not to stare, before removing Arthur's pyjama bottoms from under the quilt, folding them, and dropping them on the floor beside her. He adjusts his LED lights to a dim shade of purple, very cozy and reminiscent of his old Tiktok videos.

He slides in next to her, realising that he's not used to one particular side of his bed, but he'll make an exception for her. He's sure he'll be accustomed to the right side one day. Preferably forever. He lays on his back with one hand under his head, the other on his phone. Adjusting his screen brightness and volume as to not disturb y/n. Meanwhile, she lays on her side, away from Arthur, in an attempt to get comfortable. She then rolls over to face him.

"I've got a question for you." She whispers.

"What's that then?" He asks with a side smile, his voice quiet as he turns his head to lock eyes with her.

"Big spoon or little spoon?" She asks.

He chuckles at her cuteness, he wasn’t sure whether the question was going to be serious or not. “I like both.”

“Good answer. What’s your preference for tonight though?” She replies.

Arthur pauses to think, twice tonight he’s been flustered. He doesn’t really want to feel like that again while up against her. He only thinks for a few seconds, but his mind is out to get him tonight. It travels to how her cheeks would feel when he slams into them, all thanks to Becky pointing out y/n’s ass is at the pub golf. He stiffens at just the thought. “L-little spoon tonight.” Smart reply. He doesn’t want her to feel it. Not yet.

He rolls to his right and the bed shifts as she joins him, her arm reaches round his torso and he silently begs that she doesn’t shift her hand down a couple of inches. Her body flushes against him and she feels so warm, so encompassing. He feels safe, but she’s made him feel that way since they first exchanged words.

Now her mind plays dirty. She thinks about that kiss on the sofa, his desperate sigh. His stubble scratching against her skin just the right amount. The way his hand slid up to her waist. The way his eyes undressed her. She wonders what the morning will bring when:

“What are your plans for tomorrow again?” Arthur mumbles.

“Oh, nothing.” She replies, still a little distracted.

“Wrong. You’re spending the day with me.” He replies, almost smooth until he hiccups at the end. She lets out a sleepy laugh and pulls him closer.

“Sounds good to me Arth.” She whispers.

“I look forward to it.” His velvet voice replies. He locks his phone and yawns, setting on his bedside table. “Good night, my little gem.”

She was asleep before she could reply.

———

A faint hissing sound ushers her awake. She frowns as she remembers she’s not in her own bed. She’s facing the wall, not the direction she remembers falling asleep in. Swallowing the morning dryness out of her throat, she rolls over to find the bed empty. “Arthur?” She asks quietly. No response.

She gets up and gives herself a good stretch. She checks her phone to see nothing from him. Her body still not 100% awake yet, she exits his room to find a glorious sight: Arthur in the kitchen area, with just a towel around his waist and messy bed hair. He catches her out the corner of his eye.

“Good morning sleepy.” He chirps, beaming at her. She dreads to think how she looks.

“G’morning Arthur.” She replies with a smile, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. “Have you been up long?”

“Nah, about 15 minutes I’d say. Just had a shower and then started breakfast.” He replies, concentrating on the frying pan he’s using. “There’s plenty of hot water left for you by the way.”

“Thank you Arth, what are you making?” She joins him in the kitchen, curious and hungry.

“I’m making us some pancakes. It felt like a pancake morning.” He replies, looking happier than ever. “Although they’re not looking too nice.”

"They smell delicious though." She grins as she stands next to him, watching him struggle to scoop up the half cooked batter to flip it. "Here, let me help." Arthur steps aside and lets her take the utensils. His eyes travel from her concentrating smile, down to his T shirt she's still wearing, the further down to her gorgeous bare legs. He adjusts his towel, just in case.

"I don't think there's enough oil here." She mumbles, pouring a little more in and fixing the pancake. "I can do the rest of these if you need to make yourself more decent". She gestures to his towel and gets a better look at his muscles. Her eyes linger for a moment at his perfect six pack and broad shoulders. She takes what she thinks is a subtle sigh, but Arthur can sense her getting flustered.

"You don't think I look decent?" He teases, cocking his head.

"Oh! That's not what... You look incredible, I mean-" She stammers, her eyes going wide.

Arthur squints his eyes shut as he laughs. "I'm kidding! I'll get changed." Y/n stares ahead in disbelief at herself as Arthur walks away. Before he's out of sight, she can see the back of his neck turning red.

"Sorry for starting breakfast and then leaving it for you." Arthur says sheepishly as he rejoins her in the kitchen. He takes a seat up at the counter as she flops the last pancake onto his plate and slides it to him. His eyes pop at the presentation.

"It's really no problem at all, it's better than you burning the place down." She quips as she sits next to him and they dig in. He laughs but interrupts himself with a hum of appreciation, loving their breakfast collaboration.

Y/n breaks the silence. "I hope you don't mind, but I opened a window. It got a bit smokey in here."

Arthur finishes his mouthful, "Don't you mean steamy?" He jokes, smirking at her and bouncing his thick eyebrows. Y/n laughs, covering her mouth as to not spit out her food. She shakes her head at him.

"Don't try and deny it, you were definitely checking me out earlier." He added, cockily. Her mouth widens but she still dons a smile.

"It's not my fault you were wearing nothing but a slutty little towel." She jabs back playfully. Arthur's jaw then drops, he puts his finger in the syrup and swipes it over her lips. Shovelling the last bit of his pancake in his mouth, he rushes out of his chair to avoid any counter attacks. "Oh you're in big trouble Frederick." She grumbles with a grin.

"Don't threaten me with a good time y/n!" He giggles as he starts backing away from her. She hops out of her chair with the whipped cream can in hand, she runs after him but he's much faster. She presses the lid as hard as she can and cream sprays everywhere, including the back of Arthur's hoodie and joggers. He pauses and turns around, a look of surprise on his face.

"That's what you get when you mess with me, towel boy." She smirks, throwing the can in the air and catching it like a cowboy.

"That's it!" Arthur calls as he sprints after her this time. As they both rush past the table, Arthur grabs a strawberry as his weapon of choice. She runs to the lounge area, shrieking as he clambers over the sofa and catches her. He wraps one arm around her and tries pressing the strawberry to her mouth with the other. "Open wide," he mumbles mischievously, but it sounded a little too sexy to y/n. Two can play at that game.

As she wriggles around trying to get out of his grip, she grinds her ass against his crotch. She hears his breath hitch from behind her as he stops for a brief moment, before continuing his attack. "You naughty girl." He murmurs in a low, definitely seductive tone, a pitch deeper than she's ever heard from him. "Get here now."

He manages to turn her to face him amongst the play fighting, a mix of syrup and strawberry juice on her lips. He holds her flush against him with her arms pinned to her side. "Don't you look delicious." He whispers with a smirk. She can feel his phone digging against her and it's just enough stimulation to cause the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. He leans in and licks a slow deliberate line across the corner of her mouth.

"Mmm," he hums, his eyes getting heavy, "I bet that's not the only place you taste good." She can't believe what she's hearing, her breaths get shallower as she instinctively licks her own lips. The mix does taste nice to be fair. He peers into her eyes and chuckles before his phone rings. From the kitchen counter. Oh, she thinks.

"To be continued," Arthur quips, recognising the set ringtone. "It's my manager." He heads to answer it, a little out of breath himself.

"I'm just gonna go shower and freshen up." She excuses herself, just before he accepts the call.

She washes off the mini breakfast she was wearing on her face as she stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face is bright red, and not from the strawberry. Arthur's muffled voice from the other room envelopes her as her thoughts take her to his deeper voice from earlier. A sudden wave of shyness engulfs her, that that side of him had been dwelling all this time, but she can't say she's surprised. He's always had a certain cheekiness to, of course that would extend to his bedroom antics. She spots the folded up towel placed beside the sink, where Arthur showed her, but now it has a spare pair of joggers and hoodie on top. He's so considerate. Just as well, the shirt she slept in had food all over it anyway.

———

His phone call didn't last long at all. Arthur awaits y/n's return in the lounge, adjusting his excitement in his waistband and taking a deep breath. Without her beautiful presence, nerves begin to wash over him. He just hopes that he didn't freak her out too much with his playfulness. He then gets a funny thought, and reaches for the TV remote with a smirk.

A few minutes later, y/n emerges from the bathroom wearing a new, but equally cute, outfit. Just seeing her again calms him. She approaches him with an ice breaker prepared. "Everything alright with your manager?" She asks sweetly.

"Yeah," Arthur replies, eyeing y/n up and down, amazed at how she pulls off any outfit, "just double checking my upload schedule, nothing serious." She takes a seat next to him and gets herself comfortable.

"That's good, what are we watch-" She stops mid sentence as she looks at the TV, her mouth hanging open. "Are you serious?" The TV is paused on their pub golf video again, and Arthur chuckles as he scrolls back down to the comments.

"I thought we'd continue our light reading." Arthur sniggers, finding another comment about the pair. "'Arthur wants that cookie so bad hashtag y/nTV'"

"Not this again!" Y/n cries out, laughing. Arthur turns the TV off and throws the remote on the floor. He leans over and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"Don't be such a baby!" He whispers teasingly. She can hear his smirk as his breath tickles her neck. Round two of the play fight begins. She pushes at him and reaches for his armpits, surprised to figure out he's also ticklish. He shrieks out little 'no's and pleas as he falls onto his back on the floor, y/n tumbling down with him. Luckily the blanket from the night before was crumpled up there, so they were cushioned.

Y/n near straddles him, her knees resting either side of his hips, as she holds herself up. His hands intertwine with hers in a desperate attempt to defend himself. She shifts her weight forwards, pinning his hands either side of his head. They both catch their breaths as Arthur looks down at their bodies, before locking eyes with y/n. He cocks his head with a grin. "Have we been here before?" He chuckles, his face heating up. Y/n bites her lips between her teeth, feeling her lower belly tense before shyly smiling.

"I think we can remove that pin now." Arthur whispers, before leaning upward and capturing her lips in a kiss. It’s not long before the kisses grow passionate and needy again. He swipes his tongue across her bottom lip, a silent request for entry, which she grants. Without the blaring music from the karaoke bar, y/n can hear everything. Every hum of enjoyment or needy whimper coming from him, like little melodies.

Letting go of his hands, she uses one to keep herself steady as the other cups Arthur's cheek. His now free hands raise to hold her at her waist, sliding his fingers under the fabric of his hoodie and lightly grazing his nails up and down her sides. The sensations begin driving her wild, leading her to accidentally let out a soft moan into his lips as her body lowers even more, flush against his.

He pulls away from her, panting slightly, his lips wet and puffy. That sound, it was music to his ears. He looks up at her with blown out pupils, his eyelids low. She in turn, can't take her eyes off him either. He wraps one arm around her torso and threads his other hand up through her hair, resting it on the back of her head, and pushes her down to continue their kissing. Soon after, he rolls the pair of them over, kneeling between her legs as he lowers himself. A gasps escapes her lips for the brief moment they separate, knowing it can't be his phone in his pocket. But her breath is cut off again by his hungry lips. He begins kissing across her jaw until he lands under her ear, exhaling a low hum and sending shivers down her spine. "I'm gonna spoil you so good." He whispers in her ear before softly biting at her neck, that deeper voice making its return. She can't help but whimper in response, instinctively bucking her hips up against his tented joggers. "Fuck, y/n..." he groans. He's magnetised back to her lips as they kiss some more.

Arthur pulls away, needing to take a breath. "Do we... need a condom?" He asks, checking for consent. She looks up at him with soft, dark eyes.

"I'm on the pill and yes, I really want this." She purrs as combs her fingers through his wavy hair, knowing him all too well. Arthur sighs as his eyes roll back with relief, he leans further back on his knees to remove his T shirt. A small gasps escapes y/n's lips as Arthur leans back over her and lets her run her fingers over his chiselled abs. "Holy shit..." She whispers under her breath, and he hums contently under her gentle touch, his tent twitching as he watches her reaction. His fingers toy with the bottom of the hoodie.

"Let's make this fair shall we?" He teases, tugging on it a little. He leans back again as she sits up, shyly removing the hoodie knowing full well her bra's still in the bedroom with the rest of her clothes. She watches his eyes darken as they lock straight on to her chest, his mouth falls open. He raises a hand ready and then pauses, looking at her face.

"You don't need to hesitate," She whispers, "you can do what you want with me, Arthur." She's fully under his seductive spell and just like that, he manoeuvres further down her body and dives in. His lips wrap round her left nipple, while his hand gently massages the other breast. She throws her head back and moans his name in hushed tones. As he continues nipping and suckling, he presses his head against her chest to gently lay her flat on her back again. He then switches his lips to her right nipple as his hands slide down her sides and rest at the waistband of the jogging bottoms. He exhales a moan against her nipple as he hooks his fingers under the fabric, before pulling away and looking up at her through his heavy eyelids.

She peers down at him as he peppers kisses down her belly whilst edging the joggers down, pulling down her underwear with them. Feeling a little shyer, y/n giggles as she raises her hips to help him further. He moves to her side to allow her to remove the joggers with her feet and kick them away. She naturally bends her legs and keeps them together. Arthur chuckles as he kneels by her feet, his callused hands sliding up her calfs and resting on her knees before spreading them open.

"Oh my goodness..." He whispers in delight, the naked goddess before him being even more gorgeous than his imagination. "You're so fucking beautiful." He wraps his big hands round her thighs and pulls her closer, her body sliding along the soft blanket with ease. He shifts back as he lays himself flat on his stomach, meeting her gaze as he dips his head lower.

"Arthur, you don't have to-" She tries, but is cut off when Arthur presses a wet kiss to her inner thigh. He looks down at her pussy.

"But I'm hungry." His licks a stripe up from her hole to her clit, his eyes dart back up to hers as she arches her back and gasps. He flicks his tongue over it again and again, grunting through his nose as he watches her through furrowed eyebrows, her whimpers cheering him on. He grips her thighs tighter as he buries his head more, his attention now on her entrance as his tongue darts inside. She moans his name as he tongue-fucks her, his nose bumping her clit. She watches him in complete bliss as his eyes are fluttered shut, his hands clasped round her thighs.

Sensing her body's growing tension, he focuses back on her clit, suckling on it in a rhythm that matches her heavy breathing. As she approaches orgasm, she can't even find the words to tell him, she just grips his soft fringe and rocks her hips a little in time with his sucking. He moans through his nose as his dark eyes burn into hers and she releases. Her legs shake and she can't help but call his name as he continues the pace that he can tell works for her. As her breathing steadies, he pulls away and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

He climbs to his feet and stands by her head, reaching a hand out. "Come on gorgeous." He says with a side smile. Y/n moves to her knees, face to face with his achingly stretched out joggers. She reaches for his waistband.

“No darling.” He coos, reaching a hand to her cheek. “We can do that another time, but right now, I need to be in that pussy.” His fingers intertwine with hers as he leads her to the bedroom, the dopiest smile growing on his face as he turns to look at her en route. She’s still cooling down from her orgasm, but he can see she’s excited for what’s next.

When they reach his room, y/n takes charge a little. Still wanting to return the favour somehow, she pushes him onto his bed. He lets out a little ‘oof’ as he’s taken aback, a grin creeping on his pussy drunk face. She chuckles as she climbs on top of him. Naturally, he reaches up to play with her breasts again. “These are magnificent-" he praises before she cuts him off with another kiss. She tastes herself on his tongue which only turns her on more.

She grinds her hips against him, eliciting soft whimpers from him into her mouth. He reaches down to remove his bottoms, now dampened from her wet pussy, and she shifts to the side to allow him. She watches hungrily as his cock springs free, slapping his lower abs. He’s a little bigger than what she’s experienced in the past, but she’s willing to take the challenge. She straddles him again as his cock lays against his torso. She grinds her pussy up and down his length to tease him as his hands grip at her waist. Already it feels so good and he’s not even inside her yet.

“Please y/n.” He begs between desperate breaths. She holds herself higher on her knees as she positions him at her entrance. She lowers herself just enough to make contact, just enough for him to feel how warm she is. He whines quietly through his nose as his hands slide down to her hips and giving the soft flesh a squeeze. His eyebrows knit together as he looks down as his cock, fighting the urge to slam her down.

She watches his face change as she sinks down on him, taking him in completely. They both let out a loud moan in near perfect harmony. He throws his head back with pleasure as he lightly digs his nails into her hips. After taking a couple of seconds to adjust to his size, she begins rocking her hips back and forth.

“Fuck, y/n,” Arthur pants, “you feel, fuck, incredible.” He watches as she works on him, her boobs jiggling as she switches to bouncing on him to roughen things up. His groans grow louder as his mouth hangs wide, watching her with total bliss. His cock is the perfect size, hitting all the right places and stretching her walls just the right amount. She leans forward to kiss him as she rides him.

He interrupts their kissing to whisper her name through gritted teeth against her lips, while he cups her face. He can feel her walls tightening and her whimpers growing more intense. He wraps his arms around her and pins her chest against his before thrusting up into her at incredible speed. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, unable to keep her composure as her second orgasm takes her by storm. He fucks her hard and fast through it and gradually slows down as she recovers. He stills inside her as she catches her breath, planting thankful kisses down his neck.

He keeps her pinned against him as he rolls them both over, still inside her as he kneels between her legs. “Think you can handle some more?” He asks, his voice almost a growl. She stares up at him, completely drunk in lust as she simply nods her head. “Good.” He murmurs as he begins rocking his hips into her, starting off slower and gentler, before pinning her down by the backs of her thighs and pounding her hard. He bites his lip and frowns as he concentrates on slamming that spot in her, feral grunts leaving him. Watching her enjoyment only keeps him energised as he fucks her savagely, but he wants his lips on hers again.

He shifts his weight onto his elbows, unable to pound her as rough but he rocks his hips at a faster and deeper pace. He presses his forehead to hers as he begins moaning louder, her own noises sounding like heaven. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good y/n.” He grumbles. He captures her lips in another heated kiss as he feels her walls tightening once again. “You wanna cum together baby?” He whispers. She groans out an ‘uh-huh’ in response, unable to speak from the sheer pleasure.

He leans to one elbow, using his free hand to cup her jaw as his own orgasm approaches. Despite them tingling, she raises her legs more to allow him to thrust even deeper. Her nails draw sensual stripes down his back.

“Arthur, I’m gonna-”

“Me too y/n. I, FUCK-”

He roars out a guttural moan as he releases into her, her tight walls milking him as they orgasm together. She wraps her arms and legs around him, pulling him as close to her as possible as they groan each other’s names. He kisses her as the wave dies down in their storm of passion.

Leaning away from her, he peers down at her affectionately as he catches his breath.

“Oh my god Arthur.” She exclaims, her voice raspy. He pecks another kiss to her lips before pulling out of her and rolling to her side.

“Wow.” Is all he can muster on his beaming lips. Still panting, he gets up to grab her a towel and begins running a bath for them both.

“Arthur, that was… incredible.” She whispers with a huge smile on her face.

“‘Was’? I'm not finished with you yet.”

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

[PART FIVE (FINALE)]

A/n: my first smut piece. Honestly writing this got me kicking my feet, not gonna lie. The support has been amazing, I appreciate everyone's kind words and making me feel so welcome here. ♥♥♥ I'm not sure if a part 5 is needed, maybe an insta AU hard launch to round it off? ♥ Taglist: @ooostarwarsfandom501st @themdera @rougetv @essieswurld @darleneslane - Gabby xo

#arthur tv fluff #arthur tv #arthur tv x reader #arthur frederick #arthur frederick x reader #arthur tv smut #arthur Frederick smut

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oh-no-its-bird · 3 months ago

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Oops I forgot to post this !!! I was making some more misc early konoha ocs to fill the roster, pls take lady Shiranui and all her glory

I was gonna draw some other early konoha old ladies (specifically Haruka and the at the time Orochimaru, our Orochimaru's parent) for some early Konoha old lady gang content, but got distracted

So like, I'll just post lady Shiranui on her own instead!

The Shiranui are a long time Uchiha ally and were invited to Konoha through them. They're another noble shinobi clan, though at very small one. Still, their power isn't to be underestimated, as it's mostly in the form of political capital.

They've been in the Fire capital for generations now, and have many connections to the various noble houses

There are a few different shinobi clans who called the capital their home, but of them, the Shiranui are the most powerful— having had the trust and ear of several Daimyo.

They are often called the Daimyo's dogs by other clans for it, but really, aren't all shinobi clans? At least their ownership of the title grants them several privlages.

When they originally joined Konoha, it was with the express understanding that they'd act as the Daimyo's eyes and ears as the village was built.

Eventually of course, given the one or two generations that it took to get to modern Konoha, the Shiranui's loyalty was much more aligned towards their village— and their power in the capital was diminished by them moving bases. Not to mention, the shinobi wars certainly cut down their clan size

Lady Shiranui herself is a woman who delights in making others uncomfortable, and will readily use her comfort with her own body to do so. She's trained several high class geisha, and worked as one herself for a time in her youth.

She's actually Genma's great-grandmother, and had a very big influence on early Konoha fashion. She's the one behind the inexplicably horny ANBU outfits and apparently ANBU standard full body wax (which is hilarious to me and also canon in my book)

Anyways, final thoughts (from my fic notes):

#naruto #naruto oc #early konoha #warring states era #shinobi politics #birds fic talk #wolves of the woods #shiranui clan #shiranui #shiranui momoka

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roosterforme · 10 months ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 17 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley loved settling in to a new routine with Rose at home. Taking care of you and the baby felt natural. If the most stressful thing he has to deal with was her godfather, then he counted it as a win.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, swearing, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Here are your books," Bradley said softly as he carried his daughter around her nursery to her bookshelf. "And here is your crib." She blinked up at him and yawned, and he broke out into a smile. "And here's the chair from your grandparents where Mommy is going to feed you so you can take a nap."

You were standing in the doorway with both hands on Tramp's collar while he whimpered nonstop. "He's not going to rest until he gets to sniff her again," you said, fighting to hang onto him. "And lick her, and roll around on the floor next to her."

"Fine," Bradley said with a sigh. Tramp just spent twenty minutes losing his mind over the baby, but apparently that wasn't enough. Bradley sank down onto the floor with Rose in his arms, and she stretched her fists up toward his face and gave a soft cry. She looked adorable in the outfit your parents bought for her, and his heart clenched like always when he imagined how his own mom and dad would have reacted to being grandparents.

"Here he comes," you said, releasing the collar, and Tramp bounded the rest of the way into the nursery, whimpering and shaking with excitement. He licked the top of Rose's head, making her cry in the process before he started sniffing her hands.

"For fuck's sake," Bradley grunted, trying to coax Tramp to sit down while Rose curled up against his chest. "He's more excited about the baby than I am."

Carefully you sat next to him on the soft rug that looked like a cloud in the airplane nursery, kissing his cheek before you said, "Don't swear in front of the child."

He rolled his eyes. "She can't understand it yet."

You gave him a pointed look. "Don't make me take away your privileges."

Bradley opened his mouth to ask what you meant, but he was immediately silenced as you pulled your shirt over your head and got ready to feed Rose. "Shit," he muttered, wondering how the fuck he was going to last six weeks with your tits in his face and zero chance at intercourse. "I'll behave."

"While Rose eats, I think we should talk about a few things," you whispered, taking her into your arms with a smile and kissing her cheek before getting her situated.

Bradley pulled Tramp onto his lap, doing his best to keep him from loudly sniffing his human sister and making her cry again. Bradley watched you fidget with your leggings around your waist. "What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?" he asked while you fed Rose.

"No," you muttered, not looking at him. "My body is like a deflated balloon."

"Baby Girl," he whispered, leaning in to kiss your ear softly. "You're only a few days postpartum. You birthed an entire person. And you look beautiful. You always will."

He gave up his quest to keep Tramp at bay and let the dog lick the baby's foot as you started crying. "I think my hormones are going insane again," you sobbed, and he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and helped you hold Rose with the other. "And I'm really tired."

"I know," he whispered, peppering your face with kisses. "That's why I'm sending you and the Nugget both for nap time as soon as she's done. Now let's talk about what you want to talk about."

"Right," you said with a sob, like you had forgotten all about it. "My parents aren't going to stop bugging until I tell them when they can come visit."

Now that the attic was available, Bradley didn't mind having them in the house all that much. "Since I'm taking the next week off, why don't you tell them to come out the week after that? So you can have some help when I'm on base?"

"That's a good idea," you said as you carefully maneuvered Rose to your other breast. "We also need to give Rose a godfather." Bradley closed his eyes and pictured literally anybody but Jake. "And I was thinking Jake."

He heaved a weary sigh. "Of course you were," he grouched as Tramp finally calmed down and curled up on the floor. You looked at Bradley without saying a word, and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Hard. Jake was a fucking pain in the ass. He always has been, and he always will be. But... he took care of you when Josh tried to assault you while Bradley was deployed. And Jake was the one he turned to when he had a panic attack about getting himself killed before he got to meet his daughter. Jake even graciously promised he would look after you and Rosie and finish building the playset if something happened to him. And he never gave Bradley a hard time for any of it.

"Fuck. How the fuck is this my life?" Bradley groaned, sprawling out on the floor with Tramp and staring at the ceiling.

"What did I say about all the swearing, Roo?" you scolded, but when Bradley focused his gaze on your face, you were smiling. "Does that mean you're okay with Jake?"

Bradley looked at Rose and then back at you. "Yeah," he rasped while wincing.

"Perfect. We can tell him when he stops over tomorrow."

"He's coming over tomorrow?"

"Yes. With Cat and Jeremiah," you said, wiping Rose's lips with a burp cloth as Bradley sat up again.

"Let me hold my Nugget to help ease my pain and suffering."

"You're so dramatic. It's not like you'll suddenly be related to Jake," you said with a laugh, literally flaunting your tits as you stood up. "I'm going to call my parents and then take a little nap as long as you've got her?"

Bradley looked at his daughter as she curled up in his arms. "Yeah. I've got her," he promised, and you kissed him before you left the nursery.

"We're going to take a little walk," he whispered, picking up the burp cloth that you left on the chair. Bradley carried Rose through the house, marveling once again at how tiny she was in his hands as he tried to burp her. Then he slipped out the sliding glass door to the backyard as he said, "This Jake thing wasn't my idea. You heard your mother. She's got some weird ideas sometimes, but I love her too much to tell her no. So let's set some rules. Under no circumstances are you ever allowed to think your godfather is funnier than your old man, okay?"

Rose simply yawned as Bradley sat down on one of the swings, cradling her.

"Exactly. He's a snoozefest. I totally get the yawning." He pressed his lips to her cheek. "And when you're old enough to talk, I need you to tell him that your godmother is way cooler than your godfather. If you agree, then don't say a word."

Bradley moved the swing slowly as she snuggled against him and silently closed her eyes. "That's my girl," he whispered, keeping her warm against his body in the early spring sunlight.

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

When you woke up, your body was sore, and your stomach was growling. You didn't know what time it was, but your breasts hurt enough that you thought perhaps it was time to feed Rose again. You climbed out of bed and froze as you reached for your glasses. Something smelled good. Familiar. Your stomach rumbled loudly as you whispered, "Surely not."

Rose's door was closed when you walked down the hallway, and you found your husband in the kitchen, working in front of the stove.

"You're cooking Marry Me Rooster!"

He looked up at you with a bewildered expression on his face, like a deer caught in headlights. "I am," he replied, voice hoarse. "I've been training over facetime with your mom for months, but this is my first time actually trying it."

Your heart swelled with love as you took a step closer to him and your grandmother's recipe sheet, but he held up a hand and shook his head.

"I think it's best if I give this my full attention," he said, eyes wild as he turned back to the stove. "But maybe you should have the fire extinguisher handy just in case."

You backed slowly away from him, hand covering your mouth to try to keep your laughter in. Excitement bubbled inside you knowing you'd get to eat one of your favorite dinners tonight. Bradley was pretty good at cooking now. He could pull it off. Probably.

Your daughter's cries started ramping up in her nursery, and you had a visceral reaction to it. "I'm coming," you called out, already pulling your shirt over your head as you walked inside. The fact that she even looked adorable when her face was all scrunched up in tears was concerning to you; Bradley would be unstoppable with spoiling her.

As soon as you scooped her up into your arms, she quieted down. Her weight against your body was calming as you rocked her in the chair while you fed her, and you weren't surprised at all that Tramp was sitting at your feet with his eyes glued on the baby.

"Just wait until she can walk," you told him. "The two of you will be besties, terrorizing everyone else."

You heard some loud noises in the kitchen followed by Bradley's voice. "It's fine! It's all fine!"

"I'm kind of concerned," you whispered to Rose, running your fingers along her little bit of fuzzy hair. "But Daddy learned how to cook just for you and me. We are already spoiled."

To your surprise, dinner was mostly good. The kitchen was completely trashed, and Bradley looked like he just ran a marathon, but the food was edible. It even tasted good, if not a little bit on the salty side.

"I am so impressed, Roo," you said with a smile. He was holding Rose to his chest with one hand and inhaling the pasta and chicken.

"I wanted you to have something special. It's nowhere near as good as yours though," he mumbled with a shrug around some bites. "But it's okay. I'm kind of hoping Cat will bring food with them when they stop by tomorrow. She knows how to cook like you do. Jake and I would have probably starved to death by now."

He set his fork down to run his knuckle along Rose's cheek as you started to clean up the dishes. "I thought it was wonderful," you whispered. "Nobody else ever cooked just for me before."

That made him smile.

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

Bradley intended to write in the Nugget notebook while the events from the hospital were still fresh in his mind, but he passed out in bed as soon as you did. Rose cried three times overnight when she was hungry, and he realized he was actually quite useless when it came to that scenario. All he could really do to help was burp her. By the time he was making breakfast, you looked absolutely exhausted.

"That was kind of a rough night," he said while trying so hard not to burn the toast.

"I think that's just how nights are going to be for a while," you replied with a yawn as you carried the baby around.

Bradley spread some of the avocado concoction he whipped up onto the perfectly toasted slice of overpriced bread that you liked, and he took Rose from you so you could have a break.

"Thanks," you muttered before biting into your breakfast. "It's still so strange that you're the one cooking now."

"Oh shit," he said in delight as he kissed his daughter. "I almost forgot."

"Stop swearing!" you called as he walked outside to the garage where that fancy baby carrier thing was.

He'd been using it to lift weights, training for this very occasion. He snatched it up and took it back in the house where he set Rose down on the couch to fasten the straps around himself. "Look at this!" he said, slipping the baby in against his chest. You were shaking your head and finishing your toast as he paraded around wearing Rose.

"You're so adorable, Roo."

"It's not me. It's the baby." He looked down at her cute face where her cheek was squished against his chest. "Can't get enough."

You wrapped your arms carefully around him, turning Rose into a sandwich as you ran your fingers through the hair along his temples. "You are such a DILF, Bradley. Gray hairs and heart eyes for your daughter."

"Stop," he groaned, turning to kiss your wrist. "Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be for me to not fuck you right now?" Someone knocked on the front door and he gave you a look. "What time did you tell Jake and Cat to stop by?"

"Tonight," you replied, heading across the living room. "It couldn't be them."

Bradley was relieved to see Maverick when you opened the door. "I'm not staying," he said as you invited him inside with bags in his hands. "I just wanted to see this little one for myself and drop some things off." He shook Bradley's hand and then just stood there with his hands on his hips, watching Rose slowly fall asleep in her carrier. "My god," he whispered, eyes shining with tears. "A brand new Bradshaw."

"Do you want to hold her?" you asked him, already reaching for the carrier. But Maverick shook his head.

"No, let her sleep. I'll come back one day with Penny and Amelia. We'll bring pizza. Just let us know which night is good." He looked up at Bradley, cuffing him on the shoulder as he said, "I wanted to be one of the first to say congratulations. Your mom and dad would have been overjoyed."

"Thanks, Mav," Bradley whispered, tears in his own eyes now. "I'm kind of obsessed with her, so I know my mom would have been as well."

Maverick shook his head, still giving Bradley's bicep a squeeze. "Your dad would have never shut up about having a granddaughter. That's a fact."

Bradley pulled his godfather in for a hug before he left with the promise to return later in the week when he was invited. Then he kissed the top of Rose's head as you rummaged around in the bags that had been left behind.

"Penny seems to have gone a bit overboard with groceries," you muttered, pulling lunch meat, bread and some chicken breasts from one of the bags. "Oh! A bottle of pink champagne!"

"Put it in the fridge," Bradley said. "I'm going to need a drink after you tell Jake he'll be the Nugget's godfather."

You rolled your eyes and dug around in a gift bag that was overflowing with tissue paper, and you gasped as you pulled out two stuffed animals. They simply looked like birds, but when Bradley took a step closer, he laughed.

"Mav really bought Rosie a plush goose and a plush rooster."

You had a bright smile on your beautiful face as you examined them. "He's quite the joker, but these are so cute. I'm going to put them in her nursery."

"After that, you should go take a nap," Bradley said, swaying slowly from side to side with his hand resting on the back of his daughter's head while she napped. "This little girl is sound asleep, and I can do a few chores with her in the carrier."

You gave him a look that would usually mean he was getting lucky later, but that was off the table right now. When you walked past, you kissed Rose's hand and then his cheek before you said, "Make sure you chill the champagne. We can have fun later."

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

Jake, Cat and Jeremiah arrived with balloons, boxes of diapers, meals in tupperware containers, and a lot of excitement.

"You didn't have to bring all of this," you said as Jake stacked things up inside the front door.

"Yes, they did," Bradley muttered, taking a peek in the food containers. "There's a casserole and a lasagna."

"You literally just ate dinner," you told him, handing Rose over to Cat who was practically vibrating with excitement. But Bradley wasn't listening as he followed the very inquisitive two year old boy around the living, making sure he didn't get hurt chasing Tramp.

"Why do babies smell so good?" Cat asked as Rose squirmed a bit in her arms. "So fresh and clean."

You didn't even get to respond before Jake squeezed you tight and said, "Congratulations, Angel. You mated with Bradshaw, and somehow the baby turned out cute."

"I would say something," Bradley retorted from next to the couch, "but I'm not allowed to swear in front of children."

Jake snorted. "I'm just messing around."

"Hey, I'm going to take him outside to play on the swings for a bit," Bradley said, scooping Jeremiah up before he could yank on Tramp's tail.

You gave him a pointed look and nodded toward Jake. "Don't we have something we'd like to ask him first?"

Bradley's smile turned into a bit of a frown. "No. I don't think we do."

"Bradley!" you scolded, and he tipped his head back with a groan.

"Fine. But I'm not saying it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you turned toward Jake. "Bradley and I would very much like for you to be Rose's godfather. If you're interested."

The words were barely out of your mouth before Jake had you flush against him in a bone crushing hug. "Wooo, boy. Godfather to a Bradshaw? We do live in some wild times, don't we, Rooster?"

Bradley muttered something incoherent while you asked, "Does that mean you're interested?"

He released you and turned toward Cat. "Please pass the godchild to the godfather. I'm about to make this baby an offer she can't refuse."

"She's a burrito! Not a cannoli!" Bradley called out from the sliding glass door before heading outside with Jeremiah.

"Is Phoenix her godmother?" Jake asked softly while holding Rose and supporting her head.

"Yes," you replied, in awe over how careful he was being.

"You realize that spells complete disaster, right?"

"Sure," you agreed. But you'd never seen anyone hold someone else's baby with quite as much respect as Nat and Jake held Rose.

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

Bradley played with Rose on the couch with an episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey on in the background. "You see what happens when you marry for money?" he asked his daughter as she wrapped her fingers around his pinky. "Sure, you get a Lamborghini out of the deal, but you also get arrested for tax fraud and embezzlement." He kissed her forehead. "Don't do that, okay?"

She cooed softly, and he took that as a sound of agreement.

"I'm ready."

Bradley glanced up to see you fresh out of the shower wearing the robe that Nat gave you. "I'll bring her right in," he replied.

"Grab the champagne, too."

He did exactly as he was told and handed the baby to you where you sat in the glider chair in the nursery before he carefully opened the bottle. The sound startled Rose, and she started crying hysterically. Bradley was on his knees in front of the chair instantly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Nugget. That was way too loud."

"I think she's getting hangry, too," you mused, loosening the sash of your robe so you could feed her. And once again, Bradley was just captivated by all of it and so in love. He took a long sip of the pink champagne before offering you the bottle. "I can only have a little bit."

"I know Sweetheart, but it's your favorite." You had milk beading on your nipple while you fed Rose, and Bradley watched you lick your lips before handing the bottle back to him. He groaned softly, dizzy from all of it.

"This is so fascinating," he whispered, taking another sip before setting the bottle down. When he reached out to touch your breast, you let him. You felt warm and heavy, and he took your milk onto his thumb and licked it clean.

"You know..." you whispered, switching Rose to your other side. "After having alcohol, it's probably a good idea to pump some of my milk to make sure she doesn't get any of it."

Bradley sat up a little straighter, willing to get you anything you needed. "Want me to set up the pump?"

"Nah," you replied, shaking your head. "I haven't gotten the hang of it yet, but I'm sure there's another way you can help me." Your graceful fingers stroked Rose's cheek as the milk drunk baby started slowing down. "When she's finished, it's your turn."

Bradley jumped to his feet as soon as Rose started to drift to sleep. "I'll get cleaned up and meet you in bed," you whispered as he took the baby from your arms. He deftly changed her diaper and got her zipped back into her sleeper before setting her in her crib.

"How about you sleep more tonight?" he asked. "Give me a chance to play with Mommy before she's too tired? I like her tits, too."

He could hear you laughing down the hallway. "I can hear you through the baby monitor!" you called out, but Bradley had no shame. He kissed his daughter one last time before turning on the night light and the ceiling fan, and then he was on his way to you.

When he stood in the doorway, you were sitting in bed with your robe open. Soft light from your lamp was making every curve of your body look irresistible to him, and now that he had you alone, he knew he was going to struggle.

He made a desperate sound as he ran his hand over his face. "Baby Girl," he whined. "I want you so bad."

"Come here," you coaxed, rubbing the spot on the bed next to you. He was there in an instant, sitting with his back against the headboard as you crawled into his lap. As soon as you nudged his shorts with your knee, he swallowed hard, saliva pooling on his tongue at the sight of your milk dripping from you and onto his shirt.

"Oh, shit," he whispered, letting you get yourself comfortable before he wrapped his arms around you. "It's my turn?"

You ran your fingers along his scarred cheek and back through his hair. "Your turn," you whispered, lips ghosting against his as he throbbed for you.

Bradley took your breasts gently in his hands, ran his thumbs along your nipples and rubbed his nose between your tits. Then he let himself taste you to his heart's content.

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

Roo is living his very best life, other than potentially seeing Jake more frequently. Hopefully Nat will balance that out for him. Grandparents are coming to visit soon! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

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sexilene · 1 year ago

Note

i just had this thought of yapper!gf being taken on a fishing trip with jj and him getting frustrated because she’s scaring off the fish and then she gets annoyed back at him 😩😩😩

lol soooo cuteee! ˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ yapper!gf x jj

jj had been planning to go on a little fishing trip for a few days now, but because you've been dragging him around town he hadn't gotten a chance to. but today was the day, and because you go with him everywhere, he let you come with him.

"are we going to have some lunch after this?" you ask hand in hand with your boyfriend as he leads you to the HMS pogue.

"are you hungry already? didn't you just have some ice cream?"

"that was a snack jj, are we going to eat the fish? if you catch any i mean." you giggle, looking up at him through your lashes.

"whaddia mean if, when. when i catch some." he corrects.

"right of course! what am i supposed to do then, help you fish?"

"juuus' relax, i provide the sustenance while you sit there n'look pretty." he jokes, lifting his hand to help you get on the boat.

as you arrived at the spot, the tranquil waters stretched out before you, jj wasted no time in setting up his fishing rods. you sit at the edge of the boat and wait patiently watching your boyfriend flip his hat around.

"its really sexy when you do that." you smile up at him, covering the sun with your hand.

"what? flippin' my hat backward?" he grins, turning back to look at you.

you nod and turn back to look at the water, leaning against the edge to see if you could spot any fish.

"its really nice out...i saw this thing that um- that said, would you sell your boyfriend to make your dog live forever? and i thought about it, i would."

he scoffs and leans back to do whatever people do when trying to reel in a fish.

"we don't even have a dog!"

"i know, but it's the principle!" you argue back, dipping your hand into the water and swishing it around.

"you're scarin' the fish away dude! c'mon sit down." he snaps his fingers at you making you glare at him and sit back in the middle of the boat.

"i was just checking the temperature." you shrug with a small smile, but jj wasn't amused.

"nough' of that and you yapping my ear off, like i love you babe, but next time bring a book or a crossword puzzle or something...." jj huffs and baits his hook and casts his line once more.

pissed at him you decide to give him the silent treatment and pretend he isn't even there.

after some time, in silence, jj starts to feel a little guilty but then he hears you again.

"i shoulda' pushed you in the water." you furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, just couldn't stay quiet for much longer. "alright alright, come help me, i'll teach you how to do this." he laughs, offering his hand to help you up. rolling your eyes to take hold of his hand as he pulls you up and stands behind you, placing the fishing rod in your hands and wrapping his own hands around yours to help with guidance.

"swing it back aaaand- wait." he lets go of your hands to let you try being in control and stands beside you with his hands on his hips. in no time a fish was pulling at the hook, jj boyishly excited for you, telling you to reel it in. you try your best to be fast and get the fish out of the water.

"that's what im talkin' about baby, atta girl!" he cheers and takes hold of the fishing rod for you, grabbing onto the fish, and placing it in a bucket.

"i can't believe i got a fish!" you squeal, turning over to him with a smile.

"come here..." he beams and grabs onto your face with two hands to press a bunch of sweet annoying little kisses on your cheeks.

"nooo! you touched the fish! and i'm still pissed at you." you scrunch your face up but that only makes him wrap his arms around your waist and lift you up like a doll with your hands on his shoulders.

"gimme a kiss, and then we'll call it a day, yeah?" he squints his eyes and tilts his head, you roll your eyes and nod. wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in to give him a proper kiss.

once satisfied, your boyfriend sets you down with a smile.

"alright. let's get outta here." he spins you around and smacks your ass playfully. ᥫ᭡

#lenepilar'sobx!⋆₊ ⊹#jj maybank prompt #jj maybank thoughts #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank

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luveline · 2 years ago

Note

whenever youre free!! can you please write a spencer x reader where we meet spencer during an early season where he’s still cute and awkward maybe we date too but something happens and we don’t see him for a long time only to meet him again when he’s older and hotter (post prison) and there’s still crazy tension after all those years. in love with your writing btw!!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok :D ♡ 1.2k

cw vaguely suggestive theme

Looking at Spencer, you could almost think you were fresh out of college again, unsure of yourself and in need of a friend.

He'd been much more than a friend. It's why you're here.

The cake might have been a bad idea. You hold it between two hands, the subtle smell of chocolate rising from the box's ill-fitting lid. Your breath catches, words coming out wonky, "Hey. Spencer?"

He looks up from his book, startled at being found, you think. "Y/N?"

He looks the same.

Obviously, he's older. He has facial hair and his curls are styled rather than having been left to their own devices, but you feel as hopelessly enamoured with him as you had years ago, because he still smiles like a puppy dog.

You're twice as surprised as he is when he stands from his coffee table to hug you. The cake box wobbles in your hands as he squeezes you, swaying you from side to side, his laugh warm in your ear.

"What are you doing back here?" he asks, diving backward to see your face. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I still had JJ's number, you know, from when I wanted that address, and she texted me to say you'd been released, and I," —your voice curls tighter, are you talking too much?— "know you might not want to hear from me, but I was worried about you. You were my best friend."

His smile flickers. You press the cake into his hands.

"That's for you," you say.

Spencer's wavering smile turns to the box. He sets it down on the table beside his coffee cup and tented book, removing the lid carefully. You remember suddenly how nice his hands are, and the tracing of his fingertips down your bare shoulders. Goosebumps erupt along the ghost of his touch.

"Well done on not being a criminal," he reads, snorting. "Funny. Little too soon."

You feel like your stomach's fallen out, but he drops the act with another laugh.

"Oh, you're still a jerk," you say. "I'm glad something hasn't changed."

"You think I've changed?" he asks.

"You didn't get any taller, if that's what you're asking."

Spencer's smile turns fond. It's the sweet, sticky smile he'd always give you before he'd tell you he loved you, or that you were the best best friend ever. Or that last night, when you followed him hand in hand down the long hallway to his bedroom.

"I wasn't that much of a jerk, was I?" he asks.

"No, you weren't." You hold your hands behind your back. "Could I join you? Just for a bit?"

"You brought me a cake. I can't say no, can I? Of course you can sit down. I'll get you a coffee, okay?"

He touches his hand to your arm as he passes. You sit down in the seat across from him, sick with what-if and should-have. What if I could've stayed? Maybe I should have done more. But when Spencer ignored the letters you sent him while he was incarcerated, you figured you'd done more than he wanted. The cake was a last ditch effort, spurred on by JJ's text that read, I think he'd be really happy to see you.

Spencer puts a china cup down in front of you. You take a sip, muscle memory, and grin at him shyly as he slides into the seat across from you. "You remembered."

"I remember everything."

"Right. Your photographic memory."

"Eidetic, and sure, but I wouldn't forget about you." He reads your shyness for what it is, worry you've overstepped. He's too perceptive to trick. "I think I tried, but… I have so many bad memories, I wanted the good ones to keep."

You can't imagine the things he experienced in prison. JJ couldn't tell you much. You knew from how you had to address his letters alone that he was sent to a general correctional facility in Mexico, rather than the protective custody he'd needed. He doesn't look terrible considering, but you've barely seen him since you had to leave. He's aged well. The only worry is his dark under eyes.

"We had a good time," you say gently. "I knew you'd need that. That's why I sent you all those letters, you know? I wasn't trying to come back into your life, I know I don't deserve it after I left, but I couldn't stop thinking about you by yourself."

You stare at his book.

"How many letters did you send?" he asks.

"I don't really remember."

"I didn't get one." He grimaces. "I didn't get any from my mom, either. Think it was a coincidence?"

Spencer's time in was kind of sick. He stabbed himself, made friends with criminals, played a lot of chess, and learned how to make tacos in a doritos bag. It was also arguably the loneliest and most degrading time of his life.

One coffee becomes two, two becomes a third to go. You feel a hundred emotions but there's one that stands out the most as you drift around Pentagon City with him —wanting. You want him to be your best friend again, to rub your back and hold you when you're tired, to take you grocery shopping in his beat up P130. You want him to kiss you like he had, like he was searching for something, but he's changed so much that you don't know if your Spencer is still in there, under everything, or if he'd even want to.

"You live in the same apartment?" you ask.

"Can you imagine how much it would cost me to move that many books? Paying the rent turns out cheaper," he says, the two of you walking in the grey street. "What about you? You didn't come all the way here to see me."

"I actually did." You rub up the length of your upper arm, sheepish. "I did, Spencer."

For a while, all you can hear is the plastic rustling of the bag held in his hand.

"Thank you for writing to me. I didn't get to read them, but it makes a difference."

You lift your head to meet his eyes. He holds your gaze, a charge behind his dark brown eyes. You used to think his irises and his pupils were one and the same, but you can see now that there are flecks of light in his irises. His hedging of thick lashes kiss in the corners as he slowly, slowly smiles.

You glare at him. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"You know what. You're doing that thing. Pretending you're not trying to make me nervous."

"I'm not doing that. Flustered, but not nervous." Is he smirking?

"Flustered," you repeat, your smile stupidly big now, cheeks aching. "Yeah, right, Reid."

His pinky brushes yours. You don't have any proof that he's doing it purposefully, but he is.

"Do you want to get something to eat? You can tell me what you were writing in your letters. I'd really, really like to know." His voice is threaded with a familiar timidity for the first time since you reunited.

There you are, you think happily. "Sure. You buy me a sticky bun from our old place and I'll tell you all my written secrets."

"Deal."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #sorry I missed the mark a bit with the crazy tension this is not super tense <\3

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 11

˗ˏˋ car literature ˎˊ˗

"Halfway across the country to escape your parents' expectations, only to find their voices still echo in your head. Maybe freedom isn't about how far you run, but what you choose to hear when everything goes quiet."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: jungkook being late, y/n offering him a ride, coffee mainsplaining, new friendships, jimin being a book nerd, jin reserving tables, professor namjoon kim having dimples and giving you a helping hand on your assignement

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY HI LOSERS!!!! Chapter 11 is here, right on schedule like the little miracle worker I am. I actually have ch11, 12, and 13 all done and ready to go but I'm sticking to my posting schedule because SOMEONE (me) knows she'll burn out at some point so you better savor this while it lasts.

Anyway, about Y/N having a car: yes, she has one because I said so and Jungkook doesn't because he's a whole-ass LOSER LMAO. I did love weaving in the reason behind the car though and connecting it to her messy complicated relationship with her parents. God I love how human she is??? Like, she's so conflicted—grateful for what they've done but suffocated by their expectations. THE COMPLEXITY. I'm obsessed with my own creation, forgive me.

I'll give Jungkook some credit here (GASP) because while he has the self-awareness of a potato, he IS observant and perceptive when he wants to be. Boy's too busy coping with humor and deflecting for his own good though. You'll see what I mean… eventually.

Also can we talk about how much I'm LIVING for Y/N and Jimin's growing friendship?? I love how Y/N makes friends for such different reasons—Yeji is the one who makes her feel like she doesn't have to have her shit figured out, Irya is the emotionally intelligent one, and Jimin?? They bond over their shared love of literature and books and isn't that just chef's kiss beautiful?

And I refuse to apologize for the text messages. REFUSE. The texts are staying because I love writing them too much. Deal with it.

FINALLY THOUGH!!! NAMJOON MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!!! MY KING!!! I've actually had him planned since chapter 3 (don't get it twisted), there are hints if you paid attention. But now he's finally here in all his dimpled glory and we love him. Jin, I understand you completely, babes.

ANYWAY. Chapter below. Enjoy bobs bobes and bobas!!!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound of Jungkook stubbing his toe for the third time this morning is, objectively speaking, fucking hilarious.

You hide your smirk behind your mug, pretending to be deeply invested in your FYP as another muffled "shit—motherfucking—” echoes from his room. The apartment has been a symphony of chaos for the past fifteen minutes: doors slamming, drawers banging, what sounds suspiciously like a guitar being knocked over (followed by more creative cursing).

And okay, maybe you're a little evil for enjoying this so much. But come on. Mr. "I Pretend To Have My Life Together" finally overslept, and you get to witness the glorious fallout while calmly sipping your morning coffee. The universe gives you so few gifts. You're allowed to savor this one.

His coffee sits next to yours, made exactly the way he likes it—because yes, you've noticed how particular he is about his precious coffee routine. Two shots of espresso, a splash of oat milk (regular milk upsets his stomach, not that he's ever admitted it), and just a hint of vanilla syrup. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how or why you've memorized this.

Something crashes in the bathroom. Griffin, lounging on the windowsill, barely twitches an ear.

"Has he always been this much of a disaster?" you ask the cat. Griffin's slow blink feels judgmental. Fair enough.

More thundering footsteps. A drawer slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. You scroll past a video of someone's cute dog, not really seeing it, too focused on tracking the hurricane that is your roommate having a morning meltdown.

"Fuck—where is my—" His voice cuts off abruptly.

You can practically hear him running his hands through his hair, tugging—that thing he does when he's stressed.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Yeji.

𝐘𝐞𝐣𝐢🖤: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑?

You're typing back a quick 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 when Jungkook bursts into the kitchen like he's being chased. His hair is still wet from the shower, shirt only half-buttoned, and—oh.

Oh no.

He's wearing The Jeans.

The ones that make his thighs look like they were carved from marble.

The ones you specifically remember clawing off him that first night, back when he was just Hot Stranger From the Bar.

You take a very deliberate sip of coffee and absolutely do not think about that.

"Late for something?" you ask innocently, like you haven't been cataloging every crash and curse for the past quarter hour.

He whirls toward you, and for a split second, you catch him completely unguarded—flushed, disheveled, one hand still trying to button his shirt. Then his eyes narrow, landing on the coffee mug next to yours.

"Is that—"

"Just drink it, Rogue." You cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Unless you want to waste more time making your own."

The nickname slips out without permission. You blame it on the early hour, on not having enough caffeine yet. Not on how he looks with his hair still dripping, water darkening the collar of his shirt. Definitely not on how the morning light catches the silver ring on his hand when he reaches for the mug.

He takes a sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

"This is—"

"If you say 'perfect,' I'm dumping the rest down the sink."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Actually, the extraction time on this is slightly—"

"I swear to god, if you start mansplaining coffee to me at—" you check your phone, "—eight forty-seven in the morning, I will personally ensure you never make it to wherever you're going."

"It's called sharing knowledge, Phoenix." He's already moving again, a blur of motion that somehow manages to look both graceful and completely chaotic. "And the optimal brewing temperature for espresso is—"

"Do you ever just hear yourself talk and think 'wow, I'm really like this'?"

"—between 195 and 205 degrees Fahrenheit, which you'd know if you actually paid attention when I—" He freezes mid-rant. "Wait, what time did you say it was?"

"Eight forty... eight now."

"Fuck. Fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "I can't be late to this one."

You can't help yourself. "Don't you skip Film Theory like, twice a week?"

"That's—that's different." He's practically vibrating now. "This is the one where we're presenting our—where the fuck is my phone?"

"The thing you set down right here when you grabbed your coffee?" You tap your fingernail against his phone, which has been sitting next to your elbow this whole time. "This phone?"

He lunges for it, and you definitely don't notice how he has to lean into your space to grab it, or how he still smells like his stupidly expensive shower gel. The screen lights up in his hand and—wait.

"Is that Griffin as your lockscreen?"

"What? No." He shoves the phone in his pocket too quickly. "It's—shut up."

"Oh my god, it totally is. Is it the one where he's sleeping in the—"

"I'm gonna be late," he cuts you off, already halfway to the bathroom. You hear him banging around, probably looking for his cologne. The one that makes him smell like rain and...

You glance at the time again. At this rate...

"Want me to take you?"

His head pokes around the bathroom door, hair falling in his eyes. There's a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth that he hasn't noticed.

"What?"

"My car?" You try to sound casual, like you're not offering to save his ass. "Unless you'd rather take the subway and definitely be late."

He stares at you like you've just started speaking in tongues.

“You got a—" His brow furrows. "Wait, you got a car?"

"No, I'm offering you a ride on my imaginary unicorn." You roll your eyes. "Yes, I have a car. Had it for like, two weeks now. How have you not noticed?"

"I've been busy!" He disappears back into the bathroom, voice slightly muffled. "And since when do you—why would you even—who has a car in New York?"

"People who don't want to deal with the subway at 2 AM after work?" You raise your voice so he can hear you over what sounds like him knocking over every single bottle in the bathroom. "Also, time check: eight fifty-one."

"Shit." More crashing sounds. "Okay, yes, fine, please drive me, I'll never make fun of your tea collection again."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

You drop your mug gently in the sink, leaving washing for later in the day, next to his. Then grab your bag, your sunglasses too—from where they're perched on top of your head. Walk to the door and wait for Jungkook to finish spraying his perfume before he’s darting out of the tiny room and positioning himself next to you.

Then you’re out, glasses sliding on as you lock the door. The movement is automatic, practiced—something you picked up during those long drives when the sun would hit just right and—

"Okay, Gossip Girl," he snorts, cutting into your thoughts.

"You haven't even watched Gossip Girl."

"Excuse you, I'm a man of culture." He's half-jogging to keep up with you, which is... something, considering his legs are approximately twice as long as yours. "Blair Waldorf is an icon and Chuck Bass is—wait, no, seriously." He catches up as you reach the elevator. "Why do you have a car? In New York? Who are you?"

The elevator doors slide open with their usual concerning screech. You step in, leaning against the back wall as he follows, hitting -1 with his thumb. The fluorescent lights make the shadows under his eyes more pronounced—definitely up too late gaming again.

"When I signed the lease," you say, watching the numbers tick down, "Miguel mentioned there was an unused garage spot included. It was actually one of my prerequisites."

"Prerequisites," he repeats slowly, like he's tasting the word. When you glance over, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. "You came here on your own?"

You shrug, suddenly very interested in a scuff mark on the elevator floor.

"Yeah."

"Where from?"

The question hangs in the air between you. It's such a simple thing to ask, really. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff. But something about the way he says it, soft and curious, makes your throat tight.

"Small town," you say finally. "The kind where everyone knows everyone's business and the most exciting thing that happens is when someone paints their fence the wrong shade of beige."

He doesn't laugh like you expect. When you risk another look, he's still watching you, head tilted slightly.

"Must've been quite the change."

"That was kind of the point."

The elevator jolts, making you grab the rail. He doesn't move, somehow keeping his balance like he's got magnets in his shoes or something. Imbecile.

"So what, you just... packed up and drove to New York?" There's something in his voice—not quite disbelief, but close.

"I mean, I applied to NYU first. I'm not completely insane." You're aiming for light, casual, but it comes out a bit defensive. "But yeah, basically. Loaded up the car, picked a playlist, and..." You wave your hand vaguely.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him piecing things together. The way you never talk about home. How you tense up when anyone mentions family. The fact that your room is filled with things you clearly bought after moving in, nothing old or sentimental except—

"The bear," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"The stuffed bear on your bed. The really old-looking one." He straightens up, like he's solved a puzzle. "That's why you got it. It's from before."

Something uncomfortable squirms in your chest.

“Okay, Detective Kuko, maybe focus on not being late instead of psychoanalyzing my childhood toys?"

The elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the garage. He pushes off the wall, but you catch his reflection in the mirrored doors—that little half-smile that he always pulls when he’s being particularly insufferable.

"You know," he says, following you out into the dimly lit space, "for someone who claims to hate nicknames, you sure throw around a lot of them."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rogue."

His laugh echoes off the concrete walls. "Whatever you say, Phoenix."

The car beeps when you press the button on the key fob, its sound echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. It’s a rundown 2010 Honda Civic, the kind of car that blends into the background of every suburban parking lot.

The kind your father refused to buy you when you were eighteen and wanted to transfer to a college campus just a bit further away.

Funny how that worked out for him. You ended up buying this one yourself, and now you’re in New York City—a hell of a lot further away than that first suggestion.

But your chest tightens at the thought, like it always does when you let your mind wander back there.

What were you even aiming for?

Retribution?

Vengeance?

For what? Daddy not wanting to get you a car? When they’ve paid for your tuition all this time, made dinner for you when you stayed up late studying, and even sat through all of the Avengers movies with you despite hating superhero flicks. Your mom would always cut up fruit for you during finals season, leaving little notes on the kitchen counter that said things like You’ve got this! or Proud of you! in her neat handwriting.

A mix of guilt and frustration gnaws at you. Because what kind of ungrateful asshole feels bitter about something so small when their parents have done so much?

And yet, here you are. Feeling it anyway.

It’s not like they were bad parents—strict, sure, but not bad. They just wanted what was best for you, didn’t they?

So why does it still sting when you think about how they dismissed your creative writing journal as a “waste of time” or how they steered every conversation toward practicality and success? Why does it feel like every decision they made for you came with strings attached? Like love was something earned through achievements instead of something freely given?

You grip the keys tighter as if that’ll stop the spiral forming in your head. Because it’s not fair to them, is it? They did their best. They didn’t know how suffocating it felt to have every move scrutinized, every choice second-guessed.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t controlling; maybe you were just too sensitive. Maybe this whole mess is on

you.

But then again... wasn’t it their fear that kept you tethered to that small town for so long? Their insistence on safety and stability that made leaving feel like rebellion instead of growth?

You shake your head, trying to shove those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You made it out. You’re independent and capable and—

“Wow,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your inner monologue like a knife, dragging you back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “This car sucks.”

Your head snaps toward him as he stands there, one eyebrow raised in judgmental amusement. He’s leaning against the passenger door like he’s too good to even touch it properly.

Without thinking, you slam the driver’s door closed with more force than necessary. “Changed my mind,” you snap, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Go walk.”

He laughs, already folding his stupidly long legs into the passenger seat. "Aw, come on, Phoenix. I'm sure it has... character."

"Get out of my car."

"The duct tape on the mirror really adds something, you know?"

"I will leave you here."

"Is that a Fast and Furious sticker? Did you actually—"

"One more word about my car and you're taking the subway."

He holds his hands up in surrender, but he's still grinning.

"Wouldn't dream of insulting your..." His eyes dart to the dashboard where the check engine light has been on since you bought it. "Unique vehicle."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No you don't." He starts fiddling with the radio, because apparently personal boundaries mean nothing to him. "Oh my god, is this a cassette player?"

You swat his hand away. "Touch my radio and die."

"But—"

"My car, my rules."

"What are you gonna do, make me listen to your sad girl hours playlist?"

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with its usual concerning cough. "Bold of you to assume I'd share my playlists with someone who butchers Mayer's solos every night."

"I do not—" He sits up straighter, actually offended. "That was one time, and the strings were new, and—"

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room doesn't need your creative reinterpretation, Rogue."

And fuck. Why did you have to bring up that specific song? The one he was playing two nights ago, like it was just for you and him in the quiet of the night.

"Didn't know you were such a Mayer purist, Phoenix."

You check your mirrors, definitely not watching how he slouches in the seat, all long limbs and morning-messy hair.

"Seatbelt, Kuko."

"Is that your favorite Mayer song?"

God, why is he doing this? Making small talk about music like he didn't just watch you have a whole crisis about your car?

"I guess." You mutter, exiting the garage once and for all.

You merge into traffic, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than how he's angled his body toward you in the passenger seat.

But then, because he can’t leave things alone…

"You know any others?"

You lick your lips. Two beats of silence.

“Some ring a bell." You finally say. Swallow. Change lanes. Don't think about summer evenings and vinyl records and— "It's just that one... brings memories."

Silence, again.

You can feel him watching you, that way he does sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle but keeps finding new pieces.

Then he sighs, a soft chuckle that does absolutely nothing to your stomach. Nothing at all.

“Guess I'll have to play some more for you." His voice drops slightly, just shy of teasing. "You know, expand your musical taste."

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? With the way he says it—like a challenge, like a promise? With how the morning sun catches his ring when he drums his fingers against his thigh, keeping time to whatever song is playing in his head?

"Bold of you to assume I want to hear more of your mediocre guitar skills."

It's weak and you both know it.

But he lets you have it, just huffs out another laugh and turns to look out the window.

And you absolutely do not notice how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, or the way his shirt is still slightly wrinkled from his rush this morning.

No. No, you don’t.

"Wait, you're telling me you've never read Donna Tartt?"

Jimin's scandalized whisper makes you grin as you both push through the library's heavy doors. There's something endearing about how genuinely offended he is by this gap in your literary education.

"In my defense," you whisper back, following him up the stairs to the second floor, "I was a bit busy reading whatever my parents deemed 'appropriate' until, oh, about six months ago?"

He glances back at you, something knowing in his eyes. It should make you uncomfortable—usually does, when people look at you like they understand. But with Jimin, it feels... okay. Maybe because he was there that night at your apartment, quietly positioning himself next to you like a gentle buffer against the chaos.

"Okay, but now you have to read The Secret History." He leads you to what's clearly his usual spot—a corner table partially hidden behind the Classical Literature stacks. "It's like... Dark Academia meets murder mystery meets Greek tragedy."

"You had me at murder mystery, honestly."

He pulls out a chair, dropping his bag with practiced ease. "I actually have my copy here somewhere. The spine's basically destroyed because I've read it so many times, but—"

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who annotates their books?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Maybe?"

"Oh my god, you totally are." You slide into the chair across from him, already feeling more relaxed than you have all day. "Do you use different colored pens? Have a whole system?"

"...you're making fun of me."

"I would never." You scoff. "I'm simply appreciating your dedication to the literary arts."

He tries to maintain his pout, but you can see the smile fighting through.

"You know what? For that, I'm not telling you where the secret coffee spot is."

"The what now?"

"Oh, nothing." He starts unpacking his bag with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just a hidden corner where they don't enforce the 'no drinks' policy. But since you're so judgmental about my annotation habits..."

"Park Jimin." You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Are you telling me there's a way I can read and caffeinate without having to dodge the library police?"

"I don't know..." He draws it out, eyes twinkling. "Can you be trusted with such powerful knowledge?"

"I will literally annotate a book right now. Any book. Pick one."

His laugh is barely more than a breath, but it's warm, genuine.

“Okay, okay. But first—what's your stance on dog-earing pages?"

You gasp. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Just checking." He grins, finally pulling out his battered copy of The Secret History. "Here. But I want detailed feedback on all my margin notes."

You accept the book carefully, noting the well-worn spine, the sticky notes peeking out from between pages. "Did you... color-code your tabs?"

"That's it." He starts gathering his things. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait!" You grab his arm, laughing as quietly as you can. "I actually love it. Really. Show me your system?"

He settles back down, mock-glaring but clearly pleased. "Fine. But only because you actually seem to care about books, unlike some people."

"Let me guess—Yeji ditched the second you mentioned the library?"

"'Sorry, babe,'" he mimics Yeji's voice with surprising accuracy, "'but I only enter buildings with books if they also serve alcohol.'"

You snort. "That tracks."

"Speaking of tracking..." He pulls out his phone. "Want to see my reading spreadsheet?"

"Your what now?"

"It's color-coded by genre, with separate tabs for—"

"Jimin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

His smile could power the whole library. "Just wait until I show you my TBR organization system."

And you find yourself smiling back, real and easy, as he launches into an explanation involving multiple apps and something called "reverse timeline sorting." Because yeah, okay—maybe making new friends isn't the worst thing in the world.

Even if they are terrifyingly organized book nerds who probably alphabetize their bookmarks.

Also, the thing about being an English major at NYU is that you end up sharing a lot of classes with the Comparative Literature kids.

It's not really surprising when you think about it—you're both basically studying books, just from different angles.

While you're deep diving into English and American literature (thanks to your very traditional parents who would have probably had an aneurysm if you'd picked anything more "experimental"), Jimin's out here analyzing texts from all over the world, looking at how different cultures approach storytelling.

Which is how you end up in at least three classes together this semester.

Modern Literature with Professor Sullivan on Mondays and Wednesdays (where Jimin always has the most interesting takes on international influences), Contemporary Poetry Analysis (where he somehow manages to connect Emily Dickinson to some obscure Korean poet you can't pronounce), and that one Friday afternoon workshop that everyone dreads but somehow becomes bearable when Jimin starts drawing parallels between Western and Eastern literary traditions.

It's actually kind of perfect. Your English major foundation gives you the deep knowledge of Western canon that his program requires, while his Comparative Literature perspective opens up whole new ways of looking at texts you thought you knew inside out.

Like right now, as he's explaining how Japanese magical realism evolved differently from its Latin American counterpart, you're seeing 100 Years of Solitude in a completely new light.

Plus, it's nice having someone who actually gives a shit about books.

Yeji, bless her chaotic heart, thinks anything written before 2010 is "prehistoric," and your other friend from Modern Lit only reads SparkNotes.

But Jimin? Jimin color-codes his annotations and has strong opinions about Oxford commas.

Which is probably why, when he suggested studying together, you didn't even hesitate. Because yes, okay, maybe you've been a bit... selective about making friends since moving to New York.

But someone who understands why you got emotional about Woolf's use of semicolons? That's the kind of friend worth having.

"Okay, but consider this," Jimin whispers, sliding his Contemporary Literature notes across the table. "What if we compared Murakami's use of magical realism with García Márquez? Because I swear there's a connection between Kafka on the Shore and 100 Years of Solitude that no one talks about."

You lean forward, scanning his impossibly neat handwriting. Of course his notes are color-coded. "For the Modern Lit essay?"

"Yeah, Professor Sullivan mentioned wanting unique perspectives, right?" His eyes light up the way they only do when discussing books. "And since you're taking Modern Literature and I've got Comparative Lit Theory this semester..."

"A cross-course analysis?" You tap your pen against your notebook, mind already racing. "That's... actually brilliant?"

"Really?" He perks up, then immediately remembers to lower his voice when someone at the next table glares. "Because I was thinking, with your focus on contemporary Western literature and my background in Eastern literary traditions—"

"We could explore how different cultural interpretations of magical realism intersect!" You're probably too excited about this for a library setting, but whatever. "Jimin, you're literally a genius."

He ducks his head, but you catch his pleased smile. "I mean, you're the one who brought up the cyclical narrative patterns in class last week. I just thought maybe we could..."

"Collaborate?" You're already flipping to a fresh page in your notebook. "Please tell me you're not working with anyone else for the final paper."

"Was kind of waiting for the right partner." He gives you a pointed look. "Someone who wouldn't just make me do all the work."

"Unlike some people we know?"

"I'm not naming names, but..." He glances around conspiratorially. "Let's just say I've already witnessed Yeji's approach to required reading in our shared Literature and Gender class last week."

"Do tell."

"She showed up to discuss Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and asked, completely seriously, if it was about interior design." He shudders dramatically. "Then tried to argue that her TikTok research should count as academic sources."

You have to stuff your fist against your mouth to muffle your laugh.

"She did not."

"Direct quote: 'But professor, this BookToker made some really good points about, like, the feminist undertones and stuff.'" He pulls out his laptop, already opening a fresh document. "So, partner? I mean, we're only two weeks into the semester, but I can already tell you actually read the material. Plus, I've got access to some really interesting papers on Japanese magical realism through the Comparative Lit database."

"Only if you let me buy you coffee at Jin's after this." You pause. "Wait, is that weird? Am I being weird?"

His smile is soft, understanding. "Not weird at all. But only if you let me show you my favorite translation of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The annotations are chef's kiss."

"God, you really are a book nerd, aren't you?"

"Says the person who got excited about cyclical narrative patterns."

"...touché."

He starts typing, fingers flying over the keys. "So, structure-wise, I was thinking we could start with a brief overview of traditional magical realism in Latin American literature, then transition into..."

You settle in, watching him outline your shared project with the same methodical care he probably uses to organize his bookshelf.

And maybe it's the quiet of the library, or the way afternoon sun filters through the stacks, but something in your chest feels lighter.

Because this—this easy back-and-forth about books and ideas—this is what you came to New York for.

"Oh!" Jimin's whisper breaks into your thoughts. "We should definitely include the cat symbolism in both texts. Speaking of..." He glances up from his screen. "How's living with Griffin?"

"The cat or his stupid owner?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Jimin's eyebrows shoot up, a knowing look crossing his face that makes you want to hide behind your textbook.

"Why? Wanna talk about his owner?”

"I meant—that's not—he is stupid!" You grab your water bottle just to have something to do with your hands. "Whatever. We should focus on the magical realism thing."

"Mhm." He's still giving you that look. "Whatever you say. But you know, if you ever want to talk about... cats..."

"I will literally throw this book at you."

"The annotated one? You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Park."

His quiet laugh makes a few people look over, but you can't bring yourself to care. Because somehow, in the span of an afternoon, you've gained both a study partner and what feels like a real friend.

Even if said friend is now wiggling his eyebrows at you every time you try to redirect the conversation back to Murakami.

Your phone buzzes against the table, making Jimin glance up from his color-coded notes.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛 𝚞 𝚛𝚗

You roll your eyes, typing back quickly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Your screen lights up with his reply.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚖𝚒𝚗?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶????

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚖? 🥺

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞

Your fingers hover over the keyboard because—what the fuck is he saying right now? What does he mean?

But then.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

Fucking bitch-ass motherfucker.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 🤢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳

𝐘𝐨𝐮: "𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡”

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 💅

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨��🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 😏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙹𝙸???

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Read 4:47 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆

Read 4:48 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

Read 4:49 PM

You shove your phone in your bag. Whatever. You've got actual priorities here—like making real friends who appreciate literature and don't judge your drink choices (does he?).

"Actually," you say, straightening up and pulling out your Modern Lit syllabus, "let’s go to Jin’s right now. Because I could use a caramel frappuccino, and I'd love to hear more about your take on Murakami's symbolism."

Jimin's whole face lights up. "Really? Because I have thoughts about the significance of wells as transitional spaces in—"

"Lead the way, book nerd." You start packing up your stuff, already feeling more centered. "But fair warning—I will absolutely judge your coffee order if it's anything boring like plain black."

"You order everything with extra whipped cream, don’t you?”

"It's called having taste, Jimin. And yes, I want the little chocolate sprinkles too."

His laugh echoes through the stacks as you both head out, earning a few glares that you can't bring yourself to care about. Because this? This is exactly what you need. Good conversation, sugary drinks, and someone who gets genuinely excited about literary analysis.

Your phone stays silent in your bag. You don't even think about checking it.

After all, you've got more interesting things to focus on—like whether Jin will let you convince him to add extra caramel to your drink, or finally having someone who understands why you cried over that one Sylvia Plath poem.

Because honestly? There’s just something deliciously satisfying about choosing exactly how you want to spend your afternoon.

And right now? That means ordering the sweetest drink on the menu and diving deep into a discussion about magical realism with someone who actually gets it.

Sometimes the best kind of freedom is just... doing whatever the fuck you want.

The thing about Jin is that he treats his coffee shop like it's a kingdom and he's the benevolent (but definitely judgy) ruler.

"Well, well." He quirks an eyebrow as you and Jimin push through the door, the familiar smell of coffee and old books wrapping around you like a hug. "Where's the demon child?"

"Yeji's allergic to studying." You lean against the counter, already eyeing the pastry display. "Breaks out in hives if she gets too close to academic pursuit."

Jin snorts, wiping his hands on his apron. "That tracks. Haven't seen you in a few days—were you actually at the library? Or is this some elaborate cover story?"

"Studying, actually." You gesture to Jimin, who's hovering politely beside you. "With actual books and everything. Jin, this is Jimin. Jimin, this is Jin, who makes the best coffee in the East Village but will definitely judge your order."

"I don't judge." Jin's mouth twitches. "I merely... evaluate life choices."

Jimin waves shyly. "Nice to meet you. Yeji's mentioned this place a lot."

"All lies, probably." Jin's already moving to the espresso machine, hands automatic in their movements. "What can I get you both? And Y/N, before you say it— no, I will not make you one of those abominations with eight pumps of syrup."

"Rude." You straighten up, pretending to study the menu like you don't order the same thing every time. "Fine. Latte with cold foam?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's fondness there. "Let me make you something better. Just got a new blend in—Ethiopian, hints of blueberry. You'll love it."

"Bold of you to assume I can taste anything beyond sugar."

"Trust me." He turns to Jimin. "And for you?"

"Just an americano, please."

You whirl around. "That's so sad."

"Shut up." Jimin shoves your shoulder lightly. "Not all of us need a sugar high to function."

"Your loss." You're already heading toward your usual spot—eyeing the different tables and settling for the corner one with the best lighting and a perfect view of both the street and the counter. "Come on, I'll show you where—"

"Ah ah." Jin's voice stops you. "Not that one."

You turn back, eyebrow raised. "What? It's empty."

"Someone sits there."

"I literally see no bag?" You gesture at the conspicuously empty table. "No books, no laptop, no nothing."

"Someone," Jin repeats, voice somehow both firmer and more amused, "sits there."

"But—"

"Y/N." He gives you that look, the one that somehow makes you feel like a kid being gently scolded. "Pick another table."

You glance at the mysterious empty table, then back at Jin, then at the table again. Because what the actual fuck? Since when does Jin reserve tables? And for who?

But he's already turned back to the espresso machine, humming something under his breath, clearly considering the matter closed.

"Come on." Jimin tugs your sleeve, pointing to another corner. "That one looks good too."

You let him lead you away, but not without throwing one last suspicious look over your shoulder. Jin pretends not to notice, but you catch the slight smile playing at his lips as he starts grinding coffee beans.

Weird. Very weird.

You sigh loudly, and woah okay you’re starting to sound like Yeji now. Her energy is definitely rubbing off on you. You take your stuff out along with Jimin and start chatting right away.

"All I'm saying is," you whisper-rant to Jimin, still bitter about this morning, "if someone makes you coffee, you say thank you. You don't launch into a TED talk about optimal brewing temperatures like some pretentious—"

The bell above the door chimes, and holy shit.

HOLY. SHIT.

The man who walks in is...

Well, first of all, he's tall. Like, unfairly tall.

And he's wearing these round glasses that should look dorky but somehow don't, perched on a face that belongs in one of those aesthetic academic Pinterest boards. His blonde hair is slicked back in a way that screams 'I definitely know about wine pairings', and his light blue dress shirt paired with navy pants is giving very much 'yes, I read Proust for fun.'

But it's the way he carries himself—confident but not cocky, with a laptop bag swinging gently by his thigh—that really catches your attention.

That, and how Jin's whole demeanor shifts when he sees him.

"Joon!" Jin's voice is different—warmer, maybe? "The usual?"

The man—Joon, apparently—smiles, and oh. Oh. That's just unfair. Because he's got actual dimples. Like, dimples dimples.

They chat for a moment, their conversation too low to hear from where you're sitting, but you catch Jin gesturing toward... wait.

Toward the table.

THE table.

The one you were just exiled from.

Namjoon nods, that devastating smile still in place, and heads straight for what is apparently his designated spot in Jin's kingdom.

You narrow your eyes. Who exactly is this mysterious dimpled giant with table-reserving privileges? And why does Jin look slightly pink around the ears as he starts making what is presumably 'the usual'?

"Hey?" Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Sorry, just..." You tilt your head toward the table-stealer. "Trying to figure out who managed to get permanent dibs on prime real estate in here."

Jimin turns, trying (and absolutely failing) to be subtle about it. Then he makes a small choking sound.

"Oh god," he whispers, whipping back around. "That's Professor Kim."

You blink. "Professor who now?"

"Namjoon Kim? From the English department?" When you continue staring blankly, he adds, "He teaches Literary Criticism in my major? Published in like, every major literary journal? Youngest professor in the department?"

"That's a professor?" You peek over again, watching as he sets up his laptop with methodical precision. "Why does he look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." You gesture vaguely. "You know. Like that.”

"Please stop staring," Jimin hisses. "He's brilliant and terrifying and I have to present in his class next week."

"Terrifying?" You snort. "The man has dimples, Jimin. And his glasses are literally round. He looks like a very tall teddy bear who probably reads Keats for fun."

"He once made someone cry by asking them to explain their interpretation of a Emily Dickinson poem."

"Okay, but was their interpretation wrong?"

"Y/N."

"What? I'm just saying—"

Jin appears with your drinks, setting them down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop gossiping about my customers."

"We're not gossiping," you protest. "We're... conducting academic observation."

"Mhm." He raises an eyebrow. "How's that new blend?"

You take a sip of whatever fancy coffee he made you, and... oh. Oh.

"This is..."

"Better than your sugar milk?" His smirk is unbearable. "You're welcome."

He walks away before you can argue, heading back to where Professor Dimples is apparently grading papers, judging by the red pen in his hand.

"Don't even think about it," Jimin warns.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever you're plotting. I can see it on your face."

"I'm not plotting anything!" You take another sip of your annoyingly perfect coffee. "I just think it's interesting that Jin never mentioned having a designated professor spot in his shop."

"No."

"What? I'm just being observant."

Jimin looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him to befriend you. "Can we please just focus on Murakami?"

"Fine." You pull out your notes, but you can't help stealing one more glance at the mysterious professor. "But just so you know, anyone who makes students cry over Emily Dickinson is definitely going on my list of people to investigate."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jimjim."

20 minutes pass by. 20 minutes of Jimin humming as he searches articles on the web. 20 minutes of you two now doing your individual assignments for your different classes. 20 minutes of you nearly losing your mind over yours.

"Who," you groan, slumping over your laptop, "decided that writing a comparative analysis of post-modern narrative structures was a good idea for week two? Week two, Jimin. I still haven't figured out where half my classes are."

Jimin chuckles, leaning over to point at something on your screen. "Look, if you connect these two themes here—"

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. "I will literally pay you to write this for me."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I'm broke. But I'll owe you my firstborn."

"Still no."

"My soul?"

"Bold of you to assume you still have one after declaring an English major."

You're about to argue that your soul is perfectly intact, thank you very much, when you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. You glance up and oh fuck.

Professor Dimples is looking right at you, one eyebrow raised slightly above those round glasses. Because of course he heard your entire breakdown about his colleague's assignment. Of course he did.

You drop your eyes back to your laptop so fast you probably give yourself whiplash. Maybe if you slouch low enough, you'll just... dissolve into the floor. That's possible, right?

Jimin swats your arm. "Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic," you whisper-hiss. "I'm just saying, who assigns a five-thousand word analysis before we've even figured out the coffee situation on campus?"

"Having trouble with Professor Lee's class?"

You freeze. Because that voice—deep, warm, and definitely coming from right next to your table—belongs to exactly who you think it does.

Slowly, you look up. Professor Kim is standing there, coffee cup in hand, looking far too amused for someone who apparently makes students cry over poetry.

"I, uh—" Words. You know words. You're literally majoring in them. "No? I mean, yes? I mean—"

"She's struggling with the comparative analysis assignment," Jimin supplies helpfully, the traitor. "The one about narrative structures in post-modern literature."

"Ah." Professor Kim's dimples make an appearance. "Mind if I...?" He gestures to the empty chair at your table.

What are you supposed to say? No? To the professor who apparently has permanent dibs on the best table in Jin's? Who probably knows seventeen ways to destroy your GPA with a single red pen mark?

"Sure," you manage, shooting Jimin a panicked look that he completely ignores.

Professor Kim settles into the chair, setting his coffee down carefully. "The thing about post-modern narrative structures," he says, like he's sharing a secret, "is that everyone overthinks them."

You blink. "What?"

"It's actually quite simple." He gestures to your laptop. "May I?"

You turn the screen toward him, watching as he scans your document. His brow furrows slightly, and you resist the urge to slam the laptop shut and run away.

"See, here—" He points to a paragraph. "You're actually onto something interesting. The way you've connected the unreliable narrator to the fragmented timeline... that's good. You're just getting caught up in the academic language instead of trusting your instincts."

"My... instincts?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Tell me—without thinking about theory or criticism or any of that—why did this particular narrative choice catch your attention?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Because honestly? "It reminded me of those dreams where you're trying to remember something, but the memory keeps slipping away? Like, you know it's important, but every time you get close, it sort of... dissolves?"

His smile widens. "Write that."

"What, the dream thing?"

"Exactly that. In exactly those words." He leans back, looking pleased. "That's what post-modern literature is about—the messy, fragmented way our minds actually work. Not the polished academic analysis we think we're supposed to write."

From behind the counter, you hear Jin snort. "Are you corrupting my customers with your literary theories again?"

"Always," Professor Kim calls back, and something in the way they smile at each other makes you think of your earlier observations.

"Thank you," you say, already starting to rework your intro paragraph. "That actually helps a lot."

"Any time." He stands, gathering his coffee. "And Y/N?"

You look up, surprised he knows your name.

"Don't worry too much about Professor Lee's assignments. He likes to seem tough in the beginning, but..." He adjusts his glasses with a slight smile. "Let's just say I've heard his Emily Dickinson lectures. Man cries every time."

As he heads back to his table, you turn to Jimin with wide eyes.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yep."

"And did he just..."

"Give you permission to basically write your paper in normal human language? Yep."

"Huh." You look between your laptop and Professor Kim's table, where he's already absorbed back in his grading. "Maybe the dimples aren't so terrifying after all."

"Please stop talking about our professor's dimples."

"I'm just saying—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Fair enough. You turn back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.

Maybe this assignment won't be so bad after all.

Even if you do kind of want to investigate why Jin keeps stealing glances at Professor Kim's table and thinking he’s being subtle about it.

next | index

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writingtraumaforever · 7 months ago

Text

Courtship: Chapter 3 (Finale)

Notes: AAAAAAAAAND DONE. This was such a joy to write, guys. I love the movie-verse so, so much, and I'm glad I was motivated enough to write a little fic about our two favorite boys. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did, and who know! Maybe if the demand is there, I'll write a little epilogue for our two cuties~

Summary: Shadow meets the Wachowski's. Again.

Chapter Select: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Mini-Sequel: Home Alone

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Sonic is nothing but nervous energy.

He’s been rushing about the entire morning. He took a bubble bath. He bathed Ozzie in the same bath after. He tidied his room. He put on the coolest pictures of him in the living room and the dopey ones in his dresser drawer to not be found. He combed his quills and brushed his fur. He has prepared in every possible way and still feels like things aren’t near good enough for Shadow to be impressed.

Maddie climbs up the ladder to the attic, gently lifting the door to find Sonic moving his action figures around on his shelf as if to try and find some sort of specifically aesthetic organization.

“No..,” he moves them all around again, “nuh uh,” again, “not it,” again with a frustrated groan, “You know what?? He’ll probably think they’re lame anyway.” And then he’s dumping them all in the upper drawer of his nightstand.

Maddie can’t help but smile at her spazzing son, a sympathetic knit to her brow as she knocks gently on his bedroom floor, “Knock knock?”

Sonic’s attention instantly shift to his peeping mom’s head peering through the attic door, “oh- hey, mom.”

“Hey, kiddo,” she smiles, entering now that he’s granted his approval. She looks at the neat room with raised brows, “Wow.. don’t think I’ve ever seen it so clean in here.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t have a guest thinking I’m a slob.”

“Right. Because that would be misleading,” Maddie says with a playful wink and a hint of sarcasm. Sonic just smiles at this, rolling his eyes before dashing over to his comic books that are stacked next to his bean bag. He begins looking through them, trying to decide which should go on top for viewing.

“You think Batman is cooler or the Flash??”

“Hm.. I think the Flash is pretty cool,” the mother answers as she approaches the hedgehog with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Mm… yeah, but..,” he looks at the Batman comic again before stacking the Flash and then the Batman one on top, “Shadow would probably like Batman more.”

“You’re probably right,” Maddie agrees with a nod, Sonic nodding in return as he turns to his mom again.

“Did you get the hot dogs?”

“Yup,” she assures, “Three whole packs. And the chili is currently in the slow cooker.”

“Sweet,” Sonic grins approvingly, “Shadow is gonna die when he tries your chili dogs. He’ll finally understand that they’re the best thing humans have ever invented.”

“Right,” Maddie snorts with a giggle before she crouches down to eye level with the blue blur, watching how Sonic’s eyes skim around the room looking for something else to perfect. Nerves. Anxious. Excited. Scared..

She knows.

“Hey..,” she says softly, catching Sonic’s attention then as she takes his gloved hands into her own, “He already likes you. He wouldn’t be coming here if he didn’t.”

Sonic sighs, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he squeezes Maddie’s hands, “I know. I know. I just-.. I really want him to think I’m cool.”

“Sonic Wachowski?? Not cool?? That’s an impossible conclusion to come to,” she smirks, Sonic giggling a bit in return.

“I know, but-.. I don’t know..”

Sonic’s ears flatten just slightly, his gaze shifting away sheepishly. And nervously..

Maddie’s smile softens again, squeezing his hands again as she speaks, “Try and relax. If you’re a nervous ball of energy, he likely will feed off that and be one too. Being cool is a nice thing to be, but being welcoming is the more important bit.. You want him to feel safe here.”

“Yeah..,” Sonic breathes with a small smile, looking at his mother earnestly, “..I just want him to want to come back.”

“I’m sure he will,” she assures with a nod, moving to kiss her boy’s spiky forehead before resting hers against it to look him in the eye, “It’ll all go just fine, Sonic. You’re a great kid.”

“I’m seventeen,” Sonic groans with a little eyeroll, but it’s harmless and he’s smiling. He knows good and well no matter how old he is, he’ll always be her baby.

“I’m sorry, you’re a great man,” she corrects with pure confidence, “And you have a big heart. I’m sure he sees that too, and finds comfort in that…”

Sonic’s eyes shut with a sigh, leaning his forehead against his mom’s a bit more before simply moving to slide his arms around her shoulders and give her a big hedgehog hug.

“Thanks mom..”

She pets her hand along his head and rubs his ear with a smile, hugging him in return tight and warm, “Anytime.”

Sonic stays like that until he feels most of his nerves melt away, pulling back then to look her in the eye with all seriousness, “Dad’s gonna behave, right???”

Maddie hums and looks away as if unsure, “I think so,” she immediately laughs when Sonic’s face shifts to horror and gives his shoulders a playful shake, “Calm down, I’m kidding. We had a talk. And he absolutely is going to behave. As are the other boys.”

Sonic deflates with a breath of relief, “Oh thank God—“

Maddie giggles and stands up again, lightly thumping Sonic’s ear and making it twitch in the process as she turns to exit the attic, “Try and relax a bit. You’re gonna run a hole in the ceiling if you keep at it up here.”

Sonic just scoffs in playful offense, “Is that a fat joke?!”

“It’s a warning,” Maddie says with a pointed look his way as she climbs down the ladder, slowly closing the door on her way down. She playfully points at him in mock threat just before it shuts, leaving Sonic chuckling before moving to his bed.

He sits down carefully on the edge, not wanting to have to make it again. Laying back with a heavy sigh, he stares at his ceiling and tries to ignore the very aggressive butterflies that are multiplying in his stomach..

•••

Shadow has prepared himself appropriately according to his research.

He anointed himself in his favorite scent: lavender and coffee. He combed his quills neatly. He brushed his chest fur to get any knots out. He’s even wearing an extra article of clothing: a black leather jacket. And to impress Sonic’s parents, he bought two motorcycle helmets to show he cares about safety, wearing one when he shows up at their driveway.

He read motorcycles are often an alarming sign to most guardians for their children to be associated with, but Sonic once told him that Mr. Wachowski thought they were ‘way past cool’. So he opted to try and impress the man by catering to his interests.

Parking the bike on the street at the end of the driveway, Shadow removes his helmet and rests it on the seat. His crimson eyes stare at the Wachowski residence for a long time. A sick feeling in his stomach.

Maybe he’s ill.

No.. no, lying to himself is pointless. He’s terrified.

He doesn’t get the luxury of domineering first impressions. He’s already made them long ago, and they weren’t exactly ideal. None of this situation is, honestly. But he has to play the cards he was dealt, and he’s determined to try his damn hardest to win this family over.

He’s watched YouTube tutorials on how to hold conversation, dinner etiquette, appropriate movie watching commentary, manners when meeting parents, common humans topics of conversation..

He’s done his research. Theoretically, this should be a walk in the park.

So why the hell couldn’t he get his feet to move???

He stares at the home. Can see the lights on, humans silhouetted and moving about through the sheer curtains of the windows.. and one blue blur flashing by now and then.

Shadow’s lips purse, his fists tightening at his sides as his stomach aches a bit more uneasily.

Sonic is inside.. Sonic is depending on him to make a good impression. Sonic has done his part in this ritual, now it’s time for Shadow to do his and-…

Nope. No, what is he thinking?? Shadow can’t do this. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a fraud. He doesn’t deserve redemption or forgiveness. He doesn’t get to just waltz into their home and act as though he’s just some random hedgehog their son brought home.

He nearly destroyed them.

Picking his helmet back off his motorcycle’s seat, he starts to put it back on with one last glance to the Wachowski home.

The home untouched by a monster. The home he hasn’t destroyed yet. The home that doesn’t need him involved in it..

And ruby finds emerald.

Sonic’s wide, eager eyes are looking out the window in search of his guest’s arrival and find Shadow standing there.

Damnit.

The front door opens in an instant, the blue blur standing there grinning wide and excited and happy. Shadow can see his tail wagging from here.

“Shadow!”

Shadow slowly puts his helmet back on the seat of his bike.

Welp.

No going back now.

Walking around the bike, Shadow offers a small smile to Sonic despite his current need to vomit. Or run. Running sounds more convenient.

”You’re here!” Sonic beams, and Shadow swears he’s never seen the hero so damn giddy.

“I am,” he confirms with a small nod, approaching the steps to the doorway now and stopping right outside the door.

Sonic just stares at him all sunshine and giggles for a long moment, Shadow feeling increasingly weary under his starstruck gaze.

This hedgehog expects far too much of Shadow.. he’s going to end up crushed when he sees him for what he really is eventually. But Shadow will selfishly take whatever attention Sonic will give him for now.

There’s something powerful about it.. a pure-hearted hero like Sonic wanting to court Shadow. The monstrosity. The creature. The thing.

Shadow wonders if Sonic even realizes how much of an impact the way he looks at Shadow has on him..

Sonic’s eyes linger and then look down at Shadow’s attire, “You’re wearing a jacket!”

Shadow shifts a bit on his feet, looking down at his jacket with slight embarrassment now.. maybe it wasn’t the appropriate choice?

“I.. am..?”

“It looks great!” Sonic beams, bouncing on his toes as he bites his lower lip.

“Oh..,” Shadow looks back to Sonic, a shy smile curling on his muzzle, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Sonic replies immediately, going back to just staring at Shadow as if he isn’t real. Like he’s a dream. A vision.

Shadow doesn’t know what to do with that..

“May I—“

“Oh! Yeah, man, sorry—“ Sonic chuckles with a pink tint growing on his cheeks, moving out of the way to allow Shadow inside the home. Shadow steps inside and is immediately met with the smell of peppers and mahogany. He’s guessing it’s the dinner mixed with the natural Wachowski home scent. It’s not unpleasant.

Sonic closes the door behind him, and Shadow looks up to find the Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady themselves looking right back at him.

Oh sweet chaos kill him—

”Hello, Mr. And Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow greets immediately, nerves making his hands feel a bit shaky but he steels them into hard fists at his sides.

The missus of the home speaks first, “Hello, Shadow.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and her smile looks genuine and welcoming. “We’re so happy to have you here. Welcome to our home!”

“Thank you for allowing my attendance,” Shadow politely nods, swallowing hard as his eyes shift to the man. The father. The leader. The Donut Lord.

He doesn’t look nearly as genuine as the woman when he smiles. But he is smiling, which is something, at least.

Last Shadow saw this man, he had a foot placed firmly on his neck with a gun pressed to his temple.

Shadow will gladly and gratefully take a damn disingenuous smile.

“Of course,” the man assures, seeming a bit reluctant in his words but Shadow recognizes the effort regardless, “Any friend of Sonic’s is always welcome.”

Even if they blew up half the moon???

Shadow refrains from saying this.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow compliments, trying for some of the training he received from the Internet, “It’s very well decorated.”

“Oh- that’s so sweet,” she smiles, a hand over her heart as if it’s been touched. Shadow is glad this seems to have been the right thing to say.

“Why don’t you let Sonic give you a tour, and I’ll the table set for us to eat out back?”

“Sounds great!” Sonic approves, Shadow looking back to the hedgehog that’s been standing behind him watching the interaction with pins and needles this whole time, “C’mon! We’ll start with the living room.”

Shadow follows Sonic throughout the home, feeling Mr. Wachowski’s lingering gaze now and then when in sight. But Shadow tries not to focus on this and instead on the words Sonic is saying.

“These are our bean bags,” the blue hedgehog points to the line of three large bags, blue, yellow and red, stored against the wall of the living room behind the couch, “We pull them out in front of the tv when we watch a movie or a show. Mine is the blue one— duh. Knuckles’ is red and Tails’ is yellow. Mom and Dad take the couch.”

Shadow nods with a small hum to show he’s paying attention, not having much commentary on the matter. Sonic doesn’t seem to mind this. He makes up by talking enough for the both of them. Always has. This is their dynamic. And the familiarity of it helps Shadow feel a bit more at ease as he continues on with Sonic’s tour.

“This is the dining room where we eat— except we never eat here. We usually just sit in the living room or at the table in the kitchen to eat. We only eat here on special occasions like birthdays or holidays.”

“This is the downstairs bathroom. Always use this bathroom. Knuckles uses it the least.”

“That’s the kitchen, but we’ll stay outta there right now so we don’t get in the way.”

“This is the downstairs office where Dad will do paperwork or Mom will do some vet stuff. Sometimes she brings home animals to foster, and they sleep in here. It’s super cool! Once, she brought home an earth hedgehog. It was super slow.”

“This is the backyard—“

He’s interrupted by instant barking when he opens the door, the family dog having been outside and seemingly waiting at the door for them to join him. Shadow doesn’t like the loud noise, instantly feeling a bit overwhelmed as he takes a small step back with a frown and watches Sonic wrangle the dog by his collar.

“Ozzie! Easy! I know you’re excited we have a guest, but you gotta chill, dawg,” Sonic scolds affectionately, grinning as he tugs the pup away from the door to allow Shadow to step out without being tackled.

Shadow does, eyeing the dog and keeping his distance the entire time.

The dog— Ozzie eventually seems to calm, his barking stopping and being replaced with little whines as he eyes Shadow. His tail is wagging like Sonic’s was when he first got here.

Actually, Sonic’s tail hasn’t stopped wagging, Shadow notes.

His ears perk up from their folded back position once the barking stops, observing the dog silently with an unsure gaze..

Sonic picks up on this, offering a hand out to Shadow as he stays crouched at the dog’s side holding its collar with his opposing hand, “It’s cool. He don’t bite.”

Shadow frowns a bit, looking at Sonic’s hand a bit unsure before looking to the dog again.. then he hesitantly reaches and lets Sonic’s hand guide his own to the dog’s fur. It’s thick. He imagines it’s probably soft without his gloves on, as most well-kept fur is..

The dog’s head seems to tilt up into his palm when it touches between his ears, Shadow lightly curling his fingers to scratch there as Ozzie’s tongue hangs happily to the side of his muzzle. Panting and no longer whining now that he’s getting his wanted attention and affection.

Shadow’s frown dissipates slowly, replaced with a content sort of expression. He.. likes petting it. It’s comforting.

Shadow smells the distinct scent of grass on his palm when he retracts it from the dog.

“He’s a good boy,” Sonic smiles, petting the dog under its chin and behind its collar, “He likes you, too! That’s a good sign.”

Shadow’s eyes glint with pride at that, eased that he has passed yet another Wachowski test.

They go back inside after Sonic shows Shadow the firepit and then picnic table in the back, walking in to find Tom carrying some plates towards the backdoor..

“Dinner is ready to serve,” the sheriff informs with a small smile at the two, seeming a bit more at ease now that “introductions” have been made, “Go get your brothers, huh?”

“On it,” Sonic nods, waving his hand for Shadow to follow— which he does once he’s done holding the door open for Mr. Wachowski.

“Tails’ room is the basement, “Sonic informs as they approach what Shadow had assumed was a coat closet. Instead, he finds there’s a staircase down when Sonic opens it.

“He was in the guest room, but Dad moved him when he kept waking him up at night tinkering. Said he needed more room to work.”

“That was generous of him,” Shadow replies, following Sonic down the stairs.

“Yeah. Dad is pretty supportive of our hobbies,” Sonic shrugs with a little smile, though he seems to hold a new nervousness now..

Once downstairs, Shadow is a bit taken aback by the sight.

The walls are lined with all sorts of tools and gadgets and gizmos, some he recognizes and some he’s never seen before. The room is very much divided by a workspace and an actual bedroom. The workspace being what Shadow would only describe as organized chaos while the bedroom portion is neat and tidy. Clean and almost looking untouched.

It’s intriguing, the contrast.

A personality for each tail, he supposes.

Speaking of— the young kit himself was found seated at a workbench, headphones over pointed ears and fluffy tails winding together then unwinding again behind him repetitively. He seems locked in on whatever he’s fiddling with, his tongue sticking out and his brows furrowed in concentration. Shadow almost hates to interrupt him, but Sonic approaches without a thought.

“Hey Tails,” the hero lightly nudges his shoulder causing the fox to flinch before quickly removing his headphones to turn to Sonic, “dinner’s ready.”

“Oh sweet! I’m starved!” the smaller one grins, “Just let me—“ his smile drops, eyes widening and body stiffening when he sees Shadow.

Shadow swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying not to seem too intimidating nor too intimidated.

“Oh,” Tails says, his voice small and his ears drooping back just slightly. His body shifts as if to be a bit more behind Sonic, “hey, Shadow. L-long time no see!.. heh..”

He’s scared. Shadow hates that..

Hates he’s given the kit more than enough reason to be..

He’s actually quite good with kids, contrary to popular belief. He was made to comfort and tend to one after all..

His heart would’ve broken to bits had his sister ever looked at him like that..

He clears his throat, glancing around before trying to break the ice with a compliment, “Your.. workspace is impressive,” he looks back at the fox to show he’s earnest, “I haven’t seen many of these tools before.”

“Oh,” Tails’ ears perk up, though a bit hesitantly, “I uh-.. I made most of them myself.”

“You build these things??”

“Yeah! Um.. I can show you some if you want??”

“I’d like that,” Shadow nods.

Sonic listens with a growing smile, watching as Tails stands and slowly begins to show Shadow some of his creations lining the walls and tabletops. He seems pleased this is going well thus far. More than pleased. This is important to him, of course, that much is obvious. But this fox is special to Sonic. He’s protective of him, a guardian of him. He wouldn’t want Shadow to be an object of fear for him.. nor would he want to bring Shadow around if it caused Tails distress, the hybrid is sure.

There’s a soft look in Sonic’s eyes as Tails laughs at something Shadow says, though. It makes Shadow’s stomach do flips. He pretends not to notice.

“I’m actually working on a design for a plane,” Tails explains as he approaches his workbench again, showing Shadow the blueprints, “I kind of got addicted this one time I flew one while fighting Eggman. Wanna make one bigger and better.”

Shadow looks over the blueprints with intrigue, finding the knowledge of this child absolutely baffling as well as simply endearing. His thirst for knowledge is familiar to Shadow..

“The engine design is formidable,” the hybrid observes, “have you considered replacing the transonic truss-braced wings with elliptical ones??”

“I… haven’t..,” Tails hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he eyes his blueprints, “that would make it far more aerodynamically efficient—“

“—and produce less drag,” Shadow finishes with a nod, watching as the fox quickly picks up his pencil and makes adjustments to the blueprints

“That’s brilliant! Team Heroes definitely needs this to be fast—“

“Okay you two! Before you start nerding out, we have chili dogs-a-waitin’,” Sonic interrupts, gesturing dramatically to the stairs with a bow.

Shadow and Tails look to him, the fox chuckling sheepishly and putting his pencil back down as he rubs the back of his neck and approaches his older brother, “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“It’s cool, lil’ bro,” Sonic assures with a shrug, waiting for Shadow to walk up the stairs before following behind, “I know you’re a big dork.”

“At least I’m not a big dumb,” Tails retorts with a grin.

“Zing!” Sonic chuckles proudly. Shadow is fairly certain he could’ve thought of a comeback and simply chose to allow the fox the win. It’s cute.

“Alright, let’s go get Knucks because the dawgs are callin’ and I’m staaaarviiiiing~” Sonic sings the last word in a nonsensical way that Shadow has grown accustom to from the hedgehog, smirking slightly as he follows him towards the side door.

Once outside, Shadow notes a large, white shed to the side of the house with its lights on, putting together that that must be where the echidna stays.

As if reading his mind, Sonic narrates, “Knuckles’ room is in the shed. Him and Mom had a lot of fights when he first moved in because he was a bit destructive. After a while, though, we realized this was just because he wasn’t use to sharing his space. He was pretty much a loner before all us, and he likes his independence and to be his own boss. So Mom renovated the shed for him and surprised him with it. I think that’s the first time he hugged her. It was pretty cool,” Sonic reminisces, walking backwards towards the shed so he can keep his eye on Shadow as he speaks.

“She sounds like a very perceptive mother,” Shadow analyzes.

“Oh, she is,” Sonic nods with wide eyes, “It’s scary sometimes how she knows things. It’s like she can read minds or something.”

Shadow’s ears fold back slightly at that, glancing towards the house again and wondering if his mind is currently being invaded..

To his knowledge, humans don’t have this ability, though.

Sonic knocks on the shed door once before opening it right on up. They’re instantly met with loud rap music playing over a speaker, Shadow’s ears once again folding back at the unwelcomed noise.

Sonic seems to notice this, rushing in a dash to switch the music off. This immediately disturbs the echidna who is sitting on a weight bench with a large spear in hand, sharpening the tip with a rock of some sort.

“Hey! Who dares to interrupt my bops?!” the red echidna barks, purple eyes turning to lock on crimson ones.

Oh boy.

The fox was one thing. He feared Shadow, which is something Shadow felt he could change relatively simply with time and trust. But the echidna???

He challenged Shadow.

“Ah! The Utmost Living Being!”

“The Ultimate Lifeform..,” Shadow mumbles the correction with a small frown, trying not to seem annoyed by the guardian’s incompetence. He’s had a lot of practice with Sonic.

“Whatever. You have arrived!” Knuckles continues, standing to approach the two now. Shadow is wary of the spear still in his hand, not even flinching when Knuckles points it directly at him, nearly grazing his chin. The echidna’s voice is deathly serious, gaze firm and menacing like a predator, “What are your intentions with my brother?”

Sonic’s eyes widen with a loud and awkward, “OH-KAY! That’s enough of that, ha-ha!” He’s quickly between the two, shoving the spear away from Shadow’s face with a little glare to his brother. Knuckles ignores it, keeping his eyes locked daringly on Shadow over Sonic’s shoulder. Shadow just looks back unphased before looking back to the nervously laughing Sonic.

“Don’t be weird, Knuckles,” the hedgehog growls under his breath, the echidna scoffing at this as if offended.

“Weird?! I am not being weird! I am merely engaging in conversation with our guest.”

“A weird conversation. And an unnecessarily aggressive one!”

“All aggression is necessary,” Knuckles corrects, finally looking from Shadow to Sonic, “Besides, I am the eldest brother. It is my duty to protect the tribe from newcomers!”

“Dude. Mom and Dad already have it covered. Just— be cool,” Sonic groans, crossing his arms at his brother.

“The Lady of Pretzels and Lord of Donuts are easily persuaded. I am not,” Knuckles shrugs, looking back to Shadow, “You are welcome to our home! But I will be watching you..”

Shadow just nods at this, “Understandable.”

Sonic groans more at this, seeming annoyed with Knuckles’ typical dramatic antics before he just rubs a hand down his face and shrugs it off, “Whatever. Just— dinner’s ready.”

“Oo sustenance! Is there grapes???” Knuckles’ demeanor shifts from intimidating to giddy like a dime, his eyes wide with hope.

“Yes. She made fruit salad and included grapes. Just for you,” Sonic huffs, turning towards the door to which Shadow promptly follows.

“Superb. She is absolutely a wonderful mother,” Knuckles hums pleased as he follows behind the two, “I am very glad I picked her.”

“Right,” Sonic rolls his eyes, leading the trio across the yard, picking his battles and not arguing with Knuckles on that one.

Shadow can’t help but find the entire interaction amusing. Their dynamic is so different than Sonic and Tails’, but it’s still laced with affection. It’s also endearing.

Once back inside, the three find that the house is empty and assume the others are already out back waiting in the yard.

Joining them outside, Shadow is immediately met with the appetizing aroma of chili as well as assorted fruits and some sort of meat.

He doesn’t have to eat as much as normal people do, but he certainly doesn’t mind it if it’s a good enough meal.

Tails is sitting with Mrs. Wachowski at the table, fixing his plate with a hot dog and a simple topping of ketchup with a bowl of chili separate on the side. He’s already digging in, not realizing how hungry he was since he had been caught up in his work.

Mr. Wachowski is squatted by a cooler, filling his cup with ice along with three others that Shadow assumes is for the three who just came outside. Sonic dashes right up to the family, obviously quite eager for their dinner if his wagging tail is anything to go off of. Knuckles follows behind, grabbing himself a paper plate and beginning to stack it up quite messily with anything that seems to be appetizing to his eyes. Topped with a concerning amount of grapes, Shadow notes.

“This food palette looks very balanced and appetizing, Mrs. Wachowski,” Shadow comments, looking at the full picnic table. The vet smiles wide at this, “Thank you, Shadow. That’s very sweet.”

Sonic turns to Shadow, handing him a paper plate with a little smile, “Here ya go.” Shadow looks at the plate a moment and then Sonic, “Thank you.” “Yup! Fix yourself some sides. We got beans, salad, chips– but your dawg?? It’s mine.” Shadow blinks. “I don’t have a dog.”

He notices the way the mother bites her lips together with an amused smile behind Sonic’s shoulder, exchanging knowing glances with the fox who giggles quietly.

“I meant your chili dog,” Sonic clarifies with a head tilt, “I’m gonna fix your first ever chili dog for you.”

“Oh..,” Shadow mumbles, cheeks turning a bit rosy with embarrassment at his incessant habit to take things a bit too literally and not quickly catch onto slang.

“Yeah, so fill your plate and let the master do his thing,” Sonic winks before turning around to get started on building Shadow’s chili dog. And my isn’t it a concoction..

Upon closer examination once placed in front of him, he takes in the ingredients he can curiously, his nose overwhelmed with the complexity of spices he senses.

A hot dog. Chili. Shredded lettuce. Cheese. Ketchup. Mayo. Onion. Tomato. Peppers. And to Shadow’s slight surprise, brown sugar mixed with hot sauce sprinkled on top of it all.

Interesting.

Shadow’s mouth forms a sideways line as he looks at the intimidating beast of a feast placed before him, looking at Sonic whose chili dog looks identical and is already being devoured by the blue menace.

Taking a breath, Shadow looks back to his chili dog. He can feel the others watching him. The Wachowskis, Tails, Knuckles.. Sonic even pauses to look at him expectantly, waiting to see his reaction to the ultimate food.

Shadow slowly picks up the chili dog, having to be extra careful not to make a mess of his gloves from all the sloppy contents of the item. He examines it only a moment longer before he opens his mouth and takes a big enough bite to get at least a little of everything.

And as he expected, he’s overwhelmed. There’s too much going on in his mouth for him to properly process it. The flavors are strong, the textures varying with each chew. It makes his spine shiver a bit, slowly chewing it as he keeps his tongue in the back of his mouth like it’ll calm his senses a bit.

But courting etiquette for humans is to always compliment your host for their meal.

So swallowing his disgust and the bite, Shadow offers a small smile and lies, “It’s delicious.” Sonic snorts at this, immediately bursting into laughter as Knuckles snickers as well. Tails is giggling with the mother and Mr. Wachowski is smiling as if amused.

Shadow just blushes a bit more, shrinking slightly in fear he may have said something wrong. “Oh you poor thing,” Maddie tuts sympathetically, standing to grab another plate and begin fixing a new chili dog, “You don’t have to eat all that. The Sonic Special is very much coded for Sonic.” “Yeah, man,” Sonic snickers, lightly shaking Shadow by his shoulder and then moving his plate from in front of him, sneaking it onto the ground for the dog to devour, “It’s cool. Not everyone can handle so much in one bite.”

Shadow looks at him and then glances up to watch Mrs. Wachowski place a new plate before him. This one looking more like the fox’s. Simple. A hot dog, nothing on it.

“You can add any toppings you like, sweetie,” Maddie smiles, taking her seat again.

“Or you can just have it plain! I only like ketchup on mine,” Tails encourages with a little grin.

“Mine is a mighty volcano,” Knuckles brags, forking another large scarf of the conglomeration down.

“See? It’s alright to like different stuff,” Sonic winks, nudging Shadow’s side with his elbow before looking back to his own food to continue eating.

Shadow looks around at the others a moment, watching as they all get on with their meals now and not paying him as much mind. Mr. Wachowski’s gaze catches his, though, still watching him with an expression Shadow doesn’t know how to translate. But the officer offers a little smile and nod, to which Shadow returns. He then looks down, and after a moment of hesitation, he tries his simple hot dog.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly. Shadow finishes his plate with ease, quite enjoying the more traditional forms of the food rather than the exaggerated versions his counterparts ate. They all share conversations, the subject often shifting and leaving Shadow a bit lost now and then. But he does his best to keep up, even adding a small input here and there but nothing more.

It’s intriguing.. watching a family. He remembers his time on the ARK with Maria.. How they’d share meals in the cafeteria but often would sneak away to sit on the floor in front of the large window viewing earth to eat together instead. They didn’t have a large family, but they had each other. And that was plenty..

He sees that in these people. Their bond is strong. They’re comfortable with one another. Open and honest and accepting of their differences. It’s..refreshing.

The only time he’s directly addressed is by Mr. Wachowski. “So Shadow,” he starts, swallowing his bite before continuing, “What are you doing these days?”

Shadow pauses. He read about this. The parents of one’s partner will often feel out how successful or motivated one is to see if they’re worthy of taking care of their offspring.

“Shadow??? He’s doing his own thing, you know. Being cool and–”

“I believe I was talking to Shadow,” Tom cuts Sonic off, though his voice holds no spite and he’s smiling knowingly at Sonic.

Sonic just smiles a bit sheepishly with a quiet “right” before looking to Shadow, not speaking for him this time. Though, Sonic looks a bit nervous, now. Perhaps he fears his father won’t approve of Shadow’s answer.

“I have recently began working with GUN,” Shadow says, looking at Tom now who seems a bit taken aback by this answer if his raised brows are anything to go off of. Next to him, Shadow sees Sonic’s face shift to one of surprise as well.

“You didn’t tell me that..” “It was confidential up until recently,” he explains, looking from Sonic to Tom again, “Nothing is official, but we’re getting close to some sort of work agreement..” “Sounds serious,” Tom replies with an intrigued look, “Didn’t really expect you to want anything to do with GUN..” After my grandfather who was an agent shot your sister goes unsaid, but Shadow hears it nonetheless.

He replies, “I didn’t. Not for some time, at least.” “What changed your mind?”

“Sonic,” Shadow answers bluntly, feeling everyone’s eyes land on him at once, including the said blue hedgehog next to him.

“..He’s not from here. He’s different. Powerful. And in terms of this planet’s mentality, he’s a threat. That’s what I was seen as,” Shadow explains, eyes staying on Tom’s as to not be intimidated by the many others peering at him, “He was hunted by humanity at first, not seen as a hero but rather a mystery. And humans never take to things they don’t understand well.. But Sonic didn’t let this discourage him. He continued to fight for his freedom and for the freedom of this world from evil-doers like Ivo Robotnik. And with time, he earned their trust. Proved himself. They stopped seeing him as different and saw him as an ally and a hero.. I don’t want to be a hero, but an ally is a good place to start. And while GUN has been corrupted before, I’d say they have good intentions in the long run to protect this world even if often misguided. I plan to be there to help guide them. Make sure what happened on the ARK never happens again..”

He looks to Sonic now, quoting something the blue hero once told him, “I can’t expect change if I just stand still.. I gotta make a move.”

Sonic’s eyes stare back at Shadow, a slow and wide smile forming on his muzzle along with rose tinted cheeks. A look of pride glistening in his eyes.

“That..,” Tom speaks, gaining Shadow’s attention again, “.. is a pretty damn good answer.”

Tom smiles at him. Shadow smiles back.

Dinner ends, and Mrs. Wachowski stands to start gathering up plates to trash, “Okay, Knuckles and Tails. Dishes.”

“What about Sonic?” Knuckles asks, looking distraught that he has to do more work than his brother. Tails is unbothered and already working on gathering up the serving dishes and leftovers to carry inside.

“He has a guest over,” Tom answers with a pointed look at Knuckles, “So he has to host.”

“So having a guest means you don’t have to do these silly tasks??” Knuckles scoffs as if scandalized by this information, as though he’s been personally targeted.

“Yup. ‘Fraid so, buddy.”

Knuckles huffs at this, snatching a few dishes as he begins making his way back to the house with something along the lines of ‘I must make more friends’ being grumbled from him.

Sonic sticks his tongue out mockingly at the red echidna when he walks by, earning the blue hedgehog a hard punch to the gut.

“Sonic? Have you shown Shadow your room?” Maddie asks, earning a pointed glare from Mr. Wachowski. Sonic immediately grins and, “Oh! I haven’t! Wanna see??”

Shadow nods at him with a small smile, “Yes, please.”

“Sweet, it’s this way,” he nods his head for Shadow to follow him back inside.

“What the hell was that??” Tom hisses to Maddie once they’re gone, “They don’t need to be alone in his room together–”

“Oh stop,” Maddie rolls her eyes at him with a little grin, “They’ll be fine. Sonic gets antsy just making eye contact with Shadow for too long, and Shadow-... well, I don’t even think Shadow knows how to flirt, let alone make a move.”

Tom groans a little but lets it go, figuring she’s probably right..

Plus, he trusts his boy to make good decisions.

“Here it is!” Sonic announces, climbing up a ladder into the attic, Shadow following behind. It.. isn’t exactly what Shadow was expecting. He was honestly expecting an absolute trainwreck. Clothes everywhere, weird smells, the whole shebang. Instead, he finds a room that so painfully screams Sonic. It’s enchanting in a charismatic sort of way. There’s charming lights lined along the ceilings, multiple road signs that allude to Sonic’s speed. The bed itself resembles a racecar, Shadow finding this immature but endearing. The shelves are lined with trinkets and random objects that must hold enough meaning for Sonic to keep them despite seeming unimportant. A beanbag is sat in the corner with a stack of comic books next to it. Sonic has lended some to Shadow before, and he respects the hero’s infatuation with them. Definitely sees where he gets his heroic antics from.

Shadow looks around the room in wonder. It’s a stark contrast to his own current sleeping arrangements.. Up until a few weeks ago, Shadow had honestly sort of just skipped around from rooftops to caves to trees to sleep. GUN offered him a more permanent place in an apartment in Central City..

It’s very empty. And very unlived in. Sonic’s room?? It’s warm and comforting and feels like a home. A safe space.

Shadow can tell each and every object that’s in here is likely treasured dearly by the blue hedgehog.. Well. except the dirty sock peeking out from under the bed. But Shadow chooses not to acknowledge that for Sonic’s sake.

“Welcome to Casa de Sonic,” the blue hedgehog grins, spreading his arms in showmanship of his space, “Pretty cool, huh??” He seems chill, but Shadow can tell he’s holding onto Shadow’s every move and breath.

Shadow looks at him and then around the room, turning to do a slow 360 look of the place before looking back to Sonic and offering a small smile and approving nod, “Very cool.”

Sonic’s arms drop with a breath of relief, a little chuckle escaping him as he looks at Shadow a moment and then looks towards his bed. In a blur of blue and brief gust of wind, Sonic is plopping onto the bed and then sitting up to look at Shadow, “Mom and Dad set it up for me as a surprise one time. I’ve kinda made it my own since then, but they did a pretty great job of laying down a solid foundation for all my dudeitude.”

“Dudeitude??” Shadow questions, walking over to sit next to Sonic on the bed once Sonic pats the spot next to him. “Yeah, you know, like– dude attitude?” “Oh,” Shadow smiles a bit at this, looking down and discreetly brushing the dirty sock out of sight under the bed with his heel before Sonic can see and be embarrassed, “Yes. Dudeitude is a very accurate word for you, I’d say.”

Sonic snickers at that, smiling all wide as he looks at Shadow. Shadow shyly keeps his eyes away, looking around the room and examining the smaller details like the subtle footprints on the ceiling or the jar with one singular owl feather on the nightstand.

“...So..,” Sonic says after a pause, breathing a quiet sigh before speaking, “What do you think??” “Think?” Shadow questions, finally meeting Sonic’s intense gaze again. “Yeah. Of.. ya’know. My family?” “Oh,” Shadow blinks, a bit thrown off by the question before he offers a soft look and mumbles quietly, “They’re really lovely.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Sonic smirks. “Mm,” Shadow nods, his eyes drifting away from Sonic’s and down to his own lap as he fiddles with the zipper of his jacket, “...What do you think they think?” “Hm?”

“Of me..?”

There’s a long pause of silence, and Shadow isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. But when he brings himself to look back at Sonic, he sees he’s simply thinking his answer over rather than answering immediately.

“I think Mom likes you,” he starts, offering a reassuring smile, “But she’s the easy one to win over, honestly. Tails seems to like talking nerd with you, so that’s totally a good sign! Knuckles is an idiot,” Sonic rolls his eyes and Shadow smirks slightly, “but I think he sees you as strong and formidable which means you have his respect. That’s all you can really ask for of him, honestly. It’s a pretty high honor.”

“And what of your father..?”

Sonic looks at Shadow, tilting his head at him with a sympathetic sort of smile, “..He seems to like you enough to give you a chance. And I think what you said out there about being the change you wanna see in the world definitely won you some brownie points.”

Shadow deflates in relief, some of the tension leaving his rigid spines as he nods and looks down with a mumbled, “Good.. then I’m doing well.” “You’re doing great,” Sonic assures, his hand moving to rest on Shadow’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

Shadow looks back at Sonic at this, not being able to convey it with words but hoping his eyes show how much he appreciates this. All of this. This opportunity and this bond..

This chance.

Shadow’s hand moves to rest on Sonic’s knee as his way of trying to show he acknowledges the reassurance, but Sonic’s face does this funny thing and his ears get all pink.

“Okay!” he’s suddenly standing, Shadow’s hand dropping back to his own lap, “Well, we should head back down! I wanna be there when they pick a movie, so Knuckles doesn’t make us watch Planet of the Apes for the billionth time!” His laugh seems a bit shaky, his face flushed.

“Are you okay??”

“Me?? I’m cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool–”

“Hey,” Shadow interrupts, standing to shove Sonic’s shoulder, “Bring the dudeitude back.”

Sonic pauses, blinking at Shadow before a little grin forms and be breathes, “Right. Dudeitude.”

Shadow nods with a small smile, not at all realizing the affect he has on this blue hedgehog, but not wanting him to be nervous around him either.

They got back down the ladder to find Tails and Knuckles have finished the dishes and Tom has finished putting away leftovers, leaving Maddie and Ozzie sitting on the couch flipping through Netflix for something to watch.

“Hey you two! You’re just in time to pick a movie,” Maddie greets, “Shadow, you have a preference?” Shadow offers a small shake of his head, “No ma’am, I don’t know many films..”

He was brought up on a space station in the 50s. Movies weren’t exactly on-demand.

“That’s alright. We’ll have to fix that!” she winks, making Shadow’s stomach flip at the idea of them potentially inviting him over for more movie nights in the future, “Sonic, you got a pick??”

“Let’s watch a heartfelt film about a man who loves his dog–,” Sonic begins his answer with zero hesitation, Tom walking into the room to shut that down real quick.

“We’re not watching John Wick,” he grunts as he plops onto the couch next to Maddie, throwing his arm on the back of the couch behind her, “Nothing that isn’t PG.” Sonic groans, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, “You guys are no fun.” “Yeah, it’s in the dad job description,” Tom coos with a smirk.

Sonic concedes, shrugging and walking towards the loveseat against the wall diagonal to the couch, “We can sit here, Shads.”

“I thought your spot was in the bean bag??” Shadow’s brow furrows, sitting beside Sonic on the loveseat nonetheless.

Sonic’s body tenses a bit, blushing as he fumbles, “Uh, well–” “Yeah, Sonic,” Mr. Wachowski teases from the couch, “Why don’t you sit in your bean bag like usual??”

Sonic’s puffs his cheeks with a glare at his dad, Mrs. Wachowski swatting at the snickering man’s shoulder with a huffed, “Leave him alone.” “Yeah! Leave me alone!” Sonic agrees, throwing a pillow at his father’s face.

Tom grunts when it hits him, huffing as he tosses it back at Sonic with an offended face, “Since when was this abuse the father night??” “Since you decided to challenge the world’s best hero,” Sonic smirks proudly.

The banter continues, but Shadow is completely lost on any of what just happened anyway. He just finds the interaction between the family members amusing.

And Sonic does not in fact sit in his bean bag.

Tails and Knuckles join them in the living room, Tails carrying a bucket of popcorn and Knuckles having a bowl of grapes. Shadow doesn’t think he could eat another single thing even if he wanted– which is what he tells Sonic when he asks if Shadow would like any snacks.

They all come to an agreement on a movie called Wreck It Ralph. The plot being something along the lines of a videogame character that somehow has thoughts and feelings and doesn’t want to be the bad guy he was written to be.

It sounds silly in concept, but Shadow can’t take his eyes off the screen the whole time.

It’s not until he feels Sonic shivering a bit beside him that Shadow averts his attention to the blue hedgehog beside him. Shadow has been sitting up straight watching the film this entire time, but Sonic is curled in a small ball leaning against the arm of the chair next to him and watching with tiny shivers now and then. It is chilly in this room, Shadow supposes. But he never gets cold, so..

It doesn’t take but a moment for him to decide to take his jacket off and carefully drape it over Sonic’s curled up form.

“You don’t have to–”

“Hush. The movie is playing,” Shadow mumbles, ignoring how precious Sonic looks all huddled under his coat with only his nose, big eyes, and perked ears peeking above the collar. The way Sonic’s eyes squint in the corners let him know he’s smiling..

Shadow’s attention turns back to the movie, unbeknownst to him his warm gesture was noted by his counterpart’s parents and had Maddie smiling all soft with a silent ‘aw’ as she leans over on her husband who just smiles as well.

The movie’s ending has Shadow feeling certain ways.

Ralph is still the bad guy, but he’s.. happy with that. He knows his purpose, and he knows the candy princess speedster will still accept him despite his destructive tendencies.

It..perhaps hits him a little close to home, and when he Ralph is chanting the villain support group’s affirmation, he finds himself memorizing it to heart.

‘I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be than me.’

Shadow gasps when Ralph sacrifices himself for the others in the arcade, eyes wide and glossy on the screen and his heart pounding in his chest. He feels like he can’t swallow. Like his palms are sweating. He’s seeing stars fly past him. Seeing the ARK get further and further away as he falls. Seeing–

He feels a hand rest on his and squeeze tight, flinching at the touch and immediately looking over to find Sonic staring wide eyed at the screen too..

They’re both seeing the same thing..

Shadow squeezes Sonic’s hand in return, finally allowing a deep breath to exhale as he relaxes again and looks back to the screen.

They’re here. Not space. Not the ARK. Here..

And there’s nowhere Shadow would rather be than here.

The movie ends. Maddie moves to carefully and silently step next to the bean bag Tails is laying in, the poor fox having fallen asleep around when Ralph was building Vanellope’s race track. She carries the kit down to his room to tuck him in, Knuckles rising from his own bean bag and stretching his muscles before announcing that he too would be retiring for the night.

He wishes his family goodnight and offers Shadow a simple nod of his head and smirk before heading out to his shed.

Tom looks over to Sonic and Shadow. Sonic is now properly wearing Shadow’s jacket and sitting up again, Shadow next to him looking back to Tom as if awaiting what they’re expected to do next.

“Well, Sonic. I think it’s time to call it a night,” the father announces, Sonic’s ears folding back at this and a small pout forming on his muzzle.

“Aw, but we’re not even tired,” he ironically says just before yawning. Shadow chuckles a bit at this and Tom just smiles and raising a brow at Sonic. Sonic groans and stands up, “Alright..” Shadow stands as well, looking to see Maddie now coming back up from the basement.

“We’ll walk you out, Shadow,” Tom offers, Shadow nodding politely as they all move towards the door.

Once outside, Tom immediately takes notice in Shadow’s bike sitting at the end of the driveway. “Did you ride that here???”

There it is.

He seems impressed as he looks the bike over the best he can from the doorway, Shadow looking to his bike as well now.

“I did,” the hybrid nods.

“What kind?” “Ducati Panigale V4 SP.”

“The Dark Rider??” “Yes sir.”

“Nice. Helmets?” “Two.” “Very nice,” Tom smirks, nodding approvingly as he looks back to Shadow.

Shadow just smiles small and proud, pleased his plot to impress the Donut Lord with his motorbike came to fruition.

“That mean I can go for a ride on it??” Sonic chimes in.

“No,” Maddie answers instead, the blue hedgehog knitting his brows and looking at Tom in preparation to protest only for Tom to wink at him and subtly nod.

Sonic grins. Shadow hums out a chuckle.

“It was really nice meeting you properly, Shadow,” Maddie says warmly, reaching out her hand to shake Shadow’s. Shadow obliges and shakes hers politely with a nod, “Likewise, Mrs. Wachowski.” “Glad we could see this version of you,” Tom adds, reaching to shake Shadow’s hand now, “Ya’know. The version that isn’t set on destroying the world.”

Shadow is about to get nervous at this, but he sees the playful smirk on Tom’s face. Glad to know where Sonic gets his sarcastic attitude.

“I appreciate the opportunity, sir,” Shadow chuckles breathily, shaking the Donut Lord’s hand.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around more often,” Tom adds with a knowing smile, “So long as you take care of my son, that is.”

Sonic groans audibly, flushing as he rubs a hand down his face.

Shadow just nods seriously at this, seeming to take this task to heart.

They both speak at the same time.

“We’re not like that!” “I will.”

They blink. Each processing the other’s words as wide eyes meet in surprise. Both blushing. Both seeming to try and register what the other just said.

Maddie and Tom stare with wide eyes too.

“Ooo..,” Tom hisses, “Awkward..” Maddie is quickly grabbing her husband to pull him inside, chuckling awkwardly as she goes, “Well, be safe going home, Shadow.” “Yeah, take care!’

The door shuts.

Sonic and Shadow stand alone on the doorstep, still staring at each other.

Sonic, never being one to stay quiet long, is the one to speak first.

“You will..?” he breathes a little smile at that, looking shy now as he rubs the back of his neck with a blushing muzzle, “What did you mean by you will?”

“I meant I’d take care of you,” Shadow states as though it’s obvious, though he’s starting to fear he has in fact had a very deep and embarrassing misunderstanding of their circumstances. His ears stand extra tall, tensing them up so they don’t droop back in disappointment.

“We.. aren’t like that..? I don’t understand.” “I-... you thought we were like that??” “I thought that’s what all this was,” Shadow says quietly, becoming more and more embarrassed as he reruns all this in his head, “You chasing me. Insisting on being in my life. Always planning to meet again. All the circling and snorting and puffing–”

Sonic deadpans, “the what?” “Hedgehog courting rituals!” Shadow huffs, now getting irritated the more he grows humiliated, “All my research talked about it! It’s clearly stated that everything you were doing to pursue me was as a mate.” Sonic’s eyes widen further at this, ears drooping back and now his entire chest and ears are pink too.

“Mate??..,” his voice is small as realization begins to build.

“And then you invited me over to meet your parents for their approval, yes??” Shadow asks, tilting his head with a knit of his brow as he tries to understand where he misread the signs, “That was the objective??” “Woah, hey. Shadow. The objective was to have their approval on me getting to hang out with you, not–”

He stops, seeing how Shadow’s ears twitch back a bit. How his stance is now a bit more drooped than tall and confident. How his eyes hold confusion and shame..

It breaks Sonic’s heart.

Sonic purses his lips, sighing as he looks away shyly and, “...I guess I kinda did do all that, huh??”

Shadow doesn’t answer, just slowly moves to cross his arms in a defensive sort of manner. His crimson eyes averted towards the ground.

Sonic chews on his lower lip and looks back to Shadow, “I’m a hedgehog. Not an earth hedgehog, though, ya’know?? I don’t even know how my kind of hedgehog would try to initiate a–... what’d you call it??” “Courtship,” Shadow mutters.

“Right. That,” Sonic sighs, frowning at how this night took a sudden turn for the awkward and heavy.

It had been going so well.

“...I’m sorry, Shads–” “Don’t-,” Shadow interrupts, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath to gather himself, finishing with a sighed, “--apologize. I shouldn’t have made so many assumptions. That’s not your fault.” “Well, I feel like it kinda is,” Sonic insists, brows knit at the ebony hedgehog in front of him.

This can’t ruin this. He can’t lose him.

“Look..,” Sonic says after a breath, rubbing a hand back through his own quills before pausing to notice Shadow’s eyes were still shut, “Hey… look at me, Shads.”

Sonic’s hand reaches up to delicately cup Shadow’s cheek, tilting his head up to face him as crimson eyes open to meet emerald.

Sonic offers a soft smile, “I know I’m all about going fast, but...we don’t need to rush this.”

Shadow blinks, staying quiet as he listens to the blue hero speak.

“I.. don’t know what we are,” Sonic admits quietly, “I thought we were just buddies, but.. I’d be kidding myself if I said I didn’t know you were different for me.” Shadow chews on the inside of his cheek, still not saying anything in fear of saying the wrong thing and humiliating himself further.

“..I think.. We can take this slow, huh??” Sonic offers, a small smile as he knits his brows up and tilts his head at his rival, “Learn each other better. Learn ourselves better. Maybe go on some actual dates..?” Sonic chuckles a bit and Shadow can’t help but lean his cheek into Sonic’s palm slightly.

Sonic rubs his thumb along Shadow’s muzzle.

“We’ll figure this out,” he assures simply as if it’s just a fact of life, “Because I’m not goin’ anywhere. And even if you tried to, I’d find you, Faker.”

Shadow can’t help but smile at that, chuckling at the reference to one of their not-so-friendly first encounters. He looks down between them a moment before lifting his eyes back to Sonic.

“We’ll figure this out,” Shadow agrees with a nod.

“We’ve got plenty of time.” “Plenty.”

Sonic smiles at this, breathing a small sigh of relief through his nose that they’re gonna be okay. This misunderstanding won’t ruin or change anything.

“We just gotta learn how to communicate better, dude,” Sonic chuckles, Shadow humming amusedly as well.

“Agreed.”

Sonic smirks at this. And maybe he looks at Shadow’s eyes a little too long or lets his hand linger on his cheek a bit longer than needed, but sue him.

He just found out Shadow the Hedgehog wants to court him.

Screw that. He just found out what the heck courting even was.

Sonic needs to get educated, he decides.

Shadow ever so subtly rubs his cheek against Sonic’s palm in a nuzzling sort of manner before he takes a step back, Sonic’s hand falling back to his side. The two smile at one another a moment longer before Shadow just smirks with a “hmph” and turns to walk down the front steps.

Sonic watches with a content little smile, “...Wanna race tomorrow??” Shadow keeps walking, not turning around as he responds, “Arcade or waffle house??”

“Waffle house. I’ve been craving french toast.”

Shadow chuckles, waving a hand up at the hedgehog over his shoulder with a nod.

Sonic just grins at this, biting his lower lip before flinching at the sudden realization–

“Oh! Shadow!”

Shadow turns to face him again as Sonic quickly makes his way down the steps and across the yard to him, moving to take Shadow’s jacket off himself– though Shadow notices the slight look of loss as Sonic removes his arm from the first sleeve.

“You forgot this–” “Keep it,” Shadow interrupts, lifting his hand to halt Sonic.

“..Really??” Sonic’s tail wags behind him, a smile curling back onto his muzzle.

“Looks better on you,” Shadow insists, moving to help Sonic put his arm back in and settle it properly on his shoulders once more.

Sonic just beams at this, “Agree to disagree, pal,” his gaze softens as Shadow looks him over, “But thanks..”

Shadow just smirks at this, shrugging and turning to his bike, “Don’t mention it.”

Sonic shoves his hands in the jacket’s pockets, crossing his arms so that it’s snug around him.

It smells like lavender.. Like a hug from Shadow.

Shadow straddles his bike, looking back to find Sonic standing there with his eyes shut and his nose buried in the jacket’s collar. He smirks smugly.

“It’s called anointing, by the way.” “Huh??” Sonic jumps slightly, jolting from his daze.

“Covering yourself in your mate’s scent,” Shadow explains, placing the helmet he doesn’t actually use in the bag attached to his bike before finishing, “It’s called anointing.”

Sonic blinks, eyes widening as a blush grows on his cheeks with a sheepish, “oh..”

Shadow just cranks his bike up, revving it to life before looking back to Sonic with a wink, “See you tomorrow, Hedgehog.”

Sonic’s left feeling dumbstruck as Shadow drives off from their home and down the street before eventually disappearing with a roar of the engine.

Sonic may not know it yet, but Shadow knows..

They’re absolutely courting.

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