#by high school this was mostly done with but I still kind of had a school book a home book and a travel book

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!

𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”

“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”

“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”

“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”

“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.

“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.

“I’m done," Derek muttered.

Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.

However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.

The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.

And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.

"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."

Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.

"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"

"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."

"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.

"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.

Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.

You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.

“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”

"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"

You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.

"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"

 "Sure. Thermal thong and all that."

Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.

“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”

“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.

“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”

“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.

“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”

"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"

"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.

"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.

"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."

Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.

Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.

And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.

Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.

If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly. 

Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.

You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."

"We were meeting?"

"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"

His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.

"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."

“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”

For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...

“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”

“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.

“Aurora hunting.”

“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”

He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.

“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”

“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”

“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”

“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”

“Well, I have a gun.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.

“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”

"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.

Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?

“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”

You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.

“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”

He hesitated before responding.

“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”

“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.

You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming. 

Instead, you sighed in awe.

"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.

 Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.

“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”

"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."

"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"

You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.

 "Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."

"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."

You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.

"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.

“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”

“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”

“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”

You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.

“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”

“My underwear or in general?”

“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”

“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”

"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."

“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”

Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.

“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.

“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.

“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”

You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.

When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.

“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won’t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.

“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”

“Three will be fine.”

And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.

“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.

'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'

He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.

Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…

“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.

That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.

You sighed, probably too loudly.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," 

You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him. 

"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...

You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.

"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension. 

Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.

His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss. 

Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time? 

Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better. 

You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily. 

Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.

You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.

Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.

"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?

"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.

He let out a laugh, filled with pity.

"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."

You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.

You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.

You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.

Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.

Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.

“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.

Then, you heard someone whistling.

You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.

“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”

You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.

It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.

“Fuck, sorry…”

But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.

He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.

"You've changed," you noticed.

A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.

"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.

His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.

 “If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.

You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.

He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"

“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.

If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?

With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.

"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.

When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth. 

Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.

"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."

"My God, when did you become so cocky?"

He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in. 

Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.

"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."

"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."

Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.

"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”

"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”

You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.

"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"

"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."

"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."

"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”  

It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.

"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"

"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.

It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.

"But what happens next? When we get back?"

"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."

"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."

You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture. 

Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.

"That was for good night and goodbye."

"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."

 "It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “

You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.

"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."

You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.

"And that bothers you?"

"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."

"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"

"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."

*

Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.

The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.

You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.

"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."

"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."

"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."

"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."

“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”

Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you think I’m effeminate?”

"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."

Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.

The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.

"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."

You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.

"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.

He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"

"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"

Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.

"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"In that case, yes. It still stands."

“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.

You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.

“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”

You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.

You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"

"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"

"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"

You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"

"Oh shit, did we make noise?"

She smiled triumphantly.

"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."

"Manipulative bitch!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."

"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."

"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"

"I don't hide the fact that I like him."

"Then why not give it a try?"

"Try what, Elle?"

She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.

"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."

"It's just a preference."

"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."

"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."

And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.

It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.

 Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.

The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.

Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.

"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.

You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...

"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.

"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."

"Keeping each other warm," you added.

Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.

He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.

"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?” 

"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."

His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate. 

You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?

Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?

Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold. 

You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.

"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."

You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.

"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."

You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours. 

At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.

"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.

 "At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."

 "You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.

 "Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.

"Stop, I feel harassed."

"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"

 "I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."

"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"

"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."

"That’s an overinterpretation."

"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."

"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."

 "I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."

You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.

You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.

And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.

*

The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.

Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.

"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.

"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"

"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.

"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.

"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."

Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.

"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."

"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.

Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."

At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.

"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"

And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"

"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.

"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."

"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."

You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.

"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."

With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."

"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."

You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.

Although, it didn’t change anything…

"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.

This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.

"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.

You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.

"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.

Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?

"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."

Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.

"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.

His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."

He shook his head in denial.

"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."

"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."

His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?

"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."

"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."

"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."

You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.

You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.

"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."

"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.

"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"

"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."

"We'll see."

For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.

You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.

You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.

“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.

As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.

And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.

On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.

"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.

He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.

"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."

For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.

Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.

another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.

[sugarwarachan]

hot for teacher

chapter two previous

pairing: shouta aizawa x f!reader

synopsis: You’re not expecting your day to fall to pieces at 8:21 a.m., but life hasn’t really been going your way lately. A string of lackluster dates, followed by two dead vibrators (with missing cords!), and the only outlet left for your mounting sexual frustration—the smut blog you diligently update—has been discovered by the one person you never wanted to find it: fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa. Who might just be the inspiration behind most of the fantasies you post about.

chapter cws: phone sex -> video call sex, soft dom aizawa being soft as hell, reader being vulnerable on main and hating it, gratuitous use of pet names, dirty talk, praise kink on crack, D/s vibes but never explicitly said, he talks you through it, reader referred to as girl once

word count: 2.2k

aizawa: You’re a good writer.

aizawa: This is Shouta, by the way. Shouta Aizawa, I mean. I suppose I should have started with that.

The compliment cracks your face into a wide, goofy grin that the rest of his texts only magnifies. He's a little clumsy with this form of media, and the thought softens the edge of anxiety.

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that Shouta fucking Aizawa not only found your blog, but was actually maybe into it?

You’ve mostly known him on the periphery, a part of the school’s landscape but never someone you felt comfortable becoming casual friends with. A crush of your magnitude already made talking to him difficult enough.

Which is probably best to not remind yourself of that fact before doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing with Aizawa.

The memory of fingers rubbing circles into your palm pops into your head. His touch had instantly calmed the riot of thoughts in your head.

You stare down at your phone. Thank you is not enough to say, and yet you have no idea what else to add. You shake your head. You’re a grown adult, for fuck’s sake. Surely you can respond to a text message.

aizawa: Can I call you?

You throw your phone across your bed. One of your cats, Bao Bao, raises his head to glare at you.

"Sorry, baby." You offer conciliatory scritches. He consents while your phone buzzes from the corner of the bed.

You pick it up with far more trepidation than necessary.

"Hi." You voices sounds wild to you, all high pitched and breathy with your heart thundering so hard in your ears you barely hear him say hello back. "How are you?"

You punch a fist into the bed sheets. How are you? Fucking seriously?

"Good. Are you nervous?"

You can't help but sigh. Clocked it in one. "Unbelievably."

A pause.

"Because it's me?"

"No, it's not that." You bite your lip. "I've just..."

It’s not like you’re inexperienced. You’ve fucked plenty of guys, but never really quite enjoyed having sex with any of them, which led to you churning out fantasies online.

"I've never really done any of the things I actually like with the people I've slept with. I guess I'm worried I'll be...bad, or something."

"Do you often think about your partner's experience over your own?"

This conversation is sounding more like a clinical psychologist appointment then a get-to-know-your-fuck-buddy chat.

A horrible thought occurs to you.

What if you're some kind of experiment to him? A curiosity? Rumi might know him from his college days and vouch for him, but you don't know shit about the guy.

"You know I can hear your brain whirring through the phone?"

"Fuck." You exhale out a laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm just finally realizing that I don't actually know what your intentions are. And men tend to be..."

"Manipulative pieces of shit?" he offers.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"I'm sorry. My 20 questions routine probably isn't helping."

You smile softly. "That and my anxiety. Always pushing forward the worst possible thought with little to no evidence. You're right, though. I'm usually in my head when I'm with someone. Can never get out of it long enough to actually enjoy myself."

He hums, considering. "What would help you not think so much?"

"Talking usually helps. I have a thing for nice voices."

"Do you like mine?" You swear you hear a touch of apprehension in his tone.

"Yeah," you say. "It's deep and kind of... I don't know, rumbley?"

"Rumbley," he repeats, chuckling. "I've never heard that before."

"It's a good thing, I swear."

"As long as you like it."

You have to strongly fight the desire to kick your feet up and down.

Keep it together.

Aizawa starts to speak again. "I know this is just words right now, but I want you to feel comfortable enough with me so you can tell me what you like and don't like."

Your stomach swoops at the calm intent.

"Right. I - " You swallow. "I want that, too."

"Good." The single word dries your mouth up. “Do you like to be called anything specific?"

An image of Aizawa's hand collaring your throat flashes through your head, his mouth an inch away from your ear as he tells you to behave—

"Isn’t this, I dunno, boring to you?" You toss the question out in a pitiful attempt at deflection. This conversation is already too honest, too real, too close to exposing who you are to another person.

He pauses. “Why would this be boring to me?”

"You know. We’re not doing the typical phone sex stuff. We’re just…talking."

"And you don't think that's enough to interest me?"

It never has been before.

You shut out the pitiful answer.

"Sorry. In my head again."

He's quiet for a moment.

"You’re telling me you’re not wet just thinking about the things I want to call you when we’re together?"

Your whole body flashes hot.

"I mean—"

"Tell the truth, sweetheart."

It’s impossible not to be, you realize; just from his voice alone, your panties are already damp and sticky with your arousal.

"Yes," you admit, and you wish you could see the look on his face when he lets out a gentle groan.

"I don’t care what phone sex is supposed to be like, I just want it to be what we like."

Oh god, you weren’t counting on Shouta Aizawa being sweet.

"That was one," you say, cheeks on fire. How is this both the tamest and sexiest conversation you’ve ever had? "I like being called sweetheart. But only, like, if I’ve been good."

Admitting this makes you feel off-kilter. You’ve never had such a frank discussion about what you like in bed, but talking to him feels safe, easy, even if your whole body aches, demanding to be touched.

"Oh?" His voice shifts, a deeper register making that single sound strike deep in your gut. "And what do you like to be called when you’ve been bad?"

You’re pretty positive that if Aizawa called you his little whore you’d detonate on the spot.

"You must have—"

"I know what you’ve written. I want to know what you like."

There's a bite in his tone you recognize, a struggle to keep himself quiet.

"Are you hard?" you blurt out.

His chuckle is strained. "Have been this entire time. And you called our conversation boring."

You grin at the teasing. "Can I see?"

You want to, suddenly, with a desperation that knocks you flat. If he were here, you're pretty sure you'd fucking crawl on your knees to get to him.

"Tell me what you like to be called, and I'll consider it."

You tell him instantly. "Slut, whore, brat. You could probably call me your little bitch and I’d like it."

"Fuck." He sounds wrecked. "Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?"

The pet name washes over you like sunshine.

"Umm. No, actually. I was..."

Waiting for your permission.

You handed him the reins a while ago, you realize, as soon as you obeyed his command to tell the truth.

"What are you wearing?"

Your thoughts stumble.

"The truth, y/n." His voice is so low now it's almost a growl. "I don't give a fuck if you're in a teddy or a trash bag, I just need to know how to get you naked the fastest."

"A t-shirt and panties," you breathe out. Arousal makes your skin tingle and pulse, every intonation of his voice drawing you closer to the edge. Rubbing your thighs together does nothing to ease the ache.

"Shit. You probably look so fucking cute in your bed right now." You hear him grunt and then a drawer shut. Thinking about Aizawa slicking up his hands and fucking his fist drives another thrum of desire through you. "Spread your legs apart, baby, pretend I'm right in front of you. Can you do that?"

You can barely breathe you're so turned on. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good girl. Now pull your panties to the side. Tell me how wet you are."

Just the caress of your fingers on your hips and inner thigh is enough to make you tremble. A light buzzing fills your ears and the world drops away to just your fingertips gathering the slick at your entrance. You graze your clit and gasp.

"I'm - " You suck in a breath, trying to articulate the words. "I don't think I've ever been this wet. Fuck, you're not even here and I'm practically soaking through my fucking sheets."

A second later, a video notification comes through.

You answer and Aizawa's face appears, his stubble heavier than normal, eyes hungry.

"Knew you'd look fucking beautiful like this," he says before you have time to speak. His eyes rove over your face like he's mapping it.

You wriggle under the compliment, under the implication—had he thought of you, too, before the blog?

"You look so good," is the only thing you can think to say, but Aizawa doesn't seem to mind. His eyes crinkle into a small smile. It's one you almost wish you hadn't seen, its sincerity something so rarely turned toward you it nearly stings.

"Thanks, honey."

Oh, you're never coming back from this.

"You still want to see?"

Really, truly, never coming back after Aizawa pans down his stomach, passing over a dark happy trail that makes your mouth water, and angles his phone over his cock.

Your pussy clenches around nothing.

"ohmygodyou'rebig," comes out in one long rush.

His head falls back against his headboard. He sucks in a breath and you watch, mesmerized, as he starts stroking his shaft slowly. He squeezes and twists the head, a little bit more pre-cum glistening at the tip.

"You've gotta stop lookin' at it like that, sweetheart, or I'll cum like a fucking teenager." Pride washes over you at how destroyed he sounds. It's like he would push himself through the phone if it were possible. "You have something there that will make you cum fast? I'm barely holding on and I want to finish with you."

You fumble for your rose, a thought occurring to you. Normally, you'd be too embarrassed to even suggest it, but you want to with Aizawa.

"Do you want to see me?"

The sound he makes is pornographic. You bite your lip, twisting your inner thighs together.

"Yes. God yes, I want to see you."

"I know you said you wanted me naked earlier, but maybe I can leave my shirt on?"

He nods. "Yeah, baby, let's do that. It's not like I don't want to see all of you. I just—"

"Want to save some things for next time?" you supply.

"Yeah." That soft smile again, the one that feels like your heart's being set on fire. "Exactly."

You do the same general pass over your body that Aizawa did, tracing over your waist and hips, encouraged by the way his eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin. Before you turn the rose on, you sink two fingers into your pussy and slide back out, slick webbing in between your fingers.

"Jesus, you're soaking wet." You can hear the lewd squelch of his hand along his dick and the moan you let out rivals his from earlier. You're shaking you're so turned on. "Turn your rose on, sweetheart, and then come back to me. I want to see you when you fall apart."

The toy suctions against your clit. A whimper falls from your mouth, and then several more, as Aizawa's voice washes over you. You lose track of how many times he tells you how good you're doing for him, how beautiful you look, but it feels like only seconds later that you're cresting toward your peak.

"Shouta," you breathe out, gasping for breath. His eyes are fixed on you, something unnameable in his gaze. "Please please please—"

"Cum, sweetheart," he says, and your eyes fall shut, voice keening into a wail as you thrash on your bed in the fiercest orgasm you've ever had. "That's my girl, showing me how much she wants me there stuff her full. Fucking perfect, so fucking perfect—"

Through the haze of orgasm, you barely register Aizawa's own orgasm, your own name echoing in your head as he finds his release.

"That was..." you trail off. You have no idea how to describe what that was besides life-changing, but that feels a little too intense to say.

"Amazing," he finishes. "Absolutely amazing. You were incredible."

You're pretty sure your body temperature could set your bed on fire you're so pleased by the compliment.

"You know you're cute when you're embarrassed," he teases.

You groan. "Your pillow talk needs work."

You were joking, but his face turns serious. "Got it. You were okay the whole time?"

A smile takes over your face before you can stop it. "Yeah. I was great. The whole time."

"Good."

You both don't say anything, and then you realize you're just staring at him, and the comfort is starting to make your skin itch. You aren't used to this.

"I should go to bed." The time on your bedside nightstand reads 1:03 a.m. "You too if we're going to get all the exams graded before break."

"Right. Good night, sweetheart."

You fall into sleep after the call clicks off, a trace of a smile on your lips.

You don't see the email come through.

SL: TIME SENSITIVE: SPRING BREAK - DEBATE TEAM COMPETITION - CHAPERONES NEEDED

taglist: @phaticserpent, @magidzi, @hotlosergirl17, @luckybibucky, @heyithinkilike, @getoisinnocent, @personally4runa, @kennys-partner, @geektastic84, @wave2mia, @bakery-angel, @constanttea, @aryuunachigiri, @sskorvid, @therefore-evermore, @one-scarred-mofo, @food4dead, @alphabetsoupyum, @cielito--lindo, @rentheannihilator, @juiceeypeach, @imastorytelleritsondvd, @ivydoesit23, @anotherfuckedupdayinthelifeofme, @deputy-azor, @ibby-miyoshi-nerd, @h3rmit-purrrrple420, @lousypotatoes, @hisbitch101, @greedygobbo

(･ω･)つandy's notes: another outrageously self-indulgent chapter that i had SO MUCH fun writing and I really hope you all enjoy it, too!! the posting schedule is Mon/Fri, hope u follow along! <3

ALSO ALERT ALERT AIZAWA POV NEXT WEEK

[psychemochanight]

I need a fanfic where fanon!Dick is the perception his brothers have of him, and Dick simply accepts those ideas of him, without trying to prove otherwise.

Tim admires Dick, yes, but he thinks he'd set a computer on fire if he tried to turn it on.

Dick, being the one who helped with almost the entire Watchtower system, who hacks into different Intelligence Services whenever he feels like it, and steals files from the batcomputer whenever he needs something and doesn't want to ask for it, without anyone knowing (not even Tim).

Jason, admitting that Dick is very socially intelligent, but horrible at other types of intelligence, especially math and literature.

Dick, who was a top student who graduated from high school early in advanced classes and only doesn't pursue further college degrees because he is too bored to go to class, plus, he won every math competition he entered and was considered a genius by Bruce, Alfred, and his teachers. (And he read all the books in the mansion since he was little, but he is more fond of classic literature than modern literature).

Damian, thinking Dick is too soft, that he works on hugs and doesn't know how to set boundaries because of how kind he is.

Dick, who can be even more brutal than Bruce when required, who actually prefers his personal space most of the time (he does like physical contact, but not as much as everyone thinks), and that he has not only hurt people because of how strong his words are when he is angry, but he has gotten into fist fights with people to defend his own boundaries.

(He's still the one who knows Dick best tho, yes, he is too nice for his own good sometimes, but he's not stupid either).

And Duke is sure Dick can't cook to save his life because he always sees him eating cereal or just simple food.

Dick knows how to cook perfectly, he just likes simple food more and cereal is mostly because it is his comfort food and his need for sugar to keep going.

Not to mention everyone thinks he's a playboy, heartbreaker and all that.

No, (actually Tim had more partners than him, lol), and Dick is quite a demisexual, romantic person, who feels sick whenever something ends in a one night stand, because he feels that those things should be done with someone he loves. Plus, he really doesn't even like people complimenting him on his looks; even though everyone thinks he enjoys the attention, which is why his brothers send him thirst trap type videos made by his fans (both Nightwing and Dick Grayson's).

Girls actually believe some of these things too, but not to the extent that boys do.

It can also play on the fact that other people rather think that Dick has anger issues and is completely violent, or thinking that he was Bruce's nightmare when he was a child.

Extra points if it has a mention that he's the one who's actually addicted to coffee and insomniac, lmao.

[cuteandhughesy]

i couldn’t not request another one lol (if that’s okay!)

can i please request prompt 41. “you’re it for me.” with sidney crosby!

you are the absolute best 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“The Other Woman” | Sidney Crosby

summary: you thought your boyfriend sidney wanted you to support him at the four nations face off tournament, so it comes as a shock when you tells you to stay home—only to find out the stomach churning truth. prompt no. 41 from 100 celly list: “you’re it for me.”

[word count] 2.3k

warnings: angst | cheating | break ups | the reader is the other woman

a/n: okay this got like really angsty! my bad. (unedited)

🎵 the other woman by lana del rey

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your screen is frozen—just like you. you stare and stare and stare. a single tear falls down your face, but you’re mostly too confused to cry—too angry. the phone dims, a tell tale sign that it’s about to turn off, but you don’t let it, thumbing at the screen until it lights up again, illuminating your shock ridden face.

you almost didn’t see the picture. it almost slipped by you. your relationship almost didn’t crumble right before your very eyes. your chest is tight. aching—the beautiful picture of all the wags starting back at you, clad in red pleather team canada jackets.

you were so close to remaining blissfully unaware—innocent and stupid. but you saw it—saw her. a stunning smile and light brown hair, a little older than you but still radiant…with the number 87 patched on her arm.

you had shakily opened the comments and there it was, ‘crosby’s wife looks amazing.’

wife.

you almost threw up. your skin prickled with guilt and embarrassment and so much frustration, not only with yourself but with your boyfriend.

you’ve never really been into hockey. you didn’t pay attention to sports in general—neither did your family. you were younger, only 23, and found interests in other things. a year ago when you met sidney you were instantly smitten. he was charming and unapologetically kind, mature and experienced.

you feel in love quickly—almost impossibly quick. but it didn’t matter, not to either of you. sidney and you were in your own bubble, spending time together privately and in secluded places. you knew he played hockey—even though you didn’t care about hockey, sidney crobsy’s name wasn’t unknown to you.

maybe you should’ve done more research on the man you’re dating—maybe this going on under your nose is your own fault. a simple google search and a little bit of digging you would’ve seen that your boyfriend has a wife.

you would’ve found that you’re the other woman.

you now know that’s the reason sidney didn’t want you at the four nations tournament. he brushed off your comments about supporting him easily, telling you to stay home and relax—you deserved some time to relax. fuck, he even gave you some money to pamper yourself while he was away.

but it was all an excuse.

an excuse for sidney’s wife to remain unaware of her unfaithful husband. an excuse for him to ruin not only your life, but hers.

and now here you are, waiting for him to come over like he told you he was going to do when the plane landed back in pittsburgh. you wonder what excuse sidney told his wife. getting coffees? kris needing help at his house? picking up dry cleaning?

you feel so sick.

it could 20 minutes more before the front door creaks open—it could also be 20 seconds—you’re not sure. time feels like a roller coaster right now. unexpected ups and downs, twists and turns making your stomach swoop.

you get up from your spot on the couch, phone still clutched tightly in your hand. sidney kicks his shoes off by the door—clearly planning to stay awhile. planning to pretend he doesn’t have a wife at home who loves him.

“hey baby,” his deep voice calls from the front door, keys hitting your small oak cabinet next to the shoe rack and large fake plant you’ve had since high school.

baby.

it’s like a slap to the face. did he think you’d never find out? or maybe he just thought you were too stupid and young to figure it out.

you don’t answer him—you can’t. no yet. the sight of your face has sidney faltering, lips twitching into a half frown as you stalk towards him. just before he has the chance to coddle you, you shove the phone in his face.

it takes a moment for the picture to register, but you wait and watch patiently. sidney’s eyes scan your phone, and then he sees her. his wife. his skin turns a shade whiter, face falling before his eyes hoof back to your face.

finally, you find your words—stricken and laced with anger and defeat. “you have a wife? a wife!”

“yes.” sidney doesn’t bother trying to deny it. what’s the point? the proof is there, staring at him. you scoff, pulling your phone away and place it down beside his keys.

“where you ever going to tell me?” you ask him, “is that why you didn't want me to come out to the tournament with you?” he doesn’t respond, and somehow that feels worse than anything he could’ve possibly chosen to say. the bridge of your nose begins to sting, a telltale sign that you’re going to cry. but you don’t want to cry. not yet. “god! here I was thinking that you were embarrassed of our age gap. but no, it's because your fucking wife was going.”

sidney sighs, running a large hand through his salt and pepper hair roughly—he’s frustrated. but not with you. sidney could never be angry with you. you’re too soft—too sweet. he’s only upset with himself. he sighs, y/n. please.”

“does she know?” you push, ignoring his desperate and soft plea. “does your wife now you've been fucking me?”

“no.”

you laugh in disbelief, covering your face with your palms as you feel the familiar hot sting of tears welling up in your eyes. “oh my god,” you whisper pathetically, “I feel sick.” you’ve never wanted to become this person—nobody in their right mind should want to be the other woman.

you’re a girls girl. always. and this feeling, right now, proves why. you’re so embarrassed for yourself—you should’ve been more careful, more diligent about your love life. you should’ve known.

the way your voice cracks has sidney breaking. he never wanted to hurt you, despite everything he’s put you through—even if you hadn’t realized. he frowns, stepping towards you like it’s second nature. sidney is desperate to touch you and console you and make everything better.

“I know,” he breathes, hands enclosing around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your tear stained face. “I messed up.”

you scoff, shrugging off his hold. “you did more then mess up, sidney,” you take a step back, an incredulous laugh leaving you. “you've ruined this. you've ruined my life and hers.”

he shakes his head, “don't say that.”

you sniffle, doing your best to keep ahold of your wave of new emotions. it’s not just about you…nor anymore. you feel for this woman, more than she’ll ever know. you shake your head at him, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. you’re shaking.

“I don't even know what to say to you,” and it’s true. what do you say to the man you love—a man who just turned your world inside out and back again. sidney is looking at you like he’s hurt. and maybe he is hurting, but it’s at the cost of his own actions, so don’t feel bad.

even if the sight of his emotion struck face is killing you.

you turn away, walking into the small kitchen. you need to distract yourself in some way. allow yourself to have a moment to breathe. your hands are still trembling as you open the fridge, weakly grabbing a plastic water bottle. your bring it to your lips, sipping just enough to coat your dry mouth.

of course sidney followed you, looking at you desperately from the other side of the kitchen island—giving you the space you need. “say nothing,” he says, “just please hear me out.”

you cross your arms defensively after you put the water in between you on the island. the plastic crinkles and pops through the silent kitchen. you sigh with exhaustion, “what is there to hear you out on? i'm not going to be the other woman. I deserve more than that.”

“you do,” sidney exhales desperately, fingers digging into the edge of the counter top like he’s trying to physically hold himself back. give you that space. “of course you do.” there’s a pause then, and you watch as sidney contemplates what he wants to say next.

his eyes stay on you, analyzing you—your mind, heart and thoughts. you want to shrink away from his gaze. it’s too intense and to familiar.

because two weeks ago when he looked at you like this, it was different.

“i'll call it off with her if that's what you want,” sidney says after a beat, voice dropping. he’s firm, definitive.

your breath hitches, “of course I don't want that.” and you mean it. sidney’s not yours, even when you thought he was. and you’re certainly not his—you don’t get to discredit his life of his decisions.

and certainly not his marriage.

the sound of sidney’s palm coming down on the counter top makes you jump. his anger is surprising. he’s always showed you calmness—like he’s always got it all figured out. but this is different. sidney’s lost control. with you with your relationship and with his emotions.

it breaks you. as much as you don’t want to feel anything for him in this moment, seeing him so distraught is heartbreaking. because it’s not like you fell out of love with sidney crosby at the snap of your fingers—you fucking wish it was that easy. but it never is.

because he’s still sidney. he’s the man who held you on the couch after a bad day at work, and cooked you your favourite meal when you’d been to tired to get off the couch. the boyfriend who kissed you with such tenderness and fucked you with such passion. sidney, who in only a year, become your home…your safe place.

he curses, palm flattening as he attempts to recollect himself. sidney’s head falls for a moment, chest heaving with a million unshed emotions. it feels like forever until he looks at you again, eyes glossed over just enough to let you know what truly he’s feeling—frustration, heartbreak, guilt.

“then what?” he asks gently, “what do you want me to do?” you’ve begun crying again, hot tears streaming silently down your face. slowly, you shrug—a response. sidney can’t hold back any longer. he walks around the island, and when he wraps you in his arms, you let him.

it feels good, but not the same. you don’t hung him back, arms trapped between your chests while sidney’s muscled and strong forearms hold your shoulders. you sob pathetically, hiding your face in sidney’s hoodie.

the emotion is raw and painful. you don’t even know what to do with yourself. you want that comfort—need it—and you don’t have anybody in pittsburgh besides sidney. so for a moment you allow yourself to be coddled. you pretend that he’s not the man that hurt you.

you don’t know how to answer him. not right now.

“you're it for me,” sidney mumbles after a beat, lips pressing to the top of your head so softly and tender. “you're my life.” his arms tighten around you, desperately trying to keep you close—to make you hear him. really hear him.

“so is she,” you mumble watery, pushing off his chest. it’s not rough, but firm enough to let him know you need out.

sidney lets you go, but he doesn’t walk away. “no,” he shakes his head, “she's not.”

you swallow. you feel awful. “she's your wife.”

“and you’re the love of my life.”

silence envelopes the kitchen again as sidney’s words settle in your chest. although he may mean what he’s said, that doesn’t make the situation any better. you can’t be selfish with him—not when you’re the third party.

all you can think about right now is if you were his wife. if it was you he was unfaithful with, what would you want him to do. because that’s the answer you’ve been searching for.

“I want you to tell her,” you whisper. sidney’s face shifts like he doesn’t know how to react yet, but you don’t give him the opportunity to figure it out right now. “tell her and figure it out. if she wants a divorce then that's what you'll do. if she wants to work on your marriage, than that's what you'll do. you'll do whatever she wants, sidney, because that's what I want. and if you care about me at all, you'll do what l ask of you.”

a moment passes. sidney looks down at you softly, in thought. slowly he nods his head—that’s the best response he can give right now. but right now it’s enough for you, and finally—finally—feel like you can take a breath.

“i'm sorry.”

“because you were caught?” your response is petty and hurtful—you know that.

but sidney just blinks, “because I hurt you.”

his correction is so sidney. always caring and loving, never wanting you to feel less than. it’s not your fault, and he’s letting you know that without physically saying the words. he takes ahold of your face between his warm palm, thumbs stroking your cheekbones like he’s done so many times.

you wish you don’t love him—you wish you didn’t love the way he held you so perfectly. he knows your cues and what you need when you’re upset, and this right here is proof of that.

and that hurts more than anything.

“i'll tell her,” sidney breathes, “and if she wants to work on it...i'll stay with her. but if she doesn't want to work on it, and she wants a divorce, what does that mean? for us?”

a beat passes, “I don't know yet.”

[auroracalisto]

opposites attract, or so they say

simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street. a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help. tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea

Simon was a lot of things.

Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.

But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.

And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.

His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.

His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.

And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.

Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!

The universe was always laughing at him.

But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.

But you were always on his mind.

Shit.

He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.

Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.

Why the fuck was he even nervous?

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.

It wasn't like he didn't know you.

There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.

Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.

You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.

Ethics be damned, am I right?

"Simon?"

Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.

Dammit.

"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"

You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.

You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.

"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"

He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.

"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.

Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.

Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.

You smiled a bit. "What bar?"

He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."

"Will I meet you there?"

He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."

"Cool. What time?"

He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.

"I'll be there," you said.

He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?

Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.

He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.

Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?

Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?

What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?

Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.

Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.

He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.

When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.

His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?

"Y/n," he said.

You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?

What. The. Fuck.

"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."

Just for him. Fuuuck.

You were cute.

He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.

But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.

He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.

He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.

"Yeah. I said nine," he said.

You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.

Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.

Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?

Long enough.

Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.

"How've you been?"

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.

"Busy," he said.

"You still playing?"

He blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"

You remembered that? Shit.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."

Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"

"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."

You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.

He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.

He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.

"You think that—"

He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."

You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"

He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—

"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."

Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.

Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"

"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."

"You... you want me? How?"

He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."

He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.

"Simon—"

"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not gonna protest—"

"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."

"But I—"

"—I'm serious, Y/n."

"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."

He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."

"You..."

"Yeah. I do," you said.

"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.

"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.

"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.

Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

“Freak's looking at you.”

There's a nudge to his shoulder that makes Steve jerk up, snapping out of the daze he'd been in.

“Huh?” he asks, looking at Aaron with his brow furrowed.

Aaron nods towards a spot halfway across the cafeteria, and Steve shifts his gaze over to see Munson standing on top of one of the tables, watching him expectantly.

Shit.

“Can you repeat that, if you're expecting a response?” Steve asks. “I drifted off somewhere around comparing the swimming pool to a goldfish bowl.”

He's being honest - it's still harder to concentrate, and he saves it for classes and practice and tends to zone out when he doesn't need to pay attention - but it makes the people who were clearly listening in laugh.

Steve catches Munson's gaze and rolls his eyes, giving him an apologetic little shrug.

He's not really sure how Munson takes it, because he just bemoans the attention span of the average jock and clomps down from the table, but no one's looking at either of them anymore, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

Steve's almost disappointed. Might be kind of nice to see what Munson's like when no one's watching them, he thinks.

—

Things are okay, with him and Nancy and Jonathan.

His gaze doesn't automatically seek Nancy out in a crowd or anything - mostly because he'd always been at her side, before, so it's not like it's even something he's used to - but he still catches her gaze sometimes, still smiles and nods and doesn't say anything.

They share study hall together.

He and Nancy shared it before, of course, and logically he knows that Jonathan had it at the same time they did, but now - now they all have it together.

After the first few times of him or Nancy awkwardly veering sharply away from their previously shared table when they'd seen the other one was already there - one day they just didn't.

They don't say much, but the three of them sit together, exchanging class notes and books. Sometimes Steve sees the pinch in Jonathan's eyes and gives him a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and sometimes Jonathan sees him squinting too hard at something and copies the passage over in bigger handwriting, and Nancy checks over both of their notes, and it's -

The jagged black cut in his heart scabs, fades, scars. He'll always love her, he thinks, but sometimes he thinks if they can get over the hurt -

Sometimes he sits with the two of them and it's the closest he's ever felt to being understood. Sometimes he thinks it's what he wanted with Tommy and Carol, all those years ago.

It's a start.

—

He runs into Munson after school, sometimes.

They don't say anything either, but after practice gets out and after Munson is done with his theater club or whatever it is, they'll see each other.

Sometimes, if Munson's selling, Steve will linger.

He doesn't really think Billy's stupid enough to point fingers at Munson, and most people are too afraid of him to do anything, but it still makes him feel a little better to keep an eye on him.

It kind of feels like no one watches out for Eddie Munson, not the way he watches out for his fellow freaks.

“What?” Munson demands one day, sidling up to Steve and slamming his goodie box down on the bench. “What're you looking for here?”

Steve frowns at him. “I told you.”

Munson's brows furrow. “You were serious about that shit? You think you're protecting me?”

“Why not?” Steve challenges.

Munson's eyes go flat. “And what's this protection going to cost me?”

Steve thinks about being offended, for a moment, before he wonders if other people have tried to make deals before, keep the other assholes of Hawkins High away from him in exchange for free weed or something.

He softens. “I haven't asked you for anything.”

Munson scowls. “Yet,” he counters. “Whatever you're thinking, if you're trying to get me to owe you, it's not happening. Fuck off, man, I don't need protecting.”

His heart clenches as he hears an echo of Max saying the same thing, and before he knows it he's reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The scowl melts into confusion for a brief moment before it's back in full force. “I'm still not showing you mine,” Munson retorts.

“I still haven't asked,” Steve counters. “I don't want anything, man, all right? Just looking out in case Billy tries something.”

Or anyone else, now that Steve thinks of it, but even with his heart pumping in a steady truth, he's not sure Munson'll believe that.

“Just like that,” Munson says flatly, after a moment of watching Steve's heart. “And what do your knights of the round table think of this?”

Steve's nose scrunches. “What?”

“Your knights.” Munson waves his hand dismissively, but - his tone isn't mean, isn't condescending. “It's a King Arthur reference.”

It's nice, that he isn't being shitty about Steve not understanding something.

“Right. So that makes me King Arthur, and you're - what was it again, the court jester?” Steve asks, giving him a little smile to show he's teasing.

“If we're doing King Arthur, I'm going with Merlin,” Eddie says.

“The old guy with the beard and pointy hat?” Steve asks.

Eddie puts his hands on his hips, fluttering his eyelashes. “You think I couldn't pull it off?”

Steve plays along, making a show of looking him up and down. “You know what, sure, you've got the right look for gray haired old man.”

“Asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn't sound pissed anymore. “You know you're cutting into my profits, right? People see you lingering and they're less likely to come buy.”

Steve's brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Only the desperate want to make illicit purchases under the watchful eye of Hawkins High's once and future king.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. “I'll stand farther away, make myself look busy.”

Eddie glowers. “Seriously? You're not giving this up?”

Honestly - Steve probably should. But he's stubborn, and Eddie throwing a fit about it kind of just makes him want to do it more.

“Who looks out for you?” he asks instead of answering.

Eddie looks thrown. “What?”

“That's why you do it, right? Why you started walking on tables and making yourself a target. It takes attention off of the guys younger than you.” Steve's trying to make a point, so he slides right over the fact that they both know everyone's younger than Eddie - this is his second senior year, after all. “So everyone watches you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little bit of an edge back in his voice. “You watch me, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve replies, blunt and honest. “Not really. Not before.”

“Not before Billy Hargrove tried to blame me for bashing your head in with his fists?” Eddie asks.

“He smashed a plate over it, actually,” Steve shoots back. “But yeah, something like that.”

Steve's heart gives an erratic beat. It wasn't a lie, but apparently it wasn't enough of the truth, either. Eddie gives him a pointed look.

“There's these kids I babysit,” Steve says, slow and careful. “They're into the same things you are. They're gonna be in high school next year, and I won't be here. Neither will you, but it just made me think - I'd want someone like you looking out for them.”

Eddie watches his heart for a moment.

“What are their names?” he asks. “Yeah, I won't be here, but Jeff will be. I can tell him to look out for them.”

Relief swoops through Steve, and he doesn't even care when Eddie gives him a funny look after he includes Mike and Will along with Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

He won't admit it, but it helps.

—

The next day, Eddie sits next to him at lunch.

He makes a big deal of it, hamming it up as he hops over the bench and plops down, pulling out a sandwich and some chips and flattening out his lunch bag to make a plate for them.

Steve's sitting with the swim team today, and he watches some of the guys side eye Eddie like they're not sure what the joke is and who the punchline is supposed to be. He watches some of them look at him with disgust, too, and those he carefully files away to keep an eye on later.

“My liege!” Eddie announces cheerfully. “How fair you and your knights of the round table on this fine afternoon?”

“Your king is doing just fine, as long as you keep your boots on the ground and away from the top of the lunch table,” Steve retorts.

“Is this like when Carol used to call her and Tommy Duke and Duchess?” Jacob asks.

“Are we doing that, are we knights now?” Dorian asks, his eyes lighting up a little.

Dorian gets straight A's, Steve remembers that. English is his best class.

“Sure, why not?” Steve says, shrugging carelessly, even as he shoots a smile at Dorian. “You can be Sir Galahad.”

Michael groans. “Don't encourage him, this is stupid.”

Tanner snorts. “From the guy who calls his girlfriend princess.”

Michael flushes. “Shut up! It's just so Ashley will stop whining.”

“Uh-huh.” Jacob elbows him. “We've all heard you at Tina's parties pledging to be her knight in shining armor.”

They have, apparently, completely forgotten Eddie's existence as they fall back to ribbing on each other.

Steve turns to him, finding him watching the table with a narrow, calculating gaze.

“Eat your lunch,” Steve says. “My knights don't give a shit.”

These ones, anyway, and as long as Steve's there, but he's not going to say that.

They both know it.

Still, Eddie keeps it up. It's not every day, or every other day, or in any kind of recognizable pattern, but he'll plop himself down next to Steve's side like he belongs there whenever he feels like it.

Steve largely treats it like he doesn't give a shit, and most of the people he tends to sit with follow suit, if a couple of them can't seem to resist making snide little comments.

It's always the ones who make snide comments to everyone, the kind of assholes that Steve can't wait to get away from, so he mostly ignores it.

The sixth or seventh time it happens, Steve drops his apple on Eddie's folded over lunch bag.

Eddie stares at him.

“What?” Steve asks. “You're going to get scurvy if you keep eating nothing but bologna and Doritos for lunch.”

Eddie snorts. “I look like an eighteenth century pirate captain?”

Steve makes a show of looking him up and down again. “You look like something,” he replies.

Completely unexpectedly, Eddie flushes a little, picking up the apple and taking a comically large bite out of it.

Steve grins.

—

Steve's at swimming practice after school when Nancy and Jonathan show up.

The second he sees them hovering near the back door, he hauls himself up out of the pool, barely pausing to grab a towel on the way.

“What's happened?” he asks immediately, low and quick.

Jonathan's expression is a mess of worry, like he's trying not to panic, as he says, “I can't find Will.”

“We're supposed to pick him and Mike up from the AV club,” Nancy cuts in. “But they're not there, and they're not at any of their usual places at school.”

“Or at home, or anyone else's place, or the arcade,” Jonathan adds.

Steve's chest tightens. It's stupid, kids go off to places they're not supposed to be all the time - especially these kids - but given their track record, that doesn't mean they're not in trouble. “Let me grab my stuff, I'll be right there.”

Practice is almost done, anyway.

He shrugs into his windbreaker and grabs his backpack, darting out the door to follow them. He's already digging around in the backpack to pull out the walkie talkie Dustin gave him by the time he gets to them.

“Little shit better answer,” Steve grumbles, thumbing it on. “Dustin, you there?”

There's a tense pause as they wait.

“Dustin?” Steve tries again.

Nothing.

Jonathan's face goes a little paler, and Nancy's jaw clenches.

“Hey asshole, you're the one who made me carry this around, the least you could do is respond,” Steve bitches.

This time, the walkie flares to life.

“You're supposed to say over when you're done talking, Steve!” Dustin bitches back. “Otherwise I won't know it's my turn! Over.”

“Are you serious right now? It wasn't obvious enough?” Steve asks - then, because he wouldn't put it past Dustin to be a little shit about it, and he knows Jonathan is beyond worried - “Is Will with you? Over.”

“Yeah, he's right here. Why?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

Jonathan sags with relief.

“Was he maybe supposed to meet his brother somewhere?” Steve prompts. “Over.”

Whatever Dustin had been going to say in response to that is drowned out by a chorus of “Oh shit!” and “You said you were keeping track of the time!” and “Don't tell Mom, we'll be right there!”

Nancy rolls her eyes, taking the walkie from him. “Five minutes,” she says into it. “Or we're leaving without you and you can bike home. Over and out.”

Steve's pretty sure he and Jonathan both know that she doesn't mean that, but the kids don't know it, so he's equally sure that'll light a fire under their asses.

“Hey, Dustin, do you and Lucas need a ride home?” he asks once he gets the walkie back.

“And Max?” Dustin asks. “Over.”

“And Max,” Steve agrees, assuming that's a yes. “I'll meet you out front of the high school. Over.”

He shoves the walkie back in his bag, looking up to exchange a relieved look with Nancy and Jonathan.

“See you tomorrow?” Nancy asks, though Steve gets the feeling it's more to fill the silence that's gone a little awkward, now that the potential danger's passed.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Jonathan tells him, eyes fixed somewhere at his left cheekbone like he's not entirely sure where to look.

“Any time.” It comes out too flippant, though, and Steve makes a face at himself as Jonathan turns to leave.

“Hey.” Steve reaches out, fingers curled loosely around Jonathan's wrist. “I mean it, okay? Any time.”

This time, Jonathan's eyes lock on his. After a moment, Jonathan's cheeks go a little pink, and then he nods before he follows Nancy down the hall.

Steve watches them for a moment or two, then drops his backpack down on a bench a little harder than he probably should, digging around for his sweatpants.

“I don't get it.”

Steve looks up as he's halfway through putting his pants on to see Eddie sidling up next to him in the hall.

“Don't get what?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods towards where Nancy and Jonathan just were. “The three of you.”

Steve shrugs. “We're friends, not a lot to get.”

He goes back to fighting with his sweatpants, wishing he'd dried off a little more before pulling them on over his speedo. They keep sticking to his thighs.

Eddie's gone quiet, though, and when Steve glances back up, he sees Eddie staring at him.

Steve cocks one eyebrow. “What?”

Eddie flushes, looking away. “Didn't figure you'd be so comfortable with the girl who broke your heart and the guy who stole her away, is all. Or hey, maybe she's putting out for both of you, maybe Byers is-”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, tone sharp and firm in a way he hasn't had to do since he stopped hanging out with Tommy and didn't have to hold him back when he'd gone too far anymore.

But Eddie isn't like Tommy. Maybe he doesn't know Eddie all that well, but Steve gets the feeling he only lashes out when he's feeling cornered.

“Don't be a dick, man,” Steve says, voice softening a little. “They haven't done anything to you.”

Eddie looks back at him, a little surprised, before his expression goes contrite. “You're right,” he admits, easy as anything. “Sorry. It's good that you’re friends with your ex.”

Steve's sort of friends with most of his exes, but that's not the same. None of them were ever Nancy. “I do better as part of a trio,” he says instead of anything else, because it's kind of true.

Then, because he doesn't actually want to field any questions about that -

“Besides,” Steve adds. “If you've heard the rumors, you'd know that's not the kind of threesome I'm into.”

Eddie snorts inelegantly, like he's trying to cover up a laugh. “You telling me I should be putting stock in all the rumors I hear about you, Stevie?”

“Of course not. But the ones about my skills in the bedroom?” he shoots back. “Every word is truth.”

It's not, really. Or, well - not the one about the threesomes. Steve doesn't think sitting between two girls on the couch at a house party and going back and forth between kissing them counts as a threesome.

But it'd never been a hardship to combat that particular rumor, not when it meant he could take his time reassuring the girl he was with that no, he didn't want anyone else there, when he could spend a while making sure she felt important, felt good.

He thinks he'd kind of like spending some time making Eddie feel important.

Steve has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with thoughts like that.

But he does know the way Eddie's eyes have lingered over his thighs and the line of his stomach and chest peeking out from his open windbreaker, and he-

“You want to find out which rumors are true, you just let me know,” he hears himself say.

Eddie doesn't bite, rolling his eyes and shoving him before he heads off, but Steve isn't deterred.

He hadn't missed the way Eddie's hand had lingered, either.

—

Steve and Eddie have free period together.

Well. Steve has a free period, at least. He's honestly not sure Eddie isn't just ditching, but it doesn't really matter.

They hang out together anyway.

They don't really say much, just - exist in the same space. Sometimes in the smoking area, sometimes at the track, sometimes at the picnic table, sometimes somewhere else in the woods.

They sit too close together when they're in the woods, shoulders or knees always touching.

A few times, Steve takes out his heart, lets himself breathe.

Eddie always glares at it, mutters, “I'm still not showing you mine, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, tells him he still hasn't asked, and that's it.

Steve'll miss it once he graduates.

—

He graduates, and doesn't go to college, doesn't see Nancy or Jonathan or Eddie much anymore, and it's - it's fine.

He still hangs out with the kids, starts putting in job applications, and it's fine.

He's fine.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 5

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt

[pittsick]

ohhhh maybe giving scenemo!pat his magic cross piercing. he’s hard partially because you’re pretty and have your hands on his dick, and partially because he’s a bit of a whore for pain. you notice, one thing leads to another, he’s fingering you in your back office while you try and give him care and healing instructions.

summary: when patrick gets his magic cross piercing and things leads to one another, he’s fingering you in your back office when you try to talk to him about the aftercare.

pairing: scenemo!patrick x afab piercer!reader.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.1k words. genital piercing. pain kink. clinical setting. professional boundary violation. dirty talk. brat behavior (Patrick).

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @destinedtobegigi, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes

You’ve done plenty of intimate piercings before—Prince Alberts, frenulums, ladders—but something about this appointment has you tightening your thighs the second you read the form.

“Magic cross.”

And the name on the intake? Patrick fucking Zweig. Scene hair, chipped nail polish, three belts on his jeans and none of them functional. He’s got eyeliner smudged into the corners of his eyes and a grin that belongs on someone who’s been suspended from at least three high schools.

It’s not his first time at the shop; he had been here for his labret piercing a few years ago and an eyebrow one that he didn’t keep—but you hadn’t been the one piercing him at the time. A shame.

“I want the full cross,” he says again when you sit down on your rolling chair. “Horizontal and vertical. Gimme the pain.”

You arch a brow, snapping on a pair of gloves. “You know that’s four holes total, right?”

Patrick shrugs, fingers already at his zipper. “Yeah. I’ll try not to nut on your gloves.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. You’ve seen dicks in every shape and size—but not every client moans when you disinfect them. Not every guy twitches under your touch and breathes out, “fuck, you’re kinda making me hard just with the prep.” But Patrick does.

You ignore him. Kind of.

The setup is clean. Tools lined up. Two needles, two straight barbells, all sterilized. You mark him quickly—two vertical dots, two horizontal, all across the head—and give him a look.

“You ready?”

Patrick lies back with a deep exhale. “Ruin me.”

You pierce the vertical pair first. He lets out a guttural sound as the needle slides through, but it’s not a cry of pain—it’s pleasure. His cock jerks in your grip, fully hard now, tip glistening like he really might cum from the needle alone.

“Shit,” he pants. “That—fuck—that hurts so good.”

You keep your head down, focus tight, thighs clenching. Slide the jewelry in slowly, threading the bar through the fresh holes one by one. It’s precision work, and you do it perfectly—even as Patrick groans under you and clenches the edges of the padded bench.

Then come the horizontal. He’s sweating by the end, but still rock hard, his chest heaving like he’s been edged.

“Jesus,” you murmur, wiping him down and snapping off your gloves. “You’re a freak.”

“Compliment,” he gasps. “Say it again.”

You shake your head, fighting the throb in your own core. “Get dressed. I’ll give you care instructions in the back.”

By the time he walks into your cramped little office, he’s redressed—mostly. His belts are hanging undone, button half-fastened. He sits with a slight wince but a smirk still plastered across his face.

You clear your throat and grab the aftercare sheet. “No sex for at least six weeks,” you start, professionally.

He raises a brow. “Not even hand stuff?”

You ignore that; well, you try your best to. It wouldn’t be professional. “Clean with sterile saline twice a day. No touching unless it’s to clean—”

Patrick leans back, legs spread slightly, his tongue pressed to his lip ring. “So like, hypothetically, if I were the worst patient you’ve ever had—”

“Already are.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“—and I touched it anyway… and got really fucking hard again, just thinking about your hands?”

You blink at him. He’s already moved closer with the rolling chair, almost between your knees now, voice low and syrupy. “Would you let me show you how good my fingers are, since you were so gentle with me? Think of it as a payback.”

You open your mouth to say no. To say it’s not professional, you could get caught—yet, you can’t stop thinking about how Patrick reacted to you piercing him, his cock hard, his comments. So your legs unconsciously spread for him and you sigh like permission.

Then his hand is between your legs as soon as he sees your expression and you realize you’re soaking through your underwear. You have been since Patrick’s first dirty comment.

“Fuck,” he hisses, like it’s hurting him how wet you are. “You’re into this, huh? Got off on making me moan for it?” He’s smirking now. You don’t answer. You can’t—not when two of his fingers slip under the band of your panties and slide right in, like your body’s been waiting for it.

You gasp, legs spreading even more before you can stop them, hips bucking into his hand. Giving him more space.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he whispers, transfixed. “Holy shit—did stabbing my dick actually get you this wet?” It’s like he can’t believe it, licking his lips and the silver ring of his labret.

Your breath shudders. “Patrick—”

“I’ll be gentle,” he lies, already curling his fingers just right. “Promise.”

You brace your hands flat behind you on the desk, head tipping back as he starts to move. His fingers are rough and metal-tipped—cold rings sliding against your folds as he pumps into you, fucking you open like he’s trying to earn an A+ in making piercers cum in their own office.

He finally gets up from the chair just to lean in close, breath hot against your ear. “Should I stop?” he whispers. “Or should I let you finish telling me about cleaning it while I ruin your panties?”

You bite your lip hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t stop,” you grit.

He laughs—sweet, fucked-up, giddy. He angles his fingers again and you nearly choke on your own moan. Your thighs clamp around his wrist and he groans like he felt it in his own cock.

“God, you sound so good,” he pants. “Can’t believe I came here to get stabbed and ended up with my fingers in the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You try to glare but it melts into a whimper. He speeds up, fingers rubbing against your walls to find the perfect spot that you’d make you cum. When he does, you see white, thighs shaking and whimpering.

Your orgasm builds sharp, fast, the kind that climbs with no warning. You clutch the edge of the desk, head spinning, thighs trembling more and more as he keeps working you—slick and messy, knuckles deep, wet sounds echoing between your moans.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Let me feel you cum on my fingers. You earned it, didn’t you?”

You fall apart with a broken sob, clenching around him so tight he curses. Your body jerks with it, trembling as he fucks you through the high, eyes dark and locked on yours like he’s watching art happen in real time.

When it’s over, you sag forward, chest heaving, thighs twitching. He pulls his hand out slow, sucking your wetness off two fingers like it’s dessert.

You stare.

“You’re gonna clean those before you touch your piercing, right?” You can’t help but ask, professionalism coming back into your mind.

He grins. “You gonna spank me if i don’t?”

You grab the aftercare sheet, eyes rolling and smoothing your skirt down.

“Maybe.”

[chaaistained]

hazy fairy lights and the thought of schedules

me waking up in my kpop dr for a total of five seconds ..

.

.

.

i didn’t exactly go into this with the desire to wake up in a bedroom i’d only ever seen from one angle, in a picture, off of pinterest . i even started out this whole “process” feeling so desperate that i’m embarrassed to go into further detail but, we persevere —

the night before, i was plagued with insomniac anxieties, the fidgety kind, where your mind won’t sit still and your body thinks “hey! that’s a grand idea, let me do the same!” as if i’m not laying there in my bed, tempted to pull my hair out

i figured, what’s there to lose? like every other night, let’s give this another go, and i went to look at my screenshot of emma’s method (@hrrtshape — tysm lovely <3) and started trying to shift to my wr

the desired outcome of a mind bending epiphany, an almost destruction of the very construct of reality . that didn’t happen .. and truth be told, i found it hard to concentrate in general. but eventually i just kept telling myself that “this isn’t a chore, this a hobby, this is something i do for fun. i’ve done this [shifting] before, even if it was only for a few seconds, i can do it again” and i let my mind think about my daily routine and plans for my wr

after that, i don’t really remember falling asleep. i sorta wafted from dream to dream, mostly about my cr life — university, my high school best friend and our galentines plans, i had a weird panicky one about a chemistry test .. i haven’t taken chemistry since i graduated high school four years ago . but anyway apparently the body keeps the score.. yay us

i think what set me off into a more calming deep slumber was how my dream rippled from chemistry and science to literature, english, writing, and more specifically, editing — before i went to bed i was editing an upcoming fic i will be posting to my fic account (shameless plug : @yourislandgirl) and it was a drabble featuring enhypen’s jake, a kpop idol for those who don’t know ^.^

next thing i know, i hear a twinkling alarm, the kind of one that sounds like stars? not exactly the same as the standard iphone alarm sounds but, i remember it feeling familiar ??

i instinctively went to rub my eyes, expecting the usual crust and sleepiness only to find that they were relatively clear-ish (a point i make bcs i specifically scripted that i don’t get super crusty eyes bcs i hate it). it didn’t exactly hit me then, but i patted around my bed for my phone, snoozing the alarm, my eyes still closed as i took in a few deep breaths.

my room smelled like lavender . which is odd bcs i don’t have a room freshening spray in my cr, i rely on candles but wtv not the point, i don’t own a lavender mist .. but for some reason the only thought running through my head when i sighed out in relief, curling myself back under the sheets was “man . my rooms smells nice”

for your information i’m rolling my eyes at myself while i type this up bcs BITCH (directed at me) YOU SHIFTED

anyway, i kinda felt myself dipping in and out of consciousness, or at least that’s what i thought, bcs in actuality i think i was dipping BETWEEN consciousness’ — the cotton softness of my cr sheets was suddenly a smooth milky satin, and then it was cotton, and then satin, and it wasn’t until this hellscape of a cycle repeated itself for the third time, that i finally realised my surroundings were changing.

it was sort of like what being tipsy felt like, a little buzz in my head, my mind feeling fuzzy, like a pom pom . (that’s legitimately how my mind feels when i’m tipsy btw) and it was like my energy was rising slowly and then getting sapped out of me and then rising and falling

i think i was getting sick of it, and knowing me and my lack of patience, that totally tracks, so when i felt a bit more energy bloom inside, i took the chance to open my eyes. my only thoughts were “god i need to get up, i can’t keep laying here dreaming..”

and that’s when i saw it, the room of my kpop dr self, from an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE — i saw a vanity, 80% of it filled with lip products which, again, totally tracks . there was a door open and a stepping stone path of clothes leading out of it, my wardrobe . guitar stands, one for an acoustic, one for an electric . a desk with a monitor and a laptop . i EVEN HAD ROOM FOR A BEANBAG COUCH IM SO JEALOUS

AND AND YA KNOW WHAT SUCKS . IT WAS SO NORMAL?? I KEPT BLINKING TRYING TO WAKE MYSELF UP

my mind was like “ . . . huh”

and THE CHERRY ON TOP OF THIS MIND FUCK — all i could stare at were the strings of fairy lights going along the edge of my ceiling, little stars and diamonds, they gave off a warm golden glow and as i laid there with silk soft hair and skin so smooth i can’t believe i didn’t notice when i touched my face . my brain had the AUDACITY to go “oh fuck . i’ve got to record something today. …(sigh) and rehearse”

LIKE- THATS NOT SMTH TO COMPLAIN ABOUT GIRLYPOP??!!)?)!?,?!

i swear- i swear to you guys . i’m appalled at myself

because i just HAD to think abt something important something tiring, something like my DAILY SCHEDULES BCS THEN

I CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN AND FELT LIKE EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH WAS BEING PULLED OUT OF ME

and then i woke up here. again.

my hair was drier, and so was my skin, my eyes were crusty and sleepy, my pillows were comfy but nothing could compare to the marshmallow cloud of comfort that were my kpop dr pillows.

i sat up, stretched, cracked all my joints, went straight for my phone and started to doomscroll . like it was some coping mechanism or something. my mind kept going : “that was a dream. that was just a dream. man what a VIVID dream. yeah, that’s it chaai, you had a vivid dream, you’ve always had vivid dreams, that’s your thing! (true story) that’s all this was…”

but, and i swear you can’t make this shit up, it all felt NORMAL , creepily normal. usually in a dream you’re like “ah yes, i’m dreaming, i can’t exactly wake up right now bcs i’m enjoying this dream, but i know i’m dreaming”

no, no, this quote unquote dream, felt like those sleepy mornings when the world feels slow, when the simplicity of the small rays of morning sunlight coming through your window feel cinematic, when you want to close your eyes and keep taking in gentle deep breaths, hold off on getting up, just for five more minutes.

that’s what it felt like.

i didn’t know i was dreaming bcs i wasn’t dreaming. i was just waking up to a dream, as my reality.

and honestly, another factor is how my mind immediately went to the events of my day, a CLASSIC trope in yours truly. honestly nothing is more on brand than me being like “(sigh) life feels so soft and sweet right now .. alright now let’s cause myself a mini panic attack by thinking about my responsibilities for the day and how many there are and how little time i have to complete everything, isn’t that fun???!?”

finally, my energy levels, that thing i mentioned earlier? about how i’d feel the strength grow and decline over and over again? those five seconds i had in my kpop dr were tiring and drowsy, but not lethargic, they weren’t draining, they weren’t exhausting. i had some energy in me .. and when i closed my eyes, it felt like i was being drained, and i woke up here and felt like i had the life torn out of me and then forced back in. as embarrassing as this sounds, i actually think it “proves” this shift a bit more — logically speaking, i’m more fit, more toned, more active in my kpop dr, where my career is hugely based on my skill levels, as a dancer and singer and performer, where an asset in my job is my appearance, and how i keep myself in shape .. i don’t have to worry about those things here, i don’t have the strength or flexibility or just straight up energy that i do in that reality.. i guess it didn’t hit me, how much difference there would be in my physicality, until this shift

so , yeah. that about sums it up

i think i would have benefitted from grounding myself. and i’m 99% sure i’ll face this problem again bcs i can’t even ground myself in this reality let alone another, mostly bcs i don’t want to, (life’s just so much lighter when your head’s in the clouds .. this is very unhealthy, i do not recommend)

but, for the five seconds that it lasted, it was honestly worth it. my room looked splendid, it was spacious, it was not messy (no matter what dr-self tells you), it was instead, aesthetically chaotic in a pleasing way . and i stand by that

but those fairy lights… mf they’ll be haunting my dreams, ghostly and golden and glorious, i can see them so clearly if i close my eyes.

anyway, here’s to more shifts to come !! i’m not giving up just yet, i WILL get back there, or any other dr for that matter, and i wish you all a happy shifting experience <33

bcs trust me, it took me five years to get five seconds, but in those five seconds i felt a whole 16 years of life in me, i felt a definitive existence there, like i had places to be, people to see, things to do. and i hadn’t even sat up in bed yet ..

this shit is real. it’s as real as you reading this right now. and i’m gonna keep trying, even if all i get next time is another five seconds. and i hope you try with me ≈

.

.

.

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[wherescody]

Surprise

I got my last finals today. Just getting ready for it. Not letting me post a gif.

WrestleMania week was supposed to be magical. The lights, the chaos, the fanfare, it was the Super Bowl of wrestling. But for Y/N, it was just a reminder that timing could be painfully cruel.

Her finals had landed the same week, and nothing budged, no matter how much she tried to rearrange her schedule. She’d promised Cody she’d be there. They’d talked about it for months. But now she was stuck back home, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters, and the quiet buzz of late-night study sessions.

Cody had been sweet about it. Supportive, even. “You gotta ace those finals, babe,” he told her during one of their late FaceTime calls. “I’ll make WrestleMania wait for you next year.”

Still, she could tell he was disappointed. He tried to hide it behind his ever-charming smile and good-guy persona, but she knew him too well. WrestleMania wasn’t just another show—it was the show. And he wanted her there.

So, after her last final ended Friday afternoon, Y/N didn’t even go back to her dorm. She went straight to the airport with a duffel bag, adrenaline, and excitement bubbling in her chest. She knew Cody would be at SmackDown that night. And she had the perfect idea.

Backstage after his match, Cody was all smiles. He'd had a great segment, the crowd was electric, and WrestleMania was just around the corner. But as the adrenaline wore off, a familiar emptiness crept in.

He missed her.

He missed the way she always wore his merch, his merch, and screamed louder than the fans in the front row. He missed how she’d sneak into Gorilla just to throw him a thumbs-up before his entrance. Mostly, he missed having her around this week.

As he made his way out to the parking lot and toward his tour bus, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “One more show,” he muttered to himself. “Just one more.”

He opened the door to the bus, ready to crash for the night, when he froze.

“Hey, stranger.”

There she was, sitting cross-legged on the couch, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. Her duffel bag was by her feet, and a half-empty can of Red Bull sat on the little table beside her.

Cody blinked, not entirely convinced he wasn't hallucinating.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked like he was still in high school. “What the—how?!”

She laughed, standing up and walking over to him, arms slipping around his waist. “Surprise. I finished my finals this afternoon. Took the first flight out. I couldn’t miss seeing you before WrestleMania.”

He wrapped his arms around her so tightly she squeaked. “You’re insane,” he whispered into her hair. “The best kind of insane.”

They stood there for a long moment, just holding each other, the quiet hum of the bus surrounding them like a warm blanket.

“I thought you said you couldn’t come,” he finally said, pulling back just enough to look at her face.

“I lied,” she grinned. “I wanted to see that shocked face in person.”

“Well, mission accomplished. You got me good.”

Y/N leaned up and kissed him, soft and lingering, as if making up for the week they’d lost. “I can’t stay long,” she whispered. “But I’m here now. And I’ll be at WrestleMania even if it’s from the nosebleeds.”

Cody grinned, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Forget the nosebleeds. You’re staying on this bus, and you’re coming with me. I’m sneaking you into Gorilla myself.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Nope. But I’m the American Nightmare, baby. I make the rules.”

She laughed, and for the first time in days, Cody felt whole again. His girl was here. Finals were done. WrestleMania could wait for just a moment while they caught up on cuddles and inside jokes and everything in between.

[heartsaturn]

“i feel so high school , every time i look at you” - lh43

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader decides to surprise luke by singing a song that she wrote about him at her concert in michigan

warnings: suggestive comment (?? not really but kind of), intended lowercase, takes place during the offseason, not proofread cus i don’f have the time for that

a/n: so i cut some parts of the song that repeated out because i didn’t want to make the fic too long, this probably sucks so i’m sorry about that

———————————————————————-

“good evening detroit!” you exclaim into your microphone after the opening act of your concert. things were moving smoothly and everything was set in place for you to surprise your boyfriend. the deafening cheers of the crowd are chanted right back at you and they are the only thing you are able to focus on.

“are we having a good night so far?” you ask. again, the crowd responds positively by screaming back in reply. despite being on tour for a few shows now, you will never be able to get over the amazing aura of every crowd. every single night feels like a fever dream and you are so happy to be living in it. this is truly the life that you have been dreaming of.

“so, we are at the point in the show where i usually play acoustic songs with my guitar, however, i have a little something special planned for you all tonight,” you announce to the crowd as the thunder of their voices does not stop, but increases.

meanwhile, luke is confused. you usually like to run things by him or tell him about changes that you want to make in your shows and music. he isn’t offended by the change. still, he is wondering if he might have done something wrong. luke’s puzzled expression must be obvious because jack and quinn seem to have caught on to the fact that luke has no idea what is happening. luke’s brothers decided to tag along when luke mentioned that he would be going to your concert tonight. they know you quite well now and went because they wanted to support you. mostly to poke fun at their younger brother though. quinn catches on to what is happening first. he notices luke’s uncertain expression and puts the pieces together that you are either mad at him or surprising him. quinn assumes and hopes that it is the latter.

“as a lot of you probably know, my lovely boyfriend went to college in michigan,” you start to explain. luke then starts to realize what is happening and immediately feels excitement course through his veins. he has never had someone make such an amazing gesture of love for him before, so the feeling is new and very welcome.

“and i wanted to display my love for luke. so, this is my new song called so high school which is out right now,” you say abruptly, making everyone in the stadium go completely insane. the lights shine bright at your face as you begin to sing.

i feel so high school every time i look at you

it is one of you and luke’s rarely shared days off. usually, when these days occur, you guys plan a date or do something special with each other. this time you just decided to relax and be in each other’s company. you and luke have yet to get out of bed, despite waking up thirty minutes ago.

‘i love you,” luke says softly before gently kissing your forehead.

“i love you too, luke,” you reply, a warm smile peeking through on your tired face, “this feels so natural. us, i mean. i know it may sound cheesy, but i feel so stupidly in love with you. it’s like puppy love,” you say with a small laugh at your own cheesiness.

“that is definitely cheesy, but cute. and i feel the same way by the way,” luke says in reply, joining your soft laughter. moments like these are short-lived but they are some of your favorite moments with luke. the purity and authenticity of the words being shared just feels perfect.

and i wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you

“please stop staring at my brother and just go up to him,” jack says, taking you out of your trance. you had been looking at luke for an embarrassingly long time apparently. if it was long enough for jack to notice, it was too long.

“mind your business,” you mutter, becoming slightly embarrassed at the fact that you had been caught staring at your boyfriend by his brother.

“i don’t understand why you’re not just going up to him. you’re literally dating him,” jack says.

“i’m admiring from afar,” you reply. your words make jack visibly cringe and then walk away. he says something about going to get a drink, but it was clearly an excuse to get away from your lovesick stares at his brother.

suddenly, you and luke make eye contact. luke sees you and a smile smile spreads across his face. and then a smile on your own face. neither of you go up to the other though, choosing to just stand and stare instead. the small interaction ends because luke is pulled into another conversation in a matter of seconds. one thing shown is that your love for this boy is undeniable.

and in a blink of a crinkling eye

i'm sinking, our fingers entwined

cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

i'll drink what you think, and I'm high

from smoking your jokes all damn night

the brink of a wrinkle in time

bittersweet sixteen suddenly

date nights are always amazing. especially when you are dating your favorite person. you and luke decided to have a date night. neither of you wanted to plan anything too fancy so you both agreed on stargazing. it’s a cliche date but it never fails to be romantic.

“you know, i’ve loved you since the moment i saw you,” luke chimes up randomly.

“oh really?” you say with a small chuckle.

“yeah, i thought you were the prettiest person i’d ever seen since the moment i laid my eyes on you. i still think that to this day,” luke says. he is getting sleepy and the grogginess in his voice proves that. luke isn’t usually so romantic. sure, he has always been romantic with his gestures, which prove that he loves you and will do romantic things for you. he just doesn’t usually say things so romantic. luke is a man of many words, he likes to talk. but it’s rare that uses his words to properly convey the emotions that he is feeling, simply because he is a slightly awkward person.

so, luke’s words pleasantly surprise you.

“you really think that?” you ask softly, your heart practically melting at the sweetness of your boyfriend in the pale moonlight.

“of course i do,” luke replies, as if his words were the most nonchalant thing ever.

this is when you found out that luke liked you for way longer than you thought he did.

i'm watching american pie with you on a saturday night

your friends are around, so be quiet

i'm trying to stifle my sighs

'cause I feel so high school every time I look at you

but look at you

a lot of the time, the new jersey devils don’t have enough time to hang out as a group. there is a party every once in a while, but other than that, hangouts are pretty seldom.

somehow, a lot of the team was available one night and the wags were able to organize a movie and game night with the players and their partners. it wasn’t anything big but it was what was able to be done.

luke isn’t very fond of his current situation. he loves his teammates and he loves spending time with them. he just loves his girlfriend more. all he wanted was some alone time with his girlfriend, especially because you both have very busy schedules. but luke is now stuck on the couch of one of his teammates’ living rooms next to his girlfriend, forced to be quiet while watching a movie that he can't remember the name of.

“do you know what’s happening? i haven’t really been paying attention,” luke whispers to you after he decides that he’s had enough of pretending to be invested in the movie.

“me neither,” you say, letting out a small laugh that sounds more like a huff.

“i’m bored,” luke speaks once more.

“don’t you want to spend time with your teammates?”

“this is barely spending time with them. no one is even interacting,”

“at least we’re all together,”

“i want to be together with my girlfriend,” luke whispers in a whiny tone. at that, he notices the death glares from some people around him who are actually watching the movie and decides to shut his mouth. you can’t help but giggle at the slightly flustered look on luke’s face after he realizes that people could here him.

you two ended up disrupting the movie night, but at least it was more enjoyable that way. well, for you and luke it was.

are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

it's just a game, but really

i'm bettin' on all three for us two

get my car door, isn't that sweet?

then pull me to the back seat

no one's ever had me, not like you

“you know the game marry, kiss, or kill?” you ask luke randomly while laying on his chest.

“yeah..?” luke answers, confused by the randomness of your question.

“would you marry, kiss, or kill me?” you ask. the question seems silly but the look on your face tells luke that you are being one hundred percent serious.

“all three,” luke answers simply.

“you’d kill me?”

“sometimes i want to, but i was hoping it would be in the way of you dying from my love,” luke teases.

you let out a soft laugh at luke’s answer. after a few moments of just being in his arms, you eventually drift away into a calm slumber. luke stares at you for a few minutes. it wasn’t meant to be creepy in any way. luke just genuinely could not take his eyes off of you.

truth, dare, spin bottles

you know how to ball, I know aristotle

brand new, full throttle

touch me while your bros play grand theft auto

it's true, swear, scout's honor

you knew what you wanted and, boy, you got her

brand new, full throttle

you already know, babe

“you guys are such hockey bros,” you snort. you are sitting with luke and all of his friends. they are playing video games and arguing about stupid things. this is a frequent thing for them but you don’t usually hang around for it. you wanted to spend time with luke today though and you had nothing better to do. hearing them argue is entertaining anyway.

“yeah, you guys complain about your classes and then it’s stupid things like the history of hockey or something,” ethan’s girlfriend agrees.

“i swear all they know is hockey sometimes,” you say, continuing to tease the boys.

“you guys do know that we’re right here, right?” luke scoffs jokingly.

“that’s the whole point,” you say with a smug grin on your face. luke rolls his eyes playfully at your sass. the conversation dies down not too much later and the boys go back to playing their video game. luke’s hand finds it’s way to your thigh and kneads at the soft skin. you find the action slightly amusing but you let him have his fun. that is, until someone else notices.

“stop groping your girlfriend in front of us, dude!”

i feel so high school, every time that i look at you

as the song ends, the crowd’s whoops and hollers only grow stronger than they were before. you cannot see luke at all but you can only imagine his reaction.

whatever you imagined luke’s reaction to be, his actual one is much better. he is starstruck, not sure if he should say something to his brothers about the song or if he should just stand there admiring you and the fact that you wrote a song about him.

“dude, she wrote a song about you,” quinn says after a short time of quietness from all three of the brothers.

“i have no clue how she sees anything in you though,” jack adds.

“me neither,” luke murmurs.

———————————————————————-

word count: 2020

[1d1195]

The Lottery II

Read The Lottery here | ~4.5k words

From me: There is def some fluctuating in the timeline. This part is mostly from Harry's POV and it suggests 6 years passes but that is more relevant for the next couple parts. There are pieces of this that happen shortly after she moves in and some years later. It might be a little hard to tell, but hopefully it won't ruin the story. I'm mostly establishing more background info in these parts. I feel like the real story doesn't begin till part three or even four.

Warnings: angst and fluff. (A new nickname for her!!!)

Summary: She is unbelievably sweet. Which makes Harry nervous because he knows how easy it would be to fall for her. Which he doesn't want.

But why does she have to be so sweet? It's nearly impossible not to fall for her.

“She opened a bookstore. But s’like a library too. The high schoolers go there t’study. And she helps them,” Harry muttered.

“Well yeah... I would too if I was in high school. I looked her up after you talked about her for an hour. Have you even seenher? You didn’t even mention how pretty she was. Why wouldn’t they go there to study? She’s beautiful, kind, intelligent, beautiful, funny, pretty—”

“Alright I get it,” he grumbled.

Louis was always ready to give Harry a hard time. More specifically he was always ready to remind him not to be so grumpy, but it was easier said than done. Harry was still young, and he shouldn’t have been so frustrated all the time. His twenties were supposed to be fun. But he didn’t feel like having fun anymore. He was much too young to be so jaded, but there he was; green, like a sour apple.

The stupid small town was just a reminder of the heartbreak he suffered on more than one front. People he had known his whole life... from when he was a baby, a child, a teen... it just felt like he was suffocating. He loved his town, he did. But it hurt. It was hard to forget about the hurt when everyone looked at him with pity because they knew. No one spoke too loudly, no one tried to upset him. It was miserable. They were trying to be kind because they knew Harry and they knew what he had been through.

Louis was the only one who tried to piss him off intentionally. When Harry let it slip that there was a new girl in town, he quickly did research and was ready to give Harry a hard time about her as well as every other thing he enjoyed pestering him about. “It’s good for you. Everyone tiptoeing around you is just making you angrier.”

When she argued with him that first day... even though it was trivial—just about pancakes—it was refreshing.

But Harry didn’t want to like her. Because he knew himself quite well. He knew the second he started to like her it was going to be a slippery slope to falling in love with her. How could he not? She was everything Louis said: kind, intelligent, beautiful, funny, and sweet... she was a breath of fresh air and Harry hadn’t had a fresh breath in ages.

No. He couldn’t think like that. Slippery slope.

But when she arrived at the diner the second morning and sat in the same spot at the counter as she did the day before—the spot that people had been avoiding for months because it was much too close to Harry—it softened something in the armor around his heart. The way she smiled in greeting even though he didn’t really return it. She ordered one of each pancake again and even though they argued, Harry knew there was no use fighting it. He was willing to do anything to keep that smile on her pretty face.

But they did still argue. Maybe she was trying to save Harry’s grumpy façade in front of his other customers, the people he had known his whole life. Like she was trying to keep up whatever pretense she didn’t even know he was maintaining. “Are you sure I can’t have one peach and one white chocolate chip pancake?” She asked hopefully. When she asked this time it didn’t have the same flare and attitude as the day before. Probably because she knew that she would get both again.

So why was she keeping it a secret?

“No,” he rolled his eyes. “One or the other.”

“White chocolate chip today then,” she sighed.

And Harry made her one of each because it really wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. He was just mad the day before as he always was... and unfortunately, he took it out on her. It seemed like she didn’t even mind. Given she played like she didn’t notice Harry made one of each the day before was merely solidifying how much he liked her. Even though he wasn’t supposed to.

“She doesn’t tiptoe,” Harry mumbled.

“Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t know,” Louis reminded him. It was hard talking to Louis about this stuff sometimes. It was over a FaceTime call. Because Louis was smart enough to leave the little town and only come back for visits. He wasn’t tied to the feeling in his chest the way Harry was. In a lot of ways Louis was smart. Smarter than Harry. Maybe a genius even. “But Harry, it’s a small town. She’s going to find out.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah... I know.”

But for a few weeks, it would be nice. Not having someone know everything about him.

“Then you’ll be able to tell her you love her.”

Louis was an idiot. Perhaps the dumbest person he knew.

*

It was a couple weeks later that she reached behind the counter for the little plate stacked with sugar and cream. “Hey,” he scowled. “Don’t do that,” he reached for it smacking her hand lightly out of the way.

“Why, it’s right there?”

“Because y’not supposed to!” It was the same argument they had been having since the second time she sat at the counter after her arrival. The first time she reached for the sugar and cream and was subject to Harry’s glare, she put her hands up defensively and let him put the plate next to her.

It seemed small towns didn’t change all that much. Even with a new person around, Harry wasn’t too surprised he was having the same conversation with her weeks later. “It’s literally right there, Harry.” She rolled her eyes and poured an unhealthy amount of sugar into the mug. He grimaced. “What?” She asked defensively. Apparently, he missed when she dumped an entire week’s worth of sugar into her coffee the day before.

“Do y’want coffee with your sugar?”

“I don’t really like hot coffee but if I don’t drink caffeine, I’ll be miserable for the entire day and ruin everyone else’s day too, so it will do,” she explained. Harry felt bad he didn’t have cold coffee for her. It was in his mind to buy a pitcher later that day and keep it for her specifically in the back fridge. No one else would drink cold coffee so it wouldn’t have to be a thing really.

How was it he was already obsessed with her, and he had only spoken with her for twenty minutes at most within the two days? Most of that short time was spent arguing with her too. It was insane. It was unreasonable. Harry was an idiot. A slippery slope of hopelessness.

Harry found it easier to be angrier. Cold. People asked less of him. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Yeah, they tiptoed, but he didn’t have to talk. She looked like she was a talker. Ad nauseum at that. A person who owned a bookstore probably enjoyed talking and wanted to talk. Probably wanted to talk to the person they liked about everything under the sun.

“Did you see the moon last night?” She asked as he walked by. He shook his head of the thoughts of those first couple of days. They replayed often in his head. He was memorizing those first moments, and he didn’t know why... or if even if his subconscious really knew, he didn’t want the rest of his mind to think about it.

Everything under the moon then. He thought to himself. He blinked. “Yes?” He didn’t remember looking up specifically but surely, he saw it.

“It’s so pretty.”

Harry tilted his head at her. It was just the moon. He didn’t see what was particularly special, but he liked the reverence in her voice. How soft she was. “Yeah,” he nodded in agreement because there was no way he could argue with her when she was talking like that.

“I like the moon a lot,” she explained. Definitely a talker. But instead of hurrying to another table, he found himself rooted to the spot where he stood. Waiting for her to continue. “It’s comforting you know? It’s there all the time, even if you can’t see it some nights. You know it’s going to come back and it’s always so pretty. The crescent in the morning when it’s cold is my favorite. Or when the sun is setting in December and the sky is yellow and moon is too.”

Harry watched her. Wondering what made her say all that seemingly for no reason. Before he could ask why or embarrass himself with a declaration of how much he adored her already, she was getting up after placing her napkin over the plate. “Sorry, I have to run; the plumber is coming to set up the bathroom and backroom,” she slung her bag over her shoulder, tucking her notebook inside of it, and pushing in her stool. Right before she turned she smiled so sweetly at Harry it nearly made him blurt something insane like he loved her. “Have a nice day, Harry. I’ll see you later,” she gave a small wave and hurried out the door.

Harry had an intense desire to buy a telescope. But he knew if (when) he did, he was admitting he was fully fucked.

*

Other than breakfast, she didn’t say much most of the time because she was either reading or scribbling in her notebook. The glimpses Harry did see were a bit of a to-do list. Harry didn’t see her all that often unless she was reaching for sugar and cream over the breakfast counter. The storefront that was going to be her bookshop got a sign later that first week and was hung above the entrance door.

The Open Book.

Harry could never. The half-print, half-cursive lettering splayed on an outline of open pages of a wire novel. He assumed she was inside that very story or maybe unpacking her house still (it had been on her to do list since she arrived). It had to be overwhelming to move to a new house and open a new business.

In the few weeks she’d been there, he overheard everyone talking about her meeting with Sutton and how she got him to agree to giving her a designated parking spot out behind the strip of stores for free (so long as she shoveled her own spot and adhered to the no parking rule in the snow).

She was a hard worker. That was obvious. She chatted when people spoke to her, but she was quiet. She didn’t try to force herself on the town.

There was no denying how perfectly she fit in. Within weeks of opening, it was obvious her business was a success. He wondered if it was hard for her to start anew. How many people in her life doubted her? But she didn’t seem to mind if they did. People raved about her little shop. It was exactly what the town needed, and it was like the town needed her too.

“Hi sweetheart!” Alice cheered as she entered the diner. “Harry, she’s here!”

“Jesus, Alice. Embarrass them both why don’t you?”

Harry felt a twinge of a smile on his lips as he heard her laugh but he kept it to himself by staying in the back by the grill. Silently, he paused what he was doing while he tried to hide the overeagerness to see her. He turned to the fridge to grab the pitcher of cold coffee for her. “Did you make me cold coffee?” She asked when he stood in front of her poised to pour her a cup of her favorite coffee.

Today she was wearing a pair of red leggings beneath her colorful tutu. A shirt with the Crayola logo was across her chest and her eyeshadow was multi-colored across her eyes. “Whoa,” he stared at her for a lot longer than he should have.

“Is it too much?” She frowned glancing down at her outfit. “I sent Bailey a picture and she said I looked a bit ridiculous but we’re reading The Day the Crayons Quit and then we’re going to color with the wrong colors; so, I thought it was fitting,” she sighed. Harry poured the coffee over ice and a smirk twitched at his lips.

“S’cute,” he shrugged.

"Really!?" She said excitedly. "Good, I don't want to scare the kids either," she reached for the cream, and he smacked her hand softly before she grabbed it. She rolled her eyes.

“Hey Harry!” Someone called across the room and he left her without answering her cold coffee question. She frowned at her drink wondering why he did something so nice for her again. The pancakes were sweet, the coffee was even sweeter.

She couldn’t believe it. The whispering around town about Harry and his sour attitude ensued shortly after she arrived.

Any cute guys? Bailey texted her the third day she was there.

One. But he’s kinda grumpy. The town is under the impression that he won’t do anything for anybody.

Hard pass. You need a nice bubbly guy like you.

So why was Harry making her special pancakes and coffee? It didn’t match the grumpy persona that everyone described.

“Peach, y’want a muffin today?” He asked quietly while walking by her counter space. She blinked in surprise as he replaced the coffee pot on the burner to keep it warm. She was so confused and surprised she couldn’t even answer. “Y’deaf today?”

“No... I...” She shook her head. “You called me Peach.”

If she wasn’t watching him so closely, she wouldn’t have seen him still ever so briefly while grabbing the cream and sugar to bring to another table. “Uh...” he shook his head. Was this grumpy man blushing? “Y’jus’ order those pancakes so much so... I jus’ kinda...

“Right,” she cleared her throat. “Um... muffin. Yes. Thank you.”

Today was Wednesday which meant she just wanted a blueberry muffin because she was going to be reading to the kids at story time and even though they adored her, it made her nervous and she didn’t want to be nervous on a full stomach. After several minutes (because Harry was always sure to warm it on the grill with ample butter) he returned to the front and placed an apple alongside her muffin before her.

“D’you need help with y’place or shop?” He asked.

“Help?”

“M’jus’ worried ‘bout the pipes,” he explained. And you having hot water or heat in the winter.

“The pipes,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“The pipes are fine,” she assured him. “Nothing to worry about, there.”

She didn’t tell him the Hollistons replaced them prior to moving out. “S’jus’ getting colder quickly,” he shrugged. “S’a little harder t’get around without a bunch of plows like a city.”

She nodded. “Right, of course,” she tilted her head as Harry continued. Her multi-colored, shiny eyeshadow sparkled and twinkled almost directly at Harry. “I’ll try to make sure an issue happens prior to the first snowfall.”

He rolled his eyes. “Y’bathroom is all set?” He asked.

“All set.”

“What’s next on your to-do list?”

She sliced her apple a bit at a time, a holdover from when she had braces and worried about the skin getting stuck in her brackets—she stared at Harry as he stood in front of her while she ate her slice in silence. She flipped her notebook open to the most recent to-do list. “The windows at the shop need to be replaced. They’re glued shut with paint. A theme in this town I’m assuming because I have several at home that need to be replaced too.”

“I could look at them for you. If y’want. S’a lot of money t’replace ‘em. Could save y’some money if I can jus’ repair them.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Well... that would be lovely. Thank you.”

“I’ll come by after work,” he offered and walked away before he asked to marry her or to live with her.

It seemed like he blinked, and suddenly a half hour had gone by. She was no longer in her seat. Harry frowned at the empty spot as he picked up her empty plate but found a note tucked underneath it, a page pulled from her notebook. Her handwriting was pretty, not quite calligraphy, but not quite print. A half-cursive, half-print script. It made him wonder if she designed her shop’s sign on her own.

Thanks for the offer to help! Sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye. Here’s my number, just give me a ten-minute heads-up when you’re coming over! Have a nice day, Harry :) - Peach

*

On the opening day of her shop, she had homemade muffins on display. It must have taken her ages to make them in her oven. Only a dozen at a time. Harry wished she had asked, and he would have lent his oven to her. Or even offered to help her make them. But why would she ask?

Harry rolled his eyes at her pancake order. And the omelet she wanted. It was half (literally half) cheese and half veggies but only if they were cooked separately. Really it was just two small omelets put near one another. When she explained it two more times, she finally drew a picture of two little rectangles in her notebook with arrows pointing to where the ingredients were supposed to go and slid it across the counter to Harry so he could see what she really meant. “Do y’have a thing against mixing your foods, Peach?”

“It tastes better that way.”

Maybe if Harry wasn’t so grumpy he would have found it a little funnier than he did. Maybe he would have even laughed and not snorted the way he did as he headed to the back kitchen. “Lemme guess. Y’eat milk and cereal separately too.”

She laughed. A gorgeous sound. Like a bird call made specifically for Harry. He shouldn’t have thought that way. She didn’t owe anything to him. She was lovely and sweet—a peach. Harry was sour and undeserving of someone so lovely. “Very funny, Harry.”

As lovely as she was, Harry couldn’t imagine going through the kind of heartbreak he would suffer because of her. It seemed inevitable that it would happen. Harry was too guarded, too grumpy. Louis tried to tell him it didn’t have to be that way, but it wasn’t something he could wrap his head around.

*

For the next several years, that was how their lives connected. Harry would make fun of her meal choices; she would try to steal the cream and sugar from behind the counter. The town loved their little businesses.

On Wednesdays and Fridays, she had story hour for the little ones. Harry had seen her dressed up as princesses, a mouse, and even a caterpillar. In the summer, she was sure to stock the shelves with summer reading books. When students had issues with their schoolwork, they checked in with her after school before emailing their teachers. Before major exams she held review groups and by year five, she had so many flashcards and quiz reviews for them that the principal asked if she would just teach. Teachers gave her the test reviews that were done in class.

But her shop was her pride and joy. Finding a book that a non-reader liked was like Christmas for her. Helping gift the perfect book on behalf of someone else was too. Or ordering a book series that she never would have thought of that was suggested by a little one was one of her favorite moments.

It was an amazing business, and it was almost entirely because of her.

The younger kids flocked to her when she walked through town giving her hugs and telling her all about the sticker chart, they were close to filling out (a five-dollar coupon for any book if they read ten age-level books). The older students went to her for dating advice, university application advice, and her shop was one of the most coveted jobs in town.

Honestly, Harry felt jealous he couldn’t work at The Open Book right along with her.

She worked nearly every day. At least popping in to make sure things ran smoothly. Harry knew the way small businesses worked better than anyone. It was nearly impossible to leave them alone. Even when you trusted another person.

Harry remembered the first day he laid eyes on her. The first day he made a fuss about her pancakes, and he had since lost count of how many pancakes he made for her after six years. On her birthday, he stuck a candle in them. Every spring and fall he cleaned her gutters.

He checked her pipes in the winter, even when she wasn’t home to let him in. “Y’shouldn’t leave your house unlocked,” he reprimanded when she entered her own house unphased by his presence.

“Edith or David are always home, they would call if there was a problem,” she shrugged kicking off her shoes and hanging her jacket up on her coatrack.

“Anyone could just walk in, Peach.”

“Exhibit A?” She gestured to him, and he rolled his eyes. “Do you want some water?” She asked, holding a bottle out to him. “You didn’t have to come check; I would call you if there was a problem.”

"I was over this way," he shrugged taking the water bottle from her.

"Do you want to stay? I'm going to order pizza," she yawned. "I'm too tired to cook."

Harry was terrified if he stayed he would never leave. The invitation wasn't that serious but it felt like it was. "M'good."

"Well then it's your fault when I eat an entire pizza on my onw."

He smirked, rolling his eyes. "Y'sure?" He asked.

"I'll even order a salad," she smiled sweetly. "Thank you for looking at the pipes."

"They look like they were replaced."

She shrugged. "Maybe the Holliston's replaced them," she suggested pulling out the pamphlet for the nearby pizza place from the drawer in her kitchen. Harry frowned. He wouldn't need to come check on them in the winter and that kind of saddened him. "I'm a plain person," Harry thought she was anything but plain. "I like cheese pizza. Do you want anything on yours?"

"I like peppers and onions...but y'don't have to--"

"That sounds yummy. I might try a slice," she smiled and dialed on her phone. "Could you look at my bathroom sink? The facet kind of leaks," she explained while skimming over the menu again. "Hi could I place an order for pick up?" She asked and walked toward the living room with a basket of laundry on one hip.

Harry felt it was a little too domestic, but he liked it way more than he could admit.

Louis was going to love it.

*

When it snowed, he shoveled her parking spot and cleared the store front walkway before he cleared his own. She thanked him profusely when he arrived at her house. But she wasn't actually at her house. There were footsteps leading from her own driveway, un-shoveled, because she was next door at Edith and David’s being sweet and kind to the elderly couple with inches of snow on the ground. Harry hurried after her, there to help.

They worked in silence scooping snow out of the way from front step to car and the rest of the driveway. “Where do Alice and Ed live?” She asked him to pause for a short break while shoveling.

“Uh... across town. On Second Street.”

She frowned. “Do they have neighbors to help shovel?” She asked.

“They’ll be fine, Peach.”

“But people over the age of forty-five aren’t supposed to shovel. They could have a heart attack,” she explained, and Harry could hear the worry in her voice for an elderly couple she hardly knew.

Harry sighed, looking at the too sweet girl for her own good. “We can go there next, love,” he assured her.

“We?”

“I can shovel ‘em out myself if y’have something t’do,” he shrugged.

“No... no, it was my idea. But why?”

Harry swallowed feeling an overwhelming amount of emotions pulse through him. Happy, sad, nervous, everything. It was like each one was battling for dominance and he willed tears to stay away from his eyes. He wasn’t going to confess his love to her, he knew that. But it kind of felt like he wanted to.

But was it even love? They never really talked. He knew surface level things about her and knew how lovely she was sure. But was that enough to be in love? Harry wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to love her. It was a terrible idea to love someone in this too small-town.

“Y’jus’ really nice, Peach. I want t’make sure you’re okay. You’re nice t’me. M’not the sunniest person. Y’never seem t’mind,” he explained and continued shoveling as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

She was watching him as he continued, unable to move. “You’re nice too, Harry,” she promised. “I see it in everything you do for this town. All the little things. I know you replace the lightbulbs on the streetlights because Sutton is too lazy to hire someone. I know you donated money to the high school baseball team for new uniforms. I know you love this town quietly even if you don’t want to for whatever reason. I hope you tell me some time.”

He ignored her little rant because if Harry hadn’t spent the last few years building up blockers and blinders to those kinds of sweet things he would have been a mess of tears at her words.

She gave his arm a squeeze when they finished Edith and David’s driveway. “Thanks for helping. Are you sure you want to help with Alice and Ed’s? I could do it myself. I just need a ride since my car is blocked in. We can shovel mine later. If you don’t mind of course.”

He appreciated her not bringing up how he loved the town. “I don’t mind, Peach,” he promised.

She grinned and looked up at the sky. It had stopped snowing a while ago and the sky was bright blue. “Look how pretty the moon is,” she chirped pointing up. Harry nodded, watching her happy smile and astonished eyes like it was the first time she had ever seen the moon.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It really is.”

--

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[twdgrxmes]

Trouble (Remastered) - TrailerPark!Daryl Dixon x GoodGirl!Reader (Part 1)

part 2

Warnings: None

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: So, I have thought about it and there are many parts/factors that i would like to change in my story, and so, I am rewriting! This will be available on both my wattpad and ao3 as well as here.

The summer of 1984 came in hot — thick heat rolling in off the Georgia asphalt, clinging to your skin like honey. Everything felt slow that year, syrup-slow and sun-bleached, the kind of summer that seeps into your bones and stays there, humming like a forgotten song. 

You remember the sweat behind your knees, the cicadas screaming in the trees, the clink of glass bottles against wood porches, and the smell of gasoline thick in the air.

And you remember him.

Daryl Dixon.

The first time you saw him, it was like watching a lit match fall into a field of dry grass that had been doused in gasoline. Unavoidable. Dangerous.

You already knew his name, everyone in Monroe County did, and yes, he attended your high school.. on occasion. The Dixon’s were infamous: the kind of people mentioned behind hands, in whispers, in warnings. Merle had done a stint in the military and came back worse than he left — strung out and selling to the same kids you cheered beside at football games.

And Daryl? He kept to himself mostly, fixing up bikes in the local garage. He didn’t go looking for trouble, but it always seemed to find him anyway — in the form of messy fights, broken noses, and bruised knuckles.

You were the complete opposite to all that. You got straight A's but would never bring them up unless someone asked, even then downplaying the achievement. You smiled politely, were captain of the cheer team, wore pressed skirts and soft perfume. People looked at you and saw a future. Clean lines. White picket fences. Safety. You had a reputation purer than a blank canvas.

But none of that mattered when he showed up at your house.

It was a Saturday, the first of Summer — late morning, the kind where the sunlight was soft and gold, slanting through the blinds of your bedroom window like a secret. You were still half-draped in sleep, tangled in sheets, your hair a mess and the scent of strawberry shampoo lingering faintly in your pillow. It could’ve been just another quiet day.

Until the sound came. Metal against metal, sharp and grating, foreign in the hazy drapes of sunlight across your lawn. Not like the usual hum of a lawn mower or the familiar creak of your neighbors’ porch swing. 

Curious, you pulled yourself up, walked barefoot across your plush carpet, and peeked through your window.

There he was.

Crouched over the rusted hood of your daddy’s ‘72 Chevy, his arms slick with sweat and oil, head ducked low as he worked. A cigarette clung to his lips, forgotten, the ash nearly to the filter. His black tank top was clinging to him like a second skin, dirt streaked across his collarbone, the curve of his throat exposed and glistening under the southern sun.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t know what you expected — maybe someone rougher looking, meaner. But Daryl wasn’t just a troublemaker. And you thought that there’d be no way that he would be allowed on your property, especially not with your father being the sheriff. Yet here he was, knuckles deep in your daddy’s engine like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You were halfway through the thought when he looked up.

Just a flick of the eyes, like people do when they feel the weight of someone’s eyes on the back of their head. 

Then those blue eyes met yours through the glass.

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes met his, flustered at having been caught watching.

You moved to step back, embarrassed to be caught watching, but something in his gaze held you still. He didn’t smirk, didn’t wink, didn’t give you some cocky grin like the boys from school would’ve. No, Daryl looked at you like he was seeing something he didn’t expect. 

Then, just as slowly as he had looked up, he turned back to the car, flicked the ash from his cigarette, and continued with his work.

But your heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

~ 

You spent the rest of the morning pretending you weren’t thinking about him. Pretending like your fingers weren’t fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, like your heartbeat wasn’t faster than it should’ve been. Like you hadn’t spent the last hour by your desk beside the window, peeking through the lace curtain, catching glimpses of Daryl Dixon working beneath the hood of your father’s truck.

You tried not to think about the way his eyes had caught yours earlier, like he could read you, strip down your polished good-girl layers with just a glance. You hated how much that thought stuck in your head.

Worse still was how none of it made any damn sense. Sheriff Monroe had spent years dragging the Dixon name through the dirt, arresting Merle, even Daryl, like it was part of the weekly routine. He didn’t trust that family. Didn’t like them. So why Daryl? Why now?

But you knew your father well. Knew how practical he could be when his pride got backed into a corner. If no one else in town could get the engine running, if the local mechanic had packed up for the weekend, maybe he figured the devil he knew was better than a stalled-out truck.

Still… it didn’t sit right.

You were halfway down the stairs when your father’s voice drifted up from the front hall — clipped and casual, but with that familiar undercurrent.

“I’m headin’ into town for a few. Daryl’s workin’ on the truck — leave him be.”

There it was. That warning tone tucked inside his slow Southern drawl. The one that said: I know how curious you are, don’t even think about it.

You hesitated at the foot of the stairs, skirt brushed smooth over your thighs, the pleats pressed sharp. Your white knee socks were pulled up snug, just an inch shy of the hem. You were dressed like your father liked. Neat, sweet, proper.

“What’s he even doing here?” you asked, voice light but too interested, absentmindedly standing up on your toes to get a peek of him outside the window.

Your father paused in the doorway, narrowed his eyes.

“Fixin’ the damn thing. Ain’t like I had a whole lotta options. Don’t talk to him, Sophia. He’ll be gone by this afternoon.”

You nodded. Quietly. But you didn’t promise anything.

The screen door slammed behind him, and the silence that followed stretched through the house like a held breath.

You waited. Counted the seconds. Let the sound of his truck fade into the distance, the rumble swallowed up by heat and dust. Then you slipped out the front door, your shoes quiet on the porch steps, sunlight licking at your skin.

The air outside was heavy with the scent of cut grass and grease. The sky blazed clear blue, and the heat soaked through your clothes like a second skin.

Daryl was still crouched over the engine, his black sleeveless shirt clinging damp to his back, streaked with sweat and dirt. His jeans sagged low on his hips, loose and worn at the seams. 

You cleared your throat nervously.

“I brought you some water,” you said, almost too soft to be heard.

He turned slightly, glanced over his shoulder.

No smile. 

Your heart stuttered.

His eyes dropped to the glass in your hand and lingered there.

You swallowed hard, cheeks already flushing. “It’s just—hot out, and I figured maybe…”

You trailed off, embarrassed by how unsure you sounded.

Daryl stood slowly, stretching out to his full height. The sun caught in the strands of his hair, damp and curling slightly at the ends. He didn’t step forward, but he didn’t back away either.

“You meant to be out here?” he asked, voice rough and low, with the barest edge of teasing.

You gave a one-shouldered shrug, trying to play it cool. “It’s my lawn.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth and he reached out, taking the glass, his fingers brushing yours and lifted it to his lips. You looked away, only to glance back too soon, gaze tracing the way the muscles in his throat shifted as he swallowed.

He set the glass down on the edge of the toolbox and wiped his hand on the side of his jeans.

“Your daddy be happy with you talkin’ to the likes of me?” he asked.

You crossed your arms, trying to look unfazed. “He said not to bother you.”

A beat. Then a smirk, faint but real.

“Well, reckon you’re doin’ a real fine job of not listenin’.”

You didn’t answer. 

He turned back to the truck, then hesitated. Glanced over his shoulder.

“You ever look under a hood before?”

You blinked. “Not really.”

“C’mere,” he said, voice softer now, but with a pull to it. “I’ll show you somethin’.”

You stepped closer, and the moment stretched — long enough for you to realize what you were doing. What it would look like. What your father would say. But the thought didn’t stop you.

Daryl stepped aside, just enough to let you in next to him. You moved slowly, careful where you stood, gravel shifting beneath your shoes. The heat from the engine made the air shimmer.

“Stand here,” he said, nodding to a spot in front of the grill.

You moved — and then felt him behind you.

He leaned over, one hand braced on the edge of the open hood, the other pointing to a cluster of wires. His chest was just behind your shoulder, his breath stirring the loose strands of hair at the side of your face.

You could smell him now — soap, sweat, smoke. Clean and rough all at once.

“Starter solenoid’s right here,” he said, voice low and even. “She’s busted. Most folks’d replace the whole damn thing.”

“But not you?” you asked, not trusting yourself to look at him.

He shifted, just slightly, and you felt the warmth of his body even closer behind you. “Ain’t about what I would do. It’s about what your daddy’s willin’ to pay for.”

You glanced at the wires, trying to focus. Your skirt rustled faintly as Daryl’s hip brushed against your lower back.

“So… what do you do?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He leaned in just enough that you could feel the heat of him against your back, the whisper of his shirt nearly grazing yours.

“You figure out how to work with what’s broke.”

He reached forward, long fingers grazing over a frayed connection, and you watched the movement more than the part itself. His arm brushed yours, a spark flying up it and to your shoulder. 

“See this?” he murmured. “This one’s melted. Means you’re only gettin’ a partial circuit. That’s why the engine clicks but don’t crank.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

He kept talking, explaining each wire, each component, his tone never shifting. Like this was normal. Like you weren’t standing there, flushed and quiet, every inch of your skin aware of his presence behind you.

Then, after a beat, he paused.

“You ain’t listenin’.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

He was smirking. 

“You’re starin’. Not listenin’.”

You turned, just enough to glance up at him, only to realize how close he really was. His gaze was steady, a little sharp around the edges, but not unkind. Like he could tell exactly what you were thinking.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to deny it, maybe not, when the rumble of your father’s truck pulling onto the driveway cut the moment clean in half.

You both turned at the same time.

Your father slammed his truck door closed and stepped out, arms crossed, face stern.

“I thought I told you to leave him be.”

Daryl let out a small breath of air and stepped backwards, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

You looked away, gaze fixed on the floor, your cheeks tinted red with embarrassment.

When your father’s eyes finally found yours, he spoke, his voice sharp. Cold. “Inside. Now.”

“Daddy—”

“Don’t make me say it again, Sophia.”

You stepped back. Heart thudding. You didn’t look at Daryl — couldn’t. But you felt him watching, even as you walked back across the lawn, even as the door clicked shut behind you.

Inside, the air felt too cool. Too still. You stood in the kitchen, back straight, hands clenched.

Your father followed you inside, slamming the screen door shut behind the both of you.

“You don’t get it,” your father said, voice low and angry. “He’s trouble. That family — they ain’t good people, and you damn well know it.”

You stared at the floor.

“No daughter of mine’s gonna go throwin’ herself at some Dixon boy, you hear me? People see you out there, talk’s gonna start. And I won’t have that.”

You nodded. Quiet. Obedient.

But inside, your chest burned.

You weren’t a child anymore. And you weren’t “throwing” yourself at anyone. But you also weren’t about to say that to your father — not when his jaw was clenched that tight, not when the veins in his neck looked ready to snap.

You stayed silent. That was for the best. You’d learned that young.

Your father exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand over his face. The anger shifted, folded into something heavier — weariness, maybe. Frustration. A quiet fear he’d never admit to.

He sighed again. Softer now.

“You’re a good girl, Sophia. Don’t forget that.”

And just like that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, boots heavy against the floorboards. Left you standing there in silence, the screen door creaking gently in the breeze.

You didn’t move right away.

Your hands loosened slowly, nails unpeeling from your palms.

Maybe you were a good girl.

But that didn’t mean you had to stay that way.

[lemonisntreal]

TONE DEAF :: Rosita and Norman <3

The first in a [hopefully] series of redesign + headcanon posts where I give you my take on a character for my AU

I'm grouping the two together because a] a lot of fluff headcanons I have, they share [because they're literally husband and wife]. And b] if I made an individual post for every single character, I... would go insane. So yeah. A bunch of characters are gonna get clumped together.

[FULL MASTERPOST HERE [yet to be made <3]]

HEADCANONS // BACKSTORY ⬇️

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic [also autistic]

Both of them are the same age, mid to late thirties.

In terms of general intelligence: Rosita has gifted IQ, while Norman is at genius level.

I know. I know Norman seems kinda dim in the movies. But guys [LMAO]. "I know it looks like there's nothing happening behind those eyes, but...... he can make entire computers!"

He's so smart yet so stupid. He's that kind of character. Like he can do all of this super impressive shit, and is super talented and can do math like BOOM done, but he's also kinda a "deer-in-the-headlights" when it comes to life [I LOVE HIM 👹]

Both of them worked hard and have their college degrees almost completely paid off at this point because of the scholarships they earned.

Rosita has a degree in engineering, Norman's a computer scientist.

They're both in STEM, it's just that Rosita likes to handle more of the mechanical aspects of things while Norman's better with the technical stuff, which I think is cute af.

Yin and Yang <3

This dynamic is just how they are too. How they act. Like for example, Rosita can be very to-the-point-

She's very much a problem solver and will get right to it once she understands what she's doing. Like yeah, she often takes a very methodical approach to it [see the scene where she's got all the papers laid out to try and learn to dance- very new territory for her], but once she learns, she gos all in. And EATS.

Norman's gotta have a plan before doing anything, meanwhile. He has a morning routine that can't be interrupted or else his whole day and mood will be thrown off. He reads through a recipe twice before even starting. That kind of stuff.

He's a lot more hesitant to even try.

A lot of people find Norman boring. But Rosita is enraptured by every word he says, she LOVES his long spiels about hyper-specific [and often mundane] things.

AAAA--

Norman is also a closeted DORK. He ran a tabletop games club in highschool with a couple other of his geeky ass friends [he's still into D&D to this day and has introduced Rosita to the game too]

[she's fun to play with, but super competitive. This goes for ANY game, actually, not just D&D. She'll kinda accidentally turn everything into a "contest" due to her inability to not do her very best] [it's mostly inspirational, not annoying, if that makes sense?]

I also wanna say Norman was in a weird amount of drama that he didn't want to be in at this time. Like all of his friends had falling-outs, and he was just always caught in the middle of it.

He's afraid of confrontation [UNLESS IT'S FOR HIS WIFE] [HE STANDS UP FOR HER RAHHHH] [this is gonna happen when I get to rewriting Sing 2, he's NOT just gonna take Crystal calling his WIFE "mommy pig"]

They're sooo "excuse me, he asked for no pickles"

Norman and Rosita technically met in high school, in Junior year when Norman first moved to Calatonia.

WHICH, he and his family did this because this was a point in time where laws having to do with the rights of animals were VERY flimsy, and Calatonia was one of the first and only safe places at the time-- for Pigs especially, actually.

The 3 Little Pigs is deadass CANON TO SING. So Pigs were/are actually a marginalized species in this universe.

[[during the warring period that I have yet to really talk about, they were often victims of the anarchy and poaching, so stigmas and insults around them still exist to this day]]

[[[[see Jimmy Crystal]]]]

So anyway, they "met" in high school- Norman totally crushed on Rosita from afar whenever he'd catch her in volleyball matches-

Rosita had a major tomboy phase throughout high school, slowly falling out of it during college [still only saves dresses and skirts for special occasions really]

[[Fun fact, Rosita is also sapiosexual [attracted to intelligence] [Roxanne Ritchi ahh] ]]

[[Norman is bi]]

They actually got introduced to eachother and had a proper arc when they went to the same college [which might've been a college in Redshore actually? But I'm not 100% sure on that headcanon. It would line up since Rosita's "wanted to perform in Redshore since she was a little kid" and Redshore is obviously a massive city with a lot of notoriety. Idk though- and it's not really that important to the story anyways]

Norman and Rosita had plans together- they were gonna make it big and live freely. Things were looking up with the lawmakers, who were finally repealing a bunch of nasty stuff that was put in place during the war times. And the two had hope that their dreams could actually be accomplished.

Rosita, who was originally gonna play it safe and become an engineer, was now thinking about attempting to become a performer [which Norman has supported since the beginning, he LOVES her singing, and often tells her that she's "better than some of the people I've heard on TV!"]

But. Life got in the way...

Present day, Norman works in Redshore at Crystal Enterprises. He's the head of some sort of organizational team- not really working on what he loves at this point.

And this is because of their children, who were a very sudden appearance in their lives [which is why we see so much struggle in the chaos at the beginning of the movie in this AU]

Rosita stopped everything, and Norman grabbed the first high-ish paying job he could, spending all his spare time on clocking in overtime hours.

The kids are all adopted, and there's only 6 now: Oldest Caspar [13], twin boys Mickey and Moe [11], middle child Kelly [9], little bro Freddy[8], and Zoey the sweet baby sister [6].

They became foster parents after the death of Rosita's sister [this hc is kinda subject to change, but this is the story rn. I'll specify on this later ☝️]

So Rosita's kinda put her life on hold for these babies. She's such a great mom to them, and they love her and Norman so much

But some of the older kids [Caspar specifically] are kinda in a rough phase since they feel like she resents them [which she doesn't], or that she isn't their "real mom" [which she IS]

This is like an E plot in the story, but definitely's gonna get at least a little bit of focus.

Rosita and Norman's marriage is falling apart just a little bit due to burnout, but it'll get better <3 [I can't do anything tragic to these two they're too sweet]

Norman snuggles up to Rosita in his sleep. Rosita starfishes LMAO

They wake up entangled. This is normal.

"Pig piles" are also a thing- there have been several nights where all six children "had nightmares" and so the family of 8 all slept in the same bed.

Norman has the best bond with the two girls out of all the children. They immediately latched onto him to be their level-headed dad.

Rosita can carry two kids at once easily, and often "relocates" them like this :>

She's probably the strongest out of everyone in the troupe if you don't count the potential Meena has. She solos.

She's constantly taking notes on everyone and everything around her. At the theater, you'll catch her tidying stuff up she spots out of the corner of her vision while you're having a conversation with her [she's still listening]. She knows everyones favorite foods, and allergies, and their preferences in things, etc. She's the most attentive and considerate out of all of them [the mom]

She may have a touch of OCD.

She gives the best hugs.

Rosita is also a FANTASTIC cook [not even a headcanon, I'm pretty sure the entire fandom agrees on this one] and often bakes stuff for her sweet-toothed children [and husband]

This is actually how she initially connected with Caspar, who refused to eat or speak at first when they were all placed with Rosita.

Cinnamon rolls.

Kelly will only eat the frosting off the top, and has ruined an entire pan before by doing this.

Rosita actually isn't the biggest fan of chocolate, small detail.

Idk why she just strikes me as not being an enjoyer.

Loves vanilla though. People are furious when she answers "vanilla" with zero hesitation to the chocolate vs vanilla question.

Norman is kinda a hopeless romantic, or at least really enjoys the aesthetic of it [in a sweet and not shallow way ofc], and goes all out every Valentine's Day: balloons, flowers, the works. He's learned that Rosita prefers strawberries over a box of chocolates, however. Has a tradition of getting a fruit basket for her <3

They also have a tradition from all the way back in college, where they go out to eat at specifically the in-universe equivalent of Olive Garden [which was the fanciest thing they could afford at the time] and eat a shared giant plate of spaghetti.

Norman loves coffee. Insists he likes it black but actually prefers a good 50:50 ratio of creamer and coffee.

Norman is also ☝️ lactose intolerant LMAO

[[or would be, if traditional milk was widely accessible/a thing. I say "lactose intolerant" but what I really mean is he's allergic to most milk substitutes- like nuts and soy [gives him tummy ache, not anaphylaxis] ]]

God, parenthesis are carrying me so hard rn.

Stopping here because I'm tired, but I could go ON about these two omg-

Normita forever rahhhh <3

[1-800-local-slut]

Before and After (Part 1)

The bullet that went through his brain knocked all the part of Rex that sucked clean out of him. But he still existed before that.

Rex 'Splode' Sloan x Black! Alien! Reader

Warnings: really hard pregnancy, vomit, smut mentions, Rex doubts his parenting abilities, also Rex and reader are young parents trying to figure it out, Rex being a cunt but this was before he got his brains blasted out lol, woke!Mark, I tried to make the characters talk like teenagers because I feel like we don't see enough of it in the show, Rex and Eve broke up WAY before he hooked up with reader because man stealing is never the move

Note: you're from a planet called Moraya and your parents sent you to Earth to stay with your uncle due to a disease sweeping the planet. They couldn't leave because your mother is the head of medicine, and your father is a high-ranking member of the government. By the time the crisis was dealt with you were a teenager and had adjusted to life on Earth, your parents understood your choice to stay. Your powers are mostly mental. You can control minds, have telekinesis, take over people's bodies, manipulate people's emotional states, and sometimes see the future in your dreams. Your body functions like a human, so your vulnerable to injures and human deaths but not illnesses (like car accidents, falling and breaking your neck, choking, drowning). You can fly, but not everyone on your planet can. It's more of a recessive gene since overtime your people didn't need to do it as often. That's all y'all!

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

If Rex finished high school, he might've remembered to use a condom that night. Nah. He still wouldn't have done it. He was twenty years old, with a three year old and his nineteen year old fiancé. You two were broke as two jokes. You were trying to get through med school, he was trying to save the world, but you two still found the time to be the best parents possible. He was stressed all the time, a few gray hairs were growing and the bags under his eyes were never leaving.

But Rex hasn't stopped smiling since the moment you agreed to marry him. Not when your baby woke up screaming in the middle of the night, not when your baby threw up on him four times in a day, not when you broke his hand during labor. Not even when he was woken up by you struggling to put on your crocs to go to get food in the middle of the night.

At first, Rex spent so much time wishing he just pulled out. Of course Plan B wasn't enough, you were an alien. But no matter how much you reassured him that it would've worked and that the Plan B just failed, he still didn't believe you. To this day he's ashamed to admit that he didn't want his baby at first.

Even suggested it wasn't his, to which he got a firm slap.

"Pregnant?!"

"I just thought I'd let you know-"

"So what, you like need a ride to the place? Because I kind of don't have my car right now."

Silence settled over the HQ and disgust filled your face.

"No, Rex, I don't need a ride. I just wanted to let you have a choice-"

"What, you wanna keep it?! Listen, you're cool but I'm not gonna have a kid. I mean how do you know its even mine?" Just then Mark came in and let out a soft 'oooo'. Even Invincible, as clueless as he was sometimes knew that was definitely the worst thing to say to you.

You let out an offended gasp before anger replaced disgust.

"Are you calling me a slut?!" The slap that followed honestly left him reeling. To this day he could still feel your handprint on his face sometimes and it's almost been four years since you slapped the taste out of his mouth.

"I was OFFERING you a chance to know it. I have family on my home planet. Seeing as it's your child too I thought you might've wanted a chance to raise it but you've answered the question before I asked. I will be taking it home with me when it's old enough to make the journey with me."

"Oh. Okay, cool. So you aren't asking me for money?"

"I wouldn't wipe my ass with the crumpled two dollars you have in your pocket. Me and MY CHILD will be good without you, trust." Then you were gone, and only Rexsplode and Invincible remained in the room. But Invincible decided to be Mark for a second and talk to his friend.

"Dude...she's having your baby." It was the first thing he said when Rex sat down on his bed as the two teenagers sat down in his room in the Gaurdian's HQ.

"Yeah, I'm doing okay after that slap." He scoffed while he grabbed a shirt that smelt clean off his bed and removed his costume.

"Did you want me to be on your side here...?"

"Okay yeah, maybe I wasn't the most sensitive but what did I really say wrong?"

"Are we being deadass???" Now in his own regular clothes (where he got them from Rex still doesn't know), Mark made a face of disgust. The type of face you make when you're truly questioning your homie.

Rex gave an indignant shrug. He knew but his pride hurt more than his face at that point.

"We'll do a play by play, maybe it'll help you. Okay, she comes in, tells you she's pregnant. This is the same girl who had to leave her home and adjust to living in a strange place and only has one other person on Earth who understands her. She's going through something emotionally heavy, away from her own people who probably have customs that she can't partake in, because she's probably unable to fly back while pregnant.

Also we're teenagers, she's a year younger than us so there's also the fact that she has to kiss young adulthood and the rest of her life goodbye because she's choosing to keep YOUR BABY, and she didn't even just take the kid and dip. I don't know man, maybe you shouldn't have accused her of sleeping around and then instead of being any type of understanding you told her you couldn't even give her a ride to Planned Parenthood."

Awkward silence settled through the room.

"Also why did you call her 'cool' like you haven't known her for years?"

"Don't make me sound like a loser."

"Hey man I hate to break it to you but you're doing that on your own."

"I don't even know it's mine!" Arms thrown out to the side, he grunted in exhaustion. It felt like you knocked a tooth lose, damn.

"We know she isn't sleeping around because she hasn't been in my bed." With a dramatic rub of his hands Mark lifted both of his eyebrows and made a dumbass face. Rex's own face crinkled in disgust and he looked at Mark while he leaned back on his palms.

"What if you're not her type?"

And Mark had the audacity to snort, and motion towards himself.

"Have you SEEN me? I would sleep with me too."

"...Would that count as masturbation or selfcest? Or twincest?"

"No because it's me not a twin."

"What if the other you becomes sentient and wants its own life."

"Yeah but...no...wait."

And as time went by, you went through pregnancy. Alone. You went through four months of what from a distance looked like a horrible experience, and while it tugged at his heart strings you told Eve who told Mark, who told Rex that you would die before you spoke to Rex again. Especially about your baby. It got to the point where you struggled to control your powers and had to fess up to Cecil. Who even expressed his disgust with Rex's behavior in a subtle way.

"You're the first reason I've ever had to figure out maternity leave for a pregnant alien teenager." Was all he said after Rex denied paternity leave.

It took one night for Rex to actually start growing a pair. They fully grew in after he caught a bullet to the cranium.

It was one night after a mission, two weeks before you had to start maternity leave, and the Guardians just returned from a pretty mid battle while Mark was on a little vacation according to Cecil.

While everyone celebrated, Rex left to use the bathroom when he heard it. You cried alone, in your spare bedroom that you sometimes crashed in. You were laying in your bed, attempting to muffle your cries, clutching your stomach and head. A sliver of light from the door widened until you realized Rex was standing in your door way.

You turned, looking over at him and scowled.

"You-" A gag cut you off. Were you trying not to vomit? Boxes of some of your things, you were clearing out for your maternity leave but it looked like you were getting ready to never come back. Then he remembered what you said. When it was old enough, you'd be flying back home with the rugrat.

"You are the last person I want to see. Piss off." And it would've worked better if you didn't immediately throw up in your hand and make a mad dash to the toilet before the rest of your vomit got all over you. He was a dick, not a monster so he followed.

While you threw up the contents of your stomach into the toilet, he couldn't just let the team hear. You'd clearly gone out of your way to avoid them seeing you crying and suffering already. He slid into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

When you finally did stop, you slumped against the bathtub. You sat, staring blankly at the floor before your face crumpled and you buried your face into your hands. You began to sob, with vomit on your shirt and your shoulders shook violently.

After a moment of Rex drowning in guilt you let out a shaky breath and hugged yourself.

"I miss my mom."

You staggered to your feet before you shoved him roughly out of your way into the sink, then left the bathroom. He heard wind from your room, realizing you were flying home and for the first time in a long time Rex began to think. He began to think real long and real hard.

It took the two of you to make it. You chose to keep it. You didn't even try to force him into fatherhood. The least he could do was loan you a hand until it was time for you to go. Without realizing it, he was cleaning the toilet. Everyone else was downstairs partying, celebrating their newfound strength as a team and winning the fight. And Rex was cleaning your vomit off the toilet, because without him you wouldn't be throwing up in the first place.

It wasn't a total 180 from there. He was still Rex, you still didn't even want to talk to him, but he tried. He left little treats he remembered you like only for them to be left untouched completely where he left them. Except for the time you stormed down the metal steps of HQ and threw the box of strawberry waffers at his face.

"Fuck, ow!"

"We didn't need shit from you then. We don't need a fucking thing from you now."

As you turned to storm back up the steps he grabbed your arm and narrowly avoided a swift slap.

"Listen, listen. You're right. You're right to be mad at me. I was being a dick."

"You still are."

Wrestling your arm free, he remembered that fire that attracted him to you in the first place. He caught you by your shoulders before he realized you could just kick him in the balls and settled for just grabbing one of your arms. Your back turned to him, he wasn't even sure if you were listening, but he had to speak now.

"You're uncomfortable, I know you are. And I know it's partially my fault. At least tell me what I can do to ease your discomfort just a little. You hate me, it's my fault. But let me help. Just a little." The tension in your shoulders dropped just a bit.

"...I'm having really strong cravings for hot chocolate."

He didn't start falling in love with you for a while afterwards. You were on maternity leave now, but he climbed through your bedroom window with the bacon wrapped shrimp you had requested when he texted you, he was out if you were hungry. He spun around on your desk chair when he realized. You've been pregnant for a while now. While you devoured the shrimp he noticed.

At six months you didn't look three months from giving birth. You seemed to be enjoying his presence just a bit now. Sure, there where changes but those were more so personality wise. You no longer snatched the food from his hands anymore and sent him away, you even let him sit less than ten feet away from you sometimes. Infact, you had the bump of a three-month pregnancy. Did you just have a small baby growing in there?

"It'll be a big one." You said, wiping your fingers as you watched Annie on your laptop.

"Really? It doesn't look like it."

"I'm not far along yet. But-"

"You're six months pregnant."

"Oh. Because my planet is so far away from my own solar systems Sun, my planet rotates slow. Time is different. Years are longer. I did some math; I'll be pregnant for about a year and a half.

"A YEAR AND A HALF?!"

"Shut the fuck up! Yes Rex, on my planet it wouldn't be so long. But the time is weird here, everything moves so fast." You stifled a yawn as you sipped your milkshake.

"...Do you think it's gonna tear you in two?"

You giggled. And his diversion worked. You spoke about home before, but since you got pregnant it seemed like you were plauged with constant home sickness. It had to be hard for you to be away from home this way. When you were going through something so momentous, and your planet was a weeklong flight. That was if you flew without sleeping and pee breaks.

"I don't want to think about that. I already know the birth is gonna hurt."

As you laughed, the light shifted around you. He noticed things on your face he never noticed before. The way your mouth curved when you smiled, the way you covered your mouth when you laughed, the small crinkles around your eyes. You were hot before, he knew that. It's why he fucked you. But he never noticed that you were more than that. You were beautiful. Genuinely beautiful.

And after that night he tried to fight it. He didn't want to be a parent. But he couldn't date you without being a part of his own kid's life. That would be low even for him. As your stomach grew so did his feelings for you. Infact, when the Lizard League put a hole in his skull, he woke up to keep fighting because he pictured you.

He was being dragged down into death, seeing his life flash before his eyes, and then finally he saw you. But it wasn't a memory. It was a prophecy.

His head laid on your lap, you smiled down at him while you squished his face in your hands. Next to him, a small bundle wrapped in a blanket slept soundly. He heard birds singing sweet songs, the Sun casted warm light on his skin and gave you a radiant glow, and you were brighter than all of it. You leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead, telling him he had to get up and go. There was an emergency. He had to go, he had to fight, had to blow shit up.

He did and from there, the rest was history.

[saerins]

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing

notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^

summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

“i could just tell him for you.”

“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.

and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.

sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.

but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.

otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.

“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.

to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”

you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.

“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”

that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.

“good. or else i’ll kill you.”

your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.

itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.

pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.

cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.

you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.

it’s a pain, or so he says.

you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.

must be your wishful thinking.

kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.

just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.

you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.

the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.

groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.

you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.

they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.

what the fuck is he doing here?

this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.

sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.

“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.

he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.

“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.

fucking eita.

judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.

sae takes it off once he catches you staring.

he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.

“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.

in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.

“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”

you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.

the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”

you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?

“yeah, sure, juice?”

sae shrugs, “whatever.”

you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.

carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.

“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.

sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.

“wow, big fan, huh?”

you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.

“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”

you could die of embarrassment right now.

back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.

“it… was a gift.” believable, right?

sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”

fuck.

“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”

“ouch.”

you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?

sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”

this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”

his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”

“i told you, it was a gift.”

you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.

“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)

“that was…”

“a gift?”

you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.

“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).

you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.

sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.

“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“i do n—”

“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”

part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.

but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.

“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.

sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.

after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.

“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”

your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.

“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.

“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”

your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.

sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.

not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.

you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.

[koiiiji]

I love your writing! I will continue to support you😭🫶🏻🫶🏻Can you write hyeok kwon x reader nsfw?

nsfw alphabet

author's note ; THANK UUUU💌!! i haven’t really following wb hashtag lately, so im sorry if someone already did nsfw alphabet with Kwon Hyuk

author's note 2 ; MDNI, AGELESS BLOG DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Hyuk is sleeeeeeeeepy. after sex you need to push him to the shower, so he won't fall asleep all naked and sweaty (but let's be honest, sometimes it happens too...). but usually after shower he likes to get in comfortable, close position and snuggle into your body and blankets to slowly fall asleep with small sex talk (i think he likes to hear your prises after sex, like did he do a good job? (ofc he did)).

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i think he appreciates his arms and hands! he knows that he has some strength and likes when you can grip on to his biceps in the heat of the moment. i mean he knows how to work his hands.

as for you, he truthfully loves every part of you. if you ever asked him 'what part of me is your favorite?' he would actually say boobs. he likes resting on them.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i don't think Hyuk is particularly keen on making a mess, especially of the bed. i truthfully think he'd surprisingly enjoy cumming on your face, mainly around your lips. messy oral? he's done for.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

i honestly have no idea what to put here, because Hyuk is quite lazy and not really kinky... but maybe he would like to try some role games?... sex in cosplay costumes maybe?... like to see you in cute bunny or kitty costume with ears and tail? maybe?

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he is pretty experienced. he watched a lot of porn — different kinds, from home to most trivial ph shit. don't forget that Hyuk and Wooin are friends since high school and this fact alone allows to think that these gremlins been through some experience. so don't worry, he knows how to use his fingers and dick!

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

so, i think something simple like missionary where he can stare into your eyes, kiss you, tell you sweet things, etc. his ultimate choice is on the side, when he can hold your leg and slowly fuck you from behind. cowgirl can work too if he is extremely lazy today.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

can't help but be clumsy sometimes. he can't help but giggle when hair gets caught in your mouth or some other silly thing. however, he likes to keep things intimate and prefers to have a serious moment with you in bed

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

clean shaved or well trimmed. i think he finds it more aesthetically attractive and just likes to keep his higiene be that way.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

calm, can joke sometimes if it's appropriate of course. but mostly he is completely immersed into the process — kissing, cuddling, holding your body, tease, whisper sweet nothings into your ear

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Hyuk is super chill about...everything. if he needs it right now he will do it. he doesn't see anything wrong with it honestly

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

okay so...i think vanilla. when you're getting to know him and for the first few times you have sex, he keeps it simple. but with time he can go more and more sweet and even romantic. however, i think Hyuk have his kinkier side!! i think he really enjoys mocking you. like 'so wet for me already? greedy girl' and other dirty talk.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

your bedroom! he is super lazy and if he had opportunity he would stay in bed all day (and this is canon i think, still it been stated in wb that he is lazy and likes his bed too much)

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

seeing you all domestic, in his oversized clothes, just woke up standing in the kitchen, hair is messed and eyes are still sleepy. he really likes slow morning sex on the kitchen!!

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

bringing other people to your bedroom. and really weird stuff like peeing or something like that

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

mmm 50/50 with giving. i don't think he have a great skills. like he surely can go down on you, but Hyuk is not super skilled and his tongue and jaw get tired quite fast. but he is not pushing you to give oral to him either.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

depends on his mood. he can get really fast when he's feeling extra needy or kinky. however, when usually Hyuk will take his sweet time teasing you and go nice and slow with his thrusts, movements, touches. but there are time where he could also use slowness to his advantage and tease you.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

nope. i think he consider it as unnecessary splash of energy, he would rather wait until you two have a mood for proper sex. and he likes resting in bed and generally are lazy so it's no.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

uuuh, he definitely wanted to try few places like changing rooms, or maybe friend's place, but just out of curiosity, he probably won't like it, so his preference is bedroom (read 'because he fall asleep almost immediately')

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i don't think he has very high stamina. it's not that he gets really sleepy after, but he can't go for multiple rounds. i think Hyuk doesn't really understand the point of few rounds if you two already had great time. like he can go two rounds if you insist or it's been a long time since he's seen you. he can last a while though, i think. but dont expect him to be sex machine, he is super lazy.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

most of the time he is indifferent about such things. if that means it will bring you extra pleasure, he don't mind.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

ohh he likes to tease!! both with words and actions! he likes to tease you through your panties with his slander fingers, he likes to tease your clenching pussy after he spent some time with his fingers ther. he likes to give you playful bites, slapping, literally everything!! he loves teasing so so much

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

keeps quiet, mostly. some interjections of grunts and groans, especially when he cums. he uses his voice more for humiliating-sweet talk, when he teases you! he loves hearing your noises, though, and it gives him more encouragement than anything.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

once you woke him by going down on him. he really liked it and secretly want to wake up like this more often, but he is kinda shy to ask this since he doesn't really enjoy doing same to you (as i said, only because he isn't that skilled and get tired fast)

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

i would say average. he is quite slim, vienny, but okay, maybe a little longer than average.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i think he has a fluctuating sex drive. during flu and cold season — autumn and winter — he is so clingy, desperate for your body heat, and won't let you escape warm bed, snuggling into your boobs. however, during the summer... just dont touch him. hot weather affects him so much that you hardly receive a hug from him.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

immediately. just few minutes after shower, when you two just cuddling, murmuring soft nothings and you found him not answering you, so you rise your head just to see he already softly snoring in his sleep.