#it's been two days why is my brain doing this to me

[jadeoxfordrose]

#honestly one thing i really like about matt murdock's catholic guilt as a superhero is how it compares to peter parker's jewish guilt#matt like. frequently engages in superherosim as a form of self-punishment#he gets the absolute SHIT kicked out of him#and he wears his bruises and his marks like saint fuckin sebastian#and there is a sense through so much of it like. gritted teeth and clenched fists#taking the punches and the blows#that there is a real sense for every life he doesn't save he has sinned and is sinning#and it obviously becomes more potent for him when he feels he's been backed into a sinful corner#or when he's having sex or lustful thoughts#or when he's been drinking or having Too Much Fun and relaxing too much#bc whenever he feels pleasure and something bad happens#his brain connects the two and says REPENTANCE!#and matt murdock's hail marys tend to involve not just attempting to resolve the problem but taking a lot of punches#meanwhile peter parker like. jewish guilt is a different flavour to catholic guilt#peter parker doesn't feel guilty after he makes a wry or sassy comment the way matt murdock does now and then#bc he worries it's what Caused a death - he wasn't taking it seriously enough he was provocative he was hubristic#peter parker runs his mouth off all day long and says the wrong thing 8 times out of 10 on a good day#but it's nothing to feel guilty about#and when he fucks up even when he hurts himself or fumbles a cool entrance or whatever else like. there's no guilt there either#but while he also feels horribly guilty whenever he feels he's caused a death it's less like#i have to punish myself - he absolutely does have those streaks for acute periods of time don't get me wrong#but it's far more. oh god. someone else has died#and whether it was my fault or not i have to do my best to make it good#because why else is it right that i've gone on surviving? what the fuck made me more worthy? nothing! so i have to make it good#so much of jewish guilt is like. this horrible knowledge and awareness of how much others have sacrificed for you.#knowingly or not. knowing YOU or not. how many people have died or suffered to make you and your life possible#and what are you doing to make all that worth it huh? what are you doing to carry that gift on? is it enough? is it ever enough?#it's just so interesting when you think of MM and PP in contrast to one another when like. they are in so many ways similar#often funny in their red costumes and w their acrobatics and with their aching tragedy and Big Feelings underneath the wry commentary#but the specific flavour of the man is so different. very chewy via @johannestevans

Been a really long time since I've watched Daredevil but I do remember coming away from it feeling like it presented a pretty compelling internally-consistent moral justification for the vigilante thing. You're not planet-crackingly powerful, it's just that you can hear, in detail, every awful thing your neighbors are doing to each other, every night that they're doing it. You can't not know and you can't pretend not to know and when the kid tells you the next day that he just fell down the stairs you can't fall back on the provided ambiguity to absolve yourself of your responsibility to act. Semi-relatedly, you're really really good at martial arts. Start the clock

[faithsmadhouse]

Smut request for max! Where reader is really overstressed and stimulated from work/study and he just fucks her real good with multiple orgasms to send her to sleep

Taken care of||Max verstappen x fem!reader

Summary— y/n is stressed out by work and max knows just how to shut her brain off long enough for her to relax and sleep.

Word count—899

You slam the door behind you and lean against it, chest rising and falling too fast. Your brain feels like it’s still sprinting, stuck in overdrive from the minute you woke up. Notifications, deadlines, expectations too much, too loud, all day long.

Max looks up from the couch, and immediately, his eyes soften.

“Baby,” he says gently, already standing, already moving toward you.

You shake your head as your throat tightens. “I can’t Max, I feel like I’m coming apart. My chest won’t unclench. My brain won’t stop. I don’t even know what I need.”

He reaches for you. “I do.”

His hands are strong, sure, sliding under your jacket and tugging it off before you can argue. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, then finally your mouth, slow and steady. His lips taste like reassurance.

“You’re done for the day,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to think anymore. I’ve got you.”

He undresses you like you’re fragile, but not in a way that makes you feel breakable in a way that makes you feel precious. His hands linger at your hips, his fingers dragging slowly down your thighs. You’re already shaking, breath catching in your throat.

“On the bed,” he says softly. “Face up. Legs open.”

You obey, not because he demands it, but because every word out of his mouth sounds like salvation.

He strips down, climbing onto the bed beside you, settling between your thighs. The way he looks at you like you’re the center of his whole damn world it makes something inside you finally breathe.

“Been running yourself into the ground,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee. “You give so much to everyone else, you forget you’re allowed to fall apart, too.”

His mouth is warm, slow, relentless between your legs. He licks through your folds like he’s savoring every second, like tasting you is his reward. He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue circles your clit, and your hips arch before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, Max—”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

The first orgasm crashes over you fast, your body too strung out to hold back. You cry out, thighs trembling, hands gripping the sheets as he coaxes you through it but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause.

He keeps going, soft and wet and maddeningly gentle, until the next one builds like a slow-burning fuse and hits you even harder. You sob through it, overwhelmed, body writhing, nerves sparking like a live wire.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes, lifting his head to watch your face. “So fucking perfect for me. Every sound you make, every twitch I want all of it. You’re doing so good.”

When he finally slides inside you, you’re wrecked in the best way open, needy, pliant. He fills you so slowly you nearly cry from how full you feel, your cunt fluttering around him even before he moves.

“You needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs against your cheek. “You needed to be taken care of.”

You nod, eyes glossy, lips trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “Not until you’re so fucked out you can’t remember why you were stressed in the first place.”

He moves in deep, measured strokes, angled perfectly to brush every sensitive spot inside you. And he never stops talking, praise spilling from his lips like honey.

“Look at you. So tight and warm around me. Taking me so good.”

“You’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

“This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Look how she holds me. Fuck.”

Every word sinks deeper than the last, and soon your nails are digging into his shoulders, your body shivering under the weight of another orgasm. He groans when he feels ir how you pulse around him, so wet and desperate and slows his thrusts until he’s barely moving.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you. Just like this,” he says, settling in deep, still buried inside you.

You whimper, oversensitive, hips twitching.

“I know,” he soothes, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just wanna keep you full a little longer. You’re so good like this. So soft. So fucked-out and perfect.”

He stays like that cock still inside ou while he holds your body against his, letting you breathe through it. Letting you feel it: the fullness, the safety, the intimacy of being completely possessed in the most loving way.

Your walls flutter again, helpless, overwhelmed, and you gasp when another orgasm sneaks up on you this one slower, deeper, dragging tears from your eyes.

Max kisses them away, murmuring, “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you. Just give it all to me.”

And you do.

When he finally lets himself come, it’s with your name on his lips, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. He fills you, shuddering, groaning low in his chest.

But even then, he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside you, wraps you in his arms, and holds you close. You’re limp, boneless, body still twitching in little aftershocks as your head finds its place on his chest.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice rough. “So proud of you. Every day.”

Your eyes flutter shut. His hand strokes your hair. And for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet.

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ok since we have college! Jason, mayhaps a professor Bruce? Who sees you walking home in the rain and gives you a ride back to your dorm but he takes the ✨scenic✨ route if you know what I mean lmao

౨ৎ Professor!Bruce Wayne x female student!reader ౨ৎ mdni (18+)

౨ৎ Warnings: Legal age gap, power imbalance, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

౨ৎ a/n: I will never stop writing for Bale Bruce Wayne, he's the love of my life, man of my dreams, I'm insane for him. I obviously don't condone this kind of relationship, but all I write is fiction and I find it reallyyy attractive in fiction, SUE ME!! also, creds to my divas @ditzydoe444 and @ellesthots because their professor!Bruce fics are TO DIE FOR!!

You hadn't expected it to rain so much that afternoon; that's why you had forgone the idea of bringing an umbrella in your bag, it would only add weight to your already heavy backpack, and you'd spend most of your time in the library anyways.

You began to regret your decision when you exited the library and the cold water began to patter against your head and shoulders, soaking through your clothes. Your damp shirt was stuck to your chest uncomfortably, your shoulders shook with shivers. You really should have brought an umbrella, or at least a jacket.

You were cursing yourself on your walk back to the dorms when he saw you. Bruce was in his car, another late night after a long meeting with the dean. He registered your presence quickly, it was raining heavily and there wasn’t a soul in the street—there shouldn’t have been, much less a young woman like you, so cluelessly strolling alone at night, so he did what he thought necessary, he rolled down the window and called out your name.

“Mr. Wayne?” You looked at him with wide eyes, the surprise and embarrassment were evident in your soft features. God you were so unlucky, the day you go out thinking that nobody will see you you cross paths with the hottest professor in the entire college—just your luck.

“You look like you need a lift,” He smirked, poking his head out the window, and slowed the car down to a stop.

────୨ৎ────

The car ride was quiet at first, only the low hum and static of the radio on a rainy night broke through the silence. You had your bag in your lap, clutching it close to you for dear life.

Bruce wanted nothing more than to chuck the bag into the backseat and get his way with you, he felt like an asshole but the way your top was clinging to your chest was making his brain go haywire and his cock fatten up in his slacks.

“You can leave the bag in the backseat, more comfortable that way,” He spoke as if he knew better, as if that was the right thing to do; patronizing and authoritative.

You did as he said and threw the bag into the backseat, folding your hands in your now empty lap, awkwardly. The tension between you two could have been cut with a knife, the silence heavy and loud.

Bruce stretched out a hand to move something on the center console and instead of moving it back to the wheel, he placed it on your thigh, squeezing it softly. It was a declaration of intentions, he was giving you a way out.

"You shouldn't be walking alone so late, more so when it's raining." He sounded truly worried as he caressed the soft, damp, skin of your thigh.

"Lucky you were here, then." You spread your legs further, urging him to go higher, and he followed suit. His fingers danced along the seams of your panties, not quite hovering, not quite touching.

The bumps on the road were the only thing forcing contact between him and you, and they were few and far between. You were beginning to get desperate, your breaths were coming out whiny and shaky, your hips stuttered against his thick fingers.

And Bruce was just a man, his self control had been thrown out the window the moment he’d seen you walking back to your dorm drenched and shivering all alone. You were so helpless, huffing and puffing, feet dragging across the pavement, shirt drenched in water and sticking to your chest so deliciously; he had to help you, poor little girl, who didn’t even think to bring an umbrella.

The louder your whines got, the faster he drove; he moved through the back roads with expertise, not even wavering with the rain, his hands steady.

────୨ৎ────

You were sprawled across the backseat, your bag on the floor of the car, as Bruce pounded you mercilessly. He held your thighs apart as he thrusted in. A creamy white ring sat at the base of his cock from your previous orgasm

He didn't know what had gotten into him; he was usually so professional, never would have even glanced at a student before he met you. Maybe it was because of the way you looked at him, your gaze intense and unwavering, never missing one of his classes. Maybe it was because of the way you spoke to him during tutoring hours, your voice soft yet confident, drawing him in. Or perhaps it was the subtle way you brushed your leg against his when you sat side by side.

He was grown, after all; he was not stupid. He noticed how your eyes drifted down to his chest when he rolled his shoulders, or how they lingered on his arms when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the toned muscles underneath. It made his heart race.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" He breathed out.

You knew if you tried to speak the words would not come out so, with your hands pawing and tugging at his shirt— all wrinkled and rumpled now, thanks to your relentless movements— you just nodded your head, staring at him with wide, glassy, eyes and an open mouth, letting out little whines and moans at the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Come on, you're a smart girl, my top student; you can use your words, can't you?" There it was again, the sweet voice, the patronizing tone.

"Yes. Feels good, sir." You managed to breathe out.

"Call me Bruce, let's leave the titles for the classroom, huh?"

You nodded, eyes meeting his hungry gaze. Bruce's cock twitched at the sight of your dazed smile, half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide and your cheeks flushed that pretty shade of pink you got when you made eye contact in class.

"mhm, Bruce," You whined, your hips stuttered up, back arching when he angled your hips to get slightly deeper. You could feel the slight burn from the way he was stretching you out, the spur of pain when the tip of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly, but all of that was kept in the back of your mind, as he kissed your lips and cooed at you.

"So pretty...you're a beautiful girl, you know that? Smart too," He spoke between kisses, his voice was hoarse, breathy.

Bruce didn't moan, but he grunted a lot, to punctuate his words when he spoke, or after a particularly deep thrust.

"So tight, baby. Just relax, I've got you." He spoke into your neck as his thrusts got messier, harder. The squelching and clapping of your thighs against his got louder, and so did your moans. You came almost instantly, leaning your head back against the car window, his hands held your waist, keeping you in place as he fucked his thick cock into you. He came shortly after you, with a hard thrust and a grunt.

After a moment of shared silence, the sound of the rain drumming against the car filled the space between you. You both caught your breath, the lingering warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. Bruce rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight.

"We should talk about this before Monday," He spoke as he caught his breath.

“Yeah, or it’ll be super awkward in class,” you replied, a light laugh escaping you. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he tried to regain his composure.

“Well, we can just keep it professional, right?” he suggested, looking at you with a hint of amusement. 

────୨ৎ────

@lalitalux

[writesvani]

down low | 02

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: cheating, drug use (weed), smoking, explicit sexual content, emotionally toxic relationship, manipulation, infidelity (jk and y/n are cheating on their partners with each other), unhealthy coping mechanisms, morally gray behavior, emotional detachment

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 4k // date: 25th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Inhaling You, Exhaling Guilt; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey besties. new “down low” chapter is here and it’s unwell, just like me. this was supposed to be a 15k word monster but i said absolutely not and chopped it into 3 parts—so yeah, this ends on a cliffhanger. no sex yet. i’m sorry. (i’m not.)

BUT the tension? the dynamic? it’s sizzling. they’re one touch away from absolute disaster and i love that for them.

left some easter eggs in there too, so if you catch ‘em, scream at me in the comments or my asks. i’m lurking.

note goal is 600 bc you’re all feral and i believe in peer pressure. hit it and you’ll get part 2 real fast.

read. suffer. tell me your thoughts. love u forever, even while emotionally tormenting you.

The shift is... just another day. The usual crowd of regulars is here, sipping their espressos and making small talk that you would rather skip entirely. The day has been routine too—classes, a quick lunch with Taehyung, then straight into work. It’s all repetitive. It’s boring. And the worst part? You’re counting down the minutes until you can sprint to Jungkook’s apartment the second your shift ends at 10pm. You hate it. You crave it. And Jungkook’s not making it any easier.

Because right now, you're standing there, phone in your clammy hands, staring at a picture he just had to send you. Jungkook, in the middle of his boxing practice, hair messy, tattoos peeking out from his oversized black shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips like he owns the damn world. He’s standing outside—because Namjoon doesn’t let him smoke inside (honestly, who’s the athlete here?)—but Jungkook looks so fucking good you almost forget where you are.

He knows it too. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That picture isn’t just a tease; it’s a reminder. A reminder that you should be thinking about being in his bed, not focusing on perfecting lattes. But here you are, trying to breathe through the urge to drop everything and run to him.

You can’t focus anymore. Your brain is mush, your hands are clumsy, and the espresso machine might as well be a spaceship for how little you're processing. You accidentally make an espresso instead of a double one for Mark—the sweet old man who comes in daily and tips in coins like it’s 1993. He stares at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline. You apologize, mutter something about being tired, and shuffle back to your station.

But your hands are twitchy. Your eyes dart to your phone every two seconds. Still nothing. Jungkook hasn’t sent anything else—no texts, no pics, no emojis. Just that one, cursed, sinfully sexy picture of him looking like every wrong decision you’ve ever made and wanted to make again.

And now? Now you’re stuck. One hour left of your shift and your brain is spiraling. You’re mentally unwell. Not in a tragic, poetic way. In a feral, "why isn't he texting me back when I clearly need to ride his face into next week" kind of way. You're restless. Desperate. Left alone with your thoughts and an absolutely unhinged amount of need clawing its way through your body like a caffeine-craving demon.

Only your message stares back at you, mocking, lingering, and gnawing at the edges of your sanity. It’s there, like a cruel joke, one that you can’t stop laughing at even though it’s slowly driving you insane.

you: stop teasing me kook

And then, nothing. Not a single reply. Left on read. Just like always.

Jungkook has this game down to a science, doesn't he? The art of push and pull—never fails to leave you dangling on the edge of your patience, teetering on the line between wanting to strangle him and wanting him to do the same to you. You’re on the verge of losing it, fingertips hovering over your phone, waiting for the next message that might never come. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like a power play, a twisted form of control that drives you crazy in ways you can’t even put into words.

Every time you’re about to meet up with him, just when you think you’re close, he disappears. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t care. Leaves you with nothing but your own burning desire and a game you never agreed to play. It makes you want to scream.

And it makes you want him more.

But despite the shrill, maddening thrill of his little game, there's one thing you're sure of—Jungkook wants it. Wants you. And that’s what makes him predictable. Comfortably so. It’s the only thread of stability in this whole mess. Because no matter how long he leaves you on read, no matter how quiet he goes, as soon as the clock strikes 10PM and your shift ends, like clockwork, your phone pings.

JK: when will u be here?

You smirk, your fingers moving fast.

you: 20 minutes

He waits. Not long. Just enough to keep the suspense alive. Just enough to remind you that he’s still in control.

JK: kk, see u baby

And that’s all it takes. You're spiraling again—but this time, you're sprinting into it willingly.

Jungkook smirks as he opens the door, like he’s been waiting his whole life just to make you roll your eyes. He leans against the frame with that infuriating ease, one hand—the tattooed one—tucked into the pocket of his grey sweats. His hair’s still damp, messy in that way that makes you suspicious he’s doing it on purpose. He smells like wood, citrus, and a hundred bad decisions. His black oversized shirt hangs just right on his frame, clinging to his shoulders, draping like it has no idea it's breaking rules just by existing.

And fuck him. Fuck him for looking that good.

“You’re late,” he drawls, head tilted, eyes dragging down your body like he has all the time in the world.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t you say I should be here until 11pm? It’s only like, half past ten.”

He shrugs, lips curling. “I did say that. But you always come earlier. I know you wanna see me as soon as you can.”

You scoff, pushing past him. “Jesus, Jungkook. Knock it off and let me in.”

He laughs behind you. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

You flop down onto his sofa like it’s your own personal throne. There are new pink pillows you don’t recognize. With a lazy smile, you say, “Cute pillows.”

“Thanks, baby. Eunji got them from IKEA the other day.”

You nod, lips curling. “Noted. I should tell Tae—these would totally match his softboy vibes.”

Jungkook drops down beside you, digging into his pocket like he’s searching for treasure. You already know what’s coming. Sure enough, a small greenish bud peeks out from a crumpled tissue.

“Didn’t know we were smoking tonight,” you murmur, eyeing him.

He shrugs, effortlessly picking the bud apart with skilled fingers. The way he moves is distracting. Methodical. Confident. Hot.

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the tightening in your core.

“When are we not smoking?” he says with a smirk, not looking up.

“True,” you mumble, sinking back into the soft fluff of Eunji’s precious IKEA pillows. Silly girl. She has no idea the kind of things they’re about to witness.

You glance up—and Jungkook is watching you. Of course he is. Eyes hooded, a smirk ghosting his lips, like he’s waiting. Like he’s daring you to say or do something.

Then, slowly—so slowly—his tongue drags across the rolling paper.

He knows what he’s doing. And he does it anyway. On purpose.

You watch, helpless, skin prickling, heat curling low in your stomach. It’s obscene the way he licks it—like it’s not even about the joint anymore, like it’s about you. About this.

And the worst part? You’re not strong enough to look away.

You’ve never been strong when it comes to Jeon Jungkook.

“What?” Jungkook asks, one brow raised as he brings the freshly rolled joint to his lips like it’s second nature.

“Nothing,” you mutter, eyes tracking the flame as it flickers, kissing the end of the joint. He inhales deep, the ember glowing bright red before he exhales slowly, like it’s an artform. Smoke curls out of his mouth in slow, lazy tendrils, and you’re already annoyed at how sexy he looks doing the bare minimum.

He grins — cocky, annoying, knowing — and pats the cushion beside him like he owns the place. Like he owns you. You don’t even hesitate. You shift closer, tucking your legs beneath you, pretending you don’t care that your thigh brushes his.

Jungkook takes another drag, then coughs lightly, voice raspy as he waves off the moment with a half-laugh. “Okay, don’t clown me. This shit’s stronger than I thought.” His eyes squint just slightly, like he’s studying you. “So… uh, how’re your friends? Lena and Bob, right?”

You stare at him flatly. “It’s Lara and Rob. Do you seriously not remember their names after all this time?”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s doing it on purpose. Just to get a rise out of you. “Close enough. They doing okay?”

You sigh. This is the worst part. The awkward five minutes of half-assed small talk before the inevitable. Before the high kicks in and his hands are on your skin. The two of you always dance around it — pretend like this isn’t transactional, like this isn’t just desire dressed up as casual banter.

“Lara just broke up with her boyfriend,” you say, grabbing the joint from him and taking a slow hit.

Jungkook leans back into the couch, one arm draped along the back of it, watching you. “Oh, the dude who studies Econ?”

You blink at him. “What? No. That was like… two years ago. This one studies Law.”

His mouth drops slightly. “Wait, hold up. Are you telling me we’ve been doing this for two years?”

You don’t say anything at first. Just pass the joint back and exhale a laugh, soft and a little bitter. “Yeah. Way before Taehyung and me.”

He tilts his head. “Shit. I forgot you even dated Kai.”

You chuckle. “Jungkook, we started hooking up way before Kai. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

He stares at you for a beat, the room quiet except for the faint buzz of the overhead light and the sound of the joint crackling in his hand.

“So,” he says slowly, lips quirking, “what I’m hearing is — you’ve basically cheated on everyone with me.”

There’s something infuriating about how pleased he looks with himself. You raise an eyebrow, snatch the joint from his fingers again and hold it between yours like a crown jewel.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you say, lips curling into a lazy smile. Smoke drifts out from between your lips. You don’t break eye contact.

His smirk deepens. “I do like it.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach twists anyway. Because God help you, so do you.

“So, what’s up with you?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the joint between two fingers, eyes flickering toward his. The smoke rolls from your lips like a sigh, curling into the space between you like a secret.

Jungkook shrugs, leaning back deeper into the couch, his arm brushing yours just barely. “Nothing much. Just chilling. Boxing and all that.”

You hum, eyebrows raising with mild amusement. “Wow. Riveting stuff.”

He shoots you a lazy grin. “You asked.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that you’re emotionally unavailable until at least two joints in.”

He laughs, soft and warm, and it does something to you that you don’t want to look too closely at. You pass the joint back to him and try not to stare at the veins on his hand or the ink decorating his fingers like poetry you were never meant to read.

For someone whose body you know so intimately—every line, every scar, every sound he makes when you kiss the right places—you know next to nothing about his life. And that’s part of the deal. Or maybe the whole deal.

Jungkook takes a drag and blows it out slowly. “What about you?” he asks. “How’s the glamorous life of overworked and underpaid?”

You snort. “The usual. College, work, crying in coffee-scented bathrooms.”

He chuckles again, eyes crinkling, and it hits you how rare it is to see him smile like that when you're not on top of him.

You glance down at your nails, picking at a chipped corner of polish. “Tae and I are going on a small trip next weekend.”

That gets his attention. “Yeah? Where to?”

“Dunno yet. Probably something basic. Mountains or a lake house. Just wanna get out of the city for a bit.”

Jungkook nods slowly, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Just lets silence settle between you again.

You don’t push him. You never do.

“This reminds me…” Jungkook says, plucking the joint from your fingers like he owns it—and in moments like these, he kind of does. He leans back, smoke curling around his face like it knows he’s trouble. “Eunji wants me to meet her mom next weekend.”

You scoff, tilting your head. “Damn, dude. How are you gonna survive that?”

He grins around the joint. “Bruh. I’m perfect meet-the-mother material.”

You snort. “Right. Because mothers love tattooed boxers who smell like weed and moral ambiguity.”

“Whatever,” he says, exhaling smoke like it offends him. “You’re such a hater.”

“Not a hater. Just realistic.”

He glances at you, amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. “You think I’m not charming enough?”

You deadpan, “I think you’re more lie-to-your-daughter’s-face material.”

He bursts out laughing, tipping his head back. “Shit, that’s fair.”

You smile, watching him. He’s still hot when he laughs. Annoying, infuriatingly hot.

“But yeah,” he adds, voice dropping a little, “that probably won’t be happening. I’ll have to lie my way out of that one.”

You give him a dry look. “Thank god you’re a good liar.”

He smirks, eyes flickering to yours. “You’d know.”

“God,” you say, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “can you imagine if Eunji actually found out?”

Jungkook exhales a puff of smoke, slow and smug. “She’d kill me. And probably come for you too.”

“She wouldn’t even get the chance. Tae would commit murder first.”

He hums, passing you the joint. “Tae’s scary when he’s mad.”

You take it, inhale deep. “He is indeed. Have you seen his stare? That’s not normal. That’s serial killer energy.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, and yet you still cozy up to him like he’s a weighted blanket.”

“You’re just jealous he takes me on cute brunch dates and actually remembers my birthday.”

“Wow,” he gasps dramatically. “Are you implying I’m not boyfriend material?”

You look him up and down, slow and deliberate. “I’m saying you’re situationship in denial material.”

He bites his lip to hide his grin. “That’s rich coming from you. Miss I’m loyal to my boyfriend except for every time I text you at 2 a.m.”

You groan. “Don’t act like you don’t eat it up.”

“Oh, I do,” he smirks, shifting closer, “especially when you come over all pouty, pretending this isn’t your favorite part of the week.”

You narrow your eyes. “You talk too much.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, flicking ash into the tray.

He leans in, voice soft and cocky, “Bet Tae doesn’t make you squirm with just words.”

You look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Bet Eunji doesn’t know you like being choked a little.”

He raises a brow, but doesn’t deny it. “Touché.”

“And for the record,” you whisper, fingers brushing his thigh, “you’re not boyfriend material. You’re just my favorite craving.”

He grins, low and dangerous. “That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“You know,” Jungkook starts, tapping the ash off the joint, “sometimes I think Eunji likes the idea of me more than she likes me.”

You snort. “Well, you do post thirst traps and quote Nietzsche in your captions. Anyone would fall for the illusion.”

He gasps, mock-offended. “Are you saying I’m a fraud?”

“I’m saying you’re a curated experience.”

“Damn,” he laughs, nudging your thigh with his knee. “And yet here you are, front row, backstage pass, meet and greet.”

You shoot him a look, amused. “I never said I wasn’t a fan.”

He smirks. “You’re more than a fan. You’re the president of the Jungkook is a Bad Idea But God He’s Good in Bed club.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, even though your grin is impossible to hide. “I’m vice president, at best.”

“Oh really? Who’s president then?”

You take a long drag, pretending to think. “My vibrator. That one never leaves me on read.”

He laughs so hard he coughs, waving smoke out of his face. “Okay, okay.”

You lean in, eyes gleaming. “Bet Eunji doesn’t make you laugh like this.”

He quiets, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “She doesn’t make me laugh like this. Or moan like you do.”

You blink, caught off guard. “That was dangerously close to being sweet.”

“Don’t worry,” he teases, eyes dragging down your body, “I’ll say something trashy in two seconds.”

You chuckle. “You always do.”

“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.”

“Maybe you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, watching you, “but you like me better that way, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is loud enough. And Jungkook hears every part of it.

He shifts closer. The joint is forgotten now, burning down between his fingers. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long, like he’s deciding if it’s worth it. Like kissing you is both a gamble and a given.

“You didn’t answer,” he says, voice lower, teasing, but almost careful.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Me being emotionally constipated. You liking me better that way.”

You smirk, but there’s a beat of honesty in your next words. “I don’t like you better that way. I just… like you.”

His gaze flickers—like the words hit somewhere deeper than you meant them to. And for a second, neither of you says anything. The tension isn’t new, but this feels… heavier. Messier.

“You’re dangerous when you say shit like that,” he murmurs.

You smile. “And you’re dangerous when you don’t.”

He drops the joint into the ashtray and leans in like gravity's pulling him toward you. His nose brushes yours. His breath smells like weed and cinnamon gum and something distinctly him.

“Last chance to stop me,” he says, voice so low it vibrates in your chest.

You blink slowly. “Last chance to kiss me before I change my mind.”

He chuckles—just a breath—and then closes the distance. His lips press to yours, soft but certain. There’s no hesitation this time. No teasing. Just warmth and the kind of familiarity that should scare you but doesn’t.

You kiss him back, one hand curling into the front of his shirt, the other finding his jaw. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, sighs into your mouth like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

And maybe he has.

When you pull back, slightly breathless, his eyes are still on yours. “So…” he whispers, “was that emotionally constipated, or…?”

You grin. “Still very much constipated. But in, like, a hot way.”

He groans. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you say, tugging him back down, “you’re still kissing me.”

And he is. Again and again.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s messier. His hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in like he can’t stand the space between you, like it’s a personal offense. Your mouths crash together, lips sliding, breath hitching. It’s not soft anymore—it’s hungry. The kind of kiss that bruises, that says everything neither of you will ever admit out loud.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, still damp, pulling just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. He kisses like he fights—like he needs to win, like he needs to ruin you a little just to feel okay again. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you open for him without thinking, without hesitating.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, “you taste so good.”

You don’t even respond—you’re too busy climbing into his lap, straddling him like it’s muscle memory. His hands find your hips, gripping hard. Like he’s grounding himself. Like he needs the pressure of your body against his or he’ll fall apart completely.

Your lips are swollen already, your breathing ragged, but neither of you stops. Teeth clash a little, tongues fighting, his hand sliding up under your shirt to find skin. It’s clumsy, intense, addictive. You break the kiss just to catch your breath, only to dive back in like you’re starving for him. Like you’ll die if he’s not kissing you.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, lips trailing down to your jaw, your throat. “What are we even doing?”

You pant against his skin, fingers clawing at his shirt. “Being so bad.”

He laughs, breathless, mouth still on your neck. “The best kind.”

And then he kisses you again—hard, deep, messy like a confession neither of you dares to say out loud.

He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. Like it’s not just a kiss—it’s survival.

Your mouths crash again, sloppy and desperate. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your teeth bump and your lips burn, the kind that leaves your head spinning. Jungkook’s hand is cradling your jaw now, thumb brushing your cheek as if that could balance out the chaos happening between your mouths. Spoiler: it can’t.

Your hands are roaming—up his chest, into his hair, pulling him closer when he’s already close enough to melt into. He shifts under you, groaning low in his throat when your hips accidentally roll forward. His fingers dig into your thighs like he’s trying not to lose it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and shiny, jaw clenched like he's trying to get a grip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, yanking him back in.

This time, the kiss is slower—but not softer. It’s a drag of tongues, a teasing nip to his bottom lip, a moan you try to swallow when he licks into your mouth just right. Your nails scrape his neck and he shudders, pulling you tighter against him. Your chest presses flush with his and neither of you can tell where one ends and the other begins.

You don’t know how long it goes on. Minutes? Hours? A lifetime? You’re half in his lap, legs tangled, hair a mess, and breath coming in short, needy gasps. And yet he’s still kissing you like he doesn’t care about oxygen. Like nothing else matters.

And maybe right now, in this twisted little moment where everything is all heat and tongue and hands that won’t stop wandering—you believe him.

He kisses you between sentences—like the conversation is an afterthought, like talking about other people while kissing you is normal. Maybe for you two, it is.

"Does Eunji ever kiss you like this?" you mumble against his lips, barely giving him space to breathe.

He lets out a breathless laugh, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he tugs it. "No. She kisses like she's saying goodbye all the time."

You pause at that, then kiss him again—harder. His hands settle on your waist, dragging you closer.

"And Taehyung?" he whispers into your mouth. "He still hold your hand when you sleep?"

"Sometimes," you pant, mouth brushing the corner of his. "Only when he's not too tired."

Jungkook hums against your skin, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then your neck. "Do you miss it?"

You tilt your head, let him kiss down to your collarbone. "No," you whisper honestly, then pull him back up by the chin to kiss him again. It’s messier now. Hungrier. Your lips glide against each other like you’re both trying to erase the names you just said.

"She makes me breakfast, you know," he murmurs between kisses, "Packs fruit in little containers like a mom."

You lick into his mouth, teeth grazing his tongue just slightly. “You ever think about her when we do this?”

“Only when you’re being mean,” he teases, nipping at your lip. “You?”

"Only when I feel guilty," you admit, then kiss him deeper—because guilt can wait.

His hands are tracing foreign paths under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours, like he’s punishing you for every moment you spend talking about anyone that isn’t him.

"Fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead to yours, lips still brushing yours with every word. “We’re the worst.”

You kiss him again. “I know.”

But neither of you stop.

taglist part 1: @mochi13 @wobblewobble822 @jkvamp @sunnikthv @kimyishin @asyr97 @pjmname @shesscorpio7 @daarla07 @jeontids @bellefaerie @kissyfacekoo @lily-lilacsky @bammbi-jeon127 @httpjeonlicious @belleilichil @minghaosimp @marrtyaa @septemberskies @yok00k @ioanatodorova @rokshi @b2407 @boommoom @kookienooki @avawants2havefun @bhonbhon @taekritimin123 @oraiseok @thenamesathy @superchamchi88 @lenamercedesworld @candygalx @notsevenwithyou @heesuvk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonsinsatiablekitten @saki-gojo @piratekingateez2001 @0-0rot @bangatanily @justbelljust @plusultra0 @softhaes @bangtanily @justbelljust @gguk-lvr @gukkie7 @beomluvrr @iamworldwidehandsome

[dizzydaisychains]

ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔬

⋆｡°✩ pairing: sylus x reader

⋆｡°✩ word count: 10k

⋆｡°✩ summary: because sometimes, love grows quietly; thorns and all (or alternatively: eight times sylus falls in love, and one time he actually says it out loud.

⋆｡°✩ ao3 link (if you would like to read it on there instead): https://archiveofourown.org/works/64993741

I.

It starts on a Tuesday. 

And really, Sylus should have seen it coming from a mile away, should have taken note of the flashing neon signs that his brain had been setting up for him ever since he found you again, but like most trivial things, he’s chosen to ignore it for the time being. Ignorance is bliss after all, but now, in this current situation, he’s beginning to wonder if it’s too late to run. 

Because it’s 2am on a Tuesday night, and instead of cleaning up a job gone wrong or dusting his vinyl collection for the nth time, he’s lying in the grass in a field outside Linkon city, your head on his chest as both of you stare up at the glittering constellations spread over the night sky. 

And no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on Cassiopeia or Orion, all he can think about is all the ways he can get you to stay here a little longer. 

It’s like the first sign of sunshine after a particularly long winter, or the feeling of falling into bed after a long day. Being with you has made all those years of solitude worth it, has given his life purpose when he had slowly been sinking into eternal ennui, yet, for some reason, he can’t find the words to tell you this. Words usually come easy to him. Striking a deal, manipulating a soul; he’s mastered the art of conversation in every shape and form, but when it comes to you, he finds that most of his words aren’t enough.

On top of that, there’s also the fact that your current relationship is delicate. His abysmal attempts of getting you to remember him had only ended up earning him your resentment. Since then, he has vowed to never let that happen again, but this slow pace is burning him alive. Are you two even dating? Everything is vague, yet nothing feels as clear as this; him holding you in his arms as you both pick apart the stars, trying to make sense of why they burn and how long it would take to reach one.

“Sylus?”

Your voice lulls Sylus out of his thoughts, his eyes landing on your soft gaze. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Sylus shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

He tries to ignore the look you give him as you reach out and trace the crinkle between the bridge of his nose and his forehead. 

“Liar. I can see your frown lines. You’re worried about something.”

Sylus scoffs. “I never worry, Kitten. I’m too powerful for that.” 

“Oh really? Then what about that time you thought you scratched your favourite vinyl? Or the time I nearly shrunk your sweater in the dryer?”

“Do you often keep note of my habits like this?” He smiles as he notices a faint blush appear on your cheeks.

“Force of habit. I’m a Hunter. I need to keep a close eye on Linkon’s most wanted.”

“Ah, so you still see me as someone dangerous . I see how it is…”

“You know that’s not true.” 

Sylus huffs as you shift your position to face him properly. He can’t help but love how his hands naturally gravitate towards your waist, gently steadying you as you look down at him with a pout on your lips.

“Do you really still believe I think of you like that?” 

Sylus holds his breath as you hold his face in your hands. Warm. Your hands are always so warm. Sylus craves it. Craves your touch, craves your soft fingertips on his skin as he looks at you wondering if you can tell that he wants nothing more than to kiss you until he runs out of breath. 

“Then what do you think of me?” Sylus asks, voice low. 

“You are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you,” you sing with a soft smile.

Sylus smirks. “So you went with the words of E.E Cummings. When did you start learning to recite poetry like that?”

“Since you started reading it to me at night when you think I’m asleep.”

“Well aren’t you always full of surprises?”

Sylus smiles as one of your hands moves to his hair, twirling the loose strands between your fingers. It’s all so intimate . He doesn’t know how much longer he can restrain himself, your sweet scent is driving him insane. Would it be so bad to kiss you? To admit that maybe…the feeling is real? Would fate be so cruel as to punish him for confessing to what it has cursed him to do until the end of time? 

But perhaps, it isn’t up to him at all, because it’s you who leans in and kisses him, once, then twice, and then he loses count, his grip on your hips tightening as you hold his face, guiding him as he chases the burning feeling in his stomach.

And he desperately tries to ignore it, the thorns curling around his chest. You know where this ends, his conscience hisses at him. You’ll lose her again if you keep giving in to your desires. The weight of the dragon’s curse will haunt you until your last breath–

“Sylus …”  Your desperate voice breaks through the darkness. 

“Sylus..I…I…”

“It’s okay,” Sylus pants in between kissing you. “It’s okay Kitten, you don’t have to say anything.”

“But–”

He deepens the kiss and you moan, your hips grinding against him. It’s too much. Sylus knows he has to stop. Christ, he doesn’t want to though. You feel amazing in his lap, his hands gliding up your soft thighs. 

“Kitten…” He pulls away and looks at your swollen lips, the desire in your eyes. 

“Why’d you stop?” you whine, grinding in his lap, which makes him laugh a little. The darkness in his heart subsides briefly. 

“Now isn’t the time and place.”

“Why do you always have to be right,” you sigh in response, leaning against his chest as you both catch your breath under the stars. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, trying his best to keep it together. 

Perhaps it is too late to run. 

Sylus shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to shut out the voices in his head.

There’s no denying it;

He’s falling in love.

And so, it starts on a Tuesday, but really, deep down, Sylus knows it started long before that. 

II.

Admitting that he’s in love is one thing, but accepting it is another predicament that Sylus has been unsuccessfully avoiding over the past week. 

He sighs deeply as he stares out the window of his office, his hand stroking Mephisto’s sleek feathers a few times before heading towards his desk where a pile of paperwork sits waiting to be read through and signed. One of the top ten ‘perks’ of being the leader of a powerful mafia gang; fucking paperwork. 

Taking a seat, he runs a hand through his hair and begins to scan through the documents. It’s a tedious task. It takes him about two hours to even make it halfway through the pile. 

He’s beginning to feel the start of migraine forming in the back of his head when suddenly, the door bursts open and the twins come tumbling in.

“What have I said about knocking before entering?” 

“Sorry, Boss! But it’s urgent,” Kieran waves a phone in his face, Sylus’ own phone to be exact. He must have left it in the dining room after breakfast this morning.

“Whoever it is, tell them I’m occupied,” Sylus scoffs, turning his attention back to the document in front of him. 

“Err���Boss…I think you might want to look at this.” It’s Luke this time, the bolder one of the two. Sylus flicks his gaze upwards, curious to see what exactly is so urgent. 

“It’s…well it’s her. She’s in a bit of trouble. Seems like she’s been kidnapped. They said they won’t harm her if we let them talk to you.”

The twins must feel the chill in the air as the temperature immediately drops. They shiver as Sylus slowly stands up, one hand taking the phone from Luke, the other slowly curling into a fist as his Evol begins to swirl around the room. 

“You have ten seconds to give me your location,” Sylus says into the phone, voice deadly calm, but it’s a voice that the twins know all too well. Luke elbows Kieran before mining a blade sliding across his throat. Whoever is on the other end of the phone might as well start planning their funeral.

“We’re not giving you anything until you agree to our terms,” the voice on the other end of the phone hisses. “We heard your little Hunter here has an Aether Core in her possession. However, she won’t cooperate. We’re not exactly sure where she’s hiding it though, and she’s been quite difficult to extract information from–”

“If you fucking lay a finger on her, you’ll be sorry you were ever even born,” Sylus growls, to which the voice on the other side of the phone laughs in response to.

“Convince her to give us the Aether Core. If you can do that, we’ll let her walk free.”

“Are you asking me to make a deal with you?”

“I heard you love making deals. Tell you what, we’ll throw in an extra batch of enhanced protocores, just because I’m feeling generous.”

“And your location?”

“The abandoned warehouse downtown. You know the N109 Zone well enough to figure out which one.”

Sylus takes a deep breath. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. If I see a single mark on her when I get there,” he pauses, fingers tracing over the gun on his desk. 

“Well, it’s already a bit too late for you anyway. You’ll find out soon enough what exactly it means to strike a deal with me.”

He hangs up the phone and looks at Luke and Kieran, his scarlet eyes blazing, but his demeanour as calm as ever. 

“Gather whatever weapons you’ll need and meet me outside in five minutes. Looks like the paperwork will have to wait.”

They salute him. “Yes, sir!” 

Sylus smirks. Good thing he was feeling bored anyway. 

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

It only takes him seven minutes to track down the warehouse, and it takes him even less time to annihilate the ‘security’ that the kidnappers had set up to delay him. By the time he makes it to where they’re holding you hostage, most of the vermin have either fled or have met an untimely end. 

Only half a dozen remain, and they surround you and a tall man in a trench coat like magpies protecting a sacred treasure. Sylus looks at you, tied to a chair, a bored expression on your face. 

Noticing his arrival, you give him a cheerful wave despite an ugly bruise on your cheek. The sight of it makes Sylus want to burn the warehouse to the ground. 

“Took you long enough!” you yell at him, causing one of the thugs to jab at you with the muzzle of a gun.

“Traffic was bad,” Sylus replies, which only makes you smile at him. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this all right. 

Sylus takes a step forward as the gang raise their guns, all six of them aiming at you in the chair.

“Don’t move or we’ll shoot her!”

Sylus rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

“I come in peace,” he says dryly, a lazy smirk on his face. The thug in the trench coat (who Sylus has already clocked as the asshole leader he had spoken previously with on the phone) walks towards him, clapping his hands like an idiot. 

“Well done! You managed to take out my security. But sadly, we need to shake on our deal before I hand over little Miss Hunter.” He walks towards Sylus, his arm outstretched to reveal a grubby looking hand.

Sylus lowers his arms and lets the man come to him. “Ah, I see. Yes, we made a deal, but it seems you haven’t kept your end of the bargain up. She seems to have a number of marks on her face.” 

“She needed to be disciplined.”

“Do you enjoy picking on your enemies when they’re at their weakest? Binding her hands and her feet while you beat her. Is that really fair?” Sylus tilts his head to the side in mock curiosity.

“She kicked my shin and spat on me. Tying her up was one of my nicer punishments.”

“That’s my feisty little Kitten for you. Rile her up like that and she’ll scratch you.”

Sylus watches as the man comes to a halt in front of him. A pale, sinewy looking man up close. He tuts in disappointment. At least dress like a leader before you start acting like one, he thinks to himself. 

The man motions for Sylus to shake his hand, except, before Sylus can even react, the man whips out a pistol and shoots him in the chest.

“Ouch,” Sylus deadpans, watching as the man’s expression changes from arrogantly confident to extremely concerned. It’s a look that Sylus is used to seeing, and honestly, he should be tired of it by now, but deep down; this is his favourite part of the game.

“H-How…” the man stammers, but it’s already too late, and Sylus can’t stop his smile from spreading as he knocks the pistol out of the man’s hand, his Evol snaking around the man’s body, curling around his arms, his legs, until suddenly it engulfs him fully, squeezing, choking….the man doesn’t even realise it’s too late until poof! He’s gone. 

Sylus turns his attention to the remaining thugs. One look from him and they drop their guns before scattering like rats in a sewer. 

“Luke, Kieran,” Sylus says as the twins seemingly materialise by his side.  “Clean up the rest of this mess. Make sure none of them leave here alive.”

“Yes, Boss!” The twins scamper off, giggling like kids in a playground. 

Sylus makes his way over to you and crouches down, his hands moving swiftly to untie you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

“What? No smart comments about how the hell did I manage to get kidnapped?” you mumble, feeling embarrassed that he had to save you. 

“I figured your pride was already hurt enough.”

You sigh in annoyance as Sylus finishes freeing your feet and hands. “They managed to inject me with a tranquilizer. Bastards. I would have been able to take them if they hadn't of caught me off guard.”

“Not like you to be caught off guard like that.”

“I was buying ice cream after a long shift.”

Sylus laughs, reaching out to cup your cheek with his palm. You wince a little as his fingers graze your bruise. 

“Does it hurt, Kitten?” His eyebrows furrow in concern. 

You shrug. “Just a little. Nothing an ice pack can’t heal.”

He scans the rest of your body, searching for more injuries, but you reach up and surprise him with a hug, pulling him tightly into your arms.

“Thanks for coming for me. For a second I thought you wouldn’t pick up your phone. You usually sleep during the day.”

Sylus shuts his eyes as he lifts you into his arms, the knot of worry untying in his chest now that you’re safe.

“I had some paperwork to get through. Had to wake up early to sign a few things.”

You laugh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck . “The leader of Onychinus doing paperwork? Surely you have an admin person that can do all that for you.”

“Too many secrets in the paperwork. Can’t trust anyone.”

“How about me? I can help you.”

Sylus pinches your side.

“Hey! That tickles.”

“Hilarious how you think I’d let a Hunter pry into Onychinus’ affairs.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I already know where your base is. If I didn’t like hanging out with you so much I would have turned you in by now.” 

You let out a small yawn as Sylus’ head spins, your words making him feel like a fireworks display has suddenly erupted in his heart.  

“Can you take me to your place on your motorcycle? I’m too tired to call a taxi back to my apartment after today's events.”

Sylus gets to his feet, still carrying you in his arms as you rest your head against his chest.

“Depends. Are you going to make me watch another bad comedy film to try and make me stay awake during the day again?”

You punch his chest lightly. 

“You pick a movie then. But it can’t be one of the black and white silent films you like to watch. Are you sure you’re not ninety years old?”

Sylus doesn’t say anything to that. Just pinches you again, but he can’t seem to take the stupid grin off his face. 

A small glimmer of hope shines through the walls of the castle he has built around himself. Perhaps loving you in this life doesn’t have to end in tragedy. Perhaps fate might grant the two of you mercy if he can protect you properly this time.

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

And as it turns out, there is a way to make paperwork slightly more interesting. He discovers this later that evening, and it involves bending you over his mahogany desk, his hands on your hips, your body spread over the documents as you beg him to fuck you faster.

“Sylus, ” you moan, turning your face to look at him as he holds your wrists in his hands, firmly keeping them behind your back. “Feels so good…I…I don’t know if I can stand much longer.”

He curses as he notices your trembling thighs. Fuck, it makes him feel so fucking hard seeing you like this. But you’re right. You’ve been through a lot today, so he should take it slow and steady with you.

With all the gentleness of the first snowfall of winter, he picks you up and carefully places you on the table, spreading your legs as your back lays against the paperwork. You whine as you feel his cock slip out of you, hating the feeling of being without him for even a second. 

Sylus soothes you with a soft kiss before he puts himself inside of you once more, giving you a few seconds to adjust before he starts thrusting again. 

“Sylus, please. I need you to fuck me like you mean it. I need to feel you in me,” you beg, eyes filled with nothing but lust as you stare at him from behind long lashes.

And who is he to refuse? He fucks you until you scream his name, fucks you until you both come, your arms spread over the paperwork as if you were an angel with wings made of pure divinity. 

III.

“Sylus, look!”

Sylus stares at the matching pair of couple’s pyjamas in your hands. Baby pink and baby blue. The pyjamas also have matching baby chicks printed all over them. They seem to stare menacingly at him with their little cartoon eyes as he examines their ugly faces. 

“We have to buy them!” 

Sylus grimaces as you wave them in his face. He supposes this what he gets for agreeing to shopping with you. 

“They’re not exactly my taste.”

He watches with amusement as you give him your best puppy eyes. 

“But you’d look so cute in them.” You continue to wave them around, as if you’re trying to hypnotize him into liking them. 

“Not a chance.” Sylus walks off, trying to hide his laughter as you continue to pout behind his back. 

“You’re so boring,” you grumble as you put the pyjamas back on the rack, trailing after Sylus through the department store. 

“Oh wow!” 

Sylus watches as you walk excitedly towards a pair of earrings on display in the jewellery section. A simple pair of studs in the shape of little dragons. Their wings have small rubies encrusted in them. 

“Something else caught your eye?” Sylus sidles up next to you, examining the earrings through the glass. 

“Uh…it’s a bit out of my budget,” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers awkwardly. 

“Such a shame,” Sylus laments, folding his arms. “They would suit you.”

You reach up and pinch his cheek. “No need to rub salt in the wound.” 

You walk off, leaving Sylus alone with the earrings glistening up at him. He waits until you’re a few metres away before calling over the store clerk. 

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I’ll take these.” Sylus gestures towards the earrings. “Can you gift wrap them for me?”

“Of course. Just to let you know, these are part of a couple’s set.” She motions towards a necklace with the charm of a dragon’s wing on it. 

Sylus isn’t even surprised. Fate loves tormenting him after all. Always dropping little reminders of his curse. The earrings were one thing, but a matching necklace… he should have known.

But despite it all, he eyes the piece with interest, tapping his chin in thought as the rubies shine up at him. 

“I think your partner would love you to wear it,” the store clerk says, eyes shining. “I know my job is to upsell…but between you and me, the girl who was with you earlier…she looks at you as if you’re the most important person in the world.”

Sylus nearly chokes. He hadn’t really noticed that before. 

“I’ll take the set.”

He supposes this could be a way of saying fuck you! to fate for once. 

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

He gives the earrings to you later that evening, playing it casual as he hands you the box before sitting in his armchair and pulling out a book of sonnets, his eyes peeking over the top of the pages as he secretly tries to gauge your reaction.

“Sylus! You shouldn’t have bought them! They cost a fortune!” You thank him with a kiss that’s sweeter than the spring flowers that grow in the valley of a mountain range.

Sylus shrugs as he watches you run off to admire the jewellery in the mirror above the fireplace. 

“Money isn’t an issue,” he says, nonchalant. 

“I know that, but still! You don’t have to buy me things.”

He gets to his feet and takes the earrings from your hands.

“Allow me.”

He carefully inserts the earrings into your earlobes, loving how they compliment you so well. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes, tilting your chin up.

“Thank you.”

“I was talking about the earrings, not you.”

“Sylus!”

His laughter is loud enough to fill the entire Onychinus base.

Little does Sylus know that you spot the matching necklace peeking out from under his shirt later that night, but you don’t mention it, afraid that he’ll take it off in embarrassment.

Sometimes some secrets are best kept hidden.

IV.

“Mister Sylus?”

Sylus sighs as he twirls a handful of linguine around his fork. 

He is not having a good week. 

The whole love situation has been driving him a little insane recently. After facing the obvious and admitting to himself that, okay, maybe he is falling in love with you again (not that he had ever really stopped being in love with you), he had finally made peace with the whole situation. 

Until of course, the nightmares started, and now he’s lost count of all the ways he’s watched you die in front of him.

Dreams are just dreams , he knows this. But that doesn’t make them less terrifying. He’s the head of Onychinus for Christ’s sake. It’s a known fact that nothing really scares him. But losing you again…no. He’s not letting it happen. And after the kidnapping incident, he’s made sure that something like that won’t ever happen again. He has Mephisto giving him daily updates, making sure that no one suspicious has been tailing you. 

But the darkness still resides in his heart. So instead of letting it get the better of him, he’s been trying to stay awake. In total, he’s probably been getting four hours of sleep every night for the past few days.

And of course, to top it all off, he’s been cleaning up Onychinus related messes all week (none of which were his fault, but all of them required his assistance, apparently). Between dealing with a missing batch of protocores and a shoot-out with a group of idiots that couldn’t hit him no matter bullets they fired, Sylus is on the verge of losing his mind as he sits across another useless mole that Luke and Kieran found for him, and now he has to deal with it on very little sleep. 

“Your lies, they’re boring me,” Sylus says eventually, eyes still on his pasta. “My time is precious, and you’re wasting it.”

His gaze moves slowly to the man opposite him. A sheen of sweat has broken across his forehead. It makes Sylus smirk, the effect he can have on people. 

“I promise Mister Sylus, I would never lie to you. My loyalty to Onychinus is–”

“Unwavering? Infinite? Please, I’ve heard it all before.” Sylus curls his hand into a fist, the familiar feeling of power coursing through his veins as his Evol snakes around his wrist, slowly seeping into his fingertips. 

“Mister Sylus…” the man watches him with bulging eyes. “I-I swear–”

“Swear on your life? Don’t worry. You won’t have to make false promises anymore.”

And really, he’s about to have the most fun he’s had all week, because there’s nothing more satisfying than the feeling of having his energy consume another weak soul. His fingers twitch as his Evol creeps towards the mole’s throat. Three…two…one…

“Wanderer!”

They have got to be fucking joking.

Sylus curses as a Wanderer suddenly crashes through the window of the restaurant, forcing him to take cover as glass shatters all around him. Familiar screams of terror fill the air as the Wanderer begins to destroy everything within a two metre radius, and the mole, God damn it, the mole has somehow managed to slip away in all the chaos. As if his day couldn’t get any worse. 

He thinks he might just call it a day and let someone else deal with this mess. He’s already cleaned up about three incidents today anyway. He sighs as he stands up and dusts off his jacket, tutting as he notices a sizeable stain on his shirt. He’ll have to get Luke and Kieran to send it off for dry cleaning later. 

He glances outside at the chaos on the streets. About six Wanderers are crashing through the square, the protofield already beginning to form. Sirens wail in the near distance and soon enough the Hunters flood the streets, right on cue. It’s enough to give him a very inconvenient headache. He’s about to use his Evol to disappear when he hears something that makes him freeze. 

“Everybody, please remain calm!” 

A stern voice that can be heard above all the chaos. A voice that Sylus would recognise in every universe, in every lifetime. You. 

“Please evacuate the area as quickly as possible! The Unicorns will take it from here!”

And all of a sudden, Sylus is on the street pushing roughly through the crowd, heading towards you, his Evol pulsing in his veins as the familiar sense of power builds in his bones.

“Take cover!”

He barely has time to dodge as a car flies over his head, barely has time to register that the car is flying straight towards you, your back turned as you shield a child in your arms. 

He’s seen this before. So many times. The nightmares always end the same. But this isn’t one of his nightmares.

This is real. 

"Run!” Someone screams, and Sylus watches in slow motion as you turn around too late, your eyes widening as you see the car hurtling towards you at a hundred miles an hour, ready to land right where you stand. 

Shrill screams, a blur of red and black, and suddenly the car freezes, as if caught by an invisible force, only it isn’t quite that. Wisps of scarlet smoke wrap around the car, crushing it until it dissipates into dust, and in front of it all, shielding you and the child, is Sylus. 

“Are you alright?” Sylus pants, slightly out of breath as he turns around and scans your body for any injuries.

Too stunned to speak, you stare at him in awe as the child clings onto your leg. 

“How…where…” you stammer. He pulls you into a brief hug before he takes your face into his hands and gives you a stern look. 

“What exactly are we looking at here?”

“High metaflux fluctuations in this area. There’s about twelve Wanderers, and the protofield is forming quickly. We need to evacuate the citizens and eliminate the Wanderers as fast as we can before they spread the protofield further over Linkon,” you say, scanning through the slides on your Hunter’s watch.

Sylus nods. “You guide the child to safety. I’ll start with the Wanderer that nearly took you out with a car.” He points at the fountain in the centre of the square. 

“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. You can help me finish the rest of them off.”

You give him a look as you lift the child into your arms. “I only need five.”

“That’s my girl,” Sylus says, watching as you sprint away, his heart warm.

With you by his side, perhaps today won’t be a bad day after all.

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Two hours later, three close encounters, one scratched forehead and one broken fountain, Sylus finds himself sitting beside you on a piece of rubble, a cap and a pair of sunglasses hiding his face as you frantically look around, triple checking that no one is giving Sylus any strange looks. 

“We just killed a dozen Wanderers, Sweetie. I doubt anyone is worrying about the N109 Zone’s crime lord gracing them with a surprise appearance.” He hands you a mango ice pop. 

“A reward for your performance today.”

Satisfied that Sylus is unrecognisable to the public eye, you take a bow as you accept the ice pop before taking a seat beside Sylus in the rubble. 

“Always a pleasure fighting alongside a crime lord.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve gotten stronger. Our training is paying off.” Sylus can’t help but feel proud of your strength. 

“You need to work on your defence though.” His fingers reach out to gently touch the graze on your forehead. 

You shake him off. “I can handle an injury or two.”

“I know you can,” Sylus sighs, looking at the determination in your eyes. “But sometimes you run recklessly into things. It’s important to think before throwing your punches.”

“Well, I know you’ll always have my back to pull me out of trouble anyway,” you say with a shrug before sneaking a bite of his ice pop. 

Sylus opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by your Hunter’s watch buzzing. 

You get to your feet and give him a mock salute. “Duty calls, I guess. Maybe I’ll see you later? How about a movie night in my apartment?”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “And if I say I already have plans?”

“Cancel them.” You lean down and give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Sylus can only smile as he watches you run off. You blow him goodbye kisses as a group of Hunters throw their arms around your shoulders, congratulating you on another successful mission.

V.

Flowers can’t grow in the N109 Zone, unless of course, you know the right people, or unless you’re the leader of Onychinus, which Sylus just so happens to be, thus, this is how he finds himself in a little corner shop tucked away from the the busy streets of the N109 Zone’s main square. A miracle really, how it has managed to survive in such a desolate place, but the owner has a special kind of Evol that can make flowers bloom even in darkness.  

“So how can I help you today, Mister Sylus?”

A young girl with a green apron and a gentle demeanor blinks up at him with curious eyes. He supposes it’s not everyday that someone like him would be in a shop like this. 

“I need to buy flowers for a friend,” he says, looking around at the bouquets sprawling out from the shelves around him. It feels as if the flowers are responding to his presence, the pretty ones shaking their petals, trying to get him to reach out and touch them so they can have a peek into his desires. 

“And the occasion?” The girl tilts her head to the side, but she’s looking at him as if she’s already figured out the answer. It’s a little unnerving. He wonders if this is how his enemies often feel when he’s picking them apart with the Aether Core in his eye. 

“No occasion,” Sylus hums, turning his attention to a sunflower that has begun to poke him with its leaves. “Do all your flowers greet your customers like this?”

The girl laughs. “The flowers have a mind of their own. I only use my Evol to encourage them. You can’t tame what’s natural, you know.”

“And what are your flowers telling you now?” Sylus reaches out to touch the leaves that are reaching for him. 

The girl folds her arms. “That you’re not buying flowers for a friend.” 

“Perhaps not,” Sylus sighs, feeling the familiar sensation of invisible thorns pressing into his chest. “How do you tell someone they mean the world to you? That you’d search for them in every lifetime? In every dimension…you would choose them over something as precious as life?”

“Zinnia.”

Sylus watches as the girl waves her fingers and summons a small bunch of magenta coloured flowers. “Representing everlasting affection and endurance due to their willingness to grow. They’re tough little guys to grow too. They need a lot of encouragement.”

Sylus smiles, thinking back to a memory of you standing over the little plant you left on his window sill in his bedroom, one hand on a small water can, the other tapping the leaves of the plant with soft affection.

“Make sure you grow big and strong so Sylus won’t have to feel lonely anymore, okay?” 

Sylus watches you from the doorframe, your back facing him, completely unaware that he’s even there. 

“He doesn’t say it in front of me because he thinks it makes him look weak, but I know it upsets him that nothing can grow in the N109 Zone.” He watches as you bend down and kiss the petals of the plant.

“So prove him wrong and make sure you grow big and strong. Make him smile when I’m not here.”

“Mister Sylus?” 

The girl’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Sylus nods. 

“Two months ago, I received a letter from an unknown sender who invited me to open a flower shop at this exact location in the N109 Zone. The letter stated that it would cost me nothing, that my exceptional Evol was enough payment for whatever the cost of the shop would be.”

She looks at him then, really looks at him. He supposes he should have seen this coming. Secrets are one of the top selling items in the N109 Zone. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s a big risk accepting an invitation to the N109 Zone from a stranger?” Sylus asks.

“I suppose I left out a crucial part of the story.” The girl motions to a letter that hangs on a corkboard over the counter by the cash register. “The letter had the stamp of Onychinus on the bottom of it.”

“Yet you still came and opened your little shop.”

“I know you sent that letter yourself. I know you asked me to come here and open a flower shop in a place where flowers can’t even grow. I just couldn’t figure out why. There’s rumours about you, you know. That you can kill a person with just a flick of your wrist. That you have horns and a tail that only come out when someone is about to die.”

“Are you upset that the rumours were false? Or are you perhaps scared that I’m here today to prove that they might be true?”

“A man that requests someone to open a flower shop in Hell…he doesn’t kill for sport. No, you’re not what people think you are.”

Sylus laughs as he throws up his hands in mock surrender. “Do you interrogate all your customers like this?”

“You’re exactly how I thought you’d be. Arrogant, sarcastic, yet you’re here because there’s one thing you can’t figure out, and you think flowers might be able to do the job for you.” 

The girl gives him a smirk. “You’re in love, Mister Sylus. You’re so in love that you tracked down an Evolver that can make flowers bloom anywhere so you could send flowers to your beloved.”

Sylus sighs, tired of the game now that the exciting part is over. “So you’ve caught me. However, I haven’t had the chance to buy any flowers for her yet.”

“Too busy closing deals and blowing up buildings?”

“Something like that.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “You know the best way to tell someone you love them is actually telling them.”

“And if words aren’t enough?” Sylus sweeps his hand through the air, motioning towards the flowers. 

“I suppose roses would also work. Classic eternal love. Or Chrysanthemums. Faithfulness and longevity.”

“And what about those flowers?” Sylus twirls his fingers as his Evol tickles the petals of flowers that point towards the ceiling. Solitary, beautiful, they stand out like fresh snow on top of a mountain peak.

“Antirrhinums,” the girl says with a soft expression. “Also known as Snapdragons. White represents purity and grace. The purple ones represent love at first sight.”

A thousand memories flash through his mind as he stares at the flowers.

“I’ll take all of the Snapdragons you have.” 

“All of them? Unusual. Nobody really picks the Snapdragons. They’re often overshadowed by their peers.”

“People will often stay away from anything associated with dragons,” Sylus snorts as he walks towards the little flowers. 

“Dragons are solitary creatures. Even catching a glimpse of one can cost you your soul.” He reaches out to touch the delicate petals with his fingers. The girl watches him with interest. Surely the leader of Oncychinus is not as vulnerable as this? 

“But even dragons have a soft spot for beautiful things such as flowers.” Sylus touches his hair, feeling the ghost of a flower tucked between the strands. 

Years come and go. Sylus wonders if he’ll ever be able to save you from the cursed merry-go-round of fate. 

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

He gets a phone call that evening.

“Did you really send me one hundred and nine bouquets of flowers?”

“And how did you get to that exact number?”

“I counted them all of course!”

“Usually people would say thank you by now.”

“I was getting to that. You’re just impatient.”

“I have all the patience in the world, Kitten.”

A beat of silence. 

“I had to look them up online because I’ve never seen them before. They’re called Snapdragons, apparently.”

“Yes, the florist said they're often overlooked.”

“Oh. Well…I’m glad you bought them then. They won’t feel lonely here. I’ll make sure of it.”

He thinks he might say it then and there. 

I love you. 

But the sentence never seems to make it past his lips. 

VI.

Maybe it’s time to address it.

“Oh, fuck, Sylus…” 

A simple late night phone call, whispers of I miss you, and all of a sudden, you’re at his door, your eyes dark as you step inside, throwing off your coat and wrapping your arms around his neck before he can react. 

“Sylus… please…”

Sylus smirks as he sucks at the skin on your inner thigh, using enough pressure to leave a hickey that will last for at least three days, maybe a week. A reminder that he’s been there; been to a place reserved only for him. 

“Does it feel good, Kitten?” he asks, gently stroking the bruise, his scarlet eyes glowing as he looks at you with lust. 

“Yes…please don’t stop…” you trail off as his lips trail kisses down your thighs, your hands sliding to hold his hair between your fingers as he gets closer and closer to the spot where you need him the most.

“You’re so wet, Sweetie,” he breathes, voice low as he stares at your heat. “Such a good girl…tell me…do you want it?”

“Yes…please… fuck Sylus, I need you so bad,” you moan, using your hands to guide him between your thighs, his breath warm

Yeah, maybe now’s not a good time to address it. 

Sylus can sense your neediness, his cock straining against his trousers as his mouth finds your heat, moaning as you squeeze his head gently between your thighs, his tongue working inside you as you slowly begin to unravel. Your body begins to tremble because fuck, Sylus always makes you feel like heaven is a place on earth, tucked away here, on his four-poster bed, in between cool silk sheets. 

And Sylus, well, he’s seeing stars, eating you out as if you might disappear tomorrow. His hands spread your legs wider, trying to find the best angle to make you fall apart. He fucking loves seeing you like this, loves the way you both submit yourselves to each other. A newfound trust that means more to Sylus than any protocore in all of Deepspace.

He continues to fuck you with his mouth, the taste of you like honey on his tongue. 

“Sylus…I think…I’m…ugh …” you trail off again, biting your lip as a familiar feeling builds inside you. 

Sylus smirks, and you can feel it between your legs. You tug on his hair a little harder, urging him to just fuck you more, because, Christ, you’re so fucking close. He seems to get the message, and begins to fuck you faster with his tongue, using his hands to guide your hips so they’re rutting against his hot mouth. 

He’s so fucking hard, he thinks maybe he could come like this, with your hands in his hair and his head between your legs. He knows you’re close, can sense it in the way you’re moving, so he decides to help you a little, his fingers creeping up to your clit before they begin to massage the bundle of nerves slowly, making you cry out in pleasure. 

“Baby…gonna…gonna come soon,” you whine, the world spinning as your head falls against the mattress. 

A growl leaves his lips. “Then come for me, my darling.”

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, and Sylus, the angel he is, keeps going until you pull him out, whining at him, tugging at his shirt to bring him closer to you. 

“I need you in me, baby.” 

People think he’s a strong man, yet a single sentence from you can make him fold like a sheet of paper.

“Are you sure?” he asks, shutting his eyes and letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure as your hands find their way to the bulge straining against his trousers. 

“Of course.” 

Sylus flips you over, moving so his back can lie against the headboard. He uses his Evol to place you strategically on his lap as your fingers begin to undo his belt and zipper. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans, dizzy with pleasure as you wrap your hand around his aching length. Even with your two hands wrapped around him, his cock is huge. The thought of it inside of you is making you wet again. 

“Lie back,” you order, and Sylus obliges, his eyes glowing through the soft haze of his bedroom. 

He squeezes your ass as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, a loud cry escaping your lips. Even after doing this a few times, you still get surprised at his size, but his length sliding into you always feels like a home run. Sylus thinks you were made to take him like this; your body moulded just for him. 

“You’re so tight,” Sylus moans, his forehead falling against your chest. He places a soft kiss to your cleavage before bucking his hips up a few times until suddenly he starts pounding into you, your moans drowning out the squeaks from the bed frame.  

Good thing he sent Luke and Kieran out on a few errands. Sylus doesn’t think they’d recover from the noises you two are making.

“Sylus, baby, faster, ” you beg, gripping his shoulders for support, your hips grinding on his cock. “Fuck, you always feel so good.”

“You too, my darling. You’re fucking made for me. Always feels like heaven being inside of you,” Sylus growls, his hips fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. 

Heavy breathing and the sweet scent of sex fills the room as you both rock your hips in harmony, pulling each other closer and closer to the edge. Sylus can feel his orgasm building in his stomach. He needs to feel you more. 

“S-Sylus…” you pant, your legs beginning to ache a bit. “More. Please. I need…I need more .”

Yeah, he thinks he does too. 

Without warning, he pulls out of you, switching positions and pushing you on to the mattress before thrusting back into you with full force. Your hands fly to your mouth as you cry out in pleasure. 

Sylus tuts, removing your hands, interlocking your fingers with his own above your head as he fucks you slow and hard.

“It’s okay. No one’s home. I want to hear your sweet little moans, Kitten,” he coos, leaning down and kissing your neck. 

You shut your eyes, letting your voice echo around the room. 

“I think I’m close, baby,” you breathe. 

Sylus nods into the crook of your neck as his thrusts begin to pick up speed again, the sound of skin slapping skin getting louder and louder. 

“I have you, darling,” he pants, looking into your eyes with sincerity. “So be a good girl and come for me again.”

“You too,” you whine, thrusting your hips up to meet him halfway. 

“Fuck …” Sylus grunts, his hips stuttering as the feeling in his stomach comes to a boil. 

He’s not sure which of you comes first, all he knows is that suddenly everything feels warm, and when it’s all over, the earth seems to stop spinning, and nothing matters but the two of you together like this.

Time slows down after that. A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, a silence that remains as he cleans you, a soft towel wiping over your damp skin before he wraps you in one of his silk robes. He doesn’t bother asking you if you’re staying over tonight. It’s an unspoken agreement that has become a silent habit. 

More time passes. Somewhere in between the post-sex conversations and after-midnight kisses, you fall asleep in Sylus’ bed, the moonlight slicing through the gaps in the curtains, shining on your bare skin, making it look like you’re made of pure starlight. 

As you sleep, Sylus tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers gentle words into the night air.

“You are my sun and my stars. My fate is yours, for eternity. In my past life, in this life, and in every life to come after, I will be yours if you’ll allow it.”

Sylus wonders why vulnerability comes out easier under darkness than in daylight.

VII.

Glittering chandeliers and bubbly champagne. Jewel encrusted cutlery and a grandiose ice sculpture; yet all the riches in the world pale in comparison when placed next to you. 

Or at least, that’s what Sylus thinks, as he takes your hand, your high heels unsteady as you step out of the limousine he had prepared for the evening. It’s not often he accepts invitations to grand events such as Galas and Balls. His time is precious, and these events require a lot of false smiles and forced conversations. 

But as he looks at you – your shimmering ball gown twinkling in the moonlight, the pearl necklace glowing against the soft skin of your neck that he likes to trace when the world is asleep – he thinks it might be worth it this one time.

He leads you towards the entrance, admiring how the crowd parts for the two of you. The feeling of power; it’s addictive. Sylus has lived with it for so long that after a while, it made him a little jaded. But even the heaviest of snowfall melts over time, and as he watches your eyes sparkle as he leads you towards the ballroom, he regrets every second he wasted not searching for you. 

Not that he ever gave up, either. 

The ballroom is as extravagant as the ones described in a child’s fairytale. A roof with a Renaissance style fresco that stretches for miles, long tables with all the food from every corner of the world. Champagne fountains, decadent cakes, and you – having drifted away from his side to admire the scene – standing in the middle of it all. A single snowdrop. His flower.

“Good evening Mister Sylus.” Sylus nods at a couple as they greet him. Friends of Onychinus that would probably stab him in the back if he hadn't of invited them to this event. 

“Good evening,” Sylus replies, still not taking his eyes off you. 

“It’s not often that you grace us with your presence at these events,” the woman says, eyeing him with a look that could turn even the sweetest fruit sour.

“I have to keep an eye on things after the explosion incidents in Linkon.” 

“Ah, I see. Terrible how our own can turn on us just like that.” 

Sylus doesn’t even bother reacting, the conversation already boring him. 

“If you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be,” Sylus says, excusing himself and making his way over to you. He stifles a laugh as he spots you helping yourself to the cakes and pastries on the table.

“Hungry, Kitten?”

You turn around and pout at him, your mouth full of cake. Sylus tuts as he wipes away the frosting on your lips. 

“I’m starving,” you groan through a mouthful of cake, to which Sylus laughs. He licks his finger, tasting the frosting he wiped off your lips. It’s a bit sweet for his palette, but if it’s something you enjoy, then he’d eat ten slices of cake just to see your smile. 

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” He reaches out to adjust the ruby crow brooch on your dress. “Collected enough intel to bring back to the Hunters Academy?”

“I’m not here on business,” you huff. 

Sylus lightly flicks your forehead. “But an intelligent Hunter like you never takes a day off.”

He smiles down at you, just as the orchestra begins to play a bright piece of music, making people flood to the floor for a dance.

“May I?” Sylus holds out his hand. 

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“It would be a shame to have all our practice go to waste,” Sylus says, his mind thinking back to a couple of nights ago. 

"One two three, one two three…”

Sylus tries to suppress his laughter as he watches you stumble around, trying to keep your pace in time with the waltz crackling through his vintage gramophone. He tries to guide you carefully in the right direction, one hand on your waist as he elegantly glides across the marble floor, but this only makes you step on his toes again. 

“Are you even trying, kitten?”

“It’s a lot harder than it looks!” you argue, trying your best to avoid stepping on his toes again. “And I’m not used to wearing heels.”

Sylus sighs and stops dancing, causing you to collide into his chest, but he anticipates this and catches you in his arms.

"How about we change tactics?” he asks. He lifts you gently so that you end up standing with your feet on top of his.

“Watch and learn.” 

Sylus uses his Evol to place your hands on his shoulders as his hands find their way onto your hips. He sways you both gently, his eyes focused on you, his heartbeat steady as he sways to the waltz. He picks you up and spins you around, causing you to squeal as you rise high into the air like a dove before he pulls you back into his arms. 

The memory warms him as he thinks about it. Fills his chest with butterflies as he watches you dance once more, except this time, your eyebrows are furrowed in full concentration. You’re trying for him, and he adores you for it. 

As the waltz continues, Sylus finds himself  becoming lost in the music, the room fading away until all he can see is you. Your eyes on his, his eyes on yours. You spin and step together in harmony; two souls in matrimony. 

“Kitten,” Sylus says, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “In case I forget to tell you later…” he trails off as he gently presses a kiss to your neck. 

“Not even the brightest stars could take away from your beauty tonight.”

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Later on, Sylus takes you out to the garden for some fresh air. Under the stars, your flushed cheeks from the heat of the ballroom glow like cherry wine. You find a private spot in the maze made of hedges and take a seat on a small bench surrounded by roses. 

Sylus kisses the crown of your head as you lay on his shoulder, a comfortable silence surrounding you both. Your skin is still flushed by the alcohol. Sylus suspects you’re a little tipsy from all the champagne. 

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” 

Sylus shifts his gaze to your pouting face. 

“Should I tell Luke and Kieran to get the guest room ready?”

You pinch his side with your fingers. “I think there’s enough room in your custom made, luxury bed for one more person. Plus, you and I both know I’ve only slept in the guest room once.”

Sylus smiles down at you. 

“And if I don’t want to share my bed tonight?”

You yawn, shutting your eyes and nuzzling your face into his jacket.

“You can sleep on the floor then.”

“You know that’s not going to happen.”

“I know.”

“You know.”

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

On the drive home, you end up falling asleep. Not wanting to wake you up, Sylus carries you to his room and tucks you in, gently removing your makeup with the cleanser he keeps on standby when you visit. 

Although he tries his best to make sure you stay asleep, you stir a little at his touch, mumbling something as he wipes away the last of your mascara. 

“WhereamI?” you croak, eyes flickering as you try to sit up. But Sylus shushes you, gently pushing you back onto the mattress, and assures you that everything is fine. That you just fell asleep on the way home. 

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, you shut your eyes and pull Sylus down with you, burying your face into his chest as he falls into bed next to you. 

“Promise me you’ll stay until I fall asleep,” you whisper into his ear. It sends shivers down his spine. A promise is a heavy burden for a dragon. Not that he is one anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about the past, forgotten about what it actually means if he breaks one.

What if one day he makes you another one he can’t keep? 

“Sylus?” A hand reaches out through the dim light and pokes his face. “Are you still here?”

Fuck it. He’s already this deep anyway. Running would be futile at this stage. Maybe it’s time to stop being afraid. He catches your hand in his and presses your fingertips to his lips.

“I’m still here,” he whispers. “And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “Goodnight Sylus.”

“Goodnight.”

True to his word, he stays until you fall asleep. In fact, he lays beside you until the sun rises.

And when you wake up and find him asleep next to you, the sunlight creeping in through the curtains making him frown in slumber, you pull the duvet over both of your heads, a smile spreading across your lips as you curl into his chest. 

Sundays are for sleeping in anyways. 

VIII.

As Summer draws to a close, Sylus finally finds a day to take you hiking to a place outside of Linkon where no one will recognise him. He picks you up late in the afternoon, the plan being to reach the summit by sunset. 

Even though he’s become accustomed to cold nights, Sylus has grown to enjoy the feeling of the warm Summer wind in his air, one hand on the steering wheel, the other shifting the gear stick as you sing along to the radio, him occasionally joining in, which only causes you to burst into a fit of laughter every time. 

It’s not often he’s awake during the day, but recently he’s begun to embrace the light. Maybe because it highlights your beauty in all its glory. Loving you has changed a lot of things for Sylus, has made him feel stronger, yet more vulnerable at the same time. 

And he’s been watching you grow too, like a flower that blooms in adversity, slowly, but surely. Through all the pain in your heart, you still have managed to flourish, and it makes him proud, seeing how strong you’ve become since he found you again in this lifetime. 

“Sylus, up ahead, look!” You point excitedly to the mountain in the near distance. Sylus hums as he steps on the gas pedal, not wanting to waste another second in his thoughts.

The sun is already beginning to dip into the horizon as Sylus pulls into the parking lot. He grabs your bags from the trunk as you tie your shoe laces and check your Hunter’s watch, scanning through the exact route that you both had planned together. 

“If we leave now, we should make it to the top by sunset,” you say, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you examine the route. 

Sylus takes your hand in his. “Lead the way, Miss Hunter.”

𓅇 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

By the time the two of you reach the summit, most of the crowds from the afternoon have dispersed, leaving behind a tranquil atmosphere. The air is a little crisp, the early signs of Autumn creeping into the dregs of Summer. Sylus notices you shivering slightly as you both look out at the view. Without a word, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. You give him a grateful look. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you say, breaking the silence, eyes gazing at the sweeping landscape below. 

“You weren’t kidding about the view. It’s breathtaking. I feel like I can touch the sky.” You reach out into the air, basking in the last rays of light of the day, smiling at Sylus with all the warmth of the sun.

“You’re right,” Sylus says softly, watching how the light casts a golden glow on your skin, as if you’re an angel and all he can do is pray to heaven they’ll let him keep you on earth. 

“It’s beautiful.”

In this exact moment, Sylus knows the time has come. He has to tell you.  

He clears his throat. “Sweetie, I–”

“S’mores for sale! Get your s’mores here!”

Sylus curses as a stall owner starts causing a ruckus a few metres away. 

“Oh my god, I haven’t had s’mores since I was a kid!” you squeal with excitement. Sylus can feel his eye twitch slightly as you grab his hand and pull him in the direction of the food stall, a steady queue already beginning to form. 

“What even is a s’more?” he grumbles, still feeling a little disgruntled that his big speech was rudely interrupted. 

“Wait, you’ve never had a s’more before? I thought you went camping all the time.”

“And what has camping got to do with these so-called s’mores?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. “S’mores are like…the best campfire treat ever! Warm chocolate and toasted marshmallows all squished between two graham crackers.” You mime squashing the s’more between the palms of your hands. 

“And voilà! The best snack you’ll ever have in your life, all put together in less than a minute.”

“Sounds like a one way trip to diabetes.”

“You’re such an old man sometimes.”

“I suppose I am ninety years old. If you believe the rumours that is.”

You both continue to bicker back and forth until you finally get to the top of the queue. Sylus doesn’t even get a chance to argue before you order two s’mores, slapping a handful of coins onto the counter. 

The smell of sugar fills the air as he allows you to drag him to a secluded spot on the summit with a bench overlooking Linkon. By now, the city’s lights are slowly beginning to flicker on as the sun continues to lower itself deeper and deeper into the horizon. 

A fond smile ghosts his lips as he notices that you're halfway through your s’more, chocolate smeared on the corner of your mouth. 

“This is the best day ever,” you say dreamily, your eyes shining as you once again admire the view. Finishing the last of your s’more, you lean against Sylus’ shoulder, sighing with satisfaction as you pat your stomach dramatically. 

Afraid the chocolate will melt and stain his hands, Sylus begins to eat his own s’more, his nose scrunching at the taste.

“As expected, this is nothing but pure sugar.”

“Aw c’mon, it’s delicious,” you huff, taking the s’more from his hands and waving it in his face.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrow raised with suspicion. 

“Say aaaah!” You shove the s’more into his mouth, forcing him to take another bite. He coughs as the sickeningly sweet taste of the s'more fills his mouth again, but he finishes it anyway.

Not before he jabs you in the ribs for fun, of course. 

“Okay, okay! I surrender. It tickles too much!” you wheeze as he continues to jab you with his fingertips.

Satisfied, Sylus leans in and wipes the chocolate from your face with his thumb. 

“Are all kittens this messy?” he teases, and before you can complain, he presses his lips briefly against yours, smirking as he pulls away.

Cheeks flushing, you have no idea how to react to that, so instead you bury your face in Sylus’ sweater, trying to hide your blush from him. 

You sit in a comfortable silence after that, Sylus holding you close as you both take in the sunset together. He can feel your heartbeat, can feel the steady rhythm that brought him to you through Deepspace. He thinks if he had to go through all those years of loneliness again just to hold you like this for even a second, well, he’d do it all over again with zero hesitations.

And just like that, like a puzzle sliding into place, like a shooting star finding its way home, the universe whispers for him to bring the crescendo of his unspoken symphony to its climax. 

“I love you.”

Those three words; they’ll never be enough.

But for now, they’ll do. 

“I love you,” he repeats, just as the sun sinks into the horizon and the moon becomes visible. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Kitten. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“Oh, Sylus, my beautiful, beautiful Sylus.”

Warm hands reach out as you turn to cup his face, tears glistening in your eyes as you laugh with disbelief. 

“I know. I know you love me, even though you’ve never said it to me before. Your actions, they’re enough. You, right next to me…it will always be enough.” 

He stares at you with nothing but pure reverence in his eyes. 

“And for the record, I love you too.”

At your confession, Sylus wraps his arms around your waist as you continue to hold his face firmly in your palms. Under the twilight, you both stare lovingly into each other’s eyes, the darkness in Sylus’ heart finally fading away into something warm, something golden. Something that can only be described as love.

And as you kiss under the magenta sky, Sylus knows that no matter where fate tries to hide you, he’ll always find you.

Because home is wherever you are.

[wosospacegirl]

i’m obsessing over the whole katie x caitlin x reader scenario so… here’s another idea 👉🏼👈🏼🥺

So reader is the little shit she is, so she decides to play with fire and be naughty in public 😂 she decides to try and turn caitlin on while they’re shopping and slaps her booty. Ofc Caitlin is like ”stoppppp, behave yourself, and we can do stuff back home” and Caitlin looks at Katie expecting her to be ready to punish reader, but instead Katie is feeling all left out like ”why didn’t you slap my ass 🥺”

-🦦

Pairing: katie x caitlin x reader

a/n: just a small little thing

..

Y/n  had been in lectures all day. Back-to-back. 

Boring. Brutal. The kind of uni day that makes your brain hurt. So naturally, when Caitlin decided that the arrival of autumn required a full-on wardrobe refresh, Y/n  was not particularly thrilled.

But Caitlin was persuasive. 

Soft voice, persuasive eyes, a pout that could crack stone. And Katie wasn’t any help either. 

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “Quick stop,” she said.

But of course, it was all a lie.

Now here they were, thirty minutes deep into a department store. 

Caitlin was flitting between racks, and Y/n  was leaning against a wall next to Katie, half-asleep and aggressively bored.

“I swear,” Y/n  muttered, “if she holds up one more jumper and asks if it’s ‘a bit too beige’,  I’m throwing myself into the sale bin.”

Katie snorted, nudging her with an elbow. “Buying seasonal clothing is her personality.”

Y/n  hummed. “A hot personality, though.”

That was fair. Caitlin did look incredible in beige, brown and any other autumn colours. A

Left alone while Katie wandered off to check some hoodies, Y/n  spotted Caitlin a few feet away, holding up a sage green knit sweater in the mirror. 

She looked content. Peaceful. Innocent.

Which was, in Y/n ’s opinion, the perfect time to cause problems.

She snuck up behind her quietly, slipping her arms around Caitlin’s waist and pressing in close. Caitlin didn’t even flinch.

“You back to your old self?” she murmured, her voice amused. “Or still in your grumpy uni mood?”

Y/n  didn’t answer. Just kissed her neck softly.

Once, then twice. She let her hand drift low, cupping Caitlin’s ass with practiced ease.

Caitlin jumped. “Y/n !” she whispered harshly, twisting to glare at her. “We’re in public!”

Y/n  just grinned, eyes dancing. “You dragged me out here. I’m bored. This is your fault.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes and turned, just as Katie rounded the corner again. “Katie,” she said immediately, pointing accusingly at Y/n. 

“Tell your girlfriend to behave. She’s grabbing my ass in the middle of a store.”

Katie blinked. Took in the scene. Blinked again.

That was it. Y/n  was going to get a lecture from Katie, a lecture or a punishment later, she wasn’t sure…but then–

“…You grabbed hers?” she said, voice small, eyes wide. “And not mine?”

Y/n ’s smirk fell for half a second. “What?”

But Katie had already crossed her arms and turned her back. 

“Unbelievable. We were alone two minutes ago, and you didn’t even try.”

Caitlin groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh my god. I am not doing this right now.”

Y/n , of course, leaned over to wrap her arms around Katie’s waist next, chin on her shoulder. “Don’t be mad. You know I’d grab your ass in front of a thousand people if you asked.”

Katie gave her a side-eye. “…I know.”

“Do you want me to do it now? Even the score?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I just wanted to buy us sweaters,” Caitlin muttered. 

Later, when they finally left the store, Katie grabbed Y/n ’s ass first. Just to be petty.

Y/n  almost tripped over the curb.

Caitlin walked faster in front of them, saying something about not wanting to be associated with the two other girls.

[sturniololuvz]

I neeeddd more freaky fics from you! I was thinking like Matt or nick walk in on Chris and his girlfriend making out or something and they both get traumatized😭 if your ok with that💋

lol okay!

“Unseen Moments”

⸻

It had been a normal day, nothing too out of the ordinary, when Nick and Matt decided to take a break from their usual chaos and relax for a bit. They’d been filming all day, and now it was time for some downtime. Naturally, they all had separate rooms, with Chris often retreating to his when he needed a breather—especially if his girlfriend was over.

Matt was the first one to stand up from the couch, stretching out his arms lazily as he glanced at Nick. “You wanna go mess with Chris? I bet he’s doing something weird again.”

Nick rolled his eyes but chuckled. “I mean, it is Chris. It’s practically guaranteed.”

The two of them snuck out of the living room, their footsteps barely making a sound on the carpeted hallway. Matt flashed Nick a mischievous grin. “Let’s just barge in, see what happens.”

Nick hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, fine. This’ll be funny.”

They approached Chris’s door, which was slightly ajar, and without a second thought, they pushed it open.

It wasn’t the chaos they expected.

Chris and his girlfriend were on the bed, completely unaware that the door had opened. Chris had her pinned beneath him, both of them tangled in a passionate kiss. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t playful or casual—it was intense.

Matt froze, his mouth going dry as his eyes widened. Nick, standing next to him, did the same. His brain short-circuited as it tried to process the situation, and before he could even think of an excuse to leave, Chris’s girlfriend moaned softly.

Nick’s hand flew to his face in embarrassment. “Oh god, no!” he muttered under his breath.

Chris, now fully aware of the interruption, jumped up in a panic, his face turning a deep shade of red. His girlfriend, looking just as startled, quickly straightened herself up.

“Matt? Nick? What the hell?” Chris stammered, trying to adjust himself in the chaos.

Matt was still frozen, eyes wide as saucers. He couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t even process what was happening. He’d walked in on his brother making out with his girlfriend. Hardcore making out. He could feel his brain trying to catch up with the situation, but it was like his mind had hit a brick wall.

“I—uh—Chris… dude,” Nick started, his voice strained. “We—uh, we just came to… I don’t know… check on you?”

Matt’s face contorted in confusion, still not entirely sure of what just happened. “Yeah, we didn’t expect… this. Like, not this.”

Chris’s face went bright red as he glanced at his girlfriend, who was trying to hold in a laugh but wasn’t having much luck. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you guys were this curious about my personal life.”

Nick, who had been trying to shield his eyes the whole time, looked up at Chris with a face of pure terror. “I swear to god, if I had known—” He cut himself off, clearly embarrassed and traumatized. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking! You guys barged in on me!” Chris shot back, still mortified. He grabbed his hoodie, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. “This is why I tell you not to come in my room!”

Matt was still stuck on the sight he just witnessed. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His brain kept flashing back to the image of his brother and his girlfriend in the middle of… whatever that was.

“I can’t unsee that,” Matt mumbled, shaking his head and rubbing his face in an attempt to forget what he just saw. “Nope. That’s burned into my memory for the rest of my life.”

Chris let out a groan of frustration, pacing back and forth in his room. “Can you both leave? You’ve done enough damage already!”

Nick, still trying to process everything, turned toward the door. “This was a mistake. We’re leaving, sorry!” He scrambled out of the room, Matt trailing behind him.

Once they were safely in the hallway, Matt clutched his chest dramatically. “I need a drink. Or… therapy. Or both.”

Nick shook his head, clearly still in shock. “I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from that. Like, we knew he had a girlfriend, but—that? I just—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, man,” Matt interrupted, still trying to erase the image from his mind. “I get it. My brain’s on fire from the trauma.”

They both stood there for a moment, letting the horror sink in before Nick finally broke the silence.

“So, we’re never bringing this up again, right?”

Matt let out a long sigh. “Never. Absolutely never.”

Meanwhile, in Chris’s room, he was left trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. His girlfriend was laughing softly at the situation, and Chris groaned.

“I swear, if they tell anyone about this, I’m moving out.”

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[wingedhallows]

hi ! you asked me to send you my request here (i hope this is working though, i'm still trying to figure out how the app works...) so that you don't forget about it, so here it is again :

just noticed you wanted us to send you asks so here i am :) unfortunately, i don't have any great inspiration to share with you at the moment… anything with vi or ellie williams (my girlsss) is always nice to see. but other than that, completing basketball!vi x ballerina!reader would be super cool, if it's something you'd be happy to do, of course ! (yup, i'm still obsessed with that one…)

bye 🫶 have a great day !

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀��𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie x reader / 1.2 k words ♒︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 HI !! I'm totally working on 'labyrinth love' right now, maybe i'll drop the last part tonight! this is a little something that's been sitting in my drafts & i think you'll like it (hopefully) so, here u go!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You’re all crammed into Dina’s apartment—some shitty couch, a couple floor cushions, an overturned laundry basket being used as a table.

Music low, drinks half-finished, someone’s passed out in the corner with a blanket that definitely smells like weed and regret.

And Ellie? Ellie’s on the floor, back against your knees, launching into the most insane rant you’ve ever heard.

“…I’m just saying,” she says, hand flailing with a cheeto between her fingers, “If birds wanted to be evil, they totally could. Like, they’ve got flight and hollow bones and talons. You ever seen a goose, man? Those things are demonic.”

The room is silent for half a beat.

“Anyway,” she adds, like she’s just delivered a TED Talk, “that’s why I never trust anything with wings and an attitude.”

Jesse blinks slowly. “Dude, what the fuck?”

But you?

You’re grinning. Fingers carding through Ellie’s hair absently, like you love hearing her unhinged theories about avian world domination. You lean down a little and whisper near her ear, “so… if I wore wings, would you be scared of me?”

Ellie’s neck goes red in an instant. “What—no—wait—maybe? I mean, not in a bad way! Like, in a cool, terrifying, kinda hot way—”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse mutters. “She’s in love.”

“She’s doomed,” Dina adds, sipping from her beer.

But Ellie’s barely listening—because she’s twisted halfway around to look up at you, and you’re still smiling at her, still stroking her hair, still looking at her like she’s the smartest, funniest person alive.

And she’s melting.

“You’re, like…” she breathes, squinting. “Really pretty.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“…Thanks, babe.”

“No, like. Really. It’s a problem. You’re smiling at me and I forget how words work. And my brain just goes: pretty. smile. girlfriend. And then there’s just static up here.”

She taps her forehead with two fingers, completely serious.

And you just laugh—soft and sweet—and lean down to press a kiss to her temple.

The room erupts.

“OH MY GOD,” Jesse groans, falling back on the couch like he’s been shot. “How the hell did Ellie pull her?”

“I feel like I’m watching a golden retriever date a goddess,” Dina mutters. “It’s disturbing.”

Ellie turns scarlet, burying her face in your thigh. “Don’t listen to them,” she mumbles. “They’re just jealous.”

You smile down at her, hand curling under her chin to tilt her up again.

“I think you’re perfect.”

Ellie malfunctions. Fully. Stares at you with big, round eyes like you just offered to marry her on the spot.

She mouths perfect? like she’s never heard the word before.

And all you do is nod.

Because you mean it.

Ellie’s still staring up at you, stunned, her face half-buried in your thigh. Everyone else has moved on to another round of some dumb card game Jesse’s pitching, but she’s still stock-still.

You called her perfect.

Her. Ellie “accidentally-walked-into-the-wrong-classroom-and-sat-there-for-40-minutes” Williams. Ellie who once used a sock to hold her blunt ‘cause she lost her lighter and burned her thumb last time. Perfect.

“You good, babe?” you murmur, hand gently brushing her cheek.

She blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m chill. Totally chill. Just, y’know, experiencing a full emotional reboot. It’s fine.”

You giggle and press another kiss to the top of her head, and she whines softly into your leg like she can’t handle the affection.

Eventually, someone mentions it’s past one, and the room starts to empty out. You tug Ellie up by her hoodie strings, and she stands like she’s been resurrected, slinging her bag over her shoulder and mumbling something about “walking you back.”

Outside, it’s cool and quiet. The kind of early campus stillness where every window glows soft yellow and the street lamps flicker like they’re just as tired as the students.

You lace your fingers through hers, and she tenses for half a second before relaxing—then squeezing back.

She glances sideways at you. “So. Uh. I meant to ask. That thing you said back there—was that, like, real? Or were you just saying it ‘cause I said your smile makes my brain explode?”

You stop walking and tug her back a little, fingers still locked. “You mean the perfect thing?”

Her whole face goes red again. “That’s the one.”

You shrug, playful. “Guess you’ll have to get used to hearing it.”

She stares. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re actually gonna kill me. Death by girlfriend compliment. Local lesbian found deceased on sorority row sidewalk.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” she says immediately, too fast, too much. And then realizes, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, ignore that, that was—that slipped out, I didn’t mean to—well I did, but I didn’t mean to say it, not like that, I was gonna wait ‘til, like, Valentine’s Day or a meteor shower or something cool—”

You stop her with a kiss. Gentle. Quick. Just enough to make her forget what planet she’s on.

When you pull back, she’s blinking, dazed. “…was that a good kiss or a ‘shut up, loser’ kiss?”

You smile. “Both.”

She huffs. “Rude.”

But you’re smiling at her with that look again—the one that says she’s yours, chaos and all—and she leans in close, bumping her forehead to yours.

“I meant it,” she mumbles. “Even if it was an accidental I-love-you. I do.”

You tilt your head, whisper back, “Me too.”

Ellie practically floats the rest of the way to your dorm. You part with another kiss, and she’s halfway down the hall before she turns around, walking backward and beaming.

“You still think I’m perfect?”

You laugh. “I think you’re mine.”

And that’s all it takes. Ellie bolts out of sight before you see the way she pumps her fist in the air, quietly muttering, “holy shit, holy shit, I have the best girlfriend on earth.”

She’s standing in the middle of her room. Hoodie still half-on, phone gripped like it’s both her lifeline and her greatest threat.

Her cat’s staring up at her from the bed, judgmental as hell.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters, flopping onto the mattress. “You didn’t see her. She said I’m hers. I had no choice but to fall apart.”

The cat blinks.

Ellie’s phone buzzes.

[You]: made it back okay? [You]: you looked like you were floating

She groans, punches her pillow a little, and then types back:

[Ellie]: i was not floating [Ellie]: i am very grounded. like a normal person. a grounded, non-floating person who is extremely chill and not thinking about your lips at all.

Immediate regret.

She throws the phone face down on the bed.

The cat meows. “I panicked, okay?”

Buzz.

[You]: you’re so dumb. i’m smiling so hard it hurts [You]: love you, loser. goodnight.

Ellie clutches her phone to her chest and lets out a long, dreamy “fuck.”

Then she whispers it again, grinning “She loves me.”

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Lakeside Cabin Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: Y/N Use, swearing, bullying from both Bucky and Y/N

Series Summary: The hate you and Bucky have for each other has gradually increased throughout your time knowing each other. This time, things went too far. Thanks to your arguments, you get sent on a unique consequential mission: You will both live together in a secluded cabin until you're able to come together and settle your differences. You're screwed.

Pt. Summary: You and Bucky spend your first 2 days in the cabin...of course, it's messy.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

No mentions of body type, skin color, or details of reader's appearance.

□□□□□□□

As soon as Fury left the room, Steve was sent in to inform us we need to pack our stuff.

"First thing tomorrow I'm driving you two to the cabin." His eyes shift between the two of us.

"Steve, you have to do something about this." I urge the tall blonde. I gesture between myself and Bucky. "We will literally kill each other. 10 minutes tops. I swear."

Bucky scoffs. "With your mouth? Make it five." He shakes his head in annoyance. A strand of his brown hair falling loose in front of his eyes in the process. He is leaned back against his chair, thick arms tightly folded against his chest.

"You couldn't kill me if you tried. Brains over brawn." I snap back at the older man.

He ignores my glare, instead rolling his eyes. "Doll, let’s not fantasize. You talk like you’re a genius, but I’ve met houseplants with better critical thinking skills. At least they know which direction the sun’s coming from. Meanwhile, you still have to be told which hand is your left hand."

My blood boils. I tightly clench my fists, ready to attack Bucky. I narrow my eyes at the man, praying a lightning bolt strikes him down. Some nerve. "First of all, it was one time! I was shitfaced drunk and seeing like 50 versions of my own hand. That gets confusing. Second of all, that’s rich coming from the guy who types with one finger and calls it ‘tactical efficiency.' I know animals who type better than y-"

Steve cuts me. "Enough. Enough! This is exactly why you're being sent to this safehouse. You two are unbelievable, you know that? This is literally the reason you are going to the safehouse." He glares at us. "You're adults! It's time you start acting like it." Steve's voice is stern, like a pissed off father.

Deep down, I know he's right. Bucky and I should be able to work together without feeling the need to piss the other off. Our stupid fights got us into this situation, but unfortunately, they can't get us out.

We need to come out of this civil.

How though?

What are we supposed to do to calm the anger between us? Make friendship bracelets and have heart-to-hearts? Where do we even begin?

"I don't understand this...rivalry between the two of you." Steve folds his arms.

I avoid his gaze. A feeling of guilt begins to gnaw at the inside of my stomach. Something about Steve's disappointed dad demeanor makes me question my behaviors.

Steve continues. "You're both great at what you do. Why can't you just build each other up instead of trying to tear each other down? This is a team. We need to have each other's backs. It's not fair to the rest of us when stuff like today happens. Someone could've gotten hurt, and you wouldn't be able to help because you're so caught up in each other. Think about us. If someone had been injured while you two were bickering, I guarantee you would've come back feeling horrible. Don't let that happen."

Bucky and I are silent while the words settle in our minds.

I hate that he's right.

-------

The car ride to the safehouse is long. None of us speak as Steve continues down the highway surrounded by forest. I keep my head pressed against he passenger side window, watching as the trees speed by.

The radio crackles as we begin to get further and further from civilization before eventually turning into steady static. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve turn off the radio before turning his attention back to the road.

After another ten minutes of silence, Steve turns off the highway onto a smaller road. The gravel-covered road crackles as the tires of our car push against it. The car pulls into a large clearing.

Ahead sits a large cabin, a lake visible behind it. The exterior cabin is covered in brown wood that gives off the feeling of Lincoln Logs. Large windows sit on either side of the front door, both covered by curtains. The wooden door is beautifully crafted, with gentle carvings surrounding the small window at the top. The porch is nearly bare, the only things on it being two wooden rocking chairs. The second story of the cabin contains one window, also covered by a curtain on the inside. The roof is a light green color, obviously faded from the sun.

The lawn is overgrown and filled with wildflowers, which stop at the road. Rocks separate the lawn from the road, leaving a small opening for a path to the cabin door. To the far side of the cabin is a small covered car. In the distance, I can see what I think is a fire pit with chairs surrounding it.

Immediately, I spot some of the cameras Fury was talking about. A familiar red dot sits in the corner of the one facing the road we just pulled up through.

They're already watching us.

Steve parks the car, and I immediately get out, ready to stretch my legs. Little rocks from the gravel road push against the bottom of my shoes, adding pressure in weird places. I ignore it, deciding to walk around to the back of the car where my bags are.

Steve pops the trunk open, and I scan over the items. Two boxes of food and necessities are stacked on each other and tucked in the corner, under a few extra blankets. Next to the boxes are our bags and things we brought to do.

I reach into the trunk and pull out my two suitcases and travel backpack. When I turn around, I spot Bucky looking over my luggage with a raised brow.

This morning I woke up late and ended up being twenty minutes late for the car. Both guys were already inside talking when I stuffed my bags inside the trunk.

"We stayin' two weeks or are you planning on making it a year?" Bucky asks while watching me pull on my backpack.

I roll my eyes. "Some of us actually like to change our outfits, Bucky. We don't all wear the same 2 pairs of Henleys and jeans." I snap back without thinking. "It's called style. You might want to try it."

Bucky scoffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Style? Doll, if carrying half a department store on your back counts as style, I’ll stick with functional. At least my clothes don’t require a damn instruction manual."

"Fuck yo-"

Steve cuts me off, stepping in the middle of the two of us. "Enough." His voice is stern. He looks back and forth at us. "Remember why you're here. Behave."

Bucky is silent while he grabs his singular bag out of the trunk. He also somehow manages to grab both of the boxes and blankets.

Fucking supersoldiers.

Steve leads us up the path to the cabin entrance. He pulls out a small housekey from his pocket as soon as we get to the door. He unlocks the door and takes a step inside, us following behind.

Sunlight streams into the house from the door. Dust swarms around in the air around the light, sending a tickle up my nose.

This place definitely hasn't been used in a while.

Steve turns on the hallway light, which takes a minute to flicker on.

A deep green rug stretches across the wooden floors. The floorboards underneath groan with age.

To the left, the cabin opens up into a large living room that feels like stepping into another time. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, overflowing with mismatched spines -some worn and cracked, others newer but wedged in haphazardly, like the collection grew too fast to be properly arranged. One of the large windows I saw outside is against the wall. A large, faded floral curtain blocks most of the light from coming in.

On the far wall is a massive stone fireplace, blackened at the mouth from decades of crackling fires. A small stack of wood sits in a woven basket nearby, and a set of iron tools leans beside the hearth, rust-spotted and clearly well-used.

Two large, weathered leather couches face one another in the center of the room, the cushions sunken from use, but still inviting. Between them rests a handmade wooden coffee table -its surface rough and nicked with character, the legs thick and carved with simple swirls. Small side tables, mismatched but cute, flank the couches. On each one sits a tiny lamp with linen shades.

In the corner, nearest the old box TV, a relic from the early 2000s, if not before, sits a lone recliner. The faded fabric is worn along the armrests, and one side sags just slightly more than the other, like it's been very well used. A thick, knitted grey blanket is folded over the back of it, clearly hand-made.

On the opposite side of the entryway is a compact office space, its doorway framed by dark wood molding. Inside, a large, worn mahogany desk sits front and center. Behind it is a battered office chair, the upholstery torn along the edges and stuffing peeking through. The desk itself is surprisingly bare -just a dusty brass lamp with a cracked green glass shade, and a chipped ceramic mug crammed full of pens and pencils.

Another fireplace nestles against the far wall, smaller than the one in the living room but just as old, framed by a simple brick mantel. Above it are several decorative items clearly arranged with a purpose.

Steve leads us past the wide wooden staircase in front of us to the kitchen where Bucky sets down the boxes and blankets on the counter.

The kitchen looks like it was last renovated sometime before color TV was invented. The floor creaks with every step, the faded linoleum peeling at the corners like it’s trying to escape. The counters are scratched-up laminate in a nauseating shade of beige, stained permanently by years of coffee spills and what you can only guess was tomato sauce… hopefully.

The cabinets are all uneven, a mismatched mix of pale wood and dull, chipped paint. One hangs slightly open. The stove is an ancient, avocado-green relic. A dented kettle sits on the back burner like it’s been there for decades, and probably has.

There’s one tiny window above the sink, foggy with age and framed by dusty curtains that might’ve once been floral. Barely any natural light gets in, casting everything in a dim, golden haze. The hum of the fridge fills my ears as soon as I get into the room —loud enough to be annoying but not loud enough to drown out the silence.

A single flickering lightbulb hangs overhead, its yellow glow casting long shadows that make the place feel smaller than it already is. There’s no dishwasher, obviously, and the sink’s faucet drips every few seconds with a metallic plink that quickly becomes infuriating.

It’s cozy in a way. Or at least, it would be -if I didn't have to share it with Bucky.

"There's more food in the pantry and down in the storage cellar." Steve gestures to a closed door. "You guys should be set for the next two weeks. There should be cable and internet, according to Tony, I don't know how well it works up here. If something happens and you need help, there's an emergency button hidden behind the painting above the fireplace in the office. There's more wood outside and an axe in the shed -Not for killing." His eyes narrow at us. "The building should have heat, AC, running water, and electricity. You are not allowed to use the boat or to leave the property unless the trip is approved by Fury. Cameras will be watching. Expect check-in calls every few days. You will also be given tasks to do together as a team. You have to do them. " Steve informs us.

"Can we swim?" I ask curiously.

"Sure. Do whatever you want as long as it leads to you two getting along and not hurting each other." Steve sighs. "Really try to get along, guys, alright? This is for your own benefit."

Doesn't feel like it.

"I've got to get back." Steve says when neither of us replies. He sets the key down on the counter top before beginning to walk towards the door but he stops a few inches shy to look at us once again. "No killing, I'm serious. Goodbye."

Bucky and I say goodbye to the blonde man. We listen to the fading creaking sounds the wood makes under his weight as he walks back to the entrance. The front door shuts with a small click and I immediately turn to Bucky.

"I call the master's suite." I say before he can open his mouth.

"Of course you do." He mutters.

"You snooze, you lose," I say unsympathetically.

"Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?" Bucky grumbles while sending me an annoyed look.

I grin. "Only for you, Bucky. You're the one special person who brings out the worst in me."

"Aw, I’m flattered. Didn’t realize ruining your mood was my superpower. Should I add it to my resume?" Bucky mocks me.

I narrow my eyes. "A resume? Wow, look at you keeping up with the modern world. What’s next, learning how to use emojis? I mean, it only took you a year to figure out how to answer a phone without hanging up first -color me impressed."

"First of all, we had resumes in the 40s. They aren't that new of an invention. Secondly, yeah, I’m ancient. But at least I didn’t grow up thinking TikTok was a valid news source." He raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I’ve fought dictators with more self-awareness than you."

"Do you even know what TikTok is, grandpa? Or did you just hear Sam say it once and decide to be mad about it?" I feel my heart pounding in my chest as my anger builds up. He just won't quit.

To be fair, neither will I.

Whatever.

"I don’t need to know what it is, Y/N. You think I’m wasting my time watching people dance around on the internet?" He crosses his arms, clearly annoyed. "I’ve got better things to do than-" He cuts himself off. His drawn brows slowly pull apart. "We need to stop." He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down.

His words cut through my anger-filled mind, hitting me with a moment of clarity. He's right. We're doing exactly what we were sent here to stop doing.

"You're..." I hesitate to say the word. It physically pains me. "right." I sigh, agreeing with the man. I glance down at my bags, my fingers fidgeting at the strap of my backpack. Part of me wants to keep fighting. Part of me wants to keep digging in my heels and hating everything about this. But another part... the part that’s more exhausted than anything... doesn’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go to sleep. The stress from the past few days and the long trip really took a toll on me.

Instead of getting cocky like I expected, his brows shoot up in surprise. He wasn't expecting me to give in so easily.

"Alright...well, I'm going to go upstairs and find a room -not the master suite." He picks up his suitcase again. He glances down at the two suitcases resting at my feet. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I notice something in his eyes—hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should keep pushing or just... back off. "Do you...do you need help bringing up your stuff?" He asks, his voice low, like he’s not sure if I’ll snap at him for it.

It's my turn to stare at him in shock.

Bucky Barnes...helping me?

That's a first.

I blink, thrown off by the sudden offer. For a second, I just stare at him, my mind working to process what he’s saying.

I open my mouth to refuse, to shoot him down like I always do, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the fact that carrying these damn bags up two flights of stairs doesn’t exactly sound like a fun time. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility we don’t always have to be at each other’s throats.

I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m suddenly your best friend."

He nods, his expression unreadable as he walks over to grab my bags without a word. He begins to carry them along with his out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation.

And just like that, the argument is over. For now.

--------

The morning light is harsh through the small windows, slicing through the cabin with no regard for the awkward silence hanging in the air. I can feel the weight of two weeks settling over me as I sit up in bed. Bucky’s already awake, of course. He’s always awake early.

If we were at the compound, he'd almost be done training by now. Bucky loves his routines.

I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy, and see Bucky standing at the counter with a coffee cup in hand. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m not in the mood to acknowledge him either. The moment I reach for the coffee machine, my eyes catch a post-it note stuck to the side of it.

Do not touch the coffee until I’ve had my first cup. – Bucky.

I can feel the annoyance creeping up my neck, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn on the stove, making myself a quick breakfast and deciding to leave him to his rituals. His mornings are the same: precise, silent, and filled with the deep frown that seems to permanently mark his face. I don’t get him. I never will.

Spontaneity makes life fun. I like waking up and not knowing what I'm going to eat for breakfast. It's like a little surprise. I also like going throughout my day, not knowing what I'm going to do or who I'm going to see. It keeps things fun.

I’m finishing my toast when Bucky finally speaks, still not looking at me. “You’re gonna need to take your stuff out of the fridge,” he says, his voice stiff.

I glance over at the fridge, where my eggs and yogurt are squeezed in beside his protein shakes and old cans of tuna. There’s a post-it note on the door now.

Keep your food on your side. – Bucky.

My teeth grind together, and I fight the urge to snap something back.

Civil. I need to be civil.

Instead, I nod curtly. “Noted,” I mutter, picking up my food and bringing it along with me.

I retreat into the living room, eager to get some space. I can hear the sound of Bucky pouring his coffee as I settle down on the couch. There’s something comforting about the chaos of reality TV, the drama, the mindless bickering. I turn on the TV, the familiar blaring voices filling the room.

Bucky appears in the doorway, already scowling.

“Really?” he asks, crossing his arms, his eyes narrow as he watches the screen. “You’re watching this crap?”

Of course, he doesn't like reality TV. I bet the only thing he watches is nature documentaries. And he definitely needs to plan that into his day ahead of time.

I barely glance up, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. “Yeah. What’s the problem?” I reply, trying to act casual while I scroll through the options.

Every once in a while, the TV screen will distort, a sign of the horrible signal out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s just... ridiculous. It’s all fake. Why would you waste your time on this?”

I can’t help but smirk. “Well, I find it entertaining,” I say, popping a piece of toast into my mouth. “It’s better than, I don’t know, making everything a drill sergeant routine.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, obviously irritated. “You could be doing something productive.”

“Like what?” I shoot back, but I don’t care enough to engage in the same conversation again. It’s easier to just keep watching the show. At least reality TV drama doesn't involve me.

He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t quite catch. After a moment, he makes his way over to the partially sunken recliner and turns to look at the show. His entire body is stiff, like he’s holding in some rage.

I can tell he’s not going to leave until I acknowledge his discomfort, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I lean back on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me on the coffee table as I continue watching.

After what feels like an eternity of him seething in silence, Bucky stands up abruptly. “I don’t know how you can watch this trash,” he grumbles, walking toward the kitchen.

We love a passive-aggressive drama queen.

I don’t even look at him, too busy enjoying the ridiculousness of the show. “You’re free to go do whatever you want, Bucky,” I call after him, my voice thick with sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, you can always head out into the woods and have a silent staring contest with the trees. They'll match your vibe perfectly: Silent and broody.”

He doesn’t answer, but I catch the faintest mutter, “Asshole,” as he storms off.

I let out a small, vindictive laugh to myself. That felt good.

Not even five minutes later, there’s a Post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

If you’re going to keep watching that crap, keep the volume down. - Bucky.

I roll my eyes but don’t respond. Instead, I grab the remote and turn up the volume just a little bit louder, letting the voices echo around the cabin.

Later in the afternoon, I’m sprawled out on the couch, now fully invested in the chaos of the show. I’m halfway through the latest episode when I see another post-it note. It’s stuck to the arm of the couch, right by my shoulder.

The noise isn’t the only thing that’s annoying. Can you clean up after yourself once in a while? - Bucky.

I glance around the living room, taking in the few crumbs from my snack and the empty cup I left on the counter. I guess this is his way of saying he doesn’t like the mess. Not that I care. He doesn’t like anything about me. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.

I scribble a quick note on a post-it, sticking it right by his coffee mug on the counter where he’ll see it.

This is my cabin too, right? It’s not like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be here. – Y.

I sit back, satisfied, as I continue watching the reality TV show, ignoring the underlying tension that seems to be building between us.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and something… burnt. Not fire-alarm burnt. Just slightly scorched ego burnt.

Bucky’s already in the kitchen, standing like he’s guarding national secrets in front of the stove. He doesn’t look at me when I shuffle in, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a personal shield. But there’s a note waiting on the counter—of course there is.

It’s stuck to a plate holding two very crispy slices of toast and a sad little smear of jam.

Figured I’d make enough for two. Next time, don’t leave your crumb trail in my peanut butter. – B.

I blink at it. Then at him.

He still doesn’t glance over. Just sips his coffee and stares out the window like it personally offended him.

I grab the plate without a word and pour myself some coffee. The toast crunches like gravel when I bite into it. It’s awful. I eat it anyway.

On my way to grab a napkin, I slap a new post-it down beside the coffee pot.

Your 1943 war ration bread is a health hazard. In other words, if your toast were a contestant on Survivor, it would be voted off the island. 1/10. Jam is communal. Like manners. – Y/N

I can feel him read it, even though he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens like he’s either trying not to laugh… or not to strangle me.

We eat in silence. The tension is weirdly quieter than usual -not the usual storm, more like fog.

Eventually, we somehow both end up in the living room. Once again, I grab the remote and flip on my reality show, volume low but not that low. The familiar theme music plays, overly dramatic and stupid in the best way.

I don’t look at him, but I hear the faintest groan -like his soul is physically trying to leave his body.

“This again?” he mutters.

I shrug. “I don’t complain about your 5 a.m. brooding walks.”

“That’s because I don’t do them with a dramatic soundtrack and drunk contestants.”

I sip my coffee. “You’d be more fun if you picked a favorite.” A grin spreads across my face. "Ooh, we could watch The Bachelorette. See which bachelor you root for."

“I’d rather eat drywall.” He grumbles.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

He doesn’t answer.

I bump the volume up by one notch.

He doesn’t leave the room.

And neither do I.

I’m halfway through an episode of my show when Bucky’s phone starts ringing -some weirdly intense ringtone that sounds like someone smashing a piano.

He looks at the screen and groans. “Of course.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at the man. He flips the phone around so I can see: Nick Fury, Incoming Call.

I sit up straighter. “Don’t answer it in here.” Panic begins to build in my chest. I look like shit. I haven't been productive. I still hate Bucky. Fury's going to kick my ass.

Or send someone to do it for him.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in pajamas and if Fury sees this show playing, he’ll put me on a no-screen list.” My eyes are wide while I stare at Bucky pleadingly.

Too late. Bucky accepts the call. And of course it’s FaceTime.

Fury’s one good eye immediately narrows. “Barnes. Y/N.”

I wave, trying to tuck my blanket higher like it’s a disguise. “Hey, Director. What's up? What do we owe this pleasure?”

“Are you two still breathing?” he asks, deadpan, not answering my question.

I glance at Bucky. “Unfortunately.”

“Funny.” Fury’s sarcasm level is dialed to lethal. “I’d ask if there’s been progress, but judging by the tension I can literally feel through the screen, I’ll skip to the point.”

Bucky folds his arms. “Let me guess—another punishment?”

“It’s a team-building activity,” Fury says, which might be worse. “Since neither of you seems capable of existing in the same room without someone developing a migraine, you’re going to create something together.”

“Like… art?” I ask warily.

Yay. Just what I wanted to spend my afternoon doing.

Fury smirks, and I hate that look. “A birdhouse.”

I blink. “A what?” He can't be serious.

“You heard me. I just sent coordinates to the nearest supply drop location. Go pick it up. Build the damn birdhouse. Together. You’ve got six hours.”

Bucky’s jaw is tight enough to crack concrete. “And if we don’t?”

“You’re here for two weeks,” Fury says. “Every task you fail means another two days added to your stay.”

He ends the call.

Bucky turns slowly toward me. “A birdhouse?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You punch robots for a living. I think you can handle wood glue.”

“Can you handle not talking for five minutes while I read the instructions?” He shoots back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I interrupt your sulking schedule? Edward Cullen, is that you?” I gasp.

He mutters something under his breath and grabs his coat that I barely catch. "Who the fuck is Edward Cullen?"

------

The supply drop is an actual metal case hidden under a tarp by a rock outcropping. Like we’re building a tactical avian bunker. We haul it back to the cabin in silence.

Inside: wood planks, nails, a tiny hammer (which Bucky immediately scoffs at), and one bottle of glue.

Plus a packet labeled: "TEAM MISSION – Document With Photo Proof."

Bucky holds up the hammer. “You use this. I’ll break it in half.”

“You’re not allowed to break anything,” I remind him sweetly. “Or it’s another two days in hell.”

We start sorting pieces. Five minutes in, we’re already fighting over who gets to hold the blueprint.

“No, that’s upside down,” I argue while trying to snatch the blueprint from his hands.

“I know which way is up,” he snaps back, moving the paper out of my reach.

“You’ve been frozen for half your life! You barely know what the internet is!”

His glare could melt steel.

An hour later, the birdhouse is somehow standing, though it leans like it’s avoiding us on purpose. There’s glue all over my fingers and sawdust in Bucky’s hair.

“Picture time,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“We’re not taking a picture next to this thing,” Bucky says. “It looks like a war crime.”

“Then smile like you just committed one.”

He doesn’t smile.

I snap the photo anyway. Us standing stiffly on either side of the crooked birdhouse, not touching, not smiling, and practically vibrating with mutual irritation.

I text it to the number Fury gave us.

“Done,” I say, sitting back with a sigh.

Bucky grunts. “We’ve got twelve more days of this.”

I stare at the birdhouse, tilting even more now. “It’s gonna be a long two weeks.”

------

TAGLIST: @buckysdoll85 @starfly-nicole @vxllys @succulent-momma @amandato300

Pt. 3 soon

[berilaksl]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

notes ! pure fluff, lovestruck! remus x reader and teasing from marauders.

warnings ! none really

Part I — The Library Chronicles

The library at Hogwarts was quieter than usual for a Friday afternoon. Golden rays filtered through tall, stained-glass windows and stretched across the polished wooden tables and worn spines of ancient books, casting a sleepy calm over the castle’s scholarly heart.

At the far end of one row, James Potter and Sirius Black sat across from each other, quills in hand and faces lit with suspicious mischief as they pored over a stack of books titled “Charms of Illusions and Confounding Tricks” and “Advanced Magical Mishaps: A Guide.”

“I’m telling you, if we combine the Disillusionment Charm with a basic Muggle smoke bomb—” James started.

“—and maybe a hovering charm so the whole corridor looks like a foggy battlefield,” Sirius finished, practically vibrating in his seat.

Across from them, Remus Lupin was attempting to read Defensive Magical Theory, jaw tight and eyebrows pulled together like storm clouds.

“I don’t know why you two thought the library was the best place to brainstorm a full-blown prank,” Remus muttered, eyes flicking from his book to his parchment. “Some of us are trying to be productive.”

“Some of us,” Sirius said, cocking a brow, “are clearly just trying not to look over at the other table across from us again.”

Remus stilled, the tips of his ears reddening.

James smirked, setting his quill down dramatically. “It’s true. You’ve been glancing up every three minutes, mate. Do you want me to lend you my watch so you can time it better?”

“I am not—”

“—pining? Brooding? Suffering in scholarly silence?” Sirius grinned. “Remus, your tragic love story is happening live in the library and we’re the front-row audience.”

Remus groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple. “You two are insufferable.”

Just a few tables down, you sat with Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald, parchment spread out in front of you as the three of you annotated your Transfiguration notes in neat, color-coded harmony. Well—at least you tried to.

Because every few moments, without meaning to, your gaze would flick upward. Always toward the same place. Always toward him.

Remus Lupin.

You weren’t even sure when it started. Perhaps in third year, when he’d helped you pick up a stack of books you’d dropped near the Herbology greenhouses, and you’d shared a laugh that made your cheeks ache. Or maybe it was during that Potions disaster in fifth year when the two of you had been paired together—pure chaos, but still, he’d looked at you like you were made of stars when you finally figured out the antidote.

He was clever, thoughtful, and ridiculously charming in that quietly sarcastic way that made your stomach twist. And Merlin help you—he had that broody, cardigan-wearing, chocolate-and-old-books energy that made your brain go fuzzy.

But he was also stubborn. Withdrawn. Hard to read when it mattered most. And you? You weren’t about to throw yourself at someone who clearly wasn’t going to make a move.

Even if you sort of—kind of—maybe wanted to.

“You’re staring again,” Lily whispered beside you, scribbling something into the margins of her parchment.

You blinked, suddenly caught. “I was not.”

“Darling,” Mary chimed in, barely glancing up, “you were practically burning a hole through his jumper.”

You flushed and tried to focus on your notes, scribbling a little too hard with your quill.

Back at the Marauders’ table, James leaned across to Sirius. “I’m giving him a week.”

“A week?” Sirius laughed. “You’re generous. I say three days before he finally admits he’s hopelessly in love with her.”

“Will you both shut up?” Remus hissed under his breath, flipping a page so aggressively it nearly tore. But then—

He looked up.

And your eyes met.

It was just a second. Two, maybe. But it felt like everything else in the library blurred out, like the quiet rustling of parchment and distant whispers turned into static. Your breath caught. So did his.

And then you blinked, and it was gone.

Remus dropped his gaze like he’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

James let out a triumphant whistle. “I saw that! Moony, you romantic bastard.”

“I swear, if you say one more word—” Remus warned, but the heat creeping up his neck gave him away.

Across the room, Lily leaned toward you. “You’re really going to make him suffer like this forever, aren’t you?”

You bit back a smile, twirling your quill slowly. “He could talk to me, you know.”

Mary smirked. “So could you.”

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And he was, against all better judgment, completely ruined.

Meanwhile, you had noticed the glances too.

How could you not?

Every time you so much as flicked your gaze toward Remus, he looked away so fast you almost got whiplash. He was terribly bad at hiding it — which, truthfully, only made him more endearing.

You leaned toward Lily, whispering just loud enough for Mary to hear too.

“Think I should go over there and ask him if he’s lost something?”

Lily choked on a laugh, hiding it behind her hand.

Mary smirked.

“Oh, do it. Please. The poor boy’s about one compliment away from fainting.”

You shook your head, smiling into your parchment.

As much as you liked teasing him in your mind, the idea of confronting Remus Lupin — whose clever, tired smiles made your stomach somersault — was frankly terrifying.

Back at the boys’ table, Sirius and James were plotting.

“We need to do something,” Sirius said, stage-whispering. **“At this rate, he’ll pine himself into an early grave.”

James leaned in conspiratorially. “Operation: Push Moony Off The Ledge?”

“Brilliant.”

Remus caught the look exchanged between them and narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Who, us?” Sirius said innocently.

Before Remus could argue, James and Sirius had both loudly and obnoxiously dropped a very heavy tome on Remus’s half of the table, conveniently open to a page titled:

“Twelve Foolproof Ways To Impress The Witch of Your Dreams.”

Remus turned a shade of crimson that would’ve impressed a Weasley.

He slammed the book shut and hissed: “You absolute prats—”

And that was the exact moment he glanced up — and caught you looking at him, amused, eyes sparkling with barely hidden laughter.

He froze.

It was like someone had floored him. Like time slowed.

Your mouth curved into the faintest, teasing smile before you turned back to your friends, whispering something that made Lily snort into her sleeve.

Remus sat there, heart hammering against his ribs, quill forgotten entirely.

“Smooth,” Sirius said, voice vibrating with laughter. “Real smooth, Moony.”

“I hate you,” Remus muttered.

James patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“We’re doing this for your own good, mate. You’re hopeless.”

Meanwhile, across the library, Lily and Mary were also plotting.

“You have to do something,” Lily urged you. **“He looks like he’s going to pass out if you so much as wave at him.”

Mary added, grinning: “At this point, it’s cruelty to leave him hanging.”

You rolled your eyes, though warmth crept into your cheeks.

“Maybe after we finish this essay…”

(You both knew you wouldn’t wait that long.)

Across the library, two separate operations had been launched — each with the sole mission of pushing two stubborn people toward the inevitable.

And neither of you had a chance.

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 2

Summary: Spencer doesn’t plan on seeing her again—but fate disagrees. A second encounter at the library leads to lunch, crayons, and conversation that slips into unexpected feelings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: Just a lot of fluff, and Spencer being a natural girl dad.

word count: 8.5k (I might’ve gone a little overboard)

Series Masterlist

“Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

That’s what I told the woman in the library two weeks ago when I found her daughter crying.

Maybe that’s why I’m back here. Back in the same library. Same hour. Same section.

Because books are easier than people, and thus I spend all my free time in the Library. Or maybe it was a coincidence. It was just a coincidence that this Library is closest to Quantico and was the same one where I met her. I’m not here for her. I’m not—

Actually, statistically speaking, the odds of running into someone twice in the same place, at the same time, without planning to, are roughly one in—

I exhale. Pick up the dog-eared copy of A Short History of Nearly Everything, flip it open with the spine cradled in my palm like something sacred. Page 203. I already know what’s there. I’ve memorized this edition. The typo in the footnote. The misplaced semicolon.

I set it back.

My fingers twitch toward Cosmos. Sagan. Safe. Familiar. Predictable, in the way that humans never were. Books don’t lie. Don’t leave. Don’t disappear into the world after saying things like “Thank you for being so gentle with her.”

She had a kind voice. Soft but tired. Like it had been through too many nights alone.

I blink and shake the thought loose. Refocus on the shelves, on the choices. As if there’s a decision to be made, when I know I’ll probably leave empty-handed anyway.

I don’t even need more books.

I tell myself I came here to browse, but I could’ve done that anywhere. There’s a secondhand shop closer to my apartment. Bigger science section. Better lighting.

But I came here.

Same day. Same time.

I run my thumb along the edge of a cover, barely registering the title.

It’s not like I expected to see her again. That would be ridiculous. Irrational. Entirely out of character.

But that doesn’t stop my brain from replaying her voice.

"Thank you again. For everything."

I didn’t say much in return. I never do. But she looked at me like I had, anyway. Like I’d said something important without needing to speak it aloud.

She was tired. In that way people are when they don’t trust the world to be kind to them. I know that look. I’ve worn it.

I wonder if she always smells like pancakes and baby shampoo. If she always speaks gently when she’s angry. If she ever lets anyone in.

I wonder how long I’ll remember the curve of her smile. The way her daughter clung to her shirt like it was home.

This is stupid.

I’m being stupid.

I pick up Cosmos. Open it halfway, then shut it again. I’m not even pretending anymore.

I turn slightly, scanning the aisle like maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of—

Laughter.

High, bright, unfiltered. A child’s laughter.

My chest tightens before I even realize I’m holding my breath. It’s probably nothing. Just another kid. There are always kids in libraries, especially on weekends. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t—

Another laugh, this time followed by a tiny voice too far away to make out. But there’s something about the cadence. The way it rises and dips with storybook rhythm.

I close my eyes.

I know that voice. Not in the way I know facts. Not in a way I could quantify. But I know it.

My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the book.

No. It’s not possible. The odds are ridiculous. Coincidence is one thing—this would be something else entirely. This would be—

My heart stutters.

I don’t move, not yet. I just stand there, spine straight, staring blankly at the shelf in front of me like it might explain what I’m supposed to do next.

It could be her, It could be Maddie.

Which means…

She’s here too.

And that thought—that tiny, traitorous flicker of hope—is enough to terrify me. Because if it’s not?

If I turn that corner and it’s just some other little girl with Rapunzel hair and a too-loud laugh?

Then I’ll have to admit that I came here for someone I barely know.

And I’m not sure what’s worse—seeing them again, or not seeing them at all.

I didn’t have to do anything to figure it out. Because before I could even make up my mind about turning the corner, I felt a small tug at the bottom hem of my shirt.

And then—

“Spencer?”

Her voice. High-pitched. Certain.

I looked down.

There she was. Bright-eyed, slightly flushed, her hair a little messier than I remembered, like she’d been running through the shelves unsupervised again. The same Rapunzel doll she had gotten from our previous encounter, clutched in one hand.

And just like that, the rest of the library disappeared.

All the facts. All the logic. All the well-rehearsed mental gymnastics I’d been running through dissolved under the weight of one look from a five-year-old.

“Hi,” I said—because it was the only word I could find.

Her face lit up like it was the answer she’d been hoping for.

“I knew it was you!” she beamed. “Mommy said maybe someday, and I told her someday would come.”

Someday.

I swallowed hard.

It was suddenly, terrifyingly, today.

“Maddie…” I crouched down a little, just to meet her eyes. “Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost again?”

I looked around, scanning the edges of the room for any sign of her. But all I saw were rows and rows of shelves, shadowed corners, and quiet readers. No familiar face. No soft, tired voice. Just absence.

“No,” Maddie said, entirely unfazed. “Mommy’s at the kiddie section, talking to my friend’s mom. I was playing hide and seek with my friend… and then I saw you.”

She said it like I was the thing she’d been hoping to find all along. Like this had been part of the game.

I was about to suggest we head back to the kiddie section and find her mother, but it was clear she had no intention of being rerouted. Her mind was already somewhere else—bouncing ahead like she always seemed to.

“Mommy brought me to the library today, and she read me and my friends a book!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating.

“Oh really?” I asked, settling into her rhythm. “What book?”

“There’s No Place Like Space!” she announced proudly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Cat in the hat?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah! He wears a space helmet.”

I smiled. “Did you learn any new facts?”

She leaned in like she was about to share a state secret. “Did you know Saturn has rings made of ice and rocks and moon dust? That’s what the book said.”

“I did know that,” I whispered back. “But only because I read it too.”

Her face lit up like I’d just told her we shared a superpower. “Really?! what else do you know?”

I smiled, keeping my voice low like we were sharing very important secrets.

“Well… did you know that on Venus, it rains acid? But the air’s so hot, the rain disappears before it ever touches the ground.”

Her mouth opened slightly. “That sounds scary.”

“It is,” I said softly. “But it’s far, far away. Just a cool thing to learn about.”

She nodded, thinking. Then, out of nowhere—like a thought just dropped into her head—she said, “My mommy likes the stars too.”

That pulled at something in me. Quietly. All at once.

“She does?” I asked.

Maddie nodded. “Sometimes we look at them through the window before bedtime.”

I hesitated, then gently cleared my throat. “Hey… do you think maybe we should go find her now? I’m sure she’s wondering where you are.”

Maddie looked back toward the shelves behind her, then back at me.

“Okay,” she said, like it hadn’t occurred to her until now. “She’s by the little chairs.”

“Then let’s go find the little chairs.”

We started walking side by side when, suddenly, Maddie’s small hand found mine.

It was a common thing—kids reaching for the hand of an adult they trusted while walking. It wasn’t unusual.

But did I really count as that? A trusted adult?

I mean, it’s not like I would ever hurt her. Not in a million years. I’d protect this little girl with my life if it came to that.

Still… the idea that a child I barely knew could trust me enough to take my hand without hesitation It felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Like something meant for someone else.

And yet, I didn’t panic, I didn’t pull away. In fact, I felt strangely calm. Like her hand belonged there.

It was small—smaller than I remembered, even—and warm, and sticky in the way little kids always seem to be. But she held on with certainty. Like I was something solid. Like I was safe.

We walked slowly, her short legs trying to keep pace with mine, and I didn’t rush her. I didn’t want to.

I could feel the weight of that hand more than I could feel the floor beneath my feet. Like it anchored me to something I hadn’t even known I’d been floating away from.

I glanced down at her, at the way her gaze scanned the shelves, totally unbothered. Totally sure.

She didn’t look up at me. She didn’t need to. She already trusted I’d follow her lead.

And somehow, I did.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind before I could stop it:

This shouldn’t feel so good.

Because it did.

It felt easy in a way that nothing in my life ever has. Maddie’s hand in mine wasn’t just comfort—it was hope, concentrated into the smallest, warmest palm. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t used to ease. I wasn’t built for things that slipped into place without needing explanation.

She tugged me gently to the left, toward the kid’s section, and I followed without question.

I didn’t even try to tell myself it was just good manners, or that I was walking her back because it was the responsible thing to do. I was following because I wanted to. Because in that moment, I wanted to be wherever she was—wanted to stay in this little pocket of borrowed peace for as long as I could.

The truth was, I’d never given much serious thought to having children. Sure, I’d wanted a family in the vague, hypothetical way people who grew up lonely tend to. I thought maybe, someday, I’d settle down. Maybe have someone waiting at home. A dog, probably. A partner, if I was lucky. A kid, maybe—but that part always felt hazy. Distant. Like a chapter in someone else’s story.

But right now, walking beside Maddie—imagining myself in this setting, not as a stranger or a bystander, but as a father—something shifted.

It wasn’t a sharp ache. Not like the usual stabs of grief or guilt or want.

It was quieter than that. Slower.

Like a soft click. Like something sliding into place.

And while it was a strange concept for me—unfamiliar, fragile, impossible in so many ways—I couldn’t say I felt opposed to it. In fact, for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel afraid of it at all.

We were only a few feet away from the kiddie section now. I could see the tiny beanbag chairs, the colorful rugs. Hear the gentle hum of a mother’s voice reading aloud. For a second, I let myself imagine it was ours—that this was routine. A Saturday morning. A library run. Me, her, and

I stopped myself before the thought finished.

This wasn’t mine. This wasn’t something I got to keep. For crying out loud, I’ve only met the girl and her mother last week. I’m way too over my head.

And when Maddie pulled on my hand again, her other arm wrapped around that worn Rapunzel doll like it was a promise, I tried not to fall any further into it.

“Told you I knew where she was,” she said softly.

I managed a quiet smile. “You did.”

And then—just over the shelves—I heard the voice that had been echoing in my head for two weeks.

Hers.

My eyes shot up toward her, and to my own surprise—

she was already watching us.

She stood just beyond the shelves, half-shadowed by a spinning rack of paperback picture books, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. And she was smiling.

Not big or performative. Just soft. Gentle.

Like she’d been watching for a while. Like this wasn’t a surprise to her. Like maybe… this made sense. I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The way it made my chest tighten. The way her eyes found mine, and didn’t flinch or look away. The way she looked at the two of us—at me—like I belonged in the picture.

She didn’t rush forward. Didn’t call out.

She just stood there.

Calm. Certain.

And somehow, that scared me more than if she’d run.

Maybe this was all in my head. The screw had finally come loose enough to make me believe that this woman—this beautiful, exhausted, soft-voiced woman—was actually smiling at me.

Like I was someone worth smiling at.

Like the sight of me, a stranger, with her daughter didn’t set off alarms, or raise questions, or make her second-guess every protective instinct she’d ever built.

Maybe my brain, forever conditioned to prepare for rejection, had simply decided to give me a mercy hallucination before crashing back to reality.

Because what else could explain the warmth in her eyes?

What else could explain the way she was looking at me like…

like I hadn’t just found her daughter again—

But like I’d shown up.

Before I could spiral any further, she started walking toward us—steady, unhurried, like she wasn’t surprised to see me there at all.

Maddie turned just as she arrived, tugging gently on my hand and beaming.

“Look, Mommy! I found the wizard again! I told you I would!”

Her voice was loud enough to turn a few heads from the nearby shelves, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Her joy was too big for her body.

I glanced at the woman—at her—half-expecting to see confusion or concern flicker across her face. Maybe even wariness. Instead, she just smiled. Not the polite kind. Not the forced kind. Just something real. Soft around the edges.

She looked between me and her daughter, then down at our joined hands. And I swear—for a second—her smile deepened, like the sight didn’t just make sense, but maybe... made her glad.

“I see that,” she said, voice warm with amusement. “You’re getting pretty good at finding him.”

Maddie nodded proudly. “I said I would. You said maybe someday, and I knew it was today.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I probably should’ve let go of her hand, or at least looked less like I’d just been emotionally tackled in the middle of a library. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

She looked at me then—really looked—and for the first time since she’d appeared, the smile didn’t falter.

“Hi,” she said, simple and easy, like this wasn’t strange. Like we weren’t two people somehow caught in the gravity of something neither of us planned for.

And all I could think to do… was nod.

“Hi.”

It came out too quiet, too late—but she smiled anyway, like she didn’t mind.

Then silence.

Not a heavy one, not uncomfortable exactly—just... full. Like neither of us knew what to say first, or maybe we were both waiting for the other to fill in the blanks.

I let go of Maddie’s hand, finally, and immediately missed the weight of it.

She shifted slightly, brushing some hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think we’d actually see you again.”

“Me neither,” I said, and then immediately regretted how abrupt it sounded. “I mean—I come here a lot. Not for—well, not because of…”

I trailed off. Good. Very smooth.

She tilted her head, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Not because of the children’s section, I hope.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah— I mean no! no... I didn’t… plan to. I mean, not in a weird way. I come here a lot. I wasn’t... following you.”

Why did I say that?

But she laughed, and thank God, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just warm.

“I didn’t think you were. Though if you were—this is a pretty safe place to be stalked.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, no. I was… in nonfiction. Science.”

“Of course you were.” The way she said it—soft, teasing, like she already knew that about me—made something flicker in my chest. “What were you reading?”

I blinked. “Oh, uh—Cosmos, again. I’ve read it more times than I care to admit.”

She tilted her head, genuinely curious now. “Why go back to something you already know?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and stopped.

Because it’s safe. Because I know what’s coming. Because people don’t make sense and books do.

Instead, I said, “Sometimes I need something that doesn’t change.”

That earned a slower nod from her. Thoughtful.

“That’s actually kind of beautiful,” she murmured.

I should’ve let the moment settle, but I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

“So…” I said, voice low, uncertain. “Do you come here often?”

She raised a brow, and I realized immediately how that sounded. My ears burned.

“Sorry—that sounded like a really bad line. I just meant… is this your usual Saturday spot?”

Her expression softened again, and to my surprise, she nodded.

“Pretty much every week. It’s our ritual.”

“It’s a nice one.”

“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes flicked toward Maddie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the carpet, flipping through a board book upside down. “It keeps us grounded.”

Something about the way she said us made my chest ache.

And still—I didn’t want to leave.

I could’ve said goodbye. Should’ve. But instead, I opened my mouth again.

“I never caught your name.”

“I never caught your name.”

She turned back to me, almost surprised I’d asked, like she hadn’t noticed we’d gone this long without saying it.

A slow smile crept onto her face. “It’s Y/N.”

Y/N.

I repeated it silently, like a fact I didn’t want to forget. Like something I’d write in the margin of a book I didn’t own but wished I did.

“I’m—”

“Spencer… I know,” she said, that smile tugging just a little higher now. “Maddie wouldn’t stop rambling about you all week.”

My eyebrows lifted before I could catch the reaction, and I felt the heat rush to my face.

She already knew. But somehow, hearing her say my name still felt like the right thing—like speaking it aloud made this real. Not just a strange, passing moment in a quiet library, but something grounded. Something remembered.

“She has a lot to say for someone under four feet tall,” I said, hoping humor would mask the way my chest was suddenly too full.

“She does,” Y/N agreed softly. “But she only remembers the good things.”

Her eyes were steady on mine. Not teasing this time. Just... warm.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Spencer.”

And somehow, it felt like the first honest thing I’d heard all day.

I nodded, unsure what to say—afraid that if I said anything at all, it might break whatever this was. The moment. The quiet understanding. The fact that I was still standing here, and she hadn’t walked away.

But eventually, she glanced down at Maddie, still content in her world of upside-down books and floor-level discoveries, and I could tell she was about to say goodbye. I felt it before she spoke. The air shifted.

“We should probably head out,” she said gently, and began to step back. “She gets grumpy if we skip lunch.”

I smiled, even though the thought of watching them walk away made something in me feel uneven.

Y/N leaned down to gather Maddie’s things, and as she did, Maddie stood and toddled back over to me.

And then—without hesitation—she reached up and wrapped her tiny fingers around mine again.

I froze. My hand curled instinctively around hers, soft and steady, like it had before. Like it still belonged there.

She looked up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

I froze. Not visibly—but inside, everything just… stopped. My thoughts. My breath. My ability to pretend this wasn’t affecting me.

I hadn’t prepared for that. I’d expected a goodbye. Maybe a smile. Not this. Not a question that sounded so innocent and yet landed like a weight in the center of my chest.

Because the truth was—I didn’t know.

I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes. More than I should have. More than made sense for someone who had only just learned her mother’s name.

But wanting something has never made it safe. Not for me.

My gaze lifted—instinctively, automatically—and found hers.

Y/N was already looking at me.

And I could tell from the way her breath caught, the way her hand hovered mid-reach like she’d forgotten what she was doing, that she hadn’t expected it either. Not the question. Not the way I looked at her like I was asking her to answer for me. Like I needed her to be the one to say it was okay to want this.

I didn’t know what was written across my face, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t laugh or step in or rescue me from the moment.

She just… watched.

And in the silence, I felt it—all the things I wasn’t letting myself say. The wish that this wasn’t just a moment but the beginning of something. The hope that I hadn’t imagined the connection. The ache I’d been holding at bay since the first time Maddie reached for my hand and didn’t flinch.

It was all there. Pressed between us in the space of a few seconds.

And she didn’t look away.

Then, slowly, I crouched down to Maddie’s level. My knees creaked a little, and the hem of my coat bunched at my sides, but I didn’t care. I met her eyes, soft and serious, and smiled.

“I hope so,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. Rough around the edges. Still honest.

She beamed, her face lighting up like I’d just granted her a wish.

I reached out and gently tapped her nose. She giggled, and the sound felt like a small sun blooming in the center of my chest.

He tapped her nose, and Maddie giggled—light and free, like the world had never once scared her.

I watched them from just a step away, something quiet unfolding in my chest. The way he looked at her. The way she looked at him. I wasn’t sure when it had started to feel like they already knew each other. Like some invisible thread had pulled them together and neither of them had questioned it—not once.

Watching them bond shouldn’t have affected me this much. But it did. It was. It is affecting me in a way I didn’t expect, didn’t prepare for. And somewhere beneath all that stillness in my chest was something louder—I can’t let him walk away twice.

And before I could stop myself—before I could think too hard about what it might mean—I said, “Spencer, would you maybe like to join us for lunch?”

The words left my mouth before I had time to second-guess them.

He blinked, startled—like he hadn’t expected me to say his name, let alone follow it with an invitation.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

I felt the nerves flood in, quick and sharp. I cleared my throat, rushing to soften the moment.

God. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. What was I even thinking?

Too forward. Too hopeful. I mean—I just met the man. And now here I am, inviting him to lunch like we’re old friends? Like we’re… something?

And wait—was that even just an invitation?

Oh no. What if he thinks I’m asking him out?

Was I asking him out?

I’m not ready to date. I haven’t dated in years. I wouldn’t even know where to start—what to say, what to wear, how to be. Besides, lunch with your daughter and a man you met in the library is not a date. Right?

Right?

He probably thinks we’re a mess. Just a tired, overstretched mom and her talkative little girl, desperate enough to drag the first nice stranger we meet into some kind of father-figure fantasy.

God, he’s probably trying to come up with a polite excuse right now.

I glanced down at Maddie, who was still looking up at him like he hung the moon.

I nearly opened my mouth to take it back. To say I was joking. Or that it was totally fine if he was busy.

But then—

He looked at her.

And something in him softened.

And once again, I just couldn’t stop my mouth.

“There’s a little place just down the block,” I added quickly. “It’s nothing fancy—mostly sandwiches and crayons and spilled apple juice, but… Maddie likes it.”

I didn’t know what I expected him to say. Maybe I was already preparing myself for a polite decline. But then he glanced at her—at the way she was still beaming, still holding onto the weight of his words.

Then he looked at me.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

Maddie gasped like someone had just told her she could live in a candy store.

“Yay!” Maddie shouted, throwing her hands in the air with absolutely no regard for indoor voice levels. “Spencer’s coming with us!”

Her joy was so pure, so loud, so entirely her, I couldn’t help but laugh. It bubbled out of me before I could stop it—part nerves, part disbelief, part just watching her glow like she’d won something precious. And Spencer—he smiled too. Tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, but then a little fuller when she grabbed his hand without asking, without hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him toward the exit, already halfway to the door. “I’ll show you where it is!”

He glanced back at me, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure if he was being kidnapped or adopted.

I shrugged, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. “Maddie, don’t drag him. He’s not a toy.”

She didn’t slow down. If anything, she gripped tighter.

I stepped in to help, reaching for her arm, but Spencer shook his head gently. “It’s okay,” he said, still watching her like she was some strange, marvelous creature he hadn’t quite figured out. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

I smiled, and for the first time since inviting him, I felt the knot in my stomach start to loosen. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, falling into step beside him. “She’s… very persistent.”

“I’m starting to notice,” he said, voice soft with something that sounded dangerously close to fondness.

The three of us walked together, side by side. Maddie led the way like a tiny parade marshal, humming something under her breath, swinging their hands with so much enthusiasm it lifted his arm with every step. Spencer let it happen.

And I watched him out of the corner of my eye—how careful he was not to step too far ahead or too far behind. How he looked down at her, then at me, then away again. Like he was still waiting for the moment to collapse on itself. Like he was quietly, hopelessly wondering if this—whatever this was—was real.

Maddie tugged him forward again, chattering about crayons and sandwiches and something called “the apple juice tower,” whatever that was. I let her lead, falling just a step ahead of him as we neared the glass doors.

But just before I reached for the handle, something made me glance back.

He was watching us—watching me—with that same quiet, uncertain awe like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all in his head.

Our eyes met, and I smiled. Not big. Not nervous. Just enough to say I see you. You’re here. This is okay.

He smiled back. Small, but real. Like he meant it.

The café was exactly the kind of place that looked like it had been decorated by a five-year-old with a glue stick and too much creative freedom.

Paper menus. Crayon buckets on every table. Bright yellow walls smudged with fingerprints and faded murals of dancing sandwiches. The air smelled like grilled cheese and applesauce, with just the faintest undercurrent of desperation.

Maddie walked in like she owned the place.

She made a beeline for her favorite table near the window, climbed into the booster seat without help, and immediately grabbed a crayon to start coloring the laminated menu like it was a job she took very seriously.

I offered a quick, breathless apology to the hostess—who, by now, knew us by name from how often we ate here, and how often I apologized for Maddie. She just smiled, waved us along like always.

I followed behind, juggling Maddie’s water bottle, my slipping purse strap, and the bag hanging awkwardly off one arm. My hair stuck to the back of my neck, and I was already sweating before we even reached the table.

Spencer hovered behind us—shoulders tense, hands tucked carefully into his sleeves like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. He eyed the table before sitting, then reached for a napkin and used it to wipe off the corner of his chair.

I bit back a smile.

He sat down slowly, like the seat might collapse under him, and folded a napkin onto his lap with an almost surgical precision. Then, with the same cautious care, he picked up the menu between two fingers like it might bite him.

“Is this… washable?” he asked, squinting at a suspicious green smear in the corner.

I bit back a laugh.

The way he held himself—tense, deliberate, like the entire environment was foreign terrain—should’ve felt awkward. Should’ve made him seem stiff or out of place. And maybe he was. This place was loud and messy and sticky in all the ways kid-friendly cafés tend to be. It didn’t match his cardigan, or the way he spoke, or the precise way he folded that napkin like he needed it to anchor him.

But somehow, despite how out of place he looked in here… it was charming in a way I hadn’t expected.

Like he was trying. Like none of this made sense to him, but he’d still shown up and let a four-year-old lead him to a table covered in crayon marks and glitter glue residue—and never once complained.

It made something settle in my chest. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. Just… gently.

The way something shifts when you realize someone doesn’t quite fit into your world, but doesn’t seem afraid of it, either.

Maybe i’m getting ahead of myself again…

I smiled as I finally slid into the seat across from him.

“You’re holding your sandwich menu like it’s radioactive.”

He blinked at me, then laughed—nervous, quiet, but real.

“I’m just… recalibrating. I don’t usually eat anywhere that serves chocolate milk with every meal.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing to the glittery chalkboard behind him, “you’re in luck. Today’s special is dino nuggets with a side of animal crackers and a sticker.”

He raised a brow. “Do I have to finish my vegetables to earn it?”

“Only if Maddie lets you.”

From her booster seat, Maddie gave him a solemn nod. “You have to eat two bites. That’s the rule.”

He nodded seriously, matching her tone. “Fair enough.”

Maddie picked up her crayon again, dramatically scribbling across the corner of the kids’ menu like she was signing a contract. “I’m gonna get the dinosaur lunch,” she announced. “And I’m gonna eat the animal crackers first.”

“Bold choice,” I said. “Dessert before lunch?”

She nodded with absolute conviction. “They taste better when they’re still cold.”

Spencer looked genuinely intrigued. “Cold animal crackers?”

I smiled. “The servers here love Maddie. She likes her animal crackers cold, so they put them in the fridge for her. We come here a lot.”

He glanced between us, amused, and I added, “She also keeps a stash in the fridge at home—right next to the ketchup and a collection of stickers she refuses to actually use.”

“They’re for emergencies,” Maddie mumbled, still coloring.

He smiled, clearly charmed. “I think that’s smart.”

Maddie sat back, tapping her crayon to her chin. “What’s your favorite food, Spencer?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting to be called on. “Oh. Uh…” He paused, clearly thinking harder than anyone needed to over the question. “As a kid, I really liked buttered saltines.”

Maddie wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s… sad toast,” I said, biting back a grin.

He laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

“Well I like jelly sandwiches,” Maddie declared, puffing up proudly. “But only if they don’t touch the crust.”

I turned to Spencer, already smiling. “Last week she had a full meltdown because her sandwich was touching the pickles on the plate.”

He raised a brow. “Touching the pickles?”

“Contamination, apparently,” I said. “There were actual tears. Like, betrayal-level tears.”

Maddie shrugged. “I hate pickles.”

Spencer held up both hands. “No judgment. I cried once because I dropped an ice cream cone on a squirrel.”

There was a pause. Then Maddie said, dead serious, “Did it eat it?”

Spencer leaned in just slightly, like he was letting her in on a secret. “It did.”

Maddie let out a satisfied little “huh” and went back to coloring like that settled everything.

I looked across the table at him, and before I could stop myself, I smiled.

God help me… I was enjoying this.

Before anything else could be said, the server arrived to take our order. Maddie ordered for herself, proudly pointing at the “Dino Lunch” with a red crayon-smudged finger, and I gave my usual half-apology as I asked for something simple and spill-proof.

Which, of course, did nothing to stop the inevitable.

Because just as the drinks were set down—and Spencer opened his mouth to comment on the chalkboard specials—Maddie reached for her crayon and accidentally knocked her cup with her elbow.

Apple juice went tumbling sideways, spilling fast across the table and soaking everything in its path: the menu, a handful of napkins, and most dangerously, the edge of Spencer’s side of the table.

“Shoot—Maddie, careful!” I said, snapping forward before I could think. One hand grabbed the cup, the other reached for the nearest napkins, my voice already apologizing. “I’m so sorry—God, I always forget to move it. Are you—did it get on you?”

But Spencer didn’t flinch.

He didn’t startle or recoil. He didn’t look to me for direction or freeze up like he wasn’t sure how to exist inside the chaos.

He just moved.

Quiet. Certain. Crouched beside the table with a napkin in hand, dabbing gently at the spill like it was something ordinary. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

There was no performance in it. No show of exaggerated patience. No offhand comment meant to smooth over the discomfort.

Just presence. Just calm.

And it shouldn’t have surprised me—but it did.

Because I’ve grown so used to being watched during moments like this. To feeling people’s eyes crawl across the back of my neck when juice spills or crayons fall or Maddie’s voice gets just a little too loud. I’ve learned the tone people use when they try to be helpful but can’t quite hide the edge in their voice.

But Spencer?

He just helped.

And it wasn’t just that he helped—it was the way he moved. Careful, like the world had taught him to tread lightly. Like he knew some things break if you come at them too fast.

He handed Maddie a napkin without a word, and she took it without hesitation. Like she already understood his kind of quiet.

And I just stood there, blinking at this man who looked so completely out of place in a room full of noise and color—and yet somehow felt like the most steady thing in it.

The moment passed the way these things always do—juice soaked up, napkins tossed aside, and Maddie already moving on like it had never happened at all.

She was now focused on arranging her animal crackers by species, narrating under her breath which ones were friends and which ones were “going to space.” Spencer watched her with quiet interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Maddie was mid-chew, swinging her legs beneath the booster seat, when she glanced up at Spencer and asked, in the completely unfiltered way only kids can,

“Do you have a kid?”

Spencer blinked.

There was a pause. Not long enough to seem strange, but long enough for me to feel it.

And God, I felt it.

The second the question left her mouth, I wanted to shrink. Apologize. Backpedal so hard I’d fall through the floor. I could’ve sworn the air changed. My stomach twisted. I opened my mouth, ready to say something—anything to fill the silence, soften the edges—but then he answered.

He smiled—small, controlled. “No,” he said. “Just books.”

His tone was light. Almost rehearsed. But something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.

Just books.

It sounded like a joke. The kind you throw out to change the subject. But his eyes didn’t quite match the smile. They didn’t crinkle at the corners. They didn’t hold amusement. They held something else.

Not sadness, exactly. Not regret. Just… distance.

Like the question had touched something he hadn’t expected. Like maybe there was a story there—one he didn’t tell often. Or at all.

I didn’t push. I wanted to. More than I should have.

But I just reached for Maddie’s juice and asked if she wanted a straw. She nodded and went back to organizing her crackers.

And Spencer?

He went back to watching her with that quiet kind of attention—the kind that didn’t ask for anything in return.

The moment settled, the way heavy things do—gently, but not without leaving something behind.

Maddie had already moved on, now focused on biting the heads off her dinosaur nuggets in species order, completely unaware of the silence she’d left behind.

Spencer picked up his water, took a small sip, and then moved his attention towards me. Not at Maddie. Not at the menu. At me.

And of course, that was the exact moment I realized I’d been staring at him.

I panicked, internally.

My brain scrambled for something—anything—to do with my face. Should I smile? Look away? Pretend I was zoning out and just happened to be staring into the space he occupied? My fork suddenly became the most fascinating object in the universe.

But he didn’t seem thrown by it.

If anything, there was something different in the way he was looking at me now. A shift. Not in focus exactly—he’d been paying attention this whole time. But something had turned. Like I wasn’t just Maddie’s mom across the table anymore. Like now, I was someone he wanted to understand.

“You’re good with her,” he said, voice softer now. Not like a compliment, exactly—more like an observation. One he’d been quietly holding onto for a while.

I smiled, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Uh… thanks?”

It came out more awkward than I meant it to. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, buying half a second to breathe.

“I try,” I added. “She makes it easy most of the time.”

Then, like I couldn’t help myself, I added, “She’s also really clumsy. Like, expert-level.”

He let out a soft laugh—just enough to warm the space between us.

“Clumsy’s fine,” he said. “It means she’s moving fast enough to chase things.”

“Chase things?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced down for a second, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “I just mean… she’s curious. Curious kids knock things over sometimes. It’s kind of the price of wonder.”

I stared at him for a second, not because I didn’t understand, but because—

who says things like that?

Somehow, he made Maddie’s juice spill sound like a trait of great explorers.

“That’s…” I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Weirdly profound.”

He gave a half-shrug, eyes still on his water glass. “I think about stuff like that a lot.”

“So you’re one of those… deep and mysterious guys?” I asked, only half-joking.

He looked up at me then, something flickering behind his expression—amusement, maybe, or hesitation. Or both.

“I don’t think I’m mysterious,” he said. “Just… overthinky.”

“Is that the technical term?”

He cracked a small smile. “It is in certain circles.”

There was a pause—one that didn’t feel awkward, just full. I watched him trace the rim of his glass with one finger, thoughtful, like he was weighing what to say next.

“But I guess I’d rather be quiet than careless,” he added after a moment. “Some things deserve a softer touch.”

And just like that, there it was again—that pull in my chest. That stupid, quiet ache for someone who wasn’t just listening, but noticing.

I wasn’t used to that. Not even a little.

People usually speak just to fill silence, to be heard. But he didn’t do that. He left space—real space—for something to exist between us, and didn’t rush to fill it. And in that space, I felt something shift in me.

Maybe it was the way he said it—careless, softer touch, like he knew what it meant to ruin something just by trying too hard.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at me without flinching. Without expectation.

Whatever it was, it made me want to offer something back. Just enough to even the playing field.

“It’s just me and Maddie,” I said, almost before I realized I’d decided to. “Always has been.”

“Just you two?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t surprised or pitying—just curious. Open.

I nodded, brushing my fingers over a wrinkle in the paper napkin beside my plate. “Yeah. I’m a single mother.”

There wasn’t any bitterness in the words. Not anymore. Just fact. Just a quiet kind of truth I’d grown used to carrying.

“I didn’t plan it that way, obviously,” I added, eyes flicking up to meet his. “But life doesn’t really wait around for your timeline to catch up.”

He didn’t rush to fill the silence. Didn’t try to soothe it or fix it or offer up some canned line about how “strong” I must be.

He just listened.

I didn’t know what I would’ve said next—maybe make a joke, or let the silence stretch just a little longer between us—but then Maddie broke through it all with the most casual kind of urgency.

“Mommy, I’m done…”

She pouted, arms folded across her dino nugget-stained shirt, her plate pushed an inch away like that somehow made it official. Her tone was flat, but I could hear it—she was winding down. Bored. And I didn’t have to check the time to know why.

Her favorite show would be starting in about fifteen minutes.

I blinked, like surfacing from deep water, and turned toward her. “Okay, baby. One second.”

She huffed dramatically, which in Maddie-language meant you have exactly forty seconds before I start getting antsy.

Spencer chuckled under his breath, and when I looked back at him, the moment we’d just been sitting in had softened—but it hadn’t vanished.

It was still there. Waiting.

“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing at Maddie as she slumped dramatically in her seat. “She gets like this when she’s bored… plus, her favorite show starts in fifteen minutes, and she’s got an internal clock like you wouldn’t believe.”

He smiled, his eyes still following her as she fiddled with her empty cup. “She’s kind of amazing.”

I let out a soft breath. “She really is.”

I looked at her—my messy, impatient, wonderful girl—and then back at him. And for a brief second, I wondered what this must look like from the outside. The three of us sitting there. Laughing. Talking. Almost like—

No. I stopped myself. It was way too early for almosts. But still… the warmth lingered.

I cleared my throat, reaching for Maddie’s water bottle. “Anyway, we’re gonna head out, but the meal is on me.”

Spencer blinked, like the words took a second to register. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“I know,” I said, managing a half-smile. “But I invited you. It’s only fair.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Just gave me that small, quiet nod that felt like more than it was.

“Thank you,” he said. And he meant it.

The afternoon sun was warmer than expected when we stepped outside, the kind that made you squint even if the sky wasn’t all that bright. Maddie shuffled beside me, her dino-nugget energy finally spent. She yawned dramatically and leaned into my side, thumb sneaking into her mouth like it used to when she was smaller.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and adjusted the bag on mine, heart still a little too full.

Spencer stood just a step behind us, like he wasn’t sure if this was where we said goodbye or if he should keep walking with us. His hands were in his pockets, eyes flicking between me and Maddie.

“Thank you,” I said, turning slightly toward him. “For coming. And for lunch. You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

He said it before I could finish, and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—made me feel like the ground had shifted just a little beneath me.

I nodded, unsure what else to say. There was a question hovering at the edge of my mouth, but I didn’t ask it.

Maddie blinked up at him sleepily and gave a tiny wave. “Bye, Spencer.”

He smiled and lifted his hand, the wave a little awkward, almost formal. “Bye, Maddie.”

He turned like he was going to leave—and for a second, I thought that was it.

But then he hesitated. Turned back.

“Wait—”

I stopped, startled. He looked almost nervous now, which was oddly comforting, considering I felt the exact same way.

“Would it… be weird if I asked for your number?”

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. It was Spencer—uncertain, a little flushed, and completely genuine.

I smiled. “No. It wouldn’t be weird.”

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

And it made me smile even more.

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

It made me smile even more.

He handed it to me without a word, the lock screen already open to the contact form. I took it carefully, thumbs suddenly too aware of themselves as I typed in my name and number.

I hesitated just before hitting save, then added a small emoji at the end—just to keep it from looking too clinical. Too… formal.

“There,” I said, handing it back.

He glanced at the screen, then up at me. “Y/N with a little star.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “Seemed appropriate.”

He nodded, like he was tucking that away somewhere quiet.

“I’ll text you,” he said, slipping the phone back into his coat.

“Okay.”

It felt like the kind of word that meant more than it sounded like. Not a goodbye. Not yet.

He lingered for a breath longer, then gave me that same soft nod—the one that meant he’d said everything he was going to say.

And then, he turned and walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, hair catching a little in the wind.

I watched him go. This time, on purpose.

taglist : @smithieandy @kspencer34 @person-005 @diffidentphantom @23moonjellies

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. VI

masterlist

day one // night one // day two // night two // day three

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. sixth and final part.

excited to be wrapping this one up! I'm open to requests for Langdon, Robby, and Santos!

warnings: 18+ SMUT, cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

night three - f.l.

Animosity is a strange thing. Sometimes, it’s white hot, clarity driven. Other times, passive, indirect aggression. And so much more in between that. One minute, you can be singing praises about someone, the next screaming at each other over something as simple as which kind of bread to get at the store. Or, in my case, stomping on a fellow intern’s foot only for four years of resentment to dissipate into him feeling me up in an elevator.

This lust between us has been brewing for days. Every moment, big or small, imprinted in my mind as permanent as the laws of gravity. Without realizing, I’d been wanting this for longer than I’ve allowed myself to believe. On the walk home, all I could think about was Langdon’s hands, but now I’m thinking about everything all at once.

His mouth is on my neck, hands on my hips. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, but there’s something bothering me. After so much time for this kind of contemplation at the conference, it’s frustrating to be having this problem now. I stare up at the ceiling of the elevator, tracing patterns on the marble, trying to bring myself back down to reality. I should be relishing this. I should be letting it all go.

“You okay?” I turn my face down. Langdon’s staring at me, eyes full of concern. A look I’ve seen many times, but never because of me.

I bow my eyebrows and then nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern deepens, palm pressed against the elevator behind me, his other still resting on my waist. “Bullshit, what is it?”

There’s a flicker of panic that shoots through me. I feel like I’m interrupting a long-awaited moment, and I can’t even identify why. The thoughts are so loud and he’s studying me too hard. I break eye contact, shaking my head.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, pushing the hair from my eyes. “I just can’t shut my brain off. Something feels wrong.”

Langdon drops his head for a moment. Contemplating. When he looks back up, his concerned expression remains, but something else lingers there. “You know, we don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable or having doubts.”

“I know,” I say simply, finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Before either of us can say anything else, the elevator door opens to our floor. Silently, we walk to the room and enter, a heaviness loitering in the air.

Langdon takes his suit jacket off, tossing it on the tv stand. I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “This whole trip, I don’t think we’ve had one honest conversation.”

Taking off his bracelets, he huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “If you don’t count the brutally honest talk we had last night.”

“Did you mean what you said about me?��

It’s not a question I’d been actively stirring over, but I didn’t realize how much it’s been weighing on me until now. Every syllable still swimming around in my mind, Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.

“I was feeling so shitty that night, I don’t even really remember what I said,” he murmurs, and though his bracelets are free from his wrist, he continues to stare down at them. Shame laces his voice.

“You…you called me selfish,” every word feels painful to say. Too vulnerable to especially say to him. “You actually said I was so selfish it disgusted you.”

Langdon glances at me, blinking. I don’t know what my face is telling him, and it scares me. But I have realized why this all feels wrong. This is new territory for both of us. We aren’t playing games anymore, this is real. Every experience with each other up until this point has been either conflict or teasing, neither of which involves connecting on a deep level.

“Well, I don’t think that,” he says. “I’ve never thought that. It’s actually more of the opposite.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

“To hurt you,” his voice is just above a whisper now, and I can tell this conversation is hard for him, too. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to talk things out, just avoid and bottle and keep trekking. Or at least that’s all I’ve seen these past few years. “I was jealous, yeah. And pissed about not waking me up. But it was more than that for me.”

I swallow hard. Langdon tosses the bracelets in the same place as his suit jacket and takes a seat beside me. Our thighs and shoulders touch. He clasps his hands in between his knees, then rejoins our eyes.

“Ever since I got in trouble, my confidence has been…” he searches in my eyes for the words but gives up. “I don’t know. And ever since we got here, I’ve just been reminded of it over and over. The people, the pamphlets, the talks about patient care. You.”

Taken aback, I fumble for words, “You…m-me?”

Langdon nods. He seems…sad. As vulnerable as I’ve ever seen him.

“For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove myself a lot more,” he breathes, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re good. With the medicine, with the patients, with our coworkers. I said ‘brutally honest’ about our fight not because I was being honest. What you said, about you having what I don’t, you were right. And instead of learning from you, I’ve been trying to tear you down.”

The confession is not what I expected from this conversation at all. I said what I did to hurt him, too, and that’s it. Up until now, I didn’t think I had the capability to truly rattle him. Langdon’s always seemed so resilient, confident. Like a brick wall.

I gingerly rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re a good doctor, Frank. I’ve spent the entire four years I’ve known you trying to keep up with you. Because…I thought I was the one who needed to prove myself.”

He searches in my eyes for something. Maybe for honesty, maybe for the reassurance I’m trying to show in my words. “So you’re telling me we’ve both had it out for each other for the same reason.”

The tension in the room shifts into something lighter. Our eyes both brighten just a little. “I guess so,” I reply, fighting back a smile.

Langdon breaks first, a strained laugh leaving his mouth before he can stop it. And then I’m laughing, too. We sit there, giggling like school children for God knows how long, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Until we have tears in our eyes, faces bright red.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally say, wiping the tears before they can fall. “And kind of pathetic.”

“And don’t forget it took four fucking years,” Langdon responds, and we both double over again, feeling a little loopy at this point.

Once the moment dies down, we remain there, both in our own heads. I feel steadier now, comforted now that I know my nemesis turned out to be one of the only people who understands the frustration and insecurity I’ve felt this whole time. Resting my head on his shoulder, I intertwine our fingers, feeling the calmness between us. This is the real truce, the burst of solace I now know we’ve both been craving.

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” Langdon suddenly asks, head resting on mine. “I know it wasn’t for this.”

“Definitely not,” I laugh. I feel his chest rumble against me, and it brings comfort. “I felt bad no one else wanted to. It was a self-sacrifice type of thing.”

“Noble of you,” he jokes, turning his head to put his lips on my forehead.

“Yeah, so please never call me selfish again. I’m the reason this happened,” I bite back, the words laced with amusement. Langdon laughs again, and it makes me realize I like making him laugh.

“You know I really didn’t mean that, right? As frustrating as you can be, I’ve always known you’ll put anything and everything before yourself,” he whispers against my hair. “I always thought if I was ever forced to say something nice about you at work, that’s what I’d say.”

I sit up at that to see his face, confused. “When would you ever need to do that?”

“Oh, c’mon. We were two shifts away from being forced into a mediation exercise. Had to come prepared,” Langdon says, as if that’s not an insane thing to think. It reminds me of myself, of all the conspiracies about him and our games I’ve made up.

“You’re insane,” I say, my grin showing him it’s not a dig.

“Insanely hot, maybe,” he quips without hesitation. “Or at least you think so.”

Fighting back the urge not to fall into familiarity and argue with him for the sake of arguing, I instead lean towards him, inches from his face, “Yeah, I do.”

Langdon smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. For once, I backed down willingly. His response is to close the space between us, hand running through my hair immediately. I giggle against his mouth, moving until I’m straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I deepen the kiss.

Now that we’ve settled our differences, the nagging feeling I had earlier has evaporated. I allow myself to let go, to let Langdon take whatever he wants from me. For the first time, I’m okay with him calling the shots as long as his hands are on me. I trust him.

He grabs hold of my arms and lifts them so he can slide off my blouse, our mouths only separating in the time it takes for us both to remove our tops. Then my arms are thrown around his shoulders, fingers making impressions on his shoulder blades. It’s like I’m studying every part of him I can as if he’s going to evaporate, too.

Langdon relocates his mouth from mine down my throat, stopping in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. Sucking and nipping, leaving marks wherever he can. I tilt my head back, lips parted, imagining all the other places he can touch me like this.

I interrupt him by pushing my weight onto him until he’s flush against the bed. It’s like a choreographed dance the way flips me so I’m the one on my back, calculated and effortless. He slips my skirt off, leaving me only in my bra and panties.

“You’re fast,” I’m breathless, tracing the fresh bruises on my neck as I stare down at him.

As a way of responding, Langdon smirks before he plants his lips just below my sternum. He peppers them lower, lower, until he reaches my panties. He makes sure to keep our eyes locked as he takes them off. Despite how lewd this is, his stare adds a layer of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he can see right through me.

I feel the need to say something to squirm from this feeling, but before I can find the words, he’s buried between my legs, lips surrounding my clit. Suddenly there are no words, just bliss muddying my vision. Langdon sucks, tongue finding a rhythm as I fall back onto the bed, moan ripping out of my throat. “Shit,” I breathe, fingers locking into his hair.

He hums into me and then pulls back. “I want you to look at me,” he utters matter-of-factly. I prop myself on my elbows to see his eyes boring into me, mouth hovering just above my clit. I give him a very unconfident nod.

As soon as he makes contact again, I fight to stay upright. But the way he looks at me is so intense that I stay put. I focus on the strand of hair framing his forehead until another wave of pleasure hits me and my head is tilted back to the ceiling. “Fuck, just like that.”

Langdon places one hand on my hip to hold me down as I squirm around him. He makes a point by using his other hand to grab mine and relocate it back into his hair. He must be into that, then.

With newfound confidence, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug in the same way I do the bed sheets. He moans into me, and it feels so good I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. Just when I think I’m on the brink, Langdon slides two fingers in as he makes work of my clit, and I completely lose my grip, falling back onto the bed and straight into my high.

“I’m cu—” I can’t even get it out, legs trembling, body writhing. There’s no point in trying to hold back the ridiculously dirty moans I’ve been stifling, so I let them go as I ride it out.

Breathing hard, I slowly start to return to reality. Langdon climbs up to kiss me hard, tongue dominating mine, and I can taste myself on him. He pulls back to lick his lips, sliding his thumb past my lips. “I didn’t get to see your face,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I need to see it this time.”

“Okay,” I reply, grazing my teeth on the tip of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitches at the sight of me nipping at him. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I hum in response, unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. Once he’s undressed, he reaches underneath my back to unclasp my bra and chucks it somewhere on the floor. We stare at each other, fully naked, faces flushed, eyes needy. “I’ve been waiting long enough,” I whisper, tracing patterns down his throat, reveling in the ridges and slopes I feel beneath my fingers.

“Impatient,” Langdon huffs, sloping down to bite just above my left breast. I gasp, smacking the side of his head. He laughs. God, I love the sound of it.

He grabs the condom he fished out of his pants moments before and tears it open with his teeth. To make a point, I watch his every move, hoping he can feel my eyes on him. Then he’s lining himself up, one hand above my head, and just before he pushes himself inside, his eyes flicker to mine.

Our moans harmonize as he begins to thrust, and I notice he’s finding it hard now not to break eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, full of want, but fighting to stay open. I wind a finger around his one strand, yanking it gently to tug him closer. His hot breath mingles with mine, moans growing louder as he picks up his pace. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you,” I rasp out in between moans.

“Shit,” Langdon growls, nose tapping mine in rhythm to match his pace. Beads of sweat glisten at his hairline, his lip between his teeth. “I’ve thought about having you like this so many times – fuck – you don’t even know.”

Every word he says just makes me more crazed, my moans slurring into whimpers. He slows his pace, but his thrusts become harder, his stare becoming more concentrated. He watches every subtly on my face, every shift at his movements, as if he’s studying for some kind of test. Fingers materialize on my clit, causing me to throw my head back with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” I hiss. Langdon pushes into me faster, and faster, and then his hand is gripping my chin and tugging it towards him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, thumb resting on my chin.

Ecstasy begins to fog my vision again, but I force it down to stay focused on him. He murmurs praises as I keep eye contact, which just gets me worked up even more. “Doing so good,” he says, tracing my jaw. Then his mouth is on mine again. It’s feverish and sloppy.

Choking down moans, I lean into the kiss. I can tell he’s holding back, too, and then all of the focus starts to fade and we’re just there, fumbling to get as close as possible, movements becoming careless and frantic. All of the holding back is gone; we’re moaning and cussing and gnashing teeth, not a single care in the world.

I feel myself approaching the edge, head twitching back on the bed. I reopen my eyes to lock back onto Langdon’s, and if the circles on my clit and the ridiculously fast pacing of his thrusts weren’t enough to do it, the defenseless look in his eyes sends me into my orgasm like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my walls clenching around him, and I manage to do the one thing he asked of me; keep my eyes directly on his.

And that’s what ultimately unravels him. He lets out a grunt, whimpers my name, and lets go. We ride it out together, his thrusts slowing down, but through it all, we never break eye contact. It’s intimate, the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone. And of all people – Langdon.

Once we’ve both come down, he collapses beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s quick to grab my hand, placing a soft kiss on it and then resting it on my chest. I graze the sweaty skin with my finger, gazing over at him.

There are no words to describe what I feel when I look at him. He’s like an old painting, lines messy and haphazard, but comes together to be something beautiful. Hard to believe I’ve ever not seen him like this.

“How did we take so long to figure it out?” it’s almost as if he’s read my mind.

“No idea,” I murmur, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. Langdon leans into my touch, softly, expression much of the same. “But I’m glad we did.”

I roll toward him so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. This moment, this feeling, I want it to keep going forever. It’s what I’ve been chasing. There’s a prodding fear that it can’t possibly last forever, but I push the thought away. Because we’re here now. Black sky out the window fading into an early morning, grey, bed sheets ruffled beneath us, the docile understanding between us, the smooth skin under my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Langdon whispers, kissing my hand as it pulls from his hair. He grabs it, fiddling with my fingers, and then jerks my entire arm so I’m right up against him. He kisses me, one, twice, then three times.

“I could get used to this,” I joke into his mouth, earning yet another wonderful laugh from him. “Much better than the constant bickering and tension we’re used to.”

He smiles, pecking my lips again. “I agree. We’ll make sure the next time we argue, we save that tension for the bedroom.”

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know it’s a foolproof plan,” he adds.

“Whatever you say,” I concede.

Langdon fidgets with the necklace around my throat with a look on his face I’m all too familiar with. “You know, I’m already missing our games a little. It was kinda hot.”

“They’ll be back. Give it a couple shifts,” I deadpan, but my eyes are full of amusement.

“Good, because I’m already imagining all the super-hot hate sex we’re gonna have.”

“I’ll be counting on that.”

[hoemainexpansion]

Chapter Six: HOUSE OF BALLOONS: Satoru returns home and you try to adjust to life with him again as he tries to gain acceptance from you and your circle of friends as you finally get an explanation as to why he left you.

Also on AO3

It’s like a Mexican standoff, but instead of guns being drawn, everyone’s just looking around at each other trying to figure out who’s going to make the first move. But that doesn’t make it feel any less intense. 

You feel like the elementary school sister who has two senior year of high school brothers ready to defend you from the neighborhood bully. It’s sweet, but you have absolutely no idea how to handle this situation.

Your brain is just going in circles. You don’t want to talk because you don’t want to end up in an argument. However, you have questions that you want answers to, but you don’t know if you’re in the right state of mind to not get too upset. You know your two companions, or guard dogs, as you should probably start calling them, are probably ready for all the shenanigans.

Choso decides to break the silence first and ask the question that you know Suguru is thinking as well, “what are you doing here?“

“I wanted to come home to my wife,” is all Satoru responds with and if you’re being honest, it does make your heart flutter a bit.

“You don’t even sound like you believe that,” okay, so Choso woke up today and chose violence, clearly.

“I do believe it, I just…“ Satoru starts to respond before getting cut off.

“Just what?”

Oh my goodness. This is so fucking uncomfortable. Someone please make it stop. Literally anyone. You don’t even care if the Kool-Aid man burst through the wall like this is a family guy sketch at this point. 

“This is an awkward situation okay,” well, Satoru isn’t wrong about that. This is the most uncomfortable. You’ve been in a while. “I just wanted to come home and try to make things work.“

“Are you really going to try? Or did you just get in a fight with your girlfriend and needed a place to stay for the night?“ Oh fuck please make this stop because everything is so tense. 

“She wasn’t my girlfriend. She was just a friend who helped me out. And yes, there was a bit of a fight. But I don’t look at this as temporary. I’m here because I wanna be here and I have every intention of staying.“ There was no shaking in his voice compared to when he first got here and you’re starting to believe him.

Choso turns to look at you to see if there’s any signs of discomfort or anything. But you just nod to indicate that you’re okay with seeing how this situation plays out.

“Well, welcome home then,” Suguru adds to try to diffuse the situation. “Did you bring anything with you?“

“Oh yeah, just that bag you brought me.“

“I’ll show you… To where… You’re gonna be… Yeah.” You’re struggling to even form a basic sentence right now. But you’re also trying to figure out how you’re gonna tell him that he is 100% absolutely staying in the guest bedroom until you guys work out these kinks. Guess you’ll just tell him when you actually get to said room.

You walk with him back to the front door so he can retrieve his bag and leave your friends behind to chitchat a little bit about how fucking crazy this situation is. You lead him down the hallway and start pointing out various rooms with the most bare minimum descriptions possible for the time being

“That’s your office. That’s an additional bathroom.” He just follows along as you point stuff out without even stopping. “I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow. It’s just been a long day.”

“That’s fine. I totally understand.”

Good. Now here’s the uncomfortable part. “That’s the bedroom that we share, but I would like it if you stayed in the guest bedroom at least for tonight. It’s just a little fast at the moment.”

“I completely understand.” He nods and seems to accept that pretty well which makes you feel better. 

You walk a little more and then point out another bedroom. “That’s the guest bedroom, it has a tv and a bathroom and everything so you don’t have to wander about to find what you want. You can, obviously. But this offers you some privacy so that you can get comfortable.” You open the door and allow him to walk inside. “If you see random stuff in here like clothes and whatnot, it’s probably Suguru’s and I can have him move it out of the way.”

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna cause any trouble.” He sets his bag on the bed and starts to unpack everything. 

You watch as he starts laying different things out on the bed and your anxiety immediately spikes when he puts the box of letters on it as well. You know what’s in those letters and you’re incredibly curious to know if he’s read any of them. 

“It’s no trouble,” you assure him. “If you need anything, just let me know. You can have whatever you want in the refrigerator, you don’t have to ask. If we run out of something or you need something, you can just write it on the whiteboard.” 

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll try not to bother you too much though.” He seems more nervous to talk to you now then when he felt it was his first time meeting you in the hospital and it’s fucking weird. 

The both of you just stand there in an awkward silence for what feels like an eternity. You don’t want to create any conflict now that he just got back, but you have to address something that’s been gnawing at your brain since he got here.

“Mei’s not allowed over here,” is how you decide to start the conversation that you really don’t want to have. “If you’re going to have a relationship with her, this is a temporary place for you to stay and she’s not allowed over.” You make sure to infuse those words with the hate you feel towards the situation because you don’t want him to think that this is some light-hearted situation where they get into a lover’s spat and he just sleeps on your couch until they inevitably get back together. 

“I have no intention of even remaining in contact with her, let alone going back to her. That’s over,” he pauses before continuing. “Also, that relationship wasn’t what everyone probably thought it was.”

“Oh? What did we think that it was?” You can’t help but ask because hey, he brought that part up.

“We weren’t romantic. She was just helping me out when I was in a tough spot.” 

You find it hard to believe that she would be so territorial over a man who she wasn’t dating or sleeping with, but whatever. “Let’s save that talk for another day because it’s kind of late tonight. I just wanted you to know how I felt regarding that.”

“Okay. I just want you to know that there’s nothing between me and her and there never will be. I came back for you and to make things work between us, no matter how long it takes.” His words are nice, but you’ll wait to see if his actions back them up.

“Alright. Well, I’m gonna head back out there for a bit before going to bed. So I guess, I’ll see you a little later.” 

You quickly make your way to the door and when you step out, you see Choso and Suguru hauling ass back to the livingroom. They must have just started going back when you said you were coming out and eavesdropping the entire time. You want to judge, but you can’t because you’d do the same thing.

Once you get back to the living room, you see Thing #1 and Thing #2 sitting on the couch trying to act like they weren’t doing what they were doing even though they’re literally in opposite spots. 

“You silly kids couldn’t even remember to get in your original spots?” You can’t help but laugh because it’s just so unnecessary to hide this. They knew you were going to come out here and tell them everything anyway.

“Sorry,” is all Choso says.

“It’s fine. So, you guys heard everything?” You ask while taking a seat on the couch in between them. 

“How do you feel? You want me to throw him out?” You appreciate how fast Suguru is willing to go to bat for you. 

“Thank you, but I’ll wait to see how things go first.” You decide to sink into the couch because you don’t know what else to say. You didn’t think Satoru would ever come home so you didn’t mentally prepare for how to handle this.

“I bet it was awkward as fuck for him to walk into a home that still has all his welcome home decorations hanging everywhere.” 

Even though they’re everywhere, you completely forgot about that. You begged your friends to leave everything because the cleaning would give you something to do. But, you haven’t gotten around to it because you wanted to have a peaceful couple of days. But Suguru is right, there’s literally still banners, balloons, signs, etc everywhere. Even his cake is still in the refrigerator, untouched. 

“Hmmm. Probably. Sucks for him then,” is all you can say because honestly, you hope he does feel a little bad at seeing everything. You hate that you feel that way, but you do. You don’t want him miserable, but you do want him to see what he’s missing and the hurt that he’s caused by making the choice that he did.

“Choso,” he turns to you when you mention his name, “will you still stay the night?” You didn’t think that would be what potentially caused you to cry tonight, but it is.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He looks completely befuddled by your question.

“Well… I know that you were only staying here because Satoru was gone and now that he was back, I assumed that you’d be leaving tonight.” 

He grabs your hand to try to calm you down, “I’m not leaving you until you ask me to. I’ll stay for as long as you want and you don’t have to worry about me leaving. I know that he’s back, but he’s not really home.”

Good point.

That causes the tears to stop so you take the opportunity to ask a question that you already know the answer to, “would you guys hate me if I went to bed?”

“No.”

“Obviously not.”

You thank them and then go to your bedroom. Now that Satoru’s back, it feels like a completely different room even though he hasn’t been in it and he’s not staying in here with you. If things work themselves out, eventually he’ll be back in here, but it just feels like it’s no longer his place. Choso has practically moved in to always stay by your side and it feels like more of his room than Satoru’s at this point.

“Life is so fucking confusing,” you say to yourself getting comfortable in bed. You felt like your heart was starting the healing process and now all of that has been thrown out the window.

And now it’s time for you to make a decision. Do you allow him to stay and the two of you work on your relationship? Or do you tell him that you’ll help him out until he gets on his feet but that you’re too hurt to figure things out? Is it fair to feel that way? Is it fair to place so much blame on someone who didn’t even know what they were doing? 

Before you can spiral for too much longer, your phone goes off and you immediately recognize the sound as Satoru’s text tone. 

Satoru: Thank you for letting me come home. I really want this to go back to where it was and I wanna make everything up to you. 

Satoru: I know this may be hard for you to believe, but I really missed you. 

Even though you don’t want to be rude, you choose not to respond. Honestly, you don’t know what to say and you’d rather ignore it and go to bed instead of being up all night texting back and forth. You decide to just put your phone on the charger and lay down for bed. 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s the first day that you’ve woken up with Satoru in the home since before he went missing and you’re not as ecstatic as you thought you’d be, you’re more confused than anything. 

This morning, you weren’t feeling too great. Not in a physical way, but more a mental way. You don’t usually do full hair and makeup to walk around the house, but you decide to do it today. You just wanted to look in the mirror and see a glow, even if it’s from highlighter, instead of bags from lack of sleep or red eyes from crying. You even put on your sheer, black robe, that’s covered in bats so that you can feel dramatic and glamorous and you walk around. 

You leave your bedroom and make your way straight into the kitchen to find something to start the day with. There’s nothing that you want more than a Red Bull, but unfortunately you have to protect this little being growing inside of you and you’ll still have to sacrifice that for a little while. You decide to settle for making waffles and topping them off with Boysenberry syrup. 

Right as you’re about to plate your food and sit down to eat, Satoru strolls his lanky self into the kitchen.

“Good morning!” Okay, he’s too fucking jolly because it’s not like it’s a holiday. But you’re not going to rain on his parade.

“Good morning. Why so jolly? Sweet dreams?” You’re a little curious.

“I guess you could say that.” He was dreaming of you but he’s not going to admit that to you. He already feels that you have too much power over him and you don’t even realize it.

“Want a waffle?” 

“I’ll do it myself so that your food doesn’t get cold.”

“Do you remember how to do it?” 

“It can’t be that hard… right?” Okay, fair point.

He walks around the counter to the waffle maker as you take a seat with your food and start to pour syrup on everything. You kind of feel like you should make his waffles and put him to work for the bacon because you don’t want to get popped. But you’ll wait to see how things go before giving him orders.

Just as you’re about to take your first bite, you notice how confused he looks. “We have a waffle maker that makes heart shaped waffles?” 

“You got it for me. It’s Paris Hilton.” He continues to stand there looking around as if he’s deep in thought, but you know he just has no idea what to do. “Do you need help?”

“Would you hate me if I said yes?” he says, with those bright blue puppy dog eyes of his. If this was any other day, you might throw a fit. But you knew that if he came home, this was the role you were going to have to play for a while, so it’s fine. You walk over to him and start mixing more batter. “Go eat those ones before they get cold and soggy.” 

“I’m so sorry about this. I’ll learn again, I promise.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“What did we used to do?” You just look at him hoping it’ll signal for him to clarify because that’s vague as hell. “I mean, on days like this, where we’re both at home. What did we use to do?”

You start pouring the batter in the waffle maker and pretending that you’re really focused so that you can take a moment to think on how to respond. The truth is, the two of you would usually spend the entire day with Satoru trying to get you pregnant, but that may be awkward to say right now.

“Uhhhh, it depends. If we had errands to run, we’d always go together, no matter how mundane they were. Otherwise we would usually hang out at home and watch movies or play games or something. About twice a month we go down to the park and feed the ducks and occasionally we’d go to the arcade where you’d end up claiming that you’re not mad that I beat you because you let me win.”

“Maybe I did let you win,” he says with a laugh. Of course, even with no recollection of those times together, he still has to be the best. Silly goose. 

“We also used to go to the amusement park pretty frequently which was nice because you always won the mini games and got me the biggest stuffed animals they had.”

“Is that why there’s a blue bunny that’s basically as tall as me in the corner of the guest room?” 

“Absolutely. You spent twenty minutes playing ring toss before you qualified for the largest prize. And now we’ve had Tiffany for three years.”

“Tiffany?” 

“The bunny? We named her Tiffany from the Child’s Play movies.”

“We name our stuffed animals? Nice.”

Once your waffles are done, you plate your food and start to walk around the counter to sit at the bar but then you start to feel a little apprehensive. Do you sit right next to him? Or do you sit a space apart? Or even on the other side? You can’t wait until things get to the point where you don’t have to overthink these little things. You decide to sit with a space in between you two and you catch his reaction right away.

“I don’t have cooties, ya know?” 

“Don’t you?” Fuck. You already wish you could take that back. This was a nice morning and you don’t want to start it with negativity. 

“I don’t. I swear. She and I never did anything like that.” You want to believe him, but your insecurities surrounding the situation are making it difficult. However, you have nothing else to go on so you’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay, but you still smell like her.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t do that on purpose, it’s just that our clothes got washed together and–”

“Satoru, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to make this a big thing,” you try to reassure him that you’re not as mad as you may have sounded.

“I’m sorry. I’m running out of clothes anyway so I’ll wash it all.”

“I’ll do it for you, it’ll give me something to do. You still have stuff in our closet and dresser in case you need something for now.”

“Thank you,” he expresses in what you think is probably one of the most sincere ways you’ve ever heard someone say something, and it’s just laundry. “Can we do something today? Maybe do one of the things you said we did? The doctor did say that getting back to routines could be helpful.”

“Satoru, if you wanna spend the day with me, you can just say that. I wouldn’t blame you, I’m fantastic,” you remark with a flip of your hair for dramatic effect.

“Yeah, you are,” he responds in such a serious tone for what you thought was an obvious and silly comment.

“I was kidding, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t.” He doesn’t say anything else, he just looks you up and down and then takes another bite of his waffle.

You feel your whole body warm up because you didn’t expect him to say something like that so soon, but you love it. 

You continue to sit in silence and eat your breakfast together and just enjoying the time. It’s so weird because you already reconciled with yourself that this was never going to happen again. But now he’s not only here for breakfast, he wants to spend the day with you. 

After finishing breakfast, you take him to your shared bedroom so that he can finally see it and he can gather what he needs to start the day. 

“This side of the closet is all of your stuff. It’s mostly suits hanging up and more casual clothing and pajamas are in the drawers below. If you need help looking for anything let me know. I’ll go start getting your shower stuff ready.” You go to the bathroom and pull out his extra bottles of shampoo and conditioner out from under the sink and set them up in the shower for him. You even turn the shower on so that it can start heating up for him. “Everything is ready for you.”

He stands there looking confused for a moment and you have no idea why. But then you start to internally freak out wondering if you’re doing too much too soon.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I just… is it okay for me to take a shower in here?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, last night you sent me to the guest room so I just assumed that you didn’t want me in here.” Shit. Maybe you handled that wrong. Or just too vague.

“I just didn’t want you to sleep next to me last night because it was awkward. But you still have access to your bedroom whenever you want it or need something. I’m sorry that I made you feel excluded.” You avert your gaze because you definitely feel bad for how you handled this.

“Okay. I just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable so let me know if I do.”

You nod and then he goes in the bathroom and closes the door. 

You take the opportunity to go to the guest room and grab all the clothing that he brought with him and throw it in the washer. You’ll probably have to wash them twice because her perfume is so strong, you can only assume that she actually sprayed his clothing as a way of marking her territory. 

After starting the laundry, you go back to the kitchen to wash the dishes from breakfast and try to come up with a game plan of what to do today. You have no intention of going out today, but you don’t want Satoru to be bored so you don’t know what to do. You know that you guys always had fun watching tv and arguing over Monopoly but he doesn’t remember those times and you don’t want him to feel like your life together is boring as a first impression. 

You’re not sure what he wants to do so you just grab some blankets and pillows to throw on the couch because regardless of the activity, it’ll still be comfortable. 

You also make a trip to your bedroom to grab your phone off the charger and check your notifications. You wanted to be in and out really quick because you didn’t want Satoru to think that you were waiting on him for some reason. But you end up sitting down and checking everything after you get a reminder for your upcoming doctor’s appointment on the eighteen week mark of your pregnancy.

You end up completely lost in thought because the topic of the pregnancy still hasn’t come up between the two of you and you don’t know if you should bring it up, or how. Now that he’s here, should you tell him? Should you wait it out? You feel your pulse start to race when you remember that you gave him the box of letters and there’s more than a few in there that include details of you being pregnant. But he hasn’t said anything about it so you don’t know if he’s read any of them or he’s just waiting for the right moment as well. 

And if he did read some, it’s possible that he read them out of order and just by sheer luck, missed all the ones regarding the baby. This is confusing.

You hear the bathroom door open and you look up to see Satoru walking out wearing some pajama pants hung low on his hips and nothing else. You can’t prove it, but you swear he’s trying to make you fall apart. He stands up straight and starts shaking his hair out like a wet dog getting water everywhere and you can’t help but laugh.

“Damn. Sorry,” he says while not looking too sorry at all.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. You do it everyday” You just laugh it off because it’s one of those little things that drove you crazy until you missed it when he disappeared. You’ll gladly take water spots on your vanity mirror instead of nothing.

“Did I really?” Looks like old habits die hard.

“Yup. I stopped leaving certain things out due to your little pool party.”

“Mei had me cut my hair because she hated the water,” he admits in a slightly sad tone.

“What is she? The Wicked Witch of the West? Can’t handle a little bit of water?” You respond in an attempt to keep the tone light because it’ll bring the mood down if you just say that she’s an awful bitch which you do believe with your whole heart.

He just chuckles and then walks across the room to sit next to you on the bed. He leans over to get a look at what you’re doing on your phone. If he stretched his neck out any longer, he’d probably break it. 

“Whaaaatcha dooooin?” He drawls while doing everything to stare at your phone except extend his eyeballs like this is an episode of SpongeBob and he’s looking for treasure on a map. 

“Just checking my notifications Satoru. That’s it,” you try to make it sound as boring as possible, because you know that the curiosity is killing him.

“Anything interesting?” he tries batting those beautiful blue eyes at you so you just pretend that you don’t see what he’s doing. You’re not gonna fold like a load of laundry this fast.

“It’s mostly just people asking how things are going with us and then there’s Choso asking if there’s anything we need him to pick up from the grocery store on the way home.”

“More waffle stuff. They came out so good today.”

“Of course the first thing that would come to mind would be sugar for breakfast,” you laugh and send a couple of things to your friend. “What do you want to do today?” 

“I wanna hang out with you,” he says without missing a beat and it makes your heart skip one. It’s almost like he was waiting for you to ask. 

“But, anything you wanna do in particular?“

“Hang out with you,“ he replies while resting his head on your shoulder. Damn this fucking cutie pie and his ability to swoon you. “Let’s watch a bunch of movies so we can have snacks and I can cuddle you on the couch.”

“How about we start with the movies and then work our way up to cuddling later?” As much as that sounds like something that you would love to do, you don’t wanna move too fast. You really want to make sure that the cord between him and her is completely broken before you completely open yourself back up to potential heartbreak.

You know that if you ask him what he wants to watch, he’s just going to respond with, “whatever you want to watch.“ So you decide to go through your movie collection and pull out things that he always said he wishes he could watch again for the first time And take the opportunity to give him that experience.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You’re about a half hour into Killer Klowns From Outer Space and you’ve caught Satoru sneak at least 10 glances at you since you’ve gotten comfortable on the couch. It’s so weird seeing your husband revert back to his shy schoolboy ways after years of him being such a dominating presence. But if you’re being honest, you love it.

When you were in school, you didn’t know that he had a thing for you so this behavior didn’t stand out. But now that you know, it’s easy to spot these things and it just makes him even cuter. A part of you wants to tease him by flirting with him a little bit, but you don’t want to drive him completely up the wall.

Even though you’re still perturbed by the Mei thing, you can’t deny how badly you want this man in all of the ways. You really wish that you could click your ruby heels together and everything would go back to normal and if you told him, that’s what you wanted, he seems like he’d do it.

Even though this is one of your favorite movies, you can’t stop your mind from wandering. You keep going back to the box of letters and wondering if he read any of them. If he did, why not say anything about the pregnancy? You kind of wanna tell him about it in case he doesn’t know so that he has the option to come with you to the doctors appointment coming up. You just don’t know how many changes is too much for such a short period of time. But based on how long it’s already been, you’re gonna start showing in ways that you can’t hide soon and you don’t want it to make it worse by you holding out for so long.

Ugh. Confusion. Confusion.

Just as you’re starting to spiral into your thoughts, you catch your not so sneaky husband looking over at you again. Fuck it, you are going to give him a bit of what he wants. Without looking away from the TV, you stretch your legs across the couch and rest your feet in his lap, trying to discreetly catch his reaction from your peripheral vision.

It was worth it.

You can see him trying to hide his smile, but he’s completely unsuccessful at it. Even though he seems a little reluctant at first, he slowly starts to rest his hands on your legs/ankles. When he realizes that you’re not going to move him away, his smile grows even wider. You’re not even going to lie, having this power is awesome.

After a couple of minutes, he starts to massage your ankles and your feet and you decide to finally look right at him and smile. 

“Is this okay?” He sounds so unsure. It’s adorable. 

“It’s nice.” His smile continues to grow at those words and you never thought something so simple could seem so fulfilling.

“Will you tell me something?” Oh no, please don’t let whatever question he has fuck up this peaceful afternoon.

“About what?”

“About us. You told me a little bit about when we met, but not how.” Ooooh, not that. You spent years loving that jealousy out of him. “What was our first date? Or any? You said that our anniversary just passed, did we have any plans?”

“Slow down Speedy Gonzalez, I’m not gonna remember all of these,” you cut him off. You appreciate his enthusiasm, but damn. “Did I tell you how you smeared sandwich condiments all over my dress on our first date?”

His eyes shoot over to you immediately and he’s completely shocked. “How the hell did that happen?” 

“For our first date, you picked me up and drove me to the park for a picnic. However, you were so nervous that it turned into one of those ’if it can go wrong, it will days.’ You started to set the basket and other comfort items up before putting the blanket down. And then when you remembered and put the blanket down, you forgot other stuff. And once everything was finally set up and you were starting to loosen up, you stretched your legs out and kicked a plate that caused sandwiches to fly off and land on my dress and all the condiments got smeared in the lace. That’s all.” 

“What do you mean ‘that’s all?’ And you went out with me a second time, even after all of that?“ He asks you.

“Yeah, and the second time was probably worse, in your eyes at least. The second one, you took me to an ice-skating rink since I used to skate a lot for fun. But somehow, you fell in the most awkward way, which resulted in you cutting yourself on the blade of your own skate to the point where we had to leave early and spend a couple hours in the hospital due to the wait time and with you getting stitches. That’s what that scar on your wrist is.“

He lifts up his arm to inspect his wrist, “this one? I just assumed I got scratched by a cat or something. After two failed dates, why the hell would you go out with me again?”

“I didn’t consider them ‘failed.’ I could tell that you were just nervous because you were trying too hard. So, I planned the next one to take the pressure off of you and it seemed to work.” 

“What did we do that time?”

“Uhhh… we went on a double date with Kento and some girl he recently asked out and we just went to this little pop up festival that had a bunch of cultural foods and games and stuff. Anyway, teenage Kento showed up in a band tee and some emo combover hairstyle and you kept making fun of him saying that you can look at his family and tell which one forces the rest of them into a Hot Topic against their will.”

“He was that guy??? The one that looks like an accountant?!”

“He used to be one actually,” you pause because Satoru starts to laugh and completely interrupts you. But you’ll let him have his fun. “Anyway, you ripped on him the entire time and the girl he liked ended up not wanting to go out with him again. So, he’s found you annoying since and constantly makes the ‘you could do better’ jokes when referring to you being my husband.”

“Damn. He hates me that much huh?”

“He’s just kidding. He actually interacted with the detectives on your case more than I did to take the stress off.” He nods and you take the opportunity to get a reaction out of him, “he just thinks all your jokes are shit.”

“Hey!”

You couldn’t pass up saying that and it was absolutely worth it. 

“So…” he looks completely serious and it starts to make you nervous. You really hope he’s not going to ask about any fights you’ve had because they’re incredibly petty. “I read the letters.”

It feels like your heart starts to beat twice as fast. You’ve been dying to know if he even opened the box but you didn’t want to make things awkward, now you know.

“Really? How many?” 

“The first eleven.”

Your mind starts to race as you’re wondering what’s in the first eleven letters. You’ve written over forty and now it’s coming back to bite you. You know that a few have pictures in them, but which ones? How much did you include?

He must sense your brain working overtime and reveals why he brought it up, “why didn’t you tell me about the pregnancy?” 

Shit. He does know. Let the awkward conversation commence. 

“When I got to the hospital and got your diagnosis, I thought it would be better to not overwhelm you with too much new information at one time. That’s also why it was only Suguru, Kento, and myself visiting you because I thought too many people would be too much. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t say anything at first, he just leans back and exhales. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I understand your dilemma, but what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’ve been handling so much alone because you’re too worried about stressing out other people, but what about you? On top of me not being there, you’ve had to handle a growing life inside of you and from the little I’ve seen and heard, it seems like you have a habit of putting your emotions last. I’m sorry that you’ve had to do this alone.” He seems so sincere, you’ve missed him so fucking much.

“You don’t have to apologize either, it’s not your fault. What happened… happened. We just have to work past it.”

“I know. But I couldn’t imagine looking at the person I love leave with someone else to go home and experience the biggest event in my life without them.” Aaaaand you’re crying. “But I promise that you’ll never have to go through that again. I’m here and I have no intention of leaving unless you throw me out.”

“Okay.” You sigh before asking the question that you really want an answer to, “why did you leave with Mei that day?”

“She made me feel like I had to. She was there when I didn’t know if I had anyone else and was doing everything for me. When I told her I was going home with you, she seemed receptive to it, at first. But when the day came to do so, she kept saying I was abandoning her in her time of need after she sacrificed a lot for me and I just felt bad. But if it makes you feel any better, I regretted it the entire time.”

“It does, actually,” you respond with no hesitation. 

“She was already clingy before, but when I found out she was planning our wedding…” He notices your eye start to twitch and goes into damage control right away, “no! No! No! I didn’t propose, she just started this on her own. And then she saw me reading your letters and wanted me to trash them if I wanted to stay with her, so I packed them up and I left.” You nod in response. “She also implied that you were sleeping with your friends and I got crazy jealous.”

You can’t even try to stop your laugh before it comes out. It’s not the first time that someone has accused you of sleeping with your friends, to be fair, they are really beautiful. But the nerve of her grasping ahold of a married man but claiming his wife doesn’t need him cause she’s sleeping around is absurd.

“I’ve never had sex with anyone but you Satoru,” you make sure to look him right in the eyes when you say that because you don’t want those insecurities popping up. “Choso has been sleeping in the bedroom with me since you’ve been gone because it’s been hard, but it’s never been sexual. There have been many times where you guys even fell asleep together after making giant forts and playing games so don’t even worry about that.” 

At first he looked a little surprised, but he doesn’t look like he’s taking anything personal so that’s good.

But you have one more question to ask him before you can move past the Mei topic, “did you ever have sex with her?”

“No.I swear on everyone I love that nothing sexual ever happened between me and her.”

“You don’t remember anyone Satoru,” you say in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I remember you.”

Your heart.

Your fucking heart.

If this keeps going on, you’re going to fold like a paper airplane.

Now that he knows that you’re pregnant, you have just one more question, “do you wanna come to the next doctor’s appointment with me?”

“Yes,” he says with a giant smile.

“It’s on–”

“Yes!”

Alright, looks like he’s in on this journey with you. 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s been a couple of days since Satoru has been home and you’ve started to fall into a pretty comfortable routine. 

You wake up and make breakfast for the two of you even though he insists on learning to help you. You decided to put him to work for dinner since there’s usually more components to that. Then he washes the dishes while you start working on other things. 

He was really happy with the movie choices on the first day that you hung out, so he asked you to keep picking things out. You have just been going through his list of favorite movies and put those on so that he can experience them for the first time… again. Although, he was remembering parts of Death Proof so you know that his memory is coming back, even if it’s slow and a little spotty.

You’ve even been playing board games together even though you can’t win Monopoly to save your life. He thought you were just letting him win, but you had to admit that you’re just really bad at it. It’s still fun spending time together so you indulge him anyway. You even pulled out some jigsaw puzzles because you read somewhere that they can help people with memory issues. 

You even worked together on cleaning up the ruined welcome home / belated birthday party and you promised him that you’d make up for his birthday in the future. He said he didn’t want you to do anything except grant him permission to dig into the cake. Of course that’d be the part he’s harping on the most. He took about a dozen photos before the two of you practically inhaled it.

You’ve been outside together a few times doing little things like taking a short walk around the block or stopping at the ice cream shop across the street. Everyone who knew you two before everything happened had been welcoming him home and wishing him well. But some people have been maybe a little too enthusiastic about his return. When he apologized to the woman at the ice cream shop for not remembering her, she said, “since you don’t remember your wife? Does that mean I have a chance?” She giggled and you assumed it was a joke but it still activated your jealousy antennas. But Satoru shut her down immediately and said, “just because I can’t remember all the times with my love, it doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel her.” He’s so sappy and you love it.

And speaking of being sappy, you know that he’s going to be today. Today is the first ultrasound appointment that Satoru is attending with you and you’re excited. You’re not usually a morning person, but today you are because you can’t wait to see his reaction.

After doing your normal morning routine, you get dressed and head to the kitchen to see if Satoru is awake. As soon as you open your bedroom door, you can tell he is because the smell of bacon is wafting through your home. As you walk into the kitchen, you can see him plating the food and it makes you hungrier than you were before.

He smiles at you once he sees you walking in and that’s how it is everyday. It’s like he can’t believe that he gets to be here with you.

“Good morning! Hungry?”

“Yeah. But you didn’t have to do it, I could have cooked for you Satoru.”

“You cook everyday,” he says while pouring juice into glasses. “This is a big day and I wanted to take a load off of you.”

You thank him and take a seat at the bar to start eating. After serving you, he takes a seat right next to you and starts eating as well. That’s another thing, physically, you get a little closer everyday. You no longer sit on the opposite side of the room, and there’s a little bit more physical touch. Not much, just resting on each other and some hand holding which is nice. But it still hasn’t moved onto kisses and stuff just yet, but you probably wouldn’t be too upset if it started happening soon.

“Are you nervous about today?” You ask him.

“Mm-mm. I’m excited. I can’t wait to get there.”

Your biggest fear about him finding out you were pregnant was him not feeling like he was ready for a baby. But at least in that regard, it’s like you picked up right where you left off and he’s been gushing for days about how excited he is about going today. Suguru volunteered to drive seeing as you hate it, and it’s probably not good for Satoru to start driving yet seeing as he’s still having the migraines and it’s bright as fuck outside which can contribute to them.

After finishing breakfast, you attempt to get up and wash dishes before Satoru snatches the plate out of your hand and does it for you. But hey, you’re not gonna complain. You decide to go back to your room to get your coat and your shoes since Suguru should be here any minute. 

You spare a minute to check your phone and see a bunch of messages of your friends wishing the two of you well on your appointment today. 

They’ve all been exceptionally supportive as you update them on the progress that you’ve made with Satoru and that makes you feel good. Although Utahime feels that you should have made him feel bad for at least a week for what he did. But after speaking to him about it a little bit more, you can’t hold a grudge towards him. Mei really is the fucking worst and you genuinely hope that she’s at home feeling miserable that he’s no longer there with her.

“Knock knock. Suguru’s here. Ready to go?”

You grab your purse and the three of you make your way out and to the elevator. Once inside, Suguru asks the question that’s been on your mind for the past few days, “when do you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I was told that they can start determining that at the eighteen week mark and that’s where we are now, so… maybe today.” You were debating on waiting until they’re born, but after all the uncertainty you’ve had in your life as of late, you’re desperate to know.

“I hope it’s a little girl!” Satoru yells like it’s not just the three of you in an enclosed space.

“Why is that?”

“I wanna put her in one of those onesies that says ‘Daddy’s Girl.’”

He’s so fucking cute.

Once you reach the car, Satoru climbs into the backseat with you. 

“Damn. You guys are just gonna treat me like I’m some replaceable Uber driver and leave me up here by myself?” Damn Suguru.

“I wanna sit in the back with my wife!” Awwww. That’s another thing, he gets a little bit more clingy everyday, but that’s hardly the worst thing. It feels more like what the beginning of your relationship was like instead of the uncomfortable situation you thought it was going to be. 

“Fine. But no hanky panky in my car.” No WHAT?

“Yes, grandpa,” is all you can muster because what the hell is with the slang from the 1950’s?

The ride to the doctor is relatively quiet, but Satoru does scoot a little closer to you so that he can hold your hand. If he keeps being this adorable, he might have your clothes off by lunch. Unfortunately the thought makes you a little warm and he notices the temperature change in your hand and asks you if you’re okay. You explain it away as just being nerves because that’s not a door that you’re opening right now. 

You arrive at the doctor’s office and Suguru decides to wait in the car, so you lead Satoru inside and he’s so excited he’s practically skipping the entire way. 

There’s not a lot of people when you arrive so after you give the receptionist your name, they take you back almost immediately and that’s when your nerves kick in. You know that he’s been happy thus far, you just hope that he doesn’t get scared away when he sees everything up close. 

“Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Gojo,” the doctor says as she comes in.

“Morning!” Satoru practically shouts in response. This fucking guy.

“How are we today?”

“Good… and very excited.” Before continuing, you give her a short rundown on the situation. She knows that he was missing since you had a checkup while he was gone, but nothing since he came home. So you take the time to explain that if it seems like he doesn’t know anything, it’s because he doesn’t, and why.

“This must be a really big day for you then Mr. Gojo.”

“It is. But I’m excited. When will we find out the sex of the baby?” With the positivity he’s displaying, maybe the two of you should start working on the nursery when you get home.

“If all goes well, I may be able to tell you today. Would you like to know today?”

“Yes,” the two of you say in unison.

You pull up your top and she starts to apply the ultrasound gel on your abdomen and you wince at first from the cold. It’s the one part of this process that you still hate. She grabs the transducer and begins the exam right after.

Satoru stands right beside you and he’s intently staring at the screen to make out whatever he can. 

After about a minute, she points the baby out to him, “that’s your daughter.”

You look at Satoru to see his reaction and he looks like he’s completely in awe. He even starts to tear up and that’s when you realize what she said, she pointed out your ‘daughter.’ You’re having a little girl and then you start crying with him. 

“Congratulations you two, she’s looking real good,” she says and the both of you start crying more. “I’ll print up more pictures and dvds because I know you want to put everything into a baby book and I’ll give you a minute.” She steps out of the room and you’re grateful because this feels like an ugly cry moment.

“Satoru, how do you feel? You’ll get your ‘Daddy’s Girl’ onesie.” 

He looks at you, but he doesn’t say anything and you’re almost wondering if you’ve said the wrong thing. But before you can take it back, he leans down and kisses you. It was quick, but it was everything. It’s been so long since he’s kissed you and it’s everything you’ve missed and more.

“I’m so happy. Thank you for letting me come today,” he says in such a serious tone and you realize that you’ve probably been overreacting the entire time. You’ve been terrified that you were going to scare him away but it seems like he’s working so hard to get closer to you  and this moment confirms that he’s going to be there for you. And now, your little girl as well.

The doctor comes back in a couple of minutes later and gets you cleaned up so that you can go back home. She made sure to give you both a copy of the photos and dvds before you leave and Satoru is holding onto them like they’re made of gold. Hell, you don’t think he’d even protect a gold bar by the way he’s gripping onto his baby’s mementos and it’s super sweet. 

Once you get back outside, you see Suguru standing outside his car and a group of girls a couple of feet away staring him down. You can’t really blame them though, his hair is literally blowing in the wind like this is a fucking music video. Satoru runs over and hands him the photo like a giddy little kid who can’t wait to tell a story that makes no sense. 

Suguru smiles at the picture, but probably more at his friends' flare for the dramatic. “Did you find out?”

“It’s a girl!” The both of you say.

He hums. “Congratulations. We’re gonna have to get that onesie.” He hugs you and you hear a collective gasp from the girls who were probably just planning their future with him. Satoru leans in to give him a wet kiss on the cheek and honestly, it feels just like old times. “Ugh. I was hoping that when you lost your memory, you were going to forget that you do that.”

You just laugh at his antics and get back into the car. Satoru slides in next to you and holds your hand causing your heart to feel like it’s not going yo make it. 

Just for fun, you look back to see if those girls are still watching Suguru and you swear that they’re glaring daggers at you instead. “Suguru, it looks like your fan club hates me.” 

“Fuck them,” is all he replies with. 

“Maybe you should. Then they won’t look at me like that.” 

“Mei kept telling me that I should bring my ‘cute friend’ around in reference to you,” Satoru adds. 

Suguru scoffs at that. “Absolutely not, she has the same energy as those people who refer to themselves as Bentleys and I want no part of that.“

You completely forgot that people did that until he brought it up. You appreciate confidence, but you still kind of feel like there’s a limit.

Suguru drops you both off at home and once you’re inside, you start rummaging through a box of picture frames you got specifically for the ultrasound photos so that Satoru can put up his new favorite.

He writes 18 weeks on the back, slides it into the frame, and then puts it up on one of the shelves in your living room in between other family photos. “Is it okay to put it here?” 

“Of course, it’s your home too.” 

“Eventually, we should put them all on display, “he says beaming with pride.

“We can do that. I only have the few ultrasound photos, but besides them, I’ve been taking progress pictures everyday.” 

“Every day?”

“Yeah. It was important to you to take progress photos to watch the baby grow, so I’ve been making sure to take at least one a day.” You can tell that he wants to ask you to see them, but for some reason, his shyness is taking center stage. So, you decide to take the pressure off of him. “Do you want to see them, Satoru?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, barely giving you a chance to finish your sentence.

You pull your phone out of your coat pocket, open up the album you’ve been saving all these pictures to, hand your phone to Satoru and then take a seat on the couch. He sits down right next to you and you can tell that the more he learns, the more excited he gets about the entire situation. You were terrified that you were going to have to raise your baby alone, but that’s clearly not the case. You doubt there’s ever been a more excited father-to-be in existence.

He reaches the photos where it looks like your belly has started to grow and there’s nothing in his eyes except for pure adoration. You haven’t even gotten that big yet but you’d swear he’s happy like you’re going to give birth tomorrow.

The feeling of his hand on your stomach is what pulls you from your thoughts. But once you look at him, he shies away, “I’m sorry, was that wrong?”

This poor baby. “It’s okay, you can touch.” 

He places his hand back on your stomach and you rest one of yours on top of his. The two of you sit in silence and take the opportunity to just enjoy the moment. When you told him about the baby, he disappeared the next day, so he didn’t really get the chance to experience any of this with you. But now, you have all the time in the world because you’re going to fight for this and enjoy what you have. 

It finally feels like you’re parents and you can’t wait to meet your daughter.

The daughter that not a single soul on the planet thinks is going to inherit your genes. 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Although things have been going really well with Satoru, one thing has remained the same, Choso.

Even though you and your husband have been spending all your time together during the day, Choso has still been coming by at night, cooking dinner, helping clean, and staying with you. 

While you enjoy your time with Satoru, you’d be lying if you said weren’t constantly a ball of nerves. It’s not his fault, things are just still feel a little off as you two try to adjust to each other again. So, having Choso come by at night helps relieve some of that stress and allows you some time to not overthink.

Satoru has been nice to him and they’re getting along the same way that they did before, but you have noticed that he looks a little less vibrant once Choso shows up. You can’t really blame him. You’ve been getting along so well and then another man shows up and he eventually goes back to the guest bedroom by himself can’t be the best feeling. But you plan on changing that and soon. Honestly, you’re missing the intimacy of sleeping next to your husband and you feel like you might be ready to take that step.

Ugh, how weird is life that you have to get used to your husband again?

“Chosooooo,” you say while helping him clean up after dinner.

“Hmmm?”

“So… I’ve been thinking… about… something…” you drawl. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s not like he’s going to get upset with you.

“What have you been thinking about?”

“I’ve been thinking about asking Satoru to sleep with me.” Choso raises an eyebrow and you start to backtrack. “Not in a sexual way! I just meant to sleep next to me.’”

He cuts you off before you start to ramble, “chill out. You’re acting like your parents just caught you in bed with a boy.“ He pauses and takes on a slightly more serious tone, “are you sure you’re ready for that?“

“I think so. I thought I was going to need more time, but things are going really well between us and I don’t want to kill the momentum. Plus, I just really miss being able to wake up next to my husband. I also feel bad that after everything he went through, he comes home to a wife who sends him to another room.”

“Well, to be fair, he did make a pretty big choice that hurt you,” he says. 

“I know. And since he’s been back, we’ve talked about it and I understand why he did it. I just don’t want to actively hold a grudge when things feel like they’re in a good place.” 

“Well… then I think you should go for it.”

“You do?” You ask in surprise. He and Suguru have been the most upset about the Mei thing to the point where you thought he was going to suggest holding a grudge for a little longer.

“Yeah. I agree that if you feel like something is going in the right direction, you should follow it. I’ll stay in the guest bedroom for tonight and if things keep going good, I’ll move my stuff out tomorrow.”

“Are you sure that you don’t want to sleep between us like a kid that got scared of a storm?”

He scoffs. “Maybe between you and Kento. But now six foot three Satoru who kicks in his sleep.” You giggle in response because that’s the one complaint you have about sleeping next to him. “Speaking of, what’s going on with Kento?”

“Now that the investigation has slowed down and Satoru has come home, I demanded that he return to work. He canceled a few big projects for me and I’ve been feeling bad about it. He was offered a shoot in Italy and I begged him to take it, he should be back in a few days.”

He hums in response and you head to the guest room to talk to Satoru. You’ve been thinking all day about asking Satoru if he wants to take this next step, but now that you’re outside of the room, you start wondering if you’re moving too fast. But you decide to just go for it. You knock on the door and when you hear a response, you step inside.

When you enter the room, you see Satoru laying in bed, one arm behind his head, as he plays around on his phone. If you didn’t have any self control, you’d be riding him into the sunset before he realized what was going on. The doctor did say that during your second trimester, your sexual desire is going to increase. Maybe that’s what’s making you feel so feral lately. 

“Can I speak to you about something?”

Instead of responding, he tosses his phone to the side and gives you his undivided attention and you take that as a cue to continue.

“So… I was about to go to bed and I wanted to know if you wanted… to sleep with me?” 

His eyes are wide as saucers and even though that reaction shouldn’t surprise you, it still does, a little bit. “Sleep with you?”

“Yeah. I’m not really ready for anything sexual, just yet.” That’s hilarious to say considering the fact that you’re pregnant. “But I was thinking that we could try sleeping in the same bed again.”

“I’d love that. But what about your friend?”

“He said that he’ll take the guest room so that you can sleep with me. So, what do you sa–”

“Yes!”

He follows you out of the guest room and back to the bedroom that you’ve shared for years and even though you can’t see him, you can tell that he’s practically skipping down the hallway behind you. 

Once you step inside your bedroom, you see Choso coming out of the closet.

“I’m just getting work clothes,” he looks right past you at Satoru who must have had a sour face. “See you tomorrow,” is the last thing he says before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

You turn to Satoru and smile before starting your bedtime routine. You have dual sinks in your bathroom so he’s able to join you while you brush your teeth and wash your face and it’s nice to feel like things are returning to normal. You never thought something so mundane as getting ready for bed would make you feel like you’re falling in love all over again.

You go to your walk-in closet to look for something to wear to bed. You end up settling on one of Satoru’s tee shirts because honestly, when was the last time that you wore anything else? When you step out of the closet, you see that he’s already laying in bed.

“What if that was my side of the bed, Satoru?”

“Then I was a shitty husband because the man is supposed to sleep next to the door.”

“Awwww. Thank you for offering to be my human shield in case anything happens.” You crawl into bed on the other side, plug your phone in, and then roll over to face him.

He turns to face you as well before taking your hand in his and you two sit there like that for a little while. You thought that this might feel weird, but now you kind of regret not doing it sooner.

“Tell me something,” he prompts you. 

“About what?”

“Us. What was it like the first time we did this?”

“Mmmm.” You think back on the day as a fond memory, but it was definitely filled with his chaotic energy. “The first time that we spent the night together like this was right after you moved out. You got your own place the second that you turned eighteen because you didn’t want to risk your parents walking in on you in the bed with me and then them having a bad impression of me. You ended up getting a place pretty close to my school so that I could go over whenever I wanted and it soon became our first home.” You take a break to giggle thinking about how silly he was when you first went over there. “You asked me to spend the night and quickly emphasized that you didn’t mean it in a sexual way to do damage control even though I didn’t accuse you of anything. And then when I got there, you had literally no furniture except for a lamp and a mattress on the floor.”

“And you stayed?!” He almost sounds more in shock than your friends did when you told them.

“You also had enough clothes for a few days in the closet and some snacks in the pantry. But as soon as I was about to enter the room, you panicked and blocked it off like you were human caution tape. I kept trying to ask you what the problem was, and all you could say was’ it’s not ready!’ And I was like, why the hell did you bring me over here to spend the night if you didn’t want me to spend the night in the apartment that’s not ready? Finally, I got you too move and you immediately started to apologize for not having it more set up.“

“Did I ever explain why this sounds like such a mess?“

“You said you were just too excited, so I didn’t hold it against you. I thought it was cute that you wanted to spend so much time with me that all rational thought went right out the window.“ He starts to laugh at the absurdity. “Anyway, I had a phone stand in my purse, and we ended up ordering food and then falling asleep to something on our makeshift tv. It was cute. Even though you like to kick a lot in your sleep.” 

“I’d hate to ruin my chances here, but you could probably raise your standards,” he says with a chuckle. “What happened after that?”

“The next morning I went with you to go furniture shopping. But that just resulted in you getting everything that I picked out even though it was your place. People used to make jokes saying that they couldn’t even tell that you lived there. We ended up staying there all the way up until we got married and moved here.“

“Hmmm. From what I’ve heard, the beginning of our relationship sounded so clumsy.” You giggle a little bit because, well, he’s not wrong. “Thank you for giving me all those chances. And thank you for giving me this last one. I may only remember bits and pieces, but I can’t imagine not being without you.“

You squeeze his hand to let him know that you feel the same. Being in bed with him now makes it feel like everything you went through was worth it. Yeah, it’s nice to hang out with someone, go out with friends, etc. But it’s the intimate moments like this that matter the most to you. You’re just so grateful that it’s not taking months for you to get back to where you were.

He scoots a little closer and places his soft lips on yours causing your breath to hitch. This is not one of those hot and heavy tongue down your throat moments. But it is one of those ‘I can’t live without’ kisses and you move to kiss him back. It’s sweet, slow, and he lets out a soft moan causing all of your feelings to flood down to your sweet spot. You don’t want to move too fast when it comes to sexual things, but you are going to enjoy this. 

He pulls his hand away from yours and brushes your hair away from your face. He cups your face and you lean into his touch even more as if parting would cause you physical harm. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says once he pulls away from your lips. But before you can respond, he’s kissing you again and you can’t remember what you wanted to say in the first place. 

You pull away because you know that if you don’t do it now, you won’t do it at all and you want to spend a little bit more time with him before you dive head first into that part of your relationship again. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper. 

Then you turn around and lay facing away from him. He’s still for a moment before you feel him scoot closer to you and wrap his arm around your waist, exactly how he always used to. He pulls you a little closer and tucks his face into your neck and you decide not to fight off the smile that’s forming because it’s not like he can see it anyway. 

This is it.

Pure bliss.

[brain--drop]

Creepypasta First Kiss Headcanons (PT 1)

It's been 84 years oml-// Includes: Jeff The Killer | Eyeless Jack | Ben Drowned

Jeff:

Although he'd never admit it, Jeff was beyond nervous for your first kiss as the two of you were lying down on the roof of a shed you'd spend the night at during your journey of getting back to the mansion.

It seemed to be set up perfectly. The chilly air of the night bringing the two of you closer for warmth, the sky clear to view the stars and the full moon. Ambience of crickets and no other distractions.

All it took was for Jeff to glance at you, seeing the moonlight cast lights and shadows to your face, and for you catch him staring that he leans in and plants a short and quick kiss on your lips.

"That...that was stupid. Stupid and gross. Forget it-"

As he sits up to get off the roof and leave, he stops when he feels your hand grab onto his hoodie sleeve. Your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out as you grow flustered from the moment. Jeff raises an eyebrow and lifts your chin up to look at him, unable to hide a laugh from seeing your face.

"So I wasn't reading the signs wrong. You're just as stupid as me."

He laughs more at your offended reaction, cutting you off mid annoyed ramble as he kisses you again, longer and more sternly. Both of you definitely complain in sync once you get inside the shed to sleep on why you stayed outside kissing in the cold for so long afterwards.

EJ:

Not as romantic as the two of you hoped as it was when Jack was bandaging up your arm, having been slashed during training. Or really just a full on brawl as nearly everyone woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning and choose to vent their frustrations.

Much to Jack's efforts in getting you out of the crossfire of violence, you still ended up getting hurt after getting a cut from Toby's axe swinging. Now, much to your efforts of reassuring him, Jack still had an irritated but worried look on his face judging from his knitted eyebrows.

"I don't like using unnecessary force, but I should've moved you out the way faster. Thank whoever's out there that it wasn't serious but it could've been worse and-"

Next thing he knows, his mouth is being silenced by warmth and he realizes it was your lips against his. When you pull back, the shocked silence between the two of you is enough to fluster you both completely.

More silence follows as he finishes patching you up and you end up leaving the makeshift med bay of the mansion with a quiet thanks.

You spend the rest of the day in fear you took it too far until it was the dead of night when a knock at your door disrupts your thoughts. Opening it, you see Jack make his way inside and cups your face in his hands as he closes the door with his foot.

"Let's try that one more time, my brain is working again."

Ben:

It's as cute and awkward as you can imagine it to be. Ben spends days, weeks even, to work up the courage to make the first move and kiss you. By this point, every creep in the mansion is annoyed at his nervous rants to them as he looks for advice and tells him to get on with it.

It took Jeff to half jokingly tell him "he'd do it if he doesn't" for him to get it together and follow through that night, mood and timing be damned.

Fortunately for his racing heart, you wanted nothing more than to have a simple movie night which involved Chicken Little.

While you were seemingly engrossed in the film, Ben's mind was running a mile a minute as he did every trick in the book. Scooting closer to you, wrapping a blanket around you two, yawning and putting his arm around your shoulder. Even he has to admit it was cringe.

His nerves got the best of him when he was trying to find a decent moment in the movie when it didn't matter if it was watched or not as he turns his head and sees you looking right at him because of his anxious behavior.

"...fuck it, I'm dead anyways."

He wastes no time presses his lips against yours, any tension in your bodies flooding away with the warmth as it becomes more comfortable. That is until you both hear the loud sound from the movie of the pig hitting the vending machine to which you pull away laughing. Grabbing the remote, Ben lowers the volume before leaning in again.

"Eh, we've already seen it. This is better though."

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Ooc: The conversation~~~~

Ft this (feel free to pry into their brains on @deceit-and-doubt or @truth-and-compassion )

(also sorry bird anon you have to third wheel lmao feel free to bully smilk about it)

shadow milk opened the door after taking a deep breath, entering into pure vanilla's bedroom.

Walking in his chest full of anxiety, not letting himself show it on his face but his weak body was definitely crumbling beneath it.

"...hey.."

he spoke softly.. clearly upset and bothered by the potential of a fight.

"hello.." pure vanilla responded, his voice tense, he looked towards shadow milk, standing up from his plush bed, the once usually warm room felt cold and like you could cut the air with a knife.

The weather outside matching the air within the room, stormy and cold like an explosion of thunder or rain had been brewing. He looked at him with a concerned expression but not his usual calm soft concern this one was more of "I am on the brink of having a panic attack"..

"bluebird.. please.. you know why I want to talk." Pure vanilla chokes out, his worry clearly made him ill. He's clenching his stomach which can only be filled with a dark pit of concern.

A sickening dark pit.

"...i.. do.." shadow milk answers, looking away at the ground next to him, his face blushed from the shame and guilt he feels. "Then tell me, what's going on.. please.." pure vanilla pleads. Shadow milk jolts in sudden anger. "WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU! YOU'LL JUST GET MAD AT ME!" he screams.

"because I love you.. I am not going to get angry I merely want answers.." pure vanilla assures, gently reaching up to caress shadow milk's cheek. His eyes leer at him, his main with disdain and anger but the ones within the void of his hair look in worry and sadness, embarassment even.

"Fine.. but I don't know how to word it.. I'm going to trust you with something I never trust anyone with.. if you truly love me, any secret you gather from this should never be brought up again!.." he states a command as he hands over a pile of books from a portal. All diaries. "These are all my diaries from before you arrived at the spire til now. Approximately 3 150 paged ones." He pouts. "Read them.. they have all my dumb secrets and weird emotions.. connect the dots between them and you'll figure out what bothers me. Also why I keep this from you..." Shadow milk admits.

So pure vanilla sits down, picking up diary after diary, turning page after page, word after word, he reads. Every line is dripping with emotion and feeling, hurt, love, happiness, fear, sadness, heartbreak, anger. Thoughts of betrayal, admittance of shyness, as if you looked into him and unraveled him. Every word explained everything. New information pure vanilla didn't know prior about this cookie he loved so.

It ended up being 5 diaries. Some with pages torn out.

"do you.. understand.." shadow milk asked softly, sounding like he's about to cry, he looked humiliated as he watched pure vanilla read his secrets. "I do.. thank you.. I'm sorry you've been so afraid for this long.. I couldn't be that comfort you truly needed.." pure vanilla apologises. "...why are YOU sorry.. I fucked up.. I'm so scared to be alone.." shadow milk cries.

"and you don't have to be.. I'll never leave you.." pure vanilla exclaims, bringing the jester into a hug.

"everything will be alright, blueberry.." he says softly. He feels the clown begin jitter and twitch as he cries into his shoulder. He rubs his hand down his back, up and down, patting it on occasion as he soothes him with a hum.

Soon cradling him in his arms like a child, sat on the bed, the two together. "You mean everything to me, shadow milk cookie.. I adore you and everything you are, I'm so sorry you fear loneliness so much, I know that feeling.. it's crushing. I know I'll never understand how it feels to watch the children you adored grow up and know they'll one day leave you but unfortunately that's life.. just know you improved their lives more than any cookie could ever improve it, you gave them a home and love.. they'll forever be indebted to you, even if they spread their wings and leave the nest.." pure vanilla gently explains. "I know you deny it, but they're your children.. you see yourself as their parent.. I hope you know they'll forever see you as their dad.. "

"and please.. be reminded, there's no need to be so insecure around me.. I love you with all my heart, you shouldn't fear expressing your emotions to me, I understand my statement is rather hypocritical but we're both trying and learning, but we should be learning together not alone.. some tasks can't be done alone." He explains.

"So please.. let's be in this together.. we share a soul, we should be able to understand each other and not hide away.. there's no reason to be afraid anymore...I'm your boyfriend..." He reassures, gently stroking the back of shadow milk's head.

"...so.. you love me..?" Shadow milk asks, seemingly in denial. "Alot, yes.." pure vanilla replies, his voice quiet and sweet.

"...how much exactly..numbers..?" Shadow milk responds, he sounds tired, insecure. "I'm not sure I can even count to it..haha.. it's a rather large number, I'm not sure if it's an existing number.. I might have to make up an entirely new set of numbers.." pure vanilla chuckles. He takes shadow milk off his shoulder, holding him up on his lap. Looking him in the eyes he speaks with love laced words. "I love you bluebird.. I'm sorry for everything you're going through.. especially that scare.. I'm not sure why I even remotely belived it... But.. what if we were to say....start a family..?" Pure vanilla asks.

Shadow milk stares in silence. "Would you want to? I'm fine without, I have custard cookie the third.." pure vanilla asks, he sounds fine and happy as if this isn't bothering him, though that's merely shadow milk's own thoughts plaguing him.

"... I'm... not sure.. that d..doesn't bother you, does it?.." he asks, in a stammer. "Obviously not.. we have eternity ahead of us, besides.. we haven't even discussed the potential of marriage.. though I'm getting ahead of ourselves, I'm just so love struck with you.. you little heart stealer you~" pure vanilla teases, pinching shadow milk's cheek extremely gently.

He then kisses shadow milk's lips with gentle care. Feeling the usually cold cookie flush up in bashful heat. Soon removing himself from him shadow milk floats off and above pure vanilla, still near and in front of him. He wipes his mouth which pure vanilla laughs at. "Still not used to kisses are you?" The king questions, look towards his precious jester. "Absolutely not." He hisses in response.

The touch starved yet touch hating cat looks at pure vanilla, leering at him with his heterochromatic blue eyes.

"though I have a question for you before you leave which I know you're going to.. why did you make lingerie?" Pure vanilla asks, with the head tilt of a confused puppy.

"...W..what!?.." shadow milk stutters. "Why do you?" Pure vanilla asks with a smirk. "To know I even OWN that you would've gone into my room and snooped around, you little gnat!" Shadow milk yells, clearly embarrassed. "Why did you make that? Quit avoiding the question~" pure vanilla's asks again in some dumb flirting attempt. The jester's eyes go wide as he squeals. "QUIT AVO- UGH. WHY ELSE WOULD I MAKE THAT! WHY WOULD ONE PURCHASE LINGERIE!?"

"why would you make it?" Pure vanilla states again with a shit eating grin, his face blushed, clearly thinking about it. "UGH TO TURN YOU ON.." shadow milk shouts. "Oh~ well now.. h-" "NO." shadow milk blurts out. "Y-You're being.. WAAAY TOO FLIRTY!" he shrieks before storming out in a fluster. Pure vanilla laughs knowing he'll be back later with vengeance.

He lays down, feeling relaxed now such a weight is off his chest, he caresses the diary pile next to him, taking one and hugging it onto his chest.

"I'm so glad this is over.." he sighs.