#do you think i enjoy losing every single friendship

[kitimeq]

ੈ✩‧₊˚we can’t be friends 🤍 xavier 星回 ੈ✩‧₊˚

RE-UPLOAD! The original post didn’t show up in the tags, sorry for the confusion :c

pairing ੈ✩: xavier x reader

summary ੈ✩: you and xavier had been best friends for years, nearly inseparable since the moment you met. But after one slightly drunken night, everything shifted: you became friends with benefits. You told yourself you could handle it, but as time went on, your heart began to ache. You had to end it, for your own sake. You were in love with him, but you couldn't shake the painful truth: you believed he’d never feel the same. Still, what if, all this time, while you were trying to push him away, he was quietly hoping to show you how perfect you two were together?

word count ੈ✩: 12k. omg. it’s LONG, long. grab some snacks and let me entertain you for a while!!

tropes ੈ✩: 18+, smut, best friends with benefits, miscommunication, unrequited love, not really tho, angst, angst with happy ending, plot with porn, love confessions, needy xavier, obsessed xavier, domestic xavier, i suck at giving tropes i swear i will get better someday, desperate xavier, everything is consensual, the consumption of alcohol mentioned, pet names, xavier was once in love with mc but the myths are not canon in this one!!

author’s note ੈ✩: GUYS this one’s IT. This idea was blooming slowly in my mind for quite some time. I really hope you’ll like it 🥹 also, please be gentle with me, i’m not a native speaker of english and I’m definitely not a writer. I like to think that everything i create is just fueled by my passionate delulu. please let me know if you liked it and if maybe you’d like to read part 2!! ♡ enjoy your reading!!

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

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It all started with the simplest of touches.

Your hands grazed, as if by accident. Then your eyes met. He grabbed you by your forearm, or maybe you grabbed him, everything was so blurry in your mind. A touch on a waist, a hand on a chest, and a sudden clash of your lips. You saw fireworks exploding in your mind, sending pleasant thrumming throughout your whole body.

Desperate touches. Rapid breaths. A whisper, maybe two. He said something. What did he say? The sound of your heart was the only thing you could hear.

Your dress came off. You felt lips. Lips marking every part of your body, leaving behind wet paths that made the exposed skin shiver due to the coolness of the air. He went down. Down. Down, and looked at you expectantly. Your head never nodded that quickly and it probably never will again. You saw stars. Millions and millions of them, shimmering under your closed eyelids. He grabbed your hand and put it into his hair. You caressed it gently, savoring the softness of it.

Then, you saw his eyes. Beautiful, deep blues that looked far too innocent for what he did and what he was about to do with you next. He kissed you again and again, and again, and he held you close throughout the whole night, making you shiver, moan, cry, beg — until you fell asleep from exhaustion right in the safety of his arms. He turned your world upside down.

And then came the next morning, when you began to question the entire ordeal. You panicked, thinking about your friendship that you valued the most and Xavier, whom you just couldn’t bear to lose. However, when you wanted to put it past you, to blame the alcohol consumed that night, act as if it was just a slip of your judgment, a mistake, a reaction caused by the need of intimacy after being single for a long time, he wasn’t having it. He said that he couldn’t forget about it, that it changed things, and you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind. You proposed the whole arrangement.

And that’s how, after several months, your relationship with Xavier stayed clear and technically uncomplicated. Friends with benefits. You thought that even if that night did change things, then in this way you could act as if it wasn’t a big deal to you. In this way, you wouldn’t have to lose him, wouldn’t make things awkward. You still acted normally in front of each other, you continued to spend time in almost the same way you were before that faithful night, but with one drastic change.

Almost every encounter since that night ended with you in his bed or the other way around. Hours and hours spent in each other’s embrace, touching and feeling too much, all at once.

And said feelings were what made you finally decide that you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t continue sharing with him this intimacy, pretending that everything between you remained unchanged. You couldn’t do this anymore, knowing that it was all that you’ll ever get from him, despite being in love with him for so long.

You knew that he would never reciprocate your feelings. You knew that from the beginning, from the very first touch of your fingertips that night, but you foolishly thought that having him close for as long as he wanted you, would be enough for you. Even if he wanted you only for your body, because you were the easiest choice.

However, your heart was breaking every time you were reminded of one significant fact, a harsh reality that felt like a bucket of cold water in your face.

He will never love you. Because you were not her.

And you will never be.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You already had a strategy to end the arrangement. You wanted to take it slow, step by step, with just a bit of pain on your side. You knew it wasn't your best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. You wanted to end the friends-with-benefits arrangement in a way that would make you both slowly, almost naturally, drift apart—so subtly that he wouldn't even notice the change. As for you, you were ready to bear the painful consequences of your actions, if it saved you from the excruciating pain of a broken heart later.

You started with avoiding his kisses.

And it turned out to be a tough job to do, because you didn’t realize before how much of a kisser Xavier became during your friends-with-benefits situation. It never really bothered you before, you always accepted every single kiss with content. However, during your last meeting, you were trying so hard to avoid his lips, and noticed that he made it into an almost impossible task.

When you went out one night, he wanted to kiss you three times during hot pot, even though you were sitting across from each other. You thought that the sitting situation was enough of an obstacle, but you quickly learned that he always somehow managed to find a chance to try to steal a kiss. That not only bewildered you, but also made you blush so hard that you had to blame the spicy food for it to not look suspicious. Yet, you managed to stay your ground and ignored his needy attempts at capturing your lips.

You also avoided his lips while you were later watching a movie in his apartment, by pretending that you didn’t see or feel his constant gaze on you. You thought that maybe if he saw that the movie engaged you so much, he would finally drop the attempts. Unfortunately, your plan failed the moment his patience thinned, when he started kissing your neck while cradling your body to his. He was grabbing at you almost desperately and you really couldn’t escape from every single kiss he was giving you, no matter how much you tried to. And you really tried to.

“Why—why are you turning your face away? A-Ah… Let me look at y-you—mmm.” He said between his moans, and he never once stopped thrusting inside you. It was the day when he took you on a sofa between his soft, plushy pillows with the movie still playing in the background. Your legs were laying on his shoulder, his both hands holding onto them tightly while his hips thrust deep inside you, making you gasp in pleasure. When you didn’t respond and kept your head away, hoping that he would finally stop with his relentless kisses, his hand gently grabbed your face and turned it towards his so that your eyes met. He smiled softly, his cheeks pink and face damp. “Yes, there you are. You feel good? You wanna break?” He almost slurred and you adored how quickly he was loosing himself with you, how much he was losing his composure. When you squeezed your eyes, moaning at a harder thrust and shook your head no, he whimpered. Next thing you knew, he lowered your legs onto the sofa and lay between them, bringing his body closer to yours. Your chests touched and you could feel his rapid heartbeat, mirroring the rhythm of your own. He nudged your head, which was still turned to the side, with his nose.

“Give me a kiss, c’mon, starlight.” He kissed your cheek, slowing down his thrusts to a lazy, delicate ones. “I couldn’t get a kiss all day, I need it. Let me.” And when you saw his eyes, full of desperation and something that reminded you of adoration, you couldn’t keep denying him. Your lips touched his and he didn’t let go of them until you came, and later when he began growling straight into your mouth, chasing his own undoing.

It was the last time you met up, and after that you decided that you had to cut it off completely. You couldn’t continue being with him like this, not when you knew that he already loved someone else. Being with him this close messed with your head. You didn’t want to feel like a convenient second choice and you couldn’t help but feel that your meetings were slowly becoming more and more intimate. You had to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t together. You made sure to label the change in your relationship properly at the start of the arrangement — still on friendly terms, with occasional mutual pleasure. But the close proximity and constant intimacy started to make the lines blurry in your mind.

And your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it hurt every time you reminded yourself that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, and that he never will.

After that movie night you decided that the next step to your goal would be to stop engaging in small talk with him, especially the one that occurred at work.

You worked together at the Hunter’s Association, he was one of the best Hunters out there, and you specialized in weapon modification from the safety of your own desk. You wanted to be a hunter once, but with your Evol involving micromodification you guessed that you could be needed in a position that involved working with weaponry. After working there for years, you were passionate about your work and elated to have a job you loved and where you thrived while helping others to the best of your abilities.

Thus, because of the shared place of employment, you saw Xavier almost every day. He was often near your desk, passing by it, putting snacks before you or teasing you with that soft smile of his. So, cutting the contact out there was one of the toughest jobs for you, but it had to be done.

When you knew that he would be free, you found a task that needed completion in other departments, so that you will not cross paths. Often, instead of others coming to you to fix their weapons, you proposed to make the trip instead. In this way you were always quick on your feet, going from department to department, back to the workshop and again to the others’ desks. You didn’t mind the extra activity, it made you think less about your breaking heart.

And when Xavier managed to catch you from time to time, because he always somehow would, you were trying to appear too busy even for a small conversation.

“Where are you rushing off to again? I didn’t manage to talk to you these past few days.” He said one day when he caught you by your elbow while you were going out of the bathroom. He must’ve seen you go in there and wait for you to come out. He brought you a little closer to himself and looked at your face so intently, that you got scared he could see right through you.

“Sorry Xai, I’m just really busy lately.” You answered, maybe too quickly, and were trying to calm your beating heart upon seeing him so close again. Too close. It didn’t help that he was in his hunter’s uniform, that made him look twice as dreamy. You were so close that you could also smell his comforting scent and see the small scar on his cheek that he got last year after you two tried ice skating for the first time.

The first and the last, for it appeared that you were much better at it than he would ever be, and you wanted to avoid him getting hurt again. It was also before your friends-with-benefits situation, when your friendship was pure and healthy. Your heart squeezed remembering how he grabbed your hand then, and how tightly he used to hold it throughout the whole activity.

“Xavier, are you sure you don’t want to go back home already? I’m afraid that your cut will scar if we leave it like that.” You said, looking at the band aid on his cheek, the only remedy for his small injury that you could provide at that time.

He squeezed your hand and still appeared sheepish after his fall. You secretly found him adorable, you never saw him doing something in which he didn’t excel in. It was as if he let you see a part of himself that no one had ever seen before. That thought made your chest warmer.

“No. I won’t let the ice defeat me.” He said surely and you knew that he won’t give up, even if his legs already visibly trembled from exhaustion. You let out a sigh. “Besides, you’re holding my hand now, so I feel much safer.” He looked at you, his voice soft and cheeks red, most likely from the cold air. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state made you completely overcome by the feeling of tenderness, and you send him a huge smile, thinking that it was the first time he relied on your protection, and not the other way around.

Little did you know that this smile would catch him by surprise so much that he slipped backwards, this time pulling you down with him. However, your reflexes slightly worked, because you managed to put your hand behind his head, shielding it from the impact with ice. You landed on him with a groan as his hands moved to pull your body closer.

“Oh god, Xai, are you okay? How did that happen?” You asked him, trying to lift yourself off of him. You felt him relax his head further into your hand, and when you raised yourself enough to face him directly, he sent you a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This sight made your heart melt.

“See, I knew you would protect me.” He replied, clearly referring to your hand behind his head. “My little savior.” He called you, and when you puffed the air out, annoyed that he could have hurt himself for real this time, his smile turned into a full laugh, his body shaking under yours. He looked so angelic, covered in snow, laughing in a way that was so scarce that you couldn’t help but join him in his moment of happiness.

And thanks to your mittens, your hand was left with only a purple bruise from the impact. Still, Xavier couldn’t let you forget about it up to the day it disappeared completely, expressing guilt for the minor injury, his sight chasing your hand every time it appeared in his line of vision. He often caressed it softly with his fingers, looking at it with a mysteriously thoughtful expression, whispering “My little savior.” under his breath. It made you wish that the bruise would never disappear.

You took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and the closeness between you. He always invaded your personal space, stood so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face. This time, you had had to cut it out for your own good.

“S’okay. You’re always busy but I guess I just got used to meeting you near your desk. Just text me after work? Maybe we could meet up for our book club today.” He said and you swallowed the awful feeling of longing in your chest. Book club was the term you came up with when you both just wanted to sit and read together for hours. Unfortunately, you knew how book club sessions looked like since the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement.

You were sitting together in silence, reading for hours, then talked about your books until you both lost your breaths. A wonderful experience, you adored your little reading sessions, but you knew that recently they always ended with his lips on yours, and with your clothes scattered around his bedroom.

You couldn’t let this go on forever. You couldn’t go back to being just friends now, and you couldn’t keep him so close, knowing that he will never fully be yours. You pitied your poor heart.

“Sure, will do. See you around!” You were aware how awkward you sounded, but before he could stop you, you were already off to another task of the day.

You didn’t text him after work, and neither did you reply to his message in time. The next day you send him an excuse that you were tired and fell asleep quickly, and you hoped that he believed it or didn’t care enough to question you further.

If the distance hurt you this bad now, you couldn’t even imagine how would it feel when he eventually would’ve left you for her.

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The next stage of your plan involved not answering his texts at all. You allowed yourself small replies from time to time, most often very brief, if the situation called for it. Replying excuses from left to right. Then, you incorporated not picking up his calls, especially on weekends, when he appeared to want to see you the most, because you were absent from the Association building and he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of you.

The distance you yourself put between you broke your heart, and you were getting more and more depressed by the day. Ignoring the person you loved wasn’t easy, when he was the one with whom you wanted to spend your time the most.

To distract yourself from the situation, you were trying to pass your time differently. You were meeting up with your family and friends, or you started doing things that you were putting off for ages. Everything and anything to fill the void in your heart caused by the absence of the one you loved. The absence forced by you.

It had to be done, you reminded yourself daily. You had to end this somehow, no matter how it hurt you. You had to move on. You couldn’t still be in love with him the day he would end up with MC. You knew it would ruin you.

Three weeks passed since your last meeting at the Association and you could feel that Xavier was getting impatient. His calls were more frequent. His messages longer. Sometimes while running away from him at work, you could catch how he was scanning the room in search of you. How frustrated he seemed to be. How upset.

You understood it. You were best friends after all, and he also probably needed someone near him to help him get his head clear of MC. You knew that it must’ve been hard for him. But you were sure you were doing the right thing, that’s why you kept avoiding him during the past month, and not only it was the longest period you’ve been away from each other since the start of your complicated arrangement, but also the longest time since the start of your friendship. Even when the times were rough, you managed to see each other at least once or twice a week.

You felt the pain of the distance too. Missing him almost every second of the day. But you had your reasons. You didn’t want to try to satiate the hunger he felt for another woman anymore.

So every time his name appeared on your phone screen, along with the picture of him shoving two muffins into his mouth at the same time, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and waited out the signal, simultaneously praying for and dreading the silence.

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On a quiet rainy day, after a month of ignoring almost every attempt to make contact from Xavier, you heard your phone ping thrice. You sighed and put the book you were reading down, deciding that it was a good moment to reply something short to him in order to slightly ease his worries, and make him feel less alarmed. You wanted distance, but you still sticked to responding from time to time, to appear casual. To let the connection break off less abruptly.

xavier: why cant I see U at all recently.

xavier: why are U not picking up my calls and not replying to my texts.

xavier: are U hiding from me?

you: Of course not, just busy.

xavier: busy for me but not busy for others I know U are going out all the time.

xavier: are U mad at me? did I do something wrong.

you: No, you didn’t, don’t worry. It’s just me. I have a lot of things on my mind recently.

xavier: could U please have me on Ur mind too? I miss U.

xavier: so bad it hurts

You let out a rugged breath, and decided to stop responding, but then another text came. This time, making your blood run cold.

xavier: going back from a rough mission right now i think i need help.

you: Oh my god, are you okay? Are you injured?

xavier: cant tell U why dont you come and see me for Urself.

you: Fine, I need to see if you’re okay. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? I will pick something up on my way there.

xavier: i just need U

You closed your eyes and hid your face in your palms, then swore it would be the last time. You will go in, treat his wounds and go out. It had to be the last time you allowed yourself to be this close to him, and then you had to cut him off completely. A month wasn’t enough to heal your broken heart, and these small sightings won’t make your heart feel any less burdened.

It had to end today.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

When the door opened, he managed to take your breath away once more.

First, only figuratively. His beauty always managed to amaze you. He looked so handsome no matter the circumstances, his hair so fluffy and shiny, his face like that of an angel, with sharp jawline and soft, pink lips almost screaming at you to be kissed. When you met his eyes, you almost gasped at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. There wasn’t a thing about him you didn’t miss terribly after so much time apart.

Then, literally, when the first thing he did was grabbing your hand and hugging you tightly to his chest, that was still clothed in his hunter uniform. He pressed his face into the crown of your hair and touched the nape of your neck, holding it gently with his cold hand.

“Was the mission that difficult?” You asked, thinking that his reaction to you was mostly due to his need for someone else’s closeness. The need for security. “Were you in danger?” You asked quietly, fear bubbling in your mind.

“No. I lied.” He murmured and you felt him squeezing you even harder, inhaling your scent with content. His hand started stroking your back, slowly making its way under your thin coat. “Didn’t know what else to say to make you come see me.” He said and you hoped that he couldn’t hear, nor feel the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

He shouldn’t say things like these, it made you feel too hopeful. You tried to push that feeling down, knowing that’s how he normally acted with you, his best friend. You knew that he didn’t have a lot of people beside him, thus he treasured the ones that stayed. And that thought made you so incredibly apologetic that you had to swallow the tension in your throat. You hated that you fell for him so hard. You hated that you had to leave him because of it. You hated that you knew, that he would blame himself when you’ll leave.

And you started to hate yourself the most because of all of it.

“Did you miss me that much?” You teased, trying to calm yourself with a friendly banter.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate. The kiss he placed on your temple as natural as breathing. “Everything and everyone seems to be taking you away from me these days.” He said and you could hear him sulking. Your heart squeezed again, but you knew that you were doing the right thing. The distance was necessary.

Necessary for you to avoid breaking. You had to protect yourself first, you decided. You couldn’t remain in love with him forever. You had to move on and in order to do that you had to keep the distance. Which was impossible with him around, when he craved physical touch so badly.

You started to be so mad at yourself for breaking your streak today. You didn’t realize how touchy he will be after some time apart and it was getting to your head. You were so conflicted. You felt too much, and that was always the case when you were around him.

He was in love with someone else. Your head was screaming loudly, trying to calm the wave of unwanted emotions.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. I love you, you thought. “But now I’m here, so maybe I can inspect you for any injuries? You always seem to neglect them as long as they don’t make you bleed out.” You managed to free yourself from his hold and missed how his hands went after you for a second. He didn’t want you to put distance between you two. Not yet, not ever.

He looked into your beautiful, shiny eyes and nodded without a thought. He couldn’t say no to you, not when he saw the still remaining hint of worry in them. Besides, checking for injuries always came with physical contact, and he was so starved. He needed to feel your body close to his. Your hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. He felt addicted and craved some kind of relief. He looked after you like a lost puppy, following your footsteps closely, touching the familiar material of your coat that you left on a counter. The distance this past month made him feral, every part of his body screamed to hold you and don’t let go.

You sat down on his couch, and patted the place next to you, hinting at him to sit beside you. He was trying not to appear too eager while doing so, and also when he started taking off the upper part of his uniform. He was almost shaking with excitement knowing that you really came to see him. That you were worried about him. The distance was making him sick. Furious. Desperate. Hurt.

He suppressed a shudder when you touched his shoulder and peeled away the material off his back completely. Your hands were pleasantly warm, as always. He bit his lip trying not to gasp from the contact.

He needed more.

“Xavier.” He hummed, giddy inside upon finally hearing his name from your lips. He was bracing for your outburst. Couldn’t wait for it. “You said you lied about the mission being hard, while having a fucking gash on your back? I-I can’t believe you...” He heard your angry, shaky voice and smirked unintentionally. You were worried about him and he liked that. He liked the attention, when it was coming from you.

Yet, you didn’t know that.

You cursed under your breath and went to grab the first aid kit from one of his drawers, and proceeded to patch the man back up, having no idea that he allowed the Wanderer to injure him, to have an excuse to see you. To keep you with him for a minute longer, even if it was only under the pretense of tending to his injuries. He was ready to do anything at this point to keep you from slipping away from his grasp.

If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so adamant on distancing yourself.

But because you didn’t know, you also didn’t predict that after patching him up, he would propose you to eat dinner with him, making up an excuse that he didn’t want to be alone with his pain. Later, when you wanted to come back to your place, he mentioned he wanted to play kitty cards, the game you adored. You couldn’t refuse him.

During the next hours you spent at his place you both talked in the same way you always used to - about everything and anything, exchanging opinions, stories and everyday thoughts. You laughed together for the first time in weeks, and your cheeks hurt from how much he was able to make you smile. You always had so much fun with him; he was your favorite person in the whole world. You missed him so bad, despite knowing that you couldn’t back out from your plan fully. Yet, you allowed yourself a little break, telling yourself that it was in order for your distancing to not look suspicious. In addition, he was injured, and you felt the need to comfort him in any way you could. The gash on his back wasn’t that deep, but it worried you regardless.

The atmosphere changed drastically only when he managed to win the next round of kitty cards. You jokingly frowned at him, forging displeasure, and he looked directly at your pouting lips. The time seemed to stop when you noticed that look. He raised his hand to touch your collarbone, caressing it with his fingers, up to your neck and over your cheek. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you noticed how dark his became. You found it fascinating that his soft gaze could change so drastically in a matter of seconds.

His hand reached out to grab your chin and brought your face closer to his. And when he whispered: “Could I ask for a reward?” with that dangerous, needy voice of his, you knew that you couldn’t deny him anything.

When your lips touched, you decided that it will be the last time you let it happen. It would be your goodbye, before losing the feel of his touch. You thought that you could at least make the best of it, get lost in the artificial feeling of being treasured for the last time, before you started the last phase of your plan.

After that, you had to cut off the ties with him completely. No matter the measures. No matter the pain.

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“Xavier, m-maybe not today?” You asked when you realized how low he was going with his kisses. You knew what he was about to do, and you hated how much you couldn’t contain the sounds that were coming out of your mouth when he was doing it. Besides, it didn’t feel like a mutual pleasure anymore, it felt like an act of service and you were not sure you wanted him to pleasure only you.

He looked at you, having already dropped to his knees. He looked ruined, his hair already a mess from the touch of your fingers, lips wet and swollen, shirt off displaying his toned chest, bandaged in the center with caution. He was practically heaving. The sight made you blush.

“Why not?” His voice sounded whiny, his lips already kissing the inside of your thigh as if he couldn’t restrain himself. Every kiss sent electricity to your already wet core and you found it hard to think clearly. His hands were grabbing your tights possessively, relishing in their softness. “Please, let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” The pleading in his eyes was so apparent. So unfiltered.

“Don’t you want to get to the point already?” You offered shyly and he huffed out a laugh.

“Where are you trying to run off to this time?” It sounded like a joke, but he appeared annoyed. “Relax, starlight and let me take care of you. Please.” You still hesitated. It made him pout. “I need it, please, star. I want to taste you so bad. I didn’t manage to last time.” He kissed your knee and put his head on it, looking for the answer in your unsure eyes. “Will you let me?” His pleading tone, along with his desperate gaze was what made you break. You whispered a soft confirmation and it was all it took before he quickly put his mouth on your core, licking vigorously, devouring you like the most delicious thing on the planet.

“Mmmm.” You heard him humming, before your own cries, along with the constant tremble of your legs, drowned out any other sound.

He was elated.

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“Mmmh— Yes. Yes. H���holy—” He whimpered at the same time with his thrusts and squeezed your waist harder, moving his hands up and down your back, caressing it affectionately. “You are s-so warm, so beautiful, fuck—” He moaned when you tightened on him. You stiffed a whimper and tried to commit to memory the touch of his strong hands.

He was taking you slowly from behind and the pace was almost unbearable for you. You needed more, and you couldn’t stand how romantic it felt when he was this gentle with you. However, at the same time you didn’t want him to strain himself, you were aware that the slow pace was reasonable due to the injury on his back. The slow pace did surprise you either way, you thought that after so much time apart he would be quick and rough, chasing his pleasure faster than he normally would. Instead, he acted even more passionately than usual.

The slow pace brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t contain the sounds escaping from your lips. He kept pressing your most sensitive spots, his thrusts slow, deep and precise. His forehead rest on the back of your shoulder, and you could feel his hot, labored breath pressing against your damp skin.

He made you feel so appreciated, and so cared for, and that made you uneasy. More so, with the accompaniment of the things he was constantly saying to you, from the moment you allowed him to touch you today.

“Can you turn around now? Please, my star, I want to see you.” He half-whispered and started kissing your neck, then moving his mouth to every patch of your skin he could reach: your shoulders, back, arms. No place was left unkissed under his relentless lips. You shook your head no; you didn’t want to let this become even more passionate than it already was. You positioned yourself facing the headboard of the bed from the very beginning, and you were adamant to keep your stance up until the end. You feared that your eyes would betray you, displaying your feelings for him and that was what made you not lose your composure.

Upon hearing your refusal for the third time this night, he proceeded to voice his frustrations by grunting, and thrust into you a little harder. You moaned loudly, surprised at the sudden change of tempo.

“Please, starlight.” He begged; his voice achingly earnest. He picked up the pace and you almost choked with how deep he reached inside of you now. You thought that you could never get used to how big he was, his girth filling you up to the brim. “Turn around. T-turn around for me.”

“X-xavier slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt—” You managed to choke out, grasping sheets with your hands for some kind of stability. You closed your eyes when they were turning upwards, biting your lip in the process. He felt otherworldly, but you couldn’t help but think about the gash on his back. He shouldn’t strain himself.

“Then turn around and look at me.” He repeated and you shook your head again.

“I-I can’t, I—Ah—”

“W-why do you keep—Mmh—denying me?” His voice came out like a growl and he kept up the fast tempo. Then, he grabbed your shoulder and put his other hand on your lower back, making you bend over more. His thrusts got even faster, making you moan louder. “Like that. Yes.” You breathed quietly. So good. He was so, so good. “I just want to see your face. I need to kiss y—A—Ah—Kiss you so bad, so, so, so bad.” He thrust more deeply, making you involuntarily back out from the stimulation, your body almost collapsing, but he quickly grabbed you with his strong arms, and brought you even closer to him. You saw stars and touched one of the arms that held your whole body — from your waist, between your breasts, to your neck. His arm was so hard, so strong. He was huge compared to you. “No, n-no, don’t run away, star. You feel so good—G-God how I missed this—” He held you closer by the second, pressing more kisses to your shoulders, his thrusts becoming quicker, less deep. You were holding back your tears from how good he felt inside you. “I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.” He started babbling and that’s how you knew he was close.

To your surprise, he suddenly pulled out of you completely and grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around to finally face him. Before you could show any signs of protest, he lowered himself onto his forearms, caging your head between his biceps so that he could have a perfect view of your face. He took his cock in one of his hands and he slipped himself into you again with ease. You shuddered and cried out softly with astonishment.

“Xavier—!”

“Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” He started thrusting into you again, this time much slower and more attentive, and looked deep into your eyes. You had nowhere to run, the only thing you could do was to close your eyes, but the sight of him so close made you want to never look away. “Say it one more time. Just once.” He looked ethereal, his silver hair wet from the perspiration that gathered on his forehead, and his cheeks painted a pretty shade of red. You could see how blissful he felt. “So p-pretty.” He finally kissed your lips softly. “So sweet.” He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. It made your toes curl, you loved when he kissed you this sloppily. When he released your already swollen lips, there was a string of saliva connecting you. It was all so intense.

“Why were you denying my kisses?” He kissed you again deeply, sucking on your tongue. His slow thrusts made you go insane. “You don’t like kissing me like this?” He sucked on your lips until they were red and swollen. There was so much saliva. He licked them and kissed them again. “I could come from this feeling alone. So soft.” You were shocked at how much he talked. Was he always this talkative? Or were you realizing it only now, when you knew that the closeness with him would soon come to an end?

“Am I making you feel good? Yeah?” You decided to nod at him truthfully, your moans short, resembling small hiccups. You were lost in the pleasure; you could feel the end approaching. He put his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “W—wow, you—you sound so adorable, I won’t last long—” He moaned and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing your nose first, then softly your lips.

“Yes, yeah, let go. Let go my little star. My starlight, my treasure.” He whispered into your ear, feeling you clench down on him as you came with his name on your lips. You felt him reaching the end quickly after you, he shuddered, his mouth opened, and he released into the condom with a low moan. Still cumming, he took your face into his hands and kissed your forehead gently. When you both were still coming down from the high, breathing heavily, he began stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face, and kissing your cheeks.

What in the world was all that?

God, you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t let this keep up, it felt too real, too romantic, and your heart really couldn’t take it. Not when every time you were together like this you keep thinking that he would like you to be someone else instead. Did he imagine her under him this time? You trembled, scared because of that thought, but the things he was saying made you feel that it really could be the case.

Your breath came out shakily and you took his muscular forearms in your palms and grazed them gently with your thumbs. You let yourself feel for the last time how warm his body was, how pleasurable his weight on top of you. You kept your eyes closed to not let him see your tears, but you couldn’t stop one from going down your cheek.

And of course, he saw it as soon as it appeared. He seemed to always look at you when you wanted him to ignore you the most.

He kissed it off, swiped the wetness with his thumb and proceeded to kiss your temple.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” He appeared so concerned, and you felt the shivers going down your spine.

Yes, you wanted to scream.

“No, of course not.” You said instead. Because it was your fault for feeling too much. “I’m okay, just tired.” You lied straight to his face. He sent you a small smile and kissed your closed eyelids gently.

And when he shifted and pulled out from you slowly with a little hiss, you let out a sigh and knew that your time with him had to end now.

But before you could lift yourself up, he hugged you from the side and put his head on your chest. He was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, and you already knew that it had a soothing effect on him. His hand started caressing one side of your waist, his hair touching your chin, his scent overlapping you. You could feel his heartbeat on you, fast but steady. Another tear escaped from your eyes. You had to run away. You couldn’t take the closeness anymore. It was too painful.

“Xavier, I—” You swallowed the sob forming in your throat. Your voice came out rusty. “I really need to go.”

“Already? Stay with me for a little while longer.” He squeezed you harder to himself, showing no intention of releasing you from his hold. You hated that you needed to cut short such a vulnerable moment with him. “The night is still young. I thought we could maybe watch something together? Or bake these cinnamon cookies you like? I practiced, they taste and look almost perfect now.” You closed your eyes hard, moved by his thoughtfulness, and you almost sobbed audibly if it wasn’t for your hand quickly covering your mouth.

But he felt it, and it made all the muscles in his body tighten, as if he was struck.

“Star?” He loosened his hold on you and quickly studied your face. “What’s wrong?” His eyes became huge, filled with worry. And that concern on his features was what finally made you run.

You raised gently and pushed yourself from him, starting to pick up your scattered pieces of clothing. Your hands shakily put the panties and your sweater on your trembling body, not once looking Xavier’s way. He was waiting patiently for your answer.

“I can’t do this anymore, Xavier.” You replied, feeling more comfortable now that you had some clothes on. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you heard him standing up from the bed.

“Do what?” He sounded puzzled. You heard him grabbing and putting on some pants hastily, clicking his belt in place. As if he was preparing to run after you. “Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like it today? Was I too intense?” You had never heard him speak so quickly, and the panic in his tone was a rare occurrence too.

“No, it’s— I am at fault here.” You answered truthfully, and you took a couple steps away from him. You wanted to run as fast as you could but for the love of God, you couldn’t locate any other pieces of your clothing. Your eyesight was clouded by unleashed tears. No, not now, you couldn’t let them fall until you were in the safety of your home.

“But you were perfect.” His voice carried more panic by the second. “We could change some things. You could tell me what to do differently, everything works with me as long as I do it with you.”

You suddenly remembered the beginning of your night, and rushed to his living room, were you finally found your pants.

“No. No, and please stop trying to persuade me. This—this friends with benefits thing, it ends now.” You uttered surely, now fully clothed. You turned around and finally laid your eyes on him, and saw him wearing only black jeans and a miserable expression on his face. God, he still looked perfect. He almost shined, the workout clearly visible on his face, his hair, his lips. Your resolution almost wavered.

“Okay. Okay, of course, I—I understand.” He answered quickly, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at how easily he took the news. This whole time you were so easily disposable. “But please stay. I want to spend some time with you, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” He took a careful step towards you, and you wanted to bolt then and there. “Please, stay.”

“No, Xai, I—” You paused to take a breath, trying not to crumble in front of him. His worried expression felt like a knife to your chest. You were his best friend, yet here you were, clearly wanting to run away from him—how could you expect him to feel anything but hurt upon such a sight? You felt incredibly cruel. “I really can’t. I think I need a break from all—all of this.”

“You mean from me?” He didn’t wait for your answer, the thoughts in his head seemed to go quicker than lightning. “No, please, I swear that if you don’t like it then I won’t touch you anymore. I swear.” You hated how upset he sounded. You closed your eyes for a second and fresh tears slipped away. You couldn’t keep them from falling anymore. “You know how much you mean to me. Don’t make me stay away.” He looked as if you were tearing his heart out, his posture slumped, hands shaking. How you wished you could take them into your own and warm them up.

“I have to.” Your voice came out whiny. He stepped closer to you, keeping his arms in front of himself.

“But why?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper. He couldn’t help but wonder, if you really wanted a break from him, then why were you crying as if you didn’t want to go?

“I—” You stopped yourself before going as far as to utter a confession. He couldn’t know. Not now. Not ever. “This— This situation, and how our friendship looks like right now it’s—it’s so wrong.” You opted for a response that was the closest to the truth.

“It’s not.” He replied immediately. “Not for me.”

“Well it is for me. Friends don’t sleep with each other, Xavier! We messed up so bad this time and I’m afraid we can’t let this past us.”

“Do you regret it that much?” His voice was losing its’ strength, and he seemed so utterly hurt. Meanwhile, you were just trying to protect yourself from feeling even more pain. How could you make him understand without confessing to him? You didn’t really know because you were always honest with him before. He was your safe place.

And to think that everything could be avoided, your friendship left unscratched if only you could control your feelings better. But you had no idea how to stop loving him so deeply, when he was everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.

“I should. I know that I should, it was never going to end well, I—”

“Stay. Please, starlight, stay. At least for one more night, let me hold you just for one more—” His arms went out to grab you and you flinched, taking a few steps back. His jaw tightened.

He was always afraid that he will see you run away from his touch. He felt as if his nightmare became reality - the thought of losing you too much for him to bear.

“Xavier, I can’t!” You trembled all over. Why did he make this so hard for you? “I can’t do this with you anymore, can’t you understand how much it hurts me?” The truth was at the tip of your tongue, craving to be spoken out loud.

“Why? Why does it hurt you? The only one who has a good reason to be hurt is me, you avoided me, ignored me, and for what? If you just talked to me honestly one time—”

“You are in love with someone else!”

The silence that followed was unbearable and seemed to last ages. Slow ticking of the clock was the only thing cutting through the tension, reminding you that the time didn’t stop, even if your heart seemed to do so.

You turned to him, the tears falling from your eyes in cascades now and your chest was coming up and down rapidly with how fast you were breathing.

The tears run down your cheeks quickly, making your vision less blurry. How you wished that they stayed in place, if that meant that you wouldn’t have to see Xavier’s pained expression, that quickly changed into one of utter confusion. You were shaking with how much you were feeling, your frustration pooling out of you in a form of shaking hands and bitten lips.

“I can’t continue being like this with you when I know that you’re in love with her! And I get it! I really do. She’s so wonderful, and so, so lovable. And I could never be her, no matter how much you would want me to be. I just don’t want to be a replacement anymore.” You continued, the desperation in your voice almost making you wince. You sounded pathetic and felt so embarrassed for it. You felt as if you were losing the ground beneath your feet.

“What?” He said completely stunned. He wasn’t moving a single muscle. “What on earth are you talking about?” He hissed, and took a step towards you, and when you shook your head and wanted to bolt through the door, he quickly grabbed you by your wrist and pressed your body close to his. You gasped at the contact, so sudden and forced. “No, stop running away from me!” He raised his voice, still holding your wrist tightly. You’ve never heard him sound so irritated. “Speak.” You kept your head low, when he was desperately trying to catch eye contact, but you couldn’t look at him right now. Not when your true feelings were basically flowing to the surface.

“About what? You really thought I didn’t know about your feelings for her?” You struggled to keep your voice from shaking. “Xavier, I know, and I knew from the very beginning, and you really don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really understand.” You tried to free your wrist from his grasp, but he held it too tightly. You needed to run, this conversation wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t even have a reason to be mad at him. You couldn’t blame him for not loving you romantically, nor for feeling this way towards someone else. You were only friends, and friends should be happy for each other when they find someone dear to them, not sick of the idea of losing the other to someone else.

“I’m afraid you actually don’t understand anything.” He sounded almost defeated. His voice back to its soft tone, but his hold on you unrelenting.

“It’s really okay, I—”

“No.” He scoffed. You finally gained enough courage to let your eyes meet his and you were instantly appalled at how furious he appeared to be. “It’s truly NOT.” He released your wrist and put his hands up to stroke his hair back. He breathed out loudly. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, confusion and irritation taking over his features completely. You never saw him wear that expression while talking with you.

“Oh, don’t make me—” You cut off, seeing his furious glare. You took a deep breath, stepped back from him and touched your cheek, trying to swipe the wetness caused by your tears. You failed, they were still coming down, one by one, making your efforts futile. “MC. You know that I mean MC.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He groaned and let his head fall back. He covered his face with his hands for a second, and when he looked at you again, you couldn’t read his expression correctly. “Who told you about it? Where did you get it from?”

“Jeremiah.” That’s all he needed to know. And apparently it was enough for him to grasp the situation. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head, his hands squeezed tightly into fists by his sides.

“I will strangle him this time. I swear, I will—”

“Oh, please, Xavier, stop! What’s so wrong about me knowing? I was glad that someone finally enlightened me!” You couldn’t believe that he was so angry at you for knowing such an important thing. Not when from the moment Jeremiah said that he had a thing for MC for a long time, you wondered why he kept that a secret from you. “You never even said a word about it even though I thought we were best friends. I had to learn from someone else and that already hurt.” You wanted this conversation to be over. You wanted him to admit to it already and let you go away, with a broken, but at least free heart.

But he had different plans.

“Have you maybe thought that I never said a word about it simply because it wasn’t true?” He asked carefully, his voice still angry. “I just can’t believe you thought that I loved someone else—”

“What?” Your mind went blank. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. “What do you mean it’s not true?” You sniffed quietly, confusion taking over your face.“B-But Jeremiah said that you had a past with her and—”

“I did. I had feelings for her once, but that was literal lifetimes ago!” His irritation didn’t ease in the slightest. “I had feelings for someone who looked similar to her. But she’s not the same person anymore, and even if she was, I couldn’t possibly fall in love with her. Not now, not ever.” You stopped in your tracks, trying to analyze everything he was saying to you and failing miserably at it. You looked at his face, your expression puzzled, searching for an answer there, hidden between his beautiful, soft features. It shocked you to see that now he started to calm himself down, gaze genuine, an image of complete transparency.

You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you were mistaken. All this time, when you thought you never stood a chance, when you thought that he loved another, when you wanted to let him go—

“You’re not in love with MC.” It wasn’t a question anymore, your voice quiet while you were trying to process that thought. He must’ve seen how you fought with the thoughts inside your head, because he released a groan and took a step towards you. You unintentionally took one step back. He frowned.

“Of course I’m not.” Voice sweet like honey, stance sure, his eyes searched desperately for yours. He looked at your face, covered in tears and his eyebrows furrowed deeper, hating how upset you seemed and didn’t know how to reverse it. “How could I ever be, when your face is all I can see, every time I close my eyes?” He uttered looking at you with such devotion that it almost made your knees buckle.

Complete silence took over your thoughts after his confession. You didn’t know what was happening.

But fortunately, his mind finally started to piece everything together in a picture, that although was beyond frustrating to think about, was giving him so much hope for something he thought he already lost.

He allowed himself to relax, took a deep breath and finally decided to drop his inner shackles, letting his emotions flow out of him without restraint.

“You are the one that I love.” He said clearly, not moving a muscle. He wondered if you could see the quick movement of his chest, with how hard his heart was trying to escape through it to reach you. Whereas, you felt as if yours stopped moving completely, along with the time around you, not ready to believe that this was truly happening. “It was you from the very beginning. I adored you since the day I first saw you.” He continued, his gaze piercing into your face, slight confusion visible on his features. “And I thought that was obvious? I wasn’t exactly the best at hiding my feelings, especially after I told you about them the first night we spend together.”

You blinked slowly. Once, then twice.

Your head hurt. You couldn’t wrap it around everything he was saying. Xavier was in love with you? And he already told you about it? You were so confused that the only way you knew how to react was with denial.

“You—You didn’t. I didn’t know, you are not being serious.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I did. You really don’t remember?” His tone softened, and he waited a short second for your answer, but couldn’t contain his nerves. “It was the night I kissed you for the first time, thinking that would be the last. But you reciprocated.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and you found yourself holding your breath, afraid even the slightest sound might interrupt the flow of his confession.

“You—You kissed me back, and let me do things to you I only ever dared to dream about before.” He took another step your way, a small smile grazing his handsome face. “And the confession slipped out of me so naturally before we even reached the bed.” He briefly recalled that fateful night, describing the conversations you forgot, but longed to remember since that very moment.

“You didn’t reply, but you responded nicely to my touch, so I thought that meant that you wanted me too, that maybe you’d accept me. As your beloved. Your soulmate.” You brought your hand to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. “But then in the morning when you woke up, you were panicking. I tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening to me.”

That part of the story you knew by heart, him telling you that he couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget. Back then you didn’t connect it with anything close to confession, but more with the change in your relationship. You really didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, you didn’t even dream about him loving you, when you thought that he loved MC. Insecurities and false assumptions completely clouded your vision.

“And when you proposed staying friends, with the bonus of intimacy, of course I took the chance. I thought you remembered my confession and didn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I was so desperate that I would take anything you were willing to give me, even if it didn’t involve your love. I—” he cut off, blush flushed over his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He took a shaky breath. “I was clinging to the hope that maybe through the new shared intimacy I could show you how much you meant to me. And maybe, maybe someday you would start feeling the same, when you realized how good we are together and how good I can be for you.”

“Xavier—Oh my god.” You breathed, your hand still covering your mouth, your eyes never leaving his face. His beautiful, starstruck face, now so full of confusion and unspoken hurt. “Bunny, I’m so, so, so sorry. I had no idea, I—” Your voice practically a whisper, you were still coming to terms with the fact that your feelings were reciprocated. And that you were the one who complicated things between you. “I don’t remember anything you said to me that night. I couldn’t even hear you through the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears, that’s how drunk I felt. How overwhelmed after our first kiss.”

The alcohol consumed that night also wasn’t of big help. You were a lightweight and you drunk only occasionally, so the few drinks you had already made you feel dizzy. Mixed with the intensity of your emotions, it overwhelmed you so intensely that his touch was all you could remember from that night. But now you could make it all alright.

“I only remember your touch, the things we did, and our conversation the next morning. I remember touching your hand and initiating the kiss, and my tipsy brain just thought that you went with it to forget about MC.” You said truthfully, letting it all pour out of you. Your cheeks burned with the embarrassment of admitting how desperate you were for him, that the thought he loved another didn’t stop you from having sex with him.

Then the blush deepened from the realization that from the very beginning the only one he was thinking about was you.

This thought made your head spin, the happiness slowly bubbling in your chest. Your whole body trembled.

“That’s— Fuck. You really don’t remember.” He shook his head again, realizing how deep the misunderstanding reached. “You didn’t initiate anything. I was the one who kissed you first.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You touched my hand, smiled at me contentedly and said some things and I—I just couldn’t restrain myself any longer.” This time you were the one who started approaching him slowly. You needed him close. Always. And you realized that now you didn’t have any reasons to deny yourself that lack of distance. “You looked so soft, so open and kissable, and I just went for it. And then you reciprocated.” The light in his eyes started sparkling when he noticed that you were finally coming closer to him. He reached out his hand for you and you took it gently, still shaking from the unspoken emotions.

“I can’t believe it. All this time I thought that you were in love with someone else.” His hand was warm, the touch electrifying. You squeezed his hand and intertwined your fingers together. You saw how between your clasped hands, his Evol started shining brightly, shading soft light upon your features. It was a sign that he was excited. “I tried to put a distance between us, end this intimacy because I thought that I was just a second best for you. An easy distraction.”

“How could you think that? Almost from the moment I met you, I have loved you passionately—” He brought you even closer together, pulling you by your intertwined hands, and put his other hand on your cheek. He swiped the reminder of your tears with his fingers, looking into your eyes with a devotion so apparent that it took your ability to form coherent thoughts. How did you manage to miss the way he was always looking your way?

“X-Xavier.”

“I couldn’t even think about anyone else even if I tried to. You occupy my every thought. How could I ever find a place for somebody else in my heart when you fill the space out completely?” Everything that came out of his mouth was laced with impatience. He was trying so hard to make you understand him, and the intensity of his emotions. He couldn’t psychically hold it inside anymore, he restrained himself for so long that he felt as if all of his walls finally crumbled. He needed you to know everything.

“I love you, starlight. I’m so in love with you that I couldn’t contain that feeling inside anymore. I couldn’t even spend five minutes in your presence without trying to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you. My whole body longs for you constantly.” He said, thinking about the months after you started being friends with benefits. How at first, he wasn’t sure how much he could take from you, and then, when he noticed that you didn’t mind the affection outside the bedroom, he couldn’t contain himself. He kissed you every time he had a chance, he touched you everywhere he could, he was trying to stay away from you as little as possible. Despite thinking that you did not reciprocate his feelings fully, his love for you flowed out of him naturally, every look and every touch laced with unconditional devotion.

During the period of your silence and avoiding him, he thought that it was because he finally crossed a line. He let his feelings out too much, he finally made you uncomfortable. He was starting to act as you lover, not as your friend and it wasn’t what you agreed to. He thought you still didn’t love him and maybe that was a sign that you never will. And even if that could be the case, he still couldn’t let you go.

And it appeared that he didn’t have to.

That you were not uncomfortable, but unsure.

That it was all a huge misunderstanding.

And the words that came out of your pretty, little mouth next, almost brought him to his knees.

“Xavier. Xavier me too, I—” You stuttered, completely overwhelmed by how much you were feeling. You squeezed his wrists, and looked deep into his beautiful, hopeful eyes. “I love you too. And I fell in love with you long before our first night together. I just thought that it was wishful thinking, because your heart was already taken by someone else. And that I could just stay beside you as your friend and that would be enough. And then share your bed from time to time, if that meant that I could hold you close, be on the receiving end of your affection.” You said and raised on your feet to place a quick kiss on his lips. He chased after you instantly, despite appearing stunned. You noticed his hands were shaking.

“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning towards you, kissing your lips again, this time for longer. He had trouble keeping his mouth away from yours, especially now, that he knew that every one of your kisses was filled with love. “Am I not dreaming this time?” You smiled and stroked his hair affectionately, petting his head, wanting to convey your feelings in every way possible.

“Xavier, I love you.” You repeated, grabbing his head in your palms and looking deep into his eyes. Your voice was strong, leaving no room for uncertainty. “I love you so mu—” He didn’t let you finish that sentence, because he quickly picked you up and spun you around, holding you in his arms. You giggled and put your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his face buried in your neck. When he stopped, he quickly found your lips again and that kiss felt groundbreaking.

He held you close to him, one hand squeezing you by your waist, and the other holding your jaw gently. His brows furrowed in desperation and his kisses were slow, sensual, sending pleasant shocks throughout your whole body. His tongue made an appearance, and he tasted you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. He licked into your mouth, grunting lowly, his fingers placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, then tracing patterns on your warm cheek. When you opened your eyes for a second, you could see that the tips of his ears were red. The blush spread through his cheeks too, making him look so adorable.

“It does feel like a dream.” He breathed between kisses. “And sounds too good to be true.” He captured your lips again and you smiled into his mouth. Your heart was about to burst.

“I love you.” You repeated, basking in the feeling of finally being able to say it out loud, be open with your emotions. He released your lips and kissed your forehead. You looked up, and he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a wide smile adorning his face.

“Don’t stop saying that. You make me so happy.” He said quietly, and you whispered the confession once again, making him sigh shakily.

“I was so stupid. I should’ve asked you right from the start if what Jeremiah said was true.” You said and hugged him more tightly. “I should’ve told you sooner.” You placed your head on his strong chest, your ear touching his bare body, listening to his fast heartbeat. Your hands were hugging his waist, mindful not to touch his bandaged back.

“No, I foolishly thought that telling you once would suffice. I forgot that you drank that night and that could’ve clouded your memory.” He squeezed you harder to himself and started back away with you in his arms, until the back of his legs touched his couch. He fell into it, holding you close, making you sit on his lap. “To think that I could have you sooner—” He looked into your eyes, as if searching for something.

“You had me before, and you have me now. My heart, my body, my soul.” You positioned yourself more comfortably, placing your legs on both sides of his waist, and took his face into your hands. He closed his eyes at the contact, and started to caress your body, from your waist, down to your legs. He squeezed the plush of your tights and let his head fall against the couch pillows.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening. He prayed that this wasn’t a dream, that all of the things you were telling him were true. His chest vibrated pleasurably, incredible warmth spreading through it. His heart beat so quickly, and so loudly that he thought it was the first time he felt its’ beat so intensely himself. Your words made him feel drunk with emotion.

He opened his eyes to look at your face.

He almost choked with how beautiful you were. How divine, sitting on him, caressing his shoulders, smiling at him with the stars in your eyes. He looked at your lips, full and swollen, bearing the signs of his kisses. He looked at your neck, delicate and unmarked, and he stroked it with the back of his hand, wanting to change that fact immediately, knowing that now he was allowed to do that. He switched his gaze to your eyes again and drank them in, basking in their light, wishing that this moment could never end. Or maybe it should, so it could become your new beginning.

You were his treasure. His star, his light, guiding him through life, making his existence worth pursuing. You showed him that the world can be beautiful, despite its overbearing cruelty. You were his salvation, his safe place, his one and only, showing him every single day that he mattered, that he was not a lost cause, or a villain in disguise. You taught him that he was capable of loving so intensely and now, that he was loved as passionately in return.

He doubted his worth, but the only way he knew to prove his love for you was by protecting you with his very life. You had no idea, but his sword, now a symbol of your bond, was yours to command—and you were the only reason he continued to wield it.

“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was not more than a whisper, your eyes still looking into his starry ones, losing yourself in the deep blue. You loved them, how magnificent and expressive they were, and you swore to yourself to tell him about it every day.

He seemed to get out of the trace he was in, and his eyes softened, still taking you in. He smiled and took your hands into his, and kissed your knuckles, his kisses gentle and long-lasting.

“You.” He replied shortly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He put your hands on his shoulders, making you hug his neck with them. You complied and put your whole arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands touched your waist, caressing it delicately, and the other one stroked your hair, admiring its’ softness. His eyes never left yours. “Always you, my starlight. Then, now, and till the end of my days. I will always carry you in my mind, and in my heart, to be able to reach you, no matter the distance.” You could feel his breath on your face with how close you were to each other, and he gazed at your open lips, which were already waiting to be kissed senselessly. “I love you, as I never loved anyone else in my life, and I never will again.” His lips captured yours in a kiss so soft, yet so desperate, and full of adoration, that you felt a single, happy tear escape from your eye. He deepened the kiss and held you throughout the night, kissing you and touching you, never wanting the moment to end, the warmth of your skin to become a memory.

It all started with the simplest of touches, and it never truly ended. The spark you ignited that first night has never faded. Since the moment you met, it has burned brightly between you both, a light so powerful that it could be seen across the vastness of deep space. Everlasting and exquisite, just like the different lifetimes you both had ahead of you, always finding each other, as if guided by its warmth.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

thank you for your time and please let me know if you liked it!! i was thinking of writing more for this au, maybe from xavier’s perspective? how they met and how he fell in love + how their first night really played out ♡

if u liked it, u can buy me a coffee here!: https://buycoffee.to/mochiwrites

[lavenderspence]

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

masterlist

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[alsofoundinpeas]

In the Blink of a Lens

Summary: When Spencer Reid finally succumbs to technology and gets a smartphone, he takes a tentative step into the digital world by sending his best friend (and colleague) Y/N a picture. What starts as an innocent attempt to embrace modern tech leaves Y/N flustered as the seemingly innocent gesture forces her to confront feelings she’s been ignoring for years. Neither of them is prepared for the powerful impact of a single, innocent photo as the lines between friendship and something more start to blur.

(AKA Spencer sends the above selfie and reader gets horny because his hand is quite literally swallowing the phone HAHAHA)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Hand kink/fixation. Overstimulation. Oral (both m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex/P in V sex (do as I say not as I do and STAY PROTECTED IRL!!). Dirty talk/praise kink. Softdom!Spencer and bratty!sub!reader. Some religious phrasing (because who are fanfic writers really without it?) Pull-out method used (again, do as I say not as I do!!) Very brief mention of a sex toy (doesn't get used). Fluffy smut. Two idiots in love/best friends to lovers trope. <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is my humble contribution to the Spencer Reid hand kink supremacy (no but seriously how are his hands THAT attractive??). This is kinda sorta an AU I guess because I wrote this with season four Reid in mind but I'm not sure (and Google will not give me a clear answer) if that type of iPhone was around then so let's just pretend it was for the sake of the fic pls. :') Also the "Sincerely, Spencer Reid" was a direct nod to B99's very own Raymond Holt because I could definitely see him and Spence handling tech the same way LMAO. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

Am I doing this selfie thing right? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

The screen felt almost blinding in the dim lighting of Y/N's bedroom as she stared slack-jawed at the image open on her phone.

Spencer finally upgraded to a smartphone a week ago after an unfortunate crash to the ground (stupid raised sidewalk) shattered the old flip phone that had long ago earned him the nickname "Grandpa" from his pain-in-the-ass-loving best friend. Y/N had never seen a man so devastated over losing what was essentially a brick that made calls, so to cheer him up, she helped him pick out a new phone and set it up.

She was beginning to regret that decision as she gawked at the selfie Spencer had sent.

It was sweet—an innocent photo of him sitting in his car, just after finishing the paperwork he’d insisted on handling alone, despite her offers to help. He'd banished her to her apartment, as stubborn as ever. The shot was taken in his rearview mirror, a faint grin tugging at his lips, his maple-toned eyes obscured by the phone. There was nothing about the image that should have made her pulse quicken. But when the realization hit her, a rush of warmth flooded her face.

It was his hand.

His hand seemed almost too big for the phone, dwarfing it as he snapped the picture. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed how large his hands were—everyone did—but she’d never given it much thought. Until now. Watching the way his fingers effortlessly swallowed the device, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. There was something about the sheer size of his hand, the way it seemed to overpower the phone, that made her suddenly hyper-aware of every detail.

His fingers were long, elegant, and well-cared-for; fingers that seemed capable of touching parts of her she'd never been able to reach on her own—

No. No, no, no. There was absolutely no way she was having these thoughts about Spencer Reid. Spencer, her endearingly awkward best friend of four years. Her rock. Her partner in the field. The man she’d always thought of as just that—nothing more. Well...

Y/N did have a crush on him once, in the earliest stages of their friendship. But it was just a small, silly, unreciprocated crush that she locked away in the deepest parts of her subconscious so that she could at least still be his friend. She accepted that it would never happen and moved on. Or she thought she had...

A muffled curse leaves Y/N's lips as she realizes she never responded, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she struggles to think of a response. Since when has she ever struggled to talk to Spencer? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her tonight? Was she ovulating?

Y/N: Next time, show off those pretty brown eyes of yours and you've got it down pat :)

Okay... That sounded way flirtier than she intended... But that's how they usually joked with each other, right? She was just overthinking everything because she was exhausted from their most recent case. That's it.

Y/N: Also... why have you not put your phone case on yet?? You're practically begging for another sidewalk incident to happen, Grandpa.

That's better. That feels normal.

She sets her phone down on her nightstand, picking up her abandoned book to continue reading. Y/N's heart rate is almost back to normal when her phone's ringtone blaring startles her, the book falling to her lap with a muted thud. An annoyed groan rumbles in her throat as she reaches over to grab the device, internally praying it wasn't Hotch calling with another case. They had JUST gotten back from Ohio not even six hours ago and she just wanted to rest—

To her surprise, it was Spencer calling.

"It's awfully late for you to be calling, Grandpa," Y/N drawled as she answered the call, her lips curling up into a grin as she heard Spencer scoff on the other line. "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"I am in bed," Spencer grumbled in response, and she could hear some shuffling as he got comfortable. "And I put the case on right after I sent the selfie, thank you very much. Speaking of, did you know that the origin of selfies was actually believed to be..."

Spencer launched into a thorough explanation of not only the origins of selfies but also a detailed account of why self-portraits came about. Y/N hung onto every word, just as she always did when he spoke. Most people found his rambling to be annoying, but not her. She thought it was fascinating how much information he kept tucked away in that brain of his and was more than willing to listen and ask questions about anything he blurted out.

The conversation stretches on for another hour, neither of them wanting to be the one to end it. It’s not until the fifth yawn escapes Spencer that Y/N finally chuckles into the phone before reluctantly saying goodnight. Spencer’s voice is warm as he wishes her sweet dreams, and the call ends with the soft beep of disconnecting. And, for the first time in a long while, sweet dreams she did have…

"Does that feel good? Hm, pretty girl?" Spencer murmured into her ear as she writhed between his spread legs, her bare back pressed flush to his clothed chest.

The night had started with celebratory drinks after finally closing one of their more grueling cases, the team getting some much-needed relaxation and bonding in. Spencer was Y/N's designated driver as per usual since he didn't drink, instead choosing to nurse a soda as he eyed Y/N down from across the booth.

He was directly across from her, snugly between Derek and Hotch. But he wasn't paying attention to them. His eyes had been fixated on her from the moment she'd come back from the bar with Emily and Penelope, tracing the contours of her flushed face as she tipped her head back and took another shot.

Y/N had no intentions of getting completely drunk, instead choosing to remain just tipsy enough to enjoy the warmth that flowed through her body from the alcohol and maintain a steady buzz. That way she could be aware of her surroundings while also enjoying herself and the company of her team.

The bar was dim, the pounding of her heartbeat matching the beat of the music bumping overhead as her gaze fell on Spencer. Her brows furrowed at the unabashedly hungry look in his eyes, her tongue poking out to wet her lips subconsciously. She had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he'd be looking at her like that... right?

But he had been. And that same look is exactly what led them to where they were now, with Spencer propped up against her headboard holding her at his mercy while his fingers pumped tirelessly into her drenched pussy. She was sure the sight of them was downright filthy, an erotic contrast of her completely bare body pressed against his fully clothed one.

Y/N was in shambles, her legs trembling as her nails dug uselessly into his thighs while soft whimpers and moans flowed freely from her kiss-swollen lips. Her mind was reeling, a dizzying mixture of the remaining alcohol in her system, the pleasure coiling tightly in her lower stomach, and the knowledge that it was Spencer causing said pleasure.

She was so, so close... just a few more strokes of his fingers and...

A sharp gasp sounded through the bedroom as Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as she shakily sat up to turn off her alarm. She blinked hard, attempting to clear the fog from her vision as she fell back into her pillows. The dull aching between her thighs served as a sore reminder of what she was so close to achieving in her dream...

Her eyes snapped open as the memory of the dream hit her like a tidal wave. Guilt, confusion, and sheer horror crashed over her, and she groaned, her hands dragging down her face in frustrated disbelief. She’d just had a dream—a wet dream—about Spencer Fucking Reid.

What had gotten into her?

Before she could dive too deep into why her crush on Spencer had apparently resurfaced with a vengeance after being dormant for so long, her phone dinged with a message from the genius himself. It felt like the universe was rubbing salt in the wound, taunting her for the forbidden thoughts she couldn’t seem to shake about her best friend.

Spence <3: Are you going to get coffee? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

Y/N snorted out a laugh at how he signed his text, shaking her head as she responded.

Y/N: ... Spence, you don't have to sign your name on each text. I have your number saved. And yes, I am :)

A minute passes before his response comes through.

Spence <3: Oh. Well then, can you also bring me coffee please?

Y/N: Of course I can <3

Her earlier guilt lingers in the pit of her stomach as she sets the phone down, rolling out of bed with a sigh to begin getting ready for work. How was she going to face him after having a dream like that? Maybe it was a fluke; a one-off occurrence manifested from her lack of sexual endeavors so her brain had no choice but to use Spencer as a fill-in for her fantasies.

Opting to pretend it never happened so she could face her best friend later, Y/N finished getting ready and left for the café, determined to get there on time for work.

The elevator dinged as Y/N strolled into the bullpen, her and Spencer's usual orders in hand and a soft smile on her face. Thankfully, today was a paperwork day—a task most of the team dreaded, but one Y/N welcomed. It gave her a chance to recover from the constant motion sickness from the jet and the relentless flirtations of the officers when they worked cases out of state.

"Mm, my very own coffee fairy!" Spencer grinned, setting down the stack of papers he’d been poring over. His eyes sparkled as she made her way across the room, finally meeting his gaze from across the desk as she stopped in front of him. "Have I ever told you you're the best?"

"Yes, you have," Y/N teased with a playful grin, holding out his coffee. "But I don’t mind hearing it more often."

Her dream, it seemed, hadn’t been a fluke, a realization that hits her as Spencer grabs his coffee. Her eyes involuntarily track the way his fingers curl around the Styrofoam cup, and a shiver runs up her spine when they inadvertently brush against hers. Her cheeks flush as she quickly pulls her gaze away, meeting his curious eyes instead.

"You feeling okay, Y/N? You look a little flushed," Spencer murmured, his brow furrowed in concern as he eyed her over the rim of his cup.

Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her throat as she swallowed and nodded. The sight had sent her mind reeling, the memory of those same fingers buried deep inside of her in her dream the night before surfacing against her will.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine I just-"

Before Y/N could finish stammering out her lame excuse, Morgan sauntered into the bullpen with Garcia, the pair immediately honing in on her and Spencer as they made their way over.

"Oh, c'mon Y/N! Seriously? Pretty boy here gets a coffee but the rest of us don't?" Morgan taunted, chuckling as Y/N reached out to playfully swat at his arm with an eye roll.

"Well obviously! He's her work husband," Penelope chimed in matter-of-factly, giggling as she wiggled her eyebrows. "It would mean a divorce was brewing if she didn't."

The team had started the joke years ago, teasing her and Spencer for being the youngest members and for how quickly they’d clicked. To everyone else, it was obvious their friendship ran deeper than either of the two realized. The problem was that neither one of them could see it. Some profilers they were.

No matter how many times the joke was made, Spencer’s face still turned bright red every single time.

"Har dee har har," Spencer scoffed, his eyes shifting to the cup still gripped in his hand.

The banter was cut short as Hotch stepped out of his office, everyone mumbling their goodbyes and scurrying back to their desks to get their work done. Y/N welcomed the distraction with open arms, diving into her work to try to get her mind off of her conflicted feelings towards her best friend.

All day long, Y/N fought the growing urge to watch Spencer’s hands, but it was impossible to ignore. Her eyes were drawn to the way his fingers traced the edge of a case file as he analyzed it, or how they drummed a steady rhythm on his desk, each tap somehow amplifying the tension she was trying to suppress.

Her breaking point came when the team was wrapping up for the day. Spencer, eager to show off, insisted on demonstrating a new cardistry trick he’d learned. The rest of the team gathered around, and Y/N felt herself drawn in, unable to look away. Her eyes locked on his fingers as he deftly manipulated the cards, the muscles in his hands flexing with each smooth, controlled movement. She barely registered her open mouth or the way her pulse quickened—every part of her attention was on him.

Y/N was jolted back to reality when Emily nudged her, a raised eyebrow full of amusement as the rest of the team cheered and complimented Spencer on his newly acquired skill. Rather than meet Emily’s knowing look, Y/N quickly murmured her praise for Spencer, then hastily made her exit, claiming she needed to hit a store before it closed.

If she thought that day was bad, the next few weeks were hell.

The BAU had two back-to-back cases, leaving them no time to rest as they flew straight from Tennessee to Arizona. The dry heat seemed to make Spencer restless—constantly running his fingers through his hair, fidgeting with his watch, or rolling up his sleeves. Meanwhile, Y/N felt her sanity slipping away, her thoughts unraveling as she stumbled over her words or completely lost track of what she was saying—because she couldn’t stop staring at those goddamned hands.

Spencer wasn’t blind to the shift in her behavior. He’d noticed how she started to occupy herself with something whenever he entered the room, or how she became increasingly uneasy around him—spinning the rings on her fingers, tugging at the necklace he'd given her for her last birthday, or even finding reasons to leave the room entirely the moment he stepped in.

Y/N's usual teasing had begun to feel hollow, and the familiar touches she used to give him—guiding him gently by the hand, rubbing his shoulder when frustration set in, or planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek before leaving—had completely disappeared.

He felt gutted, unable to think of a single reason for Y/N's sudden distance. The uncertainty gnawed at him, twisting his stomach with worry. What if she was tired of him? Or worse… what if she had finally seen through his feelings for her and was repulsed by them?

When the team wrapped up in Arizona and boarded the jet home, Spencer made up his mind.

After Y/N chose to sit next to Emily instead of her usual spot beside him, he couldn’t take it anymore. The not knowing was eating at him, and more than anything… he missed her. She was the one person who saw him for who he truly was, the one who understood him better than he understood himself. The one who brought him solace during the toughest cases and reminded him why he kept going. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and he promised himself he’d do whatever it took to fix whatever had gone wrong.

As soon as the jet touched down in Quantico, Y/N quickly muttered her goodbyes and made a beeline for the parking garage. Finally, she was free. Free to go home, shut herself off, and stop behaving like a complete mess around Spencer. She hated how distant she’d been, but she couldn’t help it. The weight of her obsessive thoughts about him and the feelings she’d tried to bury for so long had completely overridden her rational thoughts, leaving her acting out of control.

Fingers closed around her upper arm just inches from her car, and a sharp yelp escaped her lips. She spun around, startled, to find an equally surprised Spencer standing there. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him following her.

"Jesus, Grandpa! Make an announcement before you sneak up on people!" Y/N complained loudly, turning away from him to unlock her car and toss her go bag into the backseat.

Spencer couldn't help but feel some relief at the nickname, a surge of hope coursing through him. Grandpa. She hadn't called him that in almost two weeks. He cleared his throat, holding onto his courage as he finally addressed her recent behavior.

"Sorry! Sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure we were okay? I’ve noticed you’ve been acting… not like yourself lately. Not that I’m calling you weird or anything—"

Y/N's heart broke at the nervous rambling spewing from his lips as he stood before her, tucked into himself and fidgeting with his hands as he tried to speak. God, she was such an asshole.

"Spence," Y/N murmured, gently interrupting him before letting out a soft sigh. "I promise, we're fine. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant. It’s just… I’ve been so stressed with the cases, and compartmentalizing has been harder than usual. I guess I didn’t want to drag you into it. I’m really sorry."

It wasn't necessarily a lie. She really had been stressed and struggling with compartmentalizing... just not because of their job.

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed, his tense expression softening into one of understanding. “You know I’m always here for you, right? You don’t have to carry that burden alone. I’d much rather you let me in than struggle with it on your own."

Scratch that. She wasn't just an asshole. She was the biggest asshole in the world for making him feel the way he had.

"I know that. I really do," Y/N murmured, her fingers nervously playing with her lip. "It's just… I get way too independent sometimes." She sighed, then brightened. "How about this? Tomorrow’s our first Saturday off in over a month… Why don’t you come over and we can do a movie marathon? We could use some good 'work spouse' bonding, don’t you think?"

Spencer’s smile stretched across his face, his voice a little more eager than usual and his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, I'd, uh... I'd love that. Let's do it."

Y/N returned his grin, her heart fluttering from how excited he looked. Relief flooded through her veins as he agreed to her plans, not realizing how much she had truly missed him the past few weeks since she'd been so focused on trying not to gawk at him every five minutes.

"Perfect. It’s a date,” Y/N teased, her smile widening. “Now, get in. I’m not letting you take the train back this late."

"What? Isn't this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Spencer crooned into her ear, tightening his hold around her wrists as he kept them pinned above her head.

Another frustrated whine left her lips as she tugged uselessly against his hold, but they both knew she didn't actually want to slip free. One of his hands was wrapped tightly around both of her wrists, his other tracing maddeningly up and down her side.

"Or did you want Officer Davidson's hands on you instead?" His tone was taunting, a hint of jealousy tainting his words as he tightened his grip.

The moment they stepped into their shared hotel room after leaving the precinct, Spencer was all over her. She’d noticed the heated glares he shot her way while she stood across the room, wearing a bored expression as Officer Davidson repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) tried to flirt with her.

They hadn't announced their new relationship status to the team yet per Spencer's insistence, but it was obvious from the intensity in Spencer’s eyes that he wanted to shout it to the world now. The way he glared at Davidson made it clear he was ready to stake his claim, watching the officer eye her like prey.

Now they were here, with Spencer hellbent on making sure she understood that she was his.

Y/N shook her head, looking up at Spencer pleadingly as she tilted her hips up in search of his. "No, never. Only want you, Spence."

A dark chuckle escaped him as he smirked down at her, his hand, which had been trailing along her side, now cupping her chin. His fingers gently squeezed her cheeks, coaxing her lips into a pout.

"Only me? Is that right, sweet girl?" Spencer cooed, loosening his grip to press on her bottom lip with his thumb before sliding the digit into her mouth. "Because it sure looked like you were enjoying his attention."

The flushed head of his cock teased her entrance, pressing between her folds as his hips slowly rocked back and forth, prolonging her teasing instead of giving her what she wanted. She groaned around his thumb, sucking the digit further into her mouth and holding his gaze in an effort to tempt him into finally fucking her instead of just grinding against her.

A soft hiss fell from his lips as his gaze darkened. He shifted his weight above her, keeping her wrists clasped in his hand and shoving them into the mattress as he began to rut against her harder. Her sharp gasp sounded through the air as he angled his hips up, the tip of his cock dipping into her deliciously before he halted his movements, keeping only a few inches inside of her.

Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering her protests around his thumb as her jaw slackened, muffled pleas spilling from her lips as she began to beg uselessly for him to just fuck her already.

Spencer pressed down on her tongue with his thumb, a grunt escaping him before he yanked his thumb out of her mouth, using the hand to pin her down instead.

"Be still—"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of morning pouring through her curtains, and she let out a disgruntled groan as she blindly searched for her phone on the nightstand. After weeks of peaceful, dreamless sleep, of course she would dream about Spencer the night before their hangout. Wait—

Y/N sat up abruptly, unlocking her phone to check the time, only to notice a message waiting for her on the lock screen.

Spence <3: I’ll be there in an hour with a surprise.

Sent twenty-three minutes ago.

Fuck. She'd completely forgotten to set an alarm to get ready for their movie marathon, despite being the one who had suggested it in the first place. Whatever brain cells that photo had scrambled in her brain needed to get a grip so she could function on a level above Neanderthal.

Y/N: Surprise? You spoil me, old man. I'll see you then :)

Y/N exhaled wearily, rolling out of bed and dragging her feet across the plush carpet. She shuffled over to her dresser, picking out an outfit consisting of black yoga pants and an old band tee before heading to the bathroom for a cold shower. Maybe it would clear her head—or at least get rid of the incessant aching between her thighs. It worked on men, right?

One miserable shower and a change of clothes later, Y/N finally managed to clear some of the fog clouding her mind. She darted around her apartment, tidying up in a flurry before Spencer arrived. Moving between the kitchen and the living room, she gathered everything for their movie marathon: a pile of 90's slasher films spread out on the coffee table, her biggest throw blanket draped across the sectional, and a bag of popcorn popping away in the microwave.

Spencer's signature knock rang through the apartment at the same time the microwave started beeping, signaling that the popcorn was done.

"Coming!" Y/N shouted from the kitchen, opening the microwave door so it wouldn't repeat the shrill noise before making her way to the front door.

She swings it open with an excited grin, her gaze immediately dropping to the bag in Spencer's hand. She beckons for Spencer to come in, trying to sneak a peek at what was in the slightly crinkled paper bag.

"Geez, don't look too excited to see me," Spencer chuckled, following Y/N into her kitchen.

She waved dismissively, laughing softly as she grabbed the bag of popcorn and a bowl to pour it into. Spencer sat the bag on the counter, finally revealing its contents as he pulled out a tub of ice cream and some sour gummy worms.

"A man after my own heart!" Y/N gasped with an exaggerated swoon, cackling as Spencer swatted at her playfully.

"You said you were stressed, and I know you’ve got a sweet tooth just like me, so I figured it’d be perfect for our movie marathon," Spencer said with a shrug, the faintest blush creeping up his neck.

That kind of thoughtful behavior was just another reason her emotions had been in turmoil for the past few weeks. The selfie had opened a door to a spiral of introspection, one that made her revisit every moment they’d shared. She had always known their friendship straddled the line between platonic and something more, but she’d convinced herself it was simply because they were so comfortable with one another. It wasn’t until now that she began to wonder if those boundaries had been blurred intentionally — if, deep down, they both had wanted more all along.

The movie marathon kicked off after a bit of grumbling from Spencer, who finally gave in to watching the cheesy slasher films he’d insisted were beneath him. A few awkward moments of shifting on the couch later, they settled into a comfortable spot—Y/N tucked into his side, both of them with snacks in their laps and the throw blanket wrapped around them, ready to dive into the horror-filled lineup.

As they settled into the movie, Spencer’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment too long. He noticed the drip of vanilla ice cream at the corner of her mouth, the sight causing an unwelcome tightness in his pants. Before he could stop himself, he reached over. His thumb gently swiped the sugary trail now pooling along her lower lip, a soft swipe that left his hand lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Here, you've got a little..."

The words died in his throat as her lips wrapped around his thumb, both of their eyes widening as their gaze met.

In that moment, everything fell into place for Spencer. It wasn’t stress that had been driving her distant behavior—he realized with a sudden jolt—it was something else entirely. The way she'd been pulling away, the tension between them… it wasn’t just exhaustion or anxiety. No, it was something far more complicated. It was desire.

Y/N jerked backward, nearly sending all of their precariously placed snacks to the floor as her face burned with embarrassment. "Oh, my God I- I'm so sorry Spence," she stammered, her words tripping over each other. "I have no idea why I did that-"

"Y/N."

Spencer cut her off with a hushed murmur of her name, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stopped her nervous rambling.

"It's okay. I-I liked it," Spencer reassured her softly.

Y/N stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"I liked it."

Spencer repeated himself surely, but the tremble in his voice gave away the fact that his brave front was exactly that: a front.

"I—" He hesitated, a heavy sigh escaping him. His hands fumbled with the snacks for a moment, setting them carefully on the coffee table as if buying time. He finally turned to face her fully, the weight of his words settling in. "Y/N… I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I never said anything because I was scared… scared you wouldn’t feel the same. And after everything these past few weeks, with you pulling away, I thought maybe you’d figured it out and hated me for it. But… maybe I was wrong. Maybe you actually feel the same way I do..."

Y/N’s mouth parted in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Spencer loved her. He always had. And she had spent all this time convincing herself her feelings were one-sided, certain he couldn’t possibly feel the same way.

Spencer's voice wavered as he spoke, his eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. "Please, tell me I was wrong. Tell me you feel the same." His words hung in the air, and he held his breath, waiting, afraid that his confession might have been the thing to push her away for good.

The raw vulnerability in his voice broke through the fog in her mind, and without thinking, she nodded quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

"Yes! Yes, Spence, I feel the same way," she breathed, her voice shaky as she looked up at him, eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief. "I always have… I just… I convinced myself it was impossible. I never thought you could feel the same."

A soft laugh escaped him, his grin widening as he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "How could I not, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "You’re everything to me. You’re the reason I started believing in soulmates… because I know I’ll never find anyone more perfectly made for me than you. You’re it. Always have been."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, her eyes welling up involuntarily. No one had ever spoken to her with such reverence, and in that moment, she realized she held him in the same regard. But where Spencer's words were so effortlessly beautiful, hers often fell short. So, instead of trying to find the right ones, she chose to show him just how deeply he mattered to her.

Within seconds, her lips were on his, her hands gently cradling his face as she pulled him closer. Spencer surrendered to the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist, mirroring her movements and pulling her in.

It started as a slow, hesitant kiss that rapidly devolved into something more desperate as the weight of years of silent longing melted away between them. What Y/N couldn't articulate into words she poured into touch, threading her trembling fingers into his soft hair and tugging, urging him to hover over her as she laid back against the couch. Her lips moved against his fiercely, trying to convey the silent message that she was just as in love with him as he was with her.

The movie had long since faded into the background, its faint dialogue and sporadic screams now an odd soundtrack blending with the muffled whimpers and soft pants that filled the space between them as their hands began to roam. Spencer's hips were nestled between hers, unmoving and stiff as he tried not to mindlessly hump against her like an animal in heat.

Y/N noticed Spencer's rigidness, breaking the kiss to look up at him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?" She breathed out, propping up on her elbows and brushing their noses together. "Are we moving too fast? We can stop if you want, I-I'm sorry—"

"No!" Spencer borderline shouted in his haste to ease the insecurity he saw creeping into her eyes, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. "No, no that's not it at all. I just, um... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how far you wanted this to go."

Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, a small frown giving way to a playful smirk. She idly twisted the loose curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers, her gaze locking with his.

"I want you, Spence. All of you. If that's what you want, too."

Spencer's nod was immediate, his forehead almost knocking into hers, causing her to laugh at his eagerness. "God, yes. I want that, so much. I want you so much."

Y/N grinned as she tilted her head to brush their lips together, landing a chaste kiss on his mouth before she tugged him down, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "Yeah? You wanna fuck me, Spence?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell into the crook of her neck. If he were younger, he probably would have just cum in his pants from her words alone. But he was a man now. A barely composed man who was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of her perfume crowding his nose and the most painful erection he's had since puberty straining against his slacks.

"Such a crude mouth you have," Spencer murmured in feigned disappointment, shaking his head before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck. "Maybe I should fill it up until you learn some manners, hm?"

He traced the fingers of his right hand up her side as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his left hand pressed into the cushions to keep him from laying all his body weight onto her. He'd caught her lingering glances at his hands throughout the last few weeks. He just hadn't been sure why she'd been staring at them so hard... but now? Now, he knew exactly why she'd been so fixated on them, and he planned to use that to his advantage.

The whimper that slipped from Y/N's lips as Spencer slid two fingers into her gaping mouth confirmed his suspicions, the shit-eating grin on his face growing wide as he pressed the digits down against her tongue. She began to suck at his fingers eagerly, the feeling of her tongue laving over them making his body tremble in anticipation.

His hips began to rock against hers, slowly grinding against her aching core as he pressed kisses up and down the side of her neck. Once he was satisfied with his teasing, he pulled his fingers from her mouth with a slick 'pop', replacing them with his tongue as he kissed her deeply.

Y/N’s mind whirled, both surprised and intrigued by the sudden shift in his demeanor, captivated by how effortlessly he stepped into control. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated at all. She’d seen glimpses of this side of him—brief moments in the field or during interrogations—but never like this. The man before her was assured and confident, a stark contrast to his usual, endearing awkwardness.

Their kiss grew hungry as Spencer continued where they had left off before, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt and bunching the fabric as they trailed up. He broke the kiss long enough to help her out of the shirt, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the TV before capturing her lips once more. He was a man ravenous, consumed by the sweetness of her lips, and even the seconds it took to remove her t-shirt felt like an unbearable eternity without them.

Her hands were just as busy as his, dragging down his clothed chest before finding the button of his slacks in the cramped space between them. Her fingers fumbled with the button blindly, and her movements faltered when his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip.

"Off," Y/N whined indignantly against his mouth, tugging frustratedly at the button. "Take them off."

Spencer obliged, helpless to her commands as he sat back on his heels, easily undoing the pesky button that was keeping her from what she wanted. She went to sit up to help with his zipper, but in her rush to get his pants off, she didn't realize just how close his knee was to the edge of the cushion.

The motion knocked his knee outwards, a surprised yelp leaving his lips as he instinctively reached out for her to steady himself, but it was too late.

A startled squeal slipped from Y/N as they both tumbled to the floor, landing with a muted thud on the plush carpet. Spencer’s hands shot to her waist, his eyes wide as he glanced up at her, now sprawled on top of him, her laughter filling the air at their unexpected fall. He joined her, chuckling loudly.

They were a perfect chaos—rumpled clothes, kiss-swollen lips, tangled hair, and eyes full of love. But neither of them minded, because they finally had what they’d both been yearning for all this time: each other.

The fall did little to curb their desire for each other. Y/N ducked her head, pressing her lips to Spencer's with renewed vigor as her hands slipped underneath his sweater. She giggled as he squirmed underneath her touch.

"You're such a wiggle worm!" Y/N huffed, pulling back just enough to let the words slip free into the air between them as she lifted the sweater up and over his head.

Spencer scoffed, his own hands slipping beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and shoving them down her legs. "I can't help that your hands feel like ice!"

A quiet hiss left her lips at the feeling of his equally cold hands brushing against the skin of her thighs. She wriggled on top of him, kicking off the remaining fabric that had wrapped around her feet.

"So do yours, but you don't see me acting like a baby about it!"

"Oh, I'll show you a baby—"

Y/N cackled as Spencer rolled them over, hovering above her once more with a cheeky grin and soft chuckles. He bombarded her with kisses all over her face and collarbones, ignoring her hands swatting at him playfully as he continued his attack. Soon his pants joined the growing pile of clothes near the entertainment center, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room as the final scenes of the forgotten movie played out. His hands made swift work of removing her bra, leaving her lying underneath him in only her lacy underwear.

Their laughter died out as they stared into each other's eyes, the weight of what was about to change—what had already changed—settling over them. But fear didn’t touch them. There was no reason for it. This was always meant to be; written in the stars, woven into their destiny long before they existed.

Spencer closed the gap between them, kissing Y/N tenderly as he lowered himself just enough for their bare chests to press together and their hips to align perfectly. A sigh escaped her at the feeling of his hardened cock grinding against her, the thin fabric of his boxers and her soaked panties doing little to conceal what lay beneath.

Neither of them had ever pictured their first time unfolding on the living room floor, but in a way, it made the moment even more unforgettable. It was a testament to how desperately they wanted each other—so much that they’d choose the roughness of the carpet and rug burns over the luxury of her bed to avoid the few minutes apart it would take to get to her room.

"You're sure you want this?"

Spencer broke the kiss, his eyes tracing hers for any trace of hesitation or doubt. Y/N's lips curved into a faint smile as she reached up to caress his face. Her thumb stroked the skin of his cheekbone as she nodded.

"More than anything."

The look in her eyes told him that she was being completely honest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His shaky hands found the edges of the lace adorning her hips, inching his body down as he tugged the soaked-through fabric down her legs.

Y/N's face scrunched in confusion as Spencer moved lower, her brows furrowing as he pressed a kiss to her knee. "What are you-"

Her words cut off with a sharp moan as Spencer latched his mouth to her clit, her head tipping back against the floor as her hands buried themselves into his disheveled strands. Her back arched as her legs spread instinctively, making room for him as he began to devour her. He shifted, grabbing ahold of her thighs and placing them over his shoulders as his tongue alternated between teasing kitten licks and long, drawn-out laps up and down her pussy.

Y/N struggled to open her eyes, peering down at him as pleasure began to flood her veins. The sight of his hands—those beautiful goddamned hands that had inadvertently caused this to happen— gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises had her mouth hanging open, small whimpers and moans flowing freely into the open space.

"You taste exquisite, sweetheart. So, so good," Spencer mumbled against her slick skin before sucking her clit into his mouth gently.

Y/N cried out, writhing underneath him as the pleasure in her lower stomach began to build rapidly. A loud groan wrenched itself from her throat as Spencer grabbed her hips, pinning them to the ground as he continued to ravage her in a way that rendered her useless.

"You can take it, pretty girl," Spencer cooed, placing a kiss on her clit before one of his hands left her hip to trace her folds. "Cum for me so I can fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else again."

Who the fuck taught him how to talk like that?

Y/N couldn’t speak to tell him that she’d never want anyone else anyways; that he was etched into her very soul, and every part of her would forever long for his touch and his touch alone. She cried out as his middle finger prodded at her entrance before slipping inside, her orgasm so close she could almost taste it.

Spencer moaned against her from how little resistance her walls had against the intrusion, immediately adding his ring finger to the mix. He thrusted them into her hard, curling the lithe digits in search of that rough patch of skin that would give him what he wanted. It took all of three strokes before he found it, his mouth forming a smirk as she gripped his hair and yanked, grinding her hips up into his mouth as she thrashed beneath him.

"Spence! Fuck, I-I'm cumming—"

Y/N barely uttered the words before her climax seized her, her toes curling as her vision whitened and the world shattered around her. She could vaguely register Spencer's sweet voice coaxing her through it, his forehead now pressed to hers as his fingers continued to gently thrust into her through the aftershocks. Only when she was trembling and weakly shoving at his wrist did he finally stop his movements, his lips meeting hers in a series of soft kisses as her chest heaved beneath him.

"Yeah?" He murmured with a smug grin, pulling back to smooth her hair away from her damp face with his clean hand as she stared up at him in bewilderment.

Spencer Reid had just caused her to cum harder than she ever had in her life. Spencer—the same Spencer that was too shy to look her in the eyes for a solid month after first meeting her— just made her cum so hard she almost blacked out. She understood why he was a man of magic now... and it had nothing to do with the novelty tricks he was always showing off.

"Yeah," Y/N whispered in response, still reeling from her orgasm.

If that was the type of climax she could reach simply from his tongue and fingers, she was convinced that she'd never actually experienced one with anyone else.

"Do you want to stop there? Or do you want to keep going?"

Spencer's voice was soft as he stared at the gorgeous woman beneath him. He found it ironic that he was already kneeling between her thighs because that had now become his place of worship. His redemption came in the form of her essence, dripping from his fingers as they rested against her hip. He'd never need anything else as long as he had her.

"Keep going. I want to keep going," Y/N pleaded softly, her hands reaching for his boxers. "Just—c'mere. Wanna taste you before you fuck me brainless. Please?"

A pitiful whine left Spencer’s lips as he felt his composure crack slightly. He wasn’t prepared for her to practically beg to suck his cock. He found himself nodding mindlessly, his hands going to help her strip him of his boxers before he remembered the mess still clinging to his fingers.

“Clean these for me first, sweet girl. Then you can.”

Spencer brought his fingers up to her lips, watching in amazement as she obeyed without a fuss. She even went as far as moaning while she licked his fingers clean of her, holding his gaze while she did. Y/N knew what she did to him. She knew he was just as affected by her as she was him. And she reveled in it.

Once he deemed them clean enough, he pulled them from her mouth before ridding himself of the last shred of fabric between them. The second that Spencer was bare before her, she pounced. Her hands pushed at his chest, urging him to lie back as she crawled on top of him.

“You’re so pretty, Spence,” Y/N breathed dazedly, pecking his lips before trailing her kisses down his chest. “God… look at you.”

Spencer flushed bright red while she continued to murmur her praises as she gripped the base of him, his cock twitching in her hand.

He had never been particularly confident—growing up as a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school had stripped him of any sense of self-worth before it had a chance to take root. Unlike Morgan, he didn’t have the muscles or the easy charm with women. He could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand. His dates rarely progressed beyond the first, driven away by his nervous rambling and the unpredictable demands of his job.

The only way Spencer even knew how to make Y/N feel so good was because he had studied every piece of material he could find on the intricacies of female anatomy and sexual pleasure on the off chance one of his dates would blossom into something more than an uncomfortable hook-up and dash situation. It also helped that he’d pined after her since he’d known her, that longing translating into a dire need to make her feel the best she ever had because that’s what she deserved. She deserved to feel pleasure in its purest form, to feel cherished and worshipped because that’s how precious she was to him.

And in this moment, as she gazed at him with the kind of reverence that made it seem as though he was the center of her universe, Spencer believed that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to feel that way too.

His fingers grasped helplessly at the carpet beneath him as her beautiful lips wrapped around the flushed head of his arousal, a muffled curse falling into the air as she swirled her tongue around him. Y/N smirked around her mouthful, her eyes glinting with amusement as she inhaled through her nose and pushed lower, taking him into the back of her throat. The gag that she emitted from the motion had his hips jerking up, a flurry of apologies spewing from his mouth.

Instead of responding verbally, she simply grabbed his hands and guided them to her hair, encouraging him to take hold and move her as he pleased. Once he threaded his hands through her hair, she continued. Her own hands planted firmly on his thighs as she began to bob her head around what she could fit, a soft hum vibrating around his length as her eyes fluttered shut.

Spencer was speechless— absolutely floored as he stared slack-jawed at the woman moaning around his cock like she was the one receiving pleasure from it. He gave an experimental tug of her hair, his head falling back with a thunk as she moaned louder and moved faster. It was as though she were unraveling his very soul with her tongue, hurtling him towards an orgasm he didn’t want to have just yet.

“Y-Y/N wait I— ngh!” Spencer groaned, his grip on her hair tightening unintentionally as he tried to pull her off of him. “I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me cum down your throat, pretty girl. P-please—“

Y/N whined in protest but finally eased herself off of his cock, a trail of spit bridging her lower lip to the head of him as she stared up at him with watery eyes and swollen lips.

Spencer felt delirious as he took in the sight. It was something he’d dreamed about (albeit guiltily) for years, and having the real thing in front of him was infinitely better than anything his subconscious had conjured up during those restless nights. She was a vision; a work of art that deserved to have a museum dedicated to her and her alone.

“Oh, don’t pout. Unless you don’t want to be fucked anymore?” Spencer chuckled breathlessly, arching a brow as she moved to straddle him. His hands found their way to her waist, a shudder running down his spine as she settled over him.

“If you won’t fuck me… I have a pretty nice dildo in my bedside drawer that should do the trick,” Y/N hummed coyly, dragging her heat across the length of him with a soft sigh.

Spencer’s eyes darkened at that, his grip on her hips tightening to put a halt to her subtle movements.

“Yeah? You think it’d make you feel better than I could?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the aching between her legs starting to override her logical thinking. She knew the answer he was looking for; the answer that would give her exactly what she wanted. But she decided to be a smartass instead.

“Maybe,” She answered with a shrug, nibbling at her lower lip as she tried to fight against his hold to get the friction she craved.

“Go get it then.”

Spencer leaned forward, his nose brushing hers as she sat in his lap, a challenge in his gaze. He knew she wouldn’t—she was getting restless, just like him. But if this was the game she wanted to play, he was determined to win.

Panic spread across Y/N’s face at the cold, indifferent look in his eyes. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her frown betraying the sinking realization of the hole she’d dug for herself. They were both ridiculously competitive, so why she’d started this—rather than just admitting how badly she wanted him buried inside her—was beyond her.

“I was kidding,” Y/N huffed, tilting forward in an attempt to capture his lips.

Spencer leaned back, keeping his lips just out of reach. He shook his head, smirking softly. “Nope. Either go get it, or say you’re sorry.”

Y/N hesitated, frowning as she weighed her options. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But pride was a hell of a thing. She knew he wouldn’t back down. Normally, she wouldn’t either. But his cock was pressed so deliciously against her clit that she decided it would be more than worth it to lose just this once.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Spencer’s taunting made her groan in frustration before she sighed and tried again.

“I said I’m sorry—“

He shifted them so that his back was against the couch, her knees on both sides of his hips digging into the carpet hard enough that he was certain it would sting once they started. He’d make sure to take care of her afterward, though. He gazed up at her with adoration, thoroughly enjoying how needy she'd become. Her breath hitched as he adjusted his hips, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

“One more time, hm?” Spencer coaxed, his hands now rubbing up and down her sides but still holding her tight enough that she couldn't rock against him. If he was honest, his resolve had crumbled as quickly as hers, but he couldn’t help from teasing her for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N cried out, her forehead pressing against his as she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Spencer finally pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, his lips brushing against hers as he crooned. “Good girl, baby. Thank you.”

Hearing the praise fall so easily from his mouth had Y/N canting her hips down eagerly, willing to do whatever he wanted just so she could hear his sweet words over and over again. Her determination didn’t waver, her hips pushing down insistently. Spencer’s hold on her waist faltered, and for a brief moment, gravity claimed its victory.

A startled gasp slipped from her lips as the tip of his cock pushed into her, followed by a guttural moan that had Spencer's ears ringing as he cursed loudly. She had been so used to his hold that she wasn't prepared to support herself, his hands having barely caught her from dropping completely. He immediately yanked her up, the cool air against his skin a shock after having felt her warmth for the first time.

“God—fuck!" Spencer groaned as his head tipped back against the couch cushions, straining against every instinct begging him to just drive into her and utilizing every muscle in his body to keep her suspended as she wriggled impatiently.

"Baby... how are you— how are you wanting to do this?” Spencer whispered, swallowing before he continued. “I’m pretty sure I have a condom in my wallet, but I… um. I’m clean...”

Their hearts pounded in their chests as his words lingered in the air, the only sounds in the room being the repeated menu options from the forgotten movie and the ragged rhythm of their breaths.

Y/N meweled, reaching down to realign him with her entrance. “I’m clean and on birth control… Can we...? Like this? Please—“

“Yes.”

Y/N chuckled at his blunt response, though she was just as desperate to feel him after having the faintest taste of what he felt inside her. Her lips found his for a chaste kiss before she finally began to lower herself onto his cock, this time without his resistance.

Her laughter died in her throat, morphing into a choked whimper from the stretch of him. Even with how aroused she was, trying to make him fit was a struggle. Spencer was easily the biggest out of anyone she’d ever been with— a feat she hadn't quite realized until she was pausing halfway down his cock with a stuttered moan, slowly circling her hips in an attempt to adjust to the sensation.

Spencer was convinced he'd somehow died and ascended to paradise as he gazed up at the angelic woman hovering above him, enthralled by watching her fight to take the full length of him into her depths. His hands massaged up and down her trembling thighs, hoping to help her relax enough to take the rest of him without it hurting. Hums of encouragement rumbled from his chest as he stared unblinking at her, the warm amber of his eyes almost consumed completely by his blown pupils. His thumb found her clit and rubbed small circles into it as her eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled sharply through her nose.

"That's it, sweet girl," He cooed, continuing his gentle ministrations as she whined from deep in her throat. "Just like that. You're taking me so well. My gorgeous girl."

There was a pleasant burn as Y/N gingerly lifted her hips, leaving only the head of him inside of her. The way her hardened nipples brushed against his bare chest had her shivering lightly, the touch sending small sparks of pleasure jolting through her. Soft whines spilled from her lips as Spencer moved his hands around to grip her ass, gently massaging the flesh as she raised up on her knees.

With a committed roll of her hips and a quiet grunt, Y/N finally took the rest of his length, their bodies now flush together as her head dropped into the crook of his neck. The whorish moan Spencer released into her ear as he bottomed out had her clenching around him, a dire need to cause more of those sinful noises prompting her hips to begin moving. The raw stinging against her knees as she began to ride him in earnest only spurred her on, her nails digging into his shoulders as her head lolled back.

"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, resting her forehead against his as she panted out his name again and again, chanting it as though it were a mantra.

Spencer shushed her, understanding exactly what she couldn't manage to vocalize. He nodded against her as their bodies moved in tandem. "I know, baby. I know. You feel divine. My sweet angel." He continued to murmur out his praises as his head rested back on the edge of the couch cushion, small fingerprint-shaped bruises marking her skin as he clung to her.

Her hips began to falter as exhaustion started to settle into her bones from the vigorous pace she'd set, her second orgasm brewing in the pit of her stomach as though it were a wicked thunderstorm in waiting, ready to roll in and wreak havoc on her entire body at any minute. The slick sounds of their bodies connecting over and over paired with the symphony of heady moans and whimpers spilling between them—it was all driving her closer and closer to ecstasy.

Spencer noticed the fumble in her movements, his brows pinched together as he fought to keep his own climax at bay so he could enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up in her walls for a while longer. But he couldn't let his pretty girl do all of the work, could he? That would be cruel.

He planted his feet into the ground, beginning to pound into her from below. A satisfied smirk adorned his face as Y/N cried out, her head falling into the crook of his neck once more as she began to babble incoherently against his skin. The pace he set was wild and unrestrained, the angle allowing him to drive into her g-spot repeatedly.

"Take it, take it, take it—" Spencer hissed through clenched teeth before he latched his mouth onto her right nipple, sucking at the bud and swirling his tongue around it.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, hanging on tightly as Spencer ravaged her. Her mouth hung open as moan after moan wrenched itself from her core and embedded into his damp skin. The pleasure searing through her veins was consuming her, burning her from the inside out. She was so close—

The catalyst for her orgasm came in the form of Spencer's hands slipping down her ass and underneath her thighs so that the tips of his fingers were brushing against where they were connected with each thrust. All it took was that one simple touch for the tension in her body to snap, her teeth digging into his shoulder as she tried to muffle her screams while her walls pulsed around him violently. Her eyes squeezed shut as she wailed his name loudly, not caring if any of her neighbors heard them at this point. She wanted the world to know exactly who was making her feel this good.

Spencer toppled them over onto the ground as she came around him, pinning her to the carpet and rutting into her fervently. Something akin to a sob fell from his lips before he abruptly pulled out, jerking his cock in quick strokes before he was spurting his cum across her stomach and tits with a cry of her name.

He crumpled to the ground beside her, pulling her into his side before he slung an arm over his face. Their chests heaved as they came down from their highs, both of them completely spent after such depraved lovemaking. His free hand stroked up and down her slick skin as she rested her head on his chest, calming the tremors wracking her body as they caught their breath.

Once Spencer regained feeling in his legs, he scooped Y/N from the floor and into his arms, hauling her off toward her bathroom as giggles bubbled from her lips at his surprising show of strength. Y/N watched with pure fondness as he started the shower, her heart swelling as he glanced back at her with a tired grin. When the water was warm enough, he held her hand as he helped her step in, following behind her with a hand wrapped around her waist to hold her steady.

After a shower spent lost in love-struck gazes, soapy caresses, and slow, tender kisses against the tiles, they ended up wrapped in each other's arms in her bed. It was only midday, but it was Saturday—so why not indulge in a nap? They had more than earned it after their (failed) movie marathon.

"Y'know," Y/N started, her voice low as fatigue began to cloud her mind. "You really do have massive hands." She took his hand, which had been resting loosely between them, lifting it to align with hers for comparison. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, and the sight made her smile with amusement.

Spencer snorted, his nose scrunching as he laughed quietly at her observation.

"Well, yeah... I am 6'1", sweetheart. It would be abnormal if I didn't have massive hands," He stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, you love them. Really love them," He added with a sleepy smirk.

Y/N's face burned as she rolled her eyes, playfully shoving him with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. It isn't my fault you have hands that were crafted by Michelangelo himself," She murmured defensively.

Spencer pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her forehead, then her nose, her cheeks, and finally, her lips.

"You know I'm just teasing you. Did you know that—"

As Spencer began to prattle on about the variations and degrees of hand kinks and fetishes, Y/N's mind drifted back to the picture that had unknowingly set everything in motion. She couldn’t help but thank that raised crack in the sidewalk for pushing her old-fashioned boyfriend (that still felt so surreal to say) to embrace modern technology—because without it, she might have spent even more time blind to the fact that she was utterly, hopelessly in love with the man lying before her.

And as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, Spencer felt a deep sense of gratitude for finally being able to love the beautiful woman in his arms the way he’d always dreamed of.

Continued A/N's: I felt evil for my first (published) fic being so angsty so I decided to write this as a formal apology LMAO. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Please tell me what you think and let me know if you'd like to see a sequel for this as well! :) K <3

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 1 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: God bless Milo Manheim!!!!!!!!!! I love this idea of having a bucket list of things they want to do before crossing over. It might be cool to make it into a series. idk. We'll see. :) For now, enjoy!! I hope you guys like it. <3 xoxo, nai.

Word count: 1714

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn.

masterlist. part 1. part 2. part 3

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Wally had been wandering the halls of the school, bored out of his mind, his thoughts drifting aimlessly as he just tried to make it through another day—not that he ever expected much on a normal one, at least. But then, there were those days. The ones that turned into trouble. The kind of trouble that you made happen.

It didn't really take much to turn an average boring day into something unforgettable when you were involved. You were the life of the party. You and Wally? Every single time you two were together, trouble seemed to follow.

And today? Today was no different.

You had both made a promise long ago: make eternity fun. It was a pact, a way to deal with the fact that you two were dead, with no going back to your old lives. So, you'd sworn to make the most of every single day, even if it meant causing chaos along the way.

You'd even written down an entire bucket list with him. Wally named it "100 things to do before crossing over." You two hadn't really crossed off many of the things you'd written down; some of them were not very possible, given the fact that you two couldn't really leave the school grounds. But that didn't stop you from trying to make every day feel like it mattered.

After walking aimlessly around the school, Wally finally spotted you, sprawled out on the bleachers of the football field. The sun was making your skin glow, and despite the fact that you couldn't tan anymore, you still seemed to soak up every single ray as if you were trying to relieve the feeling of it. One arm draped over your eyes, one leg over the other. Wally smiled; you always found a way to look effortlessly cool and beautiful, even in moments like this.

Wally climbed up the steps, settling on the one just below you, his eyes studying you. "We're gonna have field day in an hour," he said, his voice light. "Mr. Martin wants to do something...different. A bonfire or whatever. I don't know. Rhonda told me."

But you didn't respond. Your silence made him arch an eyebrow.

"You good?" he asked, his tone shifting to a more serious now. He wasn't too used to you being so quiet.

You opened your eyes, lazily glancing at him. “Just thinking,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Dangerous,” he teased, though he could tell something was off. You smiled at him, rolling your eyes, but he noticed they didn't have that usual sparkle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, a little more worried now.

You propped yourself up, your gaze flickering to the school building for a moment before focusing back on him. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steadier this time. “I’ve just been thinking about that list we made.”

“The one with a hundred things we’re supposed to do before crossing over?” Wally asked, smirking. “We’re halfway through, but there’s still plenty of time left.”

He watched your expression closely, trying to figure out what was going through your head, but you were unreadable as ever.

You shook your head. “We haven’t really crossed off much…” You trailed off for a second, your gaze flicking to the sky before you let out a sigh. “I just feel like... days are getting boring, Wally.”

He tilted his head. “Well, let’s do something not boring, then. Something stupid.”

“Define stupid.” You raised an eyebrow.

Wally’s lips curled into that signature cocky grin. The one that always meant he was about to take things to another level.

“Number 16,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

“Do you expect me to remember?” You shot back, trying to act nonchalant, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Skinny dipping, dumbass.”

You froze for a moment, processing his words. Your mind raced, the idea catching you off guard. It was reckless, a little insane—but totally on brand for the two of you.

"You're serious?" you asked, staring at him with a mix of disbelief.

Wally leaned forward slightly, his voice low, his gaze burning with that familiar mischievous fire. “Dead serious.”

You couldn’t help it. A wicked smile spread across your face as you locked eyes with him. It was just a stupid thing to do. Just another one of your meaningless games. No harm in it, right?

"You're insane," you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the bleacher to stand right in front of him. You looked down at him, your gaze meeting his with a challenge in your eyes.

Wally just shrugged. “Yeah, well, eternity wouldn’t be fun if we weren’t at least a little bit insane.” His eyes traced the curve of your body, the unspoken tension between you both suddenly feeling palpable, thick in the air.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the heat that seemed to spark between you both. “I swear you’ll get us caught.” You half joked, but the wild idea was starting to feel too good to back away from.

“Let’s make it quick then,” he replied. “We’ll make sure no one sees us.”

"I swear, Wally, if we get caught... I'll kill you," you warned, your voice a mix of a playful threat.

Wally chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "You wouldn't," he teased, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "Besides, it's not like anyone's out there anyway. Everyone's off by the bonfire, telling ghost stories or whatever it is they do. We're fine. I'm sure they won't miss us."

You shot him a skeptical look, doubting if you should agree to it but you craved the adrenaline more.

"Come on," he grinned, grabbing your hand. "Let's go have some fun."

The thrill and the adrenaline coursed through you as you followed him, letting him guide you through the school. Wally was always the one to get you into trouble, but you couldn't deny how much you loved it.

As you both snuck through the hallways, being very careful to avoid Rhonda, Charley, Mr. Martin, or anyone who might spot you. You both could hear the muffled sounds of chatter echoing from the field.

When you finally reached the indoor pool, Wally paused at the entrance, opening the door slowly, and scanning the room. It was empty. The sun was almost gone, and the full moon shone brightly through the roof, illuminating the pool in a way that made the entire space feel almost otherworldly.

Wally turned back to you, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we have the place all to ourselves."

"Good," you smiled. "Kinda wanted some alone time, y'know?"

Wally's smile grew bigger, his gaze deepening. He took a step closer to you, his eyes locked onto yours. "I was actually thinking the same thing," he said, his voice low, more intimate. There was a flicker of something between you, a feeling that had been there for a while but neither of you had ever acknowledged it. "Just you and me."

"Just you and me," you repeated slowly, the words lingering in the air between you two.

For a second, everything faded away. The pool, the school, the world—it all felt distant, like a memory. It was just you and him, standing there in the moonlit pool, the adrenaline cursing through your veins.

Wally's hand was still intertwined with yours; his touch was warm, and even though you were technically dead, you still felt alive in moments like this. His gaze never left yours as he stepped closer, his breath becoming quicker.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and something else, something deeper, though it was hard for you to place.

You met his gaze and smirked. "Dead serious."

Wally's lips curled into a grin, there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes and it made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze on you caused your head to spin, his presence was overwhelming. He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Just us?"

"Mhm," you nodded, your gaze never leaving his.

There was a subtle shift in Wally's demeanor, a possessiveness in the way he looked at you, but it wasn't the kind that felt controlling, it was the kind that made you feel like he was claiming this moment, claiming you, without saying a word. The air grew heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts, you couldn't really tell if it was the adrenaline or something else, but you felt your heart pound louder in your chest.

"Yeah?" Wally repeated, a challenging tone lacing his voice, his smile never wavered. He stepped a little bit closer, closing the distance between you, his body just a fraction of an inch from yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension between you so strong, so thick you could almost touch it.

You tilted your head slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze, how it seemed to pierce right through you, taking in every single inch of you. His pupils were wide, dark, hungry, and the intensity of his stare made your heart race faster than before.

There was no going back now.

And honestly? You did not want to.

"Yeah," you whispered, a little breathless, words barely escaping your lips.

Just you and him, no distractions, no one to come between you two, no rules, no secrets, no limits.

Just you and him.

"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

This might actually be the worst idea you've ever had. You'd suggested skinny dipping as a joke, both drunk and laughing while writing the list, not actually expecting him to go forward with it.

But here you were, bodies so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the air thick, almost suffocating. His eyes so dark, filled with something you couldn't quite describe, but you knew this wasn't just about a dare anymore.

This wasn't just a game.

It was about to become something entirely different, something that could change everything, ruin everything, but... maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to. 

[dameronspector]

It Was Just Like A Movie

Pairing: Actor!Joaquin Torres x Fem!Actress!Reader

Summary: You were each other’s Co-stars and bestest friends. But, you loved loved him. He loved loved you, as well. What was the problem? Everyone knew this except the two of you.

Warnings: Actors!AU, Best friends to Lovers, Cursing, Mentions of Stalking by fans, Talks about feet (not in a gross way!), small foot injury, Pining, So much Fluff, Slight Angst, Yearning, Drinking, These two are oblivious dumbasses, Kissing, heavily inspired by my babies tom and zendaya and their adorable interviews during no way home press tour . This one is really long. There will be a part two, hehe.

AN: i was rewatching all the tz interviews and i could only think about joaquin. enjoy. That Paris interview in this is word for word, bar for bar, taken from tom and z’s interview. So full credits to them. PS: assume the movie they are doing press for is something like We Live In Time.

If someone asked you, 'What's the best part of being an actor?' you would immediately respond with 'Getting to know Joaquin Torres'. You were forever grateful for getting cast in that Netflix show 3 years ago because that show introduced you to the silliest and prettiest sweetest boy in this whole world.

By the time the show was over, both of you were attached to the hip. Everyone would keep insisting that the two of you would end up together but to protect your friendship, you turned a blind eye to them. Worst part of it all were the fans. You loved them, truly. But the endless edits, messages and tweets that they would make about the two of you was something that always gave you goosebumps- out of fear or out of excitement, or maybe both. They even had a whole hashtag for your 'ship' name. It was terrifying. You did not want Joaquin to be weirded out and to distance himself from you, like it happens to some in the industry after the fans became more invasive.

It escalated when some fans would stalk you both and psychoanalyse your friendship. They would post sneaky pictures of you two hanging out and you freaked out over it every time. You were not expecting Joaquin to react with the same air of nonchalance. As if this wasn't making your heart fall down to your stomach. As if it wouldn't break you if he walked away. He was your rock, your family, in this fucked up industry. The two of you have been through everything together. Even your families were a big joint family at this point. So yeah, you were afraid of losing your best friend- your soulmate -over some stupid fan theories.

You chose to lock your feelings far away and told yourself to be normal around him. But how could you do that when he was so charming and so damn clingy? His day wasn't complete without giving you a thousand hugs and cuddles per day. Your stomach erupted in butterflies every single time. You swore that the hugs were longer and longer each day and they left you feeling giddy throughout the day.

He was a professional yapper so how could you be normal around him when he had to tell you every single detail from his day. If it wasn't in person, then it was over a call and if it wasn't over a call, then your phone would blow up with his texts and audio messages all day long. His talkative nature was a blessing for you because 1. you were an amazing listener and an introvert and 2. you loved listening to his smooth, slightly husky, low pitched voice. It was like music to your ears and you would never admit to his face that you loved being the only person he would tell all these details to. Even if your peers teased you every time they saw Joaquin was calling you, you would never miss his call.

How could you be normal around him when his beautiful eyes would look at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky? It was probably the perpetual look of wonder in his eyes because he was so passionate about everything he did. But you swore he looked at you with a different twinkle in his eyes. Or maybe it was your poor heart's wishful thinking.

Another reason why you couldn't be normal around Joaquin Torres was his endless charm and sweet nature, especially towards you and especially during interviews. He was either a really smooth fucker or he was putting up a show for everyone because boy was he ten times more clingy and attentive in front of the cameras. He would flirt with you. It was almost like he wanted to give the fans some content to talk about. He would make a joke, lean closer to you or flirt with you and your entire face would be warm which you'd try to cover up with overly dramatic laughter.

You were sure of one thing, Joaquin Torres would be the cause of your death (biggest heartbreak) one day.

-

The two of you had been cast in a new romantic-drama and were currently on the press tour for the movie.

Currently, you were in Paris and the two of you were sitting in a room with a single seat in the middle and a screen in front of it. The seat was small. Like, your-thighs-would-be-touching-Joaquin's- small. You saw that and damn near fainted. You don't think you could handle sitting so close to him.

So, here you were, sitting extremely close to Joaquin, trying to focus on the questions appearing on the screen before you. You kept your hands in lap and tried to lean away from him. But he would have none of that and leaned even closer to you. You have never wanted to smack him in the head more than you did in this moment.

You swallowed the butterflies that had crawled up your throat and clenched your fists before reading out the question. "What do you have in common with your characters?", you read aloud and turned to face him.

He was wearing a lovely white collared shirt with diamond shaped lines on it, which framed his broad shoulders nicely, paired with black straight pants and his favorite golden necklace. His curls were gelled back to look perfectly quaffed. Oh yeah, did you mention that every time he wore jewelry you wanted to pull him closer by his necklace, grab his face and kiss him stupid? Yeah.

He looked at you and observed your face for a second before you broke off his stare. You looked so pretty, he thought.

"What do you have in common with your characters? Answer it!", you smiled at him and gestured at the screen with your hand.

Joaquin blinked before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Uh- he is- devilishly handsome-", he began while clapping his right fist against the palm of his left hand.

You let out a laugh and nudged him.

"He is incredibly brave, charming, charismatic!", he listed off with a smile in his voice.

"We're played by the same person-", you added in while giggling.

He continued his actions. "-we're played by the same person, funny!", he finished smugly. You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder.

Before you could say anything he continued, "Yours is- she's a weirdo-", he began counting off on his fingers and you burst out in giggles and leaned against him.

"She's a loser! She is...sassy!", he counted off in a teasing manner.

You chuckled and held his hands to stop him. "Shut up! Next question!"

What you didn't notice, was the way he looked at you when you laughed. Like there was nobody else in the room. Like his entire heart was pouring out of his eyes. Like he wanted to freeze time in this moment so that you could hold his hand a little longer.

-

Joaquin Torres never knew he needed a guardian angel. He thought he was doing just fine in his life. Then, he got cast in a Netflix show and he met you. The day that he met you, he was sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were a shy thing, never speaking to anyone unless spoken to, respectful and oh so sweet. Always ready to help people out. And oh, you looked like an angel. Your eyes were always shining so bright- as if you held a thousand stars in them. You had the most breathtaking smile that made his lungs give out. He knew he was goner the moment you flashed him that smile.

It didn't take time for Joaquin to fall for you and for you to become his best friend. Although, every time you called him that, it felt like someone had stabbed him straight through the heart but he steadied himself and stomped on his feelings. Because he valued your presence in his life more than he valued his feelings for you. If you wanted to be his friend, then that's what he was going to be. A good friend, a loyal friend, as long as you wanted.

Joaquin thought you were his guardian angel because he liked himself better when he was with you and because you were there to hold him when nobody was. He learned to be kinder to himself and others because of you. You validated his feelings and lifted him up whenever he faced any failure. He wanted to be as graceful as you are. He was in love with your generosity, your advocacy for the right things and your ability to feel and express every emotion at the fullest. He could write novels and poems for and on you. He loved you. Completely.

The two of you were always attached by the hip. Hanging out after filming or hanging out at each other's houses was soon a part of your routines. He couldn't go without talking to you for even a day. It was his most favorite thing in the whole world because you were such a good listener. Always enthusiastic about his stories and lending him a shoulder to lean on. He knew he wasn't exactly subtle, either. Joaquin was naturally a clingy person. He loved people and he loved being close to his loved ones but he especially loved being clingy with you. The two of you fit like puzzle pieces and your body would automatically make space for him even if you weren't big on physical touch. Holding your hands, hugging you, cuddling you while he slept, leaning against you during interviews and the lingering hugs when you were separated for a long time. He wanted to hold you close and melt in your soft, loving arms forever. He didn't give a damn about anybody watching the two of you or your peers teasing you both.

He knew it was serious for him the day he brought you home to meet his mom, grandmother and sister. And it was the best decision he ever took in his life because they adored you like you were their own. Every time you were over at his house, the three of them would give Joaquin knowing looks but he told them not to think much about it because you didn't like him like that. To make matters worse, your family had basically adopted him and it made him dizzy at how domestic all of it looked like.

One day, you showed him what the fans had been talking about the two of you. You showed him the countless edits, tweets, texts and posts and he was shocked. Because as he was looking through those edits, he thought- was he always this obvious? And how could you not see that? But, he did it unknowingly because he was just that comfortable with you. It was making him overwhelmed. He could see that you were panicking. You had told him that you don't want this to ruin your friendship and he promised you that it wouldn't. His heart was in a million pieces but he couldn't bear to see you sad. So he did what he did best- act cool and unbothered about it. Every time he came across something on his social media accounts, he just ignored it. Acted like he didn't see any of it. Just to keep himself sane.

And then some fans started stalking the two of you every time you were together and that pissed him off. Joaquin wasn't one to get ticked off easily. But when it came to your safety, he was lethal. He saw the sneaky pictures some fans had taken of the two of you and his first thought was to protect you. So, he subtly appointed security that would take care of the both of you and kept checking on you every day. Joaquin continued to act coolly as if nothing happened only for your sake and because if he didn't, he was going to end up doing something embarrassing and drive you away from him. And he wasn't sure if his vulnerable heart could handle that. You were his guardian angel, he was better with you and intended to keep it that way forever.

-

The two of you were back in the States and you had an interview with IMDB today. You and Joaquin were wearing matching outfits. He was wearing a satin shirt that was dusky in colour with some dark brown pants. His hair was perfectly quaffed again and he was wearing that goddamn golden necklace, again. You were matching him in a cute dress with ruffles on the bottom, it was also dusky in color and had a colorful flower embroidery on the chest. You paired it with maroon heels and some golden half-hoop earrings with your hair styled in a barbie-like high ponytail.

The two of you had clicked loads of pictures before leaving for the interview and he had posted a selfie of you two on his Instagram story- you were pressing your cheeks to each other and cheesing at the camera. He had captioned it 'twinning with da bestie' and had tagged you in it.

Your cheeks were red and your heart was in pain at the same time. You didn't dare to open your Instagram the whole day.

"So, I saw the trailer and it really broke my heart. They're so sweet to each other. The two of you are best friends in real life, how was it like acting like a married couple and how did you prepare for the emotional scenes? Did it feel personal?", the interviewer asked the two of you.

You let out a deep sigh and Joaquin 'oof'ed.

"Wow, that's a pretty deep question..", Joaquin trailed off and chuckled weakly.

It was really difficult. Both of you knew how emotionally taxing it was to film this movie and you were glad that you had each other.

"Yeah, oh man, there were days where it felt like...i had no tears left to cry and there were days where my eyes were swollen from crying so much", you admitted.

Joaquin nodded in agreement.

"I remember requesting for a 15 minute break after this particularly rough scene. She was completely spent. Her face was red from crying, her throat was scratchy because we were shouting at each other, and her eyes were completely bloodshot. At one point i just stopped and took a pause because it was hurting me to watch her get so worked up. We almost never fight, and after a point, it felt like we were actually fighting, you know?", Joaquin explained.

You turned to look at him in awe. "Wait, I thought.. that was just a cut...I don't remember any of that...", you trailed off, surprised. You were truly out of it that day. All the screaming, crying, had gotten to you and you had just broken down mid scene. Watching Joaquin get so angry and raise his voice at you had hurt you for real. You thought a break was announced because the director asked for it. You had no idea Joaquin requested it for you? Your stomach felt like it was doing jumping jacks.

Joaquin turned to look at you fondly. "Yeah, you were so immersed into the scene, (nickname), that you didn't realise you were hyperventilating. I could see your hands shaking so I asked for a break and we helped you wind down. She was fucking brilliant in the scene, though", he brought his hand behind your chair to rub your shoulder blades gently and confessed to the interviewer.

Your breath hitched and your eyes filled with tears. He was so attentive and in tune with your emotions, it was painful. You gave him a grateful smile before clearing your throat and sniffled. "What the hell, you're ruining my make-up, 'Quino."

The interviewer smiled and extended a tissue box which Joaquin took in his hands and handed you a tissue. You thanked him softly and wiped your tears and he looked at you with concern. He leaned his head closer to you and whispered, "you okay?", his brown eyes blown wide and something else shining in them.

You looked at him with teary eyes and nodded your head yes. He flashed you a sweet smile and returned the tissue box before sitting up straight. "You see how difficult it was?!", he pointed at you.

All three of you chuckled at that.

"Honestly, I could do this because of him. He was there to catch me when i fell and he offered me support on my toughest days, like he's been doing always", you responded sincerely and patted Joaquin's back gently, "And to answer your question, yes, it definitely felt personal because the fights, the trauma shared by the two of them, was something we would unknowingly carry home. But, this guy would take me to eat ice-cream after filming and that was the highlight of my day", you finished while chuckling.

Joaquin let out a bashful laugh and shook his head. His back felt warm where your hand was still resting on it.

-

After the interview was over, the two of you sat in the van to go back to the hotel you were staying in. This was the last interview of this press tour and you were so glad that it was over, although you would miss working with Joaquin again.

You let out a long, tiring sigh. "Finally we're done for the day, I just wanna crash on my bed right now", you groaned while removing your heels and stretching your toes. Your toes were red and you could feel a shoe bite on the back of your heel.

Joaquin looked at your toes and winced. "You should've carried some flats, (nickname). You wanna stop by the medical store?"

"No, it's alright. I'll treat them at the hotel", you reassured him with a soft smile. He smiled back at you and leaned back in his seat.

You looked away to gently massage your feet and you missed the way Joaquin was looking at you.

He was observing the way your hair fell softly by your shoulders, your soft arms, the way your perfume smelled like something floral that was so addictive that he has to clench his hands together to stop leaning in and taking a sniff. Joaquin clenched his jaw tightly and looked out of the window.

You leaned back in your seat and thought back to his confession today.

“‘Quino?”

He quickly turned his head to look at you and hummed for you to continue.

“Thank you”, you confessed sincerely and gave him a warm smile. His face twisted in confusion. You chuckled quietly.

“For looking after me on set, thank you.”

His face broke out in a radiant smile and ducked his head.

“Oh, come on. That’s my job as your best friend. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”,he conceded and nudged you lightly.

You gave him a tentative smile. Your heart twisted painfully at the word ‘best friend’. “Yeah, I know. Right back at you.”

The two of continued to stare at each other intently before you cleared your throat.

Joaquin looked away, his cheeks dusted with pink, but you were too busy hiding your own warm cheeks to notice that.

“Uh- you’re coming to the wrap party, right?”

You made a face. This was the fifth wrap party you’ve had since you finished filming the movie. You were tired and you just wanted a vacation.

“No. Don’t make that face, (Name). You can’t ditch me like that!”, Joaquin chided you.

You rolled your eyes.

“Joaquin. This is the fifth party. What is so different about this one? I’m so tired please leave me alone”, you whined, dragging out the ‘e’.

He gaped at you. “Dude. You literally promised me that you were attending. I cancelled all my plans for you!”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the biggest social butterfly alive, you’ll be fine without me”, you waved him off.

A slight hurt look crossed his eyes. “Okay, no. That’s not true. And, it’s your party too! You’re literally the lead of the film.”

You side eyed him and ignored the ‘lead’ comment. “You always end up yapping to everyone in the room and I’m sitting in a corner with a drink clutched in my hands, waiting for you to come back. Hell no, I’m not going.”

His face softened. He knew you hated these parties and only attended for his sake. He felt bad that you felt neglected by him.

“Hey, no. I’m sorry. I’ll stick by you, I promise. Come with me?”, he widened his eyes and pouted at you. You don’t even think he was making that face knowingly.

“You’ll sit by me and inform me about wherever you’re going?”

He nodded.

“And you’ll let me leave the moment I tell you that I wanna go home?”

He nodded twice.

“And you won’t force me to dance?”

He made a face before begrudgingly nodding his head yes.

Joaquin loved dancing. And he loved dancing with you even more. But you only danced when the two of you were alone and he tried his best to get you on the dance floor with him.

You observed him for a second and his jutted out his bottom lip before taking your hand in both of his. You rolled your eyes. “Okay.”

Joaquin’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

You huffed out a laugh. “Yes, dumbass.”

He flashed you his gorgeous smile before holding your chin in his hand. He titled your face slightly and gave you a soft kiss on your cheek, before quickly pulling away.

You froze.

Did he just…kiss you?? Joaquin Torres kissed you. The man that you were stupidly in love with for the past 3 years…..just kissed you. And he was acting like nothing happened. What the fuck.

If you had the ability to listen to people’s heartbeats, you would’ve heard that Joaquin’s heart was beating so fast that you’d think he was going to pass out. Blood rushed to his face and his ears and he was so sure that his entire face was the same shade as a tomato.

You swallowed thickly and luckily you didn’t have to say anything further as the van approached your hotel.

You hastily put on your heels before clearing your throat. Unfortunately for your current situation, your rooms were on the same floor. So you had to wait for him and behave normally.

Joaquin turned to look at you with longing in his eyes. The two of you got out of the car and you stumbled a little because of your sore feet. Joaquin quickly stood next to you and steadied you with his hands on your shoulders. People were definitely going to talk but you were too distracted to think about all that right now.

“Careful. Here, I’ll help”, he offered you gently and helped you walk. You took a few steps further and let out a series of winces. It hurt. The skin of your heel was completely red and agitated.

Joaquin stopped immediately. “Alright, remove those and give ‘em to me”, he huffed out.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re joking? You’re gonna make me walk on this nasty concrete?”

He looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “Should I carry you, then?”, he sassed back.

You shot him an irritated look. As you were about to bend down to remove your heels, he dropped down to crouch by your feet and carefully, oh so gently, removed the right heel before slowly guiding your foot to… are those his shoes?

"Wait-Joaquin, what are you doing?! How are you going to wal-"

"Just shut up and wear them, babe." Babe?!

Before you could even have a reaction to that, he had slipped on his shoes on your feet and he stood up, holding both of your heels in one of his hands. You looked at him, standing next to you in his sock-clad feet, not caring about how many people would notice that. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to help you walk and both of you went to the reception to collect your key cards.

Joaquin walked you to your room and patiently waited for you to unlock it. You scanned the key card and opened door. As soon as you entered your room, you removed his shoes while gesturing at him to wear them and took your heels back from him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he wore his shoes and awkwardly stood outside the door, his hands deep in his pockets.

You cleared your throat and broke the silence. "Well, goodnight, Joaquin. I'll...see you at the party." A look of hurt flickered across his eyes but he blinked it away quickly and nodded his head.

“Okay. Night, (Name)”, he spoke quietly, as if his voice was stuck in his throat. You were so close, yet you were suddenly so far.

You gave him a half-smile before slowly closing the door.

Joaquin waited outside your door for while and felt a dull ache in his chest. He couldn’t believe that he had fucked up so bad. What was he thinking? Kissing you like that? And- calling you babe?! He shut his eyes in embarrassment and clenched his hand into a fist. His throat was choked up with unshed tears and it made him feel extremely uncomfortable so he rushed to his room and decided to sleep over it.

You, on the other hand, were confused between crying or laughing because not only had Joaquin kissed you on the cheek but he had called you babe? Maybe he was just being friendly. He was clingy after all. But...no it can't be. He can't be interested in you like that.

So, you decided on crying. Your chest hurt with longing. He was so close yet so far. And you weren't sure if you were ready to face him again tomorrow.

-

Next morning, you woke up feeling worse. You were anxious and restless and you were dreading going out of your room. So you called up your manager and told her that you'd be having your breakfast in your room today and that they should go ahead. She asked you what should they tell Joaquin and you paused. You were so close that both of your teams knew to keep you posted about each other when you were working together. You just told her that you will handle that on your own. And approximately fifteen minutes later, your phone lit up with text notifications.

Quino🦁: why are u not at breakfast?

You sighed before typing out a response that would convince him.

You: i just need to be alone for sometime

Quino🦁: are you okay? U want me to come over?

You: No..u know i need to wind down before going to a party...ill be fine dw 👍

Quino🦁: Ok.. Text me if u need anything, (Nickname)

You: yes i will, torres

Your phone pinged again and it was another text from Joaquin. He had sent a selfie of him holding up his plate in front of the camera and he was pouting into the camera with the caption 'miss u'. You let out a giggle. "So stupid..", you trailed off with a smile on your face. You responded with an 'aww' and smiled at the photo before remembering whatever happened the night before. You groaned and fell back into the pillows before getting up and finally starting your day. The party would start in the evening and before that you had to do a small photoshoot for a brand collaboration and this meant that thankfully, you were busy for the whole day before you had to face Joaquin again.

Joaquin couldn't help but feel uneasy throughout the day. This was the longest he’d gone without talking to you. From the moment he didn't see you at breakfast, he knew something was up but he also knew that you needed your space sometimes so he let you be. But then he overheard your manager talk about a photoshoot and his day just got worse. The two of you departed awkwardly last night and now he couldn't see you until the evening. He was starting to get antsy. Joaquin thought of shooting you a text but decided against it, not wanting to disturb you. So he waited until you would see him later this evening.

-

Finally, it was evening and it was time for the party. You were going to the party straight from your photoshoot so you did your make up and outfit at the set itself. You had decided to wear a cute, sleeveless red dress and the sleeves thinned at the back into straps, with a big light pink bow joining them at the waist, paired with light-pink box heels that wouldn't agitate your feet further. Your hair was sleeked back into a bun with a few strands of hair curled at the front, with minimal makeup.

In your rush, you had forgotten to text Joaquin and as you were about to leave the set, you collided with a body. You stumbled back before an arm shot out to catch you by your waist.

“Shit-‘Quino?”, you asked, your heart beating faster because of the scare of almost falling on the hard concrete and because it was Joaquin who had saved you from falling. “What are you doing here?”

Joaquin was too busy admiring you to answer your question. You looked so pretty. Like a doll. His mouth was open slightly as he carefully took in your features.

“Hello? Joaquin?”, you waved a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of his stupor and pulled you up carefully. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his curls.

“Uh- you weren’t answering my texts…got a lil worried and thought I’d come over to check on you”, he admitted in a low voice and scratched the back of his head.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was running late so I decided to get ready here at the set itself. Didn’t get a chance to check my phone”, you responded sheepishly.

It was then you finally got a good look at him. He was wearing a white tee inside a black jacket and he had paired it with some black pants. His hair was free of any product so his curls were more pronounced. And he was wearing his glasses. You loved it when he wore his glasses because they made him look even more prettier. He forgot them way too often for someone who couldn’t see without them.

“You’re finally wearing your glasses!”, you smiled at him and pointed a finger towards his glasses.

His face broke out in a smile.

“You know I can’t see properly at night. Forget about me though, you…you look like a Barbie, (Nickname)”, his voice took on a soft, velvety tone.

Your cheeks felt warm and you ducked your head.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! Be ready ‘cus you’re gonna get compliment after compliment the whooooole night!”

You shoved his shoulder and laughed. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re getting late, let’s move!”

Both of you were just glad that everything was normal in between you two now. The two of you sat in the car and left for the venue. The car ride was thankfully uneventful aa the two of you scrolled through your phones and shared memes. The car finally reached the venue and you got out of it with Joaquin’s help. He offered you his arm and you settled your hand in the crook of his arm.

The party had a small photo call with a carpet. One of the producers had thrown the party so there were at-least 20 paparazzis present and they were shouting and yelling at you two for a picture. You and Joaquin clicked a few pictures on the carpet and entered the venue.

The moment you entered the venue, you saw Sam Wilson- a mutual friend of you two and a fellow actor. He was especially fond of you and Joaquin- he was like your surrogate father. He had discovered Joaquin and that’s how you know each other. Over time, the three of you got so close that you had a fixed hang out at the end of every month/week. Sam spotted the two of you and came over to give you both a bear hug.

“My movie stars!”, Sam said gleefully and hugged you two tightly.

You giggled and hugged him back. “Hi, Sammy!”

“Hey, man”, Joaquin chuckled and patted Sam’s back.

Sam pulled back and narrowed his eyes at you two. “Y’all are late. The time was 4pm not 5pm. A whole hour late!”

Joaquin looked at you smugly and crossed his arms.

You flashed him a sheepish smile. “Uh- I was busy with a photoshoot so I was running a little late. Sorry!”

Sam squinted his eyes at you and let out a big laugh. “Ah, You’re forgiven. This is your party anyways. Come on, everyone’s waiting for you!” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and dragged the two of you in the packed room. “And I’ve got a surprise for you”, Sam nudged you and diverted your attention towards the bar.

And the first person you spotted was- “Bucky!”, you took off towards him to give him a big hug.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was another fellow actor and Sam’s best friend (you lowkey believed they were in love with each other.) Sam randomly introduced the two of you to Bucky and you quickly became friends. He was one of the finest actors you'd ever seen onscreen but his off camera persona was like a complete 180 degrees. He connected with you more than Joaquin because he thought Joaquin was way too much for him. (you believed that he was actually fond of Joaquin but he loved to bully him for fun because Joaquin was intimidated by him.)

Bucky was a huge grump and found it difficult to be friends with people because of his social anxiety. How did him and Sam become friends? You have no idea. But it seemed like the only people he put up with were you and Sam. And he had a major case of the Resting Bitch Face so people were afraid to approach him. But once they got past his initial awkwardness and intense stares, he was really sweet and helpful. You absolutely loved talking to him and spending time with him, even though the two of you were completely different than the other. He was a little old fashioned but you loved taking interest in his stories and he adored you for that. He even jokingly called you his daughter once.

Bucky turned around and his face lit up. "Hi, doll", he replied happily and gathered you in his arms. His arms went around your back and he leaned his chin on top of your head.

You broke the hug and held him by the forearms. "How are you? I haven't seen you in three months!", you pouted.

Bucky let out a chuckle. "You were the busy one, Miss worldwide!"

You blushed and slapped his arm gently. "Shut up. It's so good to see you again, I missed you", you lowered your voice, "And I bet Sam did too", you winked at him.

He groaned loudly and lightly covered your face with his palm. "You're annoying as hell, you know that?"

You let out a gleeful laugh and tried to bite his hand. He yelped and took his hand away.

"Oh, and what about you, huh? Pining over your own best friend in front of the whole world?"

You paused and narrowed your eyes at him. "Shut up, James."

Bucky hummed sarcastically and leaned back against the bar counter. "You're telling me to shut up right now but you're gonna come back and cry to me about your silly little crush."

You ducked your head and frowned.

Bucky saw this nudged you gently.

“Hey, why don’t you just tell him?”

You whipped your head up and widened your eyes at him. “No way. Why would I ever tell him? It’s gonna ruin-”

“-your friendship, I know. But you’re the smartest person I know, doll. Are you sure he doesn’t love you back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows and opened and closed your mouth like a fish. There’s no way Joaquin returned your feelings, right? But…no. There’s just no way.

In the distance, Joaquin was watching the entire exchange with a longing and adoring look in his eyes. He didn't notice Sam look at him and shake his head in disbelief.

"Man, the whole room can see you drooling right now. Just tell her how you feel, Torres", Sam exasperated.

"W-what?", Joaquin sputtered. It's not like Sam didn't know about his feelings for you. But saying it out loud made Joaquin shudder.

Sam scoffed. "What? You think we don't see it? Everybody knows, man. And how do ya'll not see the way you look at each other?"

Joaquin froze and felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. "What do you mean?"

Sam let out a pitiful sigh. "Joaquin, she loves you. It's in her eyes. How did you not notice it?", he explained to Joaquin gently and clapped a hand on Joaquin's shoulder.

Joaquin's ears were ringing. He was going to faint. There's no way that you love him and he didn't notice. There's just no way that you love him.

"No...Sam, she doesn't-", Joaquin's voice cracked. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. He swallowed thickly to get rid of them and shook his head in disagreement.

Sam softened his eyes and gave him a gentle smile. "Man, she looks at you like you saved her life. The other day, she told me she carried a knee brace with her because your knee injury troubled you sometimes and in case you needed one if you forgot to bring yours. She carries extra snacks because you get hungry in between takes. Did you know she learned how to make caldo de pollo from your mom incase you were sick and away from home?"

Joaquin's eyes widened and he snapped his head to look at Sam. You learned his mom's recipe? Of his favourite dish? "What?", he whispered.

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah. You're an idiot, Torres. I could see that, the fans could see that, hell, I am sure your families saw it too. How did you not notice?"

Joaquin's mouth fell open and he turned his head to look at you. You were still chatting with Bucky, your face changing a million expressions per second and oh, you looked like an angel. His angel. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked back at Sam.

"I'm scared, Sam", he said in a meek and quiet voice.

Sam looked at him with sympathy. "I know. But, you gotta tell her someday. I promise you, she's waiting for you to make a move”, he squeezed Joaquin’s shoulder in encouragement.

Joaquin took a deep breath in and tried to keep his tears at bay. He was going to be a mess. And if you walked out, he was going to be an even bigger mess in front of everyone. He weakly nodded his head at Sam and made his way over to you. It’s now or never. And whatever happens, he’d try to hold onto you until he gave up his last breath.

Your back was facing him and Bucky was the first one to notice him approach you. Bucky nudged you and you turned around. Joaquin’s breath stilled. You looked so gorgeous in this lighting. His hands twitched with the want to hold you close.

Bucky cut through the tension first.

“Hi, Torres.”

Joaquin snapped his eyes over to Bucky and cleared his throat.

“H-Hi, Bucky. How are you?”, he held out a hand. Bucky shook his hand firmly and nodded at him, his ocean blue eyes cutting through his skin.

“Good. You did a good job in the movie. And I hope this one didn’t give you much trouble”, Bucky joked.

You punched him in his bicep. “Why don’t you shut up, Barnes. It’s bedtime for you anyways.”

Both of them laughed before Joaquin finally got the courage to speak up.

“Mind if I steal her for a minute?”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, of course. She’s all yours.”

Both of your cheeks tinged with pink.

Joaquin shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for you to join him. You gave a parting look to Bucky and walked away with Joaquin.

Sam joined Bucky at the bar counter and leaned back, watching the two of disappear into the crowd. Bucky leaned his head to the right. “You think it’s happening tonight?”

“Oh definitely”, Sam replied with confidence.

-

Joaquin’s heart was going to explode. His blood pressure must be high as fuck right now. He was this close to fainting. But he pushed that down and gently grabbed your hand in his to guide you through the crowd. Your hand was so soft, he was going to cry. It was getting too crowded and it was making him feel more cornered so he came up with an idea.

“Should we get outta here?”, he suddenly turned around and spoke in your ear.

Your eyes widened and you leaned in close to speak by his ear. “We just came here and you already wanna sneak out of our own party? Are you crazy?!”

He leaned back and gave you a smirk that screamed trouble. Joaquin Torres was the only person in this world who could make you sneak out and break rules. He guided you out of the venue and called for your car. He opened the door and helped you settled down before walking around the car and sitting by the steering wheel. He started the car and drove off before anybody else noticed the two of you.

“Joaquin! Where are we going?”, you asked him while giggling.

He chuckled and glanced at you before turning his attention back to the front. “Be patient, angel. You’ll find out soon.”

Your cheeks heated up. His voice turned so soft and delicate when he called you angel. You wanted to kick your feet and giggle like a little schoolgirl.

You decided to finally ask him. “This is the second time you’ve done that”, you asked him quietly.

Joaquin feigned confusion and furrowed his brows. “Done what?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Quino.”

“I don’t”, he shrugged.

You sighed and shook your head in disbelief. He was a pain in your ass.

You chose not to say anything further and looked out of the window, watching building pass by and that scene soon over took a trail of trees. He sneaked glances at you and worried his bottom lip out of nervousness. He parked the car in a parking lot and walked over to your side. He opened the door and offered you a hand to help you get out of the car.

As soon as you got out, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your bare shoulders. He grabbed your hand in his and walked you over to a nearby dock.

The dock was overlooking the skyline and it was lit up with dim lights which made it look even more peaceful. There was no rush today so you could freely walk without any disturbance. And you had reached the place perfectly on time because you could see the breathtaking sunset behind the skyline. That, combined with the gentle breeze and sound of the water immediately calmed you down.

“Whoa..”, you whispered in awe as you took in the vibrant shades of orange, blue and purple across the sky. Joaquin wasn’t interested in that sunset. His spectacled eyes were completely focused on you. He ran his eyes across your face which was illuminated beautifully by the sunset.

You could feel his stare on the side of your face. Your face heated up. “Stop staring at me like that, Jay.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He turned you to face him and slowly dragged his fingers down your arm to intertwine your fingers with his. You looked down at your hands and shyly looked up in his eyes.

“Why are we here, Joaquin?”,you whispered.

His eyes turned shiny behind his glasses. The slight breeze tousled his curls, making him look boyish.

“I wanna tell you something. But you gotta promise me that you won’t freak out”, he murmured in a shaky voice.

Your face twisted in concern and you tightened your fingers around his. “What happened?”

You watched his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

Joaquin took a deep breath in and decided to spill out everything that he had suppressed for the last 3 years.

“Angel, from the moment I saw you…you took my breath away. You came in with your shy, sweet personality and swept me off my feet. Then you smiled at for the first time, and I was a goner. I thought, I’m so lucky to be able to be in your orbit. But then, everytime I thought of telling you all this, you’d remind me that we’re best friends and I’d shut up”, he chuckled weakly.

Your eyes had widened and your vision was blurry because of the tears in your eyes.

“But, it’s been so hard, (nickname). Everytime I look at you I feel like my heart is going to explode. Because I can’t hold you for longer. Because you’re so close, yet so far. Because you were out of reach for me since I’m supposed to be your best friend. You were so worried about what everyone was saying about our closeness that I pushed my feelings back into the deepest part of my heart”, he paused to let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know if I can be your best friend anymore. I don’t know how much longer can I pretend to be okay about all this. I wanna be yours. Completely. You’re the reason why I breathe. You’re the reason why I’m a better human today. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning. You have no idea how scared I was these past few days because I thought I’d ruined everything. I don’t wanna lose you, angel. But I can’t pretend that I’m not in love with you anymore”, the tears that he was trying so hard to contain, finally flowed down his rosy cheeks.

You were fully frozen to your spot at this point. Was this really happening? You waited for 3 years to hear this from his mouth. Was he really standing here in front of you and confessing all this? Were you really that blind? You didn’t even realise that you were crying.

Joaquin’s face twisted in pain and concern. He released your hands to cup your cheeks and wiped your tears with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry, angel. You’re scaring me.”

You snapped out of your daze and whimpered. You brought up your shaky hands and held his wrists.

“Is this really happening, Quino?”, you whispered to him, your words warbled because of the sob you were trying to contain.

He sniffled and gave you a soft smile.

“I love, love, love you, angel.”

That was all it took for you to break out in a sob and tackle him in a hug. You hugged him by the neck tightly and his arms went around your waist to pull you close to him. He buried his face in your neck and you buried yours in his curls. Painful sobs left your throat and his tears were soaking the skin of your neck.

After a while you pulled apart and cupped his cheeks in your hands. His handsome face had turned red from all the crying and his glasses were smudged. You sniffled and carefully removed his glasses to fold them and put them in his jacket’s pocket. You brought your hands back to his face and brushed his curls away from his forehead. His eyes closed in content and his hands caressed your back gently.

“I’ve been wanting- begging to some higher power- to hear that for the last 3 years”, you confessed in a shaky voice.

His eyes widened. Sam was right.

You gave him a tiny smile. “I’ve been ridiculously in love with you for a really long time, Quino.”

His breath hitched. He was pretty sure his legs had turned into lead. There’s just no way he didn’t catch that. 3 years. Both of you were idiots.

“I was so afraid of telling you. I didn’t wanna lose you. You’re so sweet to me, it hurt. Because I couldn’t tell you that I loved you or kiss you stupid every-time you did something for me. You’re everything to me, Joaquin. Whatever I do, I do it for you. You’re the reason why I keep pushing, my personal sunshine”, you let out a shaky chuckle.

His eyes teared up again but he chuckled. “Both of us are idiots, you know that right?”

You giggled. “I know!”

His expression turned somber again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. We missed so much time”, he whispered in an apologetic manner. You squished his cheeks in your hands and he brought you closer to his chest. Your lips were almost touching.

“Hey, no. We have all the time in the world. I’m just glad you told me. Otherwise I was bound to do something stupid like- grab you by your stupid necklaces and just kiss you”, you replied cheekily.

That brought out a genuine laugh from him.

“What? My neck-” you didn’t give him a chance to respond because you gently pulled him closer by his necklace and crashed your lips to his. You finally did it.

He let out a squeal before kissing you back and wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Your lips fit against each other like they were meant to be. He pulled back to suck on your bottom lip before releasing it and kissing you whole on the mouth. You dragged your hand across his chest and buried it in the curls at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t that tall, but tall enough for you to go on your tip toes. Your noses were smushed against each other and you finally broke away for air.

Breathless and cheeks flushed, you leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes. He ran a hand across your back and cupped your nape to bring you closer, your noses touching. Both of you wanted to crawl into each other’s skin.

You let out a breathy giggle and pressed kisses to his nose. “I love, love, love, you”, you gave his nose a kiss for every “love” and rubbed your nose against his.

He pulled back and stared at your radiant face before ducking his head to pepper kisses across your face. You squealed and fisted his t shirt in your hands. He kissed your forehead, your temples, your nose, your eyes, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth and finally placed a loving, gentle kiss on your lips with a beautiful sunset behind you.

“I love you. So much”, he murmured against your lips. You smiled against his lips.

You hummed and looked in his eyes with your arms around his neck. “It’s crazy that the fans were right.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m not happy with how they were treating you”, he growled.

You stared at him in amusement and rubbed his chest soothingly with a hand. “Calm down, Simba. We’ll get back to that later.”

He let out a content sigh and pulled away from you before asking you to go on your tippy toes. You went up and wrapped your arms around his neck again and his went around your waist before he pressed his cheek against yours and closed his eyes in contentment while swaying the two of you gently.

Your cheeks pulled up as your smiled adoringly and pressed yourself closer to him and watched the sunset.

You and Joaquin were meant to be and your life was turning out to be just like a movie.

Part 2

-

AN: sorry this one was so fucking long!! But as I was writing this, I fell more and more in love with this idea. I love these two so bad and I will write a part two which will be based on their established relationship and on all the interviews that tom and zendaya have done during NWH press.

Please like and reblog!!!

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ when i feel you (from within), i exist.

wnba!paige x wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

cw: that weird blurring of lines in your friendship when you're both in love with each other, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of drugs, weed (p!smoking), being desperately affectionate but refusing to call it what it is, ambiguous but hopeful ending.

notes: not necessarily my best, but it's what i needed. giving credit to where credit is due. this was written because i reread everything @loeysoi has written because every single one of her works is a comfort to me, and then i was inspired to write this. i love you.

anyway, i hope you enjoy. coucou.

no matter how late the phone rings, azzi always picks up. paige knows she’s good for it. 

an unspoken rule of their friendship is the constant space they leave for one of them to hopelessly, helplessly need the other. it's one of the few constants between them. the quiet latitude they give each other—the open-ended kind. 

i’ll be there. no explanation needed.

so when the wings lose on national television, and paige’s face does that thing—just a little twist, like a split second of everything cracking before she smooths it back over—azzi doesn’t wait. she already knows. even when the phone doesn’t ring. 

especially then.

one a.m. passes. the silence stays. she books the flight.

she doesn’t deliberate. doesn’t change. just grabs her black weekender and slides in a travel charger, the deep red pajamas she always brings to paige’s, and the toiletries still packed from last time. she doesn’t bother changing out of her black skims maxi dress, the matching kitten heels, or the oversized uconn alumni sweatshirt she’s been meaning to return to her mom. 

her skin’s still warm from the day; sweat slick at the back of her neck, humidity sitting heavy on her shoulders. she loops her curls into a high bun, gets irritated when she can’t catch the shorter strands at the base of her neck, and then lets it go, recognizing the impulse to fixate. the way she always does when she’s nervous, but doesn’t want to call it that.

outside, her driver’s waiting, the a/c humming. the partition stays down, and they stare out of their respective windows—he to the front, she to the side. the city slides past in streaks of grey, red, and a dusky yellow. she doesn’t check her phone until they’re a few blocks out.

fifteen minutes in, she texts arike.

think her phone’s dead. need the address.

she keeps it simple. doesn’t say what she means: i’m worried.

arike sends it back without extra words. some story about a party. some attempt from paige to “let loose”. azzi knows better. she knows paige, knows that this is her trying to “be better” about losing because she can’t help but beat herself down about anything she can think of. 

when the plane lands, dallas is quiet. the city hums quietly, and even the passing cars seem only to purr. azzi calls an uber, sitting on top of her bag instead of the stained sidewalk. she prays no one asks for a photo if they recognize her. she’s not up for it.

upon arrival, the place is exactly what she expects. upscale, impersonal. gleaming glass and brushed metal. it’s someone’s penthouse, a luxe space that was built to photograph well but feels immeasurably cold when you’re actually in it. security lets her up without question. maybe she appears more desperate than she feels.

when she arrives, the elevator opens with a sad unlatching, and the party seems to be going the same way, settling and thinning like blood after a pill.

somebody’s aux’d up a frank ocean song, and now everything feels a little easier, like the night’s keen to finally sleep. she walks in, stepping carefully around bodies busy with meaningless action. she sees someone do a line and she starts feeling stress, her chest tightening at the dry sniff and the easy disappearance of the powder. 

she continues despite the anxiety making her ears ring. by now, her heels are pinching, and she’s had enough of people pressing into her space with their sugar-rushed energy and red cup breath. she weaves her way through the house, whispering paige’s name a couple of times, softly. it’s muscle memory. 

no answer. 

her feet are starting to ache. she exhales, tugs her heels off at the base of the stairs, and toes the rest of the way barefoot. 

azzi finds her near the back,  a cracked door casting a warm, flickering glow across the hallway. paige is lying on the bed, one leg bent, the other dangling off the edge. she’s so beautiful, almost relentlessly so: hoodie stretched loose over her thighs, silver chain peeking from the collar and catching what little light there is.

there’s a half-finished joint in the dark green ashtray on the windowsill, the porcelain pressed with a pop art image of kendrick lamar’s grinning face; the soft scent of weed mingles with leftover body heat and laundry detergent.

“yo,” paige says, barely lifting her head. her voice is low, rough with smoke and sleep. she sounds annoyed that someone is in a space that’s only temporarily hers.

azzi sighs and leans against the door. “hey. been looking for you.”

paige sits up on her elbows then, her brow scrunching as her low eyes lock onto the phantom of her best friend in the doorway. a myriad of emotions scrape over her face, running her ragged, until something like relief decides to be the one that stays. 

“hey, az. you found me,” paige murmurs, gaze drifting down her body and back up again. “lucky you.”

azzi doesn’t answer. just rolls her eyes and steps forward, dropping her heels off to the side as she crawls onto the bed, slow and unbothered, one knee then the other sinking into the mattress. her dress hikes up higher with each movement, second-skin, clinging to her waist and hips like it was sewn on. paige watches her, eyes half-lidded, pulse skipping for no good reason.

azzi moves like she’s done this before—because she has. the bed dips under her weight. she sinks beside her, trying to settle.

“don’t sit there,” paige says suddenly, tugging on azzi’s arm.

azzi pauses, brows pulling together. “why not?”

paige shrugs, eyes glinting. “zone of sin.”

azzi resists the urge to scoff, a bright pop of jealousy fireworking in her hindbrain. she tells herself to ignore it and smooths her voice like static. 

“jesus, paige.” she makes a face instead. “you’re disgusting.”

“mhm,” paige hums. “but you love me, mama.”

before azzi can roll away or say something smart, paige’s hands are on her waist, strong and warm, and she bodily lifts her, pulling her up and over so azzi ends up on top of her, straddling her lap. 

azzi’s breath catches, but she lets it happen. she always does. with paige, she can afford to be less active within her own life.

her dress stretches just a bit more over her thighs. paige’s hands linger on her lower back, her thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. azzi settles, carefully, her hands braced on either side of paige’s shoulders.

“you’re high,” she says.

paige grins, the kind of easy smile that makes azzi want to hit her and kiss her all at once. “only a little.”

they fall quiet. paige shifts beneath her just enough to make azzi feel the heat creeping up her neck. her eyes are steady, though, hooded and dark and weirdly honest under all the bravado. azzi can’t take the attention, so she slides down until she’s lying on the other woman’s chest. her head is cushioned tenderly by paige’s body. she can smell her cologne: bourbon, vanilla, and jasmine. 

“did your phone die?” azzi murmurs after a moment, voice careful.

paige’s torso shifts beneath her. “yeah. sorry. didn’t mean to stress you.”

azzi sighs. “i know, p. don’t worry about it. i think stress is a permanent part of me anyway.”

there’s a beat. paige reaches up, smooths a loose curl behind azzi’s ear like it’s instinct. then she leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead—warm, firm, and much too long to be casual.

“you been stressed?” she asks, right against azzi’s skin. “what’s going on, mama?”

azzi’s fingers twitch against the fabric of the comforter. her heartbeat’s loud enough that she’s sure paige can feel it. paige smells like weed and a late night, and that stupid fabric softener azzi’s always secretly liked.

something is shifting.

“nothing, just game shit. don’t distract me. it’s about you right now.”

“you’re annoying,” paige says back, but azzi can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“i know,” azzi says. “still here though.”

paige sits up at that, her hands gentle on azzi’s shoulder as she brings them to a sitting position. azzi is still somewhat on her lap, and she can feel paige’s knee between her thighs. the pressure makes her shiver and slide off. 

the music from the party is still playing low from someone’s half-dead speaker downstairs. now, it’s some rap song chopped up by bluetooth lag. paige doesn’t touch her, but sits across from her, close enough that she can reach out and hold on to her if she needs to.

“i’m fine,” paige says, voice flat.

azzi doesn’t answer right away. she curls a leg under herself, watching paige from beneath her lashes.

“i know, p,” she answers finally. “you always are.”

that’s all they say for a while. azzi can better smell the memory of this room, of what it had been like before she intruded. it’s a heady mixture of sweat and an unidentifiable sweetness, probably spilled liquor. paige leans back and exhales through her nose like she’s trying to hold it all together with silence. azzi only gives her time, bending her neck to look down at her hands as she plays with a stack of favored rings—all gifted by paige.

she looks back up—lets herself really look at paige—at the curve of her jaw in the dim light, the tension sitting just behind her mouth, like a pressed-in secret. there’s something about being here, in this strange city apartment with its ambient lighting and perfect sadness, that makes the night feel too long. 

paige meets her gaze, and azzi slides her hand across the sheets, flips it over so that the palm is up. paige’s lips part, and she makes an odd noise, but slides her hand into her best friend’s empty one. she makes sure to interlace their fingers so it’s more of an effort to break apart.

“can i take you home?” azzi asks.

paige hums, then leans forward and pulls azzi into a hug that settles the brunette’s face deep into her neck. she kisses the tip of azzi’s ear, then pulls back.

“‘course, ma.”

they leave.

✈︎

azzi drives paige’s car. she tries not to think too hard about the fact that paige drove here; maybe even planned to drive back drunk. her anger simmers and snakes around her heart, ready for when she’s better able to firm it.

paige’s place is only thirty minutes away, and when azzi pulls into the parking deck, it feels all too soon. the door clicks shut behind them as they clear the landing, and it’s dark except for the muted glow of the kitchen light left on. paige drops her duffel bag by the door, the bag as wilted and sad as it had looked in the backseat, and kicks off her sneakers without untying them. 

her hoodie is pulled over her face. she’d yanked it low the second she buckled in, and it hasn’t moved since. in her own domain, she looks worse. azzi can tell she’s been trying not to fall apart for hours. 

she steps in behind her, quiet, giving her space, but not too much. she watches as paige looks down the dark hallway that leads to her bedroom with a drawn expression, her jaw working as she tries to articulate her desires.

“can you—fuck,” paige starts, voice scratchy, almost shy. she stops. still, azzi is silent. “can you—will you shower with me?”

azzi blinks. “you want me to shower with you?”

“not like—not like that,” paige says quickly, shaking her head. azzi feels her stomach twist at the swift correction.“i just don’t want to be alone right now. i don’t want to think.”

azzi softens immediately. “yeah, i get it.” she tilts her head, puts her weekender on the counter. “of course, p.”

paige relaxes and reaches out a hand, relinking their hands as she guides azzi to her bedroom. paige dips into her closet to grab something to wear for the night, and azzi moves into the suite’s bathroom, tipping the handle until water begins to run steadily and warm. 

they undress in the soft silence, steam already beginning to curl against the mirror. paige’s movements are slow, almost clumsy, with exhaustion and her inebriation. azzi steps in first, holding the door open until paige follows.

when she does, she doesn’t say anything. she only slides in and rests her forehead on azzi’s shoulder, the water cascading over both of them.

azzi runs her hands gently over paige’s back, slow and soothing, like it’s instinct. she holds her under the warm stream, teaches her to breathe. paige’s arms come up around azzi’s waist, not tight, but close. close enough. as the minutes pass, she feels paige getting more comfortable. she can tell she’s starting to come down from her high, her body lax and pressing in.

azzi lets her have free rein because there’s not any part of her that doesn’t belong wholly to paige already. sometimes, she wishes she could slip inside paige’s skin if only to have her blood, bone, and flesh. she trembles as her best friend’s fingers climb up the ridges of her spine, callouses pressing against the spheres of bone. 

paige’s exploration comes forward, fingers gliding across azzi’s ribs and then lowering to her tummy. she pokes a finger into azzi’s belly button and listens to her laugh. then her hands rise again, traveling upward as paige leans back to allow for a modicum of space in between them.

azzi watches with a tight throat as paige’s hands cup the soft fat of her chest, her fingers pressing into the tissue. she focuses on breathing through her nose as paige thumbs at her wet nipples, adjusting her grip to better hold the weight of azzi’s breasts. it’s not sexual—not really, but there is something about being touched.

azzi sees her mouth twitch, watches her lips come apart like she’s debating placing one in between them. after a minute, paige speaks.

“you’re so fucking pretty, azzi.”

the use of her full name is like a final, blissful blow.  soft and staggering. azzi’s voice gets stuck in her throat, so she leans up and presses a kiss to paige’s temple. the blonde of her hair has gone dark gold with an oversaturation of water. 

“thank you,” she finally manages, and paige squeezes her side in response. 

from there, paige brings her hands down to azzi’s lower back, then her hips, and then the back of her thighs. she lifts azzi carefully, turning to sit on the bench with the other woman in her lap. the shower’s head is perfectly angled to still soak them, the spray sending soapy rivulets off their limbs and onto the floor.

“i just needed to feel someone,” paige murmurs, water dripping off her lashes.

“i know, p,” azzi tells her, sounding like a broken record. “i know you.”

paige sighs and braces her head on azzi’s shoulder. azzi feels a hot stream that she knows can only be paired with the salt of tears.

i’m here,” azzi whispers, pressing her cheek to the crown of paige’s head. “i got you.”

they stay like that until the water starts to cool, and even then paige lingers, always so reluctant to let go.

✈︎

after, azzi pulls on one of paige’s oversized tees and a pair of shorts, barefoot on the tile. she doesn’t know why she always packs pajamas she rarely ends up wearing.

she’s moving around the kitchen like she’s done it a thousand times. because she has. she makes pasta with garlic and oil, simple and warm. comfort food.

paige doesn’t say much. she leans against the counter, hair wet and dragged into a messy bun at the base of her neck. she looks young in her boxers and her vintage, navy yale sweatshirt. her face is soft but unreadable. azzi is unsure of what she needs, but she trusts paige will find a way to tell her.

true to form, when azzi tries to hand her a plate to go eat on the couch, paige just shakes her head and says, “c’mere.”

azzi looks at her. “why?”

“why you always gotta ask a question? just sit with me, ma,” paige says, already moving to the floor with her plate, back against the lower cabinets. “here.”

azzi hesitates for a second, then she follows, curling into paige’s lap as requested, letting herself be cradled. paige wraps one arm around her waist, chin on her shoulder, and they eat like that: quiet, warm, close.

“don’t think i’ve ever eaten like this,” azzi mumbles with a small laugh, mouth full of pasta.

paige hums. “don’t think i’ve ever needed someone like this,” she says back, quieter. 

azzi isn’t sure if she was meant to hear it, but she does. 

they both leave it alone.

when they finish, azzi tidies the kitchen, rinses their dishes, and checks that the stove’s off. she locks the door with the care of someone who’s made herself at home here before, who’s always had a key. paige watches her do it until azzi tells her she’s acting like a fucking creep. paige leaves her alone with a wry smile, and azzi calls after her to remind her to brush her teeth.

when she pads back to the bedroom, paige is already curled up on her side, sweatshirt swapped for a loose tee, blankets pulled to her chin. her eyes are blue and open, like the ocean when it mirrors the sky, watching azzi quietly.

“you staying?”

azzi smiles gently. “nope, i only brought my weekender for decoration. of course, i’m staying.”

paige doesn’t answer immediately, just lifts the blanket in a silent invitation. azzi climbs in, tucks paige in tighter, and strokes her hair back. the sheets are muslin and broken in, smelling thickly of the organic guava room spray paige buys straight from puerto rico. the pillows on her side are extra fluffed, with three instead of paige’s normal two. azzi’s chest warms as she thinks of paige making the bed while knowing exactly what she likes. 

“thank you for coming, az. you ain’t have to do all that.”

“you would do it all if it were me,” azzi mumbles back. her exhaustion is tickling the back of her throat, coaxing her into its arms like a mother to a child. 

paige rolls onto her side, tucking a loose curl back into azzi’s bonnet. 

“i know, but still,” she says. “i want you to know i appreciate you.”

“never doubted it,” azzi murmurs. “now, go to sleep. i’ll be here in the morning.”

and paige finally allows herself a kindness and falls straight under.

azzi stays awake a little longer, hand resting on paige’s waist, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing. as the world begins to fade out, she thinks about the ache in her chest. about how the lines keep getting blurred every time she and paige see one another. about how there’s no word to describe what it feels like when they’re together.

well, there is. but neither of them is ready to say it yet.

✈︎

the apartment is still wrapped in the velvet hush of pre-dawn when azzi wakes. paige’s alarm is going off, but it’s the one that paige has specifically tailored to her. 

azzi had once read an article that said changing your alarm to something soothing, rather than the jarring iphone default, helps better start the day. she’d sent it to paige, who had responded with “if i do that, then i won’t wake up, az.” but then the night after, when azzi stayed over yet again, she’d woken up to the mellow strings of an acoustic guitar.

it was a section of one of her favorite songs: “air forces” by mustafa. she’d lain there in the rising morning, the melodic sudanese tribal chant carrying her from the moon’s pull into the sun’s capable hands. 

 now, she listens to it all over again as she blinks into that grey-blue silence where time feels like it’s holding its breath. the only sound apart from the alarm is the slow hum of the shower and the low murmur of paige’s voice as she talks to someone on the phone. 

eventually, azzi rises. she has a plane to catch. 

the same thing plays out again: paige and azzi’s bodies moving in sync, together under water and soap with their feet bare on the shower’s tiled floor. they keep brushing against each other like they forgot how to be apart.

at one point, azzi stands behind paige in the tub, fingers gently massaging her coconut milk shampoo into her hair. the water is hot, almost scalding, fogging up the glass. paige tilts her head back slightly, eyes closed, pink lips parted, breathing easily for the first time in what feels like days.

azzi is careful, reverent. her thumbs trace little circles near paige’s temples, her nails gently scraping her scalp.

“you tryna put me to sleep again,” paige mumbles, smiling lazily.

“maybe,” azzi says softly, “but you never sleep enough anyway.”

paige shrugs, and azzi pinches her side at her constant lack of care toward herself. the water pelts down paige’s back as if to punish her, too. she leans into azzi without thinking; her body already knows who it belongs to when it’s soft like this. 

when azzi rinses the suds from her hair, she lets her hands linger for a moment, sliding over paige’s shoulders and down her arms. they don’t speak again until they’re toweling off, wrapped in clean cotton, and slipping back into the half-light of the bedroom.

the sky outside is still dark as azzi dresses. her hair is damp, and her bag is slung over her shoulder.  paige wanted to skip practice to drive her, but azzi knows she’ll be irritated with herself later if she does. 

she’s got a flight to make, but she moves with a stark lack of urgency. she watches paige stand in the kitchen, one sock tucked halfway on, eyes still bleary. there are two travel mugs in her hands.

“which one’s mine?” azzi asks, her hands flexing by her sides.

“the one with almond milk,” paige says, offering it over. “obviously.”

azzi smiles. “thank you.”

paige reaches out before azzi can turn away, tucks her hoodie sleeve into place, and presses a kiss to the plush skin of her cheeks. she feels azzi’s smile rise. she feels her own come alive.

“have a good flight, mama,” paige says, still close. “let me know when you get home, okay?”

azzi nods. her breath catches, just for a second. she can feel the tears coming, the salt beginning to pack against her nose and throat. she blinks fervently.

“‘kay,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, teasing. it doesn’t work.

“hey, c'mon. don’t cry, az,” paige tells her, her voice deceptively teasing. “imma see you soon, promise. gotta get you back.”

“you don’t have to get me back for anything, paige. this wasn't a big deal in the slightest. i’m your best friend. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

paige shifts backward and looks at her. long and heavy-lidded, with something thick and syrupy swirling underneath.

“mmm,” she hums, low in her throat. like she’s accepting it. like she’s not.

azzi tucks a curl behind her ear and glances at the door, needing to move before something slips.

“you have a good day too,” she says quietly, opening it. “don’t go too hard at practice.”

they watch each other, the distance between them crippling. azzi is haloed by the sunlight as she stands in the mouth of the open door, her brown skin glowing like a spill of sugar. paige only gives herself two seconds to think it through before she closes the gap.

paige’s fingers are sure as they slide from azzi’s chin to her jaw. she pauses, giving azzi space. but azzi refuses to run. and so, just barely, paige kisses her. soft, questioning, scared.

it lasts all of three seconds.

paige pulls back like she’s touched fire.

“i’m sorry,” she breathes.

azzi shakes her head. “no. please. please, don’t be.”

paige looks at her, watches every line they’d ever drawn in the sand get drowned by the tide. “i didn’t—i didn’t plan that. swear. i just couldn’t not.”

azzi’s voice is a whisper. “i know.”

paige’s lips quirk up at that, and azzi thumbs across the curve. she leans in, gathering all the bravery she has left, and kisses paige again. this time it’s harder, and her tongue slips into paige’s mouth. she licks the coffee off of her teeth, mewls as paige guides her by the back of her neck. 

paige, again, is the one to pull away. she presses their foreheads together, fixes azzi’s necklace with the golden scale pendant at the end. it’s paige’s star sign—libra.

“you gotta go, mama. you’re gonna miss your flight.”

azzi nods, her heart held just behind her teeth.

“okay,” she whispers.

paige practically has to rip her hands off of the other woman. she’s always struggling to loosen her grip. she tells herself she has to trust that the things she loves will always return. 

with one last wide-eyed glance, azzi is gone. the door clicks shut behind her, and it sounds like a gun.

paige leans against it, closes her eyes, and starts to pray.

they won’t talk about this tomorrow. 

that’s another rule.

© hcneymooners.

[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is (pt. 2) — ldh

      alt title: anything, everything, always

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. best friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, angst if you squint, he fell first and harder wc. 4.8k summary. Donghyuck's stuck dwelling on your drunken confession from the night of the wedding. That is, until he finally puts his foot down and decides that he needs to do something about it (or else he'll go crazy); alternatively, a glimpse into Donghyuck’s feelings for you over the past few years warnings. nothing horrible, just hyuck yearning for 4.8k words if i'm being honest, a drawn out (!!) confession scene (but it's cute), winter cameo, hyuck’s love language is still very much acts of service, ?excessive use of italics and long sentences an. HAPPY EARLY HAECHAN DAY!! aint no way I just wrote a part 2 that’s longer than the first part LMAO—some people asked for part 2 so i said why not (this was so self-indulgent too),,, wrote this all while listening to yearning music (aka laufey and OPM) bc i needed to channel tht mindset ykwim? i think it worked ^‿^—pls enjoy!

read part one!

Donghyuck thinks that it’s utterly ridiculous that he’s losing sleep over this.

But he’s already replayed it a shameful number of times in his head, and he still isn’t sure how he’s supposed to approach it. 

He can’t just act like you didn’t confess what could possibly be the confession he’s been waiting his whole life for. 

But he can’t just bring it up to you so carelessly either. 

Donghyuck’s afraid that if he casually pulls up to your house, drops that bomb that you drunkenly spilled your (maybe) feelings for him, that he’d be putting you in a vulnerable position that would harm your friendship (or worse, you). 

And that’s the last thing he’d want to do. 

But let’s say your feelings were real, and he doesn’t confront you about this? Then, what will happen? What if nothing else happens between the two of you and a game of waiting continues until you’d have to end up with a love you wouldn’t want and you both end up old and die of old age and—

Donghyuck gasps out loud, shooting upright in his bed as he shakes the overthinking out of his head. 

No, he can’t let that happen. Not when he’s in the position to change something.

Donghyuck glances at the clock—3:28am—and he curses under his breath. It’s late, and he remembers you have work later this morning, but there’s no way he’s going to let another night pass without acting on this.

He has already fucked up letting a week pass so, no, another night can’t wait. 

Pulling on the nearest sweater he could find, Donghyuck slips his glasses on, grabs his car keys and leaves the house in his house slippers without a second thought. There’s a little bug in his ear that’s telling him that if he were to pause for even a second, he’d change his mind and turn back.

Should he be warning you that he’s on the way to your place at fuckass o’clock to get things straight? Yes. But in Donghyuck’s mind, his priority is to get to you first and figure it out from there. 

Besides, he knows you. 

You’ll let him in, no questions asked. 

A tune on the radio causes Donghyuck’s head to pulse, and he’s quick to push the button to turn it off. He refrains from playing music on the way there. And instead, his thoughts are plagued by the words you had confessed the night of the wedding.

      “It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding…”

Donghyuck is sure that his lip was bleeding. 

He could taste it, something metallic mixing with the aftertaste of the fruit punch. But he couldn’t care any less when he’s busy watching you and what’s-his-face sway slowly to the cheesy Ed Sheeran song. 

His eyes twitch at the way he’s gripping your hips, as if you’d run away if given the chance. But judging by the look on your face, you were far from uncomfortable, a pretty smile gracing your face. 

Donghyuck wants to hate the sight with every single living cell of his being, but how could he hate a sight if you were a part of it?

“So, do you regret it?” 

Minjeong’s voice cuts through the music, catching Donghyuck’s attention almost instantly. He feels grateful that his friend has come to distract him from his current fixation. He needed it, especially when he could feel that green monster fighting to break out of his chest.

“Regret what?” Donghyuck falls back to chewing his bottom lip, letting his gaze settle to the floor between his and Minjeong’s feet. He already knows where the conversation was going, but Donghyuck feels that choosing to avoid the topic as long as possible would save his heart from harm.

Minjeong turns to look at you and the other guy, “Oh, I don’t know… not asking her to the dance? Not asking her to dance?”

It’s funny because Minjeong doesn’t even feel the need to even ask Donghyuck. Though knowing him, having Donghyuck talk through the problem was the only way for him to process the situation.

“I’m scared to say that I do regret it,” Donghyuck almost winces, frowning.

Regret was the ugliest feeling that a person could feel—a close tie with frustration and nostalgia. They all remind you that time was a bitch and there was absolutely nothing you could do to go back and change the past.

Minjeong sighs, using her thumb and index fingers to pinch Donghyuck’s hand, “Then, why didn’t you?” 

And although Donghyuck truly, genuinely wants to answer Minjeong’s question, understanding that she was just here to help him out, he couldn’t—there’s that frustration. He couldn’t answer even if he was held at gunpoint, not accurately, at least. He could chuck words at Minjeong and hope they’d make sense. 

He figured you’d have more fun like this, anyway, going to prom with someone who wasn’t afraid to cross boundaries. He wanted you to live the night to the fullest, something you were droning on and on about for the past few weeks. 

The way he pieced his thoughts together was odd, but it made sense in the moment. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, and in return, he could keep his own heart safe from jumping out of his chest throughout the entire night, which then means he wasn’t at risk of ruining your friendship.

It was a win-win. 

Well, at least that’s how he wished he could confidently interpret it.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck whispers, “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if you look like you’ve been dragged through dirt, not once, but twice,” Minjeong points out, letting out a short snort. “You need to consider your own feelings, Hyuck. Be selfish for once. I say this for the sake of you and Y/N.” 

Donghyuck takes one more glance at you, your hands now linked with this other boy. Then he blinks down at his own hands, Minjeong having taken the lead because Donghyuck had initially refused to even step foot on the dance floor. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. He was sure that it wasn’t the same as you taking his hand and dragging him through the halls, or him taking yours and guiding you through a busy street. 

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. When it feels like it’s just the two of you and the music nudging at you both to dance to its tune.

He wonders how it’d feel to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

He wonders if they’d fit like puzzle pieces. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “If she’s okay, then I am too.”

      “If it wasn’t you I was waking up to…”

The first thing that plagues Donghyuck’s head the second he wakes up is the memories of last night’s sleepover and you. 

Just you. 

He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and all he could think about was you. 

He quickly concludes that he’s certainly gone crazy. 

Well, maybe not mentally crazy, but crazy over you. 

He remembers falling asleep, missing your guys’ nightly sleepovers during the summer as kids. The games you’d play in an attempt to go to sleep, only failing because it’d lead you both to tears from trying to hold in your laughs. Midnight snacks tucked under his bed despite his mom’s disapproval. Parents sticking to check up on both, only to find you both wide awake…

He compares it to you guys now and how it’s been rare because of life and how busy it's gotten. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Donghyuck hears you giggle quietly, sun bleeding through the blinds soon covered by the shadow of your figure. He feels a tap on his nose. “I know you’re awake, sleepyhead.”

He draws his eyes open, though slowly, just so it isn’t too obvious that he was already awake. He suppresses a smile at your hyperfixation on his nose, the tip of it burning from making contact with your finger. 

“Good morning, Hyuck,” you squat next to him at his bedside, bringing your face down to his level, “Well, it’s more like late-morning, but still.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes flicker to his clock and reads that it was nearing noon. Then he settles his gaze back on you. You’re smiling down at him, eyes still a bit droopy and a bit puffy from waking up not too long before he did. He watches as they light up at a thought, and you settle comfortably on the floor. “I had a crazy dream last night…”  

And that’s all Donghyuck manages to hear because soon he’s distracted by your messy hair, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, your chapped lips, the sleeve of your shirt hanging loosely off your shoulder, your exposed collarbone, the way you’re somehow so talkative just minutes after you’ve woken up…

How could you be so perfect after waking up? 

Donghyuck doesn’t notice the way his eyes soften, brows relaxing and sinking to a neutral state. His jaw lies slack, but the pillow underneath his cheek holds it closed. And then there’s a familiar flutter in his chest, one that he’s grown accustomed to every time he looks at you.

His mind leaps to a new thought: what would it be like to be able to wake up and see you? You being the first sight he sees when he’s just woken up from a dream or a nightmare or a dreamless sleep? 

God, he would never get tired of that. 

And Donghyuck was a lover of sleep. Knowing he could wake up and see you the second he did? He’d look forward to waking up if that was the case.

But that’s likely something he could only imagine.

“And it’s funny because Renjun… Hyuck?” 

Donghyuck lies there, taking in your appearance. 

One day, he’ll gather up the courage to tell you how beautiful you were—are—a genuine compliment that wasn’t followed by an affectionate insult. 

“Hyuck? You okay?” You question. Holding a hand up, you wave it in front of his face and watch the way he blinks and shakes his head, almost as if you’ve taken him out of a trance. You frown, “Was it that boring?” 

“No, sorry, Princess,” Donghyuck replies, the rarely used nickname slipping out, “I was just… processing everything.” 

“Yeah… shouldn’t have bombarded you like that, huh?” You say sheepishly.

“You didn’t—you never bombard me. I like hearing your crazy dreams,” Donghyuck shakes his head, reassuring you, “I’ll cook us brunch and you tell me what happened? I’m hungry.”

      “If the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The entire room chants, some wedding-goers use the nearest utensil to tap lightly on the wine glasses. The room was buzzing, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the excitement. 

Donghyuck, himself, was cheering along, throwing a fist up as if he were protesting. He feels like it was appropriate at a time like this, the two newlyweds having just shared a heartfelt speech to sum up the day, and ending it with a kiss would tie it together. 

You’re seated at his side, all danced out and far past tipsy. You’ve mentioned to him around once or twice that your head was spinning, your feet were hurting, and that you were thirsty. So he’s dragged you off the dance floor to let you rest and get you hydrated. 

Now you’re clinging onto his arm so you don’t topple over, still aware enough of the situation to chant along with everyone else. You’re giggling, watching as your cousin and her now husband shyly turn to each other before leaning in. 

Donghyuck’s heart swells. He’s known your cousin for so long, and has only been familiar with her partner for a fraction of that time, but he knows how long they’ve been together. He can’t help but admire the idea that two people can still be so in love after so long—he wonders if he can find love like that, too. 

You squeal when the couple shares a kiss, the room erupting in whoops and cheers. They smile into the kiss, eyes lulling shut out of instinct. It was a cute kiss, not one you’d cringe and want to look away at, but one that could shake jealousy out of you. 

Donghyuck turns to look at you amidst all that was happening, eyes melting when he sees you resting your head against his shoulder. You’re unaware that his attention has shifted to you, completely distracted by the stars of the day. The softest look occupies your face, as if you were in a dream state. 

Out of curiosity, his attention stumbles down onto your lips, which look just as plush as he’s imagined. 

Sure, Donghyck’s stolen glances of your lips before, and sometimes he lets his mind wander about what it would be like to press his own against yours. Then he lets his thoughts drift even further, knowing that it’s been long established that he could not for the life of him imagine himself kissing anyone else.

He’s a terrible friend for thinking this about you—at least that’s what he believes. But he can’t help it. Tonight, they look so tempting to just bring his head down and just… 

“Donghyuck?” 

Donghyuck turns to find your mom, “Hi, Auntie.” He fixes a smile on his face and gestures to you, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her from drinking too much.” His cheeks heat up, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to your mom.

Your mom shakes her head and laughs, “Sometimes it’s okay to let go like that. Besides, I trust you watching her. Thank you, by the way.”

Donghyuck nods his head before your mom takes his hand, “Can you please take her home? Knowing her, she'll pass out soon. I need to stay here and help the hosts clean up a bit.”  

He doesn’t hesitate to say yes, gathering all your things before he carefully guides you out of the venue.

      “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…”

“Hyuck? What the hell?!”

You tug Donghyuck into your apartment, brows furrowed because it was just shy of 4 AM and your best friend is standing in your living room, out of breath. Questions are racing through your mind, having absolutely no idea what could be happening. 

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” 

Donghyuck cursed under his breath. He hadn’t gone that far into saying what he had to say. He’s still hung up on your confession, playing in his head like a broken record. 

“Y/N…” There’s a lump in his throat and he feels as though he wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he was overwhelmed, or maybe because he’s scared that his spontaneous decision to show up here could ruin your friendship, and it’d be his fault. “Y/N I…”

Say words goddamnit. 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut, scouring the depths of his mind for the perfect thing to say, something that would work in his favour. His lips part, but only air comes out.

Then you yawn, simply because you’re tired. But you fight fatigue and wait patiently for Donghyuck to say something. The man has always been like this. His actions were always greater than his words. “Do you want tea, Hyuck? I’ll make us so—“

“No,” Donghyuck hastily refuses, “I mean, thank you… but I’m okay…” 

Regret scratches at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck. How could he play out this scenario in his head millions of times but not run through what he was supposed to say to you? How could he bring the problem up without putting you on the spot about what you had said? 

“You know what? I’m sorry for barging in like this, you’re tired and you need sleep and—“ 

“Lee Donghyuck, if you need help with something, then literally fuck sleep,” you scoff, smoothing your bed head out. 

You begin moving to the kitchen, the idea of tea now sounding appealing, but Donghyuck is quick to stop you. “No, Y/N, I’m actually fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you counter, “It’s obviously bothering you if you came here at this hour.” You lean forward and squint at your best friend through the dim lighting of your apartment. It’s easy to make out his eye bags and his beaten-up bottom lip from all the chewing. You know damn well… “And it even looks like you’ve been going through it. You can tell me, you know that, right?”

Donghyuck nods, still at a loss for words. He’s afraid to make eye contact with you for too long, letting his eyes flicker between you and the floor.

“But,” you follow up, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, too. I’ll still be here to listen then.” 

Silence dances in the air while you wait for Donghyuck to say something. He doesn’t know that you can see the way his eyes shift back and forth in deep thought, or the way his teeth cling onto his lip for comfort. 

Then Donghyuck says, “Can I stay over?” 

A tired smile rises onto your lips, “I wasn’t letting you out at this hour, anyway.” 

“Are there blankets and pillows in the extra closet? I’ll grab them—“ 

“Hyuck, you can sleep in my bed like always.” 

Shit. 

Donghyuck nearly panics, eyes growing wide. Sure, it wasn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, but sleeping with you in the same bed with his current state? When the only secret he’s kept from you was waiting to be hacked out after years of lingering in his chest? 

“You have no choice,” you protest, reading his mind. Huffing out a loud sigh, you reach for Donghyuck’s hand, instinctively slipping your fingers in between his before you yank his taller figure to your room. Donghyuck can’t find it in him to protest, words stuffed down and trapped in his throat. 

When you let go, Donghyuck almost reaches back out to keep your hand in his. 

You’re quick to settle back into your bed, letting out another yawn as you watch Donghyuck expectantly. Almost like you were going to start throwing a fit if he didn’t fill the spot next to you.

And that’s how Donghyuck finds him laying right next to you, heart damn near breaking his ribcage and defeaning his ears. He’s thankful that you have your back turned to him, completely oblivious to his state. It feels like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t say anything. 

It was kind of funny—maybe to an audience, but not to him. 

“What would it take for you to stop being my friend?” Donghyuck blurts out. The mattress shifts underneath him, and he feels your body turn to face him, peering at him through the darkness. 

You raise a brow, but it’s hidden in the darkness. You scoff, “What kind of question is that?” 

Donghyuck sighs, “Please, just answer it.” 

Sensing the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, you press your lips together and think, what would it take to stop being friends with Donghyuck?

“Everything,” you say simply, “But even then, I think I’d still forgive you.”

“I call bullshit,” he murmurs, “What if I killed someone and pinned the blame on you? What if I broke something special and irreplaceable to you? What if I purposely broke your leg or… or…”

“Those are all so stupidly unbelievable, Hyuck. You’d do none of that,” you chuckle, “At least make it believable.” 

Donghyuck almost chokes, his heart fighting to escape his chest. It’s like it was pushing up his throat as if he were ready to throw it up. “Or what if… my feelings for you changed and yours didn’t change in the way mine did?”

“Hyuck… you’re scaring me… Did I do something wrong?” you frown, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Fuck, it was when I was drunk wasn’t it? Did I say or do something wrong?”

      “I want you to love me.”

Donghyuck panics. Now he wishes he had worded his last question differently, one that didn’t have you misinterpreting it. 

“N-no!” He hurriedly answers, “No, never. I could never hate you.” Never. 

He nervously swallows the spit pooling in his mouth because now he’s sure that he needs to be upfront about his feelings. There’s no other way he could go now. He’s taken the final path down whatever road this was. 

“What if… I fell in love with you and you didn’t love me back?” He exhales a shaky breath, both out of relief and anxiousness, afraid that he’s ruined everything. There’s silence, and it scares Donghyuck. There really was no telling what you were thinking, whether you were thinking of ways to reject him or dodge the question. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t like it.

Then, through the darkness, he hears you laugh nervously, “Hyuck… Hyuck, I said you have to make it believable.” A pause. “You can’t love me… not like that at least.” 

You finally sit up and go to turn the lamp on. Donghyuck finally sees your expression clearly in the yellow glow. Your brows are furrowed, a look of confusion stuck on your face. It looked as though you were processing what he had just said.  

Donghyuck immediately sits up, almost mirroring you. He’s ready to reach out to you, but he holds back for now. He can’t take anything back now. 

“But I do, Y/N.” His tone is sprinkled with desperation, hoping you’d hear it and understand that he’s being dead serious. 

And when it’s your turn to lack words, Donghyuck quickly musters up what he can, piecing things together under pressure in his head. He doesn’t have much time before you overthink, and he knows it. “Do you remember what you told me the night of the wedding? When I was taking you home?”

You shake your head and your heart skips a beat. Your mind tries to reel back to that night, but all you remember is Donghyuck urging you onto his back. Everything after that was a mess, like a fever dream you’re trying so hard to grasp but can’t for the life of you remember. 

“Well… I do.” Donghyuck isn’t sure if he feels dejected or relieved that you don’t remember your confession. Because if you did forget it, did it mean anything? 

Still, he continues, keeping his head down to avoid your gaze, “You said that…” He’s unsure if he should tell you everything you said, or if he should be straight to the point. He doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it feels like finally bringing this up will help him get to his point. That he really, truly, loves you. 

“You said a bunch of things, and I was reflecting on them and… and even though I’ve known my feelings for you this whole time.” Exhale. “I realized that I was pretty much thinking the same thing.” 

Donghyuck lifts his view in the slightest, enough to put your fidgeting hands in view, before he gently grabs them. He takes them in his, rubbing his finger along the bumps of your knuckles. And though he feels like he’s mainly doing this for himself, he knows that he’s comforting you, too. 

“I can’t imagine myself being with anyone but you,” Donghyuck says carefully, as if the words were fragile on his tongue, “In fact, I think I hate the idea of being with anyone but you.” He squeezes your fingers, chewing his bottom lip out of habit. 

“You told me a bunch of things,” he repeats, “But you ended it all with how you wanted me to love you. How you feel like it’s too much to ask for me to love you back every day…” Donghyuck shakes his head, frustrated when he recalls that last part, “And I hate thinking that I’ve been making you feel like that this whole time.”

“And I’m cringing at what I’m about to say… it’s pretty fucking cheesy… but… you don’t even have to ask me to love you, Y/N,” Donghyuck concludes, nodding his head, “I love you so much and… I’d do anything just to make sure you know it.” 

Donghyuck had not noticed that he was crying until a tear fell right onto his thigh. He looks up to keep more from dripping, but that’s when his eyes finally catch sight of you, eyes drowning in your own tears. 

“Shit,” he’s quick to catch them before they fall off your face, letting your hands go and wiping your cheeks with the heels of his hands, “Shit, Princess, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I—” 

“It’s okay, Hyuck,” you interrupt, shaking your head. Donghyuck continues to frantically wipe your cheeks, frowning. You can’t help but laugh, reaching for his hands and bringing them to your lap, “I’m okay.” 

“Then, why are you crying?” Donghyuck is taken back to your conversation on the night of the wedding. If this wasn’t deja vu, he wonders if there’s another word for it. 

“You’re so annoying,” you sniffle, dropping one hand and lightly hitting his knee, “You say all that and expect me not to cry?” You slip your hand back into his. 

Donghyuck’s gaze drops to your hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles, “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I didn’t know if your confession was real, but after I heard what you said, I couldn’t not do anything about it.” 

There’s a brief pause as you process his response. Then, just above a whisper, cutting through the thick, but comfortable, air in the room, he hears you say, “I love you, too, you know.” 

He feels his heart stutter, almost leaping right out of his chest and straight into your hands, where it belonged. But of course, now, he’d let it if it chose to do so. 

“Hyuck, I—” You let go of his hands, and this time, Donghyuck lets himself reach out back for them, a subtle flash of panic in his eyes. 

And as soon as it came, that frantic feeling dissipates when he feels your hands cup his face. You nudge his head up to look at you.

He’s confused, lips parting to say something in objection, but then he reads a look in your eyes that he’s never seen before. You’re peering at him through your lashes, and Donghyuck swears he sees the glow of your lamp dancing in swirls right in your irises. They grow big, melting into his own, and despite being unfamiliar with the emotion, he immediately understands what you’re trying to say. 

Or, better yet, what you’re trying to do.

Donghyuck’s doe eyes, as red and puffy as yours, flicker to your lips and back to your eyes. A flutter in his chest confirms what he’s feeling. He wants this—he really does. 

So he nods carefully, thoughts of finally kissing you making him dizzy as his hands instinctively travel up to your arms to draw you in… closer and closer and…

Donghyuck’s hands found their way up to cup your face, using his pinkies to angle your head so he could easily press his lips against yours. And then your arms instinctively slide up and around his neck before they fall limp and hang loosely around him. 

The kiss wasn’t passionate. 

But it was tender, and it was perfect. 

It was a kiss that perfectly suited your relationship with Donghyuck, a love that’s gentle and comforting, one that didn’t hit you both like a truck. 

Donghyuck’s head was spinning, lips moving against yours as if he wanted to memorize how they felt on his. And though he’s imagined—dreamed—about how it would be like to kiss you countless times, the raw feeling of having your lips pressed against his was nothing compared to all of that. 

He nudges his nose against yours for one final push before you both finally come up for air. Your foreheads stay connected, eyes still drawn closed and basking in the feeling of finally getting what you wanted. Donghyuck’s hands have slipped down to your waist, forearms resting against your crossed legs. You both were out of breath. You could feel Donghyuck’s air tickling the skin under your nose. 

“You don’t…” Donghyuck sighs, catching his breath, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.” 

You giggle, eyes fluttering open before you steal a peck from his lips and pull away, “Was it worth the wait?”

Donghyuck quickly catches your wrists, tugging you back to repeat your actions. You can’t bite back a smile. 

Of course it was, he thinks. It would have been worth it no matter how long he had to wait. 

It was you, after all. 

And as far as he knew, anything and everything that had to do with you would always be worth it. 

But Donghyuck knows that he’s been cheesy enough for one night. And after noticing your tired, half-lidded eyes, though his mind floods with so many things he wants to tell you, for now, he settles for a simple answer. 

“Always.”

an: ngl i think this was one of my fav fics tht ive written ever :(( i loved writing these two so much,, likes and reblogs and comments are soso appreciated, i wanna know if u guys found this as cute as i did! thank you for reading!

[ichatake]

do yandere kakashi and Obito reacing to reader replacing Rin when she dies. lets say obito gets saved by minato so he knows why exactly kakashi got Rin killed. So when reader joins the team theyre really mean to her and everything becus they cant believe she tried to replace rin. They become yandere after she heals them (she can have medical ninjutsu?) so they really start to like her

Yandere Kakashi and Yandere Obito with the same S/O

Request open! (Request Rules)

A/N: thank you for requesting!! I hope you enjoy!

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

No one can be prepared to lose a close friend, and neither Kaashi or Obito were ready to lose Rin. It had been a dark day for them, Obito had been crushed by a boulder, which Minaro thankfully got there in time to help him. Then Rin sacrificed herself to save them and herself from the wrath of the three tailed beast.

Since Obito was present for most of the situation, he understood that Kakashi never meant to hurt Rin. Their friendship grew stronger as they both grieved the loss of their teammate. Of course, they were shocked when Minato mentioned they’d be joined by a new member. They couldn’t believe it! The audacity of replacing Rin in such a short amount of time was unbelievable.

Your presence was, of course, unwelcomed. You were a replacement, nothing else. You could never replace Rin, so they didn’t bother with you. There was no point. It wasn’t your fault you’d been placed with them, but they couldn’t help but hold it against you.

Kakashi was monotone when it came to you. You could never tell what he was thinking, and that bothered you a lot. When you tried speaking to him, he’d only listen, but never answer. That was the part that scared you the most. He was simply uninterested in being with you. You could waste your time asking him something, but that didn’t mean he’d actually answer you. You’d simply be harshly ignored by him.

Obito was a whole different case. Kakashi, although straight out ignoring you, never blatantly showed you just how much he disliked you, but Obito? This boy was the definition of obvious. He was the most affected by Rin’s passing, in his mind. She was his everything. How could he replace her?

When I say he was mean, I mean it. He yelled at you, scolded you, berated you, and simply treated you outright badly. He was condescending when you failed and you couldn’t get him to like you no matter how hard you tried. He hated you. You believe that wholeheartedly.

Now, you understood everyone grieves differently, but this was too much. You felt unwanted and unwelcomed. Minato had reassured you several times that everything would be fine, and to just give them some time, but you felt horrible! The only person that treated you nicely was your sensei… it was you against them.

When you trained, you were surprised to see how well they worked together. The loss of Rin has managed to mend their friendship, even if she had died at Kakashi's hands. Obito understood that the reason Rin died was not because Kakashi wanted to kill her, but because she’d rather die than live as a weapon for the rest of her life. Obito forgave Kakashi, and they promised each other they would never hold anything against each other, for Rin. They moved at an amazing rhythm; in perfect sync. They knew where to be and what to do without uttering a single word.

Their teamwork was off the charts, and you were slightly jealous. Why? Oh you know, it’s not like they thought you were a burden or anything. Yeah, every time the three of you had to work together, it would always end up in an argument.

“Jeez, are you slow?! Can’t you see I’m supposed to come from the right?!”

“Get out of the way! You’re messing things up!”

If Rin were here, we wouldn’t have to be dealing with all your mess!”

These were just some of the few things Obito would throw at you whenever you messed up their momentum. You were never good enough for them. You were too slow yet too quick. Too dumb, yet too smart. If you had to jump and you’d jump, they’d somehow find a way to let you know that you jumped the ‘wrong way’. You could never be good enough. You could never win.

You tried, you really did, but nothing worked. You’d be blamed for everything, and they’d say you were ‘dragging them down.’ Of course, they would complain to Minato, mostly Obito, but Kakashi would nod his head in agreement from time to time. Minato would scold them or brush them off. “She’s your teammate, like it or not. You better start treating her as one or else you two will be the ones getting in trouble,” this made them resent you even more.

You got used to everything. It had been a few months since you first got there, so you knew how to handle them. You trained so much and watched them train that when you were in the field once again, you didn’t fall behind. You were predicting their moves to be able to move in sync with them. You had studied them—your obsession of being at the same level finally paying off.

You didn’t understand why, but you expected some sort of praise. For once, you hadn’t been insulted or made fun off. You did everything right; you had caught up to them. So, as the three of you huffed and tried to gain your breath, Minato congratulated you. You couldn’t help the big smile that played on your lips, excited that you had finally gotten some praise. However, the boys never muttered a word. For you, it was a win! They weren’t insulting you or angry at you!

Once Minato saw your progress, he decided it was time for the three of you to go out on a mission alone. You, of course, were nervous. You weren’t sure of how things would play out. Would you mess up again? Would you be left behind? Would the mission even be completed? You didn’t know, but you calmed yourself down and convinced yourself that everything would be fine.

Thankfully, you had completed the mission. You only had to go back to the village. Miraculously enough, the three of you hadn’t gotten into an argument, you had yet to mess up, and things were going just great.

However, all three of you found yourselves in trouble. Rogue ninjas were happy to see three hidden leaf kids, and they were planning on sending a message. They had recognized Kakashi as the strongest one, so they wasted no time in getting him first.

Although wearing a mask, the sudden mist that clouded him had knocked him unconscious. No, it wasn’t mist, it was some sort of pollen one of the ninjas had thrown at Kakashi.

Obito had no idea what to do, but you weren’t going to leave Kakashi. There was a big chance that you would get hit by the pollen as well, but your limbs moved on their own. Soon, you were running full speed towards Kakashi’s unconscious body, lifting his weight over your shoulder. You weren’t going to leave him behind, never. No matter how badly he treated you, you would never leave teammates behind.

As you lifted Kakashi, you hadn’t noticed the kunais coming at you at full speed. They would’ve hit you in the head if it weren’t for Obito. He took the hit for you, and it stabbed him in the shoulder. “Let’s go!” He yells, helping you carry Kakashi as you escape.

Once you were far away and clear of any danger, you set Kakashi down on the ground. You check his pulse and sigh, relieved that he was still alive. “He’s still breathing, he’s just unconscious,” you smile, looking at Obito.

Your eyes widen as you see two kunais on his shoulders, “crap! You’re hurt, Obito!” You stand up and walk towards him, “sit down, I’ll help you,” you pull him down, much to his distaste.

“I’m telling you, I’m fine!” He tries to convince you, but you shush him.

“Don’t be an idiot! You’re not fine. I’ll pull them out—it’ll hurt for a little while, but I promise I’ll make you feel better,” you say, pulling out the knives and apologizing as he hissed in pain.

While helping him, you were gentle. He had never expected this from you. He had been nothing but horrible to you, and yet you treated him as if he were fragile.

You place your hands over his wound and close your eyes, focusing your chakra and beginning to heal the open wounds. It felt… familiar to Obito. He felt taken care of—cared for. It reminded him of… Rin. He gulps and looks at you, your eyes gentle and caring.

He couldn’t help how he felt. His heart started beating quickly as he felt you so close. He had never noticed how cute you were—no, he never noticed how nice you were. How kind and beautiful. You reminded him so much of Rin. Could you have been sent by Rin? Were you an angel he had been neglecting this whole time?

“Obito?” You look at him worriedly, “are you okay? You look a little—“

“I’m okay. Thanks to you,” he smiles, rubbing his neck, “I uh… Just, thank you,”

You were taken aback by this, but quickly give him a gentle smile, “you’re welcome. It was the least I could do after you saved my life. You were basically my hero back there,”

His stomach fluttered at your words, “your hero..?” He chuckles, “no, you’re the hero… if it weren’t for you, Kakashi would’ve been attacked… you’re the real hero,”

You enjoyed his praises. After being treated so poorly by him, it was nice to finally see him smile and compliment you. When you finish healing him, you walk towards Kakashi, placing a hand on his forehead. You wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting a fever because of the polen, “We should get going, I want to make sure Kakashi gets treated quickly. Who knows what was in that polen. It must’ve been really thick if it penetrated his mask,” you frown, pushing his hair out of his face.

Obito agrees, taking kakashi over the shoulder and waiting for you, “Hey uh… (Y/N),” he says, locking eyes with you before looking away, “I’m… sorry, for the way I’ve treated you… I real—,”

“It’s okay, Obito. As long as you don’t keep doing it, I forgive you,” you’d didn’t have hatred in your heart, and you knew how to forgive… Oh gosh, you were so much like her. Obito nods, shamefully smiling, “I promise you, I’ll never be dumb again. Well, dumb enough to treat you like I did…,”

Once you got to the village, you took Kakashi to the infirmary. You waited outside for any news with Obito, and you were relieved when the nurses told you he’d be okay. You didn’t get the chance to see him in the hospital, since you already had to go home. You needed rest, and with a little convincing from Obito, he walked you home.

After that day, Obito was so much nicer. He was a completely different person around you. He treated you so nicely, and never insulted you in any way. He complimented you in everything you did and he even offered to train with you more often.

Even kakashi seemed different. He’d actually speak to you, and nicely. He’d look for conversations and would often stay close to you. Their attitudes had taken a complete 180! You were… happy. You were glad that you finally got along. You were working together, and you were never failing. They made sure to make you feel like a part of their team!

Yeah, you were so distracted by how nice they were treating you, that you didn’t notice how they’d keep an eye on you at all times. How they would often want to take you home. How they would hurt themselves just to get you to take care of them. No, you were too busy basking on their kindness.

Whoops, Kakashi suddenly left his water bottle! Wait, maybe you could share yours with him. You know what they say, drinking from the same water bottle was like an indirect kiss.

Oh no! Obito left his food? Huh, I guess there was no harm in sharing your lunch with him. You’d eat from the same chopsticks, and it thrilled him.

For some reason, you had become their favorite obsession. You were their favorite pastime, favorite topic, favorite person. You clouded their minds at all times, and they didn’t know why. Your kindness got to them, and filled their hearts with some wicked obsession.

Yeah… you were stuck with them for who knows how long. If only you knew that they’d become unbearable as they grow older… and their obsession would become even stronger.

I mean, they were going to become men soon, with new desires and fantasies that only you could fulfill, but for now, you simply thought this was an innocent friendship.

[7seas-of-ryy]

Hangover Cure

Author’s Note: This is an idea I've had for a while! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Summary: Rhys and Cassian know how to have fun...and distract you from your crush on Azriel :)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Platonic!Rhys x Reader, Platonic!Cassian x Reader

Warnings: drinking, let me know if I need to add any others :)

"I swear I will stab both of you with my dagger if you don't stop." You growled at Cassian and Rhys.

"You're not nearly as intimidating as you think." Rhys smirked.

"Actually, I'm kind of terrified of her." Cassian spoke up.

The three of you were walking around Velaris, enjoying an unusual day off. The Archeron girls were all having a 'sister night' and they had offered you to join them but you wanted them to have their time together after everything they went through.

Azriel was off checking up on certain Courts making sure they were all staying in line. Rhys told him he needed to relax and could have the day off but the Night Court Spymaster insisted on it.

Mor had quickly taken off this morning saying she had places to be, which we all knew meant she was off to have a fun time. And Amren was off with Varian.

You were stuck with Rhys and Cassian to keep you company. As you were enjoying the views and shops, the topic of your love life had come up. They wouldn't leave you alone, claiming they were the best wing men and could help you.

After you threatened them with your dagger you had hoped they would get the message that you did not want to talk. Unfortunately, they know you love them like brothers and wouldn't actually hurt them.

So, you asked if they wanted to go to Rita's for a drink because if you had to deal with those two idiots for the rest of the day, you wouldn't be sober.

A couple hours and many drinks later, the three of you were having a good time. Your stomach hurt from laughing so much. Eventually, Cass brought up your love life again and this time your tongue was much looser due to the alcohol.

"Listen, y/n, we just want you to be happy. We know you like someone, you deny every single males invitation to dinner. You wouldn't do that if you didn't already have somebody in your sights." Rhys said

"And whoever it is, is a lucky bastard. You're the best person I know, c'mon tell us" Cass added

"If I tell you, will you two idiots shut up?" You asked and they both nodded quickly, the head motion making Cassian nearly fall out of his chair

"It's... Azriel" you whispered and winced, you never planned on anyone ever knowing about your crush.

"YOU LIKE AZ?!" Cassian shouted and you quickly shushed him

"Shut up! No one can know, and especially not Az. Do you understand me? You are the only 2 that know so if he finds out, I'll know it was one of you and I know where you sleep." you threatened

Rhys was simply smirking at you this entire time, while Cassian's eyes got wide at the threat.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to admit you liked him" Rhys spoke.

Now it was your turn for your eyes to widen.

"You knew???" You frantically asked

"Of course I did. 'Azriel, you look so nice today' 'Azriel, you're so big and strong and sexy and I want you to-" Rhys mocked you and you smacked his arm, quickly shutting him up.

Cassian was nearly on the floor laughing so hard at Rhys' impression of you.

"I do not sound like that! And I have never said that either!" You defended yourself.

"Why don't you tell him?" Rhys asked

"Because he's my friend and he doesn't like me like that." you told him

"But what if-" Cassian started and you cut him off

"Stop. I see the way he looks at Elain. He feels for her like I do for him. And he deserves that happiness, she would be perfect for him. So I will never tell him and you are to never speak of this again. If not for me, at least for him. I cannot lose his friendship." you pleaded, the room starting to feel too hot

The males in front of you understood the fear of losing someone so close to you but they knew their brother liked you too. They couldn't be the ones to tell you. They would just have to get Azriel to confess to you himself.

For now, they would ensure you had fun with them.

"I have an idea, lets go back to the house and get really drunk all night long and have fun and that way, we won't think of any of this sad stuff." Cassian suggested

"I'm in" you and Rhys said at the same time.

Once you got back to the house, you all started with shots. You remember dancing and laughing and then the rest of the night was a blur.

You woke up with a painful throbbing in your head. You were laying on something firm and not comfortable. And there was a very heavy weight on top of you.

"Do you think they're dead?" you could hear Feyre speak

"No, but they're going to wish they were when they wake up with a nasty hangover." you heard Azriel respond

As you opened your eyes, you got used to the light while you looked around. You were on the floor in the living room. There were two large legs on you, one on your torso and one on your own legs. As you inspected further, they belonged to Cassian.

You slowly, so slowly sat up. Turning to look behind you, you saw that you had been using Rhys' back and right arm as a pillow. He was sprawled out, drooling on the ground.

Turning back around, you could see Feyre and Azriel standing watching the three of you with smirks on their faces.

"Good morning darling" Azriel spoke

"Shhhh, not so loud" you whispered

The pair chuckled and Cass and Rhys started to wake up.

"What were we thinking?" Cass asked

"Are you wearing my socks on your hands?" you asked, pointing at him

Cassian looked down at his hands and looked back at you.

"I think my hands were cold and I said I needed gloves so you offered your socks." he answered

"And who's leathers are you wearing?" Azriel asked you, his eyes darkening as he spoke.

You looked down at yourself and realized you were wearing leathers that were way too big on you.

"They're mine. Y/N had warded them so that if anything hit them, it would ricochet off and we wanted to test it out." Rhys began

"Did it work?" Feyre asked

The three of you on the ground turned your heads to look at the wall that had a hole in it. Then you turned to look at Cassian who was covered in drywall. The memories of Cassian running and jumping at you only to be thrown through the wall came back to you.

"Yes, it worked exceptionally well. Y/N is brilliant in her field." Rhys answered.

"It sent Cassian through the wall, didn't it?" Azriel deadpanned

"You know, I was going to say I feel like I got thrown through a wall so that makes sense." Cassian answered

"Alright I think you three need real rest. C'mon Rhys, lets go lay down. Nesta is coming to bring Cassian home. Az, can you help Y/N?" Feyre asked

"Of course" the shadowsinger responded

He walked over to you and picked you up. His shadows began immediately caressing your face and head. He flew you home and helped you get into bed where you quickly fell asleep.

A few hours later, you woke up. Looking over at your bedside table, you saw a water, a tonic, and a note.

"Y/N - please take the tonic and drink the water. It will help with the hangover -Azriel"

You smiled and did as he told you then you heard some shuffling in your living room. Getting up to inspect, you could hear Azriel talking to his shadows.

"Az?" you spoke

"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked

"No, I was awake before I heard you. What're you still doing here?" you asked him. It's not that you didn't want him there, but you felt bad because he probably had work to do and you were holding him up.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok," he spoke, then with a teasing tone added, "I take it the three of you had a fun time last night?"

Your cheeks immediately felt hot.

"Yeah, something like that," you answered, "Were you talking to your shadows?"

"It seems they don't want to listen to me right now. Earlier, I was going to go grab you some food but they refused to leave you so I had to leave them here with you. And I was trying to get them to leave you alone so they wouldn't bother you but they are being stubborn." the shadowmaster explained

"They never bother me." you told him and the shadows shot out to you, as if you gave them all the permission they needed.

They swirled all over you and through your hair and you giggled.

"Traitors" he mumbled to them and went to grab the food from the table.

Right as he was about to ask if you wanted to eat any of it right now, there was a knock at your door. It was Nesta and Cassian.

They were holding up more food, Cassian looked as bad as you felt.

"Cassian told me that you outdrank him so I wanted to bring you this food." Nesta spoke, it was the kindest thing she had ever done for you.

"You outdrank him?!" Az sputtered

"Yeah yeah, lets just eat" Cassian said and you agreed

The four of you sat down to eat and Az continued asking you about your night.

"So how exactly did everything happen last night?" he said with a smile

"Well, we were having some drinks at Rita's and then..." you stopped to think of a lie, "they ran out of my favorite drink so we headed back to Rhys' and just continued the drinking there."

"Your memory must still be foggy, Cassian said you went back to Rhys' because you were sad and they wanted to cheer you up." Nesta stated

Your eyes narrowed on Cassian and he froze. His eyes went wide with terror.

"Why were you sad?" Az asked you with concern

"Cassian." you grit his name through your teeth, ignoring the spymaster

"Nesta its time to go." Cassian quickly said getting up from the table

"What-" Nesta started

Cassian practically yanked her from her chair and as they were about to fly away, you and Az could hear Cassian tell Nesta he was terrified of you and something along the lines of you knowing where he sleeps.

"What was all that about?" Az asked you

"Its nothing, I was a little sad so we drank and it was a fun night, that's all that matters." you said quickly

"No, if you are sad about anything at all then it is not nothing." The shadowsinger said firmly

You knew he wasn't going to let it go anytime soon and you needed to rest. So, you told him...most of it.

"Fine. I like someone and they don't like me back." you admitted

"What?" Az spoke and you could see the hurt flash in his eyes but he quickly shook his head as if to hide his emotions.

"Who wouldn't like you back, you're beautiful, kind, and extremely intelligent. Whoever it is, they're a fool." He told you

You let a breath out through your nose, you figured it was now or never. And if you guys were truly as close friends as you thought, then that wouldn't change no matter what.

"It's you." you mumbled

"Huh?" he breathed

"I'm in love with you," you blurted, "but I know you like Elain and I don't want things to be weird between us so I never told you."

"I don't like Elain. Not like that at least. Sure, she's my friend but I'm not in love with her... I love you, Y/N." he confessed

You couldn't believe what he was saying. Surely, he must be trying to save your feelings.

"Az, it's ok. You don't have to do this. I can handle rejection." You wanted him to know you would be ok.

Instead of responding, he stepped close to you and pulled you in by your hips. He moved one of his hands to your face and brought you impossibly closer. Your lips met and it was as if this was everything you had been missing in life.

After a few moments, it started to turn more passionate and he swiped his tongue over your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth and he groaned at the noise.

Eventually you two pulled apart and you were left breathless.

"Do you believe me now?" He questioned

You nodded, not trusting your voice after that.

"Would you like to finish eating and then go lay down together? You still must not feel well after all that alcohol last night." he spoke

"Actually, I feel great right now. Let's just skip the food and go straight to laying down together." you suggested

"Hmm it seems like I might be the best hangover cure." Az joked

"I think you're right" You told him as you grabbed his hand, leading him to your bed.

Later That Night

"I think Rhys, Cass, and I stole a tree last night" you spoke, deep in thought

"You three are never allowed to hang out alone together again." Az stated

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[rei-ismyname]

Teen Cyclops gets hit with EMOTIONS 🫠😭🤩🥹😬🥴

AKA I get emotions too, linking and contrasting theory + my disability experience with Scott's.

Yung Cyke is loving his time away from the X-Men and the freedom it allows him to *loosen up.* Lacking context, The Champions view him as repressed and phlegmatic in the extreme. They're right, but he's not an old man - he's just a kid who went from constant trauma to a life of intense responsibility. I think Seinfeld is cringe, but I'm aware that many many people enjoyed it. Scott liking it is more a sign of his time displacement than anything else, though I do wonder if he identifies with any of the characters. Hints of Costanza, most likely. Not sure any are a great fit - what do you think? Newman?

Anyway, my point is that he is benefiting from his newly expanded social circle but The Champions are not Danger Room kids. They don't know that this IS Slim getting out of his comfort zone. A fake moustache isn't the most complicated costume, but you'd never see 'leader of the X-Men' Scott do it. He probably wouldn't even join them, assuming Chuck let them out for Halloween. Kamala and Miles want to see get inside that brain - let's see how they respond when they get their wish.

The catalyst is this jerkoff - Psycho Man. He's a long story, let's just simplify it by saying that he has a machine that fucks with people's emotions. He's using it nefariously until Scott blasts it to pieces and demands his surrender. He flees instead, but Scott has been affected by it and opens his Pandora's Box of repression.

The Champions know something is off when Scott abandons his indoor voice and starts ... acting up. When he smashed the machine some feedback hit him right in the pineal gland or hippocampus, unlocking his emotions on a primal level. Anger and adrenaline flood through him and everyone realises they're in for some X-Men shit. Well, they don't know that at all actually, but the vibe of a dam about to burst is clear and present.

Peppy would be proud.

They still let him fly the team vehicle, perhaps unwisely. Scott really enjoys the freedom of flying - 'no responsibility, no one complaining or making you feel bad.' I wonder what he's referring to with those awfully specific things. No time to worry about that because Scott leans into it and does a barrel roll, scaring TF out of everyone.

They wisely get him off the stick and Kamala brushes it off as 'goofing.' That really sets him off into a shame spiral, though I don't think they truly internalise that this bit is not exactly exaggerated. 'I'm not allowed to screw up. I can't make a single mistake ever! I can't ever let anybody down. If I do then what good am I?'

None of these people know Charles Xavier very well, but if they did they'd probably slap him. I feel like this is the moment when they connected young Slim to the guy that killed Xavier while possessed by the Phoenix. The fact that he's a nosy telepath who raised Scott exacerbates the Fridge Horror. The unhealthy mantras and the beliefs informing them had to come from somewhere, and Scott himself learning about that 'loss of control' didn't have the same shock as the rest of the O5. My reading is that he was offended and embarrassed by the idea he'd lose control - like it's a failure of character.

After seemingly getting a hold of himself and being quiet for a while, Scott openly expresses fear. The team is confused so he elaborates. He's scared of himself, scared of his eyes, scared of losing control. He's scared of killing anyone let alone his father figure. Pathologically terrified, even, and it occupies his every waking moment. He doubts their friendship while lamenting how people see him, without denying his hypervigilance and how it isolates him.

Scott wants to be social and carefree but he doesn't feel like he's allowed to. I can relate. My disability doesn't have the power to hurt people (except myself through inaction or accident) but it's isolating AF and requires hypervigilance every moment I'm awake. People, even close friends and family, don't take it seriously and that sucks. Blame and pressure exacerbate the difficulty of managing my functionality, and round and round it goes. 'What's stopping you?' is a familiar refrain, no matter how many times I explain it. It's exhausting.

Isolation is one aspect of the disability experience - it informs and intersects with exclusion, often passively. There's rarely anyone directly saying 'you can't do this thing;' it's often the way the world, society is constructed - for the able bodied. Nothing fits, or allows you to fit. I know I grieve my former degree of functionality and the things I simply can't participate in. I became disabled at 28, and I'm sure there's nuance for folks born with disabilities or that get worse over time - but I can't speak to that lived experience. No matter what though, as Scott says, 'it just takes.' His 'unable to cry' statement is one I don't recall hearing before this run, but it casts Scott's decades of emotional clodes-offness in a new light. It's a strong character beat that fits seamlessly with his established behaviour and publication history. I usually don't get so personal in my analysis but woof - this hit me HARD. The combination of resentment and hypervigilance over my body and how it is perceived is particularly close to home. So too is sharing with sympathetic friends - they get it, but they also don't.

Round two with Captain Fucko happens while Scott is still affected, and he dips the fuck out. The action is truncated by Tumblr's image limits but his love and protectiveness kicks into overdrive and manifests violently - nearly killing Psycho-Man. Kamala has to step in with the disability aid assist, though it's nice nobody judges him. After letting out all the emotions and optic blasts he has Scott is tapped and falls unconscious.

Even this act of vulnerability, putting himself in other people's hands, is fraught. I'd find that difficult without a checklist of invisible needs to consider, and that's a lot of labour to expect from someone else. Emotional AND physical. That in turn breeds guilt and resentment, as nobody can be a carer forever and negotiating any period of carer/caree relationship is incredibly challenging. The power dynamics and your needs as labor can poison the closest relationship. Nobody wants to be dependent, or even a burden, but needs are needs. Many go without.

It's a little ambiguous if Scott remembers the events of the day, but it's heavily implied he does. He's not embarrassed, per se, but The Champions didn't opt in to Scott Summers trauma dumping and giving them an out is gracious. It's his feelings and they're valid, but they were forced out of him by an attack.

I daresay the team understands what makes Scott tick a lot better, and nobody gives him shit for being uptight after this. The above panel is supplemental, but I think it fits perfectly. I believe it was an overall cathartic experience for Yung Cyke - it feels good to let out every now and then.

The flipside of never talking about it again is that it really is easier to just not engage with disability whether they're close to you or not. It's labour however you slice it and in my experience the reality of permanent disability is depressing to think about. The reality that you're not going to get better is outside context for most, fortunately. That's part of what makes it labour, work. Personally I have found it hard to not be resentful, frustrated, and jealous of having the privilege of not thinking about it. I work to not make it other people's problem, balancing that with the support that's offered.

The majority of my close friends these days are disabled themselves, and navigating that paradigm with two or more people is exponentially more difficult. Some days I don't have the energy to give and vice versa, so I definitely get it. Putting it into action is another story, but balancing needs and availability is part of any relationship. The well-meaning group conspiracy of silence in the last panel (probably) isn't realistic, but it can certainly feel like it. If you got this far, thanks for reading! This is not the post I set out to make, but sometimes it just flows out of you. I'm glad it did, as I need to apply a disability theory lens to my writing more often. The theory and the personal would ideally be further apart, but I needed to get this out. ❤️

[arvandus]

so to expand on the Barb fluff thing that I’ve mentioned once :D

I know this is quite silly but I used to just click on the green call button in the game when there was nothing new to read from him and if you do that you get a pre recorded voice message from him saying he is busy and can’t pick up, but you know, at least we can hear his voice …

and I was thinking it would be cute if MC did that after going to bed so she can fall asleep listening to his voice, thinking Barbatos won’t pick up the phone for sure, it also must be muted by now… but what if he does😳😳

(giggling like a highschool girl as I typed this fr )

Okay, this got away from me and now we're 4.3k deep so YOLO! (I thoroughly enjoyed this, in case you couldn't tell...) I love this concept so much, I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing it the entire time. Sorry it took so long for me to get to it, but it was a great way to get back into writing Barb!

(yeah I know... I'll fix the title picture later...)

Content: SFW, fluff, flirting; GN!Reader struggles with insomnia

WC: 4,325

—

You couldn’t believe this happened.

How did this happen??

You stared at your DDD in disbelief, the long list of saved voicemails now gone.  Vanished.

Every. Single. One.

The stern and personal messages from Lucifer, the chaotic ones from Mammon and Levi, the lengthy, self-absorbed ones from Asmo...

The birthday well-wishes, the gratitude messages, the reminders about dinner, or adding items to the grocery list, RAD assignments... everything from the personal and special to the daily and mundane. 

All of it, somehow completely and utterly deleted.

It hurt, losing them. You knew there’d be more in the future; in fact, your phone was always ringing or pinging for one reason or another.  But still... it didn’t replace what you’d lost.

And the biggest, hardest loss of all were the voicemails left from Barbatos.

Not as many as the others, seeing as he called you far less than the others did, but their rarity made them all the more precious to you.  Especially since those voicemails were the ones you used to help yourself fall asleep.  Something about the smooth, resonant timber of Barbatos’s voice, reminding you of an impending quality check on the House of Lamentation, invitation to dinner at the Demon Lord’s Castle, requests for your support to pass on important paperwork, asking you to taste-test his latest experimental desserts... and a happy birthday message.  Each one cherished and used frequently to ease your night-time insomnia.

The loss felt like a hole in your chest, and tears brimmed your eyes.

You skimmed through his text messages, revisiting the memories you still had left on your DDD. You liked seeing how they evolved over time, starting out as purely business and slowly transforming into offers and requests of assistance, outings, and kind words. The slow and steady evolution of budding friendship. It helped you cope a little bit with the sudden loss of his voicemails. You tried to mentally put his voice to the words you read, but it simply wasn’t the same. Still, you read through them anyway, laying in your bed with bleary, tired eyes and a faint smile.

You hadn’t realized you dozed off until you woke to the muffled sound of Barbatos’s voicemail coming through the DDD.  You froze for a moment, your thumb poised over the red phone icon, but hesitated.

There it was... his voice.  Smooth and kind, respectful and professional.

“Thank you for your call. I apologize for not being able to answer after you took the time to call me. I’d hate to inconvenience you but please do call me back at a later time.  You have my sincerest thanks.”

You let out a soft, content sigh, but it was quickly stolen by the sound of his voicemail beeping, marking the end of the message and the start of you being recorded.

You quickly hung up, your body flushed and your brain alert.  What if he heard you breathing?  What if he heard you sigh?

More fears trailed in on the heels of the previous. 

What if you’d woken him up? What if he called you back?  What if you didn’t wake up a moment ago? It would have recorded you snoring in your sleep.  Or worse, talking in your sleep.

Look, you weren’t responsible for what happened in Dreamland, but Barbatos certainly didn’t need to know about it.

It took a while for you to fall asleep that night, your mind replaying scenarios of what-ifs, and dreading the next day when Barbatos would inevitably see your missed call and ask about it.

But at the same time…. it had been nice to hear his voice.

Even if it was just a recording.

---

Sure enough, the next day, Barbatos texted you, mentioning your missed call and asking if everything was alright. You were honest with him. You’d fallen asleep on your phone and that it was an accidental dial; nothing to worry about.  You apologized for possibly disturbing him the night before.  He accepted your explanation with ease, and explained that it was no trouble at all, since he kept his DDD on Do Not Disturb mode after hours.  All calls were silenced, with the exception of Diavolo and Lucifer.

Relief washed through you, cooling your embarrassment.  Thank goodness he didn’t ask you about it in person. There would have been no way you could have kept a straight face or given an answer without buckling entirely in front of him, whether in tears or laughter you weren’t sure.  It was one thing to admit to falling asleep on your phone while it was on. It was another thing entirely to slip up and tell him - to his face - that you were reading his text messages.

---

Nothing happened for a while after that.  You made sure to turn your phone screen off before bed, even if it did make you lay there staring at the dark ceiling for hours afterward, sleep ever the elusive beast.  You still looked at the text messages on the particularly rough nights, and they gave some comfort for you, at least for a little while.

But as the time passed, you found yourself not looking at them as often.  You nearly had them memorized with how often you reread them.  As the satisfaction of the old messages waned, your mind wandered back to the memory of that one night of the accidental phone call.  You tried to recall the sound of Barbatos’s voice, the words he said in the voicemail, but the memory of it was cloudy, aged with time.

The dissatisfaction of your imperfect memory only made you ache even more to hear his voice again, the want evolving into a need. The lure of his rich, clear tone in your ear, the promise of it quieting your mind just long enough for you to be able to fall asleep… The thought became a plague upon you, bringing forth a battle of wills within yourself.  

Temptation whispered reassurances in your ear.

He won’t answer.

You won’t wake him up or disturb him.

It’s okay, just call him.  Let it ring.

But logic was quick on its heels.

Even if he doesn’t answer, he’ll notice your missed call.

He’ll ask you about it again.

What will be your excuse this time?

No, you told yourself.  The risk was too great, the draw of his attention making you vulnerable in a way that you weren’t ready for just yet.  After all, it didn’t take much self-reflection to figure out why his voice, above all others, was the one you wanted to hear each night, or why his text messages were the ones you had memorized. 

No, it wasn’t worth giving in to. You’d have to learn to be content with the memory of it, and nothing more.

But time had a way of greying your recollection, blurring the edges like an old photograph.  It faded the memory of your embarrassment as well, when he’d first texted you for an explanation.  Had it really been that bad? Was the risk really so great? Barbatos had accepted your explanation whole-heartedly, not a hint of doubt in his responses.  Surely he would understand it again, so long as you were careful in your approach. To be honest, he probably wouldn’t even think twice about it.  After all, the last one had been weeks ago, and his own duties and hobbies kept him perpetually busy.  He probably didn’t even remember.

As midnight peace slipped farther and farther from your reach, you found yourself once again staring at Barbatos’s phone number in your contacts list.

Maybe just once more.  Just to refresh your memory.  

Besides. It wasn’t like you were going to make a habit of it...

---

You had told yourself that months ago in your foolish desperation.  But you should have known better.  It was impossible to only give in to temptation once.

Now? Now, it was almost like a ritual.  

Ritual, but not entirely a routine. You had to keep your calls sporadically placed, lest Barbatos grow suspicious of your sudden uptick in frequent missed calls after the late hour of midnight.  It forced you to keep the ‘accidents’ spaced apart at random intervals, much to your chagrin.  But, being able to hear his voice on occasion was better than nothing at all.

Barbatos had asked again after the second call, but your assurance was softened by your confession that you stay up each night reading old text messages from everyone to help you sleep, and occasionally forget to turn off your phone when you’re done.  The admission toed a dangerous line to giving away too much information, mainly that it was his messages you read regularly.  But the half-truth provided just enough information to excuse your repeated, but sporadic, late night ‘errors,’ and helped to set a preemptive expectation should future mishaps occur.

Which, of course, they did.  

And much to your pleasant surprise, it worked.  Your explanation had apparently been effective, because after that second incident, Barbatos no longer asked about your missed late-night calls.

The victory left you feeling giddy with success, a masterfully woven solution to meet your own needs while also keeping him - and your own heart - at arm’s distance.

---

Tonight was just like any other.  A perusing of the text chains, followed by a late-night call to Barbatos’s voicemail.  It had been going on for so long now, weeks blurring into months.

Which should have been your first clue.

Your second, should have been how second nature the activity had become.

Because once something becomes a habit, complacency isn’t far behind.

The phone rang like it always did.  Once.  Twice.  You knew by the fifth ring, Barbatos’s voicemail would automatically answer.

Three, Four-

“Good evening, MC.”

You froze, eyes wide, your breath caught in your throat so spontaneously that your lungs were already burning for air.

It was his voice. But not a recording.  No. It was him.

Barbatos answered the fucking phone.

“...Hello?” he ventured.

You hung up immediately and threw your phone onto your bed.  Your hands covered your mouth, your skin burning, burning—

BZZZZZZT.

BZZZZZZT.

Your DDD screen lit up, a picture of Barbatos’s contact icon appearing.

He was calling you back.

‘FUCK.’

‘FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUUUUUUCK.’

You silenced the call, sending it automatically to voicemail.

Tears stung your eyes, your heart pounded in your chest like a jackhammer.

How? Why??  He never answered! Never.

A moment later, it rang again.  Again, you sent him to voicemail.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  He obviously knew you were wide awake, now. It would have been better to let it ring and go to voicemail all on its own.

But, you realized, that wouldn’t make a bit of difference. He knew you were awake as soon as you hung up on him.

A minute passed, and you hoped, prayed he’d given up.

Just as you began reaching for your phone, the familiar short buzz-buzz of a text message vibrated your DDD on the bed.  You retracted your hand as if it were a living creature.  You had half a mind to ignore it completely, but you knew that you would literally sit there and stare at it all night if you didn’t look at it.

Tentatively, you picked up your phone.  It wasn’t a text message, but an audio file sent to you.  You hesitated briefly before pressing play.

“Please pick up,” his voice pleaded.  The sound of him made you weak in the knees, and you were glad you were sitting on your bed.

You shook your head ‘no’ as if he could see you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to type the word. It felt too... mean.

Instead, you let yourself sit in your cowardice.

Three black dots appeared on the screen, and you waited with abated breath.  The dots vanished, and your heart sank slightly.  Then they reappeared, bringing a strange mixture of relief and dread.  Finally, Barbatos’s message came through, text this time.

“I would very much like to talk with you, please.  I will call one more time.  Please answer.”

Goddamn it, why did he have to say it like that? Why did he have to be so, so.... nice?

True to his word, your phone began to buzz again, and you stared at his picture through tear-blurred eyes.  Once, twice...

You touched the green phone icon.

A heartbeat of silence, as you waited, unable to speak.

“Hello?”

His voice, tentative, calm.  A testing of the waters.

The silence stretched longer and longer as you tried to force your shame back long enough to speak without breaking.  You swallowed your trepidation, once, twice, blinking away the unshed tears, although your chest still felt tight and your skin like fire.

“Uh... hi,” you finally muttered.

A muffled sigh of relief, likely exhaled through his nose. “Thank you for answering.”

“Yeah, well... you were persistent.”

“My apologies. It felt necessary.”

Embarrassment and curiosity warred within you.  “Why?”

Another long, awkward pause.  The connection between you, linked by technology and magic, was thick with unspoken words.

“Because,” Barbatos finally replied, “I have missed too many of your calls.”

You bit your lip in silence and curled your body into itself as you squeezed your eyes shut.  “No. You didn’t.  You...” a brief inhale and exhale, taming your nerves.  “You weren’t supposed to answer.”

“Why not?”

Ah, here it was – the unavoidable truth. The crux of the conversation arrived faster than you’d hoped.

You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t translate your deeply buried truth into words. It was silly of you, you knew that. It wasn’t like he didn’t figure it all out by now.  Why else would he have answered? He obviously knew your calls weren’t accidents, and that they were occurring during a time that he wasn’t supposed to answer.  But the fact that you had to say it? Out loud? It was your worst nightmare come to life.

Fortunately for you, Barbatos volunteered to fill the lengthening quiet between you.

“I do not ask with the intent to shame,” he said softly.  “It is simply curiosity.  I know what I have observed, but to be quite honest, I have yet to fully understand why.”

He didn’t understand…? You thought it was obvious at this point, and Barbatos was anything but obtuse.  Perhaps he was offering an olive branch out of kindness, a chance for you to explain yourself in such a way that wouldn’t result in you packing your bags and fleeing the Devildom in a vain attempt to outrun your humiliation.

You needed to know exactly what he knew, what he suspected… only then could you navigate this minefield of confessions and apologies and hope to come out the other side with some semblance of a friendship still intact.

You swallowed.  “What? What have you observed?”

Another pregnant pause, followed by his deep breath; a mental preparation that you felt deep in your bones.

“You call me only in the late evenings,” he said.  “The spacing seemed random at first, but as it went on, I noticed it never went longer than five days.  You claimed before that it only occurred when you accidentally fell asleep, and yet there was never a voicemail left, even a silent one had you truly been asleep.  And, most notably, I seem to be the only one you accidentally call.”

Every inch of you burned, and you were sure this was your first experience of Hell.  Maybe you had died in your sleep and didn’t realize it...

With nowhere left to hide, the only thing you had remaining in your arsenal was groveling.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you...”

“I know,” he replied.  “So, please tell me... why do you call me late at night?  And why do you not want me to answer?  You clearly desire to reach out to me, and yet don’t want to disturb me.  I worry there is something you’ve been meaning to say to me, but for some reason, have not been able to.”

“It’s not that, honestly,” you mumbled.  “It’s nothing specific.  I just...”

Barbatos remained quiet on the other end while you bit your lip in an effort to build up your courage.  When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.  

“I... have trouble... sleeping sometimes.  When I do, I like to call you, just to hear your voice.”

“My voice?” for the first time, he sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.  “It’s soothing.  For me, at least.” Panic bloomed again, and your next words came out in a rush.  “I- I didn’t mean for it to turn into this.  I used to listen to your voicemails before, but I lost all of them somehow. And that first night, when it happened, it really was an accident.  But then I missed you, and...”

Your words faltered as quickly as they came as soon as you realized you’d said too much.  You groaned and put your face in your hand.  

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- I should probably go.  This is so embarrassing, honestly...”

A heavy silence followed, and tears brimmed your eyes at the sudden invisible wall that seemed to be at the other end of the line.  But just as you began to lower the phone from your ear, he spoke.

“You listened to my voicemails?”

Your phone was back at your ear, a fish caught on a line.

“....yeah.”

“How often?”

“What? I mean, not that often, I- I- just when I couldn’t sleep, that’s all...”

Shut up, shut up, shut up! You were the worst liar....

Barbatos hummed thoughtfully.  “I see. So, tonight you called because you couldn’t sleep?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“And you simply wanted to hear my voice.  On my voicemail, I presume, since you lost my previous messages.”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“How often do you have trouble sleeping?”

You sighed in tired defeat.  “Almost every night.  It’s just always been like that.”

“But you don’t call me every night.”

“Well, no... I was trying to be subtle.  I only did it when I felt I really needed it.  I didn’t want you to know, remember? We see how well that went.”

Barbatos chuckled, light and playful.

“Indeed,” he teased. “But when you had my old voicemails, you listened to them regularly?”

You sputtered and stumbled.  “Well, I mean, not all the time, but yeah…” 

“When you couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Which was nearly every night.”

You frowned, realizing the circles he just ran around you. “Hey. You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you get me to say more than I mean to.”

“I do no such thing.”

“Now you’re gaslighting me, too. And here I thought you were nothing but green flags.”

“I… I have no idea what those human terms mean.”

You couldn’t suppress your chuckle.  “I’m saying you’re teasing me.  At my expense, no less.”

“I am merely ensuring I have all of the information correct.”

“Why?” you huffed.

“Because,” he replied, “I deserve honesty.  You had two prior opportunities to tell me the truth, and you opted not to.  I wanted to know why.”

“Well, now you know. I hope you’re happy.”

There was the sound of shuffling fabric, as if he reclined in his seat or his bed.  “I am, actually.”

You grumbled under your breath.

Barbatos continued. “I must say, I’m flattered that the sound of my voice can bring you such comfort.”

Your skin warmed for a different reason, and you scoffed.  “Please. Now you’re just being polite.”

Barbato’s voice immediately lost its playfulness. “Pardon?”

You stared down at your bedding, picking at the lint. “Thank you for being kind, Barbatos. But I don’t want you to lie to me.”

“I am not lying,” he countered calmly.  “On the contrary, it pleases me.”

A ringing filled your ears and then faded as you felt the head rush of his words in your mind.

“It- It does?  You don’t find it... uncomfortable?”

A quiet pause. When he spoke, his tone was soft and colored with disappointment. 

“The only discomfort I have is the realization that I have not been there for you when you have apparently needed me.”

Guilt gnawed at you.  “No, that’s not what...” you sighed.  “You’re not responsible for taking care of me, Barbatos.  I would never expect that of you.”

“Hmm.” He hummed. his voice softened even further, barely above a whisper. “But... what if I wanted to be?”

Your fingers stopped fidgeting, and suddenly it felt like he was there, in the room with you, the distance of your physical bodies having no bearing on the deepening intimacy happening in real time.

“What?”

“What if I wanted to be responsible for you?”

Surely, he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, like... like....

“You don’t—I mean, you already have Diavolo, and the Little Ds, and RAD duties... I could never... I don’t want to be another chore for you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he replied.  “Not a chore, but a desire. I would much rather you speak to me directly during your times of loneliness rather than a lifeless voicemail.” He paused, hesitant. “That is, unless... unless I have misunderstood, in which case I’ll will ensure to no longer answer so that you may—”

“No!” you interrupted, your voice far too loud, and far too eager for such a late hour.  You winced and your next words came out in a hushed whisper.  “Sorry, no, no.  I’d love that, actually.  But only... only if you’re really okay with it.  I want a friend, not a butler.”

A quiet awareness drifted across the connection.  When Barbatos spoke, his voice was calm but firm.

“Despite what many think, I am granted time off where I can be simply myself.  The late-night hours, after Diavolo retreats to his quarters, are such a time.  Were my intent only professional, I would not be offering you the availability of my private evenings.”

“So... you’re saying we’re friends.”

Another brief pause told you that you had him miffed.

“I had thought that much was obvious.  If it wasn’t, then it appears I have far more to mend than I previously thought.”

You worried your lip between your teeth and furrowed your brow.  “I’d only be okay with it if you promise to reach out to me too, if you ever need it.  I want to be here for you too.  Because we’re friends.”

He chuckled. “You have been there for me, more than you apparently realize.  I will expect nothing less moving forward.”

“Good. Then I accept.”

“Wonderful. I will make the necessary changes to my device post haste.”

“Post haste?”

“Yes. I will not miss another late-night call from you, starting immediately.”

“Well, unless you have business or an emergency or something...” you replied with a grin. “Let’s be realistic.”

“I am glad you understand the complicated nature of my work. But even then, I will do my utmost best to reply as soon as I am able.”

Tears brimmed your eyes.

“Barbatos...”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

You could sense his smile even though he wasn’t physically with you.

“You’re welcome.  Do you feel less lonely now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

You opened your mouth for an automatic yes, but closed it. When you opened it again, you spoke truthfully.  “To be honest, I’m not sure.  I think this whole conversation got my heart racing a bit fast.”

Barbatos hummed.  “I see. I seem to have made your situation worse, then.”

You giggled. “Maybe a little. But in a good way, and just for tonight.”

The rich sound of his chuckle met your ear.  “Indeed.  I must confess, I am also feeling similarly.” There was a brief pause before he spoke again.  “May I be so bold as to suggest an outing?”

“Now??”

“Yes.”

“Where to?”

“There is a new dessert shop that I have been interested in trying that is open all night. Perhaps a sweet treat is in order, to celebrate this new stage of… friendship.”

You smiled and swung your legs over the edge of your bed. “I’d like that. I need to get dressed though.”

“As do I.”

“What’s the address? I’ll meet you there.”

“And have you walk the streets of the Devildom at night alone? I think not. I will meet you outside the gates of the House of Lamentation.”

“Ooooh, a personal escort. How fancy.”

Barbatos chuckled.  “I am off the clock, remember?”

You began pulling out a change of clothes for yourself.

“Yes, but you’re still a gentleman.”

“All personal escorts are gentlemen, but not all gentlemen are personal escorts,” he teased.

You laughed.  “You have a point there.  Okay then, just a casual stroll between two friends.”

“Much better.”

“But not as fancy,” you pouted.  You set your phone down on your dresser and began to change.

Barbatos chuckled again.  “Do you know why it’s better to walk with a friend rather than butler?”

“I get to say bad words?”

“Close, but no.  But also, something tells me that wouldn’t stop you.”

“True.  Hmm,” you tapped your finger to your chin. “I get to tell dirty jokes?”

“Intriguing. That topic will most definitely be revisited when I get there.”

“Prepare to be disappointed.  My dirty humor may be too low brow for you.”

“We clearly have much to learn about each other.”

“Did I at least get it right?”

“No.”

“Well then I’m out of ideas.”

“Because,” he finally replied, “friends get to hold hands.”

“I didn’t realize that was something ‘friends’ did.”

“That entirely depends on the friends.”

Your cheeks grew hot as you pulled on your socks.  “Is that something you want, Barbatos?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.”

“Can friends hug, too?” you asked playfully.

“Perhaps that is something you should see for yourself.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I’m here.  Come down when you’re ready.”

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part four | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 14,600 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix is with the enemy.  He let himself be taken.

Losing a fight was the only way to win.  The enemy is well-fortified, his defences impenetrable, but offensive strikes are not a strength.  The best of his men are no match for Felix, not their force or their taunting or threatening.   They can torture him.  They can hurt him.  It is literal child’s play, every move a textbook manoeuvre from his childhood training. 

After some prodding, coercion, and violence, someone decides to send word up the chain of command.  It reaches the ear of the enemy, and now Felix is cuffed to a chair in some kind of warehouse, waiting to meet a monster. 

The man finally strides into the room.  He is average height, average build, with cold eyes but a dull demeanour.

Felix was hoping for a nightmare.  Maybe that would have helped justify some of it.  But the immense nothingness of the man is infuriating.  This?  Everything they did, everything Felix did, was because of this?  Just another pathetic man hurting the weak with someone else’s hands.     

The enemy stands above Felix and his shadow feels no different than Miroh. 

That is how Felix rationalizes it, even with a roiling stomach as he sits beneath that man.  A shadow will fall, one way or the other.  His choice is no choice at all: two dark paths, neither with a light at the end. 

Felix is not here to save himself.  His mission is to save Chris.  That is all that matters now. 

“You work for Miroh,” the enemy says.  “Or is that worked, if my men are to be believed?”

“That’s right,” Felix says.  He sees the flicker of surprise in the enemy’s eyes.  Felix’s voice has already dropped and its darker, deeper tone always surprises people.  It counters his youth, his soft face, makes the enemy look twice and consider him more carefully.

Felix is everything Miroh wanted his soldiers to be.  He is easy to misjudge, overlook, underestimate, but competent, deadly, and loyal to a single, unmoving cause. 

Thinking of Chris, Felix says, “I know how to end this.”

His throat is dry, his voice rough.  He drags it up, propelled by the pounding of his desperate heart.  

“I know Miroh’s next move,” Felix says.  “I know where he’ll be.  I know what he’s planning.  I know how to interfere.  But we both know you’re the only one who can really do it.”

Flattery takes the enemy from wary to invested.  He is so easy to read, more childish than Felix ever was.  It is infuriating.  It takes all his strength for Felix to grit his teeth and restrain himself, to not rip out of his bonds and destroy this shadow of a man. 

But this is not about Felix. 

“What is it you think you know?” the enemy asks. 

Felix smiles, a soft, disarming smile, practiced from a lifetime of subterfuge.  A lie on his face, but coupled with the truth. He thinks about everything he has done and everything he will do. 

Felix says, “Everything.” 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Two days ago, you were running missions for your father.  You kept your head down and strove for the best, blindly believing your compliance would lead somewhere worthwhile.  The ends would justify the means.  You would prove yourself and everything would come together.

Now, your only plan is to tear it all apart.

Your father is dead.  You are miles from the world he created, off the edge of every map he ever drew.  You stare down a long, dark path with no seeming end.  

You think of your friend and find the strength to place one foot in front of the other. 

It is something you should have done a long time ago, but there is no time to linger in past feelings.  Not the guilt of years ago, not the pain of a few days, and not the embarrassment of last night. 

You lift your head as Chan approaches the park bench.  Your first order of business was acquiring basic necessities, so you left the motel and ventured out.  It required more than a little theft and cunning, but now you are both dressed in civilian clothes, better blending in with your surroundings. 

Chan went to grab some food while you sat and mapped out a basic strategy.  He has followed your lead in every regard, including conversation.  You have not spoken a word about last night so neither has he, but it sits between you like a tangible block.  Your eyes meet and speak without the help of words.  Who are you? you seem to ask each other, and neither has an answer.    

Miroh’s first guard.  You think of him in the ring.  You imagine him in even darker shadows.  It is impossible to reconcile that soldier with the man who comforted you, who tucked you into bed, who sat with you until you fell asleep. 

Miroh’s daughter.  It is just as impossible to reconcile the soldier you were with the woman who not only broken down crying, but let someone comfort her with so much tenderness. 

You look at each other, a flash of something between you, then you clear your throat and look away and hope it disappears.  

Chan sits beside you on the bench.  He hands you a sandwich. 

“What next?” he asks, then takes a bite of his own.

You are both in blue jeans and flannels, baseball caps tugged over your eyes.  You keep to a quiet space in the park, but there are still civilians nearby.  You watch some kids throw a ball around.  You don’t have much of an appetite, but your body needs sustenance if you want to heal properly.   Much as you would prefer to dive into the mission, ignoring your own wellbeing, an unbalanced fight will not save Changbin. 

You take a bite of your sandwich and pass the notebook to Chan.  

“I’ve made a list of the main research facilities,” you say.  “My father implied Changbin would be used for study so I don’t think he’s being held at any training base.  I’ve ranked the research facilities in order of likelihood based on their location and general field of focus.”

Chan nods, looking over the list.  You stare at him while he reads.   

You need to say something.  Each bite of food is excruciating because it is fighting the pit in your stomach.   You are a tangle of embarrassment, confusion, and unfamiliar emotions you cannot name.  Finding the right words is physically painful.  

You rub the bridge of your nose and steady your breathing.  Chan looks at you with an inquisitive tilt of his head, but he looks away when your eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  Despite your preparation, it is more of a blurt.  “For last night, I mean.” 

You cringe thinking about it, but addressing it finally alleviates the weight in your gut.  You fiddle with the wrapping to your sandwich, staring at the ground and pointedly not at him. 

“It’s not like me,” you say.  “The past couple days, it’s just…” 

“It’s fine,” Chan says.  When you scoff, he bumps his shoulder against yours.  “Seriously, you don’t have to apologize.  Can’t really blame you, ya know, considering everything.”

“I’ve dealt with some crazy fucking circumstances,” you say.  “And I’ve never…”  Mortification settles as you recall last night, which drudges up all those feelings again.  It twists together inside you.  You put the sandwich down and rub your eyes.  “I just don’t feel like myself at all.”  It is a resigned admittance, sitting at the crux of everything.  You are lost without your father’s map, even though you know it is better off burned.  “I just don’t know how everything used to feel so easy.  It’s like I’m a stranger and the whole world is just as foreign.  My father drew a perfect map of his world and now I’m way off the grid.” 

“Maybe it’s time to draw a new one,” Chan says. 

You look at each other.  You are both hunched over, elbows on your knees, bodies inclined just barely towards each other where your knees almost touch.   His face is bare and yours is scarred, his tone sincere and voice as raw as yours. 

The dark path ahead seems a little less daunting. 

There is one more thing you have to say, and this one is even harder, mixed up with embarrassment. 

Sheepishly, you say, “Also, uh… thank you.  For what you did last night.” 

Chan laughs, just a breath of a sound, and there is some colour in his cheeks.  He deflects the gratitude with more awkwardness than the apology, stammering on some vague denial.

“Nah, nah, it’s fine, you know,” he says, then says it a dozen more times. 

If crying was a break from your usual character, the little grin on your face is even more alien.  But it’s there, admittedly amused as you watch the most lethal weapon in Miroh’s arsenal stumble over his words.  His hair is over his ears, his hat over that, but you can see where they start to darken with a blush.  You had no idea the First Guard could go so red.  Maybe that’s why he has to wear a mask, you think to yourself, tickled.

But now is not the time for teasing.  You bump his knee with your own then pick up your sandwich.  Your appetite has returned, little by little, the worst of that pit closing. 

“Yeah, just… think nothing of it,” he says. 

“I’ll try,” you say, cringing. 

He pats your knee consolingly, then he smiles, light-hearted, looking at you with a goofy wink.  “Next time it’ll be me and you can help me out,” he says.  “Then we’ll be even.” 

He goes back to eating his sandwich, his attention straying to the kids and their ball game.  You look at him a moment longer.

If it had been him who broke down last night, you are not sure what you would have done.  But he voices such an honest belief that you would return the favour, so you cannot help but believe he might be right.

-

The day is spent driving.  You steal a different vehicle, losing the last traceable item from the fallen facility.  You replace it with something a little faster and more efficient on the road. 

Once you are in the car, the conversation stays professional.  Today you plan to scout the perimeter of the targeted facility on foot.  It should have a secondary security outpost that will be easier to breach, at least with your skills and inside knowledge.  

Chan will cover most of the physicality as he insists you need another day of recuperation before launching a proper attack.   You begrudgingly admit he is right, even though you want to charge the facility to second it is in sight. 

Changbin could be in there right now, separated from you by cement walls and nothing more.  You look at the building as you circle it.  Your heart pounds, leaping as if magnetized to your friend’s potential proximity.  It makes you want to leap the wall and fight everything in your path. 

Like he knows what you’re thinking, Chan nudges you.  He tips his head, gesturing to the direction you need to go.  You huff but follow.   This is your plan and you made it for a reason. 

You reach the security outpost.  After Chan incapacitates the guards, you will have sparse minutes for action and acquisition.

Chan lays down the unconscious guards while you gather your intel.  You know where to look, unlike an enemy or third party, so you can use the short allotted time to your advantage. 

You see there were deliveries made over the past couple days, but it is unclear what they entailed.  It could be anything from equipment to a body.  You save the information and run through the security logs so you can strategize a full-proof infiltration plan for tomorrow night. 

While you work, Chan embarks on his own search, finding a few weapons and packing them in a duffel bag. 

He claps you on the shoulder with less than a minute to spare.  You take your hard drive and notes, he takes his bag and guns, and you are out the door.

Back in the car, he sits in the passenger seat, assembling a gun while you drive.  Your eyes are on the road but your mind is in the mission, running schematics and floor plans and security details. 

Your mind jumps frantically from one thought to the next.  Thinking of security logs reminds you of the information you obtained about the enemy.   You told Changbin about it a couple nights ago, but it lost importance in the midst of all your personal drama.  Now your mind returns there. 

Miroh’s team acquired the security information from the house that night, but they overlooked the most glaringly obvious discrepancy.  They were so preoccupied with the system itself that they did not notice how much of it had been scrubbed by someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had a reason to hide what transpired.   

Maybe it means nothing.  Maybe it means everything.  

“What’s up?” Chan says, noticing you are deep in thought. 

You glance at him, shaking your head as you return to the present.  You have your hands full with dismantling Miroh’s regime that the dead enemy should not really matter anymore, but it will not leave your head.  The weirdness of that whole situation sits in the nucleus of everything else.  The enemy’s collapse sent your father spiralling, his fears driving him straight into a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction.  In a way, you are only here because of what happened that night. 

“Just thinking,” you say, struggling to summarize the tumult of thought.

“About?” he prompts when you stall.  He lifts an eyebrow.  “Something I can help with?  Or like… something personal…?”

“Neither really,” you say.  “It’s about my father’s enemy.  You know my father had a lot of enemies, but… he had one that rivalled them all.”

“I know who you mean,” he says.  “I didn’t really run any missions involving him, because, you know, Miroh thought it was useless to waste my skills there.  The enemy was pretty well-defended.  Nothing got in or out.”  

“Makes sense,” you reply.  “The enemy was watched more than pursued.  I actually ran a lot of those missions.” 

You were with the enemy while Chan was everywhere else.  It is why you never really crossed paths.  You knew the outcomes of his missions because it often impacted lines of business, but you did not see him.   He was a weapon at your father’s disposal, less than a human and more than a soldier.  

“Yeah,” Chan says, echoing that thought.  “Miroh thought I would be more useful… other places.”

You look at him again.  He is looking out the window, his own gaze pensive.  You do not push for more detail, knowing well enough how gory and intense some of his missions were.  It makes you aware of who is in this car, the weapons at his feet, the gun in his lap. 

You find you are not that frightened, which is frightening in its own way.

You look at him in his flannel and baseball cap.  You think about him earlier, laughing as he watched some kids playing games in the park.  You picture that face in the shadows, a gloved hand around a neck, a gun in his hand, the trigger practically a part of him.  It makes your heart pang. 

“Anyway, what about it?” Chan asks, looking at you. 

“Never mind,” you say, discombobulated as you are inundated with images of Chan’s missions.  You shake your head.  “It’s probably nothing,” you add.  “It doesn’t matter.  They’re all dead anyway.” 

There is a moment of silence, then he asks, “Did we ever find out what happened that night?”  His voice is a little smaller, like the question weighs heavy on his tongue.  Like he also knows this new world is spinning on the axis of everything destroyed that night. 

“No,” you say.  You grip the steering wheel a little tighter.  “And the last person who had any contact with them is being held somewhere.” 

“Changbin,” Chan says. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Your mind runs away again, thinking about the way Changbin talked about that mission.  Or rather, the things he did not talk about.   He never officially reported the details of his altercation with Felix.  He never reported the fact Felix asked about Chris.    

As if he can hear your thoughts, Chan asks, “Felix is dead too, isn’t he?” 

Lee Felix was raised in the young soldier program with the rest of you, but you don’t remember much of him from childhood, just one face among many.  Then he betrayed the operation.  Miroh was securing some contracts that the enemy was also eying, and Felix was assigned to a major mission that would procure the venture.  You were not on that mission, but you later learned how it was infiltrated by the enemy, how Miroh was blindsided and attacked in a rare moment of weakness instigated by the same traitor who sold out their location in the first place. 

Felix got away. 

Several agents died in the confrontation.   By that point, other child soldiers had died on other missions.  Only a few of you remained.  Chan, Changbin, you.   Felix was recruited by the enemy.  He became a grating sore in the operation’s side.  Somehow, the enemy utilizing one of Miroh’s best soldiers as a glorified babysitter was more offensive than using him for military tactics.  Even by doing nothing, your father’s enemy boasted over him.  Look what I have and I don’t even need it, while you fight for everything. 

That was how your father put it.  He always looked at the offense, the wrong-doing, the betrayal. 

He never saw anything else.  Just like he never saw your friendship with Changbin. 

You think Felix and Chan were also friends once, maybe, or something like it. Felix would have no way of knowing what became of Chan after he left.  Maybe he cared.  Maybe his motivations were more complicated than an opportunistic betrayal for the sake of itself. 

You look at Chan.  His body is holding a lot of tension, his fingers curling and uncurling over his knee.  A muscle feathers in his jaw when he clenches it. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Felix died that night with the rest of them.” 

Chan exhales.  His whole face is shadowed with the furrow of his brow.  

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him.  We all made difficult decisions, I guess,” you say, thinking of how to approach this conversation because there is a darkness to Chan that feels more like the First Guard.   “He, uh, he asked about you apparently.”

“About me,” Chris says flatly.  “What about me?” 

“About what happened to you,” you say.  “I guess he wouldn’t have known what happened after he left.  Changbin, uh, Changbin told him you died.” 

Chan is quiet for a moment, just staring across the dashboard at the stretch of highway.   The sun is starting to set behind the trees, casting an orange glow in the vehicle.  It brightens his eyes even while his whole countenance seems to darken.

Then he laughs.  It is abrupt and harsh with no genuine humour whatsoever.  He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. 

“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yeah?” he says dryly. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I guess it just—”  You glance at him.  He is still staring ahead, his shoulders locked with tension.  “None of this is easy.  I get it.  You have every right to be upset.”   

“Upset,” Chan says as if the word is totally foreign.  It lingers in his mouth.  He chews the thought over.  The fierceness of his gaze reminds you of the guard that sits behind a mask – intense and dangerous.

 “I guess I am upset,” he says slowly.  “It means I don’t get to kill him myself.”

The response startles you.  You anticipated this conversation taking a totally different trajectory.   

Your glance flicks between the road and Chan.  He goes back to fidgeting with the gun.  His hand movements are firmer, more deliberate, the click-shuffle-click more pronounced. 

It is a very unfortunate and wildly inappropriate time to find him attractive.  The realization hits you all at once, leaving more whiplash than a hit to the head.  You watch his quick and competent hands do what they do best.  Coupled with his sudden intensity, it feels like a punch to your core. 

You want to offer a remark, some acknowledgement of his thoughts, but it gets garbled in the mess of feelings.  It is not like you to get so flustered.  You are not used to it.   

You clear your throat and look ahead.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head. 

“What?” he asks.  “The guy’s a traitor, isn’t he?”

“It’s not that.”

“Huh?  Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” you reply. 

“Nothing? You have a weird look on your face.” 

“No, I don’t.”

The First Guard, Miroh’s weapon, assassin and spy and deadly agent, reaches across the console and pokes your cheek. 

“Stop that,” you say.  “I’m fine.”

He laughs and this laugh is sincere.  You try to school your expression but the damage is evidently done because he is clearly aware he has you flustered. 

You bat his hand away.  Even worse than finding him physically attractive, you are a little enamoured with the sound of his laugh.  It feels much better than the tension from before.  You feel your own chest lifting with a clear breath. 

“Just thinking about yesterday,” you lie, but now you are thinking about yesterday and how you abruptly kissed him, which makes you more flustered and makes his dimples more pronounced.   Refusing to look at him, you tightly grip the wheel and say, “Sorry, by the way.”

“For?”  He sounds amused.

“Kissing you.”

“Ah.”  He pokes your cheek again, dodging your hand.  “I thought I told you to stop apologizing to me.” 

“That’s different,” you say.  “Especially after everything else you told me.” 

Chan has spent most of his life in the forced employ of someone else, using his body to one end or another.  He told you as much last night.  In light of that, spontaneously kissing him without warning feels wrong, even if you were panicked and not thinking. 

He goes quiet.  After a beat, he says, “I didn’t tell you that so you would pity me.”

“Well, why did you then?” you ask.  You can admit you were forward last night because that is just how you are.  Sexual desire is just another bodily function that needs satisfying.  He was the one who continued the conversation after it ended.

“Well,” he says.  “I trust you.” 

“Right.”   The honest simplicity just flusters you more.  “Good to know.”

The car is very silent after that.  Or maybe the rest of the world gets louder – the cars whizzing down the highway, the wind against the glass.  Even the sun seems to fizzle in the darkening sky. 

You swear you can hear his heart beating, fast, or maybe that is your own. 

“It’s fine,” he breaks the long silence. 

“Huh?”

You glance at him which is a mistake, because he turns his head to you, his dimples deep with the cheekiness of his smile. 

“it’s fine that you kissed me,” he says. 

People have outright propositioned you for explicit sexual acts and none of those come-ons ever garnered half as much heat as that simple, stupid line. 

You bat it down instinctively, swallowing hard.  His earlier intensity sparked your adrenaline and your body confused it for something else.  That must be it.  You don’t get flustered and heated like this, not so fast and not so deeply. 

“Well,” you say firmly.  “Don’t worry because it won’t happen again.”

“Oh?” he asks, still too amused. 

Desperate to even the playing field and knock those dimples down, you grin and employ your own simple frankness.

“Tell you what,” you say.  “You can fuck me all you want, but no kissing.  How’s that sound?”

It works.  He chokes on a nervous laugh and turns completely red.  He looks away while rubbing his neck and it’s your turn to laugh. 

The sound of your own laughter surprises you, the adrenaline in your chest suffusing to something gentler.  For a moment, in the middle of all the anxiety and worry and terror, you feel a flicker of delight. 

When you look at him, your eyes meet in a shared moment of mirth, that setting golden light flooding the car.  It feels strange to smile so sincerely, but it does not feel wrong.  It feels like a moment you did not realize you had been waiting for. 

-

None of the safe houses are safe.  Miroh is dead but his operation is running in fragmented pieces, so there are eyes on those houses.  You stick with cheap motels for now, the little crevices and unassuming places forgotten by the passing world. 

Chan lifted some money from a register at a closed service station, so you use that cash to pay for a room.  It makes you think about crime, petty and big, about Miroh and his enemies, soldiers and civilians.   About the ends justifying the means, and what taking down Miroh’s operation will entail. 

“Ready for another fight?” you ask.  You and Chan are sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette, drafting plans for tomorrow’s night infiltration. 

“Always,” he says with a sigh, but smiles at you. 

You take the first shower tonight.  You feel better and your reinvigorated energy makes you even more restless.  It feels like a waste of time, sitting here while Changbin is out there, but you know you will be in better shape tomorrow when all your plans can come together. 

For now, you prepare your own weapons and combat clothes, laying everything out while Chan showers. 

Your eyes lift when he emerges from the washroom, strolling into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.  

You stare at him because of course you do, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow because of course he does.  That cheeky smile returns and he says, “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, frowning, looking back at your things.  “Just restless.” 

“You should do some push-ups,” he says. 

Ugh, this guy, you think, looking up at him again.  His back is to you as he stands over his bag, shifting around for some clean clothes.  A snarky reply is on your tongue but then he drops his towel, silencing you as swiftly.  You blink in surprise at his bare backside then look away, hot in the face. 

“You know what,” you say.  “Maybe I will do some push-ups.” 

He chuckles and continues dressing himself while you go through a small exercise routine to expel your excess energy.  It honestly works and it feels good to get some muscles moving again. 

You are not totally invulnerable, but the hormone supplements administered in your childhood ensure that your healing is a little quicker than average.  The worst of the pain will pass so you can fight without distraction tomorrow night.  The only thing that will remain will be the scars.

You sit at the foot of your bed and touch the scar on your palm.  You wonder if Changbin is sitting somewhere, touching his own scar, and you wonder if he thinks it was worth it – all of it, his whole life, offering it up to save you. 

“All good?” Chan asks, a little more seriously.   He is closer than you realized, standing near the bed. 

You nod, closing your hand into a fist.  “Yeah,” you say.  “We just…  We have to find him.” 

You can feel yourself drifting, thoughts taking over.  You stare down at the ground. 

Chan touches your shoulder, just enough to draw you out of that reverie before you sink too far.  You look up slowly.  The back of his fingers brush your cheek before he drops his hand to his side.  It feels like he touched you with a firework, a trail of heat sparkling along your cheek.  You dig your nails into your palm because you do not feel like you should indulge that sort of feeling while Changbin is hurting for you. 

“I know,” Chan says.  “We will.  But he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or give yourself up, would he?” 

You stop clenching.  You release a breath you did not realize you were holding. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You’re right.”

You blink quickly, surprised when knocks his knuckles under your chin, a teasing little touch.

“Told you to stop apologizing,” he says, then winks and steps away. 

Your dreams that night are tumultuous but not as torturous.  You don’t sleep as heavily so it is easier to snap out of them. 

Chan is a light sleeper and the sound of you jolting awake stirs him as well.  You apologize after a few times, his groggy voice sleepily assuring you that it’s fine.  That rough sound scratches your brain, tingling down your spine as you close your eyes to sleep again. 

You dream of a different touch, no violence or pain, just fingers trailing softly across your cheek.  Your eyes are closed but you can feel it, a lightning spark ignited under the stroke of those fingers.  You tilt your face up and take in a deep breath.  It fills your whole body with warmth, makes your heart race and skin heat.  The touch curls under your chin and you follow where that hand guides you, eyes closed and mouth open.

Your breath is stolen by a kiss.  You know this is a dream because real kisses never feel this way.  They are just a touch, no different than any other. 

This touch is different.  It overwhelms with its gentleness, a caress more thorough and claiming than every rough kiss exchanged in a heated moment that inevitably cooled.  This one does not cool, does not even simmer, but burns hotly, endlessly.  Even when your lips part for air, heat lingers between you.  Your fingers twitch, coming to life with the desire to touch. 

You wake before that. 

It is still night.  You glance at the clock then across the room.  Chan’s bed is empty and it startles you, snapping you from half-conscious to fully awake.  You sit up in bed.  The panicked race of your heart putters to a slower cadence when you see him.  He is sitting at the table in the kitchenette, near the open window.  The neon light from the motel’s NO VACANCY sign bathes him in a cascade of red.

“All good?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you say.  “I just—”  You look at the empty bed then at him. 

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish.  “Couldn’t sleep.  When that happens, feels better to just look at the plans, you know?”

You nod.  You understand completely. 

“More bad dreams?” he asks. 

“Sometimes it feels like a memory,” you say, thinking of every nightmare, then thinking of your dream.  There was no reality in that fantasy, but you swear your cheek still tingles.  Embarrassed, you lay back down and turn away.  You stare at the wall. 

To your horror, you find yourself blinking back tears.  The night is clearly not your friend, overwhelming you with every thought and fear and memory, every emotion you do not know you were capable of feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chan says.  “I promise.  You can sleep.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

I trust you, he said with so much earnest simplicity.  It is hard, but you return the sentiment and close your eyes. 

-

The next night is a very different scenario.  There is no opportunity for good or bad dreams, for quiet phrases and glances that you would not dare exchange in the light. 

You and Chan spent the day in preparation, practiced some moves, pored over your plans.  Your adrenaline builds and builds.  By nightfall, you are bursting with a desire for action. 

The night does not feel quiet or still, the very air around you vibrating with the shuddering power of your determination. 

“Careful in there,” Chan says.  

You look at him.  He is not wearing the mask, not yet, but he is the soldier you first encountered.  Earlier, you watched as he slicked back his hair and darkened his eyes as part of his preparation, turning himself into a strange, intimidating figure.  His transformation is so all-encompassing, your heart palpitates with nerves whenever you meet his eye. 

“This is gonna be a shitshow when we start taking it apart,” he continues.  “After we find him, when we start hitting marks and tripping lines, it’s gonna be fast.” 

First you will look for Changbin, then you will go after everything else in that facility.  Wiping data, disabling networks, making the entire operation unusable.  You know some agents will move onto the next one, but you’ll follow.  You will follow all of your father’s work and you won’t stop until you have destroyed it all.  If it means tearing out one brick at a time, that is what you will do. 

You tug at a clasp to ensure your armaments are locked in place.  Chan secures his mask.  You nod at each other, then you advance. 

It becomes abundantly obvious very quickly that this facility does not have active test subjects, just data and back-logged research storage. The deliveries were mostly data transfers and hard copies of research for ongoing trials.

That means Changbin is definitely not in this building, but you try to keep your energy up.  While Changbin is not here, there should be information about his actual whereabouts.  The fight is not over.  Far from it.

“I’ll be across the hall,” Chan says.  “Radio if something trips.  We won’t have long.”

The literal fight is only half the work and not more the prevalent half.  You and Chan take a system each and spend most of the night looking through files.  You would rather punch something, your adrenaline still so keyed, but you put it in reserve for now. 

You move and erase certain files, sifting for relevant information and finding none. 

You snap upright when a related subject finally appears.  You lean closer to the screen.  This entire folder seems dedicated to human test subjects.  The fact the folder is so big already has you nauseated.  Then again, you are not surprised.  You were one of those subjects, living proof of a military experiment.    

You cannot find anything about the special-ops program in this folder.  That means no data on Changbin, past or present.  Instead, it looks like years and years of logs tracking a single experiment.

TEST SUBJECT I : SOLDIERING RECONFIGURATION

You see the word soldier and click. 

No.  This is definitely not Changbin or the special-ops program.  You read and realize this particular experiment was something else entirely.

You look at the date.  This began a long time ago.  There are long memos and notes about ‘reconfiguring’ mental processes, utilizing the brain’s trauma to suppress memory through torture. 

You have seen a lot of dark things, but nothing like this.  Your stomach turns over itself, balking at the horror, the detailed descriptions of severe electro-shock and drowning, of starvation and long isolation. 

Subject is presented with an unchanging control from which comparison can be made. 

Subject recognizes control after one round of treatment. 

This is worse than a fight.  A fight you can control through retaliation.  This, you just have to endure, your heart pounding as evocative images of dehumanization unfold before you. 

They tortured someone into forgetting everything.  Turned them into the perfect soldier. 

Eleventh round of treatment – some effect is beginning to take.  Not a recommended course of action on regular humans. Hormonal-supplement medicine improved durability. 

Subject will need to be brought in on a semi-regular basis to maintain stasis.  

There is a long list of all the dates and times the so-called subject was brought in.  It spans years, all the way up until recently.  A session was schedule two weeks ago but it was not completed. 

You sit back, the white screen blaring in your face, your stomach a sickly iron weight. 

Chan. 

The subject is completely, irrevocably Bang Chan.   You wish it wasn’t true but you know, deep down, it undoubtedly is.   

The incomplete session must account for his recent behaviour.  If he was not brought in for a reconfiguration within the allotted time, that might explain his deviation from expectation, his raw humanity and his spontaneous decision to join you. 

It is unbearable, imagining all that torture. 

He was just a boy. 

Your throat cloys, feeling tight with suffocation as you imagine the darkness of a narrow well and cold water closing in around you.  You close the file then look away from the screen, the shadowed room even darker after ripping your gaze away from the light.  You feel that darkness tighten around you.  You close your eyes, shake your head. 

Though you never imagined the details, you knew Miroh did something awful to make a boy a thing.  Especially that boy.  For as long as you can remember, gossip about the First Guard has been whispered in every corner of the operation.  Those who knew a young Bang Christopher Chan talked about the overnight change.  One day he was a rebellious child, throwing tantrums in front of Miroh himself, and the next day he was complying with the worst of orders in his name.

Some people joked it was all about the bloodlust, that Chan was inherently built to be violent, steeped and raised in it.  They said it came naturally to him, that he was just waiting for an opportunity to be that vicious. 

You know better.  You have seen glimpses of the man who spent years in Miroh’s mask, and that man has nothing in common with the First Guard.  That soldier, the agent with the highest clearest level missions, with the most destruction in his wake, is not Chan.  Whoever Bang Chan really is, it is not the monster that Miroh made him. 

“You’ll wanna see this.” 

Chan’s voice breaks the silence.  You jump out of your skin with a horrible hiss, startling him in return. 

“Whoa,” he says.  “What is it?” 

You do not hide your expression fast enough.  He quickly ducks down to look in your face, those dark eyes intensely focussed.  He asks something through the mask – what’s wrong, you think – but it sounds foggy and faraway.  Your eyes are locked on his.  The rest of the world falls away.    

You reach for him without conscious thought.  It is the instinctive search for a hand in the dark, a desperate grasp shooting across cold water for a lifeline. 

He blinks quickly, surprised when you touch his face with both hands.  He stiffens but does not stop you from removing his mask.  Only when his face is clear do you come back to yourself. 

Sorry forms on your lips, but you remember he said to stop apologizing.  Besides, your voice is shot even though you have been sitting in silence. 

You place the mask on the desk and shake your head.   

Chan looks at you, then his gaze flicks to the empty screen and back.

“What is it?” he asks again, softer this time.  “What did you find?” 

The document mentioned the subject had a resistance to abrupt reminders.  Too much sudden information could trigger the trauma response.   It is better to ease the subject into slow recollection. 

“Nothing,” you say.  Your voice comes out rough so you clear your throat.  “It’s nothing important.  Just – Miroh.  Some dark stuff.  You know.” 

He scrutinizes you for another second.  His hand hovers like he might touch you, but he eventually curls his fingers and drops it. 

“Okay,” he says, wary. 

“What did you find?” you ask, because he burst in here with an exclamation. 

He smiles.  It is not a huge smile, but it looks like Chan peeking through the soldier’s mask – the one he wears even when the literal mask has fallen.  It puts you at ease. 

“I found him,” Chan says. 

Your heart skips a beat as you are reminded of your real mission.  You eagerly take the papers that Chan offers. 

“Not literally, of course,” Chan says.  “But look—”

The document explicitly names Seo Changbin, with the correct description of his medical history and occupation in the Miroh’s order.  It doesn’t say where he is behind held, just that he has been relocated from the main base.  It says he must be kept under more intense security than the main research facility can provide.

It also provides a detailed schedule for the work and tests that have been administered so far – blood samples, urine samples, even skin samples – and it states that he will be kept for more tests and evaluations.   He is to be held for two weeks before more intensive studies can be conducted.  It is imperative that he does not weaken or die, as he is the only viable study subject. 

A massive weight lifts off your shoulders.  Changbin is not here but he is alive and unharmed.  It seems they are keeping him in a state of mellowed sedation and do not want to move him around. 

Though you do not know where he is precisely, you know he is stationary.   He is probably not too far from this one if they were concerned about security in relocation.

“We got him,” you say.  Your brain is already racing ahead, narrowing down the most likely bases and what infiltration will entail.   You look at Chan and your smile returns, brightening with the light in your chest.  “We can actually do this,” you say.  Until now, you believed it because you had to believe it, because you stubbornly refused any alternative. 

But Changbin is alive.  You can rescue him.

You can also eliminate a lot of other bad things while you do it. 

“We still have work here,” you say.

“You’re not wrong,” Chan says, grinning.  “Found some files with some political figures who probably… definitely… don’t want their affiliation getting out.” 

That blatant rebellious streak fills you with even more hope. 

You get to work.  In the end, some alarms are tripped and you are not out before security arrives.

“You ready for that fight?”  Chan asks, already drawing a weapon. 

“Always,” you reply. 

You fight together.  You think of all that detailed violence and you funnel it into something good.  You were made to fight and it does not scare you, not when it’s like this.  You are far more scared of not fighting back.  You will never sit back again. 

You and Chan have a complimentary fight style.  You were both raised in the same program, so that makes sense, but there are instinctive openings you fill, a swift understanding that does not need words.  Like your eyes meeting across a park bench, you connect on another level.  It is like you have fought together a million times before. 

When you are done, Chan takes a turn at the wheel.  The windows are rolled down and you have a few shiny new scars, but you feel good, hopeful, free.   You see a light at the end of the darkness.  You are not scared of the fight to get there.    

Your adrenaline is still pumping when you get back to the motel.   The dawn is entering twilight, streaks of light slashing across the dark sky.  It is swallowed up by rainclouds but the promise of daylight persists despite the gloom.   You feel like you could wrestle the sun itself, no power too great.

You also know you are running on fumes of a long, adrenaline-fueled night.  You are definitely going to crash, especially when several nights of bad sleep catch up to you.  But first you need to come down from that high, blood still pumping a mile a minute. 

Chan exhales, clearly just as keyed.  He shakes out his shoulders and stretches his neck this way and that.   He sits on a chair to unlace his boots.  He looks down as he says, “You can have the first shower.” 

You look at him.  Against all odds, you are both here, rebelling against everything that was engrained in you. You can appreciate that more now that you have some relief regarding the mission.  

Despite the effort to control and change you, you made it to this place together.    You are free.  Your lives are yours for the first time.   

You open the top few clasps of your combat shirt. 

“We’re both pretty messy,” you say.

He drops one of his boots with a clunk then starts on the next one.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing.  “That’s fine, though.  Just be quick.” 

He discards the other boot and lifts his head.  His gaze looks even more intense with the dark lines traced around his brown eyes.  A single curl escapes his smoothed back hair, curling in an endearing tuft over his forehead.  He is still breathing a little hard, his combat shirt also unclasped, the skin of his neck sweaty. 

When those dark eyes collide with yours, your thundering heart pounds faster.  His gaze briefly, thoughtlessly, flicks down your body then back up.  Heat thunders through you and it has nothing to do with a fight. 

He sits straighter, holding your gaze in his. 

“Hey,” he says softly.  “What’s up?”

“I know I asked before, and I know I said it jokingly,” you say.  “But I think we understand each other better now.  I’m not asking or demanding anything.  I’m just letting you know.  I think sex is a good way to expend energy.  I think the fast pleasure is good for the brain as much as the body.  It’s like exercise.  I know we both have complicated pasts but I’m okay with that.  With me.  With you.  I don’t care about the past and I’m not looking for a future.  If you’re interested in right now, so am I.” 

You push open the bathroom door.  His eyes are rivetted to you but his expression is unreadable. 

You undo another clasp and shrug. 

“You know where to find me,” you say, then step into the bathroom. 

You are not sure what to expect from him.  You cannot even anticipate your own reactions.  You are startled by the erratic pounding of your heart and the nervous twist in your gut.  You chalk it up to the crazy evening, to the even crazier week.  It is another reason to seek release, to ground yourself in your body and forget about everything else. 

You strip down, leaving the sweaty and bloody clothes in a heap.  The hot water is a balm.  You close your eyes, letting the simple pleasure wash over you. 

You rub a sore shoulder.  The muscle loosens under the heat of the water.  Your hand wanders, fingertips skimming your arm. 

You seldom picture a particular person when you touch yourself, hardly caring about the identity of your partner even when they are in front of you, but you cannot escape the vision of a dark pair of eyes.   

Your breath catches.  Your head tips back.  Your hand wanders across the curve of your chest, palm across each sensitive peak, sending pleasant sparks shooting downward.  Your hand follows that path, stopping just short of its destination when the door opens. 

You look over your shoulder.  The glass door has not fogged much so you see Chan in the doorway.  He looks as dishevelled as you left him.  Those dark eyes are slow in their wandering perusal down your body.  It feels like fireworks again, sparking everywhere he looks. 

You turn a little more.  He looks up.  His brow furrows like he is scrutinizing you, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.   You suppose you cannot blame him.  It is a forward offer to any man, never mind one who is probably unaccustomed to them. A  proposition he can accept or decline of his own free will, pleasure without contracts or compromises.  No wonder he looks wary, like you are going to disappear if he steps wrong. 

“Well?” you say, because you are not going anywhere.  “Are you just going to stand there?” 

He answers with a step.  He closes the door behind him.  Your eyes never leave each other, locked as he swiftly undoes his shirt and peels it off.  The undershirt follows, tugged over his head, messing some of his hair.  Then your gaze finally drops, an intimate heat rushing inside you as you look down his body.  A sheen of sweat covers most of his torso, several prominent scars cutting through an otherwise perfect body.   His muscles are even more prominent, strained from fighting. 

You are already thinking of all the places you want to put your mouth when he strips off his bottom layers.  For a man who was so lost in contemplation, he has no uncertainty now, striding up to where you wait. 

You face him fully as he steps into the shower.  The glass door closes.  It finally fogs with your combined heat.     

His presence overwhelms this small space, much like it did that first little civilian car.  It feels like he is everywhere.  Your eyes move all over his body, your breath coming faster.  He pushes a hand through his hair and you look up, breath catching when you meet his eyes. 

“No past,” you say, practically gasping.  “No future.  Just now.” 

“Just now,” he says.

You are so close together and so far apart, a breath away but not touching.  You are uncharacteristically hesitant. 

He is the one who closes the space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  You feel that small touch everywhere, shuddering despite the hot water slipping down your body. 

He leans towards you. 

Your heart leaps right out of your chest.  You turn your face at the last second and try to sound playful when you say, “No kissing remember?” 

It was supposed to be a joke but you cling to it.  It must be the danger or adrenaline, maybe the heat or his eyes, but kissing feels far too intimate.   The rest is just exercise.  You tell yourself that. 

“You don’t like kissing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.  “What do you like?”

“Bet you can’t guess,” you tease.  Banter is better than intimate gazing.  You want release, not more tension. 

“Hm,” Chan says.

He cups the back of your neck before weaving his hand through your hair, swift, smooth, smiling.  He tugs and your head follows, the line of your throat exposed and a mewl of a sound escaping. 

“Lucky guess,” you say, clearing your throat after that embarrassing sound. 

But then you make another one.  Those competent fingers find the curve of your breast and he wastes no time utterly tormenting the sensitive peak.   You have always been extra sensitive there, though you seldom take the time to linger, usually rushing to the next best thing.  You almost forgot how intense it feels, your whole body puppeted by the bolt of pleasure in his control. 

“Lucky guess,” he says, tugging your head back when you start to curl up.  “You like that?” he asks.  He takes your whimper for a reply, pinching a nipple meanly before sliding his hand down your body.   You rear up, eager as his fingers dip between your legs.  “And that?”

This time, your body answers for itself when he finds how wet you are.  You make an undignified squeak when your back touches the cold wall, the hot water cascading down his back.  He lets go of your hair and plants a hand above your head, his whole body crowding yours in a way that feels more protective than suffocating.  You would usually be tempted to push him away, but your whole body opens up to him.  You touch his chest and rock your hips, riding the deft strokes of his fingers.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his face in your neck, his body against yours. 

“Yes,” you say.  You slide both hands down his chest, savour in his gasp when you find how hard he is.  You take him in hand, both of you working the other into a frenzy.  “Fuck me,” you say, your voice already a low mess.  “Chan, please.” 

The effect of his name is immediate.  He grabs you by the hips and lifts you like it is easy.  He pins you to the wall so there is no space between you anymore.  

You string your arms around his neck, stroking your fingers across his back as he angles you.

He is strong and his movements are effortless, but his groaning betrays a deeper desperation.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breaking in your ear.  It makes you clench, getting tight around him as he pushes in.  It makes you both gasp, open-mouthed and needy as your bodies come together.  “Fuck.  Oh, fuck, you feel so good.  I’m not—”

He is barely coherent but you are in no position to judge, clinging to him with your eyes closed and mouth hanging open.  He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you with no reprieve. 

“I’m not—” he says again.  “It’s—it’s been so long—I—”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice straining.  You hold the back of his head, your cheek against his, making all sorts of embarrassingly desperate sounds right into his ear.   “It’s fine,” you say.  “Just come.  I have an implant.  Want you to come like this.” 

A couple days ago, he was chasing you through a building, lifting you off your feet and pinning you down in a very different way.  His dark eyes felt inhuman, but now he is groaning and whimpering as he fucks you deep and steady, every snap of his hips as frantic as your racing heart.  Your wet bodies are pressed together and he is all hot skin and sturdy muscle, human, real, living and breathing as much as you.   They tried to make him into something that did not know how to want anything, but he wants you. 

That repeats in your head until you start murmuring it, “Want you, want you, want you.”

He comes with a groan and a deep stroke.  He holds you against the wall while the water continues to run down his back. 

With a sigh, you descend from the high of pleasure.  You breathe hard while he keeps you in place for a minute longer. 

“Sorry,” he suddenly says, panting as he surfaces. 

You wince with the separation, your knees shaking when he lowers you.  You hold his arms, fingers clasped tightly around his veiny forearms as you stare at him.  It takes a second for his word to register.

“Sorry?” you say on a breathless laugh.  “For what?” 

“That was, uh, fast,” he says, giggling that musical laugh, a very embarrassed sound.

You stroke your fingers up his bicep and across his shoulder, watch a shiver wrack his body even though he could not possibly be cold.  You meet his eyes.  They have not lost any hunger, devouring the sight of you.  He wets his lips, drag his teeth across the bottom one, and you start to feel delirious from the heat and sensations. 

“Trust me,” you say.  “That was hot.” 

His smile looks relieved.  He bumps his forehead to yours, his hands loose around your hips.  You rock towards him, encouraging the slow wander of his touch. 

“I get it,” you say, breathy, your knees shaking as he cups a handful of your ass and squeezes, then drags his palm to up the centre of your back.  “It, uh,” you stammer, eyes closing.  “It’s been a long time for me too.   A few months at least.”  Your last liaison was well before the debacle with the enemy.  It was a forgettable exchange. 

You do not think you will forget tonight. 

His hands curve around you like he is memorizing the shape of your body, the way your bare skin feels against his.  You are close, so it is obvious when he bristles at your words. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he says, far too casually, avoiding your eye as he reaches around you for some body soap from the dispenser.  He lathers his hands and touches you again, stroking his palm down your backside and around your waist. 

It almost distracts you.  Almost.  You look at him at with squinting eyes, smiling a small smile. 

“What?” you say again.  “You sound a bit jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, too defensively. 

“Oh, really?” you say. 

He cups some water in his hand and runs it over you.  His eyes lift from his task to meet yours.

Maybe teasing was a mistake.  A flash of something dangerous sparkles behind his smile. 

“Really,” he says.  He turns off the water with a flick of his wrist.  “I have nothing to be jealous about.” 

It should stop surprising you, but you yelp when he sweeps you into his arms.  You hook your legs around his waist, your arms his neck, holding tight while he carries you to the bedroom. 

You are wet and the air is cold, but then a mattress dips beneath you and a bundle of bedsheets surround you.  He lays you out, deliberate and measured, very different from his slow tenderness the other night. 

“Quick question,” he says.  He runs both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back.  You look up at where he stands, your eyes wandering every plane of his body. 

“Yes?” you ask. 

He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, all while dropping to his knees.  When your legs are over his shoulders and his breath is soft between your legs, he asks, “Does this count as kissing?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth interrupting any coherent thought of yours. 

A part of you thinks you should conserve your energy, but then his tongue is swirling over you and nothing else matters.  Your hands cover your breasts, touching yourself in time with him.  You let yourself enjoy your own body and help him find his way back to his.

By the time you get to sleep, you are both thoroughly worn out.  Chan falls asleep first for once, all but passing out beside you.  You are sharing a bed because the other sheets are wet and used. 

You look at him through sleepy eyes.  You touch his cheek, amazed when you think of how much things changed in just a few days.  If you were told a week ago that the First Guard would be in your bed like this, you would have laughed.  

If someone tried to tell you he had dimples and warm eyes, that he would sigh your name like it was the breath that kept him living, you are not sure what you have said. 

You drift into sleep.  You see his face in your dreams, still peaceful and slumbering beside you until that dream becomes a nightmare.  His eyes snap open.  In this sleeping world, it is not the warm gaze you have come to know so well.  An emotionless weapon stares back at you.

There is no time to fight before his hand is around your throat and all the air leaves your body. 

You feel cold, unbelievably cold.  

You hear a voice.  It says, “Stop.  Stop!”  You swear it sounds like Chan.

Your vision blurs.    

You blink, blink, blink.  Your eyes open underwater.  When you scream, it is suffused in the rushing cold, air bubbling past your lips and fading into darkness.   You thrash to no avail, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. 

They open again.  There are wooden beams high, high above your head.  You still can’t breathe, your chest heaving with desperation, and you can’t feel your body.  Why can’t you feel anything?

“Hey, it’s me! I’m coming!”  Your blurry gaze darts around for the voice.  Grey smoke slithers around the wooden beams.  It takes a long time for a face to emerge in the fog. 

Changbin leans over you, younger, thinner, a cut on his head bleeding profusely.   

“Go,” you say, because he’s hurt and he needs to go now or he will never escape.   You want to tell him what’s coming, tell him he needs to run, but he shakes his head before you can. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.” 

The weight leaves your chest all at once.  Air rushes into your lungs and fills you like a cloud.  You feel as though you are flying.  When you open your eyes, you are sitting on a park bench.  You have never seen this park before, blossoming in green and gold with summertime sunshine.  The edge of your periphery blurs, obscuring shapes and bodies into glowing phantoms.  Only one face is clear.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Changbin shouts.  He runs across the field towards you.  He is young, barely more than a child, but he curses like an old man when he reaches you.

“Fine, fine!”  He throws his hands in the air.  “You’re right, you’re faster.  But I’m still stronger.  Watch this, princess—”  

He tackles you.  You hear his laughter and your own, a youthful sound, twinkling with childish delight.  You roll across the grass in a giggling frenzy.  

The greenery darkens as you roll away.  The park changes.  When you look up, the trees are a mosaic of red and orange.  Leaves drift on the autumn breeze. 

“Do you ever think about what else you could do with your life?” Changbin asks.   

You look at him.  He is older, not a teenager but not fully grown.  His face is still gawky with youth, his muscles growing in.  He is staring up at the sky. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. 

He laughs but without much humour.  His eyes close and he sighs, nodding. 

“Ah, yeah,” he says.  “I thought you might say that today.” 

You turn your face to the trees as a leaf flutters towards you.  It touches your forehead and sends a painful jolt rampaging through your body.  You blink, blink, blink, up at the doctor and their syringe.  They say you did well but you don’t feel well, your insides churning like every organ is folding itself inside out. 

The doctor steps aside and you meet eyes with another child across the room.  Changbin is holding his arm and rocking back and forth.  He is the only one not crying. 

You cross the room.  It was brimming with screaming children but now it’s empty. 

“It’s okay,” you hear your voice.  You see your small hand reach out, touching Changbin on the forehead where he contorts with pain in his small cot.  “You can cry,” you say.  “I won’t tell anyone.” 

In another blink, he is older, a teenager again, crying and curled up in his bunk. 

“Changbin,” you hear yourself say.

“I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“You’re not,” your voice says.  “None of us are.”  You see your hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay. You’re not alone.  You’ve never been alone.”

“You’re going to get hurt.  And then what?”

“Then I’ll get hurt,” you hear yourself reply, speaking with more certainty than you ever remember feeling.  “You’re my friend, Changbin.  I don’t mind if something happens to me.  I don’t care if it hurts, because I won’t be doing it for Miroh.  I’m doing it for you.” 

You look down at his hand when he reaches for yours. When you look back up, he is grown, sitting on a windowsill in the moonlight with a small scar on his cheek. 

“I didn’t bleed for Miroh,” he says.  

You blink.  The wooden beams are high above you, his bloodied face full of concern. 

“I’m your soldier, not his.” 

The weight slams back into your chest.  All the air goes out of you.  You are falling, endlessly falling, all the way down to where there is nothing but cold.  The walls close around you.  You feel the stone under your palm.  You suck in a breath of cold air only to choke on water.  There is a light above your head and voices, screaming.  You twist and kick like a wild thing.

You get closer to the surface.  You hear Chan say, “Stop, stop—”

Then you wake in your shared bed.  His voice echoes in the waking world.

You realize that is because Chan is talking in his sleep.  He keeps repeating, “Stop, stop.” 

You shake off the last dredges of sleep. It is not easy, your heart still skipping beats from the rapid-fire scenes.

Chan is on his back, his chest rising and falling, fast asleep but clearly in the throes of a nightmare.  You are not sure how to help.  You chance a tentative touch, saying his name as you brush his shoulder.

He wakes with a start, his eyes flying open.  You see the flicker of panic as he forgets where he is, still half-lost in his nightmare. 

Chan is much faster than you.  It takes only seconds for his instincts to commandeer control, then you are the one on your back and he is leaning over you.  Fortunately, he does not swing his arms around like you.  His manoeuvre gives him the advantage but he doesn’t hurt you, other than leaving you a little startled and winded. 

“Chan,” you say.  “It’s me.  It’s fine.  It was just a dream.” 

He blinks away the vestiges of sleep.  You see the moment he recognizes you, the tension that immediately leaves his shoulders.

You are surprised yet again when he abruptly drops his weight, practically smothering you as he cages you in his arms.  You put your arms around him, patting his back until his breathing slows to a normal cadence.  

He eventually rolls back over, but he hooks his arms around your middle and drags you close.  A part of you wants to balk, scared this is too intimate, but your own heart settles in the quiet comfort of his embrace.  You let yourself rest, falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. 

-

There are two nearby research facilities.  It is a toss-up between the smaller, closer one or the bigger, farther one.  You opt for the closer base, figuring a smaller facility would be easy to incapacitate quickly.   You and Chan have knowledge about Miroh’s operation that no one in the world can match.  You are the only ones who can do what you are doing, so they never see you coming.   

You dismantle the base but Changbin is not there.  The only place you see your friend is in your dreams, emerging from smoke and disappearing as fast, leaving you with his promises and your guilt. 

It is so strange why your mind keeps summoning that same vision.   It smashed through something in your mind, cracked it somehow, and now it can’t relinquish it. 

It is strange what a stressed mind can conjure and invent.  Even stranger is its inability to let go.   These days, all your thoughts and feelings slip through your mind like water in a sieve, everything flowing too fast to catch despite the desperate cup of your hands.  But that image and his voice returns again and again and again. 

The only satisfaction you get is watching pieces of Miroh’s operation crumble.  You watch the news, keep up with the business reports, and watch as a domino effect transpires thanks to your actions. 

It does mean security is going to tighten at the remain bases, but you are ready. 

You move on to the next facility, even more determined.  For a moment, this seems like the place.  You find other enemies and subject imprisoned in the lower level cells, but Changbin is not one of them. 

Chan escorts the innocent captives out while you search the remainder of the facility.  It is empty, an echoing steel chamber and little more.  You want to shout his name but you already know the only answer will be the reverberation of your own voice. 

You search every crevice, just in case. 

Your attention is rapt until you run past a certain door.  At first, you merely glance inside.  When you see it is empty, you turn to continue. 

It’s like a tether wraps around your mind.  You slam to a halt, the squeak of your boots echoing in the corridor.

You turn back around.  You step into the chamber. 

Every hair on the back of your neck stands up.  You swear, the temperature drops by a few degrees as you step further inside.  If you didn’t know any better, you would almost believe it was haunted, not like in stories of decrepit mansions, but filled with empty figments still crying out in pain.  The room is rife with an unsettling chill, dank as a tomb.

You walk slowly.  You feel like the echo is louder here despite your careful steps.  You look around.  There is lots of wiring, lots of sockets.  There are dusty shapes on the floor where things used to stand, types of furniture maybe, or machines. 

There is a dip in the corner, what looks like a well.   You approach it cautiously, craning your neck to peer down without getting too close.  It is dry as bone but deep.  You can’t see the bottom.  Heights don’t usually bother you, but you feel suffocated with a cloying fear.   Your feet tingle as you imagine falling.  You know it must have a bottom but somehow you feel like it would never end.

You realize footsteps are approaching, fast down the corridor then slow as they enter the room.  You put a hand on the gun at your hip, turning quickly. 

It’s just Chan.  You are about to speak, or at least try looking for works, but you are stricken by the look on his face.  Even though he was fiery when you last saw him, he looks very gaunt, flushed pale as he looks around the room.  He is not merely unsettled like you.  He looks sick. 

You immediately know where you are.  This was the room they used to torture him. 

“You know this place,” you say, not a question.  You remember all those torture descriptions.  They have haunted your nightmares, all those images so vivid that you imagined them happening to yourself.  If it was horrifying just reading it, you can only imagine how he feels right now. 

He nods.  It takes a few tries to clear his throat.  “Yes,” he says weakly.  He looks between you and the well as if he half-expects it to grow teeth and attack you. 

He shakes his head.  He crosses the room in a sharp stride, so swift that it takes you back.  He grabs your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Get away from there,” he says, his voice hard.  “There’s nothing in here.  We need to go.  Now.” 

You have no argument but he waits for no reply, practically dragging you out of the room.  He leads you back into the corridor, taking huge strides.  His grip tightens.   

“Another second and that will hurt,” you say, more calm than you feel.  His energy is so panicked that it bleeds into you. 

He drops your arm quickly, snapping to realization.  He flexes his gloved hand. 

“Sorry,” he says.  He turns on his heel with a swivel so fast that you collide.  He catches your shoulders and holds them, looking at you without really seeing you, his stare so intense it bores right through you.  “Sorry,” he says again.  His voice is shaking when he says, “Fuck.  I’m sorry.  I just—”

“It’s fine,” you say, understanding how overwhelming that must have been.  There are tears in his eyes but he rips away before you can look too closely.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice hard again. “There’s no one else here.  It’s time to go.  This place…”  He spares one last glance over your shoulder.  “This place is over.  It’s time to go.” 

You leave together.

-

You take a day for recuperation while you plan you next move.  Neither of you slept very well last night, but at least there were no nightmares.  You take turns driving, occasionally sleeping in the passenger seat. 

You reach the next motel at sunset.  The room only has one bed which draws Chan to a halt.  He blinks at it like he doesn’t understand, then his ears get red, then he looks at you. 

A laugh bursts out of you.  You try to contain it but it’s hopeless.  Chan smiles then laughs too, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Just – you don’t think it’s a little late to be blushing like that? Mister Does This Count As Kissing?” 

“Wow,” Chan says, playfully throwing his hands up in surrender.  “Sorry for being a gentleman.” 

“You’re forgiven,” you say, making him smile. 

You eat dinner on the bed then place all the containers to the side.  Chan watches the news while you scribble memos in your notebook.  You are trying to connect dots and figure out which facility is most likely.  You go back to your original notes, obtained from the first research facility, to see if you missed anything.  

You fall asleep while working.  The week’s travails evidently catch up to you. 

You stir when Chan tries to move you.  You are awkwardly slumped over your notes.  You watch as he carefully places them aside and tries to lay you down properly. 

The sun has long since set by now.  The room is lit by the glow of the television and the warm neon light from the motel sign, such a vibrant yellow it pours through the curtains.   

You look up at Chan, squinting because of the slash of light in your eyes.  He tilts his head to shield you. 

“Better?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

He doesn’t move.  Neither do you.   You are on your back and he is on his side, propped up on his arm and looking down at you.  You offer a little smile which draws his eyes to your mouth. 

Your breath catches and, just like that, something ignites inside you.  You see it reflected back at you, all his thoughts in the depth of his gaze. 

You are not sure who moves first.  It might happen simultaneously.  It only takes a second before your fingers are in his hair and his hands are on your waist.  He climbs over you, his mouth brushing your jaw and your throat without ever landing a kiss.  You shiver as his breath caresses your skin. 

You had no idea so many small places were so sensitive.  Even the back of your calf tingles when his leg brushes yours.

You move in tandem, with the same synchronisation as when you fought together.  Your bodies are a good fit, shaped by similar lives, bearing similar scars.  You tug the flannel down his shoulders and sit to remove your own shirt.   When you are completely bare up top, he lays you down.  Your hips lift towards him, needing him, legs parting as he presses his weight just so.  He guides your leg over his hip and fits himself against the softest parts of you.  

He presses a hand into the mattress, right by your head.  You tip your head back and grind up against him.

“Chan,” you say. 

His mouth hovers above your breasts and you grab his head and pull him close.  He takes the offer and parts his lips around the hardening sensitive peak, twisting his tongue around it until you are writhing under him. 

“Oh god,” you say, tugging desperately at his t-shirt.   You normally don’t care about fully undressing, but you need to feel him.  You want his heart beating against yours, his skin hot against your own.  “Please,” you say, not even embarrassed when it turns to a whimper. 

He makes a small noise, acknowledging you, but continues to lave kisses and bites across your breasts, teasing until they are almost sore with pleasure.   Only when you are a mindless puddle of desire does he sit up and whip his shirt off.  It flies across the room, forgotten.  You both unbutton your jeans and shuffle them down.   The few seconds you are apart are agony.

When he lays back on top of you, it is with no barriers.  He holds your hand and laces your fingers with his, pressing it into the mattress as he spreads your legs with his own. 

“You feel so—” he says, sentiment ending in a sigh.  No other word suffices.  

Your whole body feels alight.  His thumb find the centre of your pleasure, rubbing at you while he sinks inside you.  He is somehow both gentle and powerful, holding you at the best angle as he takes you.  You are used to fast and dirty and this slow tenderness aches with a burn so good, you never want it to end. 

“Chan,” you say his name on a breath.  He releases your hand so you can put your arms around his shoulders, holding him as he rocks into you with rolling, deep strokes. 

His face is so close.  Your mouth is aching with the rest of you.  His lips felt so good everywhere else.  The delirium of desire takes over and you decide, fuck it.  You have done this much, changed this much; you can be brave and accept more intimacy.   It’s just a kiss.  There’s nothing life-changing about a kiss. 

You lean up to kiss him but you are too fast, too frantic with nerves.  It lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth.  Then you feel embarrassed.  You shake your head. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Sorry, I was just—”

Chan is frozen on top of you.  He stares while you stammer an apology. 

Then his nose brushes yours.  You feel his breath against your lips.  You stop talking.  Your heart thunders. 

“I told you,” he whispers, “stop apologizing.” 

Then his lips are on yours.  Your eyes close as you follow the give-and-take of his kiss.  Your lips part and his tongue touches your top lip, then he sucks your bottom lip and moans against your open mouth.   You clench around him, moaning back.  His hips move again and you cling to him.  The kisses start small and grow to desperate, open-mouthed passion.  Coupled with his deep strokes, getting faster and faster, you feel like you are flying. 

Oh, is all you think, this is what this is supposed to feel like. 

You come first, the orgasm taking you by surprise.  It was steadily building at a small pace before all at once striking.  You cry out, burying your fingers in his hair as you rock against him.  He finishes only seconds later, groaning your name in the curve of your neck then sucking a bruising kiss right there. 

You hold him after, your fingers stroking down the nape of his neck, your legs wrapped around him.  It feels like years before your heart comes back to a normal pace.  Your breathing still comes shaky, but so does his.  His strong arms seem suddenly weak as he pushes himself up with a quiver. 

You separate.  You try to find the words but you mind still feels like water.

You are so floaty, it takes a second to realize something is wrong.  Chan is crying, or about to, sniffling hard and scrunching his face to stop it. 

“Chan—”

Alarmed, you reach for him, but he moves before your hand makes contact.  He gets up and wordlessly puts on his jeans and a flannel, buttoning it askew.   You grab your shirt as well, tugging it on frantically to keep up. 

“Chan,” you say again.  “What’s wrong?  Did I—”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, but he won’t look at you.  He sits on a chair and starts putting on his boots.  That’s when you really panic, jumping out of bed and looking for your own pants.  “Stay,” he says.  “It’s fine.  It’s not you.  It’s me.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” you ask.  “Seriously?”

“It’s my fault,” he says.  “You said right now and that you were fine without the past or the future and I thought – I thought I could – but –”

He grabs his baseball cap and tugs it on.  You say his name again, reaching for his sleeve as he walks past, but he does not break stride for a second.   

You can’t exactly chase after him half-naked.  You know he will be long gone by the time you get dressed.  You can only stand there in shock and confusion as the door closes and he disappears. 

You sniffle.  You shake your head, refusing to cry, not after everything. 

Your body does not listen to your head, unsurprisingly, and you end up sputtering through messy tears while putting on some clothes.  You wipe your eyes, fighting an upward battle against your hormones as all those happy, pleasurable feelings melt into something ugly. 

Chan returns almost an hour later.  By that point, you have passed through several different emotions.  You were worried, of course, then you were sad.  Now you are irate.  You were left to stew in anxiety, sitting on edge.  For a while you wondered if he was coming back at all, which set off more tears. 

You are certain your face is puffy and your eyes are red.  Chan looks at you with a guilty expression but says nothing.

“Well?” you say, but he just stares at you.  You are sitting on the edge of the bed while he stands a few feet away.  “Great,” you say, smacking the bedcovers.   “Fucking fantastic.  We’re back to the silence, I guess?” 

“I know,” he says.  “Sorry.” 

You wait for more but that non-committal reply is all you get. 

 “You told me that you trusted me,” you say, mortified when your voice breaks.  “You said that one day it would be my turn to help you, but every time you start to feel something you hide it or turn away or say you’re fine or run out the fucking door with no explanation!”  You stand up to put more space between you, marching to other side of the room.   You wipe your eyes.   “You know, I feel like I don’t even know who I’m talking to half the time.”  

“I’m always me,” he says.

“And who is that?” you ask.  “From the start, you’ve basically asked me to blindly trust you.  One second you’re this terrifying agent who does everything my father asks, and the next you’re just standing there letting me kill him.  I haven’t demanded explanations.  You said it was just your mission and I accepted that, even though I knew it was bullshit.  I know this is about more than jobs or missions and I – I – I’m sorry everything’s all fucked up.  But we’re all we have right now.”  Your voice breaks again and you choke back a sob.  “You can’t ask me to trust you then push me away.  You can’t say you trust me but never let me in.  I’m terrified out here.  We’re doing something insane and I can’t have the person I’m relying on the most shove me away.  I want to be on your side.  Chan, I want – I want so badly –”

He takes a breath but stays silent.  His gaze is heavy. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” you say.  “I know you’re not what Miroh tried to make you.  I know what they did to you.  I know it was terrible.   But I’m not afraid of you and I’m not judging you.  I want to know you.  I need to know you.  I know you can remember some things.  I know it’s causing you pain.  If I could understand—”

“I remember everything,” he says. 

You are not expecting an interjection.  It takes a second to comprehend. 

“What?” you say. 

“I said I remember everything,” he says.  He looks at you as he slowly approaches.  “There isn’t a single moment of my life that I’ve forgotten for even a second.”

He stops a foot from you.  This close, you can see he has been crying too.  Even through your frustration, you want to touch him.  You are so bad at comfort, receiving and giving, but your fingers itch to smooth his brow and cup his jaw. 

You curl your fingers at your side. 

“Everyday,” he says.  “Every single day I think of my mistakes and what it cost.  I haven’t forgotten anything.” 

“What do you mean?”  Your adrenaline is starting to spike.  “There was a reconfiguration program.  I know about it.  That’s how it happened.”  You know about the torture.  You can see the light at the top of the well and feel the cold in the bottom of the Cell.  You know about it.  You can picture it.  You saw that place yesterday. 

You know.  You know.  You know.    

Your chest starts to tighten with panic. 

“You did all of Miroh’s work willingly,” you continue.  

“Yes, I did,” he says.  “But it wasn’t willingly.” 

“Because they tortured you.” 

“In a way.”  He sucks back a breath.  “I thought I was smart.  I thought I could beat Miroh.  I almost did, but then everything—”

A memory from a dream: a flash of grey smoke. 

“It went wrong,” he says with a resigned sigh.  “I was punished.  That’s true.  But I didn’t care what they did to me and Miroh knew that.  So he took someone else.  Someone I cared about.  And when it was all done, I was given a choice.”  His voice breaks on the word choice, the whole phrase utterly dryly.  “And it wasn’t really a choice,” he says.  “I could walk away.  He wasn’t even going to try and stop me.  But Miroh wanted a soldier.   He said all the blood on his hands was going somewhere one way or another – and he said it could be on mine or hers.” 

You are not sure if you are breathing anymore. 

“The things they did to her – the things they made me watch.”  He presses a hand to his forehead as he takes another breath.  “She was a good fighter, but she wasn’t a killer.  It never mattered what they did to her, she always knew who she was.  She knew whose side she was on. She wanted to help people, not hurt them. I couldn’t let her become that thing.  If she ever – if she ever came back to me—”  He swallows.  “I couldn’t let it be her.  I couldn’t let her have all that blood on her conscious.  I’d already failed her.  Again and again, I let her down. I couldn’t do it again.  I told Miroh I’d take her place willingly.  I’d do anything he asked so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty.  She could come back one day and… and…”

“What are you talking about,” you say.  You fumble towards the bed and drop down heavily. 

Chan looks at you.  That silent conversation. 

You already know what he is going to say. 

“Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program,” he says.  “And it wasn’t me.  It was you.”    

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x gn reader

Obvious

Based off of this cut song from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. This one goes out to all my people who can never tell weather or not somebody likes them. I feel your pain.

-Enjoy

The cool autumn breeze danced throughout the trail turning the summer heat into a distant memory. The air was fresh and smelled of dead leaves and pine. The park was quiet everyone opting to stay inside and shelter themselves from the cold, every one but you and your friend.

Leaves crunched underneath your boots as you made your way to your destination. You were running late as per usual but you had a good excuse this time, honestly. This past week has been rough on both of you and you both deserved a treat.

It took a while to convince the barista that you were not in fact crazy for ordering coffee beans and boiling water separate. what was his business questioning you anyway, it's not like he's getting paid to care.

Admittedly you thought it was weird at first too but as you got to know him you understood that's just a part of who he is. There were a lot of things that Shadow did that could be considered unorthodox but one of the things you admired most about him is that he didn't seem to care about what other people thought of him. He marched to the beat of his own drum and if others didn't like it that was their problem.

Thoughts of Shadow warmed you as you walked, they were doing a much better job than your coat was at the moment. You cursed yourself for losing your hat and scarf right before the cold hit for the third year in a row. Hopefully your coffee would warm you up but you refused to drink it before meeting up with Shadow, it would be rude to show up late and to enjoy your treat before he even knew about it, besides it wasn't too long until you reached your usual meeting place anyway, you could hold off for a few more minutes.

You and Shadow had been meeting at the same bench every Saturday morning for the past year or so. It started out as a simple coincidence but as you two started running into each other more and more you both grew to expect each other eventually just making plans to meet up at the same place and time every week.

All you would do is walk around the park and talk about anything really, your interests, your life, problems that either of you were facing. There wasn't anything that either of you couldn't discuss with one another. He had opened himself up to you and that wasn't something that you took lightly. You knew about his past, his struggles with his identity, you saw it all and you loved him for it, even the parts of him he couldn't love himself. You wouldn't change a single thing about him for the world. You hoped one day he could see it too.

You had fallen for the dark hedgehog despite his rough edges and tough exterior. There was so much more to him than just that he was sweet, and considerate, and cared so much not just about you but also about his other friends too. None of this he could know of course, you didn't want to risk losing your friendship with him, he was too special to you. You couldn't handle it if he rejected you, and besides it would ruin the best part of your week.

So you were content with how things were, this way you could keep Shadow in your life. You just had to ignore the beating of your heart every time he made eye contact, and not to think too much about your hands brushing together as you walked, and not to fall into ecstasy every time you heard his voice speak your name. It was easy. (You're delusional)

Before you knew it you had reached your destination. Shadow was already there and waiting with his usual pout.

"you're late."

"Yes, but I brought you something, I heard you had a rough week so I brought you your favorite. Ta da!" You presented him with the small bag of roasted coffee beans and the steaming water.

He grinned as he took the items from you the tips of his gloved fingers making contact with yours, thank goodness it was cold out otherwise you would have to come up with a good reason for the deep blush on your face.

"you look cold, did you loose your scarf again?"

"I swear I put it in my closet I really do but when I went to grab it, it was gone, I have no Idea where it disappeared to."

"well lucky for you, I brought a surprise for you too, try not to lose this one too soon." He said teasing you. Holding out a small bag.

Smiling you took the bag and opened it's contents. A beautiful scarf that had been lovingly knitted in your favorite color with silver stars embroidered on the edges and a matching hat to boot.

"Oh Shadow, this is beautiful, thank you so much, I love it!" (And I love you!)

"you're welcome, now put them on before you get too cold. I don't want you getting sick in this weather."

He was so thoughtful.

You quickly wrapped the scarf around your neck it's yarn instantly warming you. You smiled leaning into it's warmth. You then started to put the hat on, a bit of a struggle without a mirror to get your ears through the holes on top.

"here let me help you" Shadow said before taking the hat from your hands, gingerly placing it on your head, and guiding your ears to their rightful destinations. His eyes gleaming in the daylight focused completely on his task thankfully not noticing that you're completely flustered by the closeness. His face inches from your's his lips pressed together, how you longed for their touch. You'd bet they were soft as pillows and as warm as freshly baked cookies.

"there we go all done, how do you feel?" He said snapping you back into reality.

"oh, uh warm, thanks... for the hat and the help."

"Of course, we should get going."

"right, let's go." You said smiling, following him down your usual path.

You two continued on talking about your weeks, your small business had been struggling for a little while and a rough interaction with a client had left you wondering weather or not you should call it quits.

"Don't give up Y/N, I've seen your work, with a talent like your's it would be cruel to the world and yourself to quit." He reassured you. "Don't be afraid of failing, learn from it and keep going."

Shadow had a rough week as well, a mission had gone awry and the aftermath had been catastrophic.

"Nobody was hurt too bad but it never should have happened in the first place, our team should have been more careful. It's times like these that make me wonder if I'm doing this right if I'm protecting the world the way it needs to be, the way she would want me to. I spend all my time trying to bring peace to the world she never got to see, sometimes I wonder if it is even possible."

"You're doing your best Shadow, any one can see that. the world has a lot of problems, it's going to take a long time, and a lot of people to get there. You need to remember to take help when you need it, you're not alone anymore you have Rouge, and Omega, and me. I can't break into secret facilities, and my fighting skills leave something to be desired but I'm always here to lend an ear whatever you need."

Shadow paused for a moment. He turned to you, looked directly in your eyes, and finally spoke.

"Thank you Y/N, I know I don't say things like this very often, but you have been a good friend to me and I rather enjoy your presence. I look forward to our meetings every week and I hope we can continue them for as long as possible."

Your heart fluttered so much so you were worried that he would be able to hear it. From where he stood. His eyes were focused on you looking like embers in a campfire plucking your heartstrings. Keep breathing you had to tell yourself. He's just saying he enjoys your friendship, don't look too much into it.

Smiling and returning the eye contact you finally responded.

"I would very much enjoy that Shado-"

The next thing you knew Shadow was pulling you into a kiss. His lips were tender against yours, the heat from his hot water coffee bean mix seeping from his mouth into your body making you feel as if it were 100 degrees outside, he tasted like coffee and cinnamon the scent of lavender invading your nose.

You were too shocked to kiss back, or even notice that Shadow had slipped his hand into yours.

You pulled back gasping from shock. Trying to rapidly wrap your head around the situation before it was too late.

"I'm sorry." Shadow said loosing his grip on your hand " I thought maybe you... never mind I should g-"

"WAIT!" You shouted tightening your hand around his. You didn't have a plan for what you were going to say but you figured you needed to say something and fast before you lost your chance.

"Don't apologize for doing that, ever. I just wasn't expecting it. I didn't know you felt that way."

"How could you not I thought I was being so obvious. I even asked Amy for advice on what I should do to let you know."

Shadow was in love with you. He had been from the very beginning. All the times you had been dismissing as him as being just a friend he was trying to gain your affection. You weren't delusional, somebody as wonderful as him had feelings for someone like you and you completely missed the signs.

Looking back the signs were so completely obvious, all the small details about your life that he memorized, the small gifts every now and again, the fact that he waited for you every week despite the fact that you were almost always late, hell he was the one who suggested you two meet every week in the first place. The puzzle pieces clicked together all at once.

"You mean this whole time you- you really liked me?" You asked tears of joy forming in your eyes

"Yes, I'll admit it took me a while to realize that I did but I do. I care for you Y/N. I've never felt like this before. No matter what I do I can't seem to get you out of my head, and if you would let me I would like to take you out on a date."

Words could not express how much joy you felt in that moment so instead of answering you simply returned the kiss you pulled away from earlier.

Your lips collided once again and this time you leaned in savoring the kiss you had been craving for so long, leaves fell all around you two as your lips intertwined in a passionate whirlwind. Shadow pulling you into a tight embrace. You two only parting in order to catch your breath.

"So then I'll pick you up tonight for dinner"

"It's a date" you said before pulling him back in for another kiss.

You felt yourself smiling into his lips as he kissed you back the two of you enjoying your private moment . Sharing a kiss with the one person you could talk to about anything. it was better than anything either of you could have ever dreamed of.

[puckinghischier]

Boyfriend!Nico Headcanons

these pics are gonna get me everytime, i fear

just some soft nico thoughts floating around in my noggin. enjoy :)

-

- boyfriend!nico coming home from morning skate and tiptoeing into your room, careful not to wake you so he can lay back down and nap with you

- boyfriend!nico waking up about an hour later to an empty bed, huffing because you didn’t wake him up, only for you to walk in the room wearing one of his t-shirts carrying two cups of coffee, a grin breaking out on his face

- boyfriend!nico suggesting you both shower together, even though he showered at the rink, simply because he loves when you wash his hair (and so he can use your products so he can smell fruity like you do)

- boyfriend! nico asking girls that approach him when he’s out with the team or on the road where they get various parts of their outfits/jewelry because he can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in them, writing every store down in his notes app so he can take you there the next time you two go shopping

- boyfriend!nico who looks for you in the stands of every home game during warm-ups, needing to know you’re there watching before puck drop because he swears you’re his good luck charm, but also looking for any and every reason to impress you when he’s on the ice

- boyfriend!nico who buys you a custom jersey with his name and number on it, but with small four leaf clovers embroidered on each sleeve so everyone knows you’re his good luck charm, not the team’s

- boyfriend!nico who enlists jack’s help in surprising you with the golden retriever puppy you’ve been begging Nico to agree to adopting, making the poor kid drive three hours one-way to pick up the dog and then sneak the puppy into your shared apartment so Nico can keep you distracted and occupied, wanting to see your face when you open the door and the little furball comes running towards you

- boyfriend!nico who rushes through every post game interview he can because all he wants to do, win or lose, is go home and watch whatever current netflix show you’ve roped him into while eating whatever take-out you were in the mood for that night

- boyfriend!nico putting you on speaker in the locker room before games because the team overheard one of the pre-game pep talks you gave him earlier in the season, so now they all like to hear your encouraging words and how well you inspire each and every one of them to play their best (what jack refers to as your mrs. cap duties)

- boyfriend!nico who has to explain to his teammates why he can’t bring you along to every event the team has to go to because you have your own job and responsibilities, only for the team to whine and grumble about how nico hogs you and they never get to see you (just for him to facetime you halfway through the event so he can pass his phone around for everyone to say hi a few of them asking you to blink three times if nico was holding you hostage)

- boyfriend!nico who arranges for flowers and various treats to be delivered to your door every. single. day. that he’s gone during the season so you know he’s still thinking about you and he misses you, even if he only leaves for a day or two

- boyfriend!nico who listens to the playlist you’ve made for him anytime he’s traveling because he loves hearing whatever new song you’ve found that day that reminds you of him

- boyfriend!nico who begs you to take a bath with him because he’s so sore from a nasty hit earlier in the night and wants to just relax with you and your peach smelling bubble bath with one of your vanilla scented candles burning (but he’ll never admit he loves your sweet, scented candles)

- boyfriend!nico who will always trade a puck or a stick for anything that a fan brings as a gift for you, heart swelling seeing that the fans love you as much as he does

- boyfriend!nico who always wears a wrist full of friendship bracelets you make for him at warmups so he can trade them with the female fans that bring handmade bracelets for the players, so “they always feel included and welcomed at the games, despite what the grumpy old men have to say about it”

[hudsonpatootie]

Bubbling thoughts

My last post about what it would be like to date Jihan and Jibeom made my mind explode with ideas—so many that I'm trying to write something for them. But for now, I'll just share a few loose thoughts I had about what a relationship with them might be like.

Warning: In this post, I'll be referring to both of them (choose which one you want to imagine in these situations). Later, I'll write separately, prioritizing the individual personality of each one. :)

Dating these guys is like being transported into the game Stardew Valley, where you aren't the protagonist but rather the single NPC they chose as their romantic partner. So, sit back, relax, enjoy the peaceful countryside, and watch their attempts to win you over.

As boyfriends, Jihan and Jibeom would visit you almost every day. Even with their duties of taking care of Chungcheong-Do and the family business, they would always make an effort to spend time with you. They would constantly gift you natural and handmade products, which you would use to prepare meals for them in return as a way to express affection. Over time, the boys have learned your tastes: artisanal honey and jams? Yes, please! Pet snakes or companions in the bath? -10 friendship points.

Romantic dates to celebrate milestones in your relationship? YES! They are hopeless romantics, and for them, the perfect date consists of taking you on tours around Chungcheong-Do, showing you the landscapes and animals in the countryside, and taking you to visit the beer and honey productions they manage. Sometimes, they would also take you to other provinces, like Seoul, where you would enjoy urban outings—shopping, going to the movies, and spending quality time together. If you're dating Jibeom, you'll definitely want to buy clothes for him. He’ll insist he doesn’t need new clothes, and you'll insist even more that he does. As the relationship becomes more serious, they would invite you to a more intimate date—a herbal and mineral salt bath, which would later become part of your routine together.

The Kwak brothers are very transparent with you regarding their duties in Chungcheong-Do and even their involvement as members of the second generation. They explain the basics of the dynamics between generations and groups but make sure not to involve you directly in these matters. They want you to continue living a peaceful life and would never forgive themselves if the relationship with them brought you problems.

Don't be fooled—Jihan and Jibeom always try to maintain a tough facade, hiding their feelings behind smiles and confident words. But in reality, both carry deep pain from the loss of Jichang. That pain has turned into fear—they are terrified of losing another person they love. It will take a lot of conversation and understanding to break down those walls until they finally open up to you about their fears, feelings, and insecurities. When that happens, your relationship will only grow stronger, and you'll both be certain that the only thing you want is to spend the rest of your days together.

In short, dating these two is a 10/10. They are incredibly sweet—a little impulsive, as was evident during their debuts? Absolutely. But nothing that a few good conversations can't solve. Please, PTJ, bring these men back! I need more content to write about them with more coherence!

PS: Hi everyone, how are you? This was my first attempt in years at writing something. I think the last time I did this, I was 14 years old and writing BTS and MHA fanfics, but that was quite a few years ago laughs. Please forgive any spelling mistakes—I'll try to improve.

I'm also using a translator since English is not my native language, so sorry if the translation sounds a bit off. Another thing is that I struggle with structuring my text properly. Tumblr is barely used in my country—I think I've only seen about four people from here using this platform—so I'm trying to learn how to use this app better (it took me five minutes just to find where the drafts were) and how its features work to improve the structure of my posts.

I think that’s all. Thanks for reading this far:)

[fairylibe]

yandere.ᐟ vogel × reader head canons.

660 words. yandere themes. may be ooc. features: darius vogel, nica schwarz, ring schwarz.

꒰ summary ꒱ what if an interest turned into something… more?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ darius 𖦹 vogel ೀ 🪽

was this so-called “love,” or maybe it was a twisted obsession? regardless he had fallen too deep with (…or was it “for”?) you to go back to a point before he knew you — far too deep.

admittedly, it was initially just an interest he had toward you. he wanted to get to know you, as you were crown’s fairytale keeper.

but it was as he was getting to know you, as he spent time with you, that he came to a realization.

although the whole of humanity is inherently flawed, there was one exception: you. maybe it was because, while you remained grounded, you also remained pure. while you looked kind, there was still a gentle fire in your eyes. everything about you was a perfect balance.

even if you weren’t cursed, he felt you were fit for his “family” — and more.

because you were the one and only perfect being in his eyes; that must be why he was drawn to you. the fact he could be so close to that one perfect thing was enough to send shivers, an illusion of “love.”

“ this world has no need for those impure souls who steal the bird’s song away. i will rid the world of all of them, so won’t you sing for me, fairytale keeper? ”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ nica 𖦹 schwartz ೀ 🍒

he normally wasn’t one for much deep affections, so what was it with you that made him think about you so often? maybe it was because even when he would act friendly with you, your reactions felt so… genuine.

yes, those reactions felt so raw — he almost couldn’t believe it himself. whenever you two ran into each other, he would casually greet you, calling you “robin” and teasing you. he gets more of a kick every time you make a retort, claiming it’s worth teasing you (playing with you). he enjoyed making you dance atop his hand.

but despite being the one teasing you, it almost seemed as though you would sometimes play with his feelings as well, making him feel something between love and bitterness.

so he would hold your hand, and play with your feelings in turn, like he would a toy. so that if you fell in love with him, he could watch you pine in an unrequited love.

he may not be able to reciprocate your feelings, but at the very least, you can fall into a bitter warmth together.

“ i told you that all you have to do is not hold my hand, but if you’ve taken it of your own will, won’t you become my plaything? until there’s nothing left to lose, for me… and for you, robin. ”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ring 𖦹 schwartz ೀ 💍

there is no such thing as being too protective when it comes to ring. at first, he had tried to push you away, because what reason was there for you to get close to him? if dari had ordered him to kill you, he would do exactly that.

and yet, you had reached out a hand to him, asking for a friendship. nika had warned him — “you can’t make friends with them, ring” — and yet the hand that reached out to him seemed so warm and gentle…

it was a somewhat fragile friendship, and it felt like a single word from dari or nika could shatter it to a million pieces, seeing as you two were in different organizations. and yet, you had shown him so many firsts.

eventually, he became scared, anxious, even. what was this feeling?

he wanted to protect this friendship he had with you, he wanted you to show him more and more “firsts,” he wanted to protect you.

“ if dari orders me to kill you someday… i would still do it. that wouldn’t change — i owe him my own life. but, if that were ever to happen, i would kill a part of myself after for you. ” if he were to remember you, would you show him more firsts after the last?

fin.

꒰ tag list . ꒱ @drachonia @weepinglycoris @letter-from-afar @.comment to be added or removed!