#he still misses that old part of himself
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turbodrawn · 10 months ago
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Despite everything, it’s still… you.
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Dewdrop/Sodo angst? More likely than you think
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dykedvonte · 2 months ago
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Do you have anything you've been thinking on but just haven't made a post about it yet? Also I'm really enjoying your fic!
I have a few things but it's likely mostly headcanons that I consider somewhat disconnected from my analysis.
Curly's parents had him old, only child, died shortly after he graduated and got the pony express position. It was the last big thing they saw him do which is a reason he stayed for so long.
Doesn't admit how much their death affected him
Jimmy has a largish family. One of the cases of too many kids to keep tract of, parent never really noticed any of them nor their behaviors
Anya lived in a lot of houses growing up, regular supportive family that just struggled to support themselves.
Became a nurse largely to avoid their financial struggles but mostly because she felt too many people weren't being cared for and advocated for in the world properly
Swansea likes high top sneakers most. Likes how snug they fit and how they shield his ankles at work
Curly has a bit of a caffeine problem since he can’t sleep. Can occasionally be found wandering the ship at “night” when he had some too late or just couldn’t sleep.
Daisuke knows a little about a lot of things. Starts conversations with “did you know” a lot but please don’t ask him deeper questions
Curly has known Jimmy longer but has worked with Anya and Swansea longer, met them during his middle years, met Jimmy shortly before college.
Swansea rents a house, Daisuke’s family lives in a big nice apartment, Curly has a condo, Anya live in a small one bedroom apartment and Jimmy has a studio.
Curly's home is very disconcerting. It's too normal to a like uncanny degree.
Anya is ambidextrous but prefers her left.
Anya and Curly are both not native English speakers so occasionally they forget words and bond over the mutual mocking they get from the rest of the crew. Daisuke knows some Japanese but is still learning, never picked it up as a kid
Only Swansea and Daisuke know how to drive, Earth in my mind is very post capitalist so only older people and like the extremely wealthy can afford cars.
It's also like walkable just due to how many businesses are in your face. Probably strict living vs shopping districts
I have more but the way that I headcanon about them is like too long.
#im still trying to figure out voiceclaims like I think Curly is the most generic lost his accent his accent like swedish or eastern european#guy cause he was raised by old immigrants and anya never had a thick accent but she talks with the cadence of one shes like slavic and east#asian to me. Swansea at most is like irish or italian but just an old white guy and Jimmy just has a bit of olivish skin like hes just whit#i think people should make them all weirder too like I think Anya loves showing the fucked up diagrams and pictures from premed and everyon#has to nod and act super supportive and not horrified cause Anya thats a guy with his leg broken in seven places it is not facinating to th#rest of the crew but she loves it cause fyi to go to med school you have to pass pre-med she has a BA if not a BS in nursing or bio atleast#Swansea randomly talks about shoe politics and its like hes talking about regular politics. Curly doesn't sleep walk but he pauses at weird#times or places and will just stand leave and not tell anyone anything cause even he forgot#Jimmy is himself ig and Daisuke always has some media drama they are too old for to get invested in and teach them about youth slang Anya#kinda gets it#also i think people make Curly and Jimmy way too old? Like In my mind Curly is sorta his late 20s- early 30s like he's in the settling#part of his life hence the fear about settling here anya is likel mid 20s to 30 cause she at least finished college we dont have the years#of how long shes been working and maybe Jimmy is just a bit older and feels weird envy about missing that introspection Curly is having.#Daisuke is like 19-22 in my mind like hes an adult but a kid by their standards#like Curly was recruited and its much easier to get younger people plus getting someone young is a good investment like they either got him#right after school and its like all he's known and it scares him#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#anya mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#ask#anon
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laniidae-passerine · 1 year ago
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I made my post about Dean Highbottom and then as I was writing my tags realised that his Hunger Games counterpart is Haymitch. and now my head is in my hands and I don’t think I’ll ever recover
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witchspeka · 1 year ago
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I dont think Mob is naive as much as he's socially unaware, like the reason why he trusts Reigen so blindly is a bit more complex than just him being naive
Cause Mob reached out to Reigen because he was desperate to find someone like him, someone who understood his psychic specific issues, someone that could truly know what he's feeling and going through and give him guidance and support
Post incident Mob's thinking process was something along the lines of my powers hurt people -> my powers are bad -> my powers (my emotions, my instincts, myself) cannot be trusted
So he lost all confidence and trust in his own actions, resigning to being as passive as possible to avoid any further damage to anyone else, thus he started doubting his own perception of reality too
He's a kid already struggling with being ostracised for being socially inept, who just got traumatised and all of his insecurity increased by the tenfold, he doesn't know how to process what he's going through. He needs help.
And here comes Reigen, seemingly reliable, a responsible adult in a child's eyes, someone who claims he can understand him
Even tho Reigen doesnt. But it doesn't matter, because Mob finds comfort in his words and takes them to heart
Even if Reigen doesn't fully get it, even if he doesn't see the bigger picture, even if his advice isn't always the best
Eventually, Mob grows up, realises Reigen isn't as honest as he seemed through his 11 year old perspective, but like most things, he refuses to acknowledge it on a deeper level
Mob knows, but never tells Reigen, never thinks about what all those lies mean to him (ofc until he forces himself to face those doubts regarding Reigen, to properly acknowledge both of their flaws and accept them as they are, I should scream into the void about Confession Arc more God)
Due to his lack of trust in himself, Mob has relied on Reigen for years now to shape his moral compass, his thoughts, his decisions
Because well, Reigen lies, sure, but he isnt a bad person. When he hurts Mob, it isn't intentional or with ill intent, he still wants the best for him, what's the issue?
Except that it stunts Mob's growth. He doesn't develop as a person, doesn't have goals or wishes or ambitions, can't make choices on his own, he doesn't even let himself acknowledge his own emotions, he refuses to let himself exist
But Mob realises in time that he wants more than that, he wants to become better and be independent and feel again
Still, he puts the acknowledgement of the lies on hold for as long as he can, unwilling to question the way things are
This can make him feel a little naive, he constantly relies on Reigen and trusts his decisions and raises questions rarely until separation arc when he finally puts his foot down
And I do think that moment is the most resounding proof we have that Mob knows and allows himself to be used by Reigen, not wanting to shake the status quo, until he gets fed up
I mentioned the social ineptitude at the beggining but idk if I should even elaborate on that, you've watched the show, you know what I mean
He's blunt and can't read social cues or tonality that well and can't speak in front of crowds and is overall pretty awkward and I do think some people conflate that with naivety
Mob is still a child, he doesnt fully understand how the world works at the ripe age of 14 years old, but some folks take that as him being inherently naive/innocent/whatever which I don't find true
#ppl do a similar thing with seri but for different reasons but i do think in his case its worse cause thats a whole ass adult#anyway. i dont think im saying anything new i just wanted to ramble <3#i missed mobposting what can i say#ik i saw somebody talk about this in a more eloquent way but i doubt i could find the post cause i dont think i rbed it so rip#mp100#mob psycho 100#kageyama shigeo#that ova needs to come out already im going insane#cine te a intrebat#also hope i didnt come off as too negative towards reigen or smth#but like. my favourite part of confession is him saying (i didnt know!) LIKE YEAH. U DIDNT. LMAO.#ppl treat him as a bit too reliable sometimes and dont give him a lot of room to grow like Reigen isnt even 30 yet!! he aint that old!!#he still needs to get HIS own shit tgt before giving out advice just saying. also he totally doesnt understand mob fully. how can he??#he never mentions the incident with ritsu and considering mobs inclination of never telling anyone anything unless prompted#i doubt he knows... like reigen genuinely doesnt know the extent of mobs trauma!! when he said I Didnt Know he meant that shit!!!!!!#which is like. fine. cause to me whats important is how he always wants to protect mob and support him and help him#even if he doesnt always know how. even if advice backfires. hes always there and hes always trying and hes just as human and flawed as mob#himself#ig what im getting at is just that im bothered by the Flavour of reliable adult fandom is giving him. hes a lil pathetic and#fucks up sometimes and thats fiiiiiine. i feel like i talked shit about reigen but i do think hes a good guy and IS reliable just not in the#gives great advice way. but in the Knows How To Talk And Bullshit His Way Through Everything and Has Genuinely Good Intentions (usually)#and will throw away all of his self preservation if the situation requires him to. his advice is good but can be vague idk ONE rlly managed#to balance his pathetic side with his helpful reliable side and i dont think i articulated it the best way but like.... hes simultaneously#pathetic and sad but also the most sane and reliable adult in this show. rant over see u next time byeeee
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fortune-maiden · 1 month ago
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A little over halfway through Season 1 of DNT now, I thought I was starting to warm up to it.
But then I got to the Castrop Rebellion Episode.
Soulless doesn't even begin to cover it......
#(yes its novel accurate but novel accurate doesn't mean better!)#(although I did really like the DNT scene where the other admirals express frustration with Reinhard giving Kircheis the mission)#(and see it as him favoring his friend and securing him a promotion)#fortune watches dnt#I think this adaptation is just generally better with the alliance eps than the empire ones#the alliance eps are a little more fun#it's got the better voice actors#SuzuKen does a great job as Yang#the characters have some life to them and Yang's group in general has a good dynamic#I would still hesitate to call the eps GOOD but they're at least watchable!#and Yang's battlefield shenanigans are always enjoyable#meanwhile on the Empire's side.......#I have had it with Reinhard's permanent =_= expression#He is supposed to be a cocky 20 year old who loves watching his opponents squirm. ACT LIKE IT!#but the worst part of all.... WHERE IS THAT COLORFUL19TH CENTURY PRUSSIAN NOBILITY AESTHETIC#WHY IS EVERYONE WEARING BLACK SUITS#WHERES THE OPULENCE AND DECADENCE!#i think the bigger problem overall is that DNT in these early eps is really missing a sort of forward momentum#and is just kind of going from point a to point b without peeling back the curtains to tell us why these events matter#at this point in the original OVA we had a really good sense of who Reinhard was and what his goal was#and how the people around him felt about this goal and what they were doing about it#a lot of early logh is less empire vs alliance but individual vs establishment#for Reinhard the Alliance is a far away problem that exists but isn't as important as making the old men in power squirm#and establishing himself as their Problem#meanwhile the Alliance's side has a lot to say about the people who fight in wars vs the people who order them#and its fun to watch! we always know of the various schemes in the works in the works so there's always an underlying sense of tension#i feel like i'm not really getting a lot of that from DNT which isn't really focusing much of the human sides of all the conflicts#or establishing who any of the background players are beyond 'ally' and 'antagonist'#(the novel is also kind of guilty of this but it makes up for it with all the lore and history info dumps)
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pomefioredove · 5 months ago
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Could I HCs for the headmasters (or only Riddle, Leona and Azul) reacting to one of their students asking to be transferred to ramshackle? like a small club of Yuu admirers :3
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yuu Admirer Club!
I misread this the first time and thought it was yuu transferring to THEIR dorms but, actually, I like this better. this is fun
summary: yuu admirer club :) type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu
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seeing as Heartslabyul hasn't had an expulsion, transfer, or dropout since Riddle became housewarden, this comes as...
...quite a shock
he thought Ace had been joking at first
or annoying him on purpose...
and then he comes down to the lounge one morning with his bags packed and a forged letter from Crowley
despite Riddle's strong feelings towards you
(and they are strong)
he's still offended!
all of the loving and tender discipline he's given, and Ace just leaves?
well, he can't stand for that
Riddle marches to Ramshackle, ready for heads to roll, but before he can even knock, you're there, dragging Ace and his things to the door
"oh, thank goodness. TAKE HIM BACK!"
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Leona doesn't even notice that Jack has been missing until he passes the spelldrive disc at morning practice and there's no one there to catch it
more of a "huh" reaction
then he forgets about it, takes a nap, and only remembers to ask Ruggie the next morning
"he's been gone for two weeks. he moved to Ramshackle, remember?"
Ramshackle? weird choice, but okay
Jack has always been a little... strange
Leona's reaction is more or less, "huh. nice kid. oh, well,"
but after that, he starts seeing you and Jack together more and more
and he starts to feel... weirdly jealous
it's like he's rubbing it in Leona's face
taking up all your time, always making you smile and laugh...
Jack was never that funny at Savanaclaw
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
it takes Azul at least three days to start worrying about Floyd
he and his brother are known to disappear at random
then, the Mostro Lounge has to open an hour late because someone didn't show up for his morning shift
now Azul suddenly can't remember the last time he saw Floyd at the Lounge
after a brief manhunt, he finds Floyd all cozied up on your couch, in your slippers, with a mug of hot chocolate
great
"you cannot transfer dorms by avoiding your old one!"
"exemption!" Floyd says. is he also wearing your robe? "I'm simply a part of the Yuu Admirer Club"
Azul rolls his eyes
...and drags Floyd back to the lounge
after all, if there was such a club, Azul would have been the first to hear of it
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Vil can feel something is off even before Epel is late
and, as always, he's right
Epel misses curfew, and Vil sets out on a mission like a mother hen missing a chick
of course, he knows just where he's hiding
and he lets himself in unannounced
"Epel, here. now,"
the poor boy looks like he's seen a ghost
you're not even involved in the conversation, but Vil's tone alone is enough to send a chill down your spine
"but- but- I got permission! this is the Yuu Admirer Club!"
Vil, of course, has no patience for this
"I gave you no such permission, and there is no such club,"
you can admire them on your own time like the rest of us, he thinks
luckily, Epel is saved
he's not the only member of the club, after all
"now, judge not so quick, dear Roi du Poison! does our admiration for our Trickster not exemplify that of a club?"
"wh- Rook?"
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lady-lauren · 3 months ago
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❥ SHOTA AIZAWA X FEM!READER
❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k
❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: cam girl!reader, former student/teacher relationship (but you're still his ~favorite~), praise, mutual masturbation, sex toys, use of "good girl", lots of dirty talk, aizawa is a pervert and we all know it
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→ Kinktober Masterlist ←
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“Look how far you’ve come.” Shota loves how you still tremble at his praise, fingers faltering on the screen. “Remember when you used to be so shy? And now you’re just spreading your pussy open for me.” 
His gaze follows every movement, breath in his throat as you part your labia and slide your fingers down your folds.
He really thought it was just a rumor that the young generation of heroes had taken to social media to make money. Less villains meant less pay, sure, but he never thought he’d find you on one of his favorite sites, using the body he trained to stuff yourself with toys.
“You were always one of my favorites. Always such a good girl.” 
“I’m still a good girl, Sensei. Promise.”
You prove your point by smearing your fingers over your clit, moaning as your hips buck.
“Yeah? Then show me your face, sweetheart. Wanna fist my cock to every inch of you.”
It’s so wrong. He feels like a dirty old fuck in his bedroom, sweats shoved down to his knees and his laptop screen glowing in the dark on the bed next to him. His camera faces the muscles of his chest, angled just perfectly so you can see the dark trail of hair that leads down to his cock. The frame captures the pump of his bicep as he strokes his dick, yet he leaves it up to your imagination to piece together what’s happening off screen. 
“Then you have to show me your face too, okay?” 
There’s the nervousness he’s used to hearing crackle in your sweet voice. Always so studious, so sweet, the most pleasant of all the brats to deal with. You only ever wanted to please. 
He knew it was you by your bedspread in the thumbnail to your page. You still have the same pillows you used to have at U.A., all plush and girly with a memorable stuffie tucked off to the side.
“Maybe next time,” he offers, watching your tits heave and nipples tighten as you debate fulfilling his request. 
Your camera lens is focused from the bottom of your bed, allowing him the perfect view from your spread thighs to your delicate collarbone. You never show your face, not to anyone, not even in one-on-one chat rooms. He read your rules, but he’s special—he’s no scary stranger, just a perverted sicko who wants to watch his former student fuck herself for him.
He shouldn’t be doing this. But god he can’t help himself. He’s seen you flourish as a pro hero, tight suits and bright smiles to the public, and all he’s ever thought about is how fucking pretty you must look naked. 
“Then at least show me your cock, Sensei.”
You have got to stop calling him that. Yet his cock throbs and leaks at the honorific. 
“Fine.”
His simple answer is enough to convince you. You sit up on your knees on the bed and lean forward, making his mouth water as your breasts fill his screen. 
Shota strangles his cock in his fist as all of you comes into view. You raise the camera high enough to show your whole bed from an upward angle, letting him leer at you from head to toe. 
“Atta girl.” He groans as you lean back against your pillows with one hand anxiously running a finger over your lips. You stare right at him through his laptop screen and it makes his balls swell. “I’ve missed your pretty face.”
He watches how his words make you press your already sticky thighs together, like his voice shot straight down to your cunt.
“Oh yeah? Have you missed me, too? Do you think about your old Sensei?”
Moaning, you’re unashamed to slide your hand down your stomach, spreading your thighs so you can relieve the ache he’s building between your legs. 
“Mhmm, I do. Right now I’m thinking about what your cock looks like.” 
He’d almost forgotten his promise. Shota looks down at his length, sucking in a deep breath at the sight of himself swollen and drooling for you. He pumps himself a few times just to feel the pleasure, to gain the courage to drag the laptop with his free hand just enough to bring his dick into the picture.
A sharp little gasp from you echoes into his room and he’s suddenly far too self-satisfied. He admires how you writhe on your bed, pulling your knees up so he can once again see the full image of your wet pussy. 
“You’re so big,” you whisper like you mean it, like you’re wishing you had his cock in your hand instead of his. 
“You think I’d fit inside you, hm?” 
You’re like a curious cat eyeing him across the screen, lashes fluttering as you glance him over from base to tip. You must have a screen set up right next to your camera because your gaze is still meeting his as your head bobs up and down with the way he strokes his cock. 
“I dunno,” you moan as you spread your legs wider, two fingers dipping to prod at your hole, “you’re bigger than my toys.”
“And I bet that little cunt is so tight. Put your fingers in and show me.”
You still listen so obediently, just like when you were his student. 
He thumbs the head of his cock as he watches you sink two fingers into yourself, the microphone picking up the wet squish of your cunt. Your belly tightens with pleasure as you start to pump the digits into your pussy, slow at first and then picking up pace as your bliss builds. 
“Tell me what you would want me to do to you if I was there.”
There’s no filter for him now, not with your messy cunt filling his screen and your hand now plucking at your nipple. 
You take a moment to think, pretty head falling back to the pillows as you moan for him.
“Always wanted to kiss you, Sensei. Want to feel your hands all over me, ah,” you press the palm of your hand against your clit as you talk, making you nearly whine between breaths, “and I’d want your cock in my mouth.”
“You like sucking dick, sweetheart?” 
He starts matching the pace of his fist to your fingers, picturing his cock sliding between your plush, parted lips.
“I like having my face fucked,” you admit and it makes him groan. 
His noise spurs you on, makes you grab your tit and squeeze as your fingers move faster. 
“I’d love to slide my cock past your sweet lips and into your throat. Want you to gag on it, spit running down your face as I take what I want.” 
“Yes, want you to take what you want from me. Want you to use me, fill me up and fuck me with that fat cock, Sensei.” 
He nearly chokes at your words, blushing at how filthy your mouth is. He pumps himself faster, picturing having your soft body in his lap, your sloppy cunt sinking down onto him. 
“How do you want me to fuck you?” 
The moan that sounds from his laptop is so lovely, the slick sound of your fingers in your pussy making him shiver. 
“I can show you?” you ask more than state, pausing to look straight into the camera feed. “With a toy, I mean. Y-you can pick.” 
God, you’re such a delightful little minx. Shota squeezes the base of his cock as the mental image of you fucking yourself on a toy nearly topples him over the edge. He doesn’t know how he will handle actually viewing it. 
“Get your biggest dildo. Let’s see how it compares to me.” 
Any ounce of guilt he feels fades when you return to your bed with a purple, silicone cock, long and thick but not nearly as fat as the throbbing flesh he holds in his hand. 
“Guess you weren’t lying, were you, sweetheart? I’ll be the biggest thing that little pussy has ever taken.” 
Shota doesn’t care if he’s stepping beyond the realm of hypotheticals—he’ll get his hands on you, one way or another, all in due time. 
“Wanna see how I want you to fuck me?” you ask with the cutest smile, like you’re hiding such a naughty secret. 
“Show me. Fuck yourself for me, tell me every little thing I’m doing to you.”
He props an arm behind his head to get comfortable, the muscles of his abs and lats rippling in the dim light of the screen. He threads his fingers through his long hair and tugs the moment he sees you turn and get on your knees, bending until you’re in the most sinful doggy position he’s ever seen. 
“You start slow,” your voice drops to a sensual note, thick like honey, “cause you want me to feel every inch go inside me.”
The hand wrapped around his cock is moving before he can even think to stop, squeezing hard as he watches you reach around your body and start pushing the dildo between your pussy lips. 
Shota gets too close to the screen, strands of black hair grazing the edge of the camera, face still out of sight. His gaze scans from corner to corner, watching as if he intends to commit every single detail to memory. 
Your pussy sucks in the tip of the dildo, making you mewl, and slowly, torturously, you shove the length of it into your hole. 
“How do I feel?” 
“So good, want you to move, want you to fuck me hard.” 
You take the initiative to start bouncing the dildo in your pussy, sliding it in and out, building speed. The sound is licentious, wet, all mixed together with the short, airy moans you let out with every push into your body. Slick is starting to build on the silicone, creamy and thick. 
“Do you always get so wet or is it just for me?”
“All for you, Sensei. Cause you feel so good, you fuck me like I’ve always wanted.” 
Shota smears his thumb through the pre-cum freshly leaking from his cock, using it as lubricant as he starts a brutal pace on himself. He can hear the repetitive slap of his wrist hitting his thigh echo into the laptop microphone.
“That right? You’re a dirty girl for wanting to fuck her teacher.” 
“You’re so good to me, you rub my clit just how I like it.” 
He examines how one of your hands reaches under your body, two dainty fingers swirling around your clit before kneading it quickly, like you’re just so desperate to cum for him. 
The strokes he gives his cock are furious, other hand now coming down to cup his balls and roll them in his palm. His stomach flexes at the pleasure, picturing how that perfect cunt of yours would be squeezing him so tightly. 
“You wanna cum for me? Wanna cum all over your Sensei’s cock?”
“Please,” you groan into the sheets, hips now bucking with the pace of the dildo slamming into you, “will you let me cum? You said I’m such a good girl? Ah, ah, one of your favorites?” 
“Always my favorite, sweetheart. Show me how you cum, let me see you make a mess of yourself.”
Your knuckles are tight against the base of the dildo, using all your strength to fuck into yourself. You’re so close to the edge, panting, whining, hole stretched and practically weeping around the purple silicone. 
“You know I’ll fuck you faster, right? Harder. Just wait until I get my hands on you.”
Your tongue falls loose, “Want your hands on my hips, want you to spank me, oh god, pull my hair, kiss me and fuck me and tell me I’m all yours.” 
“You’re gonna cum for me, scream for me, all for me, got it?” 
He can see the way your head shakes on the bed, mascara dripping down the side of your face that he can see. Tears are in your lashes, your lip caught between your teeth, and even still you’re looking back for him, watching him tug and pull his cock with your name in his mouth. 
“God you’re so hot, your cock’s so big—”
A beautiful, strangled noise comes out of you as you finally come apart, your cunt clamping down around the dildo and your motions stilling. You scream into the mattress, all high-pitched and fucked out. Slick squelches from your stuffed hole, dripping down your thighs. 
With the scene before him, it only takes a few more pumps before he’s unloading, cum spurting out over his knuckles and up onto his stomach, rope after rope spilling out for you.
His room goes quiet, his pants and your whiny breaths the only sound he hears over the pounding of his heart. 
Finally, you shift on your bed, and he does his best not to look at the mess he’s made in his hand.
“Um,” you awkwardly clear your throat, looking away from him as you slide the dildo from your cunt. He can’t help but watch the way your pussy lips drag along the length. 
The post-nut clarity hits him like a steam roller. His clean hand grabs his laptop, ready to shut the screen and pretend none of this ever transpired except in the guilty pit of his daydreams—
“Shota,” you mumble, sitting on your knees and holding your body, “this was, uh, well really…hot. I…I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
His ears perk, unsure if he’s ever heard you call him by his first name. 
Before he changes his mind, he drags the laptop on his bed until the camera catches his face. You blink so prettily at the sight of him, dropping one of your hands from your breast like you’re just so comfortable seeing him. 
“Next time will be in person.” 
You give him the most genuine little smile, “Promise?”
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anamelesstraveler · 8 months ago
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"You miss that?" Simon points surreptitiously to the couple with a nod of his glass.
"What? Women?" Johnny asks with a cheeky smile.
It earns him a playful smack to the back of the head. "The butterflies," Simon corrects.
Johnny leans back in the booth and spreads an arm across behind Simon, resting the tips of his fingers on the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. He caresses over a raised line there, a scar that's not quite a year old, and hums to himself before replying.
"Nah," he says finally. "Still get butterflies with you. Especially when—"
He's cut off by Simon pulling him to his feet and into a close embrace. Tucked into the back corner, they're away from most of the restaurant's prying eyes. Still, Johnny whispers out a "Si, what the fuck are you doing" before Simon shushes him and points to the ceiling.
"Listen, Johnny."
Johnny does.
It takes a moment, but once he hears the familiar croon of a Shania Twain ballad coming in low over the speakers, he wrinkles his nose.
Simon leans in close to his ear. "C'mon. Dance with me," he insists, grabbing Johnny's body and swaying him gently to the rhythm of the song. -Ch12 Seven-Year Itch by noxmajor
!!! As a part of @bluegiragi's charity art drive, I requested this amazing piece for a dear friend 💖 Gira, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you do! Nox, congratulations on finishing this masterpiece. Please go read Nox's fic, and enjoy all of the tasty drama!
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missdynamighttt · 28 days ago
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↳ ❝ HONEY.. COME BACK TO ME. PLEASE. ❞
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugou can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.
starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x ex-girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ
disclaimers!: mentions of handjobs and oral sex in 3rd year at ua, oral sex (f! receiving), tits fixation, penetrative / p in v sex, car sex / semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie 🤭
note: spoilers for chapter 431 (a little different in some parts), usage of "brat", "honey", "sweets", "woman", fem reader, mentions of izuocha, second chance romance trope, porn with plot, microscopic angst, credits to gsony for center pic in my banner, i love them sm^^hope i did our husband justice 💜💜
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╰┈➤ ❝ [why is he here?] you murmur quietly, discreetly watching katsuki from a distance, seeing him quiet and grumpy, drinking with a few of his friends alongside izuku.
ochako raises an eyebrow with a grin, clearly amused at your turmoil with the pro hero. she nudges your arm, looking at you from the side. "he's a part of the class too, y'know."
"i know that," you huff, sighing as you land your drink down the table, glancing back at him before looking back at ochako with a frown. "just.. its hard."
of course it was hard to see great explosion murder god dynamight. your ex-boyfriend, no matter how hot he looks in his usual black attire, his big biceps straining against the material, his post-war scars framing his muscular, gorgeous physique.
even before the war, you and katsuki were a great couple, despite your constant bickering and petty arguments. it just led up to increasing sexual tension and great makeout sessions. maybe got handsy a few times and did.. oral stuff in your 3rd year together but no more than that.
it all just came crumbling down after graduation, when you two gradually spent less time together as work kept both of you away from each other. you both ended it on good terms only after a year of being pro-heroes, but that doesn't stop you from missing him. from wanting him, needing him.
katsuki felt the exact same way. even if he was nonchalant about it now, he was barely holding himself back from dragging you away from this party and kissing your face off until he made up with the time both of you spent away from each other. which, to him, seemed like forever.
throughout the years, the two of you did see each other frequently during patrols and in joint-cases, made appropriate civilized small talk, but never ever talked about getting back together. it wasn't that both of you didn't want to: it just wasn't the perfect time. unlike this setting, where the two of you could talk properly.
ochako sighs softly, a small sympathetic smile on her face. "he's just a man, sweetie. after this, you'll barely see him again."
you bite you bottom lip and nod, tugging on the skin. you knew she made a good point, its just.. well, it doesn't change the fact that katsuki's in near proximity.
you sigh, smiling softly at her. "yeah, i know," you grin, nudging her arm, gesturing your head to izuku. "enough about me, though. what about you and midoriya, huh?"
ochako widens her eyes a little at the mention of her old highschool crush, shakes her head profusely, clearly flustered as vibrant pink tinting her cheeks. "i-i haven't even talked to deku in awhile! its been so long ago.."
you scoff and roll your eyes, grab her shoulder, and shake them a little. "well, change that. c'mon, i saw him looking at you anyway. maybe the same way he did todoroki but at least he looked at you. that counts for something."
you could still see the reluctance in her eyes to go so you shake her arm again in encouragement. "gooo, i'll be here, drinking my problems away, rooting for you."
ochako shakes her head at you with a soft grin, clearly wanting to but shyness was holding her back.
"i suppose a hello wouldn't hurt," her grin widens, pressing her cheek against yours, mumbling a soft thank you. "wish me luck."
you wave at ochako, mouthing to her good luck, as she approaches izuku, watching their cute interaction from afar. they wave at each other like the young, shy high-schoolers they once were, chatting and laughing softly over something trivial. izuku then offers her to sit beside him.
izuku eyes katsuki with a grin, gesturing his head to leave. katsuki rolls his eyes, but stands up, giving his seat to ochako. like the little bitch fate is, katsuki approaches ochako's empty seat beside you, looking at you with a small grin.
"oh, you sly fucker," your eye twitches. you didn't know who to be mad at, izuku or his insufferable best friend, but you could see ochako looking at you in worry, mouthing a quick sorry before getting enveloped by izuku's conversation again.
you sigh, shaking your head. on the bright side, whats the worst that can happen?
you give katsuki a soft smile, waving weakly at him. your hand feels stiff from how nervous you are, shaking it under the table to shake off the nerves. "hi."
katsuki raises an amused eyebrow at you, wearing his signature snarky smirk. he nods, settling down in ochako's empty seat. "hey, brat."
as you sat next to him, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. a pang of nostalgia, a flutter in your chest at the sight of him, and a hint of sadness at the memory of what could have been.
you took in his spicy cinnamon scent with smoky notes that you missed so much, the way his blonde hair was messily fixed, and his sardonic grin. it was hard to ignore the spark of longing, repeatedly chanting in your head that he was your ex for reason.
katsuki glanced over at you, eyes meeting for a brief moment. his crimson eyes catch the light of the room, making them glow like bloodstone. it made your stomach do backflips, forcing yourself to breathe.
”i’m surprised you actually came,” he says, his voice low and casual.
when he spoke again, the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. it was the same voice that had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the same voice that had laughed at your stupid, corny jokes, the same voice you had fallen asleep listening to on countless nights in the past.
you felt your palms begin to sweat but couldn't help but be a little pissed. it reminded you of what you said to ochako earlier, but still. "why wouldn't i? i'm in the class as much as you, aren't i?"
"don’t be a smartass,” he takes a sip of his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. your eyes followed the movement, a wave of memories hitting like a tidal wave.
other classmates fanned out of the room as the night goes on, but katsuki took advantage of this, seperating you from them, keeping you all to himself.
he turned to face you fully, your knees touching with his for a moment as he shifted in his seat. the sudden contact made you inhale sharply, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.
"you look good," he said quietly, eyeing you up and down slowly, his gaze lingering on parts of your body that he clearly remembered well.
the warmth in your cheeks grew a little, clearing your throat, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "thanks. wish i could say the same for you."
he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "is that how it’s going to be?”
"well, you look like you need a shave," you lied. he didn't.
"oh? i thought you liked it when i was a little scruffy, sweets," you absolutely fucking did. there was nothing you wanted more than to lean in and feel the stubble on his jaw, to remember the roughness of his cheeks while you made out him. while he spoils your neck with hickies. while his head is in between your thighs, kissing your clit-
"that was years ago," you avert your gaze from him, unable to look at him any longer without crumbling. why was he so fucking attractive? it's been seven goddamn years. don't ex-boyfriends get ugly after a break-up?
"why do i get the feelin' you've missed it, hm?"
"i don't. you're delusional."
"you're a real terrible liar, brat."
"lying about you being delusional?"
"lying about you not missin' this. missin' me," he reached out to you, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. his touch was gentle as his knuckles grazed your cheek briefly. fuck.
"i don't.. i don't miss this. i don't miss you," you chew on the inside of your cheeks, trying to hold on to any semblance of composure you had. all the dignity you had was telling you to pull away but did you listen? fuck no.
"you're not very good at hidin' how much you want someone, sweets."
"quit it, katsuki. i said i don't."
"oh, that's real fuckin' funny. but i'll be clear," he chuckles deeply, a slow victorious smile on his face. you're starting to crack.
his hand slowly sliding towards your thigh, hidden from anyone else's view under the table. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. his closeness was already making it harder to think, the sensation of his touch only weakening your resistance.
"i'm done pretendin' i don't want you. so, honey, cut it out, because we both know you want me too."
your gaze widened, quickly biting down on your bottom lip, trying to stop yourself from saying anything stupid.
luckily, before you could even respond, the very man who put you in this situation, izuku approached with kirishima in tow.
"hey kacchan, would it be okay if we leave now? i have an early class tomorrow," izuku asks, not a care in the world that he interrupted something between you two.
katsuki was staring daggers at him though, because he had to pull his hand away from your plush thigh.
"yeah, i gotta hit the sack too, man," kirishima rubs the back of his neck, who knows hes interrupting something between the two of you but doesn't say anything about it.
but.. that doesn't mean he doesn't want to fuck around a little. kirishima looks at you with a friendly grin. "hey, wanna come with?"
you panic a little. another chance for katsuki to wreck your defenses? could you handle that?
"nah, i'd rather not disturb, i'll just wait for a cab-"
"the fuck you're not. you're not takin' a cab, brat. i'm drivin' you home," katsuki spat, his tone leaving no room for argument.
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the ride home was pleasantly quiet in a way that wasn't uncomfortable. the atmosphere was a bit tense, but it was manageable.
you found yourself in the passenger seat of his black porsche 911 gt3 rs, not because you wanted to, but because according to katsuki:
"you better sit your ass down here or i swear to god, woman, i'll pin you down this chair myself."
so, it left izuku and kirishima in the backseat that seemed to drown them (comfortably). you didn't utter a single word during the drive, merely listening to their conversation, occasionally cracking a small smile and chuckling at their banter.
the silence thickened again when katsuki dropped kirishima and izuku off, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet car.
okay, you needed a game plan. keep quiet, do not give in, and do not fuck him-
"i missed you, y'know," he murmurs, his eyes still focused on the road.
his words caught you off guard, startled you. you missed him too. so fucking much. but the words got stuck in your throat, pride and fear holding you back. you try to keep your emotions in check, keeping quiet and not giving in according to your game plan-
"too fuckin' much. pisses me off. started to bother kirishima too," he lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a little, his knuckles turning white. "plagues the shit out of me. that i think about you almost everyday at the most random fuckin' times, its terrifying."
he glances at you briefly, sighing before focusing his eyes back on to the road, running his free hand through his blond hair. "honey, talk to me."
"...what do you want me to say, katsuki?"
"just.. tell me what you're thinkin', okay? what you're feelin'. the fuckin' truth, goddamn it, don't shut me out."
fucking hell. it was just so easy to give in to your feelings, to tell him how much you missed him. how much you wanted to be with him again. but you were afraid — afraid of having to start the healing process all over again.
but.. that didn't stop you from bearing your heart out.
"you want the truth?" you turn your head to face him. "fine."
"it haunts me that you're the first thing i think of whenever i'm overjoyed with something or whenever i have a bad day. that whenever my friends ask if we could eat something spicy, i think of you. can't tell you the multiple times i had to hold myself back from hitting the send button to your old number."
"i missed you too, katsuki. more than i thought. hell, more than i should. you never left my mind, no matter how many times i tried to tell myself that you did."
katsuki remained silent for a while, his mind obviously occupied with your confession as he watched the road. it made you panic a little. was it too much?
but then, without warning, he makes a quick turn, swerving off the main road and into a nearby parking lot like his life depended on it.
it catches you off guard as the car suddenly lunges forward, making you hold on to the side of the car door. he parks the car in a secluded corner, away from any prying eyes.
"what are you doing?" you asked, still taken aback from what happened as you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt.
"what does it look like i'm doing?" his eyebrow arched, as if the answer should be obvious.
without waiting for a response, he reclines your seat for more space. he unbuckles your seatbelt before climbing over, hovering over you. "gonna get what i fuckin' want. and right now, sweets, that's you."
you swallowed hard, his words and closeness sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel yourself getting hotter with every second that passed, your body aching for his touch.
but you were still reluctant. even with your thighs clenched together, your core felt like a pool of hot, wet need. and he could tell.
katsuki's frustration was evident. he lets out a deep sigh, leaning his head against your neck, inhaling your scent, barely trying to hold himself back from doing anything drastic.
"honey.. come back to me. please."
his voice was thick with pathetic need, a raw desperate desire for you burning in him.
fuck.
you know you should put up a fight, should try and resist him. but your body was aching for him.
and you really, really, couldn't fucking care less.
the moment your palms caress his cheeks, katsuki's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into your touch, sighing. you can feel him shiver under your fingertips, his body burning with longing. as your eyes meet his, a flash of raw desire flickers across his face.
and then, it's as if a dam breaks.
he leans in, his lips crashing into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. his mouth is hot and eager against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips in a possessive, needy gesture.
katsuki's hands find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as if the space between you is unbearable. you could feel his dick pressed up in between your legs, almost trembling with the intensity of his need.
your fingers slide up into his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly strands as you deepen the kiss. he groans against your mouth, the sound low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every taste.
when he pulls back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with your own. his crimson eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, bore into yours.
“don’t think for a second that im done with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “you're not gettin' outta here until i've had my fill of you, sweets."
he grins, chuckling darkly. "or should i say.. until i've filled you up."
when he grinds his hips harder against yours, you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. the feeling of his dick pressing against you makes your head spin, desire pooling in your wet cunny. fuck, was he always that big?
"oh, fuck," he inhales, almost hissing. "you feel that, sweets? hm? feel how hard my dick is, just for you?"
your bit you bottom lip, your head nodding slightly in response. your breath hitches when his hand reaches for in between your legs, inching up your skirt, rubbing his thumb against your damp panties.
"look at you, already such a fuckin' wet mess," he coos, a predatory grin on his face, glancing between your clothed, wet cunt and your flushed look. "haven't even started yet. you that eager for me, sweets?"
"stop being such a fucking tease and just.." your cheeks burn, embarassed, turning your head to the side. "fuck me."
"oh, i plan to sweets, don't worry," his voice low and sultry, tugging on the elastic of your panties, pulling them down your thighs. "wanna taste you first. haven't tasted this sweet fuckin' pussy in a long, long time."
"katsuki.. what if someone sees us?"
"honey.. i don't fuckin' care."
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katsuki had brought you to the backseat of his car, stripped you off your skirt and panties and had your legs spread out like he needed to taste you or he'd die.
katsuki flicked his tongue at your clit, licking up your sweet, wet slick, feeling you squirm and mewl from under him. your legs were practically begging to be close shut, but he forced your legs open with his big, strong arms, both of his hands holding either side of your thighs.
"fuck, sweets, you taste so good," he groans against your folds, the intoxicating scent of your sweet cunt flooding his thoughts. "so fuckin' wet.."
you could hear the squelching sound of his tongue lap at your pussy, the lewd sound of his saliva and your slick turning you on. you took off your top and unhooked your bra, tossing it somewhere in the car. you played with your tits, pinching your nipples as you watched him ate your pussy like it was his last, delicious meal on earth.
"katsuki," you mewled, breath hitching as he fucks you with his skilled tongue.
"what, too much?" katsuki rasped, enjoying how you responded to his touch.
you nodded, already seeing stars.
he grunts, biting your inner thigh before chasing your orgasm again. "fuck that. missed this tight wet pussy of yours too much. can't believe you kept this sweet thing from me for so long..."
"katsuki," you moan his name, you grip on a handful of his hair, embarassed, almost going cross-eyed. he was eager to give you his all, it was slightly overwhelming. but you needed him. "too much, too much..."
"take it all for me, yeah, sweets?" katsuki grunts, raising the pace of his tongue, earning whimpering noises from you. "i know you can, c'mon. makin' my dick so fuckin' hard just watchin' you, holy shit.."
katsuki continues his delirious advance on your cunt, his perverted appetite for you making him so fucking horny. his cock twitches in his pants from the arousing act, throbbing from all the gluttony he was feeling. he couldn't get enough of it. he acted like a man starved and he needed all of you to quench his craving.
not that he'd ever stop craving you.
"katsuki, 'm about to-" you wail about your climax. your walls tighten around his tongue, your hips squirming from under him. you push your cunt against his face, wanting more friction.
"cum for me, sweets, c'mon," he continued to lap at your wet, sloppy mess. "need to taste you so fuckin' bad."
"fuck, fuck!" you squeal, moaning loudly as you painted his tongue white, shattered breathing as your chest heaved up and down.
katsuki doesn't waste another second, burying his face in between your legs as he glides his tongue across your pussy at a quick pace, savoring it all and riding out your orgasm. your legs shake from the overstimulation he was doing, whimpering from the way his tongue feels. he looks at you greedily, his cock agitated as his carnal desire to fuck you until your legs shaking burns more in him.
"'m so proud of you, sweets. c'mere, come gimme a kiss," he moves closer to you, his touch gentle and affectionate as he caresses your cheek before pressing his lips against yours in a kiss. you could almost taste yourself on his tongue.
his kisses are slow and gentle, his fingers find your nipples, pinching them as your fingers find their way into his hair.
he pulls away from you, panting and sweating, quickly stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them somewhere in the car.
he tugs his boxers down and pulls his cock out, already dripping with pre-cum before pulling you back in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. fuck, you don't remember it being that big.
you could feel his erection, his cock cushioning your wet cunt, his throbbing tip kissing your stimulated clit, just begging to be inside of you.
"you ready for me, right, sweets?" he murmurs, in between your tongues clashing together, waiting for your nod. he dips a finger inside you, making you moan. "look at this fuckin' pussy, could just slip in and bury my dick deep inside of you..."
"please," you plead, your voice soft and trembling, a pout tugging at your lips. you're needy and desperate, the words spilling out in a breathy whine. "i need you... so bad."
"god, you're killin' me here sweets," he took a deep breath, panting for air. "you sure?"
you took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "yes. please... i want this, i want you."
your words broke the last thread of his restraint. in an instant, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with unrelenting intensity. as if you were his only source of salvation.
katsuki's hands found your waist as he grips on you firmly, guiding you onto his lap and positioning you to straddle him with an effortless, commanding strength. he was desperate, completely consumed by the need for you, his longing obliterating any trace of rational thought.
katsuki positions his dick inside of your pussy, groaning as he watches you mewl, disappearing inside of you and stretching your walls painfully. yet you still felt the raw need for him.
"katsuki," you pant as you sat on his cock, adjusting as you dangle your arms by his shoulders. "fuck me, pl-"
he doesn't even let you finish, carrying you briefly before slamming you down on his cock, feeling your pussy clamp down on him again and again.
"you look so pretty like this, sweets, fuck," he looks up at you in awe. his moves his mouth is on your tits, sucking on your nipple.
you take it all with a wail, closing your eyes in blissful pleasure as the tip of his cock kisses your walls.
"oh my fuckin' god, i love you so fuckin' much, sweets. holy shit. and this fuckin' pussy too. you know that, don't you?" he asks, his crimson eyes gazing into yours, tension filling the small corners of the car.
"yeah," you nod, your skin heating up, stammered breaths as his cock was stretching you, abusing your warmth.
"then say it back."
"no wa-"
you scream as katsuki humps you down on his cock mercilessly, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you struggle to take him. your hips squirm against the girth and length of his cock abusing your hole to its satisfaction.
"katsuki!" his name slips out of your lips, letting out a wanton moan as his deep, hungry thrusts buck inside you out of spite. "sl-slow down..."
"hell fucking no."
"katsuki, please!"
"not until you say it back."
"fucking- fine! i love you, okay?" you mewl at the pain, but at the same time it made you feel so so good.
"say it again, didn't hear it," he taunts, his thrusts still deep and desperate enough capable of making you cream on his cock.
"i said, i love you!" you panted, whimpering from his hips snapping into yours.
"that's my girl," katsuki grins, letting his hand travel to caress your cheek before pulling you in for a messy, sloppy kiss.
you feel your cunny coil of essence, chasing your climax desperately with him at the last few thrusts.
you pull away from him, panting. "katsuki, fuck, gonna cum again..."
"mhm, gonna cum too, sweets," he grunts, thrusting into your cunt sloppily. "cum with me, yeah?"
you pant out of bliss, nodding. his hips snap into yours as he thrusts into your cunt harder, dripping of your shared slicks.
you mewl as shockwaves of pleasure hit you, throwing your head back as your tight, white walls clench around his cock. katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you, a creamy frothy ring of white wrapped around the base of his cock as it kisses your folds.
both of you lay intertwined together, bodies tangled and panting together, breaths mingling, basking in the quiet warmth of each other's presence.
you pout up at him, delivering a playful slap to his cheek before sinking into his arms with a huff. "you're so mean."
katsuki chuckled deeply, the sound low and teasing. he didn't seem offended by your light hit, he seemed more amused by it.
"oh, please, you love me," he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. he nuzzled into your hair.
his body relaxed somewhat as he held you. he couldn't help but marvel at how easily you fit against him, how well your body molded to his.
"i've missed having you in my arms, you know," he admires you, tugging a strand of your hair. "it's been... goddamn painful."
you bite your bottom lip, a deep sense of understanding in the sympathetic smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. you hold his gaze, knowing intimately the emotions that swirl within him. "i know, hon. me too."
the softness in his eyes is palpable as the pet name you had for him washes over him, a hint of vulnerability there that he rarely shows. he hides his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "honey, i never wanna let go of you again."
you raise an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on your face as you tenderly caress his cheek, your gaze locking with his.
"i'm not going anywhere."
he looks up at you, returning your grin. his lips then gently meets yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
"good. i wouldn't let you even if you tried."
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tags (blogs who requested/ commented / reblogged on teaser): @pikachuzhc @dragonscribble @obitosdefencelawyer @oladelmars @dietc0ke-stomach @liliththedxmon @junehasnotbeenfound @kaizuzuzu @babylambdietcoke @bri-licious08 @itadoriwife @katsukiglazerrr @secretlilli @trishiepo0 @akitafox @un-limit-edd @kalulakunundrum @krbkswifey @orangeheliophile @kenqki @thisbicc @augustraine @lisbethw @vikizzy @king-dynamight @legendarybatherringmonger @srcyy @moonlightwriter
a/n: was overwhelmed with how much attention the teaser was getting, EVEN ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS LIKED THE POST @cathnospam ILYSM YOURE MY HERO. feedback/constructive criticism is always welcome!! i was working on my thesis defense (accepted!!) while writing this so i apologize for the delay and if theres any grammatical errors^^ i am beyond grateful to all of you and i hope you enjoyed reading the epitome of me being horny for katsuki🥹🥹
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fayes-fics · 9 months ago
Text
To Know You…
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?
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Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.
Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)
Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3
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I: To Know You….
“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 
You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.
Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.
He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…
You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.
You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 
And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 
You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.
“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 
You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.
“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.
“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 
“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.
“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.
By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…
“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.
Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.
“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”
You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.
“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.
“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.
Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.
Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.
“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”
“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 
Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…
You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.
“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.
“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.
“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.
“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.
It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.
Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.
“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.
You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 
“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”
Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!
As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.
“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”
Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.
As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.
“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.
Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”
“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.
“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.
“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”
You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.
Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.
“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”
“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.
“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.
Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.
“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”
His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.
You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 
Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.
“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.
“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 
And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.
“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 
You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.
II: …Is To Love You
The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.
“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.
You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.
Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.
“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.
Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.
But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 
Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.
He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.
As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.
“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.
“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 
Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.
“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”
You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.
Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 
“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.
You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 
Is no one in attendance up to his standard?
“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.
His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.
“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.
“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.
She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”
“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 
“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.
“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.
“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 
Benedict has no response to that. 
The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  
After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.
“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.
“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.
He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.
“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”
You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”
“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”
“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.
He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 
You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.
He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 
A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.
“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”
“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.
“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”
You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.
How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 
“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.
“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 
He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 
He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.
Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 
“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 
“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.
“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.
“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”
Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.
“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.
“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.
“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.
“Why?” Violet frowns.
“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”
“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.
“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.
“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.
Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.
“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.
“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”
“Well, no…”
“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.
“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.
You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 
The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 
However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.
“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.
“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.
“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”
You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.
“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.
“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.
He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.
“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.
“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.
And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.
“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.
Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.
“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.
She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.
You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.
“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.
Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.
“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.
“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”
He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.
The piano stops abruptly.
“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.
Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.
“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.
“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 
You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.
“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.
“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.
“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.
“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.
“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 
“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.
“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”
Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 
As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.
“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 
You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.
“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.
“Thank you.” 
Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 
III: … And I Do.
A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.
“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.
“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.
“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.
“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.
You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 
Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.
“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 
You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.
“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.
You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.
“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.
“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.
“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”
There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 
You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.
As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.
He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 
It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.
How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.
Nothing could have prepared you for this.
The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 
Surely, this is what dreams are made of?
You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 
His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.
“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 
Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.
You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.
Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 
He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  
You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 
Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.
“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.
“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.
As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.
Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 
“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”
“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.
“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 
There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.
“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.
And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 
To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 
“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”
“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 
He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.
That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 
An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 
Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.
You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.
You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.
“What on earth…?”
There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.
“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.
“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”
His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.
“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”
You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.
“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.
“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.
That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.
“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.
Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.
“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.
He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.
“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”
“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.
“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.
“Thank you,” you answer softly. 
You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 
“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 
Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.
“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”
He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.
“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.
“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”
That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 
You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.
“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 
Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…
…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.
The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.
“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.
“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.
She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”
He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.
“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.
“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.
“Why would she have?”  
“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.
“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.
“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.
“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 
Even he can read between those lines. 
“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.
Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.
He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.
“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.
“Researching,” he gruffs economically.
“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.
“I can find nothing wrong with him!”
Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.
“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”
Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”
“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.
He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”
“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”
Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.
“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”
Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.
It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.
“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 
“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.
“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.
The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.
You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 
A resounding yes.
In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.
And yet.
And yet.
There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 
Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.
You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.
“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.
“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.
“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.
“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.
You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 
“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”
You are stunned. Speechless. 
Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.
So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.
Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.
“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.
“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.
“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.
“I love you.” 
It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 
“I-I-I love you too.”
You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 
 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.
“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 
He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.
“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.
He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.
“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”
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Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies
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justsomestuffreally · 1 month ago
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I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 
Their reaction would vary wildly:
Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.
Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.
Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.
But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?
Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.
He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 
[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]
Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.
When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 
And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)
For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 
Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 
He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.
She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.
Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.
He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.
His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.
Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.
[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]
Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.
He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 
What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.
He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.
Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.
Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.
And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.
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1d1195 · 2 months ago
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Buttercup
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~7.8k words
From me: I love a knight in shining armor moment. Grumpy sunshine, black cat and golden retriever kind of vibe. There are definitely some details missing on purpose here. Best of luck. Hope you like it 💕 Sorry for the delay in posting. What a week.
Warnings: dick ex-bf - cheating, emotional trauma, threatening. Angry Harry, neighbor Harry, some mentions of sex, a good bit of angst, and some fluff.
Summary: Harry's new neighbor is fun to prank. She just wants to tend to her garden and enjoy her chocolate in peace.
But it's... comforting to know Harry is right next door.
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The boys that lived next door weren’t too loud, weren’t super messy, and they were easy on the eyes.
But that was the furthest she could compliment them.
Well, Louis was really lovely overall. He had a girlfriend that came by frequently (almost daily) and appeared to keep him in check. But there was no one to keep Harry in check. He walked around his yard in his boxers, got the mail in them even, and both greeted his sexual partner(s) then sent her on her way off his property the following morning in nothing but boxers as well.
All with a smug smile in her direction while he wore nothing but underwear and the ink etched on his unbelievably smooth skin.
Stupid hot people.
Regardless of what he was doing, he was always sure to irritate her if she was outside. “Hi Buttercup,” he cooed like they were old friends while she worked in her garden. It was clearly her favorite part of the house. It desperately needed a new coat of paint, and she didn’t care in the slightest. The flowers were more important, and she did a good job. Clearing the flowerbeds happened before all her boxes were officially inside her house.
She thought about the day she arrived.
When she moved in, she took a deep breath, pulled her hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the back of a baseball cap. One by one, she pulled a box out of her car and brought it inside. A storage pod was dropped in the driveway as well and then she began the same process after taking a short break while she looked at what she needed to do first. She leaned against her car and felt anxiety and a serious case of being overwhelmed start to fill her chest. She took deep breaths hoping the sugar she ingested would help ease her worried mind.
“Hey, neighbor!” She turned to the voice where a guy with brown hair and blue eyes smiled brightly at her. “I’m Louis, welcome to our neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you. Need help?”
She shook her head quickly. Almost defensive as she aimed to protect herself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”
Louis glanced at her storage pod and tilted his head at her curiously. It was a lot to unpack on her own.
Metaphorically and literally.
“You’re sure?” He asked. “My roommate saw you from the window. Thought you were... well, not struggling... But it’s a lot to move for anyone. He’s changing, he’ll be right out to help too,” he explained and rubbed the back of his head. “My girlfriend was on the phone and overheard Harry, and she insisted as well.”
She thought that he was nice. A friendly neighbor if there ever was one. But the wall of anxiety she put up and the nerve she was feigning to keep up was battling something fierce. “Right,” she cleared her throat. She would need an ally. There was no one in this new town for her and Louis seemed nice.
Levi seemed nice too... she thought.
Shaking her head she tried to rid herself of the negative outlook. Louis wasn’t Levi. “That... that’s really nice. Thank you. If you’re sure.”
Louis’ best friend and roommate Harry soon joined them. Introduced himself and she sincerely thought they were just two nice guys who would be decent neighbors.
The second they dropped the first load of her stuff safely inside Harry began his pranks. “Is this box labeled underwear up for grabs?”
There was no box labeled underwear. She knew that. But it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though Louis rolled his eyes as if was used to it. Which she supposed he was. “Christ, Harry,” Louis sighed and pinched between his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. We don’t let him out of the house much.”
She looked at him with an eye roll. He was cute. She would give him that.
Well, hot.
Enticing green eyes, sinewy muscles, and a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He knew he was hot. There was no way he didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her.
“Where are y’moving from?” Harry asked.
“Uh...” she shook her head trying to remember what lie she was supposed to say. But then went with most of the truth. “Just upstate, a few hours away. I got a new job and whatnot.”
“New modeling job?”
“Boo...” Louis droned, grumbling as he moved boxes labeled kitchen into the correct room. “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, you could use better material.”
“This is m’best material, Lou,” he scowled at his friend. Her cheeks were still burning at his shameless flirting.
“I know he’s obnoxious, but he’s harmless,” Louis rolled his eyes.
“Excuse you, Louis. M’not obnoxious.”
“The shit you say,” he shook his head.
“I jus’ think you’re gorgeous,” his eyelashes did all the flirting for him when his words stopped.
But whether Harry was flirting or not, she didn’t want to flirt with her neighbor. Didn’t want to have a boyfriend. Certainly not one with all the charisma he had around her.
Even if he was flirty and charming.
And hot.
There was no denying how hot Harry was.
So she would have to be careful.
*
“Looking good, Buttercup.”
She glared at the tulip bulbs she was planting in front of her door for the spring. She adjusted the planters of mums placed on the porch steps. A variety of gold, orange, brown and red. Perfect for fall and the idyllic picture for a magazine cover. There were pumpkins on the side of the bottom step greeting anyone at her home with the pretty festive colors. A cute scarecrow was staked among fake corn stalks and hay beside the pumpkins.
It was unseasonably warm for November but for the last two months, and even though Harry drove her crazy, she wanted to be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while she could. She had listened to Harry’s flirting with her since the moment she moved in. He was blatant about it. But in the same timeframe, she watched him with women coming and going. Of course, it didn’t bother her one bit who he spent his time with; that was his choice, and he had no obligation to her or the women he took home as long as he wasn’t a complete douchebag to them.
But Harry always seemed to be there. He was there when she got her mail. There when she got home from work. There when she was going to work. It didn’t matter. Didn’t he have to work? “Are businesses too intelligent to hire you?”
“No?” He chuckled phrasing it as a question.
“Just assumed, since you’re never at work.”
He snorted. “Funny.” She continued tending to her flowers. “I work from home.”
Perfect. So he would continue to always be there. Some people had all the luck.
He wasn’t in his boxers for a change. An interesting change of pace. He was in a pair of plain jogging pants and a plain T-shirt, yet he was the one that looked like a model for Nike.
Men had it so easy being attractive. A pair of workout pants and a T-shirt that outlined his pectorals way too tightly was all it took to get her flustered.
He sat beside her and watched her work. “Y’should do our garden, next Buttercup. Looks so nice the way y’put everything together.”
She paused and stared at him. His eyes roamed her little planters and across the weedless yard. He smiled at her as his gaze returned to hers. “You’re making fun of me,” she scowled.
“Kitten,” he pressed a hand over his heart, looking affronted. “I would never make fun of you.”
She looked back at the dirt that was under her nails. She focused on the feeling of it rather than the feeling of dread she felt around Harry. He was so confident in himself and in everything he did. It was annoying. His stupid green eyes and his dumb smile. She couldn’t fall for it again. No matter how sincere he sounded.
“Y’look really pretty in y’garden,” his voice was gentle. Like he was worried she was going to throw something at him. She had considered it. Her trowel seemed like it could do some damage. But she was trying not to be completely ridiculous just because Harry was a pain.
And sickening.
And irritating.
And cute.
Fortunately, she had a list of things to remind herself of that he was a nuisance. Not to mention there were his pranks that made her crazy.
He sprayed her with the hose when she wasn’t looking. Sent mail to her house for porn addiction making the mailman look at her with a smirk before she screamed at Harry (which didn’t help the look the mailman was giving her). At the beginning of October, he put a Halloween mask outside her window to scare her when she woke up so terrifyingly that Louis and Eleanor rushed over in their pajamas. While nothing was irreparable or worth putting her into therapy, the jokes made her mad because Harry always made her mad. He was too good looking and too there all the time.
Instead, she continued weeding and planting. Making the previously bare flower beds green and brown with freshly overturned dirt. It was calming. Being in the garden, the yard. Dirt on her hands and the sun on her back.
“Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?” He joked.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“The more y’ignore me, kitten, jus’ makes me want y’more.”
“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
“Ugh, will you marry me?”
“You’re so ridiculous, Harry.”
“God, y’drive me wild.”
She continued digging in the dirt. “If you’re going to sit there and be annoying, can you at least be useful and hand me the watering can?”
Harry silently grabbed the can and poured the water into the hole, watching her carefully. “I used t’garden with m’Mum.”
“You didn’t just spawn from the ground climbing out of hell?”
Harry chuckled quietly. “No, m’mum’s a saint,” he said with a smile. The fondness in his voice and reverence for her made her heart skip a beat. He was so annoying but that was undoubtedly beyond sweet. Even if it was Harry saying it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”
“Y’didn’t. I know what y’meant,” he chuckled. “Mum would like you,” he told her. Which absolutely terrified her because mothers often did. It made things more complicated. Like it had in the past.
“She would like me? I’m an absolute bitch to you, Harry.”
“Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t say that,” the sincerity in his voice continued making her throat catch on any rebuttal she wanted to say in return. The pucker of skin between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth his skin. His frown made her sad too. Before she could push the feeling away, he spoke again. “You’re funny. Stubborn. Adorable. Mum would like that y’keep me grounded,” he complimented.
“Keeping you grounded is the nice way of saying bitchy.”
He sighed, irritation practically rolling off him in waves. That was new. “Seriously, kitten. Knock it off,” he shook his head disappointedly.
She blinked, surprised by the genuine tone. “You’re serious?”
“Jus’ because y’say it ‘bout yourself doesn’t make it better.”
For a whole minute she seriously thought about how easy it would be to fall for Harry. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny. Even if he was obnoxious. Louis and Eleanor kept him around for a reason, right? For God’s sake he wouldn’t let her call herself a bitch. Who did that?! “Um... sorry?”
“Apology not accepted. You’ll have t’go on a date with me. S’the only way t’make it up t’me.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bulbs she was planting. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Alright fine; I’ll jus’ have t’think of something else,” he sighed, pausing, like he was really thinking about how she could make it up to him.
Then he smeared a clod of cold, wet dirt across her cheek.
She spluttered trying to avoid dirt in her mouth and reached out to smack him. However, he was nearly giggling, practically running back to his house before she could register what really happened and retaliate. “See y’later, Buttercup!” He called.
*
One of Harry’s ongoing pranks involved slipping his phone number into her contacts early on when he met her. It happened shortly after she moved in, and it allowed him to send her memes and inappropriate messages (not the kind of unsolicited messages that only complete dicks sent to women who did not want them) but the ones that he found on the internet. Inappropriate jokes. Innuendos.
But he also texted her when he was heading to the grocery store to see if she needed anything. But in the time that they exchanged messages, she never started the conversations. It was always a Leave me alone Harry. No thank you. Can you stop staring out the window like a creep? If she needed something she asked Louis, which honestly upset him to a degree, but he understood. Harry came on strong when he met her. Not that he would change that, but it wasn’t unreasonable of her to feel standoffish to him.
God, was she beautiful. Harry loved seeing her in the yard. Made it a point to drop everything he was doing and go get a closer look. He was drawn to her. Moth to a flame. The whole bit. She was so funny, even when she was grumpy. He wasn’t joking when he told her that her ignoring him made him want her more.
She was a hard worker and left early in the morning and returned well into dinner time. While the weather was nice, she would sit on her porch and read or work tirelessly on her perfect garden. She was lovely. Harry could see it from afar and he was bummed she didn’t catch on to his shameless flirting the way he had hoped when he first saw her.
One of these days I’d like you to text me instead of Louis when you need something. Louis already has a girlfriend.
From the looks of it you have PLENTY of options for a girlfriend.
Jealous?
Of getting a disease? No. I’m good.
Your green thumb is spreading, Buttercup. It’s not your color.
You can ignore me all you want. Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I just want you to know I’m happy to help you if you need it. Not just Louis.
Also, I’m clean in case you ever want to explore that side of things too 😉
Surprisingly, she ignored that message too.
*
Harry felt like he was going through withdrawals from her. He hadn’t even seen her in the yard. Between the rain and their work schedules, it was like he couldn’t get a glimpse of her pretty being tending to the weeds, reading her book, or anything. His joke asking her what she plays with at night that also vibrates went unanswered.
Maybe he should have stopped sending her inappropriate jokes, but the fact she hadn’t blocked him gave him the shred of hope he desperately wanted. Maybe if she had blocked him it would get through his head that she was out of his league, and she wasn’t interested.
I’m heading home to shower, change, and then I’ll come grab you. It was Niall though, and not her reply to his joke.
Harry put cologne on and settled in the living room quietly scrolling through his social media looking at the time stamp from his message, almost a whole day ago. Frowning, he returned to scrolling and waiting for Niall. Not thinking much of anything of merit as he did.
But then that little notification slid from the top of his phone making his heart bounce with excitement.
Harry, are you home?
Is it finally happening?! 😍
There was no response and Harry thought he ruined their moment. Even if he believed her when she said they would never sleep together, he was glad she was talking to him. He was worried his latest prank had gone too far.
Harry’s car was in the garage, and he had almost every light off since he was leaving soon, so it was a fair question since she couldn’t see the back of his house where he was hiding in his room.
I was kidding, Buttercup. I’m home. You could have just come over to ask though.
There was still no response, but he kept his phone in hand waiting and holding his breath. Hoping something would come through from her again.
Pick some flowers from my yard.
Come knock on the door like we’re supposed to be going on a date.
Please.
And hurry.
Please.
What?
...?
Kitten...what’s wrong?
He tried calling her immediately, but it went right to voicemail, like she had turned her phone off after sending her last message.
What the hell. Why aren’t you answering your phone?
This isn’t funny, Buttercup...
You’re making me nervous.
If this was a retaliation prank it went way too far. Way further than putting the mini popping firecrackers under her tires before she left for work. The very one that got her so mad, he thought she was going to call the cops finally. The one that made her ignore him for days on end despite the messages he sent.
But this wasn’t funny. Not even a little. Her safety and security weren’t things Harry liked to joke about because despite everything, he was possessive about her. And frankly, he adored her. Even if she wasn’t his to obsess over nor adore.
But he wasn’t going to ignore her any longer than he had to. He nearly sprinted out the door, swiping randomly at her pretty flowers and feeling horrible that he was pulling her precious plants after all the hard work she put into them. It seemed silly to spend time doing this, but he didn’t want to fuck up what she asked him to do. Not when her messages seemed so worrisome. Not when she didn’t answer. With a fresh bouquet in hand, he hurried to the front door. Fortunately, he was dressed for a night out. Niall would be on his way to pick him up; so, he was, in theory, date ready. But the thought of being with Niall and not home when she needed him terrified him further. Thank God he was home.
Harry had no idea what was on the other side of her door, but it was embarrassingly late in the moment that he realized there was a car in the driveway he hadn’t seen before. At once he realized she never had company. Which only made him even more anxious.
Swallowing, he knocked firmly.
The door flew open within ten seconds of his knock. The relief in her eyes made Harry feel sick. What was she so nervous about? What could make her that nervous, that seeing him made her at ease? She was constantly irritated by his presence. The moment only made him feel worse. “Harry, right on time,” she smiled sweetly. She was a good actress. If she hadn’t texted Harry so urgently, he wouldn’t be looking for signs of trouble, wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes, and he would have no idea that something was wrong.
“Hi kitten, don’t y’look beautiful,” he cooed leaning down to press a kiss to her cheekbone as if he had done it a thousand times before. Gratefully, he had imagined it about a thousand times, so it probably looked as natural as it felt. Plus, she was beautiful. Always. The acting came naturally to him as well. His arm wrapped around her waist in the same movement instinctively. His eyes fell to the man standing a few feet back watching her like a hawk. His gaze was territorial and possessive; Harry didn’t care for that at all. Even if she wasn’t Harry’s, she definitely wasn’t his either.
But Harry was possessive, and he was there because she asked him to be there. Something he got the feeling the other man did not have permission for. He knew he shouldn’t have felt possessive of her, but he would pretend all the same if it meant the worry in her eyes would go away.
He handed her the bouquet he plucked only moments before and threaded their fingers together; another movement that felt like he had done before and not for the very first time that second. “Let’s get a vase,” he suggested and kept his eyes on him. It wasn’t lost on him how easily her fingers fit between his, the way their palms touched, or how her grip tightened ever so slightly when she settled her grip in his. “Hey,” he nodded his head in greeting.
The guy ignored Harry. His eyes glaring at the pretty girl beside him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been dating this guy since the moment you moved in?”
Her cheeks burned red, and Harry kissed the top of her head tucking her toward his chest protectively. Harry didn’t care for it at all. If the anxiety in her texts, expressions, and body language wasn’t enough evidence, then the way she leaned further into his chest despite everything and how annoyed she was by him, certainly was. “M’Harry,” his voice was firm. Pointed. “And you are?”
He grunted, shook his head. “The fuck, babe?” He snapped. She didn’t respond, simply glanced up to meet Harry’s gaze. She blinked unsurely at Harry, unable to find her next move. Harry nudged her gently toward the kitchen.
“Do y’have a name or what?” Harry grumbled over his shoulder as he made a show of caressing her while she found a vase. Her hands were shaking slightly as she placed the vase in the sink. Fortunately, Harry saw it immediately and tugged the glass from her grip, pulling her hand back in his. Even if it was impractical and stupid looking while he placed the vase with one hand in her sink to finish what she was doing.
“Levi,” he snapped. “We apparently used to date.”
Harry felt her body deflate. He wondered why. Was it the prospect of dating this asshole? Was it the phrase used to? What happened before he got here?
“Well, Levi, glad we’re on the same page and you’re using the past tense. M’here t’take my girlfriend on a date,” he pressed his body around hers, bracketing her body against the sink. She kept her eyes down, away from Levi’s gaze. Her body felt so warm against his it made him wish this wasn’t for show. Instead, he bent down to kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder hoping she wouldn’t hate him later over it.
He was really into pretending. She squeezed his hands that were wrapped around hers against the edge of counter. Was that a thanks? Was that a sigh he imagined when he kissed her skin? God, she smelled good.
“M’not sure exactly what’s going on here, but m’getting a good sense that she doesn’t want y’here. So maybe s’a good time t’go before I have t’escort y’out of the house.”
He snorted and shook his head. He glared at Harry as he spoke, but her eyes were still cast down toward the sink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, babe. You can try and fool me all you want. But I’m not stupid. I’ll come back when your boyfriend isn’t around,” he left the kitchen and slammed her front door shut as he exited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Begrudgingly, he left her by the sink and went to the front door, peering out the small window right next to the frame. He watched while Levi pulled out of her driveway and down the road. Harry stood and watched, waiting for the sound of his car to completely disappear before he felt he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Harry locked her deadbolt.
“Who was that—” He started as he turned back for the kitchen, but his heart practically broke at the sight of his stubborn, fearless, and utterly pretty neighbor teary eyed and shaken to the core. She left the kitchen near silently it seemed but stopped in the hall right before the entryway of the front door. He didn’t even hear her approach. “Hey,” he cooed coming closer. “Buttercup,” he frowned when she didn’t respond to her nickname. “Hey,” it was like he was approaching a wounded, wild animal. He didn’t want to scare her, but God did he want to protect her. God, did he want to hold her again. “Love, he’s gone. I—” He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into his embrace again, but something about her looked off. The anxiety written all over her face made him nervous and sad.
He zoned in on her hands; they were shaking by her sides worse than the way she held the vase. Her eyes were so fucking sad looking Harry wanted to scream. “Kitten,” he tried again. “Can I...?” He reached for her again. “M’not going to...” all his sentences were half finished as he tried to figure out why the fuck Levi scared her so badly. All he wanted was to comfort her. She was too sweet and pretty to look so terrified. When she never looked scared of anything. “Buttercup,” he murmured again.
She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” but her voice was barely audible over the sound of it getting caught around the emotion in her throat.
“Hey, s’okay t’not be okay. M’here,” he promised holding his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” He asked. She shook her head quickly. It hurt like hell for her to say no. Harry thought he was seriously going to cry. “Okay, okay,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust himself not to try and comfort her and the last thing that he ever wanted to do was break her trust and consent. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he pouted and watched as she was starting to shake like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. “Come sit,” he begged. “Please.”
She obeyed and Harry went to her kitchen and found a glass in the cabinet as if this was his own house. He got water from the dispenser on her fridge, and he brought it to her. Her hands were still shaking violently, and her tears were flowing but not a sound other than a quiet sniffle left her. “Here, Buttercup,” he mumbled.
She sniveled and wiped her eyes as she took the cup from him. He avoided brushing her fingers with his and he paced in front of the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he caught sight of the time. “Fuck,” he muttered. Pressing the phone to his ear he glanced out the window. “Sorry Niall. Can’t come out,” he ran a hand on the back of his head. She perked up at his words.
“Harry,” she whispered.
“No... I don’t know.... I just need t’be here for her,” he mumbled.
“Harry, you don’t—”
He silenced her with a look while her words died in her throat with another little whimper. Being vulnerable was hard for her. Obviously. Harry wondered if she knew how difficult it was for him to watch her look so upset and scared and not comfort her. If he knew letting go of her in the kitchen meant he wouldn’t get to touch her again, he wouldn’t have let go to start.
He hung up without hearing Niall’s response and he put his phone in his back pocket.
“If you have plans—”
“I don’t,” he interrupted shaking his head quickly. “Jus’ a date with a pretty girl,” he sat across from her on the coffee table making sure that not even his knee bumped against her. His eyes were following her every breath. Every tiny movement and flinch. The nervousness he felt was painful. Waiting for something to make sense. The water in her glass rippled and practically splashed over the side from how hard she was shaking. Harry wanted nothing more than to take it from her grip. But instead, he patiently waited until she sipped it.
“I’m okay,” her voice was nothing more than air. Even if it wasn’t, Harry wouldn’t believe her.
“Baby,” he frowned. “No one sends a message like that if they’re not worried about their safety. I’m worried ‘bout your safety. So don’t pretend t’be okay if you’re not. I’ll stay all night, sitting right here, and stare at you.”
She snorted. “That sounds like watching paint dry.”
He shrugged. “You’re far more interesting and prettier than paint drying.”
She swiped at her eyes again looking at her lap. “He cheated on me.”
“What a fucking moron,” he mumbled and tilted his head at the ceiling. Harry would never understand how the luckiest men in the world treated lovely, beautiful girls like her as if they were nothing. “He wants y’back?”
She shrugged, shook her head, and nodded. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want him back?”
She whimpered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut so tight, he worried she was going to split open her lids. “God, no,” she whispered.
Harry sighed, rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Can y’talk t’me, kitten? M’not leaving unless y’tell me to. Do y’want me t’leave?” It would kill him. Sincerely, truly kill him. But if she didn’t want him there, he would go.
“I can’t,” she was sobbing. It was killing him. It hurt so much not to hold her and comfort her.
“Okay, okay. I’ll... I’ll jus’... go back t’my house... Yeah? If y’need something, jus’...” he rubbed a hand over his face feeling like he was walking on a bed of glass saying the words. “Call, text, throw rocks at m’window,” he stood, mindful to not bump her knee. He smiled weakly at his own joke. It wasn’t returned. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to help the sweet, lovely girl. The smile fell from his lips when she didn’t respond. “Jus’... lock the door behind me, Buttercup, yeah?”
It felt like he was walking toward his death, but he left her living room and waited until he heard her deadbolt lock before he descended her porch steps.
*
She dropped the glass of water Harry gave her in the kitchen after she let Harry leave. It shattered into a million microscopic pieces and the flowers from her garden looked so unbelievably pretty she wished Harry really was taking her on a date.
She covered her mouth around another broken sob. Her eyes felt red and raw, and the pressure of her sinuses and the front of her forehead ached beyond words. She was safe. She was okay. But her chest hurt.
Levi was gone. Harry came to her rescue. After she was mean and grumpy toward him. Trying to protect her heart after it hurt six ways to Sunday because of the man that let himself into her home without permission. Harry didn’t even try to touch her without permission. She could tell he wanted to. Hell, she wanted him to... but everything hurt, and she was just so scared.
Maybe it was too late. But she needed him. Really needed Harry to hold her and comfort her. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of how lovely it was to be held by him. The kiss on her skin. He was warm and solid. Safe. That’s what she wanted. To feel safe. Her heart ached with want.
Immediately after the thought of his warm solid body around hers, she raced out of the kitchen and unlocked her door. She was ready to fly down the steps of her porch, cross her yard and his hoping he would have the door open before she even arrived.
But Harry was already there; at the bottom of the third and final step of her porch.
He never even left.
Harry stood and turned as soon as he heard the deadbolt open, standing only seconds before she was ready to blow right past him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.
Without any more pause, she was in his embrace. Her arms around his neck and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. His hands felt so big and safe on her body, just as she predicted.
He hummed something into her hair. Something like “M’here,” in his gravelly, pretty voice. “I have you,” he soothed. “Oh kitten, m’so sorry,” his voice sounded like he wanted to cry as much as she was. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve to feel so sad. Not because of her and her messed up life. “C’mon, Buttercup,” he scooped behind her knees and cradled her as he carried her back inside to her sofa, locking the door behind them as he entered.
“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged, sniffling into his shirt.
“Never, baby. Never, ever, ever,” he promised rubbing her back. “Not unless y’ask.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “But I will ask,” she sniffed. “Because I’m too much. I’m sad, scared, broken, and damaged.”
“Y’not any of those things, kitten. Certainly not damaged, Buttercup.”
“But I am,” she whimpered. “You have no idea. He messed me up so bad... and I... I don’t,” she choked. “I pushed you away already.”
It wasn’t much, but the little bit she opened up her heart to him meant the world to him. It was almost as good as holding her. But nothing could replace that feeling now that he had it. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t far,” he shrugged.
He didn’t even leave her porch. Was he going to stay out there all night? Her heart felt achy, and her eyes were already raw with tears but if they weren’t she would have cried at the thought of her obnoxious neighbor sleeping on the bottom step of her porch in the cold all because she was broken.
“You just wanted to help, and touch and hold me, and I wouldn’t let you—”
“Kitten,” he said sternly. He cupped below her jaw and stared right into her pupils like he was speaking directly to her soul. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I will never touch you without permission. No one has any right t’touch you unless y’ask.”
A sob escaped her throat and then she buried her face against his chest. His body was so broad and warm. She imagined if they were without heat or power, she would still be warm. “But I want you to touch me. All the time. Every second I’m around you,” there was no use denying it. Not when she couldn’t lift her face from his shirt.
Harry sighed with relief. “Well good,” he squeezed her affectionately. “Baby,” he stroked his thumb below her eye. “What happened?”
She shivered and Harry pulled the blanket that was on the back of her sofa over them. Her personality was huge and beautiful. She invaded Harry’s every thought. In the same room, she was in every air particle. Outside in her garden she was every little piece of dirt, petal, stem, root and all. She was larger than life.
It killed him she felt so small in his arms.
“I knew he was cheating, and he didn’t want me to leave,” she sniffed. Harry nodded, his teeth ground together. His jaw tensed. Waiting for her to continue. “He said I was overreacting. Our relationship was stale, and we just needed something to spice things up.”
She turned her face to his shirt and Harry cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding and massaging his fingertips against the back of her skull. “He’s an idiot, Buttercup. A stupid, idiotic, horrible excuse for a man,” he grumbled.
She swallowed and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Harry holding her felt like medicine was sinking into her skin and directly into her bloodstream. Harry didn’t force her to speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just held her. She was sure he wanted to know more. Wanted to know all the gritty details that resulted in her moving in the middle of the night and finding this house next to his.
But there was only one thing she could think about.
“Why do you call me Buttercup?” She whispered.
Harry didn’t answer for several seconds. His free hand was on the small of her back, pressing gently to get her frame even closer to his. “Can I kiss right here?” He asked ignoring her question. He brushed his thumb along her temple. She nodded and Harry followed the brush of his thumb with his lips.
“That’s nice,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “Jus’ wait ‘til y’get a real kiss,” he promised. “Gonna make y’fall in love with me.”
She didn’t want to tell him she already had because that seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous it made her a little breathless. “That good hmm?” She hummed.
“Never had a complaint.”
“That’s obvious,” she smirked.
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”
“Not my business.”
“But it is... M’a gentleman first, kitten. Mum taught me well. I just like t’make m’date feel good,” he explained. “Doesn’t always include... y’know,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know I drove y’crazy walking them out in m’boxers.”
“No, you didn’t,” she lied.
He chuckled. “S’okay t’admit it, kitten; don’t know what I would have done if y’had someone over and flaunted a date in jus’ your underwear.”
“You were trying to make me jealous?”
“I didn’t think y’were that stubborn.”
She wasn’t sure if Harry was avoiding her question or trying to distract her, but she still wanted an answer. “Why?” She asked quietly again.
“Why what?”
“Why do you call me buttercup?”
He sighed, kissed her temple again turning her insides warm and mushy. He didn’t speak for a few seconds like he didn’t really want to tell her. “Y’were eating a peanut buttercup,” he mumbled. “When y’moved in. Y’have wrappers all over the floor of y’car. On Halloween, y’didn’t pass out any of them, but I saw them in the grocery bags I carried in for you one time.”
She bit her lip wondering how she didn’t put it together. It was incredible he noticed that. “They’re my favorite,” her voice no more than air once more.
“And you’re mine,” he assured her, cupping the side of her face. “M’not going t’let him hurt you. I’ll break every bone in his body and mine if I have to.”
She blushed. “You don’t have to—”
“Buttercup, m’not joking,” he said cutting off her protest. “Y’don’t have t’be scared because m’never going t’let him get close t’you ever again,” he promised.
“He just said he was going to... wait until you leave, Harry. You can’t promise that.”
“Guess I won’t leave. Or you’ll have t’come home with me.”
“Harry,” she croaked.
“Kitten, m’not messing around with y’safety,” he reminded her. “I can stay here on the couch and y’can stay in your bed. It doesn’t have t’be a thing. M’staying t’keep y’safe. Don’t read into it if y’don’t want to.”
But she wanted to read into it. God, did she want to. Harry dropped everything the moment she texted him from the bathroom in a panic. He was only next door. Didn’t she want to believe all his pranks were his way of flirting? Didn’t she want to believe he liked her more than just annoying her?
She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. He didn’t deserve a mess. He deserved one of the effortlessly beautiful girls that he brought home. The kind that knew how to curl their own hair and where to draw the contour lines when they did their makeup. “You don’t have to stay,” she shook her head.
“Kitten,” he tutted.
“No seriously—”
“You’re deflecting, baby.”
“I’m just—”
“Buttercup,” Harry’s hands felt so warm and perfect against her skin. He brought his other hand to her bare cheek. It looked like he was trying not to cry himself when she met his gaze. “You just told me y’would try t’push me away. I don’t want t’go. But I will. I’ll sleep on your porch if y’want me too,” he offered. “Please,” he whispered quietly. Gently, like he was worried he was going to scare her. “Don’t ask me t’leave you.”
There was a long pause. “Stay,” she murmured into his hand. Because she was too exhausted and scared to tell him to leave. Pressing her lips against his palm, she met his gaze and watched the hope bloom in his eyes with just one little word. “Please... please stay.”
Harry sighed with relief, pulling her tightly toward him and nodding. “Course, Buttercup. Of course.”
*
It had become routine. She arrived home from work, and there was Harry. Sitting on the bottom step of her porch. He waited for her while she gathered her belongings from her car. His smile was so stunning. Like a streetlight on a dark road. Bright, beautiful, and all for her. “Hey Buttercup,” he hummed as she approached. He stood and pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her. It wasn’t even heavy. In the same movement, he pecked her cheek and pressed a hand to her lower back like he had done for the last six weeks since he started seeing her exclusively. Not a single girl with perfectly curled hair had been his driveway. No one with expertly contoured makeup. Harry stopped walking around his yard in his boxers (but now she wished he did it more). As he guided her toward the front door, he continued grinning like an idiot. “Did your day get better after lunch, kitten?”
She nodded, his encouraging text sent at lunchtime was meant to ease the frustration he could sense through her messages. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he used to enjoy her frustration, he wanted nothing more than to ease it now. “M-hmm,” she smiled at him. “You?”
“Better now that you’re home.”
She rolled her eyes at him because while he stopped pranking her so much, he replaced it with the cheesiest thoughts and lines known to man. But there was no denying how it made her heart flutter. “Did you want to go out to eat?” She asked.
He shrugged, then nodded. “We can if y’want.”
“I don’t really feel like cooking.”
“Me either.”
“Let me change and we’ll go.” Harry was looking at her strangely. The kind of face he made when he pulled pranks on her before he officially swept her off her feet. Maybe she was wrong, and the pranks were coming back.
Maybe there were those mini firecrackers under her toilet seat. “What?”
“Nothing, jus’... think y’look pretty,” his smile was too devilish (and handsome). He knew what he was doing. she shook her head and snorted. But Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. He watched her head to her bedroom. When she stopped in the doorway, his smile bloomed. Her pause to look at her room as if it wasn’t hers made his heart skip a beat. “S’matter, Buttercup?”
“There are like a hundred peanut butter cups on my bed,” she told him. Like he didn’t already know. Orange wrappers lined up in the shape of a heart along her bed spread.
“107, actually,” She turned to look at him. He shrugged. “It would have 110, but I needed a snack.”
She wanted to smile. But her heart was beating fast, her emotions overwhelming her. She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”
“Y’said y’were having a bad day.”
Her lip felt raw from biting it, behind her eyes prickled with tears. “Oh.”
“S’nice? Yeah?” He wondered and made his way to her, putting his hand on her lower back. He kissed her temple. “Kitten?” She nodded and turned her head toward him, hiding her face against his shoulder and trying to quell the emotion that was threatening to come out of her. “Hey, s’wrong, Buttercup?” He frowned. “Do y’want t’order take away instead?” He rubbed her arm soothingly.
She shook her head, then nodded, followed by a shrug. “I don’t know,” she sniffed.
“Aw, baby, don’t cry,” he hummed. “S’okay,” he reassured her. He didn’t even know why she needed reassurance. “S’jus’ some candy.” She sniffled again and Harry kissed the top of her hair. “M’gonna make sure y’feel good all the time, Buttercup,” he promised.
Her chest felt so overwhelmingly warm and achy in the best way. She nodded against him wishing she could tuck herself further into his strong body where she felt like nothing bad could happen. The change in relationship was a lot to absorb. But it was easy in a lot of ways. Harry was sweeter than she ever imagined he could be. Or maybe she was biased now that she got kisses, and he held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. It killed her in hindsight how standoffish she had been to him. The thought of ignoring him made her feel sick to her stomach.
“I think you really will,” she mumbled into his shirt. He chuckled, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.
“Y’never have to thank me, kitten,” he shrugged. “Sorry I was so annoying.”
“I suppose it worked,” she sniffed.
He chuckled. “I knew it would.”
“You did not.”
“I did so,” he said petulantly. “Or I hoped it would.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why you would want someone so mean.”
“Jus’ makes me want y’more,” he joked and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “M’gonna kiss y’now, kitten,” his way of warning her and asking for permission. It hurt that he felt he had to ask. But Harry was nothing if not thorough and sure in asking for her consent.
“Don’t ever stop,” she sighed dreamily.
He chuckled again and leaned in to follow his promise. “M’pleasure, Buttercup.”
--
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wonsroyalty · 2 months ago
Text
forbidden, 박성훈
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing/warnings: 6.4k,, sunghoon x f!reader, brothers best friend, smut, jake and his sister are lowkey spoilt children!!
a/n: my og bias!!! i love sunghoon so so much omg, literally the prettiest boy ever.. hope i did him justice with this trope cause school is kicking my butt😓
masterlist
It wasn’t a secret to say that you wanted your brothers best friend.
You remember the day that Jake brought him over to your house. He was skinny and awkward looking but Jake, the ever-giving saviour, took him under his wing.
Sunghoon truly was innocent before he met Jake. Your brother corrupted him, turning him into a carbon copy of himself.
One time you asked him if he ever missed his old self and he responded harshly asking if you were crazy. Who knew that adopting a fuck boy persona could change a person so drastically..
Sunghoon was over at your house constantly, after school every day, every weekend, every holiday. You were convinced he didn’t ever spend a dinner at his own house.
At first it annoyed you because having two Jake’s at home wasn’t very appealing, but you knew that there was still a part of the old Sunghoon, deep, inside his now cold heart.
Your senior year was an absolute whirlwind, no annoying Jake to pester you and complain about your outfits, no claims that you were slutting yourself out to get the attention of his friends, no Sunghoon.
You didn’t really miss Jake’s presence while he was at university but you truly did miss Sunghoon.
Maybe that’s why you began to act out, screaming at him when he spilt milk down your top (you’d pushed him), calling him every name under the sun and ultimately teasing him relentlessly.
Jake pretended to be oblivious, ignoring your shouting as he focused on the video game in front of him.
He wanted to enjoy his summer, not deal with your new excessive stress reliever.
When he heard Sunghoon start screaming back at you, he got up with a loud groan.
He grabbed your arm, dragging you away from the kitchen.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he glared.
“He spilt milk onto-”
Jake was seething.
“Shut it.” he threatened. “Stop messing with Hoon and go clean up your mess. Dinner will be ready in 40.”
You grumbled under your breath as you stormed up the stairs.
Your parents were on yet another trip, claiming that they needed another break.
They had terrible timing as the day after they left, the shower in your en-suite broke.
You stomped your way over to the main bathroom on Jake’s floor, still jealous at the fact that they built the whole third floor for him and him only and that he had the shower with the best pressure.
Sulking, you peeled your clothes off and hopped into the shower, letting the hot water pierce your skin. Annoyed thoughts slowly trickled out as you scrubbed the milky scent away.
Not keeping track of time, you grabbed a fresh towel off Jake’s stack and wrapped your body.
As you opened the door, Sunghoon seemed to be reaching for the handle, about to open it.
“Sorry.” he grumbled. “I didn’t know you were in there.”
He waited expectantly for you to move out of the doorway but instead watched as you followed his every attempt to walk past you.
“I need to fucking pee, can you get out the way.” he groaned.
“Oh come onnnn, Sunghoon.” you shook your head. “Can’t I have a little fun?”
You dropped your towel at the last word, feigning shock at your actions.
Sunghoon immediately covered his eyes taking steps back.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” he screamed blushing heavily.
“It was an accident!” you screamed back wrapping your body.
“Yn!” Jake shouts from downstairs.
You ran down the stairs, narrowly missing Jake as you launched yourself into your room and locked the door.
With a laugh you got dressed, calling your best friend as you dried your hair at the messy vanity in your room.
“So.. you’re telling me that you purposely let go of your towel to get a reaction out of him.” Sunoo laughed.
You hummed confidently.
“You’re such a freak, yn.”
“You say that like you don’t already know.” you joked.
“No trust me, I know.” he rolled his eyes.
Yes, you had slept with your best friend a few times, but he had a dick and you wanted experience, so who better to trust than him?
“Well I gotta go, Jakey said dinner would be ready agessss ago.” you laughed. “Bye Noo, love you.”
“Love you more.” he blew you a kiss before ending the call.
You calmly made your way to the dinning room and sat in the seat that Jake had set up for you.
“Ramen, again?” you groaned. “How did it take you so long to make this…?”
Jake shot a deadly glare your way.
“If you want to complain about my specialty why don’t you make dinner tomorrow.”
“Gladly.” you accepted.
Sunghoon was silent the whole time you all ate.
Jake waffled on to him but he kept his head down, feeling the pressure of your stare.
You raised a leg onto his, testing the waters before you raised your foot slowly, letting it make its way further up.
“I can’t do this!” he shouted grasping his head.
“Huh?” Jake was confused, scrambling after Sunghoon as he put his shoes on, your own legs following after him.
“Hoon! You said you were staying over!” he complained.
“Yeah, Hoon!” you mockingly whined.
Sunghoon shoved past you.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He snatched his car keys from the living room table and slammed the door behind himself.
“Wonder why he’s in a fucking mood.” Jake grumbled.
“Let’s just go eat..” you pushed him back to the table, hearing Sunghoon speed away.
~
Sunghoon kept his promise, returning the next day bright and early but camped out in Jake’s room the whole day.
Ear on the door, you heard him say “So, is Yn gonna stay away…”
“You know,” Jake trailed off. “Heeseung was over the other day and she didn’t act like that so I just think she hates you.”
“There’s a big difference between hate and lust.” Sunghoon shook his head.
“Ew! That’s my sister.” Jake gagged. “I truly don’t think she wants to fuck you.”
You sighed at how wrong he was, mentally giving him points for the protective act.
“Right.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Not like i’d want to hit anyways.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s still off limits, don’t try it.” Jake firmly said.
You heard them both shift around and out of the fear of getting caught you knocked on the door.
Sunghoon opened it, glaring down at you.
“What do you want?”
Your palms pushed his chest away from your intended path. Taking note of the fact that he was a lot more muscular than the previous summer.
“I’m not here for you,” you grumbled.
Jake tilted his head as if to ask you what Sunghoon had already said.
“I’m going shopping, gonna take your car because I’m outta fuel.”
“You can’t just take my car, let’s take yours and fill it up.”
“Let’s..?” Sunghoon grumbled.
“I have no money.” you lied.
“How’d you already finish your allowance?” Jake shook his head. “What was the plan when paying for the shopping?”
“Dad’s card.”
Jake hesitated before agreeing. “We’re all going, in my car.”
“I’m driving!” you ran out of the room, Jake following behind you as you raced to get the keys.
Sunghoon was in agony, sulking in the back seat as you and Jake argued over what songs should be played next in the cue.
“Siri, play Stay by Rihanna please.” Jake grinned in satisfaction as the song blasted through his car.
“Fuck you, I want Sticky! Siri play Sticky by Tyler the Creator.” you grumbled as his assistant didn’t listen to your voice and instead chose to snatch his phone and type it in.
The anger in his gut was slowly building up.
“Fuck! Yn keep your eyes on the fucking road, it’s a green light!” He shouted.
Both you and Jake jumped in fear.
Fingers shifting gears and feet pushing down on the pedals, you whipped into shape at the awareness of your surroundings.
“Jeez, Hoon.” Jake checked his ears for blood.
The rest of the ride was absolute silent, bar the music playing, you and Jake didn’t dare to speak up.
Sunghoon jumped out at the first opportunity, storming away with the shopping list leaving the two of you to trail after him like kicked puppies.
“I’ll go get the steak, it’s best from the butchers market down the road.” Jake pulled you in before he left. “Don’t do anything i wouldn’t..”
You nodded, giving him the sweetest smile.
He shook his head, pulling you in for a hug. You felt his lips place a peck on the top of your head.
“No funny business.” he threatened Sunghoon who grumbled in response.
“Sooo…” you dragged on. “Now that Jake’s gone- Hey! Don’t walk away while I’m speaking to you!”
The rest of the shopping trip was quite annoying.
All of your attempts to have Sunghoon squirming failed, he was blatantly ignoring your presence.
“Uh.. what’s Foie Gras?”
You giggled at his butchered attempt of pronouncing the item.
“Fattened duck liver.”
He physically recoiled. “Why would anyone wanna eat that.. ew.”
“It’s good, you’ll like it.” you persisted, leading him towards the correct aisle. “Sunoo??”
Your best friend stopped looking for salmon and embraced your hug.
His hands gripped your waist as you snuggled into his neck.
“Here with your new boy toy?” he laughed, pulling away from the heat of your body.
“I’m Sunghoon, nice to meet you.” the older boy leaned over you, holding a hand out for Sunoo to shake.
Sunoo gripped it firmly, greeting him with a smug grin.
“I’ve heard about you.”
“Good things I hope..”
“Well…” Sunoo laughed.
You pulled their hands apart, choosing to get all up in Sunoo’s personal space.
“Noo, are you coming to Heeseung’s party?” you poked his toned chest.
“Of course,” he grabbed your finger, the end of his sentence coming out as a whisper. “Kazhua told me that Yujin’s gonna be there as his plus one.”
It had been 3 weeks since you stopped talking to your friend Yujin after finding out that she’d slept with Sunghoon despite knowing that you had dibs on him.
Your expression immediately turned sour, very close to acting on the urge to drop kick Sunghoon then and there.
He’d always claimed that you were too young for him, despite there only being a years difference between the two of you, but then went behind your back and slept with a friend of the same age.
“You should see the look on his face right now.” Sunoo leant in closer, “He’s seething watching me get close to you. What a freak.”
Mood dissipating as an idea popped into your head, you took Sunoo’s hands and placed them on your ass. Letting him shamelessly grope you in public.
“Don’t be mean, I like that he’s kinda desperate sometimes.” you laughed.
Sunghoon fought to rip his vision away from you and your friend, slowly gaining the courage to grab the Foie Gras before storming over to you and yanking you away from Sunoo.
“Hey! I didn’t even say bye.” you turned your body to wave at your friend in response to the wink he sent you.
You watched in bewilderment as Sunghoon slammed the basket items onto the conveyor belt, scaring the cashier.
He whipped his wallet out of his pocket and took a card out to pay.
“You don’t have to do that..” you looked away in embarrassment.
You knew that Sunghoon wasn’t as well off as people like you and Jake. Taking up a summer job just to keep up with the lifestyle.
“Well Jake took your dad’s card, so unless you want to return all this, i’ll pay.” he pressed his lips together tightly.
The lack of refusal on your part led him to tap his card onto the scanner.
Watching him wince at the high transaction go through had you clenching your thighs together. You couldn’t tell if the hormones rose from Sunoo or Sunghoon but you didn’t really care.
He bagged the shopping and walked off to the car, not even bothering to look back at you.
Once the bags were in the boot you stood outside waiting for Jake.
“Jake wouldn’t have liked that.”
“Jake or you?” you rolled your eyes. “Sunoo’s my best friend.”
“So you just let your best friends fondle your ass in public?” he scoffed in disbelief. “Hee was right, you really are a slut.”
“Excuse me!”
You both turned to see an elderly lady coming over.
“Please could you help me load my shopping into the taxi?” she pleaded.
“Of course!” you beamed pushing down your anger with a gentle laugh.
Your parents had raised you right in some ways.
Sunghoon followed after you, keeping himself surprisingly close to your moving figure.
You both helped the lady transfer her bags from the trolley to the car, nodding with respect at her praise.
“What a cute couple, thank you for helping me.” she beamed, waving as she got into the passenger seat.
One look at Sunghoon’s face and you could tell he was torn between annoyance and embarrassment.
“Where the fuck is Jake?”
As if on cue Jake showed up.
You wiped your thumb at the lip stain on his cheek.
“You’re so nasty.”
He held a finger up to his lips before wrapping one arm around Sunghoon and the other around you.
“Sooo what did I miss?”
~
“PartyNextDoor? Really?” Sunghoon muttered walking into the dimly lit kitchen. It was clear that you were trying to set the mood.
Jake had sent him to help you out of fear that you’d burn something while he stepped out to meet some girl.
“He makes good music.” you shrugged seemingly unaffected by the lewd lyrics. “Aren’t you here to help?”
He nodded.
“Load the pasta into the oven dish, please.” you instructed. “Then put cheese on top.”
Sunghoon picked up the cheese block.
“Where’s the cheese grater?”
You told him that you’d get it, purposely bending over in your miniskirt so that he’d get an eyeful of the way your panties clung to your puffy folds.
“Oh… got it.”
Turning around you saw that Sunghoon was clearly distressed, pinching the top of his nose bridge.
You passed the grater over, internally laughing at the way his body jolted when your hand brushed against his.
“Aww Hoonie..” you pouted. “Do you want my help?”
Not even waiting for a response, you squeezed his crotch.
A low groan left his throat watching you drop to your knees with his trousers and boxers.
You impatiently began to suck him off, revelling in the fact that his cock was just as pretty as him.
Sunghoon’s head fell back, knuckles paling at the pressure of him gripping the counter.
“That feels so good.” he praised.
Sunghoon was big, too big even.
You swirled your fist at the parts you couldn’t reach and suckled on his tip, the praise doing something to you. Spurring you on to make him feel good.
“You shouldn’t be doing this.” he moaned.
“But you like it.” you sat back onto your knees.
Something about the look in your eyes had him whimpering.
“I knew the old you was in there somewhere!” your smile widened as you took him into your mouth again.
“Why are you still on that?” he seethed.
His long fingers scratched at your scalp, guiding your head off and on him. The vibrations of your gags had his knees buckling.
Sunghoon experimentally pushed your head fully onto his length. Your nose begged for air, buried in his abdomen and your throat constricted, feeling his dick push past your uvula.
“Come on, yn.” he coaxed. “Take it all.”
Tears streamed down your face, drool seeping out of the corners of your mouth.
“I’m so close, keep your throat open.” he groaned.
“Yn!” Jake shouted from the front door.
You slid off Sunghoon with a cough, scrambling to grab a tissue, wiping your tears and drool away as he pulled up his pants before running to the downstairs bathroom.
“Is dinner ready?” Jake asked poking his head into the kitchen.
“Just need to put it in the oven.” you croaked out.
“Cool, gonna play a game! Send Hoon my way when he comes back..”
Dinner was just like the day before except this time you and Sunghoon both couldn’t make eye contact yet Jake still waffled on.
The air felt thick even for you, trying your hardest to give Jake enthusiastic answers so he wouldn’t suspect anything.
You jumped up and down in happiness when he told you that he would clean the dishes so you could relax, dashing up to your room to get rid of your own problem.
The next few hours passed by rapidly as you tried time and time again to get yourself off, still throbbing from having Sunghoon in your mouth, but nothing was working.
“Ugh!” a quiet groan left your throat.
Your hands reached for the phone on your bedside table immediately clicking on Sunoo’s contact.
You: fuck i’m so horny
You: tried getting off but it won’t work
Sunoo: u want me to come over ??
You contemplated taking up his offer.
You: that’d take too long
Sunoo: is park over ??
You: yh.. i uh kinda sucked him off earlier
Sunoo: yeah I am NOT contracting an std
You: fuck you 😭😭😭
Sunoo: js send him a nude?? or smth 🫡
You: UGH ILY THANKS
You slipped on a thin nightgown, purposely pushing your chest upwards letting your hardened nipples peek through, taking a picture then taking another of your dripping pussy.
Fingers swiftly moving onto his contact, you pressed on the chat.
[1,000 from yn💋]
Sunghoon: so you had money the whole time..
Yn: [2 pictures attached] can you help me…?
seen
Sunghoon wasted no time in stumbling over to your room. Sending explicit pictures to him while he was staying in your brothers room was very insane.
He didn’t even knock on the door, storming in them locking it quietly after he got in.
“You can’t keep doing this.” he shook his head.
You gave him the best innocent look you could muster.
“Do what? What did I do, Hoonie?”
He ran a hand down his face, immediately losing all composure.
“Stand up.” he demanded.
You complied immediately. Yes, Sunghoon had shown his anger through badly timed outbursts but in that moment he seemed furious.
“You can’t keep trying to make me jealous.” he continued. “You don’t understand!”
“But-”
“You’re all I can think about anymore. I wake up and you’re there, I go to sleep and you’re in my dreams!” he whisper shouted, clearly being tormented by his own thoughts. “Sometimes I just can’t stand you but being away from you was absolute hell for me. Trust me, I am also trying to understand how this shit happened.”
“Hoon-”
“Please.” he begged. “Please just let me finish.”
He took a step forward, cradling your head in his hands.
“For years, I have been infatuated with you. Forced to watch from a distance so that I wouldn’t lose you and Jake.” he shook his head. “There really isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for you. I..”
You placed your hands on top of his significantly larger ones.
“Hoon, what are you trying to say?” you pushed.
He closed his eyes in pain.
“Don’t make me say it.” he frowned. “If I say it, we can’t go back to how we were.”
“I think I love you.” you teared up.
His head whipped up. “What?”
“Sunghoon, I love you.” you repeated firmly.
You’d always wanted Sunghoon since the day you laid eyes on him, but his words put a new perspective into your head. Is this why you were jealous of anyone that got close to him? Is it why you very harshly cut off Yujin? Is it why you felt butterflies every time he was around?
You had let your lust cloud your original feelings for Sunghoon, letting him believe that you only wanted him for sex because you knew that you could never have him romantically.
Sunghoon truly was out of your league. He was genuinely kind and a respcted person. He was everything that you couldn’t be. But none of that mattered when he pressed his lips against yours.
Pent up emotions of the past 10 years released as you kissed back just as passionately. Kissing Sunghoon with as much angst and love as he gave.
You never ever opened your eyes while kissing someone else, but you peeked an eye open to see what he looked like up close.
The perfect mole on his nose, his thick furrowed brows and perfect hair.
He kept his eyes closed for a few moments after you pulled away, taking in the feeling.
“Hoonie.” you called out. “I want you.”
Sunghoon complied, throwing you onto your bed and getting comfortable between your legs.
You attached your lips onto his as he rutted his hips against your warm heat.
From when you sucked him off earlier you already knew he was big, but feeling his so close had you gasping.
“Shhh.” he whispered. “Keep it quiet baby, we can’t let Jake hear.”
Shit. Jake. You hoped that he just wouldn’t wake up or else you’d both be out the house till your parents came back.
Your head bobbled in response.
“Sunghoon,” you moaned. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
Hearing you moan his name had his pushing a particularly harsh thrust into you.
“Fuck. Where do you keep the condoms?”
He got off you briefly, taking the time to strip himself as you bent to reach into your desk drawer.
You jolted forwards as his palm made contact with your ass, impatiently begging you to hurry up.
Letting him roll the plastic on while you stripped down had you feeling a little scared. Being naked under his watchful eye was nothing like sending him a nude because you had to witness his reaction firsthand.
“You’re so beautiful.” he repeated, kissing up and down your body.
“Sunghoon please.” you whined.
Pushing your legs into your body, he lined himself up.
“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay.” he nodded.
You wrapped a leg around his waist, pushing him into you, drooling at the delicious stretch he gave you.
“Fuck, I can’t.” he groaned into your neck, lapping at your skin, flicking his tongue onto the bruises he formed. “Your legs are shaking so much.”
He wasn’t wrong, this was the fastest you’d ever come close to orgasming instantly and he hadn’t even moved yet.
Two thrusts in and you were clamping down on his dick, mouth covered to muffle the string of moans leaving your throat.
“Oh my, I’m cumming. Fuck.” Sunghoon twitched as he groaned lowly in your ear. “Pussy so good, tight, fuck! I’ve never come this fast.”
You didn’t know if he was talking out of his ass but the fact that he wasn’t ashamed did things to you.
Once you’d both recovered, you realised he was still fully hard and that turned you on even more.
“I want more.” you begged. “Please give me more.”
“Fuck. You’re so hot.” he groped at your chest. “Where do you want me?”
You guided him to lie down near your pillows, discarding the condom before hovering your dripping core over his length.
“I want you raw.” you whined. “I’m on the pill, please.”
Sunghoon closed his eyes again.
“Please.” he begged. “Shit. Never thought i’d hear you say that.”
Your legs burned as you sat down feeling the burn ten times more in the new position.
“You’re so big, so big Hoonie.” you babbled.
He could see that you were struggling to bounce yourself so he sat up and guided your hips in time with his thrusts.
“Do you feel me here, baby?” he pressed the spot where his tip poked into your your lower abdomen, both moaning at the feeling.
“Fuck, Sunghoon, I can’t.” you cried.
This time around it felt so much more intense, the intimacy was off the charts as he forced you to look into his eyes. Tears were fully streaming down your face at the overwhelming pleasure.
“Don’t you wanna make me proud?” he frowned. “Doesn’t my little slut want me to fill her up? Give her my baby?”
His words had you moaning louder and louder causing him to kiss away the noise.
He smacked your ass harshly.
“Quiet pretty, you don’t want Jake to hear? Do you?” he growled.
You shook your head, falling into his embrace.
The squelch of your juices and the repeated slam of the bed against the wall made you realise that Jake probably already knew what was going on.
Your teeth dug into Sunghoon’s shoulder determined to keep quiet.
“I’m so close..” you sobbed. “Please can I cum?”
He lifted your head, forcing you to look at him.
“Of course, baby.” he groaned. “Let go for me.”
Your eyes rolled back, body going limp as the orgasm ran through you.
Sunghoon came after a few thrusts, filling you up to the brim.
He rubbed your back, waiting for you to come back to him.
But you just couldn’t stop crying, tears rolling down his collarbone.
“Yn?” he inspected your face. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” you sobbed, palms digging into your eyes. “Sorry that I was so mean to you just because I couldn’t control my feelings.”
He clicked his tongue, fingers tracing up and down your arms to soothe you.
“It’s not like I was an angel either.” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you couldn’t come to me.”
His lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple, bringing you into his embrace.
“I love you, Yn.” he whispered. “I think I always have.”
You gripped onto him a little tighter at his words, checking to see if the moment was real.
“Can you stay here?” you looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Please. I know that Jake-”
“Yeah, of course.” he relaxed. “I’m not gonna leave you.”
~
Over the next few days, you and Sunghoon had fucked like rabbits. Nowhere was safe, not your dad’s office, the living room, dining room, Jake’s bathroom, the outdoor AND indoor pool, even Sunghoon’s own room had been attacked.
You’d almost been caught by Jake on a few occasions but he still seemed to be oblivious. He didn’t even notice when Sunghoon fingered you under the table at a very public restaurant.
Maybe he was pretending, you just didn’t care. Sunghoon was way too good to give up, even for your beloved brother.
Now it was the night of Heeseung’s birthday party.
You hadn’t seen Sunghoon since he left your room that morning to go shopping with Jake and you were experiencing withdrawals.
The two of you had spoken about boundaries, with the impending doom of your parents coming back the next day but for now you wanted to have him as much as you could.
“So, you’re telling me that while I was on the phone with you, he was quite literally eating your out?” Kazhua grimaced. “You two are perfect for each other.”
You laughed swatting at her arm in fake offence.
“Uh oh….” Sunoo pursed his lips.
The three of you looked in the direction he was facing, watching as Yujin felt up and down Sunghoon’s buff arms, Jake and Heeseung looking away awkwardly.
“Yn! Wait!” Kazhua called after you but you were already storming over.
You pushed Yujin out of the way causing her to stumble and placed yourself in front of Sunghoon.
“Woah, Yn..” Jake laughed.
“Can we talk?” you asked Sunghoon.
“Well.. I’m with my friends right now..”
You forcefully grabbed his arm, dragging him outside not stopping till you got to his car.
The cold summer breeze nipped your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine.
“What the fuck is your problem?” you seethed. “Letting her touch all up on you when you know how I feel!”
Sunghoon just leant forward and kissed you.
You pushed him away, flustered.
“Hey!” you whisper shouted. “What if Jake just came outside right now?!”
“Shhh..” he laughed. “Come here then.”
He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and got into the drivers seat, patting his lap.
If you had checked your surroundings before you hesitantly got in then you would’ve noticed Riki, your brothers minion, dashing off to find Jake.
Sunghoon pushed your hips down onto his so you could feel him.
“This is how you make me feel.” he moaned, brushing your hair out of your face.
“Fuck.” you moaned. “I’m still mad at you though.”
“Take it out on me, pretty.”
Your lips attacked his neck, leaving as many marks as possible, you wanted everyone to see that Sunghoon was clearly taken.
He pulled his dick out of his pants, rubbing it along the slick of your panties.
You smacked his hand away, pulled your panties to the side and suck down onto him by guiding yourself.
Tears threatened to spill, body already covered in a thin layer of sweat.
Sunghoon wrapped his arms around your waist, thrusting up into you rapidly.
The whole car shook while the windows fogged up.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Hoonie, faster please!” you moaned.
“You think you can run your mouth whenever you feel like it, huh pretty?” he seemed to go even faster.
“I’m sorry!” you cried, nails digging into his biceps for stability.
“Oh you’re sorry? Prove it.” he growled. “Scream my name.”
“Hoon.” you whimpered. “That’s too risky.”
“Hm.. that’s not what I asked.” he rubbed circles on your clit, going even deeper than before. “I know that you can be louder than that.”
Having him hit the spot time and time again was sending you over the edge, you lost all composure the second he started sucking on your sweet spot.
“Sunghoon, fuck. Ah, right there! Fuck Daddy, please go faster!” you screamed out.
“Daddy, huh?” he groaned. “Gonna make you feel so good princess.”
You cried out as he continued to thrust into you at a faster pace, skin slapping erotically.
“I’m gonna-”
He told you it was okay to let go.
“Fuck, look how much you came for me.” he moaned in admiration, feeling true bliss as your essence leaked down to his balls. “So good for me, baby.”
Static filled your ears as he came inside you, waves of fire burining through your limbs.
Sunghoon’s head hit the headrest and you slumped onto his body.
His fingers scratched at your scalp soothing you.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked softly.
You nodded, too tired to respond.
“I need you to use your words, princess..”
Your lips pressed light kisses on his neck.
“I’d love to.” you sighed contentedly. “Can we stay like this for a bit?”
You felt him nod, head falling on top of yours.
Sleep almost overtook you but a knock on the window woke you right up.
“Sunghoooon.” Jake sang.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he whispered.
You immediately shot up, looking for something to cover your face.
“One second.” Sunghoon shouted back.
He gave you his jacket so that Jake wouldn’t notice your outfit as you slipped on a cap from the car and faced the other way.
“Can we talk through the window?” Sunghoon asked nervously.
“No…” Jake groaned. “Open it.”
Sunghoon reluctantly pushed the button, internally cursing when Jake claimed he’d been hit by a whiff of sex.
“What’s up, Jake. I’m kinda busy.”
“Yeah.. I can see.” he gestured towards you, believing that you were just some random Sunghoon decided to fuck. “Have you seen my sister?”
He felt you tense beneath him.
“Um.. no.” Sunghoon shrugged. “I haven’t seen your sister.”
Riki walked out from behind Jake.
“He’s lying!” Riki shook his head. “That’s your sister, right there!”
Jake looked at him in disbelief, finally noticing that the girls hair looked a lot like yours.
Sunghoon tried to swat his hand away when he reached in to take your hat but failed miserably.
“Oh my…” Jake stumbled back.
Your head slowly turned to face him, a sheepish smile on your face.
“Hey, Jakey.”
“Oh my.”
He tried to grab you and pull you out of the car but the loudest whine left your mouth.
“You’re balls deep in my SISTER?!” Jake was furious. “My sister? My little sister!”
The two of you flinched.
“Fucking hell, Sunghoon! You could’ve had anyone else! She’s off limits!” Jake frowned. “Forbidden even!”
“Jake you don’t need to-” you started.
“You shut it.” he shook his head. “Both of you get decent and get out.”
Sunghoon rolled the window up so you could have privacy as you lifted your body off his, cum spilling out while he cleaned you up.
“Riks you can go now.” Jake dismissed the boy who had a smirk on his face.
You and Sunghoon stood infront of Jake, silently taking the verbal beating.
“We’re going home now.”
“I’ll drop her off.” Sunghoon stood his ground.
You pleaded with your eyes to get Jake to agree.
“Fine.”
You couldn’t help but laugh on the drive home.
“That was seriously bad timing.” you sighed, spotting Jake outside the door of your house, waiting for you.
Sunghoon got out first, opening the door for you.
You pulled him in and kissed him goodbye, ignoring Jake’s gags in the background.
“Come over for dinner tomorrow.” you pleaded. “Mother wants you there. So do I.”
“Okay.. I’ll be there.” he smiled. “If Jake tries to hit me though, I am swinging back.”
Jake cleared his throat loudly.
You said your goodbyes to Sunghoon as he watched Jake wrap an arm around you and guide you into the house but not leaving before throwing a middle finger up at him.
“So unnecessary.” Sunghoon sighed.
~
Sunghoon and Jake didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were arguing.
When your dad had told them to set the table together they argued in hushed whispers, fighting over forks.
Even your eldest brother, Noah could tell that something was up, he’d come home and intended to stay for a week after not being around for a whole year.
“Sunghoon?” you mother asked plating up caviar. “Has your mother said yes to the trip?”
Sunghoon nodded in response.
Right the trip. Your parents announced that they were taking you all to Greece, Noah was just there for the free holiday.
“You’re a leech, get a job.” you poked at him.
“Med school is kicking my butt, and who’s gonna pass up a free holiday?” he shoved you back.
“Yn.. you don’t have a job yourself either..” your father teased.
“She doesn’t need a job, I’ve got her.” Sunghoon caressed your shoulder.
Jake began to hysterically gag.
“Stop being so dramatic.” you sneered, body relaxing as Sunghoon rested his palm on your knee.
Everything was going well, Jake and Sunghoon didn’t interact and your parents didn’t pick up on a thing.
Sunghoon tried Foie Gras, he didn’t like it and begged you to let him go to a fast food restaurant but other than that he was enjoying himself.
That was until Jake dropped his fork under the table and noticed how shamelessly close the two of you were under the table.
“Oh my I’m gonna throw up.” he cried out.
“What now, Jake?” Noah sighed.
Jake leaned over the table to whisper at you and Sunghoon.
“Footsies under the table is fucking disgusting.” he sneered.
“What are you talking about?” Sunghoon frowned.
“UGH!” Jake shouted.
“Jaeyun Sim.” you mother scolded. “Sit down.”
“Mumma, no!” he whined. “Those two were fucking behind my back!”
Your dad choked on his wine as you dropped his fork.
“I mean we all thought it was gonna happen soon..” Noah trailed off.
“What?” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by all?”
Your mother ran round to the other side of the table, pulling you and Sunghoon into a hug.
“Aww my baby is growing up!” she wailed. “Who better to bring into the family than Sunghoon!”
Your dad shook Sunghoon’s hand.
“Careful with that one.” he joked. “She’s a handful.”
“You’re supposed to be on MY side!” Jake glared. “I found out that my best friend is sleeping with-”
“Dating.” your boyfriend corrected.
“Ew!” Jake shivered. “My little sister, my baby sister who I tried SO hard to protect from the men of this world.”
“Even I don’t care this much, Jake?” Noah snickered.
Jake stormed off to his room and slammed the door.
Despite having ups and downs with your brother you truly did love him. Seeing how much he hated the situation made you feel sorry for your actions.
“He’ll come around.” your dad assured.
You waited until the table was cleared to go bring Jake the rest of his food.
“Can I come in?” you asked softly.
He grumbled.
His figure lay on his bed, playing catch with a ball.
“What do you want?” he mumbled.
You placed the food on his desk and sat next to him, ignoring how he aimed the ball at your head.
“Jakey.” you started. “Why are you so against me being with Sunghoon?”
He rolled his eyes.
“I knew him first.”
“Yeah but..” you had to take a deep breath to stop yourself from crying. “I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I‘m not mad.”
“Right.” you pursed your lips together. “I just wanted you to know that I really do love Sunghoon and that he loves me and I just want us all to be happy..”
A tear slipped out of your eye.
He sighed.
“Yeah, I get that. It’s just..” he wiped the tears that ran down. “He’s my best friend and you’re my little sister, if anyone hurts you i’d naturally have to go after them.. I just can’t bring myself to do that to Sunghoon. I love you both too much..”
Now you were both crying.
“Why didn’t you just say that?” you laughed through your tears.
“I thought that if I delayed the conversation it wouldn’t have to happen.” he smiled sadly. “But i’m not mad, I really am happy for you.. change just isn’t my strong suit.”
“He isn’t lying.” Sunghoon laughed from the doorway. “He’s couldn’t sleep for two months when we first got to uni. Claimed it was nerves but I think he just missed you too much.”
You pulled Jake into a hug, both sobbing gently.
Jake grabbed Sunghoon, pulling him in.
“You’re both so emotional.” he whispered, letting you both cry on his shoulders.
“Yeah well, you have to deal with this forever because you’re not leaving now.” you cried.
“I wouldn’t even dare.” he smiled.
THE END.
1K notes · View notes
lunamugetsu · 11 months ago
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Danny is a house husband.
That's it, that's all it is.
As the years went on. Danny retired from being a superhero. There was no need for Phantom when the GIW were dealt with and all the ghosts were under control.
Now what's left for him to do but to just sit back, relax, and finally be able to live his life.
Sam and Tucker on the other hand....
Well, they had plenty of pent up rage, wits, and chaos inside their mind to become villains.
But they had one rule.
Never bring work home and to never involve Danny in any of their supervillain business.
Okay that's technically two rules, but they're kind of synonymous especially since Danny has been taking care of their house while also entertaining himself with trying new hobbies.
Tucker and Sam both make sure that they never bring any of their villainy home to Danny, because all they want is for Danny to enjoy his happy hero retirement.
And Danny in turn, doesn't bat an eye when watching the news and seeing that there were magical plants that were attacking sites that oil companies were digging or that somehow Lex Luthor had lost five hundred million dollars and had somehow leaked records showing he was building weapons of mass destruction.
He also doesn't bat an eye when he sees that Tucker had brought home a telescope that definitely looks like it came from some fancy lab because hey, Tucker was making him an observatory so he can look at the stars and planets. While also how they were able to make a great gaming pc with computer parts that are definitely not sold in stores, because hey at least the newest update of Doomed wasn't lagging.
Or that Sam comes home with various plants and animals that are definitely not from planet earth, but hey the three headed wolf-lizard-eagle- hybrid thing (that Danny has affectionately named Fluffy) is pretty great at keeping the pests away from his vegetable garden and likes to eat any of Danny's new food creations and is a great playmate for Cujo.
So you can imagine how the Justice League thinks when dealing with the pair of new villains: Upload (Tucker) and Sam (I could not think of a villain name that would suit her, so it's up to you what you think her villain name would be)
And how they were currently wreaking havoc in the city either by cyber warfare with robots or by magic plant monster or a Frankenstein of both approaches. The heroes had all evacuated the civilians from the battle zone and are currently fighting a losing battle. When they've been effectively captured and restrained by the two. Right before the villains could go into a monologue, they hear a person clearing their throat.
Everybody looks to see a 25 year old man wearing a sweater vest (he made it himself, thank you very much) currently holding onto the leash of a giant glowing green dog and some kind of giant animal hybrid. The man's arms were crossed and was currently not sporting a very happy look on his face.
Tucker and Sam (looking at Danny with hesitant smiles): Hi honey.
Danny (frowning): you missed our anniversary dinner.
Tucker and Sam both pale as they quickly realized what the date and time was.
The league all watch as Sam and Tucker immediately start apologizing to the man that just walked into a battle zone.
Danny (still frowning): Hmph! I guess since you two didn't want dinner you can go back to your little fight. Don't expect me to make you any lunches for the next month, and since you two are having so much fun here, you'll be sleeping by yourselves for the next couple weeks.
The league all watch as they were let go as Sam and Tucker yell as they run after Danny yelling apologies as he was walking away from them.
This is not the last they see of Danny.
When Danny is displeased with either of his partners, he'll invite a hero over to have lunch of afternoon tea.
5K notes · View notes
lavenderspence · 6 months ago
Text
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
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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. 
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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. 
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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago
Text
Depollute Me
Summary: You join the BAU and Spencer is a smitten kitten.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader
Category: fluff
Warnings/Includes: mentions of morgue details from a case, mentions of struggle from a case, alcohol consumptions
Word count: 7.2k
a/n: lol so this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS i have not read it since then but i feel so bad for never posting anymore so please accept this while i get my life together !!!
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Spencer walked into the bullpen on what seemed to be a very typical Monday morning. The hum of chatter and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards filled the air, as it usually did. Without much thought, he placed his well-worn satchel down on his desk, the familiar weight leaving his shoulder as he began his habitual routine. His focus was singular: getting to the breakroom for his morning coffee. The scent of freshly brewed coffee guided him, and within moments, he returned to his desk, ready to dive into the day's work.
As he settled into his chair, Spencer reached for a stack of files when a voice interrupted his concentration. "Reid, did you not notice the new girl?" Morgan's tone was laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement, causing Spencer to pause mid-motion.
“Huh?” Spencer finally looked up, his mind still partially entangled in the tasks he was about to undertake. His routine had been so ingrained that he hadn’t even glanced around the room.
Morgan smirked, nodding towards the far side of the bullpen. "Over by JJ’s office."
Spencer's gaze followed the direction Morgan indicated, and for the first time, he noticed you. A young woman, probably in her mid twenties, was standing near JJ's office, dressed in a sharp, well-tailored pantsuit that hugged her figure in a way that was both professional and undeniably flattering. Your presence was commanding, yet you seemed approachable with an air of confidence.
“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he observed the new arrival with a mixture of intrigue and surprise.
Before Morgan could answer, Hotch, who happened to be walking by at that moment, interjected in his usual calm, authoritative manner. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N,” he informed them, his tone as steady as ever. “She’s from the Sex Crimes Unit, a promising young agent.”
Morgan, ever the one to tease, leaned back in his chair with a playful grin. “Looks like you’re not the baby anymore, pretty boy.”
Spencer, though still focused on the new agent, managed to respond with a slight shrug. “I’m okay with that.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of relief in his words. Perhaps the idea of no longer being the youngest on the team was a comforting thought.
Hotch, who was moving on to another task, paused briefly to add one more detail, as if to settle any lingering questions. “She’s older than you, Reid. Actually.”
Morgan, not missing a beat, raised an eyebrow. “How old? She looks good,” he remarked, his eyes still on you, appreciating your composed demeanor and striking appearance.
Hotch, always the voice of reason and decorum, shot Morgan a warning look. “Morgan,” he cautioned, before continuing, “she’s 28.”
“I’m almost 28…” Spencer mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, as if to rationalize his place on the team.
“Okay, baby,” Morgan teased, chuckling as he reached over to playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair. The affectionate gesture was a typical part of their dynamic, one that Spencer had grown accustomed to over the years.
Spencer gave a small smile, shaking his head slightly at Morgan's teasing, but his mind was already drifting back to the new agent. There was something about you that intrigued him, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to work alongside you. The idea of no longer being the youngest wasn’t as unsettling as it once might have been.
“Agents, round table, five minutes,” Hotch’s voice cut through the usual hum of activity in the bullpen. The announcement was direct, as always, leaving no room for delay or distraction. Spencer, along with the rest of the team, immediately began to gather their things, each of them accustomed to the rhythm of their work.
As the team filed into the conference room and took their usual seats around the round table, there was an undercurrent of curiosity in the air. Eyes subtly darted towards the new face at the table, though the attempts at being inconspicuous were, in truth, anything but. It was clear that everyone was eager to learn more about the person who would be joining their tight-knit group.
Hotch, standing at the head of the table, wasted no time in addressing the elephant in the room. “As you have all noticed, we have a new member joining the team,” he began, his voice steady as he motioned towards you. “This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s joining us from Sex Crimes.”
A chorus of greetings filled the room, each team member offering their version of “hello” or “welcome.” Despite the collective effort to make you feel at ease, Spencer couldn’t tear his gaze away from you. His usual reserved nature gave way to an inexplicable fascination with your confident yet soft demeanor. The way you met each person’s eyes with a small, genuine smile only deepened his curiosity.
As Hotch briefed the team, Spencer’s thoughts kept drifting back to you. He noticed how attentively you listened, your calm focus suggesting you were already a step ahead. His mind wandered, wondering about your experiences, your approach, and who you were beyond the BAU walls.
When your eyes briefly met his, Spencer felt a jolt of something unfamiliar. The room seemed to fade as he quickly looked down, warmth creeping up his neck. It was unusual for him to be so distracted during a briefing, but there was something about you that he couldn’t quite place.
As the team dispersed, Spencer hesitated, glancing at you again. He wondered if you had noticed his lapse in concentration, but your calm, professional expression gave nothing away. Now, he couldn’t help but feel both eager and off balance, curious about how you would fit into the team—and what that might mean for him.
It was your first away case with the team, and as you boarded the jet, the weight of newness settled on your shoulders. The BAU team moved with the ease of seasoned travelers, each member instinctively knowing their place and routine. You, on the other hand, hesitated, unsure of where to sit, not wanting to take anyone's usual spot and disrupt the unspoken order.
As you stood there, trying to decide, Emily caught your eye and offered you a warm, reassuring smile. "Hey, why don't you sit next to me?" she suggested kindly, patting the seat beside her.
Grateful for her understanding, you nodded and made your way over, sliding into the seat she had saved for you. The small gesture of kindness made the moment feel a little less daunting, easing the nervousness that had been creeping in since you’d learned about the case. 
As the team engaged in a lively discussion about the case, you tried to focus on the file in front of you, but a strange sensation crept over you—a shiver that ran down your spine, leaving a trail of unease in its wake. It felt as though someone was watching you, and the thought was impossible to ignore.
Lifting your eyes from the file, you glanced toward the couch on the jet. There he was, Doctor Spencer Reid, as you'd been introduced to him earlier. His gaze was unmistakably fixed on you, a quiet intensity in his eyes that you could feel even from across the cabin. The moment your eyes met, his gaze snapped away, almost too quickly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
It was curious, to say the least. 
The team had just settled into the bustling Milwaukee precinct, the air thick with the tension of a new case and the quiet hum of police activity around them. Hotch stood at the center of the room, efficiently handing out assignments with his usual calm authority. 
“Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the morgue,” Hotch instructed, his voice steady as he looked between the two of you. 
Spencer felt a jolt of nervousness shoot through him at the assignment. The idea of spending time alone with you set his mind racing. His thoughts spiraled through a thousand different scenarios—what he would say, how he would act, whether you would notice his awkwardness. He tried to hide his unease, but the tightening in his chest betrayed how out of sorts he felt.
You, on the other hand, felt a surge of excitement at the prospect. The morgue wasn’t exactly a thrilling destination, but the chance to spend time with Spencer, the quiet and enigmatic doctor, piqued your interest. You’d been curious about him since you joined the team, drawn to the way his mind seemed to work in layers, each one more complex than the last. This was an opportunity to maybe get to know him better, to see beyond the brilliant profiler and into the person behind those thoughtful eyes.
As the two of you gathered your things and prepared to head out, Spencer gave you a small, tentative smile, his nerves still bubbling just beneath the surface. You returned the smile with genuine warmth, hoping to ease the tension you sensed in him. 
“Ready to go?” you asked, your tone light and encouraging.
Spencer nodded, his voice just a little tight as he replied, “Yeah, let’s do this.”
As you both made your way out of the precinct, the silence between you was comfortable, filled with the potential of what this small assignment could reveal. For Spencer, it was a chance to navigate the unfamiliar territory of getting to know someone new; for you, it was an exciting step toward understanding the mystery that was Doctor Spencer Reid.
“Do you, um, do you mind driving?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a slight edge of hesitation as the two of you stood by the car.
You smiled, already finding his nervousness endearing. “No, not at all. Do you not like to drive?” you asked as you unlocked the car.
“I find it helps me focus more on the case if I don’t also have to focus on the road,” he explained, his words coming out in a rush as if he was worried about how you might take it.
You couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Oh, so I don’t need to focus as much as you?” you joked, throwing him a playful glance as you slid into the driver’s seat.
But Spencer, usually taking things quite literally, didn’t catch on to your teasing. His eyes widened slightly as he quickly tried to clarify. “No, no, not at all. I only meant that my mind is so busy all the time, and I—I just, I need to think a lot and—” His words tumbled out, his voice growing a bit more frantic as he tried to explain.
You immediately felt a pang of guilt for having flustered him. “Doctor Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out,” you said softly, cutting off his rambling. “I was only joking.”
There was a moment of silence, then Spencer took a small breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Spencer,” he corrected gently, his tone more composed now. “You can call me Spencer.”
You smiled, nodding as you started the car. “Alright, Spencer,” you agreed, feeling the ice between you start to melt just a little as you pulled out of the parking lot.
The sterile, cold air of the morgue enveloped you both as you walked through the doors, the metallic scent of antiseptic mingling with the faint, almost imperceptible odor of decay. The medical examiner, a middle-aged man with weary eyes, greeted you with a curt nod before leading you to the body you were there to examine.
As the examiner began to explain the preliminary findings, you focused intently on the details, your eyes scanning the body and the evidence laid out on the stainless steel table. Spencer stood beside you, his attention divided between listening to the examiner and observing your reactions. 
As the examiner pointed out a series of bruises on the victim’s torso, you leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes at the pattern. Something about it struck you as odd, but familiar. “These bruises,” you started, gesturing to them, “they’re not random. They look like they could be the result of a struggle, but not just any struggle—these marks here,” you pointed to a specific set, “they’re consistent with someone trying to defend themselves against a chokehold. The position and depth suggest they were made by the victim’s own hands, trying to pry off an attacker.”
The examiner paused, blinking in surprise. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted, clearly impressed by your quick assessment.
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his curiosity piqued by your insight. He leaned in closer to examine the bruises, following the line of your observation. “You’re right,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and intrigue. “That makes sense, given the angle and the force. It would explain the bruising pattern on the victim’s neck as well.”
He looked up at you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “That was a good catch,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative. It wasn’t often that someone impressed him with such a sharp, on-the-spot observation, especially in an area where his own expertise usually dominated.
You smiled back, feeling a warm flush of pride at his acknowledgment. “Thanks, Spencer,” you replied, the use of his first name feeling more natural now, as if that small barrier had already begun to dissolve. 
As you and Spencer drove back to the precinct, the earlier tension from the morgue had dissipated, leaving behind a more relaxed atmosphere. 
“So, Spencer,” you began, glancing over at him with a playful smile, “I have to ask, how did you get so good at noticing the smallest details? I mean, do you practice in your free time? Like, do you just walk around analyzing random people for fun?”
Spencer chuckled softly, clearly amused by the question. “Not exactly,” he replied, his tone light. “It’s more of a habit at this point. I’ve always been observant, even when I was a kid. I guess it just… developed naturally over time.”
You tilted your head, pretending to be impressed. “Naturally, huh? So, it’s like a superpower then? I bet you can tell all kinds of things about a person just by looking at them.” 
Spencer smiled, his gaze flickering between you and the road. “It’s not quite that dramatic,” he said, modest as ever. “But, yeah, I can usually pick up on a lot of details that others might miss.”
You decided to push the playful banter a little further. “So, what about me, then? What details have you picked up?” you teased, leaning in slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
Spencer blinked, taken aback by the question. He clearly hadn’t expected you to turn the tables on him like that. “Um, well,” he stammered, his mind racing to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound too personal or invasive. “I’ve noticed that you’re very passionate about your work, that you’re observant, and that you care a lot about doing the right thing.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his answer, even though it was far more earnest than you’d intended. “That’s sweet, Spencer,” you said softly. “But I was thinking more along the lines of what color my eyes are, or how you noticed I always play with my jewelry when I’m thinking.”
Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words, clearly not catching on to the flirtatious undertone. “Oh, well, your eyes are a very nice shade of y/e/c,” he said earnestly. “And I did notice that you play with your jewelry sometimes when you’re concentrating. It’s a subconscious gesture, probably something you do without realizing it.”
You bit back a laugh, charmed by his obliviousness. “You really are good, Doctor Reid,” you teased lightly. “But I was just messing with you. I didn’t expect you to take me so seriously.”
Spencer looked over at you, a bit of confusion in his expression, though it quickly gave way to a small, sheepish smile. “Oh… I guess I missed that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way he did when he was flustered.
You grinned, feeling a strange sense of affection for his sincerity. “It’s okay, Spencer. It just means you’re genuine—and I like that.”
As the car pulled into the precinct parking lot, the playful exchange left both of you feeling a little lighter. Spencer might have missed the flirtation, but in the process, you’d managed to break down some of the walls between you, leaving the door open for more conversations, more connections, and maybe, just maybe, something more down the line.
Penelope had extended one of her famously warm invitations to the entire team, promising a night of lively conversation, good food, and the kind of camaraderie that only the BAU could understand. Her apartment, as always, was a bright and eclectic haven, filled with quirky decorations, cozy seating areas, and the unmistakable aroma of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.
As the evening wore on, the sound of laughter and animated chatter filled the room. Drinks were poured, stories were shared, and the general atmosphere was one of relaxation and enjoyment. Penelope, ever the gracious host, moved through the crowd like a butterfly, making sure everyone was comfortable and having a good time.
You found yourself in the middle of a conversation with JJ and Emily, the three of you discussing everything from recent cases to more lighthearted topics. Spencer, meanwhile, was across the room, engaged in a deep discussion with Hotch and Rossi. Yet, despite the separate conversations, you couldn’t help but notice how often your gaze drifted toward him—and how, more than once, you caught him glancing back at you.
It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed. As the evening continued, you began to pick up on a subtle undercurrent among the team, a shared look or knowing smile exchanged between your colleagues whenever you and Spencer were in close proximity. It was as if everyone had collectively decided that tonight was the night to push the two of you a little closer together.
“Hey, Y/N,” Emily said, her voice carrying a hint of mischief as she casually steered you toward the couch where Spencer had just sat down. “Why don’t you grab a seat? Looks like there’s plenty of room.”
You shot her a playful glare, fully aware of what she was doing, but you didn’t resist. With a small smile, you took the spot next to Spencer, who glanced up at you with a shy, yet pleased expression.
“Hi, Spencer,” you greeted him, settling into the seat and feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.
“Hi,” he replied, his voice soft but with a touch of warmth that made you feel at ease. The two of you exchanged a small smile, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.
Before you could say anything more, Morgan appeared out of nowhere, a wide grin on his face as he handed both you and Spencer a drink. “There you go, pretty boy, Y/N. You two look like you could use a refill,” he said, his tone far too innocent to be sincere.
You accepted the drink with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks, Morgan,” you replied, your tone matching his in playful suspicion. You knew exactly what he was up to, but you decided to play along, taking a sip of your drink as you glanced at Spencer.
Spencer, for his part, seemed slightly oblivious to the team’s not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts, though there was a faint blush on his cheeks as he took his drink from Morgan. “Thanks, Derek,” he mumbled, clearly trying to avoid the knowing look in Morgan’s eyes.
The team's subtle matchmaking efforts became more apparent, each of them playing their part with a touch of mischief. Rossi, always one for a good story, managed to draw you into a conversation about a particularly tricky case the team had solved a few years back.
“So, Y/N,” Rossi began, a twinkle in his eye, “have you ever encountered a case where the suspect used historical ciphers to communicate with their victims?”
You tilted your head, intrigued but knowing exactly where this was going. “No, I have not. Why do you ask?”
Rossi leaned back, gesturing towards Spencer with a grin. “Because our very own Dr. Reid is an expert in ciphers, and I’d bet he could tell you all about the time he cracked one in record time.”
Spencer, who had been quietly listening, perked up at the mention of his expertise. “Oh, well, it wasn’t exactly record time,” he said modestly, but Rossi’s encouragement had already drawn him in. “But it was a fascinating case. The unsub used a modified version of the Zodiac cipher, which was particularly challenging because—”
As Spencer launched into a detailed explanation, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly Rossi had managed to pull you both into the conversation. The discussion flowed naturally from there, and you found yourself genuinely interested in Spencer’s insights, occasionally offering your own thoughts, which Spencer seemed to appreciate.
Not long after, Penelope gathered everyone together for a game she had prepared. “Alright, everyone, time for a little fun! We’re playing ‘Celebrity!’” she announced, holding up a bowl filled with slips of paper. “And wouldn’t you know it, Y/N, you and Spencer are on the same team!”
You caught Penelope’s wink as she handed you the bowl, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “What are the odds?” you joked, taking your seat next to Spencer.
Spencer looked a little surprised but quickly smiled, clearly pleased by the arrangement. “I guess we’ll have to work together,” he said, his tone light.
Throughout the game, the team’s delight in pairing the two of you together was obvious, with Emily and Morgan offering exaggerated praise whenever you and Spencer managed to score points. “Great teamwork, you two!” Emily called out with a grin. “It’s like you can read each other’s minds!”
Spencer flushed slightly at the comment, but he seemed to enjoy the playful camaraderie, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.
Later, even Hotch joined in on the subtle matchmaking, calling both you and Spencer into the kitchen to help with an entirely unnecessary task. “I need a hand in here,” Hotch said, waving you both over. “This cake isn’t going to cut itself.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the already-cut cake sitting on the counter, but you went along with it, smiling as you grabbed a knife. “Looks like we’ve been drafted,” you quipped.
Spencer smiled awkwardly but followed your lead, picking up a plate. “Yeah, it’s… good to be useful,” he said, his tone a little unsure but genuine.
The two of you worked side by side, the conversation light and easy. You couldn’t help but notice how comfortable it felt to be around him, even in the most mundane tasks. And as you laughed together over something trivial, you caught Hotch’s subtle nod of approval from the corner of your eye.
As the party began to wind down and people started to gather their things to leave, you and Spencer found yourselves standing near the door, alone for the first time that evening. The energy of the night had brought you closer, and the playful encouragement from the team had only served to make that connection feel more natural.
“I had a really good time tonight,” you said, your voice soft as you turned to Spencer.
He looked at you with a gentle smile, his nervousness from earlier in the night long gone. “I did too,” he replied, his tone sincere. “It was nice… spending time with you.”
You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest at his words. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” you teased lightly, echoing Emily’s earlier comment.
Spencer’s smile widened just a little, though he still seemed a bit oblivious to the underlying meaning. “Yeah, I think we do,” he agreed, his eyes meeting yours in a way that felt significant.
There was a brief moment of silence between you, comfortable and filled with possibility. The evening had left you with a sense of warmth, the connection between you and Spencer deepening in ways that felt both unexpected and natural. “Goodnight, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice lingering with a hint of something more, your eyes meeting his in a way that made the simple farewell feel like it carried more weight.
Spencer hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he spoke. “Can I, um, can I drive you home?” he asked, his tone a little shy but hopeful, as if he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay to ask.
You blinked in surprise, then remembered that you had seen him with a drink earlier in the evening. “You were drinking too, Spencer,” you pointed out gently, not wanting to put him in an uncomfortable position.
Spencer’s lips quirked up in a small smile as he shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol,” he explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “They were nonalcoholic.”
You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, warmth spreading through you at his thoughtfulness. “Oh, well in that case,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “I’d really like that.”
His eyes brightened at your response, and he gave a small, almost relieved nod. “Great,” he said, the awkwardness from earlier replaced by a quiet confidence. “Let me just grab my keys.”
As you waited for him, you couldn’t help but feel that this simple offer—this small, thoughtful gesture—was a sign of something more, something that might grow between you. And as the two of you walked out together, the night air cool against your skin, you found yourself looking forward to the drive, and to whatever might come next.
While guests began to filter out of Penelope's apartment, Hotch and Rossi found themselves lingering in the cozy living room, the buzz of the evening winding down. The two men exchanged a glance as they noticed you and Spencer leaving together, Spencer opening the car door for you with his usual quiet charm.
Rossi chuckled softly, taking a sip of his drink as he watched the scene unfold. “You know, Aaron,” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I think those two might just be good for each other.”
Hotch followed Rossi’s gaze a small, rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, his tone thoughtful. “They would make a nice pair.”
Rossi nodded, setting his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Spencer needs someone like Y/N—someone patient, who sees the world a little differently, but isn’t afraid to challenge him.”
Hotch tilted his head slightly, considering Rossi’s words. “And anyone could use someone like Spencer,” he added.
Rossi smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s not often you see something like that—a connection that just feels… natural.”
Hotch chuckled softly, a sound that was more a breath than a laugh. “It’s about time Spencer found someone who really gets him.”
Rossi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “And maybe someone who can keep up with that brain of his.”
Hotch’s smile grew a little wider at that. “She’s got her work cut out for her, then.”
They shared a knowing look, they’d both be quietly rooting for you and Spencer.
As Spencer opened the car door for you, you slid into the passenger seat with a smile, appreciating the small but considerate gesture. He walked around to the driver’s side and settled in, adjusting the mirrors and checking the controls with his usual meticulousness. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space as he started the car, and soon enough, you were on the road, the city lights passing by in a soft blur.
For a few moments, the two of you were content with the silence, letting the calm of the evening settle over you. But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you turned slightly in your seat to look at Spencer, your gaze soft but inquisitive.
“So, Spencer,” you began, your tone light, “you don’t drink alcohol at all? Or just not tonight?”
Spencer glanced over at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all, actually,” he admitted. “I’ve never really liked the way it makes me feel. Plus, it’s kind of a personal choice—helps me stay sharp, especially with work.”
You nodded, finding that very much in line with what you’d learned about him so far. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice warm. “I can see how that would be important for you. You always seem so… focused.”
Spencer chuckled softly, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. “I try to be,” he said. “But it’s not always easy. My mind tends to wander a lot.”
You smiled at that, sensing an opportunity to tease him just a little. “Wander? You? I would’ve never guessed,” you said with playful exaggeration, giving him a sideways glance.
He laughed, the sound quiet but genuine. “Yeah, well, it happens more often than you’d think. Especially when I’m trying to solve a problem or figure something out. My brain just… runs in all these different directions.”
“I’d love to see that in action,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. When you realized how it might sound, you quickly added, “I mean, it must be fascinating to see how your mind works.”
Spencer glanced at you again, this time with a slightly more serious expression, though there was still a hint of that shy smile. “I guess I’ve just always been wired that way. It’s part of why I love what I do. But it can be… isolating sometimes, you know? People don’t always get it.”
You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “Yeah, I can relate to that,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I think a lot of us in this line of work feel that way at times. It’s hard for people outside of it to really understand what we go through, what we see.”
There was a moment of shared silence, both of you reflecting on what you’d said. Then, wanting to lighten the mood a bit, you turned the conversation back to something a little more playful.
“So, what do you do for fun, Spencer? When you’re not solving crimes and noticing everything that no one else does?” you asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.
Spencer seemed to relax a bit more, the serious tone easing as he thought about your question. “Well,” he began, “I like to read, obviously. I’m a bit of a collector when it comes to rare books. And, um, I also enjoy magic tricks.”
“Magic tricks?” you repeated, intrigued and a little surprised. “I didn’t expect that.”
Spencer smiled, the warmth in his expression growing. “Yeah, I picked it up as a kid. It’s something that stuck with me. I guess I like the challenge of it—figuring out how to manipulate perception, how to create something that seems impossible.”
You leaned in a little, genuinely fascinated. “That’s actually really cool. You’ll have to show me a trick sometime.”
He glanced at you, a spark of excitement in his eyes at the idea. “I’d like that,” he said simply.
As the conversation continued, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, exchanging stories and little details about your lives. You learned that Spencer had an insatiable curiosity for nearly everything, and that he was just as eager to hear about your interests and experiences. There were moments of gentle teasing, of light laughter, and as the night wore on, it felt as though the distance between you was closing, replaced by a budding connection that was both comfortable and exciting.
By the time Spencer pulled up in front of your place, you felt like you’d gotten to know him in a way that few probably had—a glimpse beneath the layers of the brilliant, sometimes awkward genius to the kind, thoughtful person underneath.
“Thank you for the ride, Spencer,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to face him. “And for the conversation. I really enjoyed tonight.”
Spencer’s smile was warm, and this time, there was a hint of confidence in it. “I did too,” he replied, his voice soft. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”
You felt your heart skip a beat at the suggestion, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that,” you said, letting the sincerity of your words hang in the air for a moment.
With one last smile, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing your skin as you walked to your door. Glancing back, you caught Spencer’s eyes; he gave a shy wave before driving off without hesitation. As you unlocked your door, it struck you—you’d never met a man who didn’t try to make a move in such a moment. 
It was refreshing, and his sincerity left you smiling. There was something deeply endearing about how content he seemed just to share your company. As you settled in for the night, a warm feeling lingered.
Monday morning arrived with the usual hum of activity in the bullpen, but there was a new kind of energy in the air—one that had you exchanging sweet, shy glances with Spencer across the room. Every time your eyes met, it was like a quiet acknowledgment of the evening you had shared, a soft connection that lingered between you.
As you settled into your desk, organizing your files and preparing for the day ahead, you were pleasantly surprised when Spencer walked by, gently placing a mug of coffee on your desk. The familiar aroma wafted up, and you immediately recognized it as your favorite blend, made just the way you liked it.
“Spencer… thank you,” you said softly, picking up the mug and taking a tentative sip. It was perfect, just as you expected. You looked up at him, curiosity tinged with warmth in your eyes. “How did you know?”
Spencer’s lips curled into a small, almost bashful smile, his hands fidgeting slightly. “I pay attention,” he replied simply, his voice just above a whisper, as if the words held more meaning than they seemed.
Your heart fluttered at his response, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. There was something incredibly endearing about how Spencer had noticed something so small, yet so personal. It wasn’t just the coffee—it was the care and thoughtfulness behind the gesture that made your heart skip a beat.
Smitten might have been an understatement for how you felt in that moment. You held his gaze for a moment longer, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second.
“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice soft and full of appreciation.
Spencer gave a quick, shy nod before retreating to his desk, his own heart racing from the brief but meaningful exchange. 
Wednesday morning, you made your way to Spencer’s desk. In your hand, you held a donut topped with colorful sprinkles, a small token of your growing affection.
Reaching Spencer’s desk, you gently placed the donut in front of him, your hand brushing against his arm ever so slightly. The brief contact sent a spark through you, a tiny thrill that lingered as you stepped back.
Spencer looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into a smile. “Y/N? Thank you,” he said, his voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of that shyness you found so endearing.
You smiled back, your eyes meeting his. “A sweet treat for a sweet man,” you replied, your tone light yet full of sincerity.
For a moment, Spencer just stared at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he took in your words. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like that, especially not from someone who meant as much to him as you were beginning to.
“Thank you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were trying to savor the moment.
You gave him a soft smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It was such a small gesture, but the way he looked at you made it feel like so much more. As you walked back to your desk, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, catching him as he carefully picked up the donut, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I think I’m going to ask her on a date,” Spencer said, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and nervousness as he spoke to Penelope in the breakroom.
“Y/N?” Penelope’s eyes lit up with excitement, a grin spreading across her face. She had been hoping for this moment for a while now.
Spencer paused for a moment, then, with a rare touch of humor, he replied, “No, Emily.”
Penelope blinked, caught off guard by his response, before quickly catching on to his teasing. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t think that would go over well, my love.”
Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease with the banter. “Y/N or Emily?” he asked, his tone just as playful, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.
Penelope laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think Y/N or Emily would take well to you asking Emily on a date,” she said, her voice softening. “But, Y/n would be over the moon if you asked her out, Spencer. Trust me.”
Spencer nodded, a bit more confidence building inside him as he imagined what it might be like to take that step. “Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Penelope. “I think you’re right.”
Penelope gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement for her friend. “Go get her, Reid,” she said gently, patting his arm. “You’ve got this.”
Spencer took a deep breath, feeling both the weight and the thrill of the decision he was about to make. “Thanks, Penelope,” he said, giving her a grateful look before heading back to his desk, his mind now focused on how he was going to ask you out.
You stood in front of the elevator, the thought of a relaxing Friday evening at home making you eager to get out of the office. Your couch was practically calling your name, promising comfort after a long week. Just as the elevator doors began to slide open, you heard a familiar voice behind you.
“Y/N, wait up!”
You turned with a smile, spotting Spencer hurrying toward you. “I’m not moving, Spencer,” you giggled, teasing him lightly. “I’m waiting for the elevator.”
“Right… right,” he stammered, laughing awkwardly as he reached you, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, a gesture you had come to find endearing. 
“What's up, weirdo?” you asked, still smiling as you watched him struggle to find his words.
Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with determination and nervousness. “Will you go out with me?” he blurted out, the words tumbling out faster than he intended.
You didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes.”
Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard by how quickly you responded. “I don’t want to make things awkward, but I love spending time with you and—wait, what?”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, his genuine surprise making the moment even sweeter. “I said yes, Spencer,” you repeated, your voice warm and reassuring.
Spencer’s eyes widened, a mixture of relief and joy flooding his expression. “You did? I mean, you did!” he stammered, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wow, okay… this is great!”
The elevator doors opened just as he finished speaking, and you both stepped inside, the excitement of the moment bubbling between you. As the doors closed, Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could you.
“So, where are we going?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him as the elevator began its descent.
Spencer glanced at you, his smile softening into something more tender. “Anywhere you want,” he said quietly.
The evening unfolded exactly as you had hoped, with one delightful twist. You and Spencer ended up on your couch, both of you dressed in comfortable pajamas, a warm pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of you. The aroma of melted cheese and spices filled the room, adding to the cozy atmosphere.
Spencer was leaning back into the cushions, a slice of pizza in hand, his long legs stretched out comfortably. You were nestled beside him, your feet tucked under a soft blanket, feeling utterly content. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had been craving, only now it was even better with Spencer there beside you.
“This is nice,” Spencer said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as he took another bite of his pizza.
You glanced over at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “It really is,” you agreed, reaching for your own slice. “Exactly what I needed after this week.”
He looked at you, his eyes warm and a little shy, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. “I can’t believe this is what you wanted to do tonight,” he admitted, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “But I’m really glad it is.”
You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Spencer, this is perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted—good food, good company, and no pressure to do anything but relax.”
He smiled at that, clearly relieved and happy. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice gentle as he looked at you with that familiar, earnest gaze.
As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily between bites of pizza and sips of soda. You talked about everything and nothing—cases, hobbies, favorite books, and the little things that made each of you laugh. It felt natural, effortless, like this was where you both were meant to be.
Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Spencer’s side, your head resting on his shoulder as you both watched the TV, a movie playing softly in the background. He wrapped his arm around you, his touch light and careful, as if he were still marveling at how right this felt.
You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had wanted, with the added bonus of the guy you wanted right there with you. As you snuggled closer, a contented sigh escaped your lips.
This was perfect.
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