#i just wanted to end the series before the end of the year

[yueebby]

5:13pm — gojo satoru

contents. highschool!gojo, fluff, he’s so lovesick and everyone is just plain sick of it, obsessive behavior kinda, oblivious!reader

notes. a small drabble as i get back to writing! this is cute n all, but if a guy acted like this irl i would probably file a restraining order ngl. here's to the return of my lovesick!gojo series!!! *not proofread eek

“look at waka inoue's latest issue–!” satoru flips open his phone to display the raunchy image of the gravure idol in nothing but a tiny bikini, giving the effect that her breasts were basically spilling out of the fabric. he and the other second-years had just wrapped up a mission and, at satoru's relentless insistence, ended up celebrating at a nearby dessert shop. with a smug grin and eyes shut in self-satisfaction, the white haired boy remained oblivious to the looks of pure disgust his two friends were shooting his way.

“and you wonder why you’re less popular with girls.” suguru coughs under his breath.

satoru shoots him a glare. “what’s that supposed to mean? i’m plenty popular with the ladies thanks to this money maker,” satoru takes off his sunglasses, striking a pose for his friends.

they grimace.

“girls don’t want a guy whose wallpaper is a gravure model,” shoko deadpans. “especially not [name].”

that gets satoru's attention. he immediately perks up from his spot on the cafe booth.

“seriously?”

“seriously.” his two friends respond in unison. 

suguru snickers behind his hand, and satoru swiftly kicks his feet under the table. the resulting loud thud earns them a chorus of glares from the other patrons, but satoru barely notices.

then, like music, your familiar scolding reaches his ears

“honestly, satoru, i’m not here to supervise you and you’re already making a scene–”

his lips are already curling into a grin, ready to greet you with some teasing remark, but then– he actually sees you.

and he thinks he's stopped breathing.

“are you trying to kill me?!” satoru practically chokes, cerulean eyes blown wide as they rake over you, taking in every detail. his jaw slackens, and he stares, openly and painfully shamelessly.

under his intense, and almost hungry gaze, you shift awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of the frilly dress hugging your fram. you tug your cardigan around yourself a little tighter. "...no?"

“then why are you wearing that?" his voice is sharp, almost accusing. "why do you look like that?"

you're not sure you get what he means. his behavior is strange– stranger than usual. but satoru isn't looking at you anymore. he's looking around you, surveying the dessert shop like he's assessing a battlefield.

was something wrong? was it ugly? you lower your gaze, fingers nervously smoothing over the lace of your dress. the style was trendy... you're nearly certain.

“cute, right? i picked it out myself.” shoko says, smug and satisfied as she pulls you down into the booth beside her.

satoru clicks his tongue. "a little too cute," he mutters darkly, arms crossing as his fingers dig into his sleeves. his jaw tightens, knee bouncing underneath the table. never mind his racing heart!

he glares at the rest of the shop as if daring anyone to look at you for a second too long.

"i don't want all these normies seeing you like this."

“you freak.”

suguru, ever the angel changes the subject, steps in before satoru can dig himself an even deeper hole. “i think you look great [name], but you didn’t have to go out of your way to dress up right after your mission.”

“i wanted to dress up! it’s fun to wear something other than the uniform—“

“cursed technique reversal: red..” gojo murmurs under his breath, his eyes flickering across the room.

shoko groans, suguru sighs, and you—still blissfully unaware—blink in confusion.

[tsuyalovebot]

certified mind blower.

explicit sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader. (repost)

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos). afab reader. established relationship. oral sex (reader receiving). face sitting. caleb spanks you once. improper use of evol. mentions of unprotected sex & creampie. spitting (he pushes his spit into you. deadass). use of pipsqueak. caleb typical warnings (he's a filthy freak, to no one's surprise). 

mimi's missive: your honor, i have no defense for this one. anyway, it's me again; happy belated valentines. take this while i work on my full-length caleb piece; "this" being total filth. also i reposted this because i noticed way too many errors the first time i posted it. enjoy.

you're watching caleb wash the dishes when you say, "i want to sit on your face tonight."

or, one night, just before bedtime, you tell caleb that you want to try face sitting. 

he was fidgeting the entire time, no matter how calm and gentle he tried to appear while the two of you went over the details. you had no idea if he was nervous because he might end up not liking it, or because he might like it too much. 

(little did you know, he was trying his reaaal hardest to not bust a nut the second you proposed it. would caleb ever admit it? no. absolutely not. he's gotta appear cool in front of you, after all. maybe he would own up to it though, after it's all over.) 

but later that night, while he's tonguing you with that lithe, pink muscle in such a delicious, mind-boggling manner, something is piqued and it isn't your interest. your eyebrows raise with every calculated lick over the crevices, the folds, smooth with spit.

he's kind of a natural at this.

the fingers in his hair now belong to you just as much as the rest of him. "you're weirdly good at this. are you sure you've never tried this with anyone else?" 

it wasn't intended to come off insecure; you tried to deliver it as nonchalant as possible whilst your fingers were busy in his hair. 

he knows better though. caleb peers up at you with those stupidly beady eyes—now, however, they were droopy with a deeply rooted contentment. you feel him smile, loopy, drunk on your flavor. you wonder if he'd willingly let himself be suffocated under your body weight like this.

"hmm?" 

the vibrations would make any person's toes curl, traitorous thighs flexing around his head. the idiot moans in unabashed approval, low and shameless as he keeps his eyes on you. 

one large palm of his takes a greedily handful of your ass, and smacks. hot air is breathed out over your skin, his tongue flat against the tender flesh, drinking up the flood of arousal that soaked your labia. 

"questionin' my loyalty after all these years? when i've got my mouth full of you? i'm wounded," he dryly replies. despite his words, he doesn't sound mad at all. more pleased, if anything, undoubtedly by the way it fed his ego. 

you huff, bottom lip jutting out.  "well, you seem plenty experienced—"

"eh, not really."

caleb's adjusting the position with a tight, guiding grip so you weren't fully seated down on him. blowing onto the perky, swollen hood at the apex of your core. enamored, he was drinking in every groove and fold of your bare sex. embarrassment creeps up your spine with a vengeance so violent, you nearly bolt. 

he muses quietly, "dreams will never compare to the real thing." 

"what're you—"

"ah-ah-ah. talk later. also, weirdly good? what's your basis for comparison, huh?"

caleb pulls you back down, groaning hotly as the taste floods his palate. the ravenous glitter in those smoldering lilac eyes reduce him into something primal, wanting to satiate his most base needs. and that was only possible through you. 

and you're keening above him, hands frantically holding onto the headboard in a series of breathless gasps. it's cute; it makes him internally cheese at his effect on you. unfortunately, you don't seem to share the same sentiment, because you're promptly trying to get off of his head as your stomach tenses.

"caleb," you moan, and some branch of his sanity snaps clean off. 

it shatters when you absentmindedly grind your hips, fucking dragging the folds of your cunt up his chin, lips, nudging his nose, leaving a trail of your slick and his spit on his face. 

a plea from you, "wait, it's too direct—"

shrapnels of iridescent midnight and scarlet spark around your hips, fireworks in the palm of your hands. it takes a moment to register, but he devours the transformation of your expression nonetheless. the dazed look, the confusion, the realization. 

and caleb's the picture boy of arrogance as he activates his evol, forcing you to stay in position. the indignation that sparks in your body is only minimized by the thick, sweet moisture that drips onto his chin, one he's eager to lap up, the ambrosia honeyed in the back of his throat.

the world was truly cruel for ever trying to separate the both of you.

"since when did i say you could move? you can't just get up and leave me here, pipsqueak. surely, you aren't cruel enough to deny me some bonding with you." 

the tip of his tongue dips into the soft hole of your sex, curling experimentally. air humming around your bodies, one arm curled over your thigh, the other hand snaking around to smooth over your chest as he spells his name into your cunt. 

c-a-l-e-b. 

then in morse code, dragged out lines and probes. 

then his last name. 

and m-i-n-e.

"if signing papers at work was as easy as this, i'd have more allies than i have enemies." he hums in satisfaction, utterly lovesick as he drags his sticky lips up to suck on your clitoris, savoring the way your muscles tense and quiver in anticipation of your climbing orgasm. he can't wait to taste that.

"you're just as mouthy down here as you are up there, y'know," he comments, eyelids crinkling into crescent moons. as if he didn't say something so profoundly lewd that it'd make any sex enthusiast blush. 

"you must really like talking to me more than you let on." 

he plants a smooch over your drooling entrance, affectionate, as if it'd silence the little squelching noises it made with every slow contraction of your inner muscles. 

contemplation solidifies into surety on his handsome face, his hungry eyes turning into something more tangy, more mischievous. the crackles of his evol warp around you. 

you get the sudden, immense feeling that you're in for it. that you're in danger.

he presses his mouth up to your core, stare intent and full of a love so potent you think you're gonna be sick. "do you think if i come inside, it'll swallow just like you do?"

the air leaves your lungs. you wheeze, "caleb—"

"you'd let me test it, right?" he asks, voice softened by the need edging behind it. "you're always so good. you'd let me, wouldn't you?"

before you could retort on how he was asking so many questions, you're suddenly being flipped. the world spins, and you mistakenly take it as the end of the entire damn universe, squeezing your eyes shut as wind lashes at your skin and your back hits the cushion. 

when you open them, you're kind of bent. upper body splayed on the bedspread, your lower body awkwardly held up by caleb's arms — thighs still snug on either side of his head. now, he's urgently tucking pillows underneath your hips, angling you up, smearing another kiss onto your cunt. everything done with such fluidity, not an ounce of struggle in his taut, muscular form. 

then he spits, and you flinch. before you could even ask what the hell he was doing, he buries his face into you, tongue shamelessly pushing and pulsing against your spasming pussy — letting his spittle pool in there like a filthy brand. heat boils in your lower belly, burning your skin and you're clenching before you could think it through.

"fuck," he whispers. the rare curse slipping like a prayer from his swollen lips, awe heavy in his inflection. "you really drank it up." 

was the bedroom always this hot?

caleb, once so composed and the epitome of restraint, appeared voracious from this position. and the sight of your cunt squeezing around air, pulling the webbed mixture of his saliva and your arousal into the sinful cradle of your walls. 

gravity is the coil of a snake around your body, and you're the very fruit he's craved. caleb hums, thoughtful and pleased, just before diving back in, "let's find out."

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt 1⎜h.brothers

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜friends-to-lovers ⎜smut? ⎜ warnings: mentions of a bet ⎜jack is an oblivious and unsure idiot ⎜everyone is making a mutual bad decision ⎜ lots of tension between reader and the bros ⎜not much in this part tbh ⎜ synopsis: you had spent every summer with the hughes brothers since you were ten years old ... why does this summer feel so different? word count: 9k authors note:  this is a re-write of my original series - I hope I can get it to live up to the original and I hope every one enjoys!! This is more then double the original chapter 👀 and I'm hoping to add a bit more between each of the brothers with the reader cause I feel like who she was going to end up with in the original was to obvious. Who do you guys want to see next?

(unedited)

The Hughes brothers had made a name for themselves over the past few years. 

Professional athletes. 

All top ten overall draft picks. 

Captain of the Vancouver Canucks. 

Hotshot forward for the New Jersey Devils.

And the rising star defensemen in the league. 

They had certainly found a way to make every parent look at their own kid and wonder where they went wrong. 

But no one really knew what absolute imbeciles the Hughes brothers truly were. 

“Jack, I’m dead serious give me the phone.” You hiss, stopping across the counter from the middle Hughes brother, who is continuing to swipe through your - previously private - instagram page while letting out the occasional wolf whistle as he finds something interesting.  Jack doesn’t even look up, the smirk on his lips widening as he thumbs over another picture. His gaze flickers between the phone screen and you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh wow,” he drawls, turning the phone toward Quinn, who sits unbothered on the couch, scrolling through his own phone. “Did you know she could clean up this well? I mean, this is—damn, I almost feel bad for Luke. He’s got no idea what he’s missing out on.” Your stomach twists at the mention of Luke. Heat creeps up your neck, but you shove it down, crossing your arms. 

“Jack,” you say, voice laced with warning. “I swear to God—” Jack merely tuts, shaking his head like you’re the one being unreasonable. 

“Relax, I’m just admiring your taste in outfits. This one? The black dress? Wow. I mean, who were you wearing this for?” He waggles his eyebrows, his entire face radiating shit-eating glee. “You sure as hell never look like this with us.” You lunge for the phone, but Jack jerks it out of reach, holding it high over his head. 

“Jack!” you snap, fingers just barely brushing against his wrist. “Give it back.”

Quinn finally looks up, arching a brow. “What are you two doing?”

Jack grins. “Just admiring our bestie boos Instagram thirst traps.” You shoot Quinn a pleading look, but all he does is sigh and shake his head, completely uninterested in intervening. Jack, however, is eating up every second of your misery.

“I mean, come on, this is valuable intel,” Jack continues, swiping again. “This is the kind of stuff Luke needs to see. I bet he’d be real interested in knowing what you look like when you’re not just hanging around in sweats at the lake house, is this you at a frat party?”

Your heart stutters at the thought of Luke seeing those pictures—of him looking at you in a way that wasn’t just friendly, wasn’t just casual. You’d spent every summer since you were ten years old with the Hughes brothers but this summer felt... different.

Luke alone had been acting different. More careful around you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than before, something was up and as the Hughes brothers tended to do — they were keeping it a secret from everyone but themselves.  Jack notices the way you freeze, and his smirk turns downright devious.

 “Oh, interesting,” he murmurs. “I think I hit a nerve.” You snap out of it and make another grab for the phone, this time managing to get a grip on his wrist. Jack yelps, twisting in an attempt to wriggle free, but you hold on. 

“Give it back, Hughes.”

He’s laughing too hard to fight back properly. “You’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“I will. Don’t tempt me.” Just then, the front door swings open, and in walks Luke, fresh from a morning swim, hair still damp from the water. He pauses in the doorway, eyes darting between the scene in front of him—you practically wrestling Jack, who is wheezing with laughter, and Quinn, who looks deeply unamused.

“What,” Luke says slowly, “is going on?”

Jack, the menace, brightens instantly. “Oh, perfect timing, Lukey. Come look at what I found.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. “Jack, no.”

Jack grins, victorious. “Oh, yes.”

And with that, he tosses the phone straight at Luke.

Luke catches it effortlessly but doesn’t even glance at the screen. Instead, he rolls his eyes and, without hesitation, walks straight over to you — watching with amusement as you jump away from his brother and without a word, he presses the phone back into your palm, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he pulls away, his eyes trailing over you as you whisper a soft “thank you.” 

Jack lets out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, come on! That was supposed to be fun.”

Luke shrugs, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’re just mad your entertainment got cut short.”

Jack throws his hands in the air. “Obviously!” You can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips as you clasp the phone tighter between your hands. Luke catches your eye, something unreadable in his expression, and for a moment, you swear you see the ghost of a smile before he turns away.

Jack flops onto the couch dramatically. “You guys are ruining my life.”

Quinn snorts. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You got secrets to hide or something?” Jack continues flopping onto the couch besides his older brother with a “humph” and a cross of his arms - cue grown adult throwing a tantrum. 

“If we weren’t forced to be friends, I wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.” You hiss, pointing an accusatory finger in the thief’s direction before following his lead and taking the spot on the opposite side of Quinn, who very briefly glances away from the golf playing on his phone to glance down at the phone still tightly grasped in your hand. 

“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend and doesn’t want you to ruin it.” Quinn hints, his gaze flicking up to your face before he diverts his focus back to the sports game. 

“A boyfriend?” Jack says softly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. Your eyes rolling at the teases you can already feel are on the tip of Jack’s tongue, but he surprises you— “You would tell us, right?” Jack’s voice carries as he turns to face you on the couch, half your body hidden by his older brother, “like if you were seeing someone, you’d tell us?” He continues - the famous Hughes pout forming on his face. “You wouldn’t hide something like that?” You frown at Jack as he presses again, tilting your head in confusion as the sounds of Luke bustling about the kitchen pulling out the extra large party pack of chips and a freshly made container of salsa turns your attention away from the middle child. 

“Why would I not hide something like that?” You question back, you gaze slowly moving away from the suddenly tempting chip Luke is hoarding at the kitchen counter, your words making Luke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he shoves a chip in his mouth, “I mean you guys hide your relationships all the time - isn’t it normal at this point?” You add quickly noticing the way Jack’s face drops a little. 

“From the public.” Luke notes quickly, before dipping another chip into the salsa. 

Jack huffs, slouching even further into the couch. “So what you’re saying is… you do have a boyfriend?”

You blink at him, then scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you didn’t deny it.” Jack’s grin is back, all sharp edges and mischief. He taps his fingers against the fabric of the couch like he’s waiting for you to crack under the pressure of his interrogation. “Who is he? Someone from home? One of those frat boys in your thirst trap era?”

“Oh my God,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I do not have a thirst trap era.”

“You totally do,” Jack argues. “And I think everyone that’s seen your instagram would agree with me.” Your stomach flips, and you make the mistake of looking at Luke, who is suddenly very interested in the salsa container in front of him. His fingers drum against the side of it, his jaw tight as if he’s biting back a response. He doesn’t meet your gaze, and that alone makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck, do I have a thirst trap era?” You hiss at Quinn next to you who just shrugs, a small grimace on your face that answers all the questions you had. 

Jack, ever the instigator, narrows his eyes in suspicion. He glances between the two of you, his smirk deepening. “Wait a minute,” he drawls, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Luke, you’ve been awfully quiet. I thought for sure you’d have something to say about all this.”

Luke finally looks up, his expression carefully blank. “Nothing to say.”

Jack squints. “Nothing at all?”

Luke shrugs. “Nope.” You expect Jack to let it go, but of course, that would be too easy. He turns his attention back to you, eyes glinting. 

“Okay, so say you did have a boyfriend. Hypothetically.”

“Jack…” Quinn warns from the couch, but Jack ignores him.

“Would we know him?” Jack continues. “Is he hockey adjacent? Is he an athlete? Is he someone who’s, I don’t know, conveniently six-foot and plays as a forward for the Anaheim ducks?” he teases, the boys more then aware of the crush you had on their close friend Trevor Zegras when you were eighteen - the boy spending almost all his time at the Hughes lake house during the summer, your paths crossing more then once. 

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. “You’re exhausting,” you mutter, as Luke joins the three of you on the couch placing his snack on the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for the chip bag that Luke has, his fingers brush against yours as he moves the bag slightly closer, and the brief contact sends a jolt up your spine. You pull your hand back quickly, but not before Jack catches the movement.

“Oh, wow,” Jack breathes, eyes going wide with realisation. “Oh, this is amazing. This is better than I ever could have imagined.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Luke says flatly, but there’s a pink tinge dusting the tips of his ears.

Jack outright cackles. “You’re blushing!” he accuses, pointing at Luke, then shifting his gaze to you. “You both are! This is insane.”

Before you can respond, Quinn speaks up from the couch. “Maybe she’s not interested in Luke,” he muses, his gaze flickering toward you, unreadable. “Maybe she prefers someone older. More mature.”

The air shifts. Jack immediately perks up, his smirk morphing into something more calculating. “Ohhh, interesting,” he murmurs. “Are you suggesting that our favourite summer guest has a thing for captains? Because if that’s the case…” He trails off, leaning forward, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t blame you. Nico does have that whole, doe eyed Swiss man thing going for him.” You watch as Quinn rolls his eyes at Jack’s obvious tease, but your eyes catch his as he stifles a small smile at his younger brothers antics. Quinn, unlike Luke, doesn’t look away. He holds your gaze, his expression unreadable, as if he’s testing you—seeing how you’ll react.

Luke shifts beside you, arms crossing over his chest. “Can we not?” he mutters, the tension in his shoulders visible. His jaw clenches, and you swear you catch the faintest flicker of something possessive in his eyes.

Jack, of course, thrives on the chaos. “Oh, come on, Lukey,” he teases. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be a little jealous if she picked Quinn over you?”

Luke doesn’t answer. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a moment, the world around you fades.

Jack snaps his fingers, breaking the spell. “Or,” he continues, his grin downright devious now, “maybe it’s neither of you. Maybe it’s me.” You bark out a laugh, but Jack just winks. “I mean, I’m fun, I’m charming, I don’t take life too seriously. Plus, I’m great with my hands.” He waggles his fingers in emphasis, making you roll your eyes.

Quinn exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.” Luke mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but whatever it is makes Jack snicker. 

“Oh, this is way better than I expected,” Jack muses. “We’ve got a real conundrum on our hands, don’t we?”

“Not a conundrum,” you correct, grabbing your phone and standing. “Because I’m leaving.”

But before you can make it out of the lounge room, Quinn speaks again, low and steady. “You don’t have to leave.” Your breath hitches. It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them, quiet yet certain. Like he doesn’t want you to go.

Jack watches you closely, grinning like he knows something you don’t. Luke’s still staring, silent but intense.

Something has definitely shifted. And you’re not sure you’re ready for what comes next.

“We could make a bet out of it.” 

“Huh?” 

“Yeah, something to determine which one of us is more your type?” Jack explains, your body frozen in its spot by the doorway as all three sets of eyes turn towards you. 

Silence blankets the room, thick and charged, as Jack’s words settle over you. Your grip tightens around your phone, the only thing tethering you to reality as your heart pounds against your ribs.

“A bet?” You echo, your voice barely above a whisper. Jack, the absolute menace that he is, grins like he’s just uncovered the secret to the universe.

“Yeah. A competition, if you will.”

You blink at him, stunned. “A competition for what, exactly?”

“To see which one of us you like best.”

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

Quinn sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack—”

“No, no, hear me out,” Jack insists, holding up a hand. “It’s obvious there’s some… interest here.” His gaze flickers between you and his brothers, and you swear you catch Luke shift uncomfortably on the couch, his chips and salsa long forgotten. “We’re just figuring out who’s got the upper hand.”

You scoff, heat rising in your cheeks. “That’s insane.”

“What’s insane,” Jack corrects, “is pretending like there’s not something going on here.” His smirk widens as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Think about it. You’ve been hanging around us for years. Summers at the lake house, road trips, late-night conversations. We’ve all seen you at your best and your worst. You’ve seen us the same way. There’s history here.” Your mouth opens, then closes. Damn him for making sense.

Luke finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. But tell me I’m wrong.” Luke doesn’t respond. He just clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering toward you before darting away. You swear his fingers tighten into a fist for half a second before he forces them to relax.

Quinn exhales sharply, eyes scanning your face. “You don’t have to entertain this.”

Jack ignores him, grinning like the devil himself. “Come on, wouldn’t it be fun? Just a little friendly competition.” He tilts his head, considering. “Three Dates and the winner gets…” He pauses, then smirks. “Bragging rights.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Bragging rights?”

Jack shrugs. “What, you want us to wager something else?” You glance at Luke and Quinn. Luke’s staring at Jack like he wants to strangle him. Quinn’s lips are pressed into a thin line, unreadable.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

And yet… The thought sends a thrill down your spine, something equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The idea of them competing for your attention? The tension that’s already been simmering under the surface bubbling over into something real?

Jack sees the way you hesitate, the tiny flicker of consideration in your eyes, and pounces. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

You glare at him. “And what exactly would this ‘date’ be?”

Jack beams, clearly delighted that you’re engaging. “Oh, I’m thinking a mix of skill, charm, and, you know, just generally proving who’s the best fit for you, it can be anything we can think of.”

Luke snorts. “This is so stupid.”

Jack ignores him. “Give us all one date to try to convince you on who's the better brother”

“Absolutely not,” you say flatly. “I refuse to be the prize in some pissing contest.”

"It's not a pissing contest." Jack defends, "It's more of a show on who knows you better - who can please you the best." 

Luke rolls his eyes. “We all know her the same.”

Jack raises a brow. “Do we?” Your stomach twists. You think of late-night talks with Quinn, quiet and deep. The way Luke watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Jack’s easy, teasing familiarity. The way they each know pieces of you—different, overlapping pieces.

“And it would just be a date?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

Jack grins, eyes dancing with mischief. “One date each. That's it. ” You inhale sharply. Luke shifts again, his body suddenly tense. Quinn’s gaze sharpens.

Jack spreads his hands. “One day, one date, one shot to impress you.”

You shake your head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Jack agrees easily. “But you haven’t said no.” You press your lips together. Every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to shut this down, to walk away, to pretend like this conversation never happened. But deep down, in the place you don’t often acknowledge, you know the truth.

You don’t want to walk away.

You want to see what happens next. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders back before levelling Jack with a look. “Okay. But how does this work?”

Jack’s grin stretches wider, pure delight flashing across his face. “Easy. We each get one date—our best shot to win you over.” He repeats.  Jack grins, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief as he leans back against the counter, arms folded like he’s just won the lottery. “So, do we have a deal?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing between the three of them. Luke looks exasperated, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it looks like he wants to physically restrain Jack from continuing this nonsense. Quinn’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but there’s something in the way he’s watching you—steady, assessing—that makes your skin prickle with awareness. Jack, however, is practically bouncing on the couch, barely containing his excitement.

“Fine,” you say finally, exhaling sharply. “One date. One date with each of you. And then it’s over. No bragging rights, no competition, no nonsense.” Jack whoops, pumping his fist in the air like he just scored the winning goal in overtime. 

“Hell yes! And since this was my idea, I go first.”

Luke groans loudly. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever agreed to.”

“Well, nobody forced you to, Lukey boy,” Jack sing-songs, spinning around and throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’re already a couple. “So, princess, you better get ready. Tomorrow, we’re going on the best date of your life.”

+

+

The next day, the weather is perfect—warm, but not too hot, with a gentle breeze ruffling the trees. Jack had insisted on planning the date himself, and you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over your jeans, a white tank top, fitted but not tight, tucked neatly into the denim. Casual, but cute. Your hair pulled away from your face with a soft white bandana—the kind of outfit that says, ‘I put in effort to look cute but not enough that one of my childhood best friends would think I have any feelings for him.’

Behind you, Quinn is perched on the edge of your bed, scrolling through his phone. His posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way his eyes flicker up to your reflection in the mirror—just for a second—before dropping back down that makes you wonder what he’s thinking.

"Are you ever not on your phone?" you question, eyes narrowing as you catch him glancing at the screen yet again.

He barely lifts his head. "What do you even do on it all day?" you press, turning away from your mirror to fully face him.

"Read." He says it so simply that it catches you off guard.

You blink. "Read?" That was not the answer you were expecting.

He shrugs, as if this is common knowledge. "Mum convinced me to get the Kindle app, so…"

"Oh." You hesitate, eyebrows lifted slightly. You don’t know why, but the thought of Quinn Hughes spending his free time reading instead of, you know, hockey or brooding silently in a corner, surprises you. “What kind of books?”

He glances up then, something almost amused in his expression. “Why? Got some recommendations?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

Quinn just shakes his head, setting his phone down beside him. “You done staring at yourself, or are you planning to change again?”

You cross your arms. “Should I?”

He exhales slowly, then shrugs. “Depends. Are you trying to impress Jack?”

Your stomach twists slightly at the question. “It’s just a date, Quinn.”

“Right.” His voice is even, but the way his jaw tightens doesn’t go unnoticed. He picks his phone back up, returning to his scrolling like he couldn’t care less. "Then you look fine."

You shake off the strange feeling creeping up your chest and grab your jacket. “Alright, I’m going.”

Quinn doesn’t look up, still sitting on the edge of your bed as you leave your room. “Have fun.”

When you step outside, Jack is waiting in the driveway, leaning against his car with a picnic basket in hand and an easy grin on his face. His eyes sweep over you, lingering just a second longer than usual before he clears his throat.

“Damn, princess. Didn’t know you were gonna try and outshine the sun today.”

You roll your eyes, but the compliment warms you. “Is that your way of saying I look nice?”

“Pfft, don’t fish for compliments,” he teases, opening the passenger door for you. “But yeah, you do.” The drive to the picnic spot is filled with Jack’s usual antics—singing dramatically to the radio, asking you absurd ‘would-you-rather’ questions, and throwing in the occasional flirty remark just to see if he can make you blush. By the time you reach the park, your stomach hurts from laughing.

Jack picks a spot beneath a sprawling oak tree, spreading out a blanket with a flourish. “Welcome to the Hughes five-star dining experience,” he announces, pulling out sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a ice cold jug of lemonade. “I even packed dessert. Prepare to be impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you actually make this yourself?”

He scoffs. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, I helped Mum make it, so that totally counts.”

You smirk, plucking a grape from the container. “I’ll allow it.” For a while, the two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the scenery. Jack watches you between bites, something softer in his gaze now. It’s different from the playful energy he usually exudes—more contemplative, like he’s soaking in the moment.

“Hey,” he says after a pause, leaning back on his elbows. “You ever think about… I don’t know, what it’d be like if things were different?”

You glance at him. “Different how?”

Jack exhales, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Like, if I met you under different circumstances. If I wasn’t, y’know, me—Would you look at me differently?” The question catches you off guard. You don’t know how to answer it, not when there’s something so vulnerable in his voice, hidden beneath the usual bravado.

“Jack,” you start carefully. “I don’t—”

“Never mind,” he interrupts quickly, sitting up and flashing you his usual grin. “Just forget I said anything. Let’s focus on the important stuff—like proving I can totally beat you at cloud spotting.” You let it slide, even as your heart beats a little faster in your chest. Jack doesn’t often let his guard down like that, and part of you wonders if he regrets doing so. But for now, you let him change the subject, watching as he dramatically points out a cloud shaped like a ‘hockey stick’ that looks nothing like a hockey stick.

“That looks more like an elephant to me.” You disagree as you lie back on the picnic blanket, pulling the tray of chocolate covered strawberries with you as you grimace up at the sky, the sun far past it’s highest point making the sky only just bearable to look at with the softening rays of late afternoon. 

“Agree to disagree.” Jack huffs as he joins you, sprawling against the blanket, his hand snatching a strawberry from your container, popping it into his mouth with a hum of delight.  You watch as Jack chews the strawberry, his jaw flexing slightly as he savours the taste. There's something about the way his lips part, the tip of his tongue swiping over them to catch any lingering sweetness, that makes your stomach flutter.

“Good, huh?” you remark, trying to sound casual. You pop one into your own mouth, but suddenly, the fruit feels heavier on your tongue, the sensation too intimate as you become hyperaware of his gaze on you. Jack hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head. 

“See, I told you. Five-star Hughes dining experience.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something else there, lingering beneath the surface. He’s watching you again, not quite the same way he usually does when he’s trying to rile you up. This is quieter, more observant.

You shift slightly, trying to shake the feeling creeping up your spine. “You never explained your question earlier.”

Jack lifts a brow. “Which one?”

“The one about looking at you differently.” You turn onto your side, resting your weight on your elbow so you can properly see him. “You asked if I would see you differently if we met under different circumstances.”

Jack stiffens, just for a second, before covering it up with a lopsided grin. “Ah, so you were paying attention.”

“I always pay attention to you.” The words leave your mouth before you can think better of them. Jack stills, his eyes flicking to yours, something unreadable flickering through them, something distinctly surprised. You clear your throat, pressing forward before the moment stretches into something too heavy. “So? What did you mean by that?”

Jack exhales through his nose, like he’s debating something internally. Then he sits up, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze locked onto the picnic blanket. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I guess I just wonder sometimes if you ever think of me as more than… I don’t know. Just Jack.”

Your breath catches slightly. “Just Jack…” You repeat under your breath, as you follow his movements sitting up onto your knees.

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, though it sounds a little forced. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.”

You reach out before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers grazing his forearm. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his muscles tense slightly before relaxing. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Jack turns to you then, really looks at you. His brown eyes are dark, searching, filled with something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

“You’re one of my best friends,” you say softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze flickering down—to your lips, to your hand still resting on his arm—before he quickly looks away. “Yeah?” 

You nod, your own pulse thrumming in your ears. There’s an energy between you now, something simmering just below the surface. The air feels warmer, the space between you charged. Jack shifts slightly, his knee knocking against yours. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, his fingers twitching where they rest on his thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. And suddenly, all the teasing, all the playful flirting over the years—it doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.

You wonder if it ever really was.

Jack swallows hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So… if I kissed you right now, what would you do?” His voice is quiet, almost testing the waters, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his gaze. Your breath hitches. You could play it off, laugh it away like you always do, but something in you refuses to back down this time. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting your fingers trace absentminded circles on his forearm. 

“Why don’t you find out?” A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Jack’s lips, but it doesn’t quite mask the nervous energy crackling between you. He leans in, hesitating for just a second, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

Then his lips brush against yours, a whisper of contact that sends a shiver down your spine, he pulls away after barely a touch, his blue eyes locked with yours as he lets out a shuddered breath. “You call that a kiss, Hughes?” You can see the corner of his lips tilt upwards, his eyes searching yours one more time as he lifts himself onto his knees, one hand lifting to cup the underside of your jaw, his thumb tracing against the curve of your cheekbone. 

“No.” He exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath, and then he’s kissing you fully—tentative at first, but quickly deepening when he realises you’re not pulling away.  The world around you fades, the picnic, the warm sun, everything—it’s just him, just the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against you.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected, and they move against yours with a careful tenderness that makes your chest ache. His hand on your jaw is steady, his thumb still tracing small, soothing circles against your cheekbone, but you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean into him. It’s as if he’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

You don’t want him to hold back.

Your hand finds its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He responds immediately, his other arm sliding around your waist to anchor you against him. The kiss deepens, his lips parting slightly, and you feel the faintest brush of his tongue against yours. It’s electric, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin and your heart race, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the park, the picnic, the years of friendship that led to this. All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his body feels pressed against you, the way he smells like sunshine and something faintly sweet, like the strawberries you’d been sharing. But then, just as quickly as it started, Jack pulls away.

His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes wide and searching. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—doubt, maybe, or fear—and it makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t let go of you completely, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw, but the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jack…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you need to say something, anything, to fill the silence that’s suddenly too heavy.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can finish. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His hand drops from your face, and he shifts back, putting even more space between you. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting away from yours, like he can’t bear to look at you. “I—I’m sorry. That was… I shouldn’t have.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. One second, he was kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered, and the next, he’s pulling away like he regrets it. Like he regrets you.

“Jack,” you say again, your voice firmer this time. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to apologise.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, I do. That was… I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t fair to you.” He finally looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. “You’re my best friend. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Your heart sinks. “You didn’t cross anything,” you argue, your voice rising slightly. “It was spur of the moment.”

He shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I just—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to mess this up. You’re too important to me, to us. ” The words sting more than you want to admit. You want to tell him that he’s not messing anything up, that this was a mutually agreed upon ‘platonic’ kiss but you know you’d be lying and by the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already made up his mind, makes the words catch in your throat.

“Jack,” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away completely. “You’re not messing anything up.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I just… I need to think, okay? This is… a lot.”

You nod, even though it feels like your chest is cracking open. The motion is automatic, a reflex to keep the fragile pieces of yourself together, but inside, you’re falling apart. The weight of his words presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve just lost something irreplaceable.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. It’s a small word, a simple word, but it feels like a surrender, like you’re giving up something you didn’t even know you were fighting for. The sharp feeling of rejection settles deep in the pit of your stomach, a cold, gnawing ache that spreads through you like poison.

Jack stands up, brushing off his jeans like he’s trying to erase the moment, and you follow suit, your movements stiff and mechanical. You help him pack up the picnic basket, your hands brushing against his occasionally, but the contact doesn’t feel the same anymore. It’s like the spark between you has been snuffed out, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its place. “We should probably head back,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “It’s getting late.”

You don’t argue and the drive back to the house is quiet, the easy banter from earlier replaced by an awkward silence that feels suffocating. Jack keeps his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s replaying the kiss in his head, just like you are.

“Jack,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “Are we okay?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause. “We’re okay.” 

“Okay” you reply because that the only thing your stupid brain can think of - sliding out of the car as soon as he pulls it into the lake house driveway, not wasting time in saying anything to him as you push open the front door surprised to see Quinn sitting in the small blue armchair in the entryway, a book in his lap. 

“Oh, you’re back early.” Quinn says as he looks over you. You swallow hard, your emotions still tangled from the car ride home, from the way Jack’s kiss had felt like everything and then suddenly, nothing at all. You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself before forcing a smile that feels brittle at the edges.

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes. “Guess the sun got to us.” Quinn watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything right away, just flips the book in his hands closed, his fingers resting lightly on the cover. You glance at it absentmindedly, but your mind is too foggy to make out the title.

Jack walks in behind you, his presence heavy even though he doesn’t say anything. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet before muttering a quiet, “I’m gonna head upstairs.”

You don’t turn around. You don’t trust yourself to. Quinn’s eyes flicker between you and Jack, something tightening in his expression before settling on your face again. The sharpness of his gaze makes you feel exposed, but there’s something else there, something simmering just beneath the surface. Jack’s footsteps fade as he disappears up the stairs, leaving just the two of you in the entryway. The silence stretches, thick and almost unbearable, before Quinn finally tilts his head slightly, studying you.

“So,” he says, voice even, but there’s an edge to it now. “Are we pretending everything’s fine, or are you actually going to tell me what happened?” You hesitate, your fingers curling into the hem of your tank top. Part of you wants to brush it off, to tell him you’re just tired, but you know better. 

Quinn knows better.

“Nothing happened,” you say anyway, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

Quinn’s brow lifts, but there’s no amusement in his expression. “Right.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And yet, you look like you just walked off the set of a dramatic coming-of-age movie.”

You huff out a laugh, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory.” He leans back again, stretching his legs out. “So. Jack?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jack.” Quinn waits, patient as ever, but there’s something tighter about his posture now. And when you finally meet his gaze, something in you cracks. You sink onto the chair across from him, hugging a pillow to your chest like it’ll somehow keep your emotions from spilling over.

“We kissed,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s expression stills, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly around the edge of his book. “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He exhales slowly, considering you. “Do you want me to say more?” You hesitate.

Do you?

“It was… it was nice,” you say, your voice quieter now, like you’re admitting something too fragile to say out loud. “And then it wasn’t.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens, his grip on the book whitening his knuckles. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, staring at the pattern of the couch cushion like it holds the answers. “It was like… for a second, it felt like he wanted it. Like he wanted me. But then he pulled away, and suddenly it was like it never happened. Like he regretted it.” Quinn’s silence stretches, but this time, there’s no unreadable neutrality to it. There’s tension in the air now, something sharp and unspoken between you. His gaze drags over your face, lingering a second too long on your lips before he looks away, jaw working like he’s biting something back.

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “And I don’t know what to do with that. Because he’s Jack, you know? He’s my best friend, and I never really expected something like this to happen and now everything feels weird, and this whole stupid date thing was his idea anyway and I—I don’t know.”Quinn watches you for a long moment, his expression carefully composed, but his fingers drum against the book’s spine, a restless tell you’ve come to recognise over the years.

“Did you want him to?” he finally asks, voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you admit. “I think so.” Something flickers in Quinn’s expression—something darker, something unreadable—but it’s gone before you can place it. But then he nods, leaning back once more, like he’s forcing himself to relax.

“Okay,” he says simply.

You blink. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, but there’s something stiff in the way his shoulders move. “You both wanted it. He freaked out. Now you’re left here, overthinking it.”

You scowl. “Wow. Thanks for that groundbreaking analysis.”

Quinn lets out a short breath that might have been a laugh, but there’s something off about it. “Look,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Jack’s an idiot, but you already knew that. If he kissed you, it means something. Even if he doesn’t know what to do with it yet.”

You chew on your lip, considering that. “And if he decides it didn’t mean anything?” Quinn’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening, and for the first time, there’s no mistaking it—the way his fingers dig into the book, the way his posture has gone rigid, the way his gaze lingers a second too long. It’s something plain and unguarded, flashing through his expression before he schools it into something steadier.

“Then he’s an even bigger idiot,” he says, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharp and unspoken.

A small, shaky laugh escapes you. “What would I do without you, Quintin?”

Quinn smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Crash and burn, probably.” You roll your eyes but feel a little lighter.

“Go get ready for movie night” he says, already heading for the stairs. “And stop overthinking. Jack’s got enough of that covered for the both of you.” You snort, watching as he disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lake house. You exhale, leaning back against the couch, your mind still tangled with too many emotions. But for the first time since that kiss, it doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

+

+

A few hours later, the lake house is dimly lit, the TV flickering with the start of some comedy movie no one had really agreed on. Luke had insisted on picking, and after a brief argument about horror versus comedy, he’d won out—typical. Now, he’s stretched out across half the couch, his feet obnoxiously nudging your thigh every time he shifts.

“Move your feet, Luke,” you grumble, swatting at his shin.

Luke just grins, not bothering to budge. “I’m comfortable.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“I’m your favourite, so it's okay.” You roll your eyes but don’t bother fighting it. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the years, it’s that Luke operates on pure chaos, and the more you argue, the more he doubles down. So you settle for grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at his face. He yelps, laughing as he catches it, and the sound is enough to make something in your chest loosen.

“Actually my favourite is Quinn.” You snip back, trying to fight the urge to glance over at the oldest for any kind of approval, the most you get is the small snuff of a breathy laugh from his spot in the solo love seat on the edge of the room. 

When you had taken Quinn in earlier as you shuffled into the room with your very worn down and oversized pyjamas thrown on, you could tell he was still thinking about your conversation from earlier. His arms still crossed, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything. But as Luke shuffles up the couch, using the throw pillow you had just thrown at him as a cuddle buddy, his head falling on your lap you just barely see Quinn shift out of the corner of your eye. 

“You always smell so good." Luke hums, his voice muffled as he nestles his head more comfortably against your lap. You stiffen, just slightly, caught between exasperation and something warmer, something softer. Luke has never been the type to hide how he feels—about anything. Least of all you. It’s been that way since you met him, he was twelve the first time he had outwardly professed his love to you. 

"I think I love you." He had said as you both sat at the end of the boat dock, after a day of fun in the sun on the boat with your families, feet dipped in the water as the sun sets softly on the horizon. 

"I love you too, Lukey." You had mumbled back, of course you loved him, he was one of your best - maybe only - friends. 

"No, not like that." he had corrected, "I mean the way that my parents love each other." He had sounded so sure of himself, setting his resolve with a nod of his head, "Yep, you're it for me... my mum said it's like were two halves of the same person sometimes." Since then Luke had made it his mission to profess his undying devotion to you annually - usually towards the end of summer, when the air was crisper and just a little cold, it was an endless push and pull where he teases and flirts with absolutely no shame, and you pretend it doesn’t get to you.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes it does.

“Like fabric softener and regret?” you quip, reaching down to flick the side of his forehead. He grins, lazy and content, shifting just enough so that his hair tickles against your fingers, the oversized man making it clear what he wants.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “Like… I don’t know. Something sweet. Something very… you.” You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway. 

“That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard.” Luke snickers, turning onto his side so he’s half-curled against you now, pillow still tucked to his chest, but his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pyjama pants.

“You like it,” he says, and it’s not even a question.

“How about no.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.” Luke just grins wider, as if he knows something you don’t. Maybe he does. The flickering glow from the TV casts a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the very slight dimple on his smile lines that only ever appears when he’s truly pleased with himself. The worst part is you can’t even deny it. Not really. You’ve known about his crush on you for as long as he’s had it, and maybe some part of you has always liked the way he never hides it, never shies away from making it obvious. Even when you pretend not to notice, even when you let it roll off your back like it doesn’t make something in your chest tighten just a little too much. Out of the corner of your eye, Quinn shifts in his seat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react beyond the subtle way his fingers tighten over his arm where they’re crossed. 

Still, you notice.

You always notice when it comes to Quinn. 

The same way you notice everything about the brothers. 

“Are you gonna let me watch the movie, or do I need to suffocate you with your pillow?” you ask, fingers digging into the soft curls on top of his head, brushing ever so lightly you can see the moment a shiver runs down his spine. Luke huffs dramatically, as if the mere suggestion is the greatest injustice he’s ever suffered. 

“If I die, just know I go out as your favourite.”

“That’s literally not what I said.”

“Not what you said, but what you meant.” He smirks up at you, pushing it just far enough, just to the edge of that unspoken line between you. The one you’ve both toed for so long it’s become second nature.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Quinn finally speaks up. “Luke, shut up and watch the movie.” It’s not sharp, not irritated. But it carries weight, enough to make Luke’s smirk falter just slightly. He doesn’t sit up, doesn’t move away from you, but he does shift just enough to glance toward Quinn. You do, too. Quinn’s eyes are still on the screen, but his fingers drum against his arm now, as if he’s trying very hard not to look over.

Luke exhales, a low chuckle leaving him as he turns his attention back to you. “Guess I’m being silenced.”

“Long overdue,” you murmur, but your fingers don’t move from where they’re still running through his hair. Luke notices. Of course, he does. And judging by the way his grin returns, slow and knowing, he doesn’t mind at all.

The movie wraps up with Luke fast asleep against your leg, his hand has shifted from holding tight to his pillow to sliding under the hem of your pyjama pants, grabbing tight hold of your ankle in some weird attempt at getting closer to you.  Jack had never come down to join the three of you, despite Wednesdays always being movie night. 

The credits roll, the blue glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. You stretch your arms over your head, careful not to jostle Luke too much, though it’s hard when he’s all but latched onto you. His grip on your ankle is warm, his hand encompassing the whole ankle, grounding in a way you don’t really want to think too hard about.

Quinn shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “You gonna wake him up or just drag him to bed?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge there, something unreadable that makes you glance over at him. He’s finally looking at you now, instead of at the screen or the floor. His arms are still crossed, but his fingers continue to drum lightly against his bicep, the only indication that he’s not as relaxed as he pretends to be.

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, like I’m carrying him anywhere.” You prod at Luke’s shoulder. “Lukey Pookie, time to go to bed.” Luke groans dramatically but doesn’t move. Instead, he tightens his grip on your ankle, mumbling something incoherent into your lap.

Quinn sighs, pushing himself up and stretching, muscles shifting under his thin T-shirt. “Come on, Luke, up.” He nudges Luke’s leg with his foot, a little less gentle than necessary. Luke finally stirs, cracking one eye open to squint at Quinn.

“No need to be jealous,” Luke murmurs sleepily, but the smirk on his lips is unmistakable. "I'm sure she'd let you hold her ankle if you asked nicely."

Quinn’s jaw tightens. “You wish.” You watch the exchange, something in your chest twisting at the way Luke grins, knowing and a little mischievous, while Quinn pointedly avoids your gaze. It’s not the first time they’ve had these little moments, not the first time Quinn has stepped in when Luke pushed just a little too far. But it’s the way Quinn looks at you after, as if he wants to say something but never does, that lingers longer than it should. Luke finally sits up, stretching his arms over his head before flopping sideways against the couch, boneless and lazy. 

“Alright, fine, I’m up. So who’s next?”

You blink. “Next?” 

Luke grins, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “The next date, obviously. Since we’re doing this whole ‘take turns’ thing. Who’s up?” Your stomach flips. You hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The first date had been a whirlwind, fun until it wasn't. But now… now the reality of the situation settles over you. You glance between them, both waiting, both watching.

Quinn leans against the arm of the couch, feigning nonchalance. “Doesn’t really matter who’s next.”

Luke scoffs. “Yeah, it does. Jack bombed his date so whoever is next needs to make theirs worth her while.” He looks at you again, head tilting. “What do you think? Got anyone in mind?” You hesitate. You know what he’s asking, you know he's hinting that he wants to go next. But your gaze drifts, just for a second, to Quinn. He’s watching you carefully, waiting.

Not pushing, not teasing, just… waiting, like he always does.

Luke notices. Of course, he does. His grin widens, slow and knowing. “Oh I see how it is,” he hums.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but your face feels warm. Instead of laughing it off, though, Luke leans back against the couch, studying you. 

“You know, it’s okay if you pick me,” he says, quieter this time, more serious. “I mean, I know I joke a lot, but…” He shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’d make it a good one.” Something about the way he says it makes your heart skip. You’ve always brushed off his flirting, treated it as something easy, something playful. But this? The soft sincerity in his voice, the way he doesn’t look away—this is different.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say, but before you can, he flashes you a grin, easy and warm. “Just think about it, okay?”

Then he stands, stretching again. “Well, if it’s not me next, I better get my beauty sleep.” He winks before sauntering off down the hall, leaving you alone with Quinn. The air between you shifts, something quieter, something heavier. You look over at him again, but he’s already looking at the screen, where the movie menu is looping on repeat. His fingers drum against his arm again, thoughtful, as if he’s debating something.

Finally, he exhales, glancing at you. “If you want it to be me next… just say so.” His voice is steady, careful, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard. “We’ll see.” 

His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk, but he doesn’t press. He just nods once, then pushes off the couch. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Quinn.” He hesitates, just for a second, then turns and disappears down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and too many thoughts to sort through.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (10)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 10.4k

Warnings: mentions of knives, dead parents, death; talk of arranged marriage; suggestive themes; heated make-out session; self-doubt; small mention of kidnapping

Author’s Note: Omg we are nearing the end here. Only the epilogue is left. Thank you for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Your wrist tingles from where Bucky’s fingers had pressed too gently against your skin.

He has soothed the bruise left by Lord Ward, but there is nothing to be done for the ache settling in your chest.

It’s been silent for a few moments between you two. It’s thick and charged with some kind of electric buzz you can’t quite make sense of. But it makes you feel shy all of a sudden.

“You should probably go,” you state weakly, barely able to force the words past your lips. “They will be here soon.”

Bucky lets out a slow, unreadable breath. He gets to his feet, shaking the water droplets off his hand. The one he used to dip your hurt wrist into the cool water of the fountain. “Then we’ll have to be quick.”

Your head snaps up and you quickly get to your feet yourself. Something frigid curls down your spine. “What?”

His expression is blank, but his jaw is set.

“We leave. Now.”

His words rattle through your ribs, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“We? Bucky I- We can’t-”

“Can’t what?” he cuts in, almost flatly, but with a determination underlying it. “You think I’ll walk away and leave you to that prick? You think I’ll let them lock you in here and make you play queen to some bastard who doesn’t deserve you?”

Your throat is thick and you swallow hard. “I don’t have a choice.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You do have a choice, princess.” He says the title like it’s a curse, something wretched and wrong, something that shouldn’t be wrapped around your throat like a noose. “And you damn well know it.”

You narrow your eyes. “I never had a choice in anything.” Your voice is rough.

“You do now.”

A sharp breath pushes out of your lungs. “How?”

Bucky leans forward, eyes forcing yours to stay locked together, looking at you with the precision of a man who is hoping for something again after a long time.

“You come with me.”

Something wild careens through your ribs, something intoxicating and terrifying.

He says it so easily. As if you could just go ahead and say yes, grab his hand, and run off into the woods again.

And god help you, you want to say yes.

But it is not that simple.

You shake your head slowly, fingers digging into the fabric of your gown. “This is not about me.”

Bucky’s jaw works hard. His lip twitches “Like hell, it ain’t.”

“I just- I want to help those people. The townspeople. I want to help them.” Your voice is breaking, twisting into something unfamiliar. “They deserve it. They-”

“-don’t need another noble locked in a fuckin’ tower, paraded through halls built on their backs,” Bucky snaps. His tone is not rising but it is low, carrying an edge.

Your breath hitches.

Bucky presses on, voice not unkind, but still strong with sharpness. Coiled with something he’s barely keeping in check. “You think you’ll be helping them in here?” He throws a deliberate glance at the castle. “Sitting and rotting on a throne built by a man you don’t love?” He scoffs. “C'mon, darlin’, you’re smarter than that.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. “And what do you think I should do then? Run away? Disappear?” You bite out the words, frustration bleeding through your fear. “How does that help them?”

Bucky exhales through his nose, the breath fanning over your face. He shakes his head, running a hand along his stubble, but keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t have all the answers, princess,” he says then, softening his tone but not the intensity of his voice. “But I know this - staying here, being his wife, playing their game - it won’t fix a damn thing. And I know that if you let them take you, you’ll never get out.”

The churning in your stomach deepens, turning around in slow circles only to leave you stranded and feeling helpless. Again. You hate it. You hate feeling helpless.

Bucky is considering you, looking at you so closely, you can’t hold his gaze anymore.

“You really wanna stay here and marry that bastard?” Bucky’s voice is rough, quiet, edged with something that might be disbelief. Might be anger. Might be hurt. Might be disappointment. Might be something else entirely - something sharper, something that writhers in your gut and mind.

Your breath comes out shuddering. “It’s not about wanting to.”

Bucky exhales a low breath. He swallows. “That’s not an answer, princess.”

You look away. Sweeping your eyes over the many flowers around you. Perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse of forget-me-nots to pretend they are Bucky’s eyes so you would not have to look at the actual ones.

His gaze does not sway from you. He watches you carefully, too carefully, eyes tracing your face like he is searching for every smallest twitch of your features.

There is no expectation in his eyes, no demand. But there is something else there. Something sensitive. Hopeful. Unsure. But still so unwavering. A belief that you can make this choice. That you should.

But it is crushing you.

Because no, you do not want to marry that man.

But what if it is the right thing to do? What if, in time, you could make a difference from within the castle? You could be queen - a good queen. You could pass laws that bring food to the villages, mend the wounds your father never cared to see. If you stay and play their game and become the ruler like how you should, then maybe you could make their lives better.

But would they let you?

Or would they mold you into something unrecognizable before you ever had the chance?

They would see to that. Lord Ward would see to that.

Your husband.

The thought might as well break you.

You see it too clearly now - the life you would have under this thumb. His queen. His prize. You’d be draped in silks, painted and polished to be something pleasing, something obedient. Your words, your thoughts, your very breath would be dictated by men who see you as nothing more than a means to an end.

It is basically the life you’ve always lived, only worse.

Would you be locked away in golden rooms, paraded in pearls and brocade, expected to smile while they rule through you?

Would they let you make a difference?

Or would they hollow you out until you are nothing but a puppet? A shell?

Bucky is still watching you.

“Think you’ll be happy with that guy?” he asks, quieter than before. There is something pained in the way he says it.

It’s an absurd question. Happiness. What does that have to do with any of this? You made yourself believe that you were happy once. Even before the forest, before the lies, before knowing of your father’s sins that made your ribs crack open and bleed. Before Bucky.

You always forced yourself to believe you had been happy.

But even if you weren’t, there still is no point in that question.

“It does not matter if I am happy.” Your voice sounds hollow. Rehearsed even.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t shift, as if he expected you to say that. But something about him goes still. Too still.

“The fuck it doesn’t.” His voice is low. Convicted. Almost hard.

Your eyes sting.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You wanna stay?”

You don’t.

“It’s not that simple,” you whisper.

“It is. It can be,” Bucky counters, stepping even closer, and suddenly he is too close, heat rolling off him and slapping you in the face. He is a gravitational pull you could never hope to resist. His forefinger lifts your chin, to gradually tilt your face up to his. “Look, I'm not tellin’ you to come with me, alright? I'm askin’ you. That’s all I can do. I’ll get you the fuck outta here if that’s what you wanna do. But I kinda need you to want that. Not tryna make any decisions for you. You get the last word here, darlin’. You choose. And we’ll figure out the rest.”

Your ribs are closing in on themselves, locking the air away. Each inhale you try for is a struggle, a climb up a steep, endless slope. Your lungs are reaching, grasping, but never quite filling up the way they should.

A stinging heat rises in your limbs. It’s a weightless feeling, but so without rest. You feel like your body is hovering just outside itself, adrift in shallow air.

Bucky asked you to come with him.

Your father never gave you choices. The crown never gave you choices. The kingdom never gave you choices. Nobody did.

But Bucky does.

Could you do it? Could you walk away from everything expected of you? From all the years of conditioning, the training, the expectations? Could you defy your old self like that?

Could you leave it all behind - forsake the crown, the court, the man you are meant to marry? And go with him?

You told him it doesn’t matter if you are happy.

But looking at Bucky now, feeling the heat of him, the sincerity of him, the way he waits patiently for a choice that is completely your own, even though it seems to edge him.

And it makes you wonder, why not?

Why shouldn’t it matter?

You have spent your entire life serving something larger than yourself. A kingdom. A crown. An idea of duty that never asked if you were willing. That never cared what it cost you.

You’ve never been selfish. Not once.

And the thought of saying goodbye to Bucky a second time-

You can’t.

The first time was barely manageable. And it wasn’t even for a day. You left him standing there, walking through that gate, feeling his eyes on you. It had felt like watching your own heart step away from you, leaving nothing but a cavernous, painful emptiness behind.

You don’t think you could survive a second time.

Your father sent you here to be traded. A bargain to be struck.

But Bucky really looks at you. He looks and he sees you.

Not just a princess. Not just a duty-bound daughter of a king.

A person. A woman.

And when you think of the life you would have at Lord Ward’s side - cold, controlled, strangulating - you know.

You know.

You can’t be certain of what is going to happen no matter what you choose to do.

Maybe you could help the kingdom as his wife, but at what cost? Your voice? The freedom you only briefly glimpsed? Your soul?

Bucky is right. You can’t fix a broken kingdom from inside a cage. You can’t lead if you’re shackled to a man who wants to own you.

But if you leave, if you go with Bucky, you might find another way. A better way.

One that doesn’t require you to give up every piece of yourself in the process.

It means stepping into the dark with no safety net. No crown. No title to protect you. But considering it all, you never felt more protected when walking by Bucky’s side.

It would be just your own mind. Your own choices.

And Bucky.

Bucky, who has never been a guarantee. Bucky, who has always been on the run, just like you are now. Bucky, who might leave again someday.

But right now, he is here. And he is offering you a chance.

You meet his unrelenting gaze again. Just studying, watching each other.

And then his eyes light up. Ever so slightly. But it still manages to blind you.

Because he sees the nod you are about to give him in your eyes before your head can go through with the motion.

He doesn’t look triumphant. Not smug. Only grateful. Relieved. Almost exhilarated.

And he doesn’t hesitate.

His fingers brush against yours delicately, before taking hold of your hand completely. Your fingers tremble slightly in his hold and he squeezes gently, reassuringly, but keeps his eyes on yours to watch your reaction. You try not to let him know how much his touch affects you. But your pulse thunders against his skin.

And then he moves, tugging you along.

And just like that, you leave the castle behind.

****

Your hand stays in Bucky’s. His grip is firm but not crushing. His pace is quicker than before, less careful, less measured.

You have no time for slow steps now. Because you are no longer just traveling. You are running.

Shadows are spilling over the narrow path ahead as the trees rise above.

You should be afraid.

And you are, in a way.

But the fear is layered, jumbled in something deeper - something more complex than simple terror. It is not the fear of leaving. Not the fear of the darkening woods enclosing around you again.

It is the fear of what comes next.

You cannot organize the thought properly. Your mind tries to tuck it into a neat little space, into a box labeled decisions you have made, but the corners are too notched. The lid won’t close. You have done something irreversible. You have stepped across a line that you cannot redraw.

But there is still excitement coursing through your veins.

The thrill of it burns hot in your chest, unfurling like flames reaching for parched leaves.

It is not just the rush of escaping an arranged marriage, or a life you would have spent as a marionette with strings attached for your so-called husband-to-be to move you around with.

It is not just about the fact that you slipped from the grip of a fate that was never truly yours.

It is the realization that you have finally done it.

You have finally chosen yourself.

You have chosen to do what you always wanted.

For years, you have watched the forests from your balcony, their darkened outlines distant, unknowable, untouchable. You imagined them wild and free, the kind of place where the rules of the court could not reach, where names and titles had no bearing whatsoever. And you dreamed so big about running into them, of escaping a life that didn’t feel meant for you.

And now, here you are.

Running.

Fleeing.

The very thing you have wanted since childhood is finally happening.

And it is happening because you wanted it. Because you chose it. Not because you were thrust into it.

You are doing it for yourself.

No more palace halls, no walking in pre-measured and composed steps across marble floors for show, no more of that expected display of poise and beauty.

You are running towards something unknown. Something yours.

And it might not just be freedom. It is uncertainty. It is fright and exhilaration and the painful, intoxicating realization that you do not know what happens next.

You don’t know where you are going. You don’t know what waits beyond the next stretch of trees, or the next town, or the next day.

And that is - as strange as a thought it might be - so beautiful.

It’s the most exhilarating feeling you ever had.

Because this is what you always longed for. This is what life was meant to be. Full of surprises. Not knowing what comes next. Adventures. Things being uncontrollable.

The air starts to burn in your lungs, but you suck it in and relish it. Everything is sharp - the scent of bark, the sound of snapping twigs under your pounding footsteps, the slashes of light sweeping between the branches above.

You feel alive. Not the careful kind of way, the kind that means staying inside the lines drawn for you, the kind that means breathing only as much as you are allowed to.

You feel truly, wholly, terrifyingly alive.

Bucky pulls you along, always knowing exactly where to step, where to lead. There is a sort of urgency in his steps, the need to put as much distance between you and that castle - Lord Ward - as fast as possible.

But you catch the glint of something in his face when he takes a glance back at you to check how you are keeping up. Something like satisfaction. Something light.

Maybe Bucky doesn’t know where to take you now either. Maybe he doesn’t know what waits beyond the next stretch of trees, or the next town, or the next day.

But the knot of emotion that spins in your gut never hardens into panic.

Because there is adrenaline.

It flows through you, loosening the tangled thoughts before they can squeeze the air from your lungs completely.

And Bucky is still holding your hand.

He slows then, his boots crunching against the forest floor. And he stops entirely. Right in front of the thick trunk of a tree.

It catches your attention. You believe it to be a sycamore. The shape of its leaves, the curve and texture of its bark, the way its roots snake over the ground.

Your eyes follow the trunk up into the branches. You have seen it in books. You have read about trees like this, pored over their descriptions in dusty tomes stacked high in the royal library.

You have knowledge of them - so much knowledge. Their wood, their uses, the way their bark was once ground into remedies for fevers and infections, the way their roots pull deep into the earth, older than the stone walls of that castle.

But you have never really seen one for so long.

Not growing tall before you, unbound by pages and ink.

You have been walking through forests for weeks, been surrounded by trees, running, traveling, living in the very world that was once kept away from you.

But have you ever really taken a second to look at one? To observe it? To study it?

You do now. And you relish it.

Every tree. Every warped root. Every low-hanging branch and every bramble that has snagged at your skirts.

You begin to learn to cherish it. To drink it all in. To see it for the first time even though it isn’t and never take those things for granted again.

Bucky turns to look in the direction where the castle is standing. But it’s not in your eyesight anymore. Its looming towers are smothered by thick canopies and winding trunks.

He exhales, long and slow, shoulders rolling back. And then his eyes sweep to you.

Studying. Analyzing. Making sure you are holding up.

You feel his stare on your skin, but you don’t meet it.

You are too busy averting your gaze from the tree to the path behind you. The one you will not walk back.

The certainty of that fills your chest with something delightfully bright. It starts deep, looping in your ribs, growing warm and soft, spreading across your body like the first rays of sunshine in the morning.

And before you can catch it, before you can smoother it into something quiet and contained - you are smiling.

Panting, breath hitching from the fast pace, lungs burning with exertion - but smiling.

It feels strange on your lips. Unprompted.

Not the practiced smile of a princess performing her role. Not the polite, close-lipped curve you have been taught to wear in court.

This smile is real.

Bucky watches you, something wary in the way his gaze sharpens, like he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

His fingers brush your arm. “You okay, princess?” His voice has a gravelly quality, laced with subtle concern.

You clutch at your side, chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths, your body still trying to catch up to the choice you have made - but God, yes.

“Yes,” you gasp out, chest heaving, and something bubbles up inside you, something so unexpected, it startles you. A laugh. It is light and breathless, spilling past your lips just like that.

Bucky eyes you like you are something unfamiliar. Like you are something he’s never quite seen before.

Not in all the weeks he’s spent with you, sleeping beneath the same stars, traveling the same roads, moving through the same dark woods, and with only each other’s presence to fill the spaces between heartbeats.

It’s the smile. Your smile.

The way it breaks across your face so out of control. The way your shoulders loosen. The way your eyes glint - not with fear or helplessness, but with something else entirely.

Something like freedom.

He wasn’t expecting it. That much is clear.

His brows twitch like his body is catching up on what he’s seeing, instincts warring between amusement, relief, and just that little bit of caution he has never quite learned to shake off. His lips part slightly, but no words come, no sharp-witted remark or gruff warning. Just a pause. A heartbeat’s worth of simple observation.

Then, he exhales.

It’s quiet, him trying to make it subtle. But the breath visibly enters deep through him, dragging off some tension from his shoulders, softening something rigid in the line of his stance.

He chuckles. It’s so low and so rough that it seems to have been held in his throat forever before it came out.

“What?” His voice holds something unreadable. A touch of humor. Warmth. A hint of curiosity.

His head tilts, eyes still flickering across your face still tracing the way your lips are curved, the way your constricted chest is rising and falling from the effort of running - of choosing to run.

“You laughin' princess?” He drawls, and there is something unreadable in his gaze now. Not quite teasing. Not mocking. More like he is testing something. Prodding at it.

You shake your head, still breathless. Still grinning. Unrepentant. “No.”

Something is soaring through your chest. You can’t control it. It is uncontainable. And it makes your legs burn to push forward anyway. It makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

It makes you want to sing. To shout. To throw your arms out and feel the wind bite at your skin and know, for the first time in your life, that you are truly free.

He huffs amused, smirking. “You’re smilin’,” he points out.

“Am I?” The smile is still in your voice.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head, but there is something almost fond in the way he does it. A breath of laughter slips through his lips.

His eyes then immediately flicker back to the woods, as though he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Back to the reality of your situation, of what comes next. His fingers flex at his side.

“We should keep movin’,” he says, but there is a rasp in his voice. Something contained.

And just before he turns wholly, before he takes hold of your hand again to tug you along gently, his gaze catches yours another time.

He is smiling.

****

Bucky made you walk longer into the night this time.

It’s important to put as much distance between yourselves and the castle before dawn.

You didn’t ask how far he meant to go.

Didn’t ask if he thought they were already after you.

“They’re gonna think you were taken,” he had told you. So flatly. So unbothered.

But it made your blood turn to ice. And you had stumbled over a root. His hand shot out to steady you.

Well, but why wouldn’t they think that?

It made sense. Lord Ward had seen you with Bucky, had held your arm in a vice grip, had looked upon you as though you were his to command. His to marry. Now, with you missing, with Bucky’s name already tainted by whatever past he had with your father, whatever history existed between them - who would believe otherwise?

You imagined Lord Ward pacing in front of the king, spinning lies like fine silk. So he wouldn’t be standing in the picture of a fool who left his betrothed alone.

You felt your knees threaten to buckle, but Bucky caught your arm before you could stumble fully into your thoughts. He had stopped, standing in front of you, his head tilted, watching you carefully.

“Breathe, darlin’,” he had ordered. He didn’t coddle, didn’t tell you that everything would be fine. But he squeezed your arm gently and waited for you to compose yourself.

And after you calmed down your breathing, he was walking again with a simple “we’ll deal with it.”

Now, It is nearly dawn and Bucky finally decides to stop. But you just know that he is not going to get any sleep.

You know it before he sweeps your surroundings. Scanning. Watching. You know before he sits, back against the rough bark of a black oak, one knee bent, hand curled over it. Knife in his grip.

It is like you came to know the lines of determination set in his shoulders.

You want to sit down yourself. Lay down. But you hesitate.

It has nothing to do with the dirt, the inevitability of mud streaking across the fine fabric of your skirts. That’s the last thing on your mind. You couldn’t care less about the ruined luxury of your gown.

Actually, it is quite ironic that you started this the same way as before - fleeing into the woods in silks and embroidery, escaping something tragic.

But this one hurts.

Not just the meaning behind it. The physicality of it.

You attempt to sit down, but the boning sharpens its hold, the laces biting, tightening, restricting. A band of steel and lace and force that does not yield.

You exhale through your nose, biting down in the discomfort. You’re used to it. It’s nothing new. The breathlessness, the burn, the way it forces you into stillness and grace. You have worn worse. You have endured worse.

And you manage to compose yourself, except for the barely-there wince.

But of course-

“What was that?”

Bucky's head is turned towards you. His sharp eyes catch everything. The flicker of strain in your jaw, the slight flaring of your nostrils, the way your fingers twitch against your lap, the subtle way you brace yourself against the pressure of the corset.

His brows are drawn together tightly.

“What was what?” You feign innocence, but his stare is already pinned on you, drilling past whatever poor attempt at pretense you think you can manage.

His eyes narrow disapprovingly. His mouth pulls tight. He doesn’t move at first, just watching you.

“You made a face.” His voice is gruff.

You tilt your chin as if you could somehow dismiss the look of scrutiny now cutting through you. “I did no such thing.”

The moon is a thin sliver above, half-hidden behind clouds, barely enough to light anything in front of you, so how in the hell did he even see that? He must have been already looking at you.

Bucky leans forward slightly, exhaling profoundly before he really lets his gaze drag over you with even more intent.

You can feel the assessment in it. The way he pieces things together. He spent too much time learning to read people, to anticipate weakness.

Because it does not take long for his eyes to catch on the bodice. The tight lacing. The pristine white of the gown, too fine, too rigid, too much a thing not meant for this life - your life.

His expression darkens.

His jaw ticks.

And before you know it, he is up.

One second, Bucky is seated, with hard eyes and brooding in the dim glow. The next he’s on his feet, stalking over to you with an intent so firm it makes your breath catch.

Your voice hides somewhere deep in your throat.

You instinctively shrink back - not out of fear, but out of suspicion - and press your palms against the earth.

Bucky is lowering himself onto the ground behind you, his warmth now suddenly at your back, his presence now a barrier between you and the night.

You stiffen.

“What are you-” you start, unsure.

His voice is close to your ear. His tone is gruff. “You want this thing off?”

But his hands are already at the laces before you can even begin to form a reply. Tugging. Loosening. Deftly undoing the knots. There is a strength in the way he does it. As if the very sight of you caged in this gown offends him.

The corset clamps down on your middle, but as soon as he pulls at the first few loops, loosening the strangling fabric, you feel a rush of air finally filling your lungs. The relief is instant. Involuntary. You suck in a deep breath, ribs extending, your chest rising.

Bucky doesn’t miss it.

“There we go,” he coos. His voice is a low rasp at your ear. Encouraging you to take in more deep breaths.

Your own voice comes clambering up your throat again, but you are still shocked by his swiftness.

“Bucky, you cannot just-”

“You’re breathin’ easier, ain’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you might notice I can-”

His fingers undo another loop. He is not rough. Not careless. Just confident. Certain that this thing needs to go off.

Your hands fly up to hold the slackening fabric together at the front, even as your shoulders sag from the newfound freedom.

You swallow harshly, pressing your lips together.

He tugs another lace free.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric at the front, heart hammering against the boning.

Another lace undone.

Another breath released.

His hands move slower now since you are able to breathe steadier again.

He leans in slightly. You feel the shift of his weight behind you, the way his hands brush your back as he works. He is warm. Warmer than he should be in this night air.

His breath is on your neck. It moves to your ear. Plump lips are almost touching you.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” There is amusement in his tone. But it’s a low rumble, dipped into something rough.

You inhale sharply.

“‘Cause I can.” His words roll out huskily. He is still so close. He doesn’t move away.

He tugs another lace free, but he moves so achingly slow now. You inhale deeper than you have all day, oxygen rushing in so fast it almost makes you dizzy. Or that’s just Bucky.

Your hands are still clasped at your chest. And you can only think of saying the one thing that never really worked when you needed to distract yourself from your current situation, but you still always mentioned anyway.

“I still don’t like you interrupting me.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. It’s a knowing sound and it delicately drags over your skin in caresses. You shiver. Bucky feels it.

You can feel his sly smirk at your ear. Your head stays locked in place.

His voice is a slow drag of heat. And it pierces your core. “You wanna tell me what’s on that pretty mind’a yours, then? Won’t be interruptin’ ya, princess. Cross my heart. Can tell me anything.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you. I just don’t like it.”

“That right?” He’s smirking so wide.

You twist slightly at the way his voice slips through the air. Looking at him over your shoulder, his face definitely is way too close. His eyes gleam with something, something that makes your whole body tingle.

“Yes. I did not miss it!” But it sounds weaker. Too defensive.

“C’mon, princess,” he drones out, a smirk on his lips. His eyebrow lifts almost smugly. But there is more to it. His eyes shine with a fierce clarity. “You missed it.”

“I did not.” It still sounds small in your eyes.

His smirk deepens. “Missed me, then.”

The air seems to grow tense under his stare and you break away from it, turning back around.

Heat latches onto the back of your spine, crawling upwards deliberately.

You feel his fingers resting against the now unsecured laces at your spine, idle, as if waiting for your response.

He is so close. So intense. But still somehow not close enough.

You basically feel everything about him behind you. The heat of his body. The way his breath shifts the air between you, rustling the stray wisps of your hair, rough but deep. The way his fingers stay at your back, poised against the loose laces of your gown.

Your heart fights against the cage of your ribs, pounding with a force that you are sure he can feel.

You don’t know what to say.

Well, that is not quite right. You do know what to say. But you don’t know how to shape it into words, how to breathe them out into the night without choking on them.

But why should you hold back?

You have him back, after all. He is here again. You are with him.

After all the distance and separation and fear, after thinking you would never see him again, never hear that gruff voice again, never feel his presence beside you again - he is here.

You never believed that to happen again.

And there is no universe, no force of fate, no damn destiny that could convince you that that isn’t exactly what you wanted.

So hell, yes you missed him.

You missed him in ways you cannot even comprehend, in ways that have scratched at your walls deep inside, stealing your sleep and making a ghost of you in your supposed new home. It branded your mind, body, and soul, almost scorching every nerve with thoughts of him, his absence something you felt rather than simply noticed. You did not just miss him, you ached for him.

Even when they spoke of your marriage to Lord Ward, even when your fate was sealed with words behind closed doors, you could not think of anything but Bucky. Because you did not want Lord Ward. Not for a second. You do not want a loveless future wrapped in velvet chains.

You want him.

He was the most prominent thing on your mind in the time you were apart.

And he deserves to know it.

Your knuckles turn white. You wet your lips, chest rising beneath the pressure of your next words.

“I did miss you.”

You feel the moment the words reach Bucky because he freezes.

A stillness takes hold of him, so suddenly, so completely. It’s the kind that comes with shock - something having cut cleanly through his composure. Like your words caught him utterly off guard. Like they hit him.

You barely dare to breathe. The corset no longer constricts your middle, but your breaths still grow shallow once more.

He wasn’t expecting you to admit that.

You can feel the disbelieving motion which drifts into the shape of his body, the way his fingers flex minutely at the laces. His muscles lock up and his breath halts. Maybe he tries to ground himself, trying to determine whether or not he imagined it. Whether or not he is hearing things he shouldn’t.

He goes so still as if he had only been joking, believing that you couldn’t have possibly missed him in the first place. As if he thought this was just a game, just banter, just another exchange where you would dodge and deflect and roll your eyes at him.

And the thought of that - of him thinking himself so forgettable, so undeserving of longing - has your stomach slump to the ground.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch the barest glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. He’s staring down at you, gaze unreadable, lips pressed into something that is not quite a frown, but not quite neutrality either.

Something dangerous lurks in the air beneath you.

And you don’t care anymore.

You turn fully, meeting his gaze head-on. And whatever he sees in your expression makes something flutter in his own - something dark, something irrepressible, something hopeful.

He exhales. It’s almost cautious. Long. Steadying himself.

When he speaks, his voice is different.

“Say it again.”

Your pulse jumps.

You swear you have never seen Bucky Barnes look like this before. This intense.

There is something so raw in the way he gazes at you, so stripped down, something vulnerable in a way he probably doesn’t even realize. His eyes are stormy and magnetic and full of something.

Your swallow. You feel the muscles in your throat constrict.

“I missed you.” It’s barely above a whisper as you repeat the words.

His lips part slightly. He is still staring at you. So close. Too close. Is he getting closer?

You are turned to him, but his hand is still at your back, fingers shifting just a bit to barely graze you. It’s a tickling touch. But the heat of it, the intent behind it, makes your skin sparkle with sensation. You shiver. He feels it. He sees it.

He shakes his head slightly, exhaling again. “You really mean it, huh?”

You hold his gaze. “I would not have said it otherwise.”

His mouth twitches and his throat vibrates with a harsh swallow.

You inhale.

You exhale.

Again.

You watch him do the same.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

He is moving closer.

Definitely moving closer.

You feel the deliberate press of space folding between you. It’s not rushed. Bucky takes his time.

His hand lifts toward your face, the backs of his knuckles ghosting over your cheek with an intense slowness. A shiver of a touch, reverent and so delicate.

He trails along the curve of your face, down to your jaw, before his palm settles fully against your cheek, warm and firm. His thumb traces a slow, mind-numbing line along your skin.

So slowly.

Agonizingly slowly.

You do not move. You do not breathe.

Your pulse hammers beneath your skin as he tilts his head, his gaze flicking down. Down to your lips. Watching them.

You watch his in return.

Full. Plump. Red.

Poppies.

He pulls you to him and the world disappears.

The first press of his lips is not what you expect. You thought he’d be rough. Like the man who fights with clenched fists and gritted teeth, whose hands are more accustomed to wielding a weapon than offering softness.

But Bucky Barnes kisses like something stolen. Like he needs to be careful with what he is holding. Like you mean more to him than any weapon he’s ever had in his hands.

His kiss is soft where he is rough.

Warm where he is cold.

His lips are gradual in their movement against yours, coaxing rather than taking, guiding rather than demanding.

He tastes like salt. Smoke. Something that lingers. And something that is only Bucky. Like steel and storm winds. Like danger and safety all at once.

And he doesn’t stop kissing you. He rather shifts, and his touch gets urgent, fierce. But never rough. His fingers thread through your hair, his other hand curling around your waist, and his lips part against yours, his tongue sliding past them, sweeping into your mouth and exploring it so boldly, coaxing yours to meet him.

A soft, surprised sound escapes you.

Bucky groans into your mouth. It’s deep and guttural and it sends a hot shiver down your spine.

And he moves again, not breaking the kiss, never breaking the kiss, when his hand slides to your back, lowering you with him until your spine meets the ground and he hovers over you. Not crushing you, never crushing you, but solid and there.

His lips don’t stop moving, don’t stop claiming, don’t stop tasting.

A wall of warmth. A shield. Something that steadies you.

His fingers skim along your side, trailing fire over your ribs as he leans deeper into you, fitting himself between your legs like he belongs there. And maybe he does.

You grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, your body answering before your mind can catch up.

You can’t put into words what he is doing to you but you are sure to show him.

And Bucky shows you too. He is kissing you like he has been starving for it. Like he is drowning in it.

And you let him.

He holds you close to him as if he is afraid you might disappear again.

He is kissing you as if he is trying to make up for every second you were apart.

Like he won’t let it happen again.

The heat of him is overwhelming, drowning out the cold of the earth at your back.

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as he goes in stronger, as his tongue sweeps over yours, leaving you dizzy and electrified. His thumb brushes your cheek, soothing even as he steals your breath.

“Say it again,” he roughly pants against your lips.

You breathe against his mouth, struggling to find coherence.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

The rumbled groan that comes out of him is basically a growl. It is something primal. Something torn from the depths of him. It vibrates against your lips, shakes through his body, and you feel it.

The hunger in the way he pulls you closer, one arm locked tight around your waist, locked beneath your body and the earth. The other cradles the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair with a carefulness that does not match the desperation in his hold. He tilts your head enough, just right, to deepen the kiss, to drink you in, to take more.

And you let him.

Because the contrast of him is addictive.

The softness of his lips. The rough scratch of his stubble. The steel in his body, pressing into you, against you, around you. The warmth of his breath, mingling with yours, melting into you as if he is trying to fuse himself to you.

It is too much but not enough.

The heat inside you grows stronger. It sparks in your belly. Then it floods your limbs, blooming in your chest, thrumming under your skin. Your pulse is erratic, pounding in places you never quite noticed before.

It pools low. Deep.

And instinctively, you move.

Your legs shift, your thighs closing around his, your knees pressing into his hips, pulling him closer to you even though he already is upon you. There is fabric between you, but god, you feel him.

For the first time, you really feel him.

Not just the presence of him, the idea of him. Him. His height. His weight. The hard muscles beneath his clothes, the shape of his body against yours. The way he fits between your legs.

And he shudders.

His breath stutters, catching against your lips. His fingers flex, tighten. His body tenses.

And he groans.

It’s a sound you feel down to your bones, something that rips through you and sends a fresh rush of heat into your bloodstream.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked, pulling away from your lips to drop his forehead to yours. His eyes are closed. His breath is uneven, his control slipping.

You can’t breathe.

You don’t want to breathe.

Because he is opening his eyes and looking at you like he is a second away from ruining you and you might as well just want him to.

You crave him.

His lips, his taste, his touch, his hands, his everything. The feeling is molten, unshakable, and implanted somewhere deep in your belly, running through your veins, buzzing under your skin.

Maybe it is the adrenaline from running through the woods, from leaving behind the life you have always known. Maybe it is the way he is here, hovering over you, pressing you into the earth, his scent all around you, the taste of him still on your tongue.

Or maybe it’s been brewing inside of you all along.

So you reach for him again.

You tilt your head up, your fingers fisting a buckle of his armor, pulling him down to you. He goes willingly, eagerly, with a hunger that ignites the very air around you. His mouth crashes onto yours like a storm meeting the sea. His lips are hot and urgent, taking and giving all at once.

You arch into him, your body moving on instinct, drawn to him. You shift slightly, rolling your hips up - not much, not enough - but it sends a shockwave through your system, a slow, burning ache that makes you grip him tighter.

Bucky stiffens.

Immediately, his body coils, tension increases. His hand tightens at your waist, his grip suddenly rigid, bordering on restraint. And then, he pulls away.

You chase after his lips, but he stops you with the hand on your cheek, keeping you still, keeping himself from diving back in.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw is tight, his breath is broken. And that makes you pause. Because he didn’t sweat a single drop while running through the forest earlier the day, but now he is panting above you like a man who’s just fought for his life.

He swallows hard, shakes his head, and looks at you.

Really looks at you.

“We can’t, darlin’,” He is breathless. His voice is hoarse. But firm.

His words should be a warning but they don’t sound like one. They sound pained. Strained. Regretful.

You know he wants you. You feel him. Even through the many layers of your skirts between you, he is hard, achingly so, pressed against your hip with a desperation that should be impossible to ignore.

But he is ignoring it.

Even though he wants you. Even though he is starving for you.

“I gotta do this right.” There is something solemn in the weight of his tone. Something real. His fingers twitch against your skin before he pulls away, enough to still hover closely over you.

Your brows furrow.

“I can’t have you like this. Not like this. S’ not right.”

It’s almost funny. Almost.

Because of course, he could. He could take you here right where you are the way he wants. He is stronger than you, faster than you, and he has you beneath him, pliant and willing. And yet, he holds himself back.

He looks down at you with something that almost looks like remorse, but not because he doesn’t want this. No, he does what this. It’s because he started it in the first place. Because he let himself taste you, let himself sink into you, let himself feel what he could have - what he could take - but does not.

“You really care about that,” you whisper, still catching your breath. It is more an observation than a question.

And you don’t mean it cruelly, not at all. You just did not expect it. For him to have this kind of restraint, this kind of morality. He is a mercenary, who kills without hesitation, whose hands are rough and bloodstained.

But you already came to see his caring side. So, really, it should not be all that be surprising.

“I didn’t think I would,” he admits quietly, voice rough, almost holding something amused. But then, just as quickly, a small grimace crosses his face and he looks away shortly.

But then his eyes are back on you and they soften.

“But I do.”

You don’t feel yourself breathing.

“I gotta do this right, sweetheart.”

There is something different in the way he says that. Something gentle. Something warm.

His calloused fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb running along the line of your jaw. It’s such a contrast to the way he has been kissing.

Your hands are still gripping him but your hold has loosened, fingers splayed against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his it.

Bucky’s arm winds carefully from beneath you, sliding free and making sure you lay comfortably.

You feel his fingers skim along the slackened fabric of your gown, adjusting it across your chest with an absentminded sort of tenderness. He pulls it back into place to keep the fabric from exposing you too much.

His other hand props himself up on his forearm beside your head to keep some of his weight off you.

Calloused fingers stay at your stomach, tracing idle patterns along the curve of your ribs. His eyes move with them. Then, again so achingly slowly, he trails his knuckles up over your chest, following the dip of your collarbone, to the side of your neck, where his palm cups your cheek with a softness that has you lying there completely limp.

A slow stroke of his thumb skims the shape of your cheekbone. His eyes meet your own again. His breath fans against your lips when he speaks.

“You deserve more than this.”

The words are spoken low. Filled with things deeper than regret and heavier than longing. His eyes travel down to the makeshift bed of dirt, leaves, and moss below you. He takes in the tangle of fabric, the stray twigs caught in your hair, the way your body is still half-pinned under him in the darkness of the woods.

His expression sours.

There is an instant flash of frustration. Displeasure. Something unfulfilled.

He wants to give you something better. More than the dirt, more than the forest, more than the running.

His eyes sweep back to yours and you hardly have a chance to suck in a breath before he bends toward you, so leisurely, voice husky and burning with a controlled heat that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“But trust me, darlin’.”

You swallow, shaking slightly.

His lips graze your jaw and he places tiny, but lingering kisses over the curve of it to your ear where his mouth finds the sensitive spot that makes you gasp quietly. He lingers there. He savors it. You feel him smirk.

“M’ gonna make it up to you.”

His voice drops to a sly whisper, only for you, only for this.

“Just you wait.”

****

The world wakes slowly.

The air is still cool, the lingering breath of night remaining in the leaves and the earth beneath you.

But you are warm.

Not because of the breaking dawn.

Because of him.

You are wrapped in Bucky’s arms, his body a furnace against yours. His heartbeat thumbs beneath your palm where it rests against his chest.

You don’t remember falling asleep exactly, only the feel of him, the deep rise and fall of his breath like he is able to get full breaths in for the first time in his life. You only felt the way his fingers had traced mindless patterns against your back until your body had melted into him completely.

Your breaths deepen as your senses slowly come back to you. Stirring against his chest, you feel the way his grip instinctively tightens at the movement, pulling you closer.

You blink against the first rays of the morning.

Bucky is awake.

You don’t know if he ever truly slept at all, or if he simply laid there, holding you, guarding you, letting his eyes slip closed only when he was sure you had drifted off first.

But when you tilt your head to look up at him, your breath catches.

Golden light dapples his skin in shifting patterns. And it paints his smile. His smile.

It is lopsided, lazy, and warm, the kind that tugs at the corners of his mouth like he isn’t used to smiling but can’t help himself right now.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

A shiver runs through you.

His voice is rough and slow, like gravel smoothed over by honey. You inhale sharply, taking in the scent of leather and earth and him, pressing yourself closer without meaning to.

Bucky notices.

He smirks just slightly, shifting to pull you even closer.

Neither of you moves to get up.

Instead, you melt into him again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, letting the warmth of him seep into every inch of you. His fingers press you tighter to him.

Carefully, he moves and you feel his breath over your skin, lips touching the corner of your jaw, before he dips lower. He kisses your neck in a slow and unhurried drag of his lips.

He doesn’t rush. He simply tastes you, presses his mouth to the place where your pulse flutters, lingers there, lets his teeth graze just enough to make your breath shudder and goosebumps rise.

Each kiss is softer than the last one and you feel them setting a fire in your belly.

You sigh, pressing further into you.

Bucky smirks against your skin.

“You sleep well?” he asks, voice a low murmur, thick and knowing, his lips brushing against your jaw between words.

You hum, a soft wordless sound that vibrates against his lips, still too caught in the haze of his touch.

He rolls slightly, so that his weight presses more firmly against you, pinning you beneath him. His hand slides lower, fingers skimming the curve of your waist, dipping beneath the loose folds of your gown, calloused fingertips tracing slow and aimless lines on your back, your waist. He is leisure about it, memorizing the shape of you like he never means to forget, and watching your reaction.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, gripping it slightly as you try to even your breaths, but it’s impossible when he is looking at you like that. Like you are something he intends to take his time with, something he is in no rush to let go of.

You blink up at him, still drowsy, still trying to process the fact that you woke up like this - with him wrapped around you.

“Am I overwhelmin’ you, darlin’?” he muses, speaking softly, but the smirk is still in his voice.

You let out a huff, tilting your chin up in mild indignation, but your attempt at a glare is short-lived. Because he chooses that exact moment to smooth another kiss beneath your ear, so consciously, his lips barely there, teasing the spot he already knows will unravel you.

The sigh you let out this time is less innocent.

Bucky chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied, vibrating through his chest where it’s pressed against yours. “Mm. That’s what I thought.”

Another kiss. “You want me to stop?” It’s an earnest whisper and he lifts his lips off your skin to look at you.

“No,” you breathe out.

“Good.” He dives back in.

Neither of you seems to be in a hurry to move any time soon.

You stay in his arms, feeling his breaths against your temple.

The world feels so quiet like this. So small. Like it only consists of the space between you.

But there’s that question burrowing in your mind since you left the castle - since you chose him and yourself over everything you had ever known. And as much as you’d like to keep living in this moment, you know you need to ask.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, darlin’?.”

The comfortable tone of his voice settles over you. His hands come to a halt on the dip of your spine, still lying between the folds to give you his full attention.

You hesitate, tracing small and lacy lines along the ridges of the brown leather strap crossing his chest.

“Where do we go now?” It’s a whisper.

His body shifts and you feel him exhale, his chest rising and falling slowly against you. Almost absentmindedly, he resumes the movements of his fingers at your back, as if weighing his answer in his silence.

“I know a place.”

You tilt your head up slightly, to catch his gaze. He looks back at you immediately. “That does not tell me much, Bucky,” you say lightly, but throw him a small expectant smile.

A corner of his lips quirks, but his eyes remain unreadable. “You’ll see soon enough,” he hums. A kiss is placed on your temple.

Leaning back just slightly, you try to search his eyes for more than his usual cryptic deflections. You study the way the light catches in the depths of his gaze, the way his features still are relaxed but somehow holding a guard up. As if there is more he’s not saying.

“Tell me something,” you plead in a whisper, keeping your tone soft.

His eyes switch between yours, his thumb grazing over your hipbone. He exhales through his nose but it lacks frustration.

“What do you wanna know, princess?”

“Are there others?”

He smiles a bit of a sad smile. Eyes on you “My friends.”

“Your friends?”

His smile falls into a smirk, a twinkle in his eyes returning. “Surprised I got ‘em?”

“No,” you retort quickly. Then softer, “Maybe a little.”

His low chuckle resounds in your own body and his arms around you tighten.

“Who are they?” you continue, eager to learn more. “And how many? Where do they live? Are they all together? Do they know you’re coming?”

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back against the mossy ground, feigning utter exhaustion at your curiosity. But his smirk doesn’t waver. “Again with those damn questions.”

You fight the smile threatening your lips, but it lifts your cheeks nevertheless. Shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow, you can see his face better. “Hey, you told me to ask.”

“Right.” He clicks his tongue, tilting his head with the motion. “That was my mistake. Shoulda seen it comin’.”

“I want to know more about you, Bucky,” you say after a beat, quieter this time.

His expression softens at that, eyes falling back to you. Looking at you for a long moment, he studies you the way someone would examine a delicate being. Long fingers trail up to brush against your cheek, his rough-skinned thumb grazing the high point of it before settling along your jaw and mapping the curve of it. He follows his fingers with his gaze before going back to your eyes.

And when he speaks again, his voice is lower. More careful, but sounding somewhat hollow.

“It ain’t no castle,” he says, gaze dropping to his fingers briefly, before returning to yours. “Or palace.”

There is something in the way he says it - like a warning, or an apology. He says it like a man who has been told his whole life that he could never offer something worth keeping.

You don’t believe him to think you might be dissatisfied, or that it won’t come close to any standards you might have. More like that some part of him believes he cannot give you what you deserve. Or what he might think you deserve.

A shadow of doubt.

Your heart clenches.

You don’t want him to doubt. Not even for a second.

You reach for him before you can think twice, letting your fingers skim over the rough scruff of his jaw. He lets you trace the line of his cheek, his temple, as if you could memorize him with your hands alone.

He doesn’t seem to breathe. His stare is piercing.

“Well, it is a good thing that castles suck,” you assess almost flatly.

There is a beat of silence and then Bucky laughs. Out loud. It resonates among the trees like something out of nature. It rumbles out of him, shaking his shoulders and you a little with it. His mouth curls into something wide and almost boyish, so utterly amused. He shakes his head in disbelief.

You grin at him. Can’t stop it.

With a wistful sigh, he fixes his gaze on your lips. “I do like that mouth of yours, princess.” He bites in his lip to suppress a snicker. There is a glint in his eyes, something playful, something teasing, something more in the way his gaze drops even lower still, raking it over the length of you.

His voice is dipped low. “If you keep talkin’ like that,” he drawls, something dark and sweet in his tone, “I might just have to take you right here.”

His words roll off his tongue in an indulgent kind of slowness, laced with something wicked - but not serious. His smirk deepens at the blush that starts to heat your skin, his eyes glinting with mirth. There is a deliberate lightness in the way he tilts his head, gauging your reaction.

He watches the way your throat bobs, the way your fingers twitch ever so slightly against his chest. You might as well have to fight the urge to just grab hold of him and pull him closer. He looks at your reactions so devastatingly patient, reveling in it, it makes your pulse pound against your chest. You can’t meet his eyes.

With a quirked brow, he leans in and leaves a small kiss at your ear before whispering, “Though I can’t have you for myself with that audience all up in the trees.”

A bird calls just as he says it.

And before you can tame the hotness bubbling in your belly, his hands at your waist start moving. Fast. He’s tickling you.

“Bucky-” you shriek in surprise, squirming in his hold, giggles spilling from your lips. He seems to know exactly where to touch, where to press to leave you gasping. He did take his time to memorize your body last night.

“Or would you like that kinda audience, princess, huh? That somethin’ for you?” It’s clear in his voice that he holds back his own laughter, shoulders shaking faintly.

“Stop,” you laugh, cheeks on fire, but you don’t do much to swat his hands away.

With a chuckle so full of smug satisfaction, he relents, easing up and letting you catch a breath. You keep giggling against him, hiding your face in his chest. His fingers stay at your waist, giving you a quick squeeze.

His grin softens and his own breathing evens out. A finger meets your chin to make you look back at him and his gaze traces your face as if he needed this. Needed this excuse to see you flustered, to hear you laugh.

And it takes a moment of regaining your breath before you realize just how light you actually feel.

Weightless.

Unburdened.

Not even as a child, when you ran barefoot through the palace halls, had you felt this way. Even then, you were never truly free.

Even in the secluded spots of the gardens, where you once thought solitude could feel like freedom, there was always a link, a bond encircling your wrist in the form of duty, expectation, obligation.

This.

This is freedom.

It is him.

“And how brave you are for letting go of everything that’s no longer for you.”

- Evan Sanders

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd @winterassassin1804 @thescarleteevee @coutureisart @chachkid @ibelieveindragons141

[keeryhours]

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby - chapter one

DBF!older!Eddie Munson x female! Harrington! reader

Main Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

You’re new to Hawkins, and your dad’s best friend helps you move in. You have…complicated feelings about each other right away.

Warnings:

(18+), masturbation (male and female) and smutty fantasies, perv!Eddie, this is just really horny tbh, pining, age gap (reader is 19 Eddie is 45), dad’s best friend trope

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N:

I know, I know, another series. But this one popped in my head and had to be written down! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for my banner and for being amazing, @the-witty-pen-name for reading over it for me, and @fizzing-imagines for pretty much talking through this whole series with me. Dividers by @/sisterlucifergraphics

Your parents divorce hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to you.

There were a lot of fights near the end. Endless screaming match fights, mom coming home late, dad demanding to know where she’d been, even though deep down he already knew. When they had sat you down and told you about the divorce, it had been a relief.

You wanted to stay with your dad. You were 19 and had taken a gap year to try to figure out what you wanted to do with your life - which you still had no idea. But this involved living at home while you worked at a local bookstore.

The worst part of the divorce was when your dad sat you down and told you you were moving - from beautiful Colorado, to…Hawkins, Indiana? Your dad’s hometown, which you’d never visited. A town where nothing much seemed to happen, just farmland and small town life. You were not thrilled.

You still weren’t thrilled as you packed up the last of your stuff into the moving truck and began the nearly 20 hour drive. Your dad tried to keep you in high spirits, telling you all about his good memories in Hawkins, and you appreciated the effort, but it didn’t help.

You stopped along the way to spend the night in a hotel. Your dad was trying his best, but he couldn’t drive that long without a rest. And you were ready to get out of the truck and stretch anyway, sending texts to your friends about how bummed you were to be leaving.

The next day you finished the drive, finally passing the small Welcome to Hawkins sign. Your new home.

“Here we are, sweetheart,” your dad said, looking at you with feigned enthusiasm. You smiled softly back at him.

“Yeah, it…it looks great,” you managed.

Your dad’s smile faltered, and he reached a hand over to squeeze your knee. “It’s going to be alright, honey. I know you’ll get used to it here. I know it’s not home, but it’s not all bad. And I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends at college.”

You wanted your old friends. You wanted to go to the same college together, the way you’d planned. You wanted to make the most out of things, find something to love about Hawkins, but it was hard when you were mourning the life you left behind.

As you reached the part of town where your new house was, your dad pulled out his phone. “Hey, Munson! We’re just down the road.”

Eddie Munson - your dad’s best friend. They had met in high school here at Hawkins, and had remained best friends all these years, even with the distance. They talked on the phone regularly. You’d never met or even seen the guy, but he was coming over to help you move in.

Your dad finished his phone call just as you pulled up to the single story white house, cute but much smaller than the one you’d lived in before. You hopped out of the truck the second it stopped, stretching your stiff limbs. Your crop top raised higher with your arms in the air, your tiny shorts not covering much but keeping you cool from the end of summer heat.

“Munson!” You heard your dad yell from behind you, sounding much happier than you’d heard him in months.

You turned in time to see the hottest guy you’d ever seen walking your way.

The first thing you noticed was his long, wild curly hair hanging down past his shoulders. He was dressed in a tight pair of jeans with a chain hanging from them and an Iron Maiden tee - his style nothing the way you’d imagined him with being your dad’s best friend. You were thinking more…boring, polo shirts and khakis. But no, the man in front of you was hot. He had a little facial hair, a strong nose, and big chocolate brown eyes that had lingered on your frame before snapping towards your father.

“Harrington!” He greeted him, and they pulled each other into a tight hug. “What’s up, man? Haven’t seen you in 20 years.”

“I know, I know,” your dad said with a laugh as they pulled away. “It’s good to be back in town. Oh!” He turned behind him, reaching for you. You moved to stand next to him, seeing Eddie up close for the first time. “Ed, this is my daughter,” he said, introducing you by name.

The second those big brown eyes met yours, you were doomed.

He gave you a suave smile, holding out a large hand adorned with multiple silver rings. “Hi. I’m Eddie.”

You took his hand in yours, feeling the rush of electricity up your arm so intense you almost dropped it. You told him your name and he repeated it back, his other hand coming to rest on top of yours. You had never heard your name sound so beautiful, as seductive, as it had when it came from Eddie’s lips.

Oh, you were fucked.

“Let’s get started, yeah?” Your dad said, already opening the back of the moving truck. “I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

The three of you stayed busy moving furniture and boxes all day, until it got dark and your dad sat down on the couch with a groan. “Okay, I think that’s good for today. Pizza and beers, anyone?” He asked, before turning to point a finger at you - “Soda for you, little lady.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help a smile.

“Sounds great,” Eddie said, taking a seat on the recliner.

Your dad ordered the pizzas, and before long you were relaxing as you ate, your dad and Eddie buzzing a little from the beers they’d had. You listened to them reminiscing on their years in Hawkins, updates on all their old friends, talking about their current life.

“How’s the shop?” Your dad asked, taking another swig of his beer.

“Oh, it’s going great,” Eddie said, a smile on his face as he relaxed in the chair with his drink. “I’m about ready to hire someone to help out part time.”

Your dad immediately turned to look at you.

“What?” You asked. “Me?”

“You’d love it,” he said. “Ed owns…basically a nerd store. Music, books, D&D stuff…”

Eddie huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, my nerd store.”

“But seriously. You would love it.” Your dad gave you a hopeful look. “What do you say?”

“Um…sure,” you agreed, to which your dad looked victorious.

“Cool,” Eddie said, relaxed and casual. “You can start Monday.”

After eating, Eddie helped you unpack some of the boxes. Your dad waved him off - “I’ve got it, go help her in her room.” So, Eddie followed you to your brand new bedroom, your heart thumping in your chest.

“Um, just pick any box, I guess,” you said, grabbing one of your boxes of books and opening it. You began unpacking the books and placing them on your shelves. You heard Eddie working behind you, until you heard a surprised little “Oh!”

You turned to see Eddie had opened a box of your clothes, with all of your underwear right on top - oh yeah, and your vibrator. You blushed furiously, grabbing the box from him and shoving it into the closet. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Eddie chuckled. “Hey, it’s okay.” But you couldn’t even look at him, your cheeks heated like flames kissing your skin. Of course he had to open that one box.

“You have good taste in music,” he said as he moved on to another containing your record collection. He flipped through the different artists - Bowie, Metallica, The Beatles, Iron Maiden. “I didn’t know you were into records.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “Dad gave me his old collection, and then I just started collecting them myself.”

“Cool,” Eddie said again, a small smirk on his lips. “You’ll get a discount at the shop. On records, books, whatever.”

That was excellent news. Records weren’t exactly cheap, and you loved to read, too. Working at this shop wasn’t going to be so bad.

When you’d all finished for the night, Steve gave Eddie a hug at the door. “Thanks for coming, man. You coming over tomorrow, too?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “I’ll see you guys then.”

He gave you a lingering look as he left, one you weren’t sure if you imagined or not. Maybe you just wanted him to look at you in that way.

That night, Eddie drove himself home, fingers white knuckled on the steering wheel. Fuck, this was bad. There was no denying he was attracted to you. He wanted you bad. But he could never act on it, and he knew this. You were completely off-limits. Forever.

But god, your body. When he had walked up and saw you stretching, those tiny little jean shorts, the expanse of the skin of your back as your shirt rode up - that little crop top that already did very little to hide anything - he prayed that you weren’t Steve’s daughter. He prayed that you were some neighbor, some girl he could flirt with and bring home - but of course not.

Eddie was still thinking about you when he pulled up at his own trailer. He thought of you as he walked up to the front door and unlocked it, thinking of pushing you up against it and kissing you frantically as he attempted to open the door. He walked inside and thought about having you on his lap on the couch, feeling you grinding down on his hard cock, letting him get his mouth all over your tits.

He walked into the bathroom and was still thinking of you as he started the shower and slipped out of his clothes. He was rock hard from the thought, just thinking about you in any way had his cock aching. As he climbed into the shower, he thought of the box of your sexy little panties and bras, the vibrator sitting right on top. He thought you must use it pretty often to want to keep it so accessible - maybe you were using it right now.

He thought about you turning it on, rubbing it around your hard nipples to tease yourself just like he would before moving it farther down your body. He wrapped his hand around his cock as he thought about you teasing your clit with it, the pretty little moans that would be spilling from your lips as you pleasured yourself. He began stroking his cock to the thought, hand moving slowly at first as he pictured you just barely teasing yourself, then speeding up as he thought of you bucking your hips up, desperate for more pleasure as you neared your orgasm.

Eddie placed a hand on the shower wall to brace himself, his right hand vigorously pumping his cock, legs beginning to tremble as he thought about you slipping your other hand down your body and pushing two fingers into your needy little cunt. You’d be thinking of him, thinking of how he’d fill you. Your hands wouldn’t even compare to the way he’d stretch you out with his cock.

He ran his thumb over his tip, collecting the precum there and rubbing it down the rest of his shaft. He squeezed the base of his cock, absolutely throbbing in his hand, so desperate for you. God, what if he came over and snuck through your window, found you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him, slipped inside to crawl between your legs and lick at your soaking wet pussy, tasting you-

Eddie cried out as he came unexpectedly, ropes of cum shooting out and covering the shower wall as he moaned your name. He continued pumping his cock until every drop had been spent - completely drained, he had cum harder than he had in years. All to the thought of you

He was fucked.

In your room that night, alone, you thought of Eddie. You flicked your vibrator on, thinking of how hot he had looked, the way he looked at you, what you wish he’d do to you. You made yourself cum over and over to the thought of him between your legs, pleasuring you, being the one to make you feel so good.

The next morning, you felt a little awkward facing your dad.

He made breakfast for the two of you and you sat at the small table together, digging into your eggs and bacon.

“How are you settling in?” Your dad asked. “Your room comfy enough?”

“Yeah,” you answered casually. You had been plenty comfortable last night. “So, uh…Eddie’s coming back over today?”

“Yep,” he answered. “Should be over after breakfast.”

You thought for a moment. There was much you wanted to know about Eddie, but you had to ask without raising suspicion. “How did you guys meet?”

Your dad smiled as he took a bite of bacon. “Spring break ‘86. Aunt Robin introduced us. Speaking of Robs, she’ll be over today, too.”

You smiled at the mention of your aunt, who was your dad’s other best friend. “Is he…married?”

Steve laughed lightly. “Ed? No, never got married. Did date one girl pretty seriously for a while, but never married. Single now. He needs somebody.” Your dad looked lost in thought. “Maybe I can set him up with someone.”

You wanted to say no to that, but held your tongue. “Does he have any kids?” Your dad gave a strange look to that question, so you quickly added, “You know, that I could hang out with?”

“No kids,” he said. “But you and Eddie have a lot in common. I’m sure you’ll get along working at the store.”

After breakfast, you hurried back to your room, looking for something to wear that might catch Eddie’s attention. You knew it was silly, like a crush on a teacher. It was forbidden and you knew he would never look at you in the way you wanted him to. But still…

You dressed in a sundress this time, the top low cut and the skirt showing most of your thighs. The kind of dress you couldn’t bend over in. When you walked out of your room and down the hall where you could hear voices, you stood up straight, fixed your hair, and walked into the room.

His gaze went to you immediately. Within a matter of seconds his eyes trailed over your frame, taking in your cleavage, the way the dress hugged your curves, your thighs disappearing beneath the short skirt. He wanted to bend you over and lift that skirt, push your panties to the side and-

“She’s finally here!” Your dad exclaimed dramatically, as if you hadn’t just gone to get ready. “Ready to get started?”

Your dad and Robin worked in the living room while he sent you and Eddie back to your room to unpack. You had made sure there were no more embarrassing boxes for him to uncover.

The way you’d bend over in front of him did not go unnoticed by Eddie. The slightest flash of your white lace panties, the swell of your perfect ass. He wanted to dive in, to taste that pretty little pussy. I bet it tastes so sweet, he thought to himself, practically drooling at the sight. I bet it would be so tight around my cock.

You weren’t sure if your little show was working, but you hoped it was. You wanted Eddie to notice you, badly. You wanted to know how he tasted, how he fucked. If he could make you feel like a real woman.

So you and Eddie unpacked your room together, both pretending like you didn’t want to rip the others’ clothes off right then and there. You weren’t a virgin, but you’d never been with a guy so much older before. The thought thrilled you, made you impossibly wet as you thought of Eddie and all the things he could do to you, the things he could show you.

When you were done unpacking for the day, your dad ordered out for everyone again. As Eddie left your room behind you, he spotted a pair of light pink panties on the floor by the door. He looked around, making sure no one was paying attention - then swiped them, stuffing them in the back pocket of his jeans. Something to hold onto.

Back in the kitchen, you watched your dad and Robin filling their plates at the counter as you stood back, waiting for them to be done.

“Excuse me, princess,” a low voice sounded right in your ear, making you shudder as Eddie’s hand sat right on your hip, slid around to cup your ass for only a moment before he was letting go and slipping past you. You weren’t even sure if you’d imagined it or if he’d really touched you like that. Maybe it was an accident? Your mind was swimming.

Your dad and Robin went back into the living room, bickering over the living room paint color as you moved towards the food. Eddie gave you one last knowing smirk before he grabbed his plate and beer, winking at you as he left.

After dinner, you said your goodbyes for the night. Your mind was still swimming with thoughts of Eddie as you took your shower, fingers dipping between your folds as you thought of how hot he’d looked today, the way he’d looked at your body, the way he touched you. His name was on your lips as you came.

At Eddie’s house, he pulled the panties out of his back pocket as soon as he got home. He went into his bedroom, stripped his clothes off, pushing his boxers down to release his aching cock. He laid back on his bed, wrapping the panties around his shaft as he stroked himself, thinking of you, thinking of your pussy. How badly he wished you were sitting on his face, letting him drink his fill of you, making you cum over and over again on his tongue. He thought of how you’d worn these panties, how they’d look on you - how he caught the slightest glimpse of your panties today, how he needed to see more.

Eddie jerked himself off faster, the soft material of the panties providing delicious friction against his dick. It was throbbing in his hand, he had just cum the night before to the thought of you and now he was aching to do it again. He felt like a fucking teenager again, so desperate for you, so desperate for relief. He hadn’t felt so desperate for a woman in years. Maybe ever.

He had it bad for you. And of course you had to be a Harrington - Steve’s daughter, even - you were totally off limits. All he could do was imagine the way he’d fuck you, the way tears would stream from your eyes as he fucked his thick cock into you for the first time, telling you you can take it, just a little more -

Eddie’s release spilled over his hand and all over the cute little panties, tainting them. Afterwards he felt guilty, like a real fucking creep.

Eddie was in trouble.

tag list

@ali-r3n

[soov]

HOW TO KiSS。 lee heeseung

fem reader & frat heeseung ᗢ 1O8O words ━━ fluff ꕀ college!au, estabilished relationship ⌗ WARNiNGS pet names, kissing, skinship. HOW TO SERiES

Jake Sim was going to kill you and Heeseung.

Another year had just went by and Jake decided to throw a party at his pool house, inviting half of the frat to spend the new year’s eve there. His parents were away, and he had to tame everyone so no fancy teacups and pretty plates would be broken by the end of the party.

With that, he gave everyone a simple rule: to not use anything without his permission.

Heeseung didn’t even budge with the rule, instead, he insisted on swimming with you as the sun began to rise on the first of January. He tugged on your fingers softly, pulling you along and reassuring you that the Sim’s would not mind since he was basically a part of the family now.

The sky was partially dark, but some pink hues were starting to show up. Heeseung dipped his feet in the warm water pool — wearing jorts and a white tee — and turned to you, helping you get in.

Despite the predicament you found yourself in, you giggled. “Are you sure Jake won’t be mad?” You asked your boyfriend. The title was still strange — boyfriend. You were only together for three weeks, and you didn’t even kiss when the clock struck midnight from being too nervous to do so.

Heeseung grinned, nodding his head to the sides. “Nah, Jake loves me. He’ll get over it.” His palm found yours again, and he gave it a light peck before slipping further into the pool. His white tee clung to his body as he swam backwards. “Come on, it’s just us now.”

You hesitated, sinking your toes into the water. That was exactly what made you nervous. Not any stupid rule, but Heeseung waiting for you like he had all the time in the world got your heart beating a little too fast.

He noticed your quietness. He always did. “You’re thinking too hard again,” Heeseung muttered, eyes zeroed on you in case you were uncomfortable. “What’s on your mind?”

Clearing your throat, you glanced at his hands that had left yours and now were nearing your body. “I just...” A sigh escaped you. “We didn’t even kiss at midnight.”

Heeseung planted his feet to the bottom of the pool, blinking quickly. Then, a wolfish smirk formed on his face. He stepped closer, just enough so that your knees touched underwater. “Oh,” he hummed. “Is that what this is about?”

You kicked his foot lightly, rolling your eyes. “No... Maybe. I don’t know, it just feels like we missed something. I kept thinking about it throughout the party.”

“Really?” His lips jutted out in a playful pout, though he couldn’t avoid how hot his face was getting from knowing you wanted to kiss him. “But I kissed your cheek. Was that not enough?”

Lee gazed at you like you had just made the worst accusation to ever exist, looking ridiculously adorable with his sad doe-like eyes.

With a brief scoff, you looked away. “I’m just saying, Seung. Shut up...”

Shrugging, he pulled you into him by the hips, allowing himself to be a bit bolder than usual. “Do you want a kiss now?”

You stared up at him nervously, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you looked for the right words, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His eyes widened comically wide, and his cheeks went redder. “Y– You haven’t?” The affirmation was absurd to him. You were gorgeous, a goddess, an angel to grace the lives of mere mortals — your mind and personality got him baffled every time. How the hell didn’t you have your first kiss yet?

“Not really,” you confessed, taking note of how his fingers squeezed the fat of your waist through your dress.

A sweet smile made its way to his face, and still bashfully, he sat you on one of the built-in pool stools and stood between your legs. “Can I teach you?”

“Yes.” You said it a little too fast, but that only made Heeseung’s grin widen.

Tenderly, he rested one of his hands on your face, the other still on your waist. He leaned closer, just enough so you’d have enough room to avoid it, if you wanted. “Tell me if you wanna stop.” Heeseung whispered.

Following your nod, he pressed his lips to yours, unmoving, just to test waters. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you allowed him to have your first kiss. As he caught a glimpse of your smile, he pecked you again, this time for a bit longer.

Heeseung let you take the lead, following your pace as you did your best to kiss him. You liked his bottom lip better, he noticed, and the realization got his stomach flipping.

Tentatively tilting your head, you ended up knocking your nose and teeth with his, and pulling back with your face burning.

Your boyfriend laughed softly, letting his hand slide to your shoulder, “S’okay. It happens.” He assured you, toying with your matching necklace

that had a big ‘H’ pendant on it. “No need to be embarrassed about it, doll.”

However his words didn’t help you, and you ended up hiding your face into his neck, making his laughs intensify.

“Stop giggling.” You muttered against his skin.

“Kay. M’sorry.” Heeseung said back, mustering a straight face, but ending up with the softest look on his face. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes, please, Seung.” Your reply made his heart stop for a second, hopelessly lost in your voice. His irises must’ve been pink-tinted from how perfect you seemed from his point of view. It was embarrassing, to him, to even acknowledge how in love he was with you.

He pulled you into another kiss, and you hesitated when he deepened it further. Nevertheless, Heeseung never rushed you. The black-haired student only pulled back to murmur soft reassurances before diving into you again, lost in the contrast between your soft lips and his chapped ones.

The moment you finally parted, both of you were breathless, and Heeseung pressed his forehead against yours, a proud grin etched to his pearly whites.

“Not bad for your first lesson,” he praised, rivulets of chlorine water dripping down his neck to his clothed chest. “Think you’ll need more practice?”

You tried to act annoyed, but your giddy reaction gave you away, “Maybe.”

Heeseung beamed, dipping his head once more, but now to briefly kiss your cheek.

“Good. I’m a patient teacher.”

𔓕　LETTERS FROM REi ━━ this is mad life inaccurate first kisses suck (projecting)

2025 © SOOV

[jellyvibes710]

A year progress (or two, I’ve lost track)

I know I’m two months late since the new year but thank you all so much for reading my comics!

I have a few plans for the future and one of them is I’m going to rewrite “little baby blue” I never fully planned it out before I had jumped into it, the story had a lot of plot holes and it was hard to follow with how frequently it’d jump between parts. It’s not dead! After I finish the “parasite” storyline little baby blue will be set in motion again

The next part in the parasite story is planned to be animated with voice actors and sound effects, it’s a big project I am very excited for! Hopefully, if all goes well, there will be 2 fully voiced and animated parts for the whole series

Last project is still a secret, I’ve been working on it for about 2 years now(I took a short break because of turtles XD), it’s not a tmnt story but it’s an eddsworld story, I won’t bore you guys with those details though

The two newest drawings of Donnie and Leo are from a rough draft story I’ve been considering working on again, the twins are stuck in a loop that was caused after a battle with some bad guys goes bad, after Donnie was able to secure one of the bad guys he doesn’t realize that their battle had caused the building to start collapsing, Leo was able to portal himself and kick Dee out into safety but wasn’t able to get himself or the pinned criminal out in time and ultimately loses his life when the building caved in on him. The villains buddy uses an artifact (that they were stealing) in an attempt to save his buddies life but ultimately trapped themselves and the twins into a time loop, they eventually have to work with the criminals to fix this problem they’ve gotten into. This story has no happy ending and is VERY dark. There is only one way to stop the time loop and Donnie isn’t sure he can go through with it. Cheesy I know but I’m a sucker for a good time loop story, plus it was planned to be a very short comic

Just in case I do decide to pick that one back up I won’t put a lot of details or spoilers

Additional doodles under cut

Some screenshot redraws of Leo , I wanted to try out a few different color palettes and I really like how they look

My first time drawing big mama, I think I did good for only having one reference photo of her, though I learned that I can’t draw crop tops for the life of me 😆

[itsacruelsummerbaby]

THE OFFER

After your brother and sister-in-law die in an accident, you're left with the idea to adopt your niece. The problem? Her grandparents. The solution? Unknown, although Spencer has an idea.

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader || tags: mention of a fatal accident, fem!reader, bau!reader, fake marriage offer || wc: 1.3k || navigation

Being a member of the BAU prepared you for the brutality of the world, you saw the animalistic instincts and insanity which drove some to commit the most gruesome murders. Over the three years you’ve spent here, you got used to it, and while you weren’t an emotionless machine, you still knew how to move on.

But nothing could prepare you for the simple deaths. The unexpected fatal accidents that happen to so many people in the world. The tragedy of a little girl losing her parents because of an ill-timed puncture on the highway that led to a series of unfortunate events is something even you can’t quite comprehend. 

And now here you are, sitting in the living room of your late brother’s house to discuss the details of their funeral with your sister-in-law’s parents. Deep down you’re happy your mother isn’t around to see it, but your father is still here, and he’s been mourning in the institution he was sent to due to his mobility issues with the help of a therapist. 

Upstairs in her room, seven years old Cady is playing quietly, refusing to speak ever since she fully understood that her parents aren’t coming back. For now, her maternal grandparents are the ones looking out for her, but they’re not getting younger, they have health issues, and now that their daughter is gone, there’s no relative to take care of them if something happens. 

For now, you remain silent, you don’t want to upset them even more by presenting your idea to adopt Cady, but soon you’ll have to speak up about this. You’re closer to her in age, you’re young, active, and you have a stable job. It would make more sense to let her stay with you, but it’s obvious that her grandparents love her too. 

Once you’re done with the preparations, you excuse yourself and go to Cady’s room to check on her. When she hears the door creak, she looks up, and there’s a faint smile on her lips before she returns her attention to the toy she’s playing with. That’s when you notice–the smile is gone and it’s replaced by a sad look.

“I have to go, Cady,” you say as you crouch next to her. She doesn’t look up, but you can see as her grip on the toy tightens slightly. “Hey, I have an idea. There’s this friend of mine whose son is the same age as you. Wanna meet him tomorrow?” 

Her eyes find yours again, and she nods eventually.

A small smile creeps on your face. “Alright, I’ll call my friend, I’m sure we can meet them,” you tell her before leaning closer to place a kiss on her head. “Take care, sweetheart.”

On the way back to the others, you quickly dial Hotch’s number, then stop at the top of the stairs when he picks up. “Are you on your way back?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m just about to leave. Look, I have a quick question. Will you and Jack happen to be free tomorrow? Cady and Jack are the same age, and I’m kinda hoping that he can finally make her talk,” you explain before he could answer.

On the other end of the line, Hotch takes a breath, and you can tell he’s smiling at the mention of his son. “He has a soccer match early in the morning, but we didn’t really have plans for the rest of the day. We’ll figure out what to do.”

After you end the call, you go downstairs and tell her grandparents that Cady is spending the next day with you, but at first they’re against it. They get upset, they point out that they know you want to take her away from them, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep your calm and remember your training. You can deal with unsubs more dangerous than these two.

The argument ends with an agreement; you can pick her up at ten in the morning, but she’ll have to be back by three in the afternoon. Fair. Strict, but fair. 

The drive back to the office is filled with heavy silence, and your brain is working in overdrive as it tries to figure out what the best solution could be. The things they said still haunt you, because you know perfectly well there’s some truth in them.

You’re single. You have a demanding job, which comes with a lot of traveling, and which is also dangerous. How could you take care of a little girl better than they would? 

“Is everything okay?” you hear Spencer’s voice when you plop down into your chair in the bullpen.

You look over at the man who’s been your deskmate since your first day here, the one you trust the most, the one who always knows what’s going on in your head. Maybe he can give you some advice, give you an outsider’s thoughts regarding this delicate matter.

So, after carefully considering each and every word, you give him a summary of this morning. “Would it really be cruel to Cady?” you wonder, trying to keep your voice steady despite the obvious sadness in it. 

Spencer lets out a thoughtful hum as he rolls his chair around the desk to be closer. “It’s difficult, but… They live here, right? They could look out for Cady if you have to leave for work,” he suggests. 

“But then it would be better if she just stayed with them, wouldn’t it?” 

“I have an idea.” 

Your brow shoots up in surprise, because you didn’t expect someone to come up with a plan this fast. Not even Hotch, who happened to be a lawyer with a bunch of lawyer friends that probably saw cases like this one before. He was your plan A, everyone else was plan B. 

And then your friend says the two words that completely floor you. “Marry me,” he says so casually like he just suggested an episode of Star Trek that you would surely like. “Look, we can talk to Hotch to let one of us stay behind every once in a while and work from here with Penelope. So, hopefully the remaining number of cases that require us both would decrease, and Cady could spend those nights with her grandparents. And with our combined salaries, we could hire a nanny to help out sometimes too.”

As usual, Spencer is practical. It’s not about emotions, it’s all about how you can solve problems. You can’t argue with the plan, the only thing that comes to your mind is a touchy subject, though. But it wouldn’t be fair to completely ignore it. “Spence, you’re already taking care of your mom, I can’t ask you to get involved in that mess too,” you say with a gulp.

To your surprise, Spencer flashes a small smile at you. “You’re one of us; if you’re in trouble, we’re here to help. And we met Cady when she visited you here with her parents, she’s a lovely little girl who deserves to be happy. I’m sure her grandparents are nice people, but they’re not getting any younger, you’re right about that one. If marriage can solve the issue, I’m willing to do it.”

It takes a few seconds to comprehend what he just said. “That’s… I mean, it’s a nice offer, and thank you for thinking about this, but I can’t ask you to do that,” you manage to say. 

“The offer stands,” he says with a smile, “just tell me when you’re ready. I’m sure it–”

In the background someone calls for you, and when you both whip your heads in the direction of the source, you notice it’s Hotch waiting for you. Signaling him that you’re going to his office in a moment, you look back at Spencer. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” you tell him kindly before pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

[nmhdreamscape]

persistence is key ✧ l.mk (valentine's day series)

pairing | non-idol!mark x fem!reader

content | friends to ???, sorta angsty, fluff-ish, reader is insecure

word count | 804

request | mark + 15

notes | i don't know how i feel about this one, sorry if it's a little disjointed my brain is still set to academic writing mode 🫠

as you sat in the overly-decorated café you have chosen for the day, one thing was clear to you, you were not in the mood for valentine’s day this year. sure, you had been single during valentine’s day before, but this year was a little different. a little over a month ago you had been dumped, almost two years of your life down the drain. it had been a long time coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

cue mark and his goofy smile and unrelenting charm. you had met him through a friend toward the end of your relationship, mark always offering to be the one to listen to you talk about your relationship problems. you probably should have questioned his intent behind listening to you complain about your now ex-boyfriend. but that was far from the forefront of your mind when the break-up finally came, thoughts consumed with sadness and ice cream more than anything. 

now that you were single, it had become crystal clear where mark’s willingness to listen to you had come from. a crush, on you. you don’t know how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you were sure as hell anyone from a mile away could see it now. occasional possibly flirtatious comments had turned into blatant fawning. him sometimes picking you up a coffee when you met up had turned into a barrage of gifts you were struggling to keep track of. you just couldn’t take it all seriously, writing it off as a fleeting infatuation, not something serious.

he was persistent, you would give him that. but you just weren’t ready to go diving back into another relationship. and you had made that clear to mark when you had finally picked up on the shameless signals he was sending your way, expecting all the seriousness to drive him away. instead he would brush it off with a joke, still seeming to pop up at the most random of times, a silly pick-up line ready to use on you.

you just couldn’t wrap your head around why he was still sticking around when a romantic relationship was off the table. how had he not become disinterested? he’s extremely good-looking with a personality that would make any girl swoon, he could have any girl he wanted. and yet time after time he came back to you. 

which is why, even as he approached you with an egregious looking bouquet and that goofy smile he always seemed to wear around you on his face, you couldn’t seem to find it in you to be mad at him.

“12 roses? on valentine’s day? could you get any more cliché?” you mocked, putting down the book you head been reading to accept mark’s gift. he watched as you looked over the flowers, a small smile forming on your lips. he went ahead and sat down in the seat across from you.

“don’t act like that isn’t a romance novel you’re holding.” mark teased back, snatching the book from where you had put it down on the table to have a look. a feeling of guilt began to settle in your stomach. he should be doing all this for someone else, someone who’s emotionally available, someone who actually deserves it. 

“look mark, the flirting and the gifts and everything are super sweet and all, but that doesn’t change the fact i’m just not ready to be in a relationship right now.” you reiterated, the feeling over guilt worsening as your eyes shifted to all the happy couples around you. and yet despite this, mark’s smile never faltered, still looking at you as lovingly as he always did. he reached over to grab your hands to calm your nerves, knowing you only fidgeted with them when you were really nervous. 

“i know that. but i will never stop fighting for you. i’m not giving up on us. you’re worth waiting for.” it was like he was peering directly into your soul when uttering those words, fingers interlacing with yours. you had discussed this before, but he had always seemed to take the joking, flirty way out. this instead was genuine, reassuring, a side of him you hadn’t seen yet. it was as though he could hear the doubts swirling around in your head and knew just how to quell them. 

the charming, flirty mark was someone you could have seen yourself liking. this mark however, that was someone you could see yourself falling in love with, and you were starting to become a little more okay with the idea of that.

“keep talking like that, and maybe your wait will end sooner rather than later.” you smiled, finally meeting his gaze. his eyes widened at this, ears turning red at your suggestion. maybe valentine’s day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

valentine's gift masterlist

[mashkdemss]

Parallels between Byler and the canon couple from "Anne with an E"

Warning, there are a lot of spoilers here! And I apologize in advance if you find mistakes in the text, I'm still learning English O_o

Hi everyone!! Last month, I watched the series "Anne with an E" for the second time, and during my second viewing I decided to approach the romantic line of the main characters from a different angle. After many analyses of Byler, I learned to analyze relationships in cinema, and this case really surprised me on the good side! Let's talk with you about the parallels between Mike and Will with Ann and Gilbert, which help to make sure that Byler will soon become a canon :)

"Anne with an E" is a Canadian TV series, the first season of which was released in 2017 (8 months before the release of season 2 of Stranger Things). The main role in it was played by actress Amibeth McNulty, who also played the role of Vickie in season 4 of Stranger Things. And this is not the only important connection of this series with ST! At the end of the first season, Hopper was reading a book to Sara in the hospital, and that book was "Anne of Green Gables" (the Netflix series was based on this book)

Then in episode 3 of season 2, he reads the same book for Eleven.

The main romantic line in "Anne ..." develops between Anne and Gilbert over the course of 3 years (13-16) and it is narrated through such tropes as: from friends to lovers, slowburn, a love triangle, and a trope in which both characters think that their feelings for each other are unrequited, although in fact this is not the case. All of these relationship constructions are also applicable in the case of the Byler.

Direct parallels can be drawn between the characters:

Will = Anne

— Creative and sensitive teenagers from medium-income families who were bullied by their peers. They both talk a lot next to people they feel comfortable with, both have a self-built little castle in the forest where they retire during a difficult period and can feel safe without fear that someone will judge them (and later these castles were destroyed at both). There is a scene where Anne runs into her wooden house and cries there, very similar to Will's scene after a fight in the rain.

Ann and Will both told their mothers (in Anne's case, the foster mother) that they are "not going to fall in love" although the line of their romantic attachment to Gilbert and Mike is already developing according to the idea of the plot. Another interesting correspondence between these two characters is that they both helped people dear to them with their romantic relationships, while they themselves did not want it. Anne read the letters that her foster father's old friend had sent him, and without telling him about it, she decided to send her answers on his behalf because she thought they were deeply in love, and her father "just didn't know what to say". As a result, her father found out about it and talked to her about how he hadn't read his friend's letters because he didn't want a relationship with her, he just wasn't in love with her anymore and wasn't ready to change his life. Does it remind you of anything? Will also used Anne's "tactics", revealing his feelings to Mike on behalf of El, only he used a painting and not letters.

And one more take.... Anne's so-called mentor was aunt Josephine. They were in a good relationship and she gave her advice about her life and love. Josephine was also a lesbian. I want to say that this is also a possible parallel, because in the fifth season we are definitely waiting for the interaction of Will and Robin.

Mike = Gilbert

— curly black-haired guy from a more affluent family, who often acts as a leader and has some authority as a smart student. He liked Anne as soon as she joined their school and he tried to win her attention, but Anne knew that her friend liked him, so she carefully avoided Gilbert (although she also liked him). This gives us another coincidence: Anne, like Will, believes that she does not deserve love and avoids her feelings in order for other people to be happy. The main similarity between Mike and Gilbert is that they both stand at the center of a "love triangle."

Due to misunderstandings that have occurred between him and Ann, Gilbert begins to think that his love for her is not mutual and decides to marry Winifred (represents El in our case). Winifred is a girl from a rich family whom he met quite recently, and if Gilbert marries her, then her father will give him the opportunity to study at a prestigious medical college, which he has long dreamed of. Everyone around him approved of the idea of him and Winnie getting married, everyone expected it from Gilbert. Their wedding, unlike a relationship with a village red-haired orphan girl, could have brought him social approval, just as Mike and Eleven's relationship could have brought Mike social approval and entrenched his image of a "normal heterosexual".

But Gilbert doesn't love Winifred the way she loves him. Therefore, shortly before their wedding, he confesses to her that in fact his heart will always belong to Anne and that for this he is ready to give up his dream. And although their breakup was sad for Winnie, Gilbert explained the reasons to her as tactfully as possible, saying that she deserved someone much better than him. All of this also goes well with Willelmike.

To declare his love to Anne again, Gilbert writes her a letter and leaves it in her room while no one is at home. He writes that he and Winnie are not getting married, that he has always loved only Anne, and at the end he signs "Love, Gilbert." LOVE, GILBERT. Where have we heard this before? That's right, Mike's letters... If anything, I absolutely believe in the Lettergate theory, and that's also one of the reasons I'm confident in it.

Then there is confusion, Ann thinks Gilbert is mocking her feelings, and tears up the letter, and Gilbert goes to a less prestigious medical college. Now they are both sure that their feelings are not mutual, and even resigned to their failure, BUT! Anne meets Winnie, who tells her that she and Gilbert broke up and that he confessed his love for Anne to her.

Meanwhile, Gilbert meets Anne's best friend on the train, who loudly told Gilbert everything she thinks about him and "opened his eyes." She also mentions a love letter that Anne left some time ago, in the same way Gilbert left in her room later. Anne's letter was also unread, and the phrase "What letter, Diana, what letter?" appears. Don't you think it's very similar to a possible scene from s5 of ST with "What painting?"

In general, they ended up running to each other and touchingly reunited, after which there was a sensual kiss that the audience had been waiting for for so long. Unfortunately, the series ended there, but according to the canons of the book, they lived happily ever after, married and had many children, as befits such old love stories.

The main plot is not about Anne's love story, but about her growing up, other problems and events in their village (as in the case of Stranger things), so this line between the characters unfolds slowly and throughout the series, and Anne with Gilbert open up about their feelings and kiss only in the last minutes of the last episode.

It seems to me that there are too many coincidences to be coincidences. All of this inevitably leads to Byler endgame, if you look at everything from a cinematic point of view. Absolutely the same techniques were used: framing, phrases, lighting, musical accompaniment. When watching "Anne..." viewers have never denied the fact that there are feelings between Anne and Gilbert, although they were not revealed directly until last season. And all because Anne and Gilbert are a heterosexual couple, and such couples unfortunately turn out to be more pleasant and understandable to the average viewer. But they turned out to be a really good ship, and I'm even glad that the Duffer brothers were inspired by this setting.

So if the Shirbert is canon, then Byler will soon become canon!

[lenasai]

actually you know what i think some of you in the comments/tags need the chart.

ID: A flowchart titled "An aromantic person posted an opinion about [romantic] love online and I want to respond!" The first question asks "are you aromantic?" If yes, there is only one question about whether you intend to dismiss the other person because their experience or opinion doesn't match yours. If no, there is a series of questions including whether you understand the concept of amatonormativity, if you are about to lecture the other person on types of love or accuse them of overreacting, whether you understand why the person is saying the things they do, and whether you intend to engage with the other person in good faith. Depending on how you answer these questions, you are advised to either "go ahead!" or "shut the fuck up," with many prompts leading to the latter including a reminder to not be an asshole. End ID.

i think it's very telling how much backlash someone can get just for saying they're personally uncomfortable with a theme, especially since most of the other theme options have dedicated haters being much more dramatic about it. funny how it's pretty much just aromantic people who feel alienated by the subject getting backlash for it :)

obviously not all aro people have the same views on the theme - that's okay! if you're aro and like the theme, that's great! but maybe don't tell people who are rightfully uncomfortable with it to touch grass or otherwise accuse them of overreacting. you're telling on yourself.

also pointing out amatonormativity is not itself playing into amatonormativity. it's perfectly normal to point out just how many people saw this theme and immediately jumped to romantic love.

also, the reason some of us feel defensive about it is because it started out with us just stating an opinion and then getting horribly mistreated for it. surprise, people lash out when they feel cornered. maybe think a little more about the way you treat (other) aspec people before pulling a surprised pikachu face because someone said something you didn't like.

i am not going to argue with people about this. if you say dumb shit, i will block you. aro people get treated like this every year around valentine's day like clockwork. the "discourse" surrounding this theme is just one of the many, many examples of subtle and overt aphobia levied against aspec people who happen to have opinions on amatonormativity.

tl;dr: the theme is not inherently bad, but the reaction to legitimate concerns about it has been absolutely rancid. do better.

Hi, just a concern with the theme poll, seems a little... meh to have lovestruck vs heartbreak (a very amatonormative theme) as a potential theme, especially when the theme poll released during arospec awareness week

We understand the concerns this theme may have caused and it was not our intention to exclude anybody from participating in Art Fight.

Themes are meant to be open-ended, so they can mean something completely different depending on the person. While Lovestruck vs Heartbreak could be viewed romantically, it could also be viewed platonically (falling "in love" with a new series, heartbreak during a friendship, etc.).

[especially-obsessed]

#icanteven - FINAL PART PREVIEW

#icanteven - The Neighbourhood 

“I can’t even, I can’t even believe what you did to me You can’t even, you can’t even say I’m overreacting I can’t even, can’t even hear your side Shame on me, you fooled me twice”

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: series; Sam cheats on you.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x reader, Castiel x reader (briefly)

Warnings: descriptions of depression, guilt, anger, descriptions of infidelity, fluff, smut (sam x other woman)

a/n: Here's a quick little look into the final part of #icanteven. Sorry for such a long time in between posts. I honestly didn't want to let these characters go just yet. Anyways, who's ready for this to end? If you would like to be added to the taglist for this series, comment or message me!

One Year

Dean's POV

Dean smiled at the memory, glancing over at the passenger seat. The image of you had faded, now replaced with an empty seat bench and a couple of cassette tapes strewn about. He let out a heavy sigh and his smile fell, his lips pressed together in a firm line. Prior to this moment, Dean refused to let himself think about you in such a large capacity. Once a memory popped up, he did his damndest to shut it down. It hurt too much to think about the times you had spent together.

A familiar sound slowly built through the car’s speakers as the radio station transitioned from the previous song, and Dean was pulled back from his thoughts. He recognized the bass marimba and electric bass immediately. It was the intro to “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith. Before giving it a second thought, his hand went to the dial once again and increased the volume. Dean’s grin slowly crept back to his lips and he rolled the window down. He laid his foot down heavier on the gas pedal as he drove down the road.

Tag List: @deviltion @bollzinurmouth @jjkluvcloudsworld @all444amphitrite @fleumurrr @mostlymarvelgirl @barnes70stark @achillesthebambino @i-love-ptv @pressedwater @therealabadoodle @sarahsobsession @fyegall @mrsmckinnon @shadydelusionalvoid @mb1ndzus @crooked-haven @stoneyggirl2 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @james-bucky-barnackle @hayleym1234

Let me know if you’d like to be added <3

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Autograph

Season Three Episode Seven

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 6438

Series Masterlist

Summary: When the team is called in on a case involving the reader’s notorious ex, they all must set aside their frustration to stop a kidnapper. 

Notes: You thought you’d get a break from the drama, huh? Not yet, baby. We have to insert some angst and backstory after all the grieving. Mwahahaha. 

-

You held the invitation with a shaking hand, your whole body vibrating with anger. 

Brian Calvin, PHD, invites you to the release of his new book, Don’t Blow Out the Candles: The Story Behind the Birthday Cake Killings followed by a fundraiser gala for the victims of violent crimes. All guests will be treated to a reading from the book and a panel with Dr. Calvin. Events will be held at the Rayson Hotel, April 14th beginning with the reading at 5:00.

A note beneath was written by hand. 

I hope you’ll be my guest of honor. 

Love, Brian.

The nerve of the bastard.

You didn’t know which you wanted to rip apart more, the invitation or the man who sent it. Instead, you focused on making breakfast and a pot of coffee for the sleeping agent back in your bed. 

Spencer was sleeping in for the first time in weeks. With case after case, it felt like there was no end to the travel or the work. You weren’t faring much better when it came to free time. When you weren’t interviewing prisoners or taking care of Jack, you were planning a fall wedding. October, just like when you met. 

And now Calvin thought he could waltz back in and ruin it all over again. Well, he was going to have to try a little harder than a goddamn party. 

The padding of footsteps on the floor pulled you from your focus on eggs you were scarcely close to burning. 

“Morning,” you greeted, giving Spence a smile to show nothing was wrong. 

He saw right through it, of course. “Good morning.” Spencer kissed your cheek and sat at the table to pick up one of his books that went over your head. He spotted the invitation you left on the counter. “What’s this?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You dropped the spatula and reached for the paper before he could get a closer look, but he was too quick. 

His brows shot up. “Brian Calvin?” 

“Spence-”

“As in the professor that pushed you further into an addiction that almost killed you? As in your ex, Brian Calvin?” 

“That would be the one.” You threw the invitation in the trash and went back to breakfast. “Guess I know what he’s been up to all these years.” You took a shaky breath and shook your head. “Damn good title, though.” 

“Does Hotch know?” Spencer asked. 

“Spence, I just opened it,” You sighed. “No. Nobody knows.” You plated eggs for him and yourself and sat across from him. “And besides, it doesn’t matter.”

“He wrote a book about what he did to you like it’s noble,” he said. “Of course, it matters.” 

“Yeah, well, he isn’t the first person to paint me in a bad light and he probably won’t be the last.” Pushing your food around with your fork, you stared out the window. “I’m surprised people haven’t blamed me for Haley, too.” 

Spence crossed over to you, kneeling at your side. He took your hand in his and brought it up to his lips. 

“Is that what you think?” 

“I’m fine, Spence.” You kissed his forehead, rustling his hair. “I’m just in a mood now. You don’t have to worry.” 

A small, but sweet smile graced his face. “I always worry.” 

“I know, and it’s very touching, but you are going to be late for work.” You brought his lips to yours for a brief kiss. “I made some extra coffee for you to take with you.” 

Spence stood and poured some in a travel mug. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell where his mind was at with his next words. “Any interviews today?”  

“Do you get this worried when Prentiss talks to inmates?” 

He snorted. “Prentiss carries a gun. And you may be scary, Y/N, but I hate to break it to you.” He leaned on the counter. “She’s scarier.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he made too good of a point. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job.” 

“Did I say anything to the contrary?” He held up his hands. “I am your fiance. I’m sorry if you being locked in a room with murderous felons isn’t on my list of things I’m comfortable with.” Spence scarfed down the rest of his breakfast. “I just wish you could be amazing at your job on the other side of bulletproof glass.”

“Right back at you, baby,” you teased. “Now go, get out of here before Aaron chews your ass for being late.” 

“Alright, I’m going.” He started for the door but hurried back for one more kiss. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Dr. Reid. Go save somebody today.” 

“Let’s hope we don’t have to.” 

When the door closed behind him, you remembered that you had somewhere to be as well. 

You managed to get to your office with a few minutes to spare and look over your files before you had to present a study to your boss. The door to your office was open when you got there. 

“Y/N,” Dr. Brian Calvin leaned on your desk. “It’s been a while.” 

-

JJ laid the files in front of them and clicked to display the series of photos on the screen. “Georgetown sophomore, Riley Beaumont, was reported missing by her roommate two days ago. Last night, police received this.”

She clicked again, displaying a scanned poster, vandalized with what looked to be lipstick. 

A flier for Brian Calvin’s book release, written over with the words:

You owe us. 

On the back was a short letter, detailing Riley’s kidnapping and demanding that his book release be stopped. Or she dies. 

Spencer accidentally crushed his coffee cup between his long fingers, splashing it over the desk. 

“Damnit,” he exclaimed. 

Everyone turned and stared. 

“S-sorry.” 

“Brian Calvin,” Prentiss said. “Why do I know that name?” Her eyes widened, still looking at Spencer. “Wait, like… Y/N’s Brian Calvin.”

“Dr. Calvin is a criminal justice professor at Georgetown.” Hotch stood. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his discomfort behind his usual stoicism. “He has been suspected multiple times for violating the college’s policy on teacher-student relationships, but since no one has ever formally come forward, he’s never been fired.” He glanced at Reid. “Including Y/N.” 

“Should we be working this?” Penelope asked. “Isn’t it a kind of conflict of interest if some of us want to hit the guy where the sun doesn’t shine?” 

JJ shrugged. “There aren’t any-”

“Other teams available,” Rossi finished with a sigh. He tapped his finger on the desk. “Who knew being so popular was so exhausting?”

“So what’s our game plan here?” Morgan asked. 

Hotch turned to the picture on the screen. “First, we meet with Dr. Calvin.”

“And by we, you mean, not you, right?” Dave asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go with JJ to his office. See what he knows.”

Hotch nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. 

“Don’t want you breaking any more noses just yet.” Rossi gave him a pat on the back and turned to JJ. The two of them headed out.

“You broke this guys’ nose?” Prentiss asked. 

Morgan scoffed. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“Morgan, Reid, I want the two of you looking into Riley Beaumont’s last known whereabouts before she was taken,” Hotch said. “Prentiss and I will see what we can find out from Y/N.”

Prentiss blinked. “Should Reid-”

“We have to treat this like any other case and he’s more useful elsewhere.” Hotch looked at the younger agent, who reluctantly nodded in agreement. Once Reid left, Hotch lowered his voice and turned to Prentiss. “And Y/N has a harder time hiding things from me. With Reid, she’s…”

“Right,” Prentiss said, understanding. 

Everyone knew that, no matter how much the young agent reassured you, you still always wanted to protect him. Old habits, and all of that.

“If she knows something, we’ll find out.”

“Isn’t that a little intense?” Prentiss raised a brow. “Interrogating your own sister?” 

“That’s why you’re going to be asking the questions.” 

She sighed. “Well, she’s as stubborn as you are, so this will be fun.”

“Prentiss,” he said, “we both know she’s worse.” He gave her a teasing look before glancing back at the screen and frowning at the face of the man who almost killed you. 

-

“So, you want me to, what? Help you figure out who took her? Or speak at your event?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest in a way that felt protective. A part of you just wanted to call security.  

“Ideally, both, but I’m mostly here about Riley, of course.”

“You’ve gotten worse at lying, Brian.” 

He laughed. God, you hated that laugh. “Yes, the release is very important to me. But would I sacrifice the well-being of a young woman for money?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” 

Your phone buzzed on your desk. Call from Spencer. You ignored it, but Brian didn’t. 

“Seeing someone?” 

“I’m definitely not going to answer that.” You tucked your hand in your pocket to hide the ring, but then you thought better of it. Let him see it. Let him see how far you’ve come after him. How much better you’re doing. 

“You seem to have made quite the life for yourself.” He circled your office. A vulture picking for scraps. “That’s good. Good for you.”

“Is there anything else you want, Brian, because you already have your answer.” 

“Y/N,” he chided, “I thought you’d have more compassion. I haven’t heard anything from Riley in days and I’m getting worried. With the nature of your work, I was hoping you’d help.”

“No, you were hoping you’d get a quote for your book,” you spat. 

He laughed again. 

A knock at the door was a relief until you saw who it was. 

Aaron froze in the doorway, Emily peaking in behind him. 

Brian took a step back and, subsequently, closer to you. “Agent Hotchner.” For a moment, all of his cocky arrogance faded into a flicker of fear. 

It made Emily smirk. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Brian asked, feigning confidence again. 

“They’re probably at my office to speak to me.” You motioned for them to come in. 

Aaron stuck to the far wall. Emily pushed in behind him, closing the door. 

“We actually just sent two agents to your office, Dr. Calvin.”

You kept your eyes on your brother. “This is about Riley, isn’t it?”  

“Is she dead?” Brian asked. 

“Until she’s found, we have to assume she’s alive,” Emily said. She kept her tone even, professional. “But we believe she has been taken by someone who wants to get back at you, Dr. Calvin.” 

“What does that have to do with me?” You let your arms fall to your sides. 

“We believe whoever took Riley may have been a student of yours,” Aaron answered, addressing Brian. Then, to you, “We need to know if you know anyone else who may want to prevent this book from coming out.” 

You scoffed. “You mean, does he have any enemies other than me?” 

“Are you my enemy, Y/N?” Brian pretended to sound offended. 

You stepped towards him, trapping him between you and Prentiss. “Stop asking questions you really don’t want me to answer, Brian.” 

“Alright, alright.” He cleared his throat to hide his discomfort. “Since you obviously aren’t here for me-” He started to leave, but Aaron stepped in front of the door. 

“We’d actually like to talk to you as well, Dr. Calvin.” 

“And I am more than willing to do that,” Brian smiled, “once I call my lawyer.”

“Seriously?” You exclaimed. 

“Or, Y/N can agree to speak at my gala.” He turned to you, crossing his arms. “Your choice, Miss Y/L/N.”

“It’s doctor.” You and Emily snapped at the same time. 

He raised a brow. 

“You want to impede a federal investigation for a book sale?” Prentiss asked. 

“I’ll do it,” you blurted. 

Aaron’s eyes switched over to you, darkening. 

“I will make an appearance at the event,” you said. “But I won’t get up on stage and if I’m asked, I’ll tell the truth about how you know about me.” 

Brian’s jaw tightened and relaxed. He grinned. “Very well. It’s a deal… doctor.”

“Prentiss,” Hotch said. 

She nodded. “Follow me, Dr. Calvin. The other agents will be here to question you soon.” She ushered him out with one hand clenched at her side. 

You sat at your desk, running your fingers through your hair. 

“That is a bad idea,” Aaron said. 

“Riley doesn’t have time for him to hide behind his lawyer.” You checked your phone. 

I wanted to make sure you’re okay after this morning. I love you. 

You sighed. 

“Reid?”

“He saw the invitation from Brian this morning.” 

“What did you tell him?”

“That it wasn’t a big deal.” Setting your phone back on your desk, you looked up at him. “Obviously, I didn’t know about this mess.” 

Aaron took the seat across from you. “So, what do you know?” 

-

Since the case was local, the meet-up took place at the BAU. Prentiss conducted a formal interview with you at her desk while Hotch kept Dr. Calvin in an interrogation room. The rest of the team arrived in similar states of irritation. Morgan gave you a pat on the arm on his way to talk to Hotch. Rossi went immediately to his office to find out what he could about the hotel where the event was being hosted. Friends in high places and all that. 

Reid stood at the glass doors, looking in. He gripped the strap of his bag across his chest. 

“What’s that look? I don’t like that look,” Garcia shuffled towards him in her heels and bright purple skirt. “Is he here? Did that creep say something to you?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.” The thought still gave him the jitters and he’d spilled his only cup of coffee. 

“Do you think he’ll still go through with it?” She asked. “The party, I mean.”

“Whenever we deal with kidnappers, we never want to just give them what they want,” Reid explained. He sighed. “And from what Y/N’s said about him… I don’t think it would matter anyway.”

He gave her a thin-lipped smile and pushed open the door. 

Your eyes found his as soon as he walked in, his gaze asking if you were okay. You nodded and answered Emily’s question, trying to focus back on her.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since I found out about the book.” Rubbing the back of your neck, you shifted in your seat. Even though you knew this place, you knew her, you’d never be comfortable being interviewed. “I kind of made a point to avoid anything to do with him.”

“So you wouldn’t know if he saw other women after you? Other students?”

You scoffed. “He saw them before me, why not after?” 

Spence sat at his desk, just across from where Emily was talking to you. 

“Do you know anyone who would want to stop this book from coming out?” 

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, shakily. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. But I haven’t had any contact with him since I was a teenager.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Emily reached a hand to hold yours. Guilt was starting to weigh on you and she could see it. “We’re going to figure this out.” She gripped your hand a little tighter before standing up to talk to your brother. 

Spencer was beside you in seconds. 

“I didn’t know, this morning, I swear,” you said.

His brows drew together. “I know.”

“If I could tell you anything that would help find this girl, you know I would, right?” Your voice trembled along with your bottom lip. “I wouldn’t hide any-” You sucked in a breath. 

He laid a hand on your cheek. 

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N.” 

“I-”

He slid his chair even closer, knees brushing yours as he looked deep into your eyes. “It isn’t.” 

You looked over his shoulder where Brian was coming out of the room. 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed off.” You swallowed hard and tried to give your fiance a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Spence.” Running your fingers through his hair, you let every strand slip by your skin, down to his shoulder. “Your hair has gotten long.”

“Do you think I should cut it?” 

You shrugged. You liked it however it was. 

Brian’s phone rang. You watched his face fall and you knew. 

“It’s her.” 

-

The kidnapper’s demands changed. 

A public apology. At the gala. In front of everyone. 

And you. 

“I don’t think you should do this,” Aaron said, straightening his tie. You’d found him getting ready in one of the station’s offices. 

“Yeah, well, I already bought the dress so you’re stuck with me.” 

If the team was going to blend in, then they had to go with the dress code. Black tie, formal gowns, the whole deal. You felt like a Barbie, dressed up by an over-enthusiastic child in a floor-length, one-strapped, lavender gown. 

“We are giving the unsub what they want. You know that isn’t going to help.”

You snorted. “If the unsub wants an apology from Brian Calvin, they’re going to be waiting a long time to get it.”

“You don’t think he’ll bend to the demands?”

“Do you?” 

Aaron inhaled. He shook his head. 

You fixed his tie again. 

“Good. Then let’s go.” 

You both walked back out into the station where the rest of the team waited in formal attire of their own. JJ and Emily wore fine dresses, silver and red respectively. Even Derek had put on a tux. 

“Alright, everyone, let’s go over this again,” Aaron started, addressing the team and the police alike. “There will be officers at every entrance to the building checking the guests coming in, but there’s a chance the unsub is already inside. They will be there tonight. They feel that Dr. Calvin owes them this. They will want to hear it first hand.” He motioned for you to step forward. “Dr. Y/L/N cannot leave anyone’s sight. She might not be the direct target, but she is a vital part of the unsub’s desire to see Dr. Calvin pay for the harm they believe he’s inflicted on them.”  

“Keep an eye out for a young woman, early twenties,” Dave said. “She’ll be distressed, jumpy. And she’ll want to get as close to Dr. Calvin as possible.”

Your head snapped to Spencer. They hadn’t told you that part. 

“Dr. Y/L/N will be entering in the back accompanied by Dr. Reid while I address the press that will likely be swarming the front,” Aaron added. He knew if he gave them at least himself as the sacrificial lamb, maybe they wouldn’t hound you. 

As the officers and team were dismissed, you leaned over to your brother, both of you heading for the door.

“How do you know it’s a young woman?”

He frowned, eyes dark. “We think she may have had a relationship with Brian.”

“Like me,” you said, understanding. “That’s why she wants me there.” 

“She sees you as a mirror of herself. There’s a chance she’ll try to reason with you, to make you see her side.” He put a hand on your arm. “If she approaches you, find one of us immediately, do you understand?” 

“Stay away from Brian’s kidnapping ex, got it.” 

You gathered up the skirt of your dress to keep from tripping on the fabric as you climbed into the SUV. Spencer got in the driver’s seat. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.  

You rubbed the silky material between your fingers. “No.” You leaned your head back in the headrest and sighed. “I hate how much he’s gotten away with. How much hurt can he put into the world that it pushes someone to do something like this?”

Spencer’s eyes softened, laying a hand on yours. 

“People will see him for who he really is.”

“And what about these women? One is so messed up because of him that she took this girl. And now, Riley will never be the same. Who knows what she’s gone through because of all of this?” You blinked back frustrated tears. Spencer’s hand moved to your cheek. 

“Come here,” he said softly, pulling you to him. His kiss brought you back to the moment and let the tension in your shoulders relax, at least for a little while. When he parted from you, he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out. And so will they.” He tucked a hair behind your ear. “You look beautiful by the way.”

You rolled your eyes but managed to smile. “Just drive to the hotel, Romeo.”

He pulled away from the curb with his fingers tight around the steering wheel. 

-

While Aaron battled the media circus out front, Spencer snuck you in through the back, just as you all had planned. Guests were already piling into the ballroom, waiting to get a glimpse of the famed subject of Brian’s book. All you saw was the same crowds that hounded you when you were a teenager. 

You froze in the doorway, your dress suddenly feeling like a vise, constricting any breath from reaching your lungs. 

Spence felt your hand tug on his when you stopped. He held it a little tighter. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Just keep looking at me. Focus on me, okay?” 

You still remained in the door. He brought your hand to his lips. The musicians began. Spence gently pulled you into the room and, sticking to the edge of the floor to keep you away from the swarm, started to dance. Spencer held you close and swayed to the tune of the band’s first song. 

“Oh my god it’s her,” someone said.

“That’s Lydia Y/L/N’s daughter, the one the book’s about.”

You flinched. 

Spencer put a finger under your chin. “Just keep looking at me.” 

He took a breath. 

You took a breath. 

He smiled. 

You managed to smile back. 

As the rest of the guests filed in, so did the rest of the team. Prentiss found you first, but hung back. She watched you and Reid dance, focused solely on each other. Morgan caught up with her and she put a hand on his arm to stop him from interrupting.

“What?” He asked. 

She grinned. “Look.” 

Both agents observed from the edge of the room as you and Reid were slowly joined by other couples taking to the floor. 

“I can’t believe they’re getting married,” Prentiss said. 

Derek chuckled. “They grow up so fast.”

“No, I mean-” she rolled her eyes, nudging him. “After everything they’ve been through, there they are. Still standing. Still together. How many cases have we worked where tragedy drives people apart?”

He thought for a moment. “I guess they aren’t just people. It’s Y/N and Reid.” He hooked an arm through hers. “If anyone could do it, it’s them. Come on. We should start looking.” 

Listening to the music, and looking at Spencer, you could almost forget everything. Almost.

“Are you thinking about her?” He asked, noticing the shift in your expression. 

“Actually, no.” It was almost funny, how it came to mind now. “I just thought about that case. From about a month ago? The one from Ashburn that turned into all the parents coming to the BAU.” 

“Roger and Anita Roycewood, I remember.” Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What made you think of them?” 

“Not so much them, I guess.” You pulled back in step with the song and returned to him with a spin. “I think it’s all of this. When I was with Brian, everything was always about what I couldn’t have. I’d never have a normal family to go back to for winter break. Any relationship I had would be tainted with my mother’s fears. And I could never have kids myself, because I wouldn’t be able to handle it and I’d break just like she did.” Saying it felt like a weight lifted from you, but also made it harder to breathe. “He convinced me that I needed him. That I was damaged goods.” Laying your hands on his chest, you looked into his eyes. “But he was wrong. About all of it.”

Spence gave you a small smile and kissed your lips gently. Suddenly, he froze, your words sinking in. 

“Wait, do you mean-”

The shriek of feedback interrupted him. 

Brian stood on the small stage on the far side of the room. “Good evening everybody.”

The music lulled to a stop and the crowd stood still. Your hand slipped down to hold Spencer’s, gripping tightly. 

“First, I want to thank you all for being here. It really warms my heart that this book- this project that has been a major part of my life for so many years, in so many ways-” His eyes fell to you. “Has received so much support.”

Hotch remained stoic, but Rossi knew him better. 

“You know, his nose is still crooked, don’t you think?” Dave said. 

Aaron didn’t react. “She should be here.”

“She’s a vengeance-seeking, kidnapping woman in the middle of a severe breakdown,” Dave shrugged. “She might have just lost track of time.” 

Brian continued. “I won’t stand up here, just talking about myself though. No, tonight I have a very special guest with me. This person is not only the inspiration for this story, but also a dear personal friend.” 

You clung to Spencer like he was the one thing keeping you from spinning out into the chaos that surrounded you. Despite Brian’s taunting, both of you stayed on alert, watching for anything out of place. Somewhere here was a woman who’d been hurt by the same man who almost destroyed you. She was desperate for someone to understand her. 

“A-are you Y/N?” A small voice wavered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear her. 

Spence turned first and pushed himself in front of you. 

“Riley Beaumont?” 

A young girl held her coat closed, arms crossed over her chest, and eyes red with tears. 

“I need y-your help.” 

“Y/N, why don’t you come up here?” Brian announced, grinning. 

A bright light landed on you just as Riley’s coat fell open, revealing the vest beneath. 

“Oh my god.” 

The crowd erupted in gasps and applause, none of them noticing the pale figure in front of you. Their sick excitement fueled every clap, like spectators, waiting to watch the lion devour its victim. But you stared at the flashing lights strapped beneath the jacket of a terrified young woman. 

Riley’s lip trembled. “Please.” 

Spencer spoke into the piece on his shoulder. 

“Hotch, Riley Beaumont is here,” he said. “She’s standing in front of me…she has a bomb.” 

The claps died down into confusion. 

“Alright, Y/N, don’t be shy,” Brian said, voice getting impatient. “Come on up here.” 

“She said if you go up there, she’ll-” Riley’s voice hitched in a sob. “Please don’t leave me.”

You stepped forward and took her hand. 

“Y/N, don’t-” Spence tried to pull you back, but you stayed. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Riley.” 

“If you’ll all give me just a moment.” Brian walked off stage calmly, then stormed through the crowd towards you. “What the hell are you-” His eyes widened. “Oh my god.” 

“Dr. Calvin, stay back,” Spencer said. 

“She’s insane, Brian gasped. 

“If you aren’t going to be helpful, you should probably get out of here,” you hissed, still holding Riley’s hand. 

“Hotch, we need to clear this crowd.” Spencer, still holding onto your arm, swallowed hard as he looked around the room. 

People were starting to notice. 

“Please help me,” Riley cried. “I-I just want to go home.”

“Riley, sweetheart, I’m so sorry this is happening,” Brian said. 

“To her or to you?” You snapped before you could stop yourself. 

Brian’s gaze shifted to yours slowly with an anger you remembered well. Any time you embarrassed him in front of a colleague or said something about his research, that was the look he’d give you. And, at the time, it always made you shrink back in line. 

But you’d faced far worse than him. 

“I don’t really think we want to get into this now,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“You’re right.” You turned away from him, from Spencer’s panicking looks. “You need to get out of here. Both of you.”

“What? No,” Spencer said. 

Brian, however, was already pushing back through the now retreating crowd. 

“Go find Aaron. Get everyone out of here.” You tried not to wince through the iron grip Riley kept on your hand, nearly crushing. 

“Y/N, I am a federal agent on this case, I’m not going to leave two civilians alone with a possible explosive.” 

“Are you really pulling the fed card right now?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and his voice went up an octave. “Yes!” 

You exhaled, letting your annoyance distract you from the fact that you were staring down a bomb.

“Riley, is there anything you can tell me about the woman who brought you here?” Spence asked. He stood as close to you as possible, an arm around your waist like he was ready to pull you away. 

Riley sniffed, trying to think. “She just kept saying she was sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Spencer asked. 

“She said she didn’t want to hurt me. That Brian had done that enough, but I don’t understand. Why does she hate him so much?” She choked back another sob. “I want to go home.” 

You lowered your voice for only Spencer to hear. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“She could just be trying to reassure her so she wouldn’t resist.”

“I think it’s more than that.” 

Spencer narrowed his eyes, getting a closer look at the vest.

At the other side of the ballroom, Hotch fought through the rush of gowns and overpriced suits stampeding for the door. 

“Great, it’s you,” Dr. Calvin said, grabbing him by the arm. “Get me out of here.” 

Hotch pulled away, trying to see over the waves of panicked faces. “Where is Dr. Reid and Y/N?”

“This bitch is after me, isn’t she? Isn’t it your job to stop her from killing me?”

“It’s my job to make sure everyone in here is safe.” He clenched his jaw, took a breath, and turned. “But you’re right. We need to get you somewhere secure.”

Brian almost sighed with relief. “Thank God.” 

Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes and focused on the matter at hand. “Reid, where are you?” 

No answer. 

His chest tightened.

“Reid.”

Spencer stared intently at the vest beneath Riley’s coat. You did the same, taking in every flashing light, every pocket that seemed full of a dangerous substance. But looking closer…

“Are those Christmas lights?” You asked.

Spencer pressed his earpiece. “It’s a decoy.”

“What?” Multiple voices responded.

“The bomb is a fake. It’s a diversion.”

Hotch snapped his head back to Dr. Calvin, who was scrambling towards the exit. People swarmed around him, all dressed in ostentatious attire better fit for a medieval ball than a book release. All but one. Hotch spotted the hooded figure just as they pulled out a gun. 

“Dr. Calvin!” He shouted. 

The shot went off just after Prentiss jerked the figure’s arm up, aiming the pistol at the ceiling. People screamed and ran faster towards the exits. Little pieces of plaster floated down like snow. 

“Let me go!” A woman screamed. She thrashed in Prentiss’ grip, fighting to get the gun back on her target. “You don’t know what he’s done! Let me go!” 

The hood fell to reveal a young woman and the lump in Hotch’s throat grew. She was younger than you, tears streaking down her face from wild, devastated eyes. 

“Reid, we’ve found her.” 

Spencer carefully opened Riley’s coat and flipped the switch that turned off the lights on the vest. The girl collapsed into your arms in a huddle of sobs and you did your best to hold her upright. 

“We need a medic,” Spence said. 

“Thank you,” Riley bawled. “Thank you.” 

Once Riley was taken care of, you made your way back to the team, where Mary Anne Simons waited in the back of a police car, mascara running down her face. When you saw her, you froze. 

“I know her,” you whispered. 

JJ stood next to you, Spence having to give a report on the false bomb. “What?”

“She was in classes with me, a year or so younger. I had no idea Brian and her-” Your voice caught in your throat. “She was such a sweet kid. Why would she do this?” 

JJ looked down. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“What did he do?”

She cleared her throat, eyes softening when they met yours. “There’s a video.” She continued even as your face fell. “Apparently, it circulated around some website and her face was visible in it and-” JJ put a hand on your shoulder. “We’re going to make sure she gets help, Y/N.”

You ran a shaky hand down your face and nodded. “Good. That’s good.” 

JJ opened her mouth to say something else, but she can’t seem to find the words. So, instead, she pulled you into a hug. 

You breathed through a quiet cry, keeping your tears at bay solely for Riley’s benefit. The poor girl looked scared enough as it was, sitting in the back of the ambulance, waiting for her parents to arrive and take her home. 

“Well, this certainly didn’t go the way I had hoped,” Brian said. “But it’ll make one hell of a story.” 

You tensed in JJ’s embrace and turned slowly. 

“And I’m sure you’ll find the right audience for it,” you said through a tight smile. “Someplace else.” 

“Don’t be like that, Y/N, sweetie,” he smiled. “I’m actually planning on another book I’d love your help with.” Brian held up his hands in an arch. “No Tears for the Reaper.” 

“Dr. Calvin, maybe you should-” JJ tried to deescalate, but he kept going.

“It’s fascinating, you know.” Brian leaned against the hood of the police car where the woman who’d tried to kill him just moments ago now sat within. “It’s like you’re a magnet for this, Y/N. Cursed with serial killers. Or maybe it’s your brother.” He shrugged like he was discussing golf rather than the deaths of dozens. “I’ve been wondering. Your nephew, Jack. Was he there when his mother got blown to hell?” 

It happened fast. So fast, you didn’t realize it was happening until the pain spread down from your knuckles, shooting like lightning up your arm. But the moment your fist collided with Brian’s face, it seemed all of the commotion around you stopped. 

“Oh sh-” JJ rushed to grab you as you readied another hit. 

“Will that work for your story, you washed-up, talentless, two-faced bastard!” You screamed. 

“You little bitch.” Brian started towards you but was stopped by a strong arm. 

“I don’t think so, pal,” Derek growled. He yanked Brian’s arm behind his back.

“What are you doing? She’s the one you should be after. Look what she did to my nose.” Brian whined, spitting out the blood that had leaked from his twice-broken nose into his mouth. “I’m the victim here! That crazy woman almost shot me, and now this one attacked me for no reason!” 

Spencer walked towards you all, hands in his pockets and a furious smile gracing his lips. “There’s something you should know about Mary Anne, Dr. Calvin. She was a prodigy before she met you. Top of her class. Brilliant. Graduated high school early so she could get a jump start on a promising career in psychology.” He leaned forward. “She was seventeen.”

“Brian Calvin, you are under arrest for the production and distribution of child pornography and statutory rape.” Derek grabbed his other arm, wrenching it back to cuff his wrists. 

“What?” Brian’s eyes widened. “She told me she was eighteen. I didn’t know. I swear.” 

“You have the right to remain silent,” Emily added. “And right now, that might be in your best interests, professor.” 

As Derek and Emily dragged the kicking man off, you turned to your fiance with shock and a sore hand. 

“Is that true?”

Spence nodded. “He’d better hope this book money can buy him a good lawyer.” He took his hand out of his pocket and laid a gentle touch on your arm. “Are you okay?” 

“She’s going to need an icepick for that right hook.” Derek sauntered back toward you, grinning. “That’s my girl.” 

“Remind me why I saved that guy to begin with?” Emily muttered. 

Hotch finished talking to the local authorities and rejoined the team, looking as stern as ever. 

“We’re finished here,” he said. “We should get moving before the media circus starts.” His eyes met yours.

You nodded. 

On your way back to your car, he leaned over. “Nice hit.”

You smirked. “Learned from the best.” 

-

Spencer came out of the shower with steam billowing out after him. He found you sitting on the bed, nursing your bruising hand with a package of frozen Brussels sprouts. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked gently, taking a seat beside you, still running the towel over his wet hair. 

You shrugged. “It was worth it.” 

He took the bag from you, bringing your hand into his so he could examine it. Nothing too serious, thankfully. His hold lingered, eyes lifted to yours. 

“Are you okay?”

You blew out a breath. “Spence-”

“You just stood next to a ticking bomb and held on like it was nothing,” he said. 

“It wasn’t a real bomb.”

“That isn’t the point.” 

Laying your head on his shoulder, you breathed in the scent of his shampoo. Apple, mixed with his usual smell of ink and old books. You clung to it. 

“I’m okay, Spencer.” You turned your head to kiss his shoulder. “And I will talk about it. I’ll talk about all of it. About Brian. About Mary Anne. About the book.” Looking into his face, you ran a thumb over his bottom lip with a sigh. “But I don’t want to talk now.”

The parting of your lips answered the questions in his head. 

Spencer nodded slowly and, careful of your hand, laid you back onto the bed, arms wrapping around you as you turned off the light.

[collapsedglasshouses]

FOLLOW YOU [Nick Folio x f!Reader]

: ̗̀➛ MASTERLIST

: ̗̀➛SUMMARY: At thirty-seven, Y/n’s life feels like a series of wrong turns—divorced, jobless, and still unable to say no to her parents' expectations. But when she meets Nick, a confident and carefree man ten years her junior, one impulsive night with him challenges everything she thought she knew about herself. : ̗̀➛PAIRING: Nick Folio x f!reader : ̗̀➛WARNINGS: MDNI (i warn you, i'll bite if i catch you), 18+, reader is ten years older than nick, SMUT SMUT SMUT [oral sex (f&m receiving), protected pinv, nick whimpering >:)], mentions that reader is a writer/wants to write, mentions of reader's previous marriage, mentions of matt's lotr obsession and how its shown in fanfics, swearing (idek if it is a warning on my blog anymore, its always present lmao), nick calls reader sweetheart, fluffy smut hehe, y/f/n = your father's name : ̗̀➛WORD COUNT: 6.2K : ̗̀➛A/N: So here's the long awaited request. Again... sorry it took me so long, but I just needed time to get into it. I also kind of answered another request with this (another anon asked for fluffy folio smut, so ur welcome <3). This piece is inspired by Follow You by Bring Me The Horizon and I hope you catch the references c: Enjoy and let me know what you think! <3 TAGLIST AND DIVIDER CREDIT AT THE END

Sometimes, you wondered where you had taken a wrong turn in life. You were approaching your forties, divorced, and had just quit the job you once swore would carry you to retirement. On top of that, you still couldn’t figure out why you lacked the courage to tell your parents "no" - especially when it came to attending their annual parties, extravagant celebrations meant to showcase their success in the music industry.

They had started their record label shortly after your dad had left his old band - right around the time you turned three. You didn’t remember much of life before then, but you had always been aware of the shift. Your mother loved reminiscing about the days when your father was a carefree, bubbly spirit, always lost in music and adventure. Yet, every year at this event, his attempt to reclaim that persona only made it painfully obvious how much everything had changed. It was a cruel reminder of the version of him you never got to experience.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love your father - you had your moments. But looking back on your childhood, you saw the contrast between his distant, absent nature and the high-spirited character he played at these gatherings. It was no wonder your marriage had unraveled so quickly - just over a year ago; you had recognized the same facade in your ex-husband, the same manufactured charm that cracked under the weight of reality.

Despite your silent vows to endure these nights for the sake of keeping your parents happy, the resentment still crept in, suffocating you.

You caught your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the neckline of your dress - a simple black gown with a high slit, a deliberate choice against the more extravagant dress your mother had picked out. The discussion about it had already been held, and as expected, your mother had sighed in disappointment but relented. At least the heels and necklace sat right with her.

The event had been going on for an hour, yet it already felt like an eternity. Of course, you had arrived early to help with the final decorations, avoiding your father in the process. He had been too engrossed in boasting about their latest signing - a rising metalcore band. You hadn’t even bothered to listen to their music, uninterested in indulging yet another conversation about his triumphs. Worse still, he had managed to lace his bragging with subtle reminders that your own life was, in his eyes, going nowhere. His disappointment clung to you like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable.

You inhaled sharply, composing yourself before stepping back into the party, your practiced smile back in place.

An hour later, you found yourself stuck in a painfully dull conversation with a producer who couldn’t keep his eyes off your cleavage. You were contemplating an excuse to leave when your mother’s voice interrupted.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” She appeared at your side, her manicured hand pressing against your back as she steered you toward the bar. "I need you to meet some people."

You barely had time to react before you were standing in front of two men. One was tall, covered in tattoos almost from head to toe, while the other, slightly shorter, had long dark brown hair up in a bun. Both turned to you with polite smiles, setting down their drinks.

“Don’t be rude, Y/N.” Your mother’s whisper was sharp as she leaned toward your ear. “These are two of the members from our new band. Bad Omens, you remember?”

You forced a brighter smile, though it felt unnatural, and muttered a soft, “Hi.”

They returned your wave with casual nods.

“These are Noah, the singer, and Joakim, the guitarist,” your mother continued, beaming with pride as if she had personally discovered them herself.

Sensing your discomfort, they nodded again with small smiles, clearly recognizing your reluctance to be there. Without warning, your mother excused herself, abandoning you with them and leaving you scrambling for small talk.

You took a long sip of your drink before clearing your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all ours,” Joakim, the one with long hair, said with a smirk. “We didn’t know Y/F/N had kids.”

“Yeah, he tends to forget to mention that,” you replied, forcing a chuckle.

An awkward silence stretched between you, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “So, how many are in the band?” you finally asked.

“Four,” Noah answered. “Our bassist got sick before the event, and honestly, I have no idea where Folio wandered off to.” He smiled, seemingly trying to put you at ease.

You nodded, looking around, already searching for an escape route. “I don’t wanna keep you up.”

“You’re not,” Joakim assured you. “We get how nerve-wracking these events can be.”

You appreciated the sentiment, but it wasn’t enough to make you stay. “I think I’m gonna get some air,” you excused yourself, not waiting for a response before slipping away.

Weaving through the crowd, you found your way to the second-floor balcony, a hidden haven where you knew you wouldn’t be disturbed.

Or so you thought.

Pushing open the door, you were met with the sight of a man sitting on the floor, staring out at the city skyline. The unexpected presence startled you, nearly making you drop the bottle of wine you had swiped from storage.

“Jesus, you scared me,” you breathed out, clutching the bottle tighter as he turned to face you.

He had dark hair, cut short, and a tattoo creeping up the side of his neck. Leaning back on his hands, he regarded you with mild curiosity - cigarette in his hand.

“Didn’t think anyone else would come up here,” he said simply, turning his gaze back to the view.

You sighed before settling down next to him, offering him some of the finger food you had grabbed along the way. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna judge you for running away. I do it every year.”

He chuckled, taking a pastry from your hand. “What band are you in?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m in a band?”

His expression shifted to surprise. “Not like there’s anything wrong with being in one,” you said, feeling how your face heated up.

You then took a deep breath before taking a sip from the bottle. “My father owns the record label. Which means I have to be here.”

“Ah,” was all he said.

You studied him. “That’s it? No follow-up? No sucking up because my dad might give you a better deal?”

He scoffed. “Considering you’re up here instead of schmoozing, I figured you’d had enough of that for one night.”

You exhaled a laugh. “Fair enough. So, who are you? Considering how you look, I’d guess you’re in a band.”

“What makes you think I’m in a band?” He exclaimed, mocking your earlier expression.

You smirked with him as he clearly enjoyed throwing your words back at you. “You look young, and your eyes still have that glint of hope.”

He laughed. “That’s dark.”

“And I’m not wrong.”

“I’m 27,” he said, feigning offense.

“Exactly. Younger than me.”

He shook his head, smirking. “I’m with Bad Omens. I’m their drummer.”

You tilted your head, defeated. “Damn, I really can’t outrun you guys at all.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, surprise threading through his words.

You sat up straighter. “What do I mean? You mean, besides the fact that you are my Dad’s new favorite topic to talk about when he’s not subtly bashing me for making all the wrong life choices?”

“Can’t be that bad if he still invites you to things like this.” He mumbled, making you roll your eyes.

“How encouraging of you,” you scoffed, pushing yourself up from the ground as a cold breeze drifted over the balcony.

“That’s always been my strength,” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you at the railing.

For the next few minutes, you both stared out at the city lights in silence. He radiated a calmness that made it easier to think about the things you’d been trying so hard to ignore.

“Can I be honest with you?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, hesitant to break the peaceful quiet between you.

“Of course.” He glanced at you briefly before looking back at the skyline.

You exhaled. “Sometimes, I’m disappointed in myself.” The words left your lips like a weight lifting off your shoulders.

“Why?”

“I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life, and I’m rapidly approaching forty.”

“You’re really bitter for a woman in the prime of her life,” he mused, making you shoot him an offended look. He smirked before continuing. “Maybe you should try living in the moment… Just a little.”

“That’s easy for someone your age to say.” You crossed your arms.

“Come on.” He shrugged. “Being in a band is a great example. But let’s be real - I can’t see myself drumming at seventy. Well, I can, but my back definitely won’t be on board.”

You huffed but couldn’t help relaxing a little. He had a point, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“I want to go home.” You grinned, but he just rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. What do you want to do with your life?”

You let out a long sigh, thinking. “Honestly? I’ve always wanted to write.”

“Like novels?” He took a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stamping it out.

You nodded.

“So why don’t you?” he pressed, and the frustration bubbled up - because that was the one question you never had an answer to.

“Because I need to make a living, and a few unfinished Word documents aren’t exactly paying my rent,” you muttered, running a hand over your face.

“If J.R.R. Tolkien had said that - our tour manager would be stuck with some pretty dull fanfiction about him, since no one would’ve written about his Lord of the Rings obsession.”

You chuckled. “Wait… so you read fanfiction about your tour manager?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“You’re dodging the question,” he shot back, meeting your gaze. For a second, you held it before smirking and looking away.

“And you don’t want to admit you’ve read fanfiction about yourself and your bandmates,” you teased.

Before silence could settle between you again, he spoke up. “Alright, hear me out. Let’s get out of here. We’ll go wherever you want, do whatever you want. And - just to contradict your assumption - I appreciate creativity, but I’d rather not read fanfiction about myself.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You cried out in shock at his request.

That was when he made the statement that turned the whole evening around. “And you’re boring.” 

Not even ten minutes later, the cool night air wrapped around you as you and the guy, who finally told you his name was Nick, slipped away from the grand event, leaving behind the murmur of conversations and the clinking of expensive champagne glasses. Your father’s party had felt suffocating, each forced interaction weighing you down like a stone. But out here, under the city lights, you could finally breathe.

“So,” Nick mused, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, “where to?”

You glanced at him, his dark hair slightly tousled from the wind, his expression open and waiting. For a moment, the answer eluded you. You hadn’t expected him to actually follow through on his offer to go anywhere, do anything. Most people just made empty gestures, but not him.

Then, a memory flickered in your mind. “There’s this small carnival on the edge of town,” you said. “I haven’t been there in years. And it’s open until midnight.”

Nick grinned. “A carnival? I like it. Lead the way.”

The cab ride was filled with easy conversation and laughter, the lingering tension from the party dissolving into the background. When you arrived, the sight of colorful lights spinning in the distance and the scent of cotton candy and fried food instantly lifted your spirits. It was a world away from the pristine elegance of your parents’ gathering, and you welcomed the contrast.

“Alright,” Nick said as you both stepped onto the fairgrounds, hands tucked into his pockets. “What’s first? Ferris wheel? Haunted house? Overpriced snacks?”

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to deliberate. “You know, I think I’d like to see you utterly fail at one of those impossible game booths.”

His mouth fell open in mock offense. “Excuse me? You know I’m a drummer. That means, I have impeccable hand-eye coordination.”

You laughed, nudging him toward the nearest booth, where a pyramid of cans sat daringly on a wooden shelf. The game operator smirked as Nick handed over a few bills and took aim with the weighted baseball. His first attempt barely rattled the metal. The second was better, but still, they stood firm.

“You know,” you mused, watching him narrow his eyes at the stubborn cans, “it’s okay to admit defeat.”

“Never.” He rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath before throwing his final shot. To both your surprise, the cans crashed to the ground with a satisfying clatter.

Nick turned to you with a triumphant grin. “Told you.”

The game operator begrudgingly handed him a prize - a stuffed bear with comically large eyes. Without hesitation, Nick turned and placed it in your arms. “For you.”

You laughed, hugging the plush toy to your chest. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“As you should be.”

For the next hour, you wandered through the fairgrounds, riding rickety coasters and attempting to best each other at whack-a-mole. The easy banter between you never faltered, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying the moment in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

Eventually, you found yourselves standing before the Ferris wheel, its towering frame outlined in twinkling lights. You hesitated for only a moment before Nick took your hand, tugging you gently toward the ride. “Come on. It’s not a real carnival experience without this.”

The ride attendant ushered you into a seat, and as the wheel began to turn, the world seemed to slow. The city sprawled out before you, a sea of golden lights stretching into the distance. The sounds of the carnival faded, leaving only the gentle creak of the wheel and the occasional burst of laughter from below.

“This is nice,” you admitted softly, hugging the stuffed bear to your chest.

Nick glanced at you, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, it is.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as you reached the top of the wheel. The carriage rocked slightly with the breeze, and you shivered involuntarily. Without a word, Nick scooped closer, weirdly shrugged off his jacket since the carriage was rather small and draped it over your shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, touched by the gesture.

“I know,” he said simply, his voice warm. “But I wanted to.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, only to find him already watching you. His gaze was soft, steady, and there was something about the way he looked at you that made your breath hitch. You didn’t really know if you would regret this whole thing, considering you had completely different lives. On top of that he was almost ten years younger than you. You didn’t even know what you wanted. Then, his words shot into your head again. ‘Maybe you should try living in the moment.’

Before you could get lost in your doubts, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant - like testing the waters before diving in. But then Nick’s hand lifted to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and you melted into him. The world around you faded, the moment stretching infinitely as his lips moved against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. Your hands searched for something to hold onto and soon grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him even closer to you, causing him to sigh into the kiss in surprise.

When the Ferris wheel began its descent, you finally pulled away, your heart was hammering against your ribs. Nick studied you for a long moment before a slow smile spread across his lips.

“That was unexpected,” he murmured, though there was no surprise in his eyes - only something warm, something hopeful.

You swallowed, suddenly shy. “Was it… okay?”

His fingers trailed lightly down your arm before settling over your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “More than okay.”

The city lights, the carnival sounds, even the crisp night air - they were all secondary to the warmth of Nick’s hand in yours, the lingering taste of the kiss still on your lips.

As you walked back toward the exit of the fairgrounds, his hand still entwined with yours, you felt something shift inside you. For the first time in a long while, you weren’t dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. You were just here. Living in the moment. With Nick.

And it felt right.

When you reached your apartment building that wasn’t too far away from the carnival, you hesitated at the door, glancing up at him. He watched you expectantly, his expression unreadable. In any other moment you would have said your goodbyes and vanished into the comfort of your home. But not today.

“Do you…” You hesitated, then exhaled, smiling softly. “Do you want to come in?”

Nick’s lips twitched upward, and without a word, he followed you inside.

The night was far from over.

You suppressed a giggle as Nick almost instantly pressed you against your front door, his lips meeting yours in a forceful manner, causing you to drop the bear he had won for you on the floor. It’s like you forgot to breathe for a solid minute, taking the moment in before kissing him deeper. Your tongues met as you clutch onto the dress shirt he was wearing. 

You felt how his hands roamed your body as if he tried to memorize every inch of you. The need for him sat deep in your stomach and begged him silently for any kind of resolve from his teasing hands. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers dancing over his hair as you slowly guide him towards your bedroom.

He let out a small yelp as he stumbled at the edge of your bed, causing you to laugh as you collide with him on the mattress. For a short second, you both caught your breath before looking in each other's eyes. The easy banter was quickly replaced with intensity in the form of his brown eyes staring at you as they darkened with desire.

You had seen this look in a couple of eyes before, but never had it felt anything like his gaze. Everything suddenly felt like it made sense to you. Like everything that happened to you needed to happen to lead you to this moment. 

One of his hands slowly traveled downwards, hiking up your dress and grabbing your thigh before he turned you on your back. You instantly wrapped the leg he was gripping onto around his waist to drag him closer to you.

You felt his hot breath on your face, when he whispered. “As much as I love this dress, I bet it would look a lot better on the floor.”

“Just like your shirt.” You threw back at him with a smirk before leaning into him again, your lips meeting in another kiss as you slowly but surely slipped out of your clothes.

You sighed out in anticipation, while his hands started to travel over your body again. When his fingers latched to your pussy, drawing small circles over your panties, your thighs began to shake. “Holy shit. You’re already so wet, sweetheart.”

He added more pressure, watching as you threw your head back. “Shit, that feels good.”

“Does it?” He teased as his lips attached to your neck with wet kisses. “You like that?”

“Fuck… yes. I-...” You let out a small moan. “I need you.”

In any other scenario you would have felt weird. You couldn’t really remember when was the last time you let go of yourself, but when Nick softly giggled against your neck and pushed your panties to the side, your mind was filled with nothing but him. He was everything you saw. He didn’t wait long before slowly pushing two fingers inside of you. 

“Fuck, if you already feel so good like this, I don’t even know how amazing you would feel around my cock.” He sighed in a deep voice.

For a couple of seconds he curled his fingers inside of you and you internally cursed yourself out for not getting with a drummer way earlier. But then, he suddenly removed his fingers without a warning, causing you to moan out in disappointment. But that feeling was quickly gone, when he carefully leaned on his knees and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

You looked each other in the eyes, as he slowly dragged the fabric down your legs. He never once broke eye-contact as he plastered small kisses on your inner thigh, slowly but surely getting to the part where you needed him the most.

Your back immediately arched when you felt his tongue on your pussy, taking slow but determined licks. “You taste so good.” He gasped, his tongue replaced by his finger for a moment, while you moaned.

After that he lifted your legs over his shoulder, while his mouth told you he knew exactly what he was doing. Before long, your legs started to shake in his grip. Your hands tangled in your sheets as he drew whine after whine from you. That was when you felt his fingers back inside of you, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut while almost screaming out his name. The combo of his curled fingers and the gentle suck on your clit caused you to arch your back even more as you felt the pleasure washing over you. Without a warning you snapped, crying out his name in desperate pleas as he tried to keep your hips from moving against his face. He could drag you through hell if it meant you could be held by him for any longer.

He coaxed you through your high, kissing your pussy until you stopped to shake under his touch. 

You quickly sat up, dragging his face to yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as you kissed him.

“I need to see you.” You confessed as your hands travelled to the button of his trousers, opening it - not wasting a second to slip it down his legs.

“How bad?” He tried to tease you with a lopsided grin and yelped when you took all your strength to turn the two of you - him now laying on his back.

You quickly straddled him, letting your hands roam over his torso as you placed small kisses on him - beginning at his neck, slowly making your way down to the seam of his pants. You didn’t even know who he was a day ago and you did exactly see yourself with a guy younger than you, but as you sucked and bit into his skin - marking your territory - you felt like being on top of him was the only place you belonged to.

You smiled to yourself when you felt him tense under your touch and ever so often he let out a breathy moan or bucked his hips upward. The evidence of his arousal was astonishingly clear, the bulge in his boxers clearly visible - almost begging for your attention. Nick felt like he was your one-man cult at this point.

You slowly slipped off the bed, kneeling between his legs while looking him deeply in the eyes. “I think you’re the one to explain how much you want this.” You mocked his teasing tone from just minutes before.

“Please.” He muttered under his breath - almost shaking. While you wanted nothing more than to hear him begging for it, you needed to admit that you were rather impatient yourself, so you slowly hooked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear - dragging it down so painfully slowly, he let out a long stuttering breath. 

You carefully wrapped your hand around his member, soaking in the hiss he let out at the contact. You watched his face, observing every little reaction he had to you as you slowly placed your lips on the tip of his cock. “Oh, god-” Nick choked out.

You couldn’t help but smile at his frame. You were certain, the look he had on his face belonged in an art museum. 

You placed a small kiss on the tip, licking at the drop of precum that gave the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. You hummed at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop off him. 

You didn’t look away from his face as you leaned in closer and took a long lick over his shaft. “Shit - Fuck… I-... That feels-... hmmm. You’re all I need.”

Your heart swelled with pride as you finally took him into your mouth, almost too enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. His moans sounded like the most perfect melody you’ve ever heard as his right hand landed in your hair to get some kind of stabilization.

“You need to… fuck- Imma cum if you don’t stop.” He whined out and the grip on your hair became firmer.

For a second, you ignored his call out, continuing to move up and down. Only when you felt him slightly twitch in your mouth, you pulled away - his grip loosening on your hair - causing him to moan out in frustration, his hips chasing after you.

You let out a small giggle as you stood to your feet again, crawling up to him with a playful glint in your eyes. His gaze darkened with something deeper, something unreadable yet intoxicating. The space between you felt electric, each inch you closed sending a thrilling pulse through your veins.

Just as you reached him, his hands found your waist, firm yet hesitant, as if savoring the moment before taking more. With a swift motion, you were on your back again, the cool air against your skin a stark contrast to the heat rolling off him. Your breath hitched as he hovered over you, his weight pressing into you in a way that made your pulse race.

His smile was slow, knowing, filling you with a warmth that you weren’t sure you had ever felt before. His fingers traced a lazy path down your arm, barely touching, but setting your nerves alight with anticipation. You could feel the heat of his breath as if he was your oxygen, teasing, making you wait.

When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was achingly soft - a whisper of a kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. He pulled back just enough for you to chase after him, your lips parting with a quiet plea. That was all it took.

He groaned softly before deepening the kiss, his lips molding against yours with slow, deliberate intent. His hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss turned feverish, needy, a slow-burning fire that threatened to consume you both.

Every brush of his lips, every teasing stroke of his tongue, sent sparks igniting beneath your skin. Your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him impossibly closer. He responded with a deep, satisfied sound, pressing into you, letting you feel the full weight of his desire.

Time blurred. The world outside of this moment ceased to exist. There was only him - his touch, his breath, the way he kissed you like he was starving for you. And as he broke away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath rough and uneven, you knew this was only the beginning.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough, edged with something unreadable. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His words, soft yet intense, settled deep in your chest, making your heart stutter.

You blinked up at him in surprise, caught off guard by the way he was looking at you - like you were something rare, something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch but couldn’t stop himself from reaching for. The space between you felt charged, a quiet storm building, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on you both.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of you. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough to drive you insane, but he didn’t kiss you again - not yet. Instead, his gaze held you in place, searching, burning, making it impossible to look away.

For a brief moment, it almost slipped your mind that you had just met him hours ago. That this intensity between you had no logic, no reason to exist - but it did. It was there, thrumming beneath your skin, threading through the air between you, pulling you deeper into something you didn’t fully understand.

“I think if you don’t fuck me in the next couple of seconds, I’ll confess my love to you.” You joked even though you weren’t entirely sure if there wasn’t a tiny amount of truth in your humorous statement. 

“Your wish is my command.” He answered with a smirk on his face, before he got up, rumbling through the pocket of his pants. He quickly opened the shiny package, before rolling the condom on his member.

After that he crawled between your legs again with a smile that warmed your entire body.

“So, you just have a condom in your pants at all times?” You joked, which he responded to with a teasing “You don’t?”

You hadn’t enough time to answer him as he dragged his cock through your wet folds, causing you to moan out surprisingly loud. You quickly bit down on your bottom lip to muffle the sound as he slowly pushed inside of you. 

He placed his right hand on your cheek as he bottomed out, brushing your lip. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.”

You choked back a whine, swallowing hard as his words seeped through you. “That… That feels good.”

Nick smiled as he wrapped an arm around you. He lifted his hips, slowly filling you before bringing it back out. His name slipped over your lips like it was a prayer. 

You meet his hips as you found your pace. Your head almost instantly felt dizzy, still being worked up from your previous actions and you knew he felt the same. Heat was building in your stomach as you repeatedly moaned out in pleasure, desperately seeking your climax.

“Please tell me you’re close. I won’t be able to hold back any longer.” Nick whined out, his forehead touching yours as you slightly nodded, not being able to form comprehensible words.

“Nick.” You whimpered out as his hand travelled between you, almost instantly starting to circle your clit again.

The movements of your hips in combination with his hand sent you over the edge almost instantly. You quickly leaned up and kissed him, your moan being swallowed by his mouth as you clenched around his cock. Not even ten seconds later, you felt him twitch inside of you, each thrust harder than the last before he pulled away from your mouth with a loud moan of your name - the grip of his hands on your hips almost bruising as he came undone.

His lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled out and let himself fall to your side, his breath still uneven, his forehead resting against neck. The air between you was thick, charged with something neither of you wanted to name but both felt down to your bones.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just lay there, breathing each other in, letting the world around you settle into quiet stillness. The only sound was the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you, the steady rhythm of your breaths mixing together in the hush of the room.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him, your pulse still thrumming in your ears. He was watching you, his gaze unreadable yet full of something intense, something that made your stomach tighten. His fingers traced absent patterns along your arm, a lazy, absentminded motion that sent shivers through you despite its softness.

Everything about this felt unreal. The warmth of his body beside yours, the lingering press of his lips still ghosting over your own, the weight of what had just happened settling between you like a secret neither of you were ready to break.

It almost felt foolish, how easily you had fallen into this - into him. How just hours ago, he had been a stranger, a passing moment in the grand blur of your life. And yet, here he was, lying next to you, his presence as familiar as if he had always been there.

He let out a slow, measured breath and turned onto his side, propping himself up, discarding the condom in the trash nearby before leaning on one elbow as he studied you. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You hesitated, your fingers absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the sheet. What were you thinking? That this was insane? That you should be questioning it more? That you didn’t want him to leave?

Instead of answering right away, you reached out, letting your fingers trail down his arm over his tattoo, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into it, like he craved it as much as you did.

“Stay,” you finally murmured, the word barely more than a breath. It came out quieter than you intended, but you knew he heard it by the way his expression shifted - something softer, something more certain.

His lips quivered into a slow, knowing smile, like the answer had been obvious before you even asked. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he admitted, his voice tinged with amusement, but also something else - something real.

A warmth spread through your chest, easing away whatever hesitation had been lingering there. You exhaled, turning onto your side to face him fully, your fingers still tracing his skin absentmindedly.

“Good,” you said softly, and you meant it more than you probably should.

He didn’t say anything else - he didn’t need to. Instead, he reached out, pulling you close again, letting you settle into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm draped over your waist, his touch easy, unhurried.

As you lay there beside Nick, the quiet hum of his breathing steady against your skin, a thought crept in - the kind you usually tried to push away.

How had you ended up here?

Just days ago, you were drowning in the weight of expectations - your parents’ insistence, the suffocating parties, the career that no longer felt like yours. You had spent years following a path you once believed in, only to realize too late that it had never really been yours to begin with. And yet, for all your running, you had never truly stopped long enough to ask yourself what you actually wanted.

Until tonight.

Tonight, you hadn’t thought about the past or the future. You hadn’t worried about disappointing anyone. You hadn’t been the woman who always said yes to keep the peace.

Tonight, you had let yourself feel.

Nick stirred beside you, his arm tightening around your waist as if he could sense your thoughts pulling you away. You glanced at him, the soft glow of the night casting shadows over his features. He was so young - too young, maybe - but there was something about him, something steady and unshaken, that made you feel more yourself than you had in years.

The realization sent a quiet thrill through you, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

This wasn’t a part of the plan. He wasn’t a part of the plan.

And maybe that was exactly what made it feel so right.

You exhaled slowly, pressing closer to his warmth, letting the weight of the moment settle over you.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t care where the night would lead.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking for the wrong turn.

Maybe, just maybe, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

: ̗̀➛ dividers by @saradika-graphics

: ̗̀➛ TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[fennecfox44]

landslide

jack hughes x reader

summary - my attempt at nice jack.. takes place years before radio nowhere so u dont need to read that first but maybe u should bc i liked it.. also might do a series idgaf who gaf id ont gaf...

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older, too

The summer sun is burning a hot hole through your back. You feel the scorch creeping up your shoulders and you know you should flip off of your stomach already but you’re too comfortable, sun-baked. Cicadas hummed and buzzed but you only heard them in between songs shuffling through your wired headphones. 

Some time passes before you eventually decide you’ll flip over once this song ends—no, the next one—and then you finally do. You tug your sunglasses off the top of your head and push them up the bridge of your nose, shutting your eyes as you settle into your new position on your back. 

Luke had invited you to fish with him and Quinn. Jack was off on a tournament in Russia, so they let you use his rod. But your patience for it dwindled quickly, deciding your time would be better spent tanning in a bikini than waiting aimlessly for a fish to poke. You’d fallen asleep in the chair, the sun soaking up your energy, and when you’d woken up, the brothers were gone. Probably to eat. But you weren’t hungry, so you stayed on the dock.

Your eyes are shut but you can still sense a cloud or something pass over you through the thin veil of your eyelids. You squint and push your glasses up over your head, worried it’s rain and that you’ll have to make a run for it back to the house. But it’s only Jack.

Your heart might’ve lept—well, it does, but not with excitement—if you hadn’t already known he was coming back today. He hadn’t text or called. You only got your news on him relayed to you second hand from Luke. The games he won, how his practices went. Luke had even offered a handful of times to put you on the phone whenever he called, but when prompted, Jack had always just said that he had to go and that he'd call back later. 

You scowl up at him when you see his shit-eating grin, and pull your sunglasses back down.

“Is this my—hey, this is my chair,” Jack says, stifling a laugh as he pulls your legs up and on to his lap as he shoves his way onto part of the chair.

“Oh god, go back to Russia,” you grunt, tugging your headphones out of your ears. “It was so nice with you gone.”

“Hello to you too,” he grimaces as you kick at him, trying to wrestle your ankles into submission. “Fuck, chill out.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t even say hi!” you whine.

“Hi,” he smiles, snatching your sunglasses off your face. “Wow, it’s sunny. I forgot what the sun felt like.”

“Yeah, you look super pasty,” you retort, trying to grab your glasses back. He smacks your hands away. You give up and huff, laying back down against the chair.

“This is my chair,” he says again, more intently.

“Yeah. And I was using your rod earlier, too.”

“Yeah? My rod?” Jack grins cheekily, the fact that you hadn’t caught your own innuendo. “You wanna use it again now?”

You scoff, really kicking him hard in the side this time. Jack grunts, clutching at his side.

“Ow, you bitch,” he huffs. “The fuck’s up with you?”

You glare at him. “Giving me a hard time about not saying hi is really funny when you didn’t even call me once, Jack.”

Completely serious now, he pulls the glasses off to really look at you. “I called you!” 

Technically. He called you a couple times in the middle of the night so that you could help him get off, not minding the time difference or that it threw you off your sleep schedule. You had tried to talk to him after, but he would say he had to get to bed, big game tomorrow or whatever excuse and that he’d call for real after. But he never did.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, finally retrieving the glasses back. You put them on, not wanting to look at him. “You’re right. I’m wrong.”

Jack groans, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “See, this is the shit that pisses me off about you or us or whatever. You’re not my girlfriend. We’re not dating. Why do I have to call you? Why are you so up my ass?”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t help how your nostrils flare, trying not to react. You lived on eggshells around him, afraid that showing too much feeling would send him running.

“We’re friends,” you mumble, drawing your legs up to your chest. Felt really naked and vulnerable, suddenly very conscious of yourself and that you were only in a bikini with him sat beside you fully clothed. “Just would've been nice.”

Jack sighs, laying his head on your knees. “Sorryyyyy,” he drones, looking up at you. He wraps his cold hands around your warm calves. Then drops his head and presses a kiss to each of your knees. “Sorry, sorry.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Stop,” you pretend to be annoyed, tangling a hand through his hair like you were gonna pull him off, but really, you only wanted to make sure he stayed.

He splits your legs open, kissing the inside of your thighs, punctuating each one with a ‘ sorry’ in between.

“Jack,” you hiss, really tugging his hair this time as he makes his way lower. 

“Sorry,” he keeps on, trailing closer to your core. At one point, he even bites at you playfully, and you whine, trying to squirm away, but he holds on to your hips, dragging you towards him. He’s knelt before you. You glance over your shoulder, and you convince yourself that the chair’s big enough to conceal him. And all the way from the house, through a window too. No one could see.

He hooks his thumbs round your bikini bottoms and tugs them down. His hands crawl back up as he spreads you open, glistening, wanting, before he latches his hands back onto your hip bones, pulling you up to his mouth. 

You mewl desperately, your head lolling back, chewing your lip as he licks at you. Reflexively your hips buck against him but he holds you down while he apologizes so kindly. This was so rare. Even if there was a chance of getting caught, you think you’d take it, if it meant having him be this nice to you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, tears brimming your eyes as you tug his hair, urging him closer. Jack grunts, a hand trailing up your body, grazing your ribs before you snag his hand in yours. Without really thinking, you mindlessly pull his hand up to your mouth, sucking a finger past your lips. He groans into you, the vibration of it shooting a bolt through you. 

He pulls his hand free, looking up at you, his mouth glistening. You whimper down at him as he wraps a bruising grip around your waist, pulling you down the length of the chair. “You little fuckin’ devil,” he says, looming over you, and you’re not sure if he’s mad or not, but decide it’s the latter when he presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hotly. "Fuck, you taste good." He murmurs against your mouth.

Jack pulls away, and you think he’s gonna really start in on you now, but he just stares. He brushes some unkempt hair out of your face, tucks it behind your ear before rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. You look up at him, hoping your internal mix of shock and fear and hope and awe don’t betray you.

“You got prettier,” he says. “I mean, you’re always pretty. But you look prettier.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, drawn up tight in the middle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles strangely, then pats your cheek like a child. “Keep it up, kiddo.”

He goes to pull his hand free and against your better judgement, you reach for it, wanting to keep him close.

But he’s already pulled free, yawning, stretching. “Fuck. Jet lag’s a bitch.”

You wrap your legs around his middle. “I wanna make you feel better,” you say. Too forward. Too much all at once. He’ll think you’re trying to get something more out of him, tie him down to you, but you can’t help it. All you’ve ever wanted is to make him feel good, even when he’s constantly leaving you wanting.

He pats your leg, bending down to press one last cheeky kiss on your knee. “You’re sweet. I really am sorry.”

You frown. “Did something happen in Russia?”

Jack shakes his head, grinning. “Nah. Maybe I missed you.”

It was so hard to believe him, but you wanted to. Even if it meant you knowing you were going to let him let you down again. He would never want you this way. Fully, forever.

“Gross,” you say, but you both know you missed him more. It’s why he gets away with everything he does. He rolls his eyes again. This was good as it was. It didn’t need to change. Nothing needed to change.

[kashimos-hajime]

—candy | s.r.

summary: "on the other side of the net, atsumu grins."

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: ohhh miya twinssss save me | part of the undateable series

masterlist

It’s not long before you’re staying late after practices to lock up, curled up between the benches with a bag of abandoned towels and a bottle holder next to your feet, watching, always watching.

Your notebook is filled with volleyball terminology and sketches of rotation possibilities, notes of each player's strength and weaknesses. You build a portfolio for the team, speak to each and every one and take notes with your little pencil that's been sharpened to a near-nub. Suna catches glimpses of the page you're working on when he grabs his bottle from you, your fingers rolling the short pencil distractedly. You don’t even look like you’re paying attention, and he sees mentions of cellular division which is most certainly not related to volleyball.

When you suddenly blink and begin writing a sentence beginning with chlorophyll, he nudges the side of your thigh with his foot. You blink, head jerking up to him, 

“Tired?” he asks. When you don’t answer right away, he jets another stream of water into his mouth to span the silence. Maybe if he gives you time to think…

Nope. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

“I said, are you tired.” This time, he doesn’t bother making it sound like a question, and instead kicks your shoe. It must be what kickstarts the human part of your brain because you slide up the wall and nod. He plucks your notebook out of your hands despite your protest, shaking until the next page folds over to reveal the notes you took from their first practice match of the year. 

Although your writing is neat, he can see where the letters lose their sharp edges, the pen loses precision.

“Give that back,” you demand quietly, and he surrenders it when you try to snatch it from his grasp with a shrug. Your eyes avert to the floor, and the urge to smile takes him by surprise. So does the want to pat your head. Hand twitching, he chews on the inside of his cheek and squeezes his bottle tighter. “It’s fun to watch you play, but you guys stay so late.”

“Tell the captain to end practice early then,” he retorts. “He’s the one keeping us jailed here.” Two gazes go to Kita standing by the net and setting to the spikers, and Suna watches out of the corner of his eye as you shake your head. “Scared?”

“Kita-san likes his routine,” is all you say. Pale eyes fixate on your face, but you’re staring at the captain in a way that makes his stomach turn. It’s uncomfortable, and foreign, and when a soft, faint smile plays at your lips, an unwelcome train of thought stations in his brain. You close the notebook, pushing off the wall and turning to him. 

Almost instantly, the smile disappears. Suna’s almost offended enough to comment on it.

Is he ugly or what?

“Either way,” you continue neutrally, “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“Wasn’t worried,” he replies smoothly. “You just looked dead slumped against the wall.” Your eyes squeeze shut as he flicks your forehead. Then, he grabs your wrist and puts his empty water bottle in your hand. “Refill this for me, won’t you? Thanks, kuri-kuri.”

You frown. “Okay.”

Setting down your notebook by your bag, you give him a look before stepping around him and heading out the gym. Watching you go, he shoves his hands into his pants and the corner of his mouth twists into a wry smile. The nickname burns at the edges of his lips, and he debates about why he had called you that, before shaking his head and heading back onto the court.

It doesn’t matter. Osamu and Atsumu call you that to irritate you and Suna, by occupation, loves to annoy everyone around him. He must’ve just picked it up out of habit.

On the other side of the net, Atsumu grins.

.

The next day is a long one. You’re dragging your feet through the school, trying to ignore the heaviest weight in your stomach at the thought of having to stay late again. But there’s another practice match at the end of the week, and you’re in too deep to say you quit being a manager. If Aran’s pleased demeanor at seeing you so often again is anything to go by, you’re struggling to think of reasons not to go besides how exhausted you are.

Maybe you just need to get used to it. A new routine.

After saying goodbye to Mina, you head for the gym with the sun warm on your face. A slight breeze kisses your neck, and you relish in the feeling of a cool, easy spring that’ll soon be replaced by the smell of sweat and hot gym air.

If you’re at the gym quick enough, you’ll have to start setting up the nets. At least that’s one plus. Lifting everything you need to, walking to and fro with whatever you’re tasked with, means you’re getting the exercise you never got before.

You’re nearly there when you notice the aglet of your shoe slapping against your ankle. Veering off to the shade of a nearby building and bending over, you sigh. Even your fingers feel tired.

How is that even possible?   Untying your shoe lace, you’re about to retie it when something crinkles above you and a dark shadow falls over you. Mouth open, you're about to retort if you can help whoever's blocking your sunlight when you find your gaze filled with a shiny dark brown plastic. You blink, looking up at the hand and arm and body attached to it.

Suna Rintarou closes his school bag, outlined by the golden sunlight. It catches his pale eyes as he shoves a bag closer to your face. “Osamu said you needed these and to give it to you if I saw you.”

Blinking, you stand and take it, reading the front before turning it over. A bag of your favourite coffee candies, unopened. You frown as the boy before you crouches to finish up your shoelaces, pulling the loops into a tight bow. You cock your foot back onto its heel, staring down at his handiwork. 

“Oh.” He rises to his feet. Your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, turns, and continues on his way towards the gym.

You watch him go, hand tightening on the bag. The sound of it crackling makes your gaze jerk down. Was that… weird?

Incredibly weird.

“Suna-san, wait.” He glances over his shoulder, disinterest etched into the very planes of his face. You ignore it and jog to catch up to him, smiling politely. “I’m going this way anyway.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Guess so.”

Later, during a break in practice, you pull Osamu aside and hold the bag of candies, smiling. His own smile mirrors yours, and he reaches greedily for the bag, but you yank it out of his grasp, placing a hand on his chest. 

A complain bubbles on his lips, but you only take a step back. “Hold up!”

“What? Where’d ya get those?”

“Whaddya mean, dummy?” You withdraw a candy and he automatically opens his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you toss it into his mouth like a owner giving a dog a treat. “Suna gave ‘em to me. Said you told him to.”

“Suna?” he echoes, pushing the candy into his cheek. His eyebrows knit together, and together, the two look over to where the boy’s fiddling with his phone. For a moment, Osamu looks as if he wants to say something, and you glance at his expression, watching the way his brow furrows, the way his lips downturn.

At length, Osamu finally speaks, the candy clacking against his teeth: “Yeah. Forgot about that.”