#just fluff with a light dose of angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months ago

Text

IF YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE, I’LL STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face, and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. the memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, some way, you manage to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

a chuckle of your own drips into the air, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

��uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. you won’t give him the satisfaction.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

2K notes · View notes

macfrog · 8 months ago

Text

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

moodboard | main masterlist | playlist [in case you wanna vibe in sad] | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #fic: san angelo

1K notes · View notes

seriiousgiirl · 1 month ago

Text

seriiousgiirl

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝑔

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is pathetic once again.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 4 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello dear readers, I hope everyone will love this new chapters! Once again, I don't have enough words to describe how touched I am for your support.

Also, I already said it, but my requests are open, and I love a lot of fandoms, so if you like my writing it would be with pleasure!

➜ ┊: chapter 5/?.

“How’s your new medical dose working, Mr. Sunderland?”

James stared down at the nurse, her voice breaking through his haze of memories. Her smile was wide and sweet, too sweet, as if she didn't know that every time he walked into this place, a little part of him withered. Her uniform was too bright, the walls too clean, the lights too harsh. Everything felt wrong in hospitals—had felt wrong ever since Mary and Silent Hill. Mary had spent so much time in places like this, the sterile smell of antiseptic clinging to everything, the endless beeps of machines monitoring her slow decline. The sight of her frail body hooked up to wires, her once lively eyes dulled by pain and fatigue, haunted him. He’d hated watching her slip further and further away, hated how helpless it made him feel.

The hospitals were a graveyard for hope.

The nurse, unaware or uncaring of his inner turmoil, continued leading him down the long corridor. Every step felt like it was echoing in his head, like the ticking of some inevitable countdown. Her shoes clicked sharply on the polished floor, and with every click, James felt the weight of the place closing in on him. It wasn't just Mary anymore—it was him. He hated these appointments because they made him feel like he was in Mary’s place now, like the sickness had transferred from her body to his mind.

That’s what it was, after all. Mary had been physically ill, but James knew he was sick, too—mentally.

And that scared him more than anything.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, trying to focus on something other than the tightening in his chest. The walls were lined with posters about health and mental well-being, all of them blurring together in a haze of meaningless words. James wasn’t sure how long he’d been feeling this way—restless, broken, angry. He was doing his best to hold it together for Laura. For her, he had to keep moving, keep showing up to these appointments, keep taking the medication that dulled his thoughts just enough so he didn’t lose control.

He had to. Only God knew what he might do if he didn’t. The memories of Silent Hill still clawed at the edges of his mind, the weight of his actions, of his guilt, always there, just under the surface.

They reached the end of the corridor, and the nurse stopped outside a door, turning to look at him with that same smile plastered on her face. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing, waiting. He hated it, hated feeling like a patient—like someone broken who needed fixing. “Mr. Sunderland?” she repeated, knocking gently on the door before turning the handle. “The doctor will see you now.”

James stepped inside, the familiar dread rising like bile in his throat. The doctor’s office wasn’t much different from the rest of the hospital—sterile, white, and cold. He could see the file with his name on the desk, his life reduced to a few pages of notes and medical jargon. He hated that, too—how clinical it all was. There was no way to explain what was wrong with him, not really. No dosage of medication could fix the things he’d done, the things he’d seen.

As he sat down, the doctor's soft murmur of greetings barely registered. James’s gaze drifted to the window, the gray sky outside mirroring the weight inside him. He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he had to be, for the last piece of his life that still made sense.

“James.” The doctor’s voice was calm but probing, pulling him back to the present. “How have you been feeling on the new dose? Any noticeable changes?”

James rubbed his palms against his jeans, trying to think of what to say. What was the point of explaining? The medication didn’t change anything, not really. Sure, it dulled the edges, kept him from spiralling too far into the nightmares, but the weight was still there. The guilt. The grief. The memories of Mary’s final days still haunted him, and now…now there was everything else.

“Same as always,” James muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the window. “It takes the edge off, but...”

He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

The doctor nodded slowly, jotting something down in his file, and James felt that familiar frustration building again. None of this would help—like it hadn’t helped Mary. None of this would take away the memories or the guilt that gnawed at him like a festering wound. The doctor’s voice cut through his thoughts again, calm but firm. “You’re doing this for your daughter, right?”

“Yes,” James nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation pressing on his chest. "I need to be stable for Laura," he muttered, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as the doctor. He didn’t like talking about it. Didn’t like admitting how fragile his grip on things really was.

But Laura—she needed him, and that was all that mattered… Right?

The doctor, however, leaned forward in his chair, his expression unreadable as he studied James for a moment. Then, in a calm but pointed voice, he interrupted, “Maybe you should be doing this for yourself first, James. Have you ever considered that?”

James opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He stared at the doctor, feeling caught off guard, like the ground beneath him had shifted suddenly. For himself? The thought sounded almost foreign in his mind. What was the point of doing it for himself? Why would it even matter?

His mouth closed again, his throat tightening with the weight of unspoken thoughts. The silence in the room stretched, the question lingering in the air. James hadn’t considered himself in a long time—his needs, his well-being. It seemed almost selfish, like a luxury he didn’t deserve.

Apart from Y/n.

He had taken everything from you.

“I…” he finally managed, his voice quieter now, hesitant. “I don’t know what good that would do.”

He shifted in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him. The idea of taking care of himself first felt wrong, unnatural even. His life had revolved around others—around Mary when she was alive, and now around Laura. He barely recognized himself anymore, much less thought about what he needed. The mere suggestion seemed ludicrous.

The doctor’s gaze didn’t waver, his calm persistence chipping away at the walls James had built around himself. "You’re still here, James. Still alive. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? You can’t help anyone if you’re not helping yourself." The doctor let out a long, tired sigh, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of this conversation had become too familiar, too routine.

“It’s always the same with you, James,” he said, his tone gentle but edged with frustration. “I’ve been seeing you for years now, and there’s been so little improvement. It’s starting to become... alarming.”

James felt his chest tighten at the words, a cold ripple of anxiety spreading through him.Alarming. It echoed in his mind, drawing him back to another time, another place—the same hollow, clinical speeches they had made about Mary when it became clear she wasn’t getting better. That same hopelessness. That same finality.

His pulse quickened. The room seemed to close in around him, the doctor’s words blurring with memories of those sterile hospital rooms, the beeping machines, the pitiful way the nurses would smile at him as if they knew there was nothing left to be done. A lost cause. They had treated Mary like that toward the end, and now they were starting to look at him the same way. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

James’ breath hitched, panic gnawing at the edges of his composure. He tried to stay calm, gripping the arms of the chair as if grounding himself physically would somehow stop the rising tide of fear inside him. But the more he tried to control it, the more his thoughts spiralled. The idea of being a lost cause, of being considered beyond saving—it was unbearable. It felt like a death sentence, only this time it wasn’t just physical. It was his mind. His soul.

“I’m not…” he started, his voice shaky, the panic evident in his eyes as he looked at the doctor. “I’m not dying. I’m not—" His thoughts raced, but the words wouldn’t come out right. He couldn’t find a way to explain how much that idea terrified him.

The doctor leaned forward, his expression softening as he noticed the change in James' demeanour. His brow furrowed with concern as he held up a hand, his voice gentler now. “James, it’s okay. Breathe.”

James struggled to rein in the panic, his breathing shallow, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head—the idea of being doomed, of wasting away the way Mary had. It had consumed him once, and now it was rearing its ugly head again.

“I’m not saying you’re a lost cause,” the doctor said quietly, his voice firm yet reassuring. “I don’t think that. I don’t want you to think that either. You’re not Mary, James. This isn’t the same.” He spoke slowly, as if trying to guide James away from the edge of that dark spiral. “You’re not going to die like she did.”

The doctor’s words started to pierce through the fog of panic, though James still felt on edge, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He stared at the floor, struggling to push the thoughts away.

“You’re here,” the doctor continued softly. “You’re still here, still trying. And that’s what matters. But you’ve got to stop thinking of this as something you can just push through without taking care of yourself.”

James nodded stiffly, still shaken, but the panic was beginning to ebb. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but the doctor’s words had slowed his racing mind.

The doctor extended his hand, his palm open and expectant. "Your journal, James."

James hesitated for a split second before reaching into his bag and pulling out the worn notebook. It was a simple thing, its pages filled with his scribbled thoughts and confessions, the only place where he could vent the swirling chaos in his head without restraint. His hand shook slightly as he handed it over.

The doctor accepted the journal without a word, flipping it open to where James had left off. For a long, agonising moment, James just sat there, staring at him. The silence in the room felt heavy, the soft rustle of paper the only sound breaking it. James’ heart thudded in his chest, the anxiety from earlier still coiled tightly within him. The doctor’s brow furrowed as he read, his eyes scanning the pages carefully.

Then, suddenly, the doctor paused, his finger lingering on a particular entry. His eyebrow raised slightly, and James’ stomach lurched. He found it. The entry James dreaded anyone would see, the one where he had let his shameful thoughts spill onto the page like a confession he could never voice out loud. He had been reckless, letting the memory of you consume him to the point where he couldn't resist anymore. And now, it was there in the doctor's hands, in black ink.

The doctor didn’t look at James right away. Instead, he flipped back a few pages, then forward again, as if comparing something. Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral, almost clinical. “So, a new name has appeared,” the doctor remarked, glancing up at James briefly. “It’s always been Mary, Laura and you. But now… Y/n?”

James’ throat went dry. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away, his hands curling into fists on his lap. He felt exposed, as if all his dirty secrets had been laid bare, the shame gnawing at him like a festering wound. His mind raced, remembering that entry, the way he had let himself go completely, jerking off to thoughts of you, and how disgusted he’d felt afterward. It was a moment of weakness, a release of the sexual frustration he’d kept buried for so long. And now the doctor knew.

James braced himself for judgement, for the inevitable look of disappointment or maybe even disgust. But when the doctor spoke again, it wasn’t what he expected. “Well,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of surprise in his voice, “at least you seem to be making some progress… when it comes to your sexual frustration.”

James blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected that. He stared at the doctor, unsure of how to respond. Progress? How could that be considered progress? It felt like a violation, a betrayal of everything he had tried to bury deep inside. The doctor’s gaze softened, his expression more thoughtful than condemning.

“You’ve spent a long time suppressing those urges, James. It’s no wonder they’ve started to come out in... different ways. But I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of. Not entirely, at least.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to form a coherent response. The shame was still there, clawing at him, but the doctor’s unexpected reaction had thrown him. "Y/n..." James began, his voice rough, but he couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t ready to admit what you meant to him, not to the doctor, not even to himself.

"You’ve been carrying a lot, James. Maybe it’s time to stop punishing yourself for simply being human."

The doctor flipped through James’ journal again, settling on another entry. His eyes scanned the page before he began reading aloud, his voice even and steady. James’ stomach churned as he recognized the date.

“‘Y/n came over today,’” the doctor began. “‘I made some pizzas for Laura and her. Laura seemed excited—she always is when Y/n’s around. It’s like her presence lights up the whole room. I hadn’t seen Laura smile like that in a long time. Y/n… she’s good for her.’”

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his jaw tight as the doctor continued.

“‘It wasn’t just Laura, though. Y/n has this way of making everything feel... easier. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like just being near her makes things warmer. She laughed at one of Laura’s jokes, and for a moment, it was like the weight on my chest wasn’t so heavy. Like maybe things could be okay for a while.’”

The doctor paused, glancing at James. “She sounds kind. Thoughtful, even.”

James clenched his fists in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t need the doctor to remind him of how good Y/n was. He knew. But that wasn’t the point.

The doctor continued, his voice a little softer now, as he read the next part. “‘I should’ve kept my distance, but I didn’t. After Laura went to bed, Y/n and I ended up too close. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I pushed her away before it got worse, but... I felt bad about it. Guilty, even. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted it. Maybe because I needed it.’”

Silence filled the room after those words, thick and suffocating. James’ heart raced, the memory of that night playing vividly in his mind. He had pushed you away, yes, but only after he’d let it go too far. Only after he’d felt the spark of something he knew he had no right to feel.

"It’s clear you care about Y/n, James. That much is obvious. But what’s more telling is the guilt you felt afterward. You’re punishing yourself for something natural—something human." The doctor commented. “You’re allowed to move forward, James,” the doctor said softly. “You’re allowed to let yourself feel, even if it’s difficult. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for every moment of warmth you find.”

But James wasn’t sure he believed that. The shame ran too deep, tangled in his grief, his guilt, and his fear.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, giving James space to breathe. “Y/n seems to care about you and Laura. That’s something worth considering.”

James nodded slightly, but his mind was far from convinced.

The doctor flipped to the most recent entry in James' journal, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to read. James could barely sit still, his chest tightening with every second that passed in silence. He knew what the doctor was about to find, and the shame weighed heavy on him.

“‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’” the doctor read aloud. “‘That night with Y/n… how I pushed her away after everything. It was too much. Too close. But now, I can’t stop feeling like I made a mistake. It’s eating me up inside. I felt like I had to push her away, but now... all I want is to bring her back.’”

The doctor’s voice remained steady, but James could hear the shift in his tone, the careful consideration of every word as he continued. “‘I felt guilty because it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But I can’t pretend anymore. I need her. I can’t deny it—I want to be close to her. I’m tired of fighting it, tired of pretending that I don’t care. But what kind of man does that make me? I pushed her away, but now I just want to apologise. I need to apologise, because I need her, and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t.’”

The doctor let out a quiet sigh as he finished reading, closing the journal with a soft thud. James could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, every word of that entry now hanging in the air between them.

“You’re being honest with yourself here, James,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re acknowledging your feelings, your needs. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s progress.”

James swallowed hard, his throat dry. Progress, again. That’s what the doctor called it, but all he felt was shame. How could needing Y/n feel like progress when it made him feel so weak? So desperate?

“But it’s the guilt,” the doctor continued, “the guilt that’s keeping you trapped in this cycle. You want to be close to her, but you’re punishing yourself for it at the same time. Why is that? Is it because of Mary?”

James flinched at the mention of her name, the familiar weight of her memory pressing down on him. “I... I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze focused on James. “You need to figure that out, James. You’re allowed to need someone. You’re allowed to want someone in your life. But until you deal with the guilt you’re carrying, you’ll keep pushing her away, and you’ll keep punishing yourself for wanting something that’s entirely natural.”

James nodded, though his mind was far from settled. The words in that journal were raw, real, and terrifying. He couldn’t deny what he felt anymore—he was needy, desperate even, and he hated himself for it. For wanting something he couldn’t have. For needing you.

The doctor turned a few more pages, his hand pausing as he reached the end of the journal where the pages were blank. His brows knitted together, and he hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to James. “When do you think this last entry was?” the doctor asked, his tone soft but concerned.

James pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the frustration bubbling up. “I... I don’t know. Maybe three days ago?”

The doctor’s face hardened as he shook his head. “It wasn’t three days ago, James. It was six.” He sighed, closing the journal with a soft thud. “You’re losing track of time again, and that’s not good.”

James felt a heavy wave of dread settle over him as the doctor’s words sank in. Six days? He ran a hand over his face, trying to remember, trying to piece together the blurred fragments of the last week, but it was like reaching into fog. Time slipped through his fingers more often than he liked to admit, and here it was happening again.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “Tell me, James—what happened these last six days? Where have you been?”

James clenched his jaw, trying to pull something—anything—out of the haze in his mind. He remembered the hotel, remembered Y/n, remembered how he pushed you away again. And the guilt, it had been suffocating him since. But six days? What had he been doing in all that time?

“I don’t know,” James muttered, his voice low and strained. “I... I think I just stayed home. I’ve been looking after Laura, I think. Just trying to keep things together.”

The doctor’s expression remained stern, though there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “It’s more than just keeping things together, James. You’re slipping, and we’ve been down this road before. You know that when you lose track of time like this, it means you’re dissociating again.”

James swallowed, his throat tight. He hated hearing it said out loud. Dissociating. It made him feel like he wasn’t even present in his own life, like a passenger watching from the sidelines while everything fell apart around him.

“And what about Y/n?” the doctor pressed gently. “You wrote about her, about how you wanted to apologise. Did you do it?”

James nodded slowly, his face showing deep struggle as he spoke, “Yes… I went to apologise. It was the day after class when Laura forgot her maths book.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, urging James to continue. “And how did it go? How did you feel?”

For a moment, James hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It felt… good,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “To apologise, I mean. I realised I had been acting like a jerk with her. She didn’t deserve that. And for a second, I thought maybe I could make things right.” The doctor nodded, waiting, but James’ expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped as he continued, “But then… then I took advantage of her.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, the silence thick with shame.

“I pleasured her in the classroom,” James confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now. His fists clenched in his lap as he struggled to make sense of it, to come to terms with what he had done. “And with a second thought, I realise… I didn’t even ask for her consent. I just… I just did it.” James’ breath hitched, his mind racing back to that moment. He had been lost in the heat of it, the need to feel something, anything, to escape the crushing weight of his guilt. But now, looking back, he wasn’t sure if he had crossed a line.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained calm, taking in James' words carefully. "You... took advantage of her?" he repeated, the weight of James’ confession sinking into the space between them.

James nodded slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the chair, knuckles white from the pressure. "I didn’t even think. It just... happened," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I went to apologise, but then everything spiralled. I—God, I didn’t even ask her. I just... I didn’t give her a choice." His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head as if trying to shake away the guilt crawling beneath his skin. “I truly don’t know,” James muttered, his voice breaking. “I think she wanted it. She didn’t say no, but… but I didn’t ask. I didn’t stop to think. I just… I just took. And now, I feel like I’ve made things worse. Like I’ve dragged her down with me.”

For a moment, the doctor was silent, his fingers steepled as he watched James closely, the gravity of the situation settling between them. "James," he said, his voice firm yet still measured, "you’ve made significant progress in recognizing your actions, but this... this is dangerous. You’re stepping into territory that could destroy what little stability you’ve managed to build—for yourself and for Laura."

"It felt wrong," James admitted, his voice strained. "But at the same time, it was like... like I couldn’t stop myself. I needed her in that moment, and I just—" He broke off, clenching his fists as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. "I hurt her, didn’t I?"

The doctor sighed softly, leaning back in his chair. "You crossed a boundary, James. And that’s something you’ll need to address, not just with her, but with yourself. You’re carrying so much grief, anger, and guilt—those emotions have nowhere to go, so they manifest in ways that are harmful to you and those around you. What happened with Y/n might have been about more than just desire. It might be about trying to fill the void you’ve been living with for years."

James nodded weakly, the doctor’s words ringing uncomfortably true. He thought about Mary, about the years of frustration and loss, about how much he had bottled up since her illness and death. And now, here he was, unravelling in front of Y/n, dragging her into his mess because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

"You need to confront what’s really going on inside you," the doctor continued. "You’re not just dealing with sexual frustration or the need for intimacy. You’re dealing with unresolved grief, anger at yourself, anger at the world... and it’s clouding your judgement."

James pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to block out the reality of what he had done. "I didn’t mean to hurt her," he said, his voice rough. "I didn’t—" James let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to face Y/n again, to admit the truth of what he had done. But the doctor was right—if he didn’t confront it, it would fester, eating away at him until there was nothing left.

James swallowed hard, his throat dry as he prepared to admit more. "That wasn’t everything," he said quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "After that day… I didn’t stop. One day, I called her and booked a hotel, and then it just… started. We began seeing each other. Regularly."

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully before commenting, “Y/n must be very patient, James. She seems kind, and forgiving if she continued seeing you after that initial incident.”

But James shook his head. “That’s the problem. The more I saw her, the worse it got. I… I started having these nightmares again. Vivid. It’s that… that thing.” His voice trembled as he spoke, the weight of his confession dragging him down. "That red pyramid thing from my nightmares... it's back."

The doctor’s eyes flickered with concern as James pressed on, his voice thick with dread. "I would dream of that creature, taking advantage of her. Of Y/n. It would… it would hurt and abuse her, and I’d just be there, watching, unable to stop it." His hands clenched into tight fists, the memories of those nightmares making his skin crawl.

James paused, staring at the ground as if lost in those dark, haunting visions. “And the more I felt at ease with her, the more unbearable the dreams became. It felt like I was losing control, like I was watching her suffer in ways I couldn’t handle.” His voice cracked with the weight of his fear.

The doctor remained quiet, letting the words spill out of James, not interrupting him.

“Last time,” James continued, “I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her away. I acted like an asshole, rude and cold… just to make sure I hurt her feelings. I wanted her to hate me, to stop coming around, to make it easier for both of us.” His head lowered, his face twisted with guilt. “I left her there. She didn’t deserve that, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep dragging her into my mess. I thought if I made her leave, it would stop the nightmares. But it didn’t.”

The doctor exhaled slowly, his face softening with understanding. “James, what you're describing… it sounds like your subconscious is trying to confront something deeper. Maybe it’s not just about Y/n, but about control. Guilt. These nightmares could be your mind’s way of punishing you for feeling like you don’t deserve her.”

James nodded numbly, but inside, he was reeling. He had been doing everything he could to keep Laura safe, to hold it together for her. But now, it felt like everything was slipping out of his control. Y/n had been his one escape, his one comfort—and now, he had destroyed that too.

“I’m scared,” James finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

The doctor nodded, his gaze steady but compassionate. “Being scared is completely normal, James. It shows that you’re aware of what’s at stake, and that’s not a bad thing.” He paused, letting the words settle between them before continuing. “But let’s take a step back and rationalise this. Deep down, you’re a brave man. Braver than you give yourself credit for.”

James blinked, uncertainty in his eyes as he looked up. The doctor’s voice was firm but encouraging. “You know what you want, even if it scares you. Think about it—when you realised alcohol had taken hold of you, you made a decision. You stopped, cold turkey, because you knew it was dragging you down. And since then, you haven’t indulged. That’s proof of your strong spirit. Most people would’ve faltered, but you didn’t.”

James clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of those words. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge the strength it had taken to quit drinking, but hearing it framed this way brought a flicker of pride, mingled with shame.

The doctor leaned forward, his voice softening. “But when it comes to your emotions, it’s different, isn’t it? There’s no simple fix. Still, you already know what you want deep down. You’ve made your decision, James, even if you haven’t fully admitted it to yourself yet.”

James swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he felt the truth of those words. He did know what he wanted, but the path to get there felt impossibly steep.

“The road ahead will be long and hard,” the doctor continued, his tone gentle but insistent. “Just like when you cut out alcohol. Guilt and grief have been your comfort for so long. They’ve been your constant companions, the last thread tying you to the past. Moving forward means severing that link, changing the routine. And it’s terrifying because it means letting go of what’s familiar, even if it’s painful.”

James stared down at his hands, his thoughts swirling. He had spent so many years cocooned in the comfort of his suffering, unable to envision a life without it.

“But moving forward also means sharing that vulnerability with someone else,” the doctor added, his words hitting like a quiet truth James had been avoiding. “And I think that’s where Y/n comes in. She’s been there, offering you something new. Something real. And it’s not easy for you to accept that, because it requires you to let someone else in, to share the parts of yourself you’ve kept locked away.”

The doctor let out a long breath, his expression softening further. “You’re brave enough to quit alcohol. You’re brave enough to do this too, James. But it’s up to you to decide when you’re ready to take that step.”

The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, observing James closely. He could sense the internal conflict brewing beneath the surface, an invisible storm churning behind his stormy eyes. “You know, we talked about this woman, Maria, right?” he said, his tone steady but probing. “In our past sessions, we both agreed that she was—”

James swallowed hard, the name hanging in the air like a spectre, casting a shadow over the moment. “She wasn’t real,” he interjected, frustration colouring his voice. He felt a mix of resentment and acknowledgment rising within him. The doctor’s expression shifted to one of pleased understanding.

“Exactly,” the doctor replied, nodding with a hint of warmth. “She was a manifestation of your guilt, your grief—an anchor that kept you tethered to the past. And you’ve always pushed her away, never indulging in that fantasy. That shows remarkable strength, James.”

A flicker of recognition crossed James’s face, as if the doctor had peeled back a layer of his psyche to reveal something he had always known but hadn’t dared to acknowledge. He had fought against the allure of those internal fantasies, refusing to let them control him. But now, as the doctor continued, he felt the weight of a different reality pressing in on him.

“But now,” the doctor said, his voice gentle yet firm, “you’ve let Y/n take a part of your life. You’ve opened yourself up to her in ways you never did with Maria, and that’s a significant step forward. If you’re afraid of treating her like you did Mary or Maria, you have to remember this: Y/n is her own person, with her own desires and opinions.”

James’s brow furrowed, confusion and concern swirling in his thoughts. “But I—” he started, the words catching in his throat, a knot tightening in his chest.

The doctor held up a hand, silencing James gently. “You can’t know whether you deserve her or not. Your past experiences are not a reflection of who you are now. You’re not that man anymore, James. You’ve fought hard to break free from those chains, and you’ve come so far. Y/n is different, and she has the right to make her own choices in this relationship, just as you do.”

James's gaze dropped to the floor, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Each word the doctor spoke felt like a mirror, reflecting not just his fears but also his hopes—hopes he had been too afraid to acknowledge. “What if I hurt her?” he finally managed, vulnerability seeping into his voice like ink spreading on paper.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, an anchor in James's turbulent sea of self-doubt. “What if you don’t?” he asked back, his tone softening. “What if you’re capable of giving her something real, something that’s not clouded by your past? You have to give yourself that chance. Otherwise, you risk losing out on something beautiful.”

James looked up, searching the doctor’s face for any hint of insincerity, any sign that this was just another platitude designed to comfort him. But there was none. Instead, there was understanding—deep, resonant understanding that penetrated the layers of fear and guilt he had built around himself.

“Every time you pull away from Y/n, you’re not just punishing yourself; you’re punishing her too,” the doctor continued, his voice steady. “She deserves to know you, the real you—not the shadow of the man haunted by his past. And you deserve to be seen for who you are now, free from those burdens.”

James felt a swell of emotion rising within him, a mix of guilt and longing. The thought of Y/n brought warmth to his chest, but it was quickly eclipsed by memories of loss and fear. “But what if she sees the darkness in me?” he whispered, the vulnerability spilling out like water from a cracked vessel. “What if she runs away?”

“Then she’s not the right person for you,” the doctor replied, his tone unwavering. “But if she chooses to stay, it means she sees something in you worth holding onto. You have to allow her the opportunity to make that choice.”

James leaned back in his chair, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a physical force. The air in the room felt thick, saturated with the unspoken tension that had become a part of his life. He had spent so long living in a haze of self-imposed isolation that the idea of opening up to someone felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“You’re standing at a crossroads, James,” the doctor said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “One path leads back to the familiar—the pain, the guilt, the solitude. The other leads to possibility, connection, and maybe even happiness. But it’s your choice. You have to take that first step.”

James nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the moment. His heart raced as he contemplated the risk involved in stepping forward. But deep down, beneath layers of fear and hesitation, a flicker of hope began to grow. Perhaps there was a way to reconcile his past with his present, a way to embrace both the light and the dark without being consumed by either.

Taking a deep breath, he looked into the doctor’s eyes, seeking reassurance. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to make it work with Y/n.”

The doctor smiled, a mix of pride and encouragement evident on his face. “That’s all I ask, James. Just take it one day at a time. You’ve come too far to let fear dictate your choices now.”

As they sat together in that small, sterile room, surrounded by the echoes of their conversation, James felt a shift within himself—a small but significant turning point. It was a long road ahead, fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his past begin to lift, replaced by the flickering light of possibility.

───────────────

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the school grounds as children trickled out from their classrooms. James stood near the entrance, feeling strangely out of place, gripping a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He could feel eyes on him, parents chatting quietly while casting curious glances his way, and even a few teachers looked on with mild amusement. He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to toss the bouquet and leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Then Laura appeared, bouncing out of the school building with her usual carefree attitude, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the bright burst of flowers in his hand, her brow furrowing in confusion as she approached. “Flowers?” Laura raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with disbelief. “I never saw you buy flowers, James. Are they for me?” She stood in front of him, crossing her arms as if she already knew the answer and was daring him to say otherwise.

James felt his face flush with heat, utterly embarrassed. He hadn’t thought this through. His heart hammered in his chest, and he was all too aware of the curious stares of the people around him. He cleared his throat, avoiding Laura’s sharp gaze. "Uh, no," he stammered, shaking his head. "These… uh… these are for Y/n. To thank her for all her hard work, you know… teaching and stuff."

The lie felt flimsy on his tongue, but he pressed on, forcing a weak smile. Laura stared at him, her eyes narrowing, not buying his explanation for a second. He could almost see the gears turning in her little head.

“Y/n, huh?” Laura's tone was sceptical, her arms still crossed. “Since when do you give teachers flowers for teaching? You didn’t give Miss Roberts any when she was my teacher.” Her voice was dripping with suspicion, and James shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

He cursed silently under his breath. Laura had a way of cutting right through his defences with just a few words. He could feel himself faltering, unsure of how to continue without giving too much away. “I just… thought it’d be nice, that’s all,” James mumbled, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just… showing some of my appreciation.”

Laura’s eyes darted between the bouquet and his face, as if she could see right through him. “You’re acting weird,” she said bluntly, her tone matter-of-fact. “Is this about that time you made her cry or something? I heard you in your sleep…”

James’s chest tightened at her words, and he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. It was a low blow, and even though Laura didn’t mean to hit him where it hurt, it still stung. He couldn’t forget that moment either—the way he had pushed Y/n away, the way he’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he acted like an ass just to protect himself.

“No, it’s not about that,” he said, more to himself than to her. He glanced down at the bouquet, the bright petals taunting him with their symbolism. It was supposed to be an apology of sorts, something small but meaningful, a way to show Y/n that he was trying, that he wanted to make up for how distant he’d been. But standing here, in front of Laura, it all felt incredibly foolish.

Laura huffed, clearly unimpressed with his explanation. “Whatever you say, James. But I think Y/n’s too smart to be won over by some dumb flowers.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips, a sign that she was enjoying the awkwardness he was experiencing.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety creeping up his spine. Was he making a mistake? Would Y/n even want these flowers after everything that had happened between them?

Maybe the flowers wouldn’t be enough. Maybe nothing would. But he had to try, didn’t he?

The scent of the flowers seemed to mock him, filling his nostrils with their sweet fragrance, a reminder of the gesture he wasn’t even sure how to complete. But as much as he wanted to flee from the situation, he also knew he couldn't keep running from Y/n—or from himself. One way or another, he would have to face you. And this time, he would have to do it right.

He only hoped that it wasn’t too late.

James cleared his throat, attempting to sound casual. "Hey, Laura… could you wait for me out here? Just for a bit."

Laura glanced up at him with a knowing look, then cast a playful smirk his way. “Sure, James,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take all the time you need.” She settled herself on a nearby bench in the school courtyard, crossing her legs as she took out her colouring book.

He could feel his cheeks burn, and he barely managed to give a stiff nod in response. “Right. Just... won’t be long.”

Heat rose in his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed by her intuition. His grip on the flowers tightened, and his palms felt slick against the bouquet wrapping. He took a breath, steadying himself, but as he turned toward the door leading to your classroom, his stomach clenched. Each step felt like a shaky stride into the unknown, his heart beating in his throat.

He took a steadying breath, glancing back at Laura. She was already focused on her drawing, making herself comfortable on the bench, entirely unbothered by his lingering. The reassurance of her casual support was oddly grounding, but it didn’t ease the jitter in his steps as he turned toward the school building.

His heart thudded heavier with each step down the hallway, his mind racing through what he might say. How do you even apologise for the way I’ve acted? For pulling you in close just to push you away? But whatever happened, he owed her this face-to-face, his presence rather than just empty words.

James hesitated outside your door, gripping the bouquet a bit too tightly. The rehearsed words played in his mind like a distant echo: “Apologise. Tell her it wasn’t fair to keep her at a distance.” He had played out this moment in his head, every word planned, his intentions set. But standing here, about to step into reality, his mind began to spin. Every inch of him felt on edge, like his nerves were stretched thin.

He breathed deeply, hoping to quell the tension creeping up his neck.

Finally, he mustered the courage and opened the door, only to feel his heart drop. There you were, just as he’d pictured, a radiant presence that drew his gaze without effort. You were leaning over your desk, focused on some papers, your fingers lingering on the corner of a page. For a split second, he thought this might actually go well.

But then you looked up, and the way your brows furrowed in surprise made his confidence wither. There wasn’t the hint of warmth he had imagined—no welcoming smile. Instead, your expression was one of confusion, even discomfort, as though he had interrupted something important.

Before he could gather himself, his gaze followed yours, and he finally noticed the man standing beside your desk. The stranger turned, eyeing James with equal confusion, his posture suggesting he was someone used to having your attention. There was a brief silence as the three of you took each other in, the air heavy with unspoken questions. The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, the shift in his stance subtle but unmistakable. His gaze flicked to the flowers, then back to James, as though he were trying to piece together what was happening.

James felt his grip on the bouquet tighten, the carefully selected flowers (based on your favourites, Laura told him) suddenly feeling like a foolish gesture. He cleared his throat, struggling to keep his composure. The apology he’d rehearsed slipped away, buried under the awkward tension filling the room. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He felt out of place, almost intrusive, like he’d stumbled into a moment that wasn’t meant for him.

The man’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with a touch of formality. “Mr. Sunderland. Can I help you with something?” he asked, looking at James with a polite, almost dismissive expression.

James felt his mouth go dry. “I—I just came to speak with Y/n for a moment,” he managed, his voice a little too soft, like he was tiptoeing over broken glass. He glanced at you, seeking some kind of reassurance in your eyes, but you only looked back, your face still unreadable. “But... I didn’t realise you were busy. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

There was a moment where the man looked at you, waiting for a cue, maybe some indication of how he should handle James. But you didn’t give one, your gaze darting between them, leaving James feeling even more adrift.

After a moment you sighed and stood up, glancing at the man in the room. “We can continue this discussion later,” you said, giving him a soft smile. He returned the gesture, nodding in agreement. As he turned to leave, James couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an intimacy between you two that cut deeper than mere familiarity.

“See you on Sunday for the movie, right?” He said before leaving.

When the man’s hand lingered on your shoulder for just a moment too long, a surge of jealousy shot through James, startling him. It was a sensation he had long since buried, one he thought he had forgotten how to feel. His heart raced, and he felt a heat rising in his chest. The sight of you and this other man made his stomach twist, a painful ache spreading through him that reminded him he ever had a heart. He had almost forgotten how intense jealousy could be—the way it could claw at his insides, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

It was unsettling, almost suffocating, to think about you being with someone else, sharing your laughter and moments with another man. The idea sent his mind spiralling, and he fought against the intrusive thoughts that begged to take hold. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything for anyone—especially someone as captivating as you.

As the door closed behind the man, the air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. “James,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but all he could think about was how that other man had made you smile, how easily you had interacted. A part of him ached at the thought of sharing you with anyone, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

“Um, hey,” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding strained. Your gaze held his, and in that moment, he felt both grateful and envious. Grateful that you were here, that you were real, but envious of anyone who could have even a piece of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your brow furrowing, and it made his heart race.

“I, uh…” He hesitated, the bouquet of flowers suddenly feeling heavy in his hands.

You shook your head, your expression turning serious, the playful smile fading quickly. “James, it’s really not professional to come to school with flowers. People might get the wrong idea,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

“And especially the way you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me”.

Your words stung, but it was the hint of anger in your tone that truly cut him. And James couldn’t shake the sight of the hickeys he had left on your neck as he took a glimpse of the delicious curve of your neck, a reminder of the intimacy that had turned into a mess of confusion and regret. But, the possessiveness igniting within him clashed against the storm brewing in your eyes.

He cleared his throat, attempting to steady himself. “I’m here to apologise,” he asserted, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the unease bubbling up inside him. He needed you to see his sincerity.

But before he could continue, you interrupted him, your frustration boiling over. “Apologise? You think that’s enough?” You stepped forward, fire in your gaze. “After everything? You can’t just come here with flowers and think you can sweep it under the rug! Do you even understand how hurtful that is?”

James felt his heart sink. The anger in your voice was palpable, filling the space between you with tension. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice faltering. “I messed up, and I—”

“Damn right, you messed up!” you shot back, raising your voice—he never heard you like that, so angry and sad, it broke his heart. “You pushed me away, James! You treated me like I was nothing, and now you think a bouquet of flowers is going to fix it? It’s pathetic!”

The sting of your words pierced through him, and he felt a mixture of shame and regret swirling inside. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he managed, desperation creeping into his tone. “I just—I was scared.”

Before he could even process your words, your hand came up and slapped him across the face. The impact rang sharply in his ears, but it was nothing compared to the shame he felt. His head snapped to the side, and a silence fell between you both, charged with emotions neither of you could put into words The sting from your slap lingered on his cheek, and his throat tightened. He blinked hard, feeling his eyes water, not from the pain of the slap, but from the deep, aching remorse that welled up inside him. He deserved it, every bit of it, and he knew it.

“Scared?” you repeated incredulously, your eyes blazing with fury. “Scared of what? Scared of letting someone in? Scared of actually having to face your emotions? Because it sure looked like you were just fine when you fucked me like I was a whore!” Your voice shook with indignation, and James couldn’t help but flinch at your words.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of your anger made it hard to find the right words. He could see you seething, your body tense with frustration. “I was trying to be nice to you, James! I wanted to help you, but you just pushed me away like I meant nothing!”

Your tone cut through him, and he felt the sting of guilt settle deep in his gut. “You’re right,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I treated you like crap, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Fix it?” you echoed, incredulity dripping from your words. “You think it’s that simple? You can’t just decide to ‘fix’ things when you’ve already hurt someone! You have to earn that trust back, and you haven’t even started!”

James felt a wave of frustration well up inside him, mixed with a desperate desire to reach out and bridge the gap between you. “I’m trying! I really am! Can’t you see that?”

“Trying isn’t enough anymore, James!” you snapped, your voice rising. “You can’t just show up with flowers and think it’s going to make everything okay. You’ve broken things, and it’s going to take more than just an apology.”

In that moment, you were a storm, fierce and unyielding. James could see the hurt behind your anger, the way you wrestled with the disappointment he had caused. It pierced through him, and he realised just how deeply he had let you down—and how much he deserved it.

“I—I know it’s going to take time,” he said, trying to steady himself as his heart raced. “But I want to put in the effort. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Your eyes narrowed, scepticism etched across your features. “You care? After how you treated me? What’s to say you won’t just push me away again when things get tough?”

The accusation hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension crackled, and James felt the weight of your anger pressing down on him. He realised that he had crossed a line, and now he had to find a way back—if you would even let him.

James’s entire world narrowed to this moment, this fragile, painful second, where everything hung in the balance. The anger in your eyes seared him, a raw heat he knew he deserved, but it was the disappointment—cutting and profound—that struck him deepest. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so exposed, like a light had pierced straight through every shield he had ever put up, and now he was forced to face what he really was.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, his voice raw and barely holding together. “I’m… truly sorry,” he began, struggling to find words to do justice to everything that had been roiling inside him since the moment he’d pushed you away. “Since that night, it’s like… I’m lost. Every single night, I lie there, alone, and all I see is you. All I think about is… how you feel beside me, the way your voice calms me, how much I want to be… better.” He choked slightly, but forced himself to go on. “And I know I hurt you. I see it. And I… hate myself for it.”

Each word was a weight being lifted, but it only uncovered more buried shame. His voice faltered as he said, “I don’t know how to be enough. Every voice in my head just… it keeps telling me you deserve better. That I’ll only end up pulling you down with me, that… I’m a broken man who’ll ruin anything he touches.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, dark—a laugh tinged with self-loathing. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore because all I see is a man who’s become… something ugly. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be around someone like you.” His voice wavered, thickening as his throat tightened. “All I see is a monster. Someone who’s past redemption.”

Then, as if he could no longer bear his own weight, James lowered himself to his knees before you. The gesture felt natural somehow, a desperate attempt to be as close to you as possible, even if it meant bringing himself to his lowest. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a pleading sorrow he couldn’t hold back, his gaze full of the vulnerability he’d fought so hard to bury.

“I… I can’t go on without you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Now that I know what peace feels like, even for a few moments, with you beside me… I can’t go back. It’s like you gave me a taste of something I thought was lost to me, and now the thought of not having you…” He swallowed, the words almost failing him. “It’s unbearable. I’m… begging you, just… don’t walk away. Don’t leave me in the dark. Please.”

He looked down, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and he whispered, “I want to be better. For you, Laura. For… myself, even, if I can figure out how. But I need your help, I can’t do this alone.” His voice cracked, and he looked back up, his eyes brimming with raw, pleading desperation. "Please let me prove to you that I can be the man you see. I want to be the man you deserve. Just… don’t leave me here, alone."

For a long, heart-stopping moment, James held his breath as you looked at each other in silence. He saw the faint, lingering shadows of hurt in your eyes, and in their depths, a softness—a glimmer of something he hadn’t dared hope to see. Then, slowly, you took a step toward him, and James let out a trembling breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

When he felt your hand gently find its way to his hair, a shiver ran down his spine. Tentatively, he pressed his cheek against you, leaning his head against your abdomen, as if finding solace in the very nearness of you. The warmth of your touch was a balm, easing the wounds he’d long hidden from the world, and in that moment, he let himself collapse into the comfort of your presence. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, as he rested there, seeking the peace he’d once thought was lost to him forever.

The silence between you stretched, gentle and unhurried, broken only by his steady breaths. He could feel the weight of everything he’d been carrying start to slip away, piece by piece, as he nestled against you, his heart finally slowing to a gentle rhythm.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “I don’t even know why I’m doing all this for you, James. I… I don’t think I even understand it myself.” Your hand moved gently through his hair, grounding him in a way he hadn’t thought was possible. “But… if I don’t, I feel like I’ll miss the biggest chance of my life.”

Hearing this, James closed his eyes, a warmth blossoming in his chest that was foreign and achingly tender. He nodded, his head nestling against you, soaking in the comfort of your words. In that moment, he felt like a lost soul, clinging to the only light in a world of shadows, and he held you just a little tighter, as if afraid that you might slip away. The sensation was almost childlike, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek as he gave in to that sense of safety, that warmth he thought he’d never feel again.

Snuggling closer, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, his tone layered with reverence. For the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as lost as he’d thought.

You let out a soft sigh, fingers still tangled in his hair, and looked down at him with a firm gaze. “James, if you ever push me away like that again, I swear, I’ll slap you harder.”

A flicker of humour and self-deprecation passed through his eyes as he nodded. “I deserved it,” he admitted, voice steady, acknowledging not just the slap but the wake-up call it had become. He pulled back, finding his balance again, and when he rose to his feet, you offered him a small smile before finally accepting the bouquet.

James couldn’t help the slight catch in his breath as he watched you, his heart lighter now, the weight of his earlier dread slipping away. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, Laura and I… we’re going to the beach. It would mean a lot if you’d come with us.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, and he found himself captivated by it, warmth blooming under his gaze. The sight tugged at something deep inside him, something raw and tender. He had a sudden, powerful urge to lean in and kiss the flush on your cheeks, to feel the heat of it against his lips, to let it anchor him there, beside you. And when you nodded, accepting the invitation, his heart leapt.

A smile—a genuine, unguarded one—broke across his face, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He lingered there, letting the quiet moment say what he couldn’t put into words, and then pulled back, his eyes soft and warm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, the promise of a new day, a fresh start, held between you.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

246 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 5 months ago

Note

Hi there, I've never done a request before, so fun! 🤗 Could you do angst/fluff (enemies to lovers) with fem reader and Crosshair? "What are you staring at?" / "You, is that a problem?" I'd love for the fem reader to give Cross a dose of his snark, so maybe she's the one saying "You, is that a problem?" Some snark to fluff would be wonderful. Thank you for all you do! ❤️

Under the Moon 🌊

🫧 pairings: Crosshair x Female!Reader

word count: 2k

prompts:

• “What are you staring at?” / “You, is that a problem?”

Crosshair didn’t like new people so naturally, he didn’t like you. Or did he? He can bark but you show him that you can certainly bite back.

warnings: Safe for Work, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Bickering, Sassy Moments, Light Angst, Scar/Burn Insecurities, Female Reader.

authors note: sorry for the wait, hope this is okay @megmegalodondon 🫧

The Marauder buzzed with activity, each member of the squad engrossed in their routines. The hum of machinery and quiet murmur of voices filled the air. You were content assisting Tech when a burning sensation prickled on the side of your face, like the intensity of a laser sight. You didn’t need to turn to know who was staring.

Since joining the team, Crosshair’s disdain had been clear. From the moment of his return, he made it obvious he didn’t like you. The others mentioned he wasn’t fond of people in general, and new members who acted like they knew everything were especially irritating to him. Unfortunately, that was you to a tee. Your confidence and cleverness only seemed to amplify his irritation.

As you worked at the main console running diagnostics, you felt Crosshair’s gaze drilling into you. Stealing a glance, you shot him a look of annoyance, but his face remained an impassive mask, eyes like cold steel.

You muttered under your breath, turning back to your task, but his presence was an undeniable distraction. Despite his abrasive attitude, you couldn't ignore his striking looks—though you'd never admit it aloud. His chiseled jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands worked methodically over his rifle — it was all infuriatingly attractive. Sadly his snarky attitude was less than desirable.

“Can you keep the static to a minimum?” Crosshair’s sharp voice cut through the silence, jolting you from your thoughts. His brows were furrowed in irritation, lips a thin line.

You rolled your eyes, fingers pausing on the controls. “It’s called doing my job, Crosshair. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

He set his rifle down with a clatter and stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you and his eyes bore into you. “My job is to keep us safe, and I can’t do that if I can’t concentrate.”

“Oh, please. Like your concentration is ever that perfect,” you retorted, standing to meet his gaze. “Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to complain.”

His brown eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in them. “I don’t need excuses to point out incompetence.” He stepped closer, the tension between you thick.

“Incompetence? You—” Your retort was cut short by Omega’s innocent voice from her corner, breaking the charged atmosphere.

“Why do you two always fight? It’s like you actually like each other or something.”

Wrecker, lounging on a crate nearby, let out a booming laugh. “Yeah, it’s like a schoolyard crush! You both just need to admit it!”

Your face flushed with embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks. “What? No! That’s ridiculous,” you spluttered, glaring at the two of them. “Crosshair would be the last guy in all the galaxy I’d ever get with.”

Crosshair crossed his arms, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Tech glanced up from his datapad, adding his two credits. “Statistically, opposites do attract. It’s not entirely out of the question.”

You and Crosshair turned on him in unison. “Shut up, Tech!”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Charming. But that just proves my point.”

Your embarrassment deepened as the rest of the squad chuckled. “I’m done with this,” you muttered, turning on your heel and storming away from the others.

Omega’s voice trailed after you, “We were just teasing!”

The next day, you were tasked with scouting a base for Rex, determining the best points for a future infiltration. The dense jungle surrounded you, the air thick with humidity, leaves glistening with moisture and you’re still in a sour mood from yesterday which is only to worsen. As you navigated through the underbrush, Hunter’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“You and Crosshair will go ahead together. Maybe sort out your differences while you’re at it.” Clearly, yesterday’s bickering had reached his ears, and this was your punishment. Crosshair merely grunted, a typical response, and began moving ahead without waiting for you. Reluctantly, you followed.

The jungle was alive with the chirps and calls of unseen creatures, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and foliage. At the coordinates, Crosshair suggested a lookout point, but you were less than convinced. “You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a good vantage point,” you stated, shooting him a stern look.

He raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of annoyance. “And where would you suggest, General?” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

You pointed to a higher spot, frustration evident in your voice. “There, we’ll have a better view of the perimeter.”

Crosshair crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his face. “That’s weak. We’ll be seen.”

Your face flushed with annoyance because this wasn’t the first time he disagreed with you, it was almost every single time.

“Or maybe you can’t handle the climb and that’s why you’re opting for the lower point?” You challenge.

His smirk faded slightly, and he took a deliberate step closer, invading your space. With a fluid motion, he removed his helmet, locking his intense eyes on you. “You’re new here, Kitten. Maybe you should learn to trust my judgment.” His voice low and testing.

Your heart pounded, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust your judgment?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the petname he just gave you. “You’re so arrogant!” you retorted whilst also trying to ignore how his proximity affected you.

Crosshair leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against your face. “Arrogant? Or just right?” His gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering. “You should watch that pretty mouth of yours.” The air between you crackled with tension, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it seemed like he wanted to kiss you. Or maybe you wanted to kiss him.

But did he just call you pretty? Was he mocking you? Either way, you find yourself in a sudden daze as you’re hypnotised by his eyes. The realisation hits you hard, leaving you momentarily speechless and strangely drawn to him despite your better judgment.

His breath is warm, scented but breathing deadly silent. If you closed your eyes, you probably wouldn’t even assume he was mere inches from you but he was and it was consuming.

Before either of you could react, a blaster shot rang out, shattering the moment. “Cover’s blown,” Crosshair snapped, his voice yanking you both back to reality. He sprang into action, and you followed, the adrenaline overtaking your argument.

Maybe, it was best to leave the arguing for after the mission.

Later that night, the squad had returned to Pabu, the mission a success despite the rocky start you and Crosshair had caused by not paying attention.

The others were inside the Marauder, their laughter and chatter a comforting presence. The warm, humid air wrapped around you as you stepped outside, needing space to clear your head, especially to think about what had happened earlier with a certain Sniper.

The tropical night was alive with sounds—creatures chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the distant call of birds. You wandered down to the beach, the soft, damp sand cool beneath your bare feet. The waves lapped rhythmically at the shore, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver path over the water.

As you walked along the shore, you noticed a lone figure lying on the beach. At first you panicked thinking someone was injured but upon closer inspection, silhouetted against the moonlit horizon, it was Crosshair.

He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky. His usually stern features seemed softer in the moonlight, lost in thought.

For a moment, you considered turning back, but something compelled you to approach him. The sand crunched softly beneath you feet you drew closer, stopping a few feet away. You don’t say anything at first and then end up doing something unexpected—you lay down beside him, your eyes tracing the same stars he was watching. Did he do this often?

Supposedly all the time he spent in a cell made stargazing a rare luxury.

The usual tension between you seemed to vanish in the night air. Crosshair remained silent, his face expressionless as you both lay there, the silence stretching out, surprisingly comfortable.

After a few minutes, you turned your head slightly, your hair brushing against the sand as you watched him. His profile was illuminated by the moonlight dancing; casting sharp shadows and highlighting the lines of his face.

Just like you had noticed him staring at you the day before, he sighed. “What are you staring at?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel.

“You. Is that a problem?” you replied, tone challenging.

He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking towards you before returning to the sky. “Are you looking at my scar?”

“No,” you replied with a small frown, not realising that might be a sensitive topic for him. You had heard about how he got it, but it wasn't something you consciously noticed.

“Good. Look away,” he grumbled, but there was no real anger in his voice. Instead of arguing, you did as he asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

After a few minutes, Crosshair sighed once more. “Tech was right.”

You turned your head, confusion knitting your brows together. “About what?”

His gaze remained fixed on the moon, his profile bathed in its soft light. “Sometimes, opposites do attract.”

You were taken aback, eyes widening and quite unsure of how to respond. “Really?”

He nodded slowly, the movement almost missable. “I secretly admire how you take my comments on the chin and aren’t afraid to speak your mind. It’s... admirable.” His voice was awkward, as if admitting his feelings was a foreign concept. His usual mask of indifference slipped slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability.

Surprise washed over you. All this time, you had thought Crosshair hated you. His constant criticism, the way he always seemed to challenge you—it had all felt like disdain. But now, you realized it was his strange way of showing respect, of acknowledging your strength.

“You could’ve gone about it a different way, y’know?”

“I know.” He responds stiffly.

You smile softly. “That’s a strange way to apologise to me as well.” You jest.

There’s a very faint chuckle that parts his lips as he says, “don’t push it.”

A heartfelt silence settled between you, the sound of the waves the only interruption. But, you still had one thing on your mind.

Breaking the silence, you asked, “Earlier, during the mission... what do you think went wrong?”

Crosshair's expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “We were distracted. We weren’t focused.”

You bit your lip, gathering your courage. “I thought... for a moment, I thought you were going to kiss me. Would you have?”

Crosshair fell silent, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Oh no. Why did you have to open your mouth?

Embarrassment flushed through you, and you began to sit up, ready to leave. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Before you could finish, his hand reached out, gently stopping you. He said nothing, his gaze intense and unreadable as he held onto your arm.

Slowly, he sat forward and tilted your face towards his, his touch surprisingly gentle. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, a brief but electrifying connection that left you breathless, your heart trying to leap out of your chest.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters. He pulled back before you could even comprehend what was happening, his eyes searching yours, and for once, there was no hostility, only a vulnerable sincerity.

“How’s that for an apology?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his breath warm against your lips.

You lick your lower lip, having to suppress a dreamy sigh as you could taste him on your tongue. “Surprising.” You say softly, completely smitten all of a sudden.

He smirks, eyes scanning your face. “I’ve never seen you so bashful,”

“Yes, well, kissing someone who you thought was your enemy tends to have that effect.”

He chuckles, lifting his hand and tucking some hair that was dancing in the soft breeze behind your ear. “How about another one?”

You grin, leaning in close. “I won’t say no to that.”

Masterlist is pinned ♥️

Tags: @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @the-bad-batch-baroness

@greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

@pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87

@ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894

#crosshair #crosshair x reader #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #crosshair the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch crosshair x reader #bad batch #tbb crosshair

275 notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 1 year ago

Text

Jingle of The Bells

jake "hangman" seresin x reader

Summary: Your little girl is worried her father won’t make it home for Christmas.

Notes/warnings: this is the same family from the Oh, Baby universe, but it stands alone as well :) Mostly Fluff, a dash of angst.

This is for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge (my word is Bells)

Words: 2386

Your daughter was so much like your husband. You’d say too much if not for the fact that you loved them deeply. But there came a lot with their similarities. Double doses of determination, wit, and control. So, not unlike your husband, your little girl wanted to be the one to call the shots. However, circumstances didn’t always allow for that, and in those cases, Eve struggled the most.

---

“Mama, he’s supposed to be home!”

Eve’s arms were wrapped tight around your neck as her wails echoed in your ear. You held on to her snuggly, her little legs tucked into the open space between your criss-crossed seated position on the floor.

Until you’d joined her, she’d sat in the same spot all night, the teddy bear from her father settled in her lap as she stared at the front door. Despite the colored lights strung around your home, the pile of presents for her and her baby brother from Jake’s mother, grandmother, and team, and the cookies waiting to be decorated, Eve hadn’t moved.

Every five minutes she would ask you the time, and each answer you gave her broke your heart right along with hers. She was too young to remember that Jake’s return schedule wasn’t always a guarantee. You were used to not making plans on the day you were originally told your husband would be coming home to you because promises in his line of work didn’t exist. There were no promises he would be gone only as long as he initially believed, no promises he would return on time, no promises he would return at all. But for so long Eve was spared all of that. The one time she remembered her father leaving, he did manage to come back when expected. She had never faced that disappointment. Until now.

“Sweetie, it’s not Daddy’s fault,” you whispered. “I promise you he wants to be with us and that he’ll be home as soon as he can.”

“But it’s Christmas!”

Christmas Eve, actually, but to your daughter it was all the same. She had expectations. Cookie decorating, and milk pouring—a skill she’d asked Jake to help her perfect, not wanting to spill a drop for the reindeer. There was a letter she wanted to write to Santa, thanking him for bringing her Daddy home, which he had not, only adding to Eve’s bitterness. And it didn’t do her any good that before Jake left, she had also begged for a Christmas Eve pajama party where you all dressed in matching flannels, her baby brother included, and read a story before bed.

Jake had done his best to promise those things to Eve, and in the same moment, with a single look at you, had silently communicated the very real possibility that none of it might happen. You knew it, expected it, and didn’t blame him for it, but it didn’t change that your little girl was in pain and her father wasn’t by her side to make it go away.

“I know. I know, Sweetie,” you said, gently rocking her back and forth. But your soothing could only be so effective, and for the night, she wouldn’t be able to take much more. “I think it’s time for bed now.”

“Why?” came out nasally, her crying having stuffed up her nose.

“Because you’ve been up for too long. You woke up hours earlier than you usually do and you didn’t take your nap today.”

She pulled her head back from the crook of your neck to look at you, and you wiped away the salty liquid from under her lashes. “But what about Daddy?”

“Daddy will be home soon. He’s just a little late, but that’s ok.”

“It is not.”

“It is, Sweetie,” you said, your own tears forming and beginning to blur your daughter’s face. “He’s trying so hard to be here, and that’s what matters.” When one of them fell, Eve’s finger rose to meet the droplet as it slowed its descent down your cheek. You grabbed her hand and rubbed the tear off her fingertip. “Come on, let’s go lay down.”

This time, with exhaustion setting in, she didn’t fight you, but she did wiggle from your hold to stand up on her own. Then she used the last of her energy to rush over to the coffee table where the small set of jingle bells she’d been dangling in front of her brother’s face to elicit his giggles was lying. Jake had bought her those bells last Christmas and immediately regretted bringing such incessant jingling into his home.

Swallowing back your remaining tears, you watched as Eve wrapped her fingers around the velvet cord that kept the bells in a bunch before making her way into the hall and draping the cord over the knob of the front door.

You nodded and stood. Her tears were not quite dried, and you knew she was desperate to keep her eyes on that door, but she still took your hand when you reached out for her.

“I’ll tell you if I hear them,” you said before lifting her in your arms to carry her up to her room.

---

In her weakened fight against sleep, Eve failed. When you finally had her tucked in her bed, passed out and releasing soft snores, you returned to the living room where you wrapped yourself up in a blanket and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace.

You did your best not to fall apart in front of your daughter, but Jake being gone ripped you to pieces as much as it did her. It didn’t help that his return was no less anxiety-inducing than his departure. The occasional unpredictability allowed your mind to wander to undesirable scenarios that, at this point, you knew weren’t likely, but the thought of them still terrified you.

Jake was fine, though. You believed it, knew it. He was safe. The next person to open that door would be him, it was just a matter of when, and hoping it would be before the holiday was over.

---

The clock had reached midnight only a handful of minutes before your eyelids grew heavy and begged to close. You fought sleep but, much like your daughter, reached your limit and succumbed. The consistent crackling of the fire combined with the warmth of the blanket lulled you slowly but effectively. It was too quiet and peaceful to resist, until a jingle clanged against another jingle which together thumped against something thick and solid.

Your body jolted as you heard a muttered “Why so damn loud?”

“Jake?” you called, tossing the blanket aside and running toward the door. He barely had his duffle on the floor and his key out of the lock when you slammed into him.

His arms were around you in an instant, slightly lifting you off the ground as his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. “God, you feel good,” was muffled in his deep voice, vibrating against your skin. His arms tightened. “So good.”

Your feet met the floor again, and with your hands on his cheeks, you guided his head back so you could press your lips to his. Your moan greeted his. Then you sighed into the kiss and melted further into his hold. No matter how many times you said goodbye, you were always relieved to find him the same as when he left. The feel of him, the taste of him, the chills you got when his hands wove into your hair—he never returned as anyone other than your Jake.

He gave you two more pecks, then one final long kiss before he broke it to breathe, allowing his forehead to rest against yours while his chest expanded and deflated and expanded again to take in the air you’d stolen. “I missed you, Honey.”

A tear forged a cold trail down the flush of your cheek and slipped into the seam of your lips. “I missed you, too.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your forehead before meeting your eyes. “How are the kids?”

“Needing you,” you said as he wiped away the wet river from your skin. “Eve thought you weren’t going to make it home in time.”

Knowing your husband, it took only the barest of shifts in his stance, his brow, his eyes, for you to see his heart was breaking right along with Eve’s. He turned his head toward the staircase that led to the bedrooms of your home, his daughter’s in particular.

Inching up on your toes, you softly kissed the line of his jaw and, somehow, for the first time, noticed he had a little bit of stubble. His last day or two must have been exhausting if he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave. Likely, everyone was in such a rush to get home to their families that some basic rules went out the window. Your kiss traveled up to his cheek.

“It’s ok, baby,” you whispered. “You’re with us now.”

“Did she cry?”

“She’ll forget all about it when she sees your face.”

Jake lightly hummed, unsatisfied with the state he’d forced upon his daughter. Without letting another beat pass, he took your hand, led you to your daughter's room, and eased her door open.

The glow emitting from Eve’s new plane nightlight—an early Christmas gift the Daggers had sent from overseas—highlighted her sleeping face, and her delicate features were so peaceful you’d never have known she was devastated a few hours prior.

When you had let her open the gift from the team, you of course told her who it was from right away with a huge smile splitting your face. She was so excited as she pulled at the bow and shredded the paper that she laughed louder than you had heard in quite some time. Her eyes went wide and she hopped up on her feet to fly the plane around the room. She giddily showed her infant brother—who received his own nightlight in the form of a train so the gifts would be unique to each child—before she plopped down on the carpet in your living room to examine every detail of the elaborately designed light.

And then she began to sob.

She sobbed for missing her daddy and aunts and uncles; for missing the many times Jake had taken his family to see the planes he flew, which closely matched the shape of Eve’s gift. She sobbed until you took her upstairs for bed, helped her plug in the light, and told her a story of her daddy seeing that plane and that train and immediately thinking of his baby girl and little boy.

That was only three weeks ago, and Eve’s angst had grown with the passing days. But the little light helped her rest at night as long as she completed her ritual of crouching down in front of the radiating glow and whispering a soft “goodnight Daddy” before settling into bed.

It did help for a while, but it didn’t cease the daily return of her tears. And this night, fairly so, was by far the worst. Her disappointment made the light its least effective since she’d received it.

Jake stepped into the room and took a seat at the edge of her bed. “I shouldn’t wake her,” he said as he brushed a blonde curl out of her face. From that light touch, Eve stirred, but then she stilled again, releasing a soft breath.

Your husband sighed right along with her. You knew how badly he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight. He needed that. He could see her in front of him, and from those inhales and exhales, could hear her, and he could feel the soft curls of her hair, but nothing compared to feeling her little heartbeat beating against his, or hearing her sweet voice, or seeing her bright smile. That he’d have to wait for morning to truly greet his daughter after months away was an ache you would never know. Yes, you ached for him when he was gone, and you knew he did for you, but it just wasn’t the same. This was his child, a piece of him that he’d gone without for so long. It was a powerless feeling. She was right there, but being the father he was, Jake wouldn’t disturb her for his own sake.

Carefully, Jake leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

Your lips curved into a smile. “Would you like to go see our son?” Another one of his children that he’d undoubtedly refuse to disturb, no matter how much he wanted to see the little pair of eyes that matched yours staring up at him.

Jake nodded, gently squeezing Eve’s tiny hand. He was about to stand when you both heard a soft, “Daddy?”

Your heads whipped in Eve’s direction to find her fists rubbing at her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered as her vision adjusted to the darkness, but when she saw the darkened figure sitting by her side, Eve didn’t second guess herself. She kicked at her covers and leapt across the bed with the speed and agility of a bunny rabbit.

“Daddy!”

Jake chuckled as he caught her. “Hi, baby girl.”

Little hands reached up to his face to verify his realness. They ran up and down the scruff she’d rarely ever seen, making Jake’s cheeks contort in funny shapes, and then she grinned. “You came home.”

You couldn’t see all of Jake’s face, but you heard his sniffle as he tugged your daughter closer to his chest. “Of course, I did.”

“Mama said you would.”

“Well, Mama’s usually right, isn’t she?” he said, turning to look at you and confirming the redness that was brightening the green of his irises. He winked before returning his attention to his daughter.

Eve nodded vigorously then threw her arms around his neck, squeezing with all of her might. “I like Santa again.”

“When didn’t you like Santa?” Jake asked as he rubbed his hand up and down her back.

Eve pulled back. Her smile was still in place as she patted the tops of his shoulders with both hands. “Today," she said. "But you are home so he’s ok.”

---

A/N: so i have another christmas challenge fic coming that is Rooster x reader, which is my very first Rooster fic so hopefully I do alright. Then my focus will be on The One I Want and some Thorn (Expendables 3) fics :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @eloquentdreamer @jessicab91 @rosedurin @novagreen04 @memeorydotcom @purplevortexx @sgt-barnesveins @books-are-escapes

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun hangman #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #tgm #tgm fic #christmas fic

874 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 3 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twelve

authors note: ya'll remember the theme song from wizards of waverly place? 'everything is not what it seems'? yeah....remember that.

also, don't cuss me out for the ending, pleassseeee.

shoutout to the lovely @fearlesschimera for helping me with the italian translations! ❤️

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of dv, slight fighting? language, angst, fluff, sexy time scene aka mild smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (unhinged)

So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights laid out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder

And I, I had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Nina’s singing and subsequent light laughter is what tears away Solana’s focus from her artwork. Turning away from the paper on the dining room table, she angles her body in the chair, swinging her legs around as she watches her mom dance around the kitchen.

Nina’s voice is soft and melodic, a nice compliment to the singer whose name Solana can never remember despite this being one of her mom’s, if not thee, favorite song.

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs off the chair and runs up to hug her mom from the side.

Nina’s smile grows even more as she looks down at her only daughter. “Mija.”

Solana looks up, big eyes reflecting the same amount of love and adoration. She responds in her mom’s native language. A ‘secret’ little thing they do in times like this where her dad and brother are gone. Communicating in only a way they can understand.

“I wanna dance with you, mommy!”

Nina’s laughter is similar to her singing and speaking voice. And it’s infectious too, Solana joining in as Nina playfully spins her around. “Then dance with me, mija.”

Solana doesn’t need to be told twice. And maybe it’s less dancing and more moving around in a way that represents the happiness both mother and daughter feel in this moment. A brief little thing, something that happens in small to medium doses infrequently.

But when it does roll around, the both of them capture and hold onto it with all that they have.

When the song finishes, Nina turns down the music system as she redirects Solana to her art. “Can I see what you made?”

It’s a question she already knows the answer to. Solana nodding furiously as she takes her hand and guides her over to the table. Pointing, Solana explains, “look, mommy, it’s you and me!”

Nina gasps quietly. Even at seven, her daughter seems to have a gift with the arts. Reading, writing, and drawing. It hurts her sometimes that she can’t feed it more. That she’s limited to so little resources when it comes to helping Solana better her craft.

Nina lifts up Solana and sits down in the chair, her daughter on her lap. “It’s beautiful, mija. You’re so talented.”

The complement brightens Solana’s smile. “Just like you, mommy!” Solana lifts up the page, offering additional explanation. “See, that’s you and me at the Play—playa—”

Nina helps her out, “Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres?”

Solana nods. “That!”

A brief sweep of sadness overcomes her with memories of home. Memories of simpler, happier times. Her children still bring her a sense of fulfillment, but it’s often weighed down by the trauma of everything else. “Oh, I wish you could see the water, Sol. It’s so beautiful, so clear. It’s like heaven on earth.”

Solana looks up at her with all of her naivety and innocence. “We can go there one day, mommy, right? Just you and me?”

Her throat constricts at Solana’s question. Nina doesn’t have it in her to expose her young child to the ugly truth. “Of course, baby.” She brushes some of Solana’s hair back. “What about your brother?”

It’s not missed upon her how the mention of Wesley makes Solana’s smile dim. “He doesn’t like us….”

“Oh, baby…” Nina brings her hands to gently cradle Solana’s face. “He does. It’s just your father….your father tells him things about us that’s not true, but he does like us. He loves us just like I love you and him. I love you both so much.”

There’s not enough time in the world or ways that she can say it to truly exemplify just how much she means it. Even with Xavier doing everything he can to keep her away from her son, it doesn’t extinguish her love for him.

If anything, it just makes it stronger.

The sound of the garage doors lifting brings Nina back to her crushing reality, from her brief escapism. “He’s home.” Wide eyes dart to the kitchen as she realizes dinner is still about twenty minutes out from being ready. “Come, mija!” Nina jumps from the table and is quick to gather all of Solana’s artwork. She knows how this will play out, and she refuses to allow him to destroy Solana’s work the same way he often does her own. Reaching it to her, Nina hurriedly advises, “go to your bathroom, lock the door, and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?” Trembling hands reach Solana the CD player and headphones. “Don’t take these off, you hear me?”

Solana’s smile is completely gone, her eyes watering, “he’s gonna hurt you, isn’t he?”

Nina swallows back her sob. “‘Don’t worry about me, Solana. Just do as I say, okay?” The sound of the door to the garage being ripped open alerts her to just how pressed for time they are. With all of the urgency, she pleads, “go!”

And despite everything in her wanting her to stay, to help, to do whatever she can, Solana does as she’s told.

Rushing up the stairs, Solana doesn’t stop until she’s in the bathroom. She locks the door and falls on the floor, back up against it, eyes watering even more.

She moves as fast as she can to put her headphones on, but it’s not fast enough. She can’t make out specific words, but it’s not needed to know and hear her father’s angry yelling followed by the pained wails of her mom. Glass breaking, items being thrown, Xavier’s screams of unbridled fury.

That’s when the dam breaks, tears spilling out of her eyes as she hits play to sound out the noise that never really goes away, never really stops haunting her, from making her chest feel so full and heavy.

This….this is the soundtrack to her life.

Solana isn’t unsure how long she sits there, working so hard to drown out the cries and screams of her best friend. Long enough to where she falls asleep only to be woken up by the same woman whose shouts of terror unintentionally and tragically lulled her to sleep.

The first thing Solana notices is the blood, followed by the puffy, blackened area under her right eye. Still, her mom is only focused on her, hand under her chin as she asks, “are you okay, mija?”

The tears return as Solana is face to face with the result of her father whose anger knows no bounds. “Mommy….”

“Don’t cry, baby.” Nina pulls Solana against her chest, braving the pain coursing through her body, particularly her ribs. “I’m—I’m okay.”

She hates lying to her daughter, feels almost sick with herself for gaslighting her. Solana is wise and perceptive. She knows that her mother is far from fine.

“What if—what if one day he hurts you real bad?”

Nina wasn’t expecting this question, wasn’t expecting her young daughter to ask something she herself has thought about from time to time.

What happens when Xavier finally takes his beatings too far?

Shoving away those dark thoughts, Nina shows Solana her inner forearm. “What is this, Sol?”

Solana wipes at her eyes and focuses on the beautifully, dark inked hummingbird tattoo on her mom’s skin. “A Hummingbird.”

“That’s right.” Nina wipes at her tears. “And what did I tell you about Hummingbirds? Hmm? What do they mean to our people?”

Solana sniffles and explains in a quiet voice. “They’re messengers from the spirits in heaven.”

“Exactly, so that means even when people leave us in one form, they’re still here in another. Still here even if they look a little different.” Nina’s voice cracks a bit as she promises, “I’m always with you, Solana. No matter what.”

Emotion building back up, Solana thrusts herself against Nina and cries into her chest. “Why can’t we leave, mommy?” She looks up, full of confusion and fear. “Then he can’t hurt you anymore.” Nina swallows. “We can run away where he won’t find us!”

Nina has a hard time holding back her tears. A dream. That would be a dream. If she could somehow escape this hell, take her children from this nightmare. But, it's just that, a dream. Because this is the life they live. This is her reality.

And there’s nothing that can change that.

Not without her putting her children’s lives at risk, because Xaver has made it abundantly clear in a variety of violent ways what will happen should she ever be “stupid” enough to think she could leave.

“Listen to me, Solana.” She wipes away the tears of her sweet child. “This…what your father does to me….it’s not love, and it’s not okay. I don’t want you to ever let a man treat you that way.” It feels almost bitter leaving her mouth, the amount of hypocrisy she feels at saying such a thing. If only she could practice what she preaches. “You are so special, and your heart is so big.” She places her hand over Solana’s chest. “This is your biggest gift, and you must always be careful who you share it with. Because yours is extra special.” She presses her lips against Solana’s forehead. “No matter what, never forget that life is a gift. You are a gift, Solana.” Her eyes shut, absorbing all the love and comfort. “My sol.”

________

Memories of much darker, sadder times have unintentionally become a motivating factor for Solana during training. She finds a sort of strength and fuel at reflecting on times from the past where she was bogged down with such fear.

Now though, it’s not as much fear as something else that’s unfamiliar but not unwarranted.

Anger.

It’s what helps and almost keeps her on her feet and in the game as she spars with Bayley, knife in the back of her shorts. It’s the first time she’s done as such, practiced training, practiced fighting, with that little thing that’s caused her so much pain throughout her life.

But now, she’s the one with the blade, with the ability to use it against someone else vs it being used against her.

It’s a different feeling, still uncomfortable, but also empowering in a strange sort of way.

Naomi is on the side, calling out various tips and reminders as Solana is able to successfully avoid certain hits and attacks from Bayley. She knows her friend is still holding back a bit, but not nearly as much as she did in the beginning.

Solana slightly appreciates that.

She feels….she feels good almost knowing that the progress she’s made isn’t because it’s been given to her. It’s been earned.

And unbeknownst to her, there’s an audience observing the sparring, an audience that consists of none other than the twins, Nia, and her husband who watch from the balcony above.

Roman had a meeting with Nia earlier in the day, hence his presence at the Warehouse, but staying after to silently observe Solana while she trains wasn’t necessarily on the agenda. It just happened.

Much to the chagrin of Wise Man who once again tries to remind Roman of what he already knows. He clears his throat, nerves big and evident, “sir, I hate to interrupt, but we do have to meet with—-”

“I’m aware.”

Paul swallows, closing his eyes as he sends up a prayer, asking for mercy. “Of course, sir, but—but, if we don’t leave now—”

“The meeting will start whenever I arrive, and I’ll get there when I get there.” Roman’s dark, irritated gaze falls on his chief advisor. “Is that understood?”

Paul straightens, more than familiar with that look. The look that can be followed up with an act of violence. “Y—yes, my Tribal Chief.”

With that shit straightened out, Roman easily falls back into the almost trance he’s in watching her.

Updates with her progress from Naomi and Bayley have been one thing, but it’s another to actually see her in action.

See the precision and speed in which she moves. She seems almost….in her element.

A far cry from the terrified mess she was when he first met her.

She’s coming into her own, and he loves to see that shit.

But, it’s when Bayley lands a particularly harsh blow against Solana, one that has her holding onto her face that Roman steps forward. A fresh wave of anger comes over him at the fact that Bayley could be so stupid to hit her so hard. She should fucking know better.

Who the fuck does she think she is to hit Solana?

He’s stopped, however, when Nia extends her arm across his big body, preventing him from checking on his wife.

He turns toward her, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead. “Move.”

She rolls her eyes, unbothered, motioning for him to continue watching. “Wait.”

Roman has no fucking intentions on waiting. Not when Solana could be hurt. He’s going to tear Bayley a new one for that. Why the fuck would she hit her so hard?

But, it’s as he’s watching and sees Bayley move toward Solana to check on her, that he realizes why Nia may have stopped him from acting too prematurely.

Because Solana is suddenly no longer doubled over. She’s bringing her knee up to Bayley, forcing the other woman to double over from some level of pain. But Solana doesn’t stop. She instead uses her leg to swipe Bayley off her feet, sending her into the ground.

Solana pounces on top of her, forcing her on her stomach. Straddling her, a fist full of her hair as she yanks her head back and brings the knife up to her neck.

Roman smiles.

Around him, the twins start to make a whole scene.

“Oh shit, okay Soso! I see you girl!”

“Alright, sis! That’s how you do it!”

Roman watches as she drops the knife almost immediately but not before she smiles, emotional almost, while being cheered on by Naomi who runs over and hugs her from the side. Solana laughs as she stands up, Bayley also jumping up, joining in the celebration.

“You know, it’s not very often that I'm wrong, but I gotta admit.” Roman turns to Nia who also looks a level of impressed. “I was wrong about Princess.” Nia chuckles. “Girl’s got some fight in her after all.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, but that’s not out of disagreement.

Solana might be one of the strongest people he’s ever met.

And it has nothing to do with what he just witnessed.

Nia continues, announcing, “I think she’s ready to advance to the next level.”

Roman has his own definition of what that is, but he’s slightly curious about Nia’s take. “Which is?”

“She needs to start training with a man.”

He nods. They’re on the same page then. “I’ll talk with her about taking over—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Nia has always been outspoken, but there are some days he has to remind himself that she’s family. Because her smart ass mouth on anyone else would have them six feet under.

“She’s comfortable with you. It needs to be with someone she doesn’t know.”

And this time, Roman is the one shooting it down. “No.” To make Solana train and fight with a man, a stranger at that, seems like it would be triggering for her. In no way, shape, or form will he let that shit happen.

Nia, however, seems intent on just that. “Look, four months ago, I would agree with you, but look at what that girl just did. She grounded Bayley, Roman.” He looks away, running his hand over his face. “She’s come a long way, and to stop her now would only be a disservice. You’d be hindering her.” When he says nothing, mostly because he knows she has a point and he hates that, she continues. “And I’d say have Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum do it, but she seems to be comfortable with them too. For some reason.”

Jey finishes chewing his snack, most likely a creation by Solana, asking with all the obliviousness, “hey, what’d you say?”

Roman ignores him while Nia rolls her eyes. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Roman, but you’re not stupid.” He looks at her. “You know I’m right.”

He turns away, watching as Bayely and Naomi talk to Solana, clearly providing her additional instruction. He’s focused on Solana. She looks so….relaxed. So in her element. It’s such a far cry from the first time he met her.

She’s almost like an entirely different person. This causes him to sigh loudly.

Nia is correct. He’d be hindering the growth that’s got her to where she is today.

And that’s something he could never forgive himself for.

“I’ll talk to her.”

________

Bayley: If ya’ll could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Solana is taking a brief break to check her phone, mainly for any texts from Roman, when Bayley sends her message in the group chat that the three of them share.

Naomi: Ooooh, Bora Bora! Heard it’s beautiful!

Bayley: Nice! I’d say the Maldives.

Bayley: Solana?

It’s a good question that she doesn’t really have the answer for.

Solana: Idk. I’ve…I’ve never been out of the country, so it’s hard to say.

Naomi: Seriously? Never traveled at all?

Solana: No.

Bayley: So then there definitely has to be someplace!

It takes a minute for her to really think about how to respond, because her initial instinct is to double down on her first answer. But, it’s when her memory from earlier in the day returns to the forefront of her mind that she finds herself being more open than she anticipated.

Solana: Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres. It’s in Mexico. My mom always said the water was so beautiful.

And that they would visit someday.

That never happened though.

It never happened because she was murdered before she could make the dream come true.

An uncomfortable blanket of sadness comes over her, forcing Solana to put her phone down and resume her work, an effective distraction.

She grabs a set of books that need to be restocked and makes her way over to the appropriate aise when she overhears low sniffles.

Frowning, she places the books down on the cart and follows the sound of the sniffles that sound a lot like someone crying. It's when she moves to the next aisle that she finds the source.

A little girl. No more than 6 or 7. She’s sat up against a row of books, little legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her knees.

Solana’s frown deepens as she slowly approaches the child, leaving enough distance to not startle her. Solana knows better than most the detriment of being taken off guard when already upset.

“Hi there.” Her head snaps up, and right away Solana is met with striking blue eyes that are blurred with tears and an emotion Solana knows all too well.

Fear.

“It’s okay,” she comforts, intentional about keeping her distance and voice soft. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The little girl who, in a strange way, reminds her a lot of herself with her light complexion and russ brown hair that’s a combination of curl patterns, stammers with a response. “My—my mommy and daddy said I can’t talk to strangers.”

Solana smiles warmly. “Your mommy and daddy are very smart.” Staying where she is, Solana slides down onto the floor. She brings her legs to her side and offers her name. “My name is Solana. I work here in the library.” Wanting to earn some level of trust, Solana informs, “I really like to read.”

Her eyes light up a bit. “You do?”

She nods, keeping her smile. “My mom used to read with me all the time. Does your mommy ever read with you?”

The little girl nods and wipes at her eyes. “Yes. Daddy does too sometimes, but he works a lot.”

Solana’s smile dims a bit. She can both relate and not relate. Her father was never really home, and she preferred it that way. But when he was….it was hell.

Using the opening, Solana asks softly, “where is your mommy?”

She hesitates, and her bottom lip trembles a bit, but she ends up explaining her presence. “I was walking outside with mommy, and I saw a butterfly, and—and I wanted to catch it, but then I got lost.” She starts to cry as Solana puts the pieces together, realizing she ran off, got lost, and maybe ventured into the library to ask for help. Or to cry in a safe space.

Solana gets that too.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll help you find your mommy, okay?”

The offer seems to settle her emotions a bit. Solana watches as she wipes her eyes and almost asks in a hopeful tone. “R–really?”

Solana smiles again and nods. “Of course.” She stands up, not moving from her spot but offering her hand. “You want to come with me?”

The little girl nods and stands up, slowly walking up to Solana and taking her hand. She looks up, sharing in a slightly more confident tone, “my name is Emma.”

“That’s a very pretty name.” Solana gently squeezes her hand. “Now let’s go find your mommy.”

Solana notes how Emma squeezes her hand back. It warms her heart.

She guides Emma toward the steps, careful to not walk too fast, mindful of the fact that Emma is still, wisely, very cautious of the fact that Solana is still a stranger.

Solo meets Solana at the bottom of the steps, his unkind gaze falling on Emma who hides herself behind Solana.

Looking down, she advises her, “it’s okay, sweetie.”

Solo rolls his eyes, gesturing with his chin. “Who is this?”

Solana looks back at him, answering while intentionally not providing a name. Emma provided Solana her name, not Solo. “She got separated from her mother. I’m gonna help her find her.”

He scoffs. “Ain’t that what the police is for?”

Frowning, Solana finds herself defending her actions. “She’s already scared.”

He cuts his eyes, voice sharp as she reminds her of his role. “My job is to protect and watch you. Not some random badass kid—”

“D–don’t call her that.” Anger. Solana finds herself growing angry with Solo’s disposition. A rare emotion for her. But, she can’t stop thinking about the scared little girl clinging onto her leg, finding some form of comfort in her. She can’t stop thinking about how she used to be that little girl. How she used to cling onto her mother for comfort.

Until she couldn’t.

“I’ll help her by myself. I—” Solana swallows. “I don’t need your help.”

The library is in neutral territory. She should be fine to walk up and down the street to help an innocent child without the protection of someone Solana is realizing really doesn’t want to be there in the first place.

Gently encouraging Emma to follow her, Solana leads the little girl out the double doors of the library and onto the busy sidewalk.

Solo never comes after her.

And in a weird, sort of unfamiliar twist that she doesn’t really understand, Solana prefers it that way.

She prefers Solo not toggling along, his negative energy not interfering and exacerbating Emma’s fear.

Leaning down, Solana asks, still with that gentle smile, “do you remember which way you came from?”

Emma frowns again, shaking her head. “N–no.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just look left and right.” Straightening up, Solana decides to go to the left first, knowing that there’s a kids boutique a few doors down. It seems like a good place to start. And it’s while walking, Emma suddenly asks a question that literally makes Solana feel like she’s gotten the wind knocked out of her.

“Are you a mommy?”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why it takes a second for her to answer such a basic question. The question, in terms of complexity, is simple and can be answered with a single word. But everything else with it is…..not easy. Because she has no idea why her tone suddenly shifts to something sad as she finally replies.

“No.” And before she can think about what’s leaving her mouth, before she can even process what she’s saying, Solana adds, “not yet.”

It takes a lot for Solana to not backtrack, to try to offer some explanation that probably wouldn’t make any sense to such a young child why she was taking her answer back. But beyond that, there’s a part of Solana that doesn’t want to take it back.

She doesn’t want to take it back because….because maybe it’s the truth.

Emma looks up with a small smile, revealing a missing front tooth. “You’re gonna be a nice mommy.”

Her chest constricts, and Solana feels her eyes watering from an emotion she can’t pinpoint.

Emotional smile and all, she manages to keep the tears at bay. “Thank—”

“Emma!”

Solana and Emma snap their heads and attention to the source of the voice, as Emma drops Solana’s hand.

“Mommy!”

Solana jogs behind Emma who makes a mad dash in the direction of the woman who called her name. Solana stops when a large man moves in between her and Emma and the woman.

Emma’s little voice calls out at the same time Solana backs away, a bit of anxiety growing in her stomach as she thinks about the knife in the back pocket of her jeans. “No, she’s my friend!”

“Bron, back off.” The woman speaks, and almost instantly, the large man with cold eyes that remind her of Solo moves away. The view and path is cleared again as Solana sees Emma being held by a woman who could never deny the child in her arms belongs to her. Emma is her twin outside of the blue eyes Solana would guess she got from her father.

“Mommy, this is Solana.” Emma introduces, pointing and waving. “She helped me find you!”

The woman, a few inches taller than Solana, with hazel eyes and almost perfect facial features, smiles. Again, Solana sees nothing but Emma. “Thank you so much—”

The large man who Solana hasn’t forgotten about and vice versa chimes in. “Brandi—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Bron.” She cradles Emma closer to her chest, as Solanaa clears her throat.

“Of course.” She points behind her. “I—umm—I work at the library. I—I do a kids reading club on Mondays, if—if Emma would like to join.”

Emma’s eyes light up at that as she’s pulling on her mom’s sleeve. “Mommy, can I go?”

The woman, Brandi, as Solana heard the large, unkind man refer to her frowns a bit. “After today, I’ll be lucky if your dad lets you or me leave just to check the mail, let alone go into town again.” Still, she turns to Solana, “but thank you for the information. She loves books, so I’d know she’d love to attend.”

And it’s then that Emma throws out with all the innocence of a child. “Solana’s gonna be a mommy too! Just like you!”

Her breath catches. Solana once again has to fight back the tears that don’t make sense as well as the sadness that doesn’t make even more sense. “Some…someday.”

Brandi offers a smile that’s reassuring. Like she understands what doesn’t need to be directly stated. “Well, I wish you all the luck.” She tickles Emma’s stomach and jokes, “they’re a handful.”

And for a second, just the briefest of a second, solana visualizes just that. Visualizes herself holding a child, a child that would have her smile. Roman’s eyes. His strong will. Her innocence.

A perfect representation of them both.

But, it’s quickly pushed away, stomped on by logic.

That…..that’s not even something she should allow herself to consider right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage.

Even if that very visual is exactly why the marriage was arranged in the first place.

She clears her throat. Despite being outside, Solana all of a sudden feels almost closed in. “I—I should get back to work.”

Brandi nods. “Of course.” She doesn’t even have to direct Emma to say goodbye, as the little girl with a sweet smile full of innocence is already on it.

“Bye, Solana!” She then adds on with all of the hope. “I hope I see you again!”

Solana hopes the same too.

After parting, Solana noticing the almost menacing glare that ‘Bron’ man sends her way, she walks back to the library in complete silence, feeling so conflicted and torn by emotions that usually don’t work in her favor in general.

But, it’s when she’s about to head up the steps, Solo appears again wearing an almost smug expression, that she stops in her tracks at his comment. “You done playing mother Teresa?”

She doesn’t know where it comes from. Doesn’t know how she’s even able to allow it to leave the safety of her mouth, the confines of her thoughts vs being expressed. But, that’s exactly what happens.

Solana turns to him and doesn’t stutter as she asserts, “you don’t get to talk to me like that.” Swallowing and with an uncharacteristically amount of confidence, she warns almost, “Roman wouldn’t let you talk to me like that.”

And it seems like that not so little reminder of who her husband is triggers something for him. Solo clears his throat, muttering almost, “my apologies.” He asks, a perfect combination of forced concern and obligation, “whose kid?”

She starts not to answer, but being a form of assertive and dismissive feels like too much in one day. “I don’t know. Some man with her called her Brandi?”

At that, his attention seems almost intensified. He’s quiet for a moment. “Brandi?”

Confused at his subtle but noticeable change in demeanor, Solana nods. “Yeah. I think she called the man Bron?”

Solo looks away, like there’s something about these two pieces of information that are important. So she asks, “why?”

Solo’s gaze is back on her, and like a snap of a finger, the intensity in his expression melts into something cavalier. “Nothing.”

Solana is quiet. And suspicious. Something in the pit of her stomach tells her there’s something he’s not telling her, something he’s keeping to himself.

But she doesn’t push it.

She’s got other things on her mind.

Other things she shouldn’t have on her mind.

But, she does. She really, really does.

________

Later that evening, the strange, conflicting emotions from her encounter with Emma and her mother, Brandi, are still plaguing Solana. She’s grateful that Roman has to take his dinner in his office due to work, because it at least gives her space to process such big emotions without him picking up on anything being wrong.

He seems to be very good at that.

In preparation for winding down for the evening, she’s at the sink, washing the dishes when Roman comes up behind her. It’s only a brief second of tension that’s easily settled by his arms around her, his mouth on her neck.

She smiles, noticing the increasing amount of comfort and want she’s experiencing at him touching her.

It’s getting to the point where she almost craves his touch.

It’s…comforting.

Roman makes a sound, lips moving up to kiss her cheek. “Meet me at the pool in an hour.”

She frowns, turning toward him. “What?”

He brings hand to her mouth, thumb gliding over her bottom lip. “You said you wanted to get in, right?”

“I—” And she can’t protest, can’t find a way to politely disagree. Because she did say that. And he’s clearly holding her to it. “Yes.”

His hand slides down to cup her ass, Solana gasping quietly as he smirks. “Then let’s do it.” Her eyes shut, and she bites down on her bottom lip as he whispers in her ear, “I want to see that bathing suit of yours.”

Another gasp as he squeezes her ass. “Roman.”

He says nothing else, walking away. Solana takes a second to reflect on the interaction, sits on the fact that he was able to touch her and she didn’t tense up. Didn’t freeze up. She almost…she almost liked it.

But what she doesn’t like is the fact that she now has to apparently meet this man in the pool wearing that bathing suit that nobody but her made him aware of. He would have never known she even owned it she hadn’t opened her mouth in a poor way to distract him.

And now he wants to see her in it.

And now the anxiety is growing again.

Because while she’s grown more comfortable with his touching her, she’s been almost entirely clothed during those times. Even with the more revealing outfits. This one will definitely take the cake. She’s not sure her lingerie from their wedding night was as showy as this bikini.

She takes her time finishing up the dishes and is at least grateful to see he’s nowhere near their room or bathroom as she sneaks in and locks the door to put it on.

Solana must mess around with the suit at least ten different times. Pulling. Tugging. Tightening. It doesn’t make a difference because the swell of her chest and backside prove too much. There’s not much to be hidden, to be camouflaged, to be covered up. And that’s always been her preference. Never in her life has she owned or even worn a two piece suit. And yet, here she is about to step out in one that leaves little to the imagination in front of one of the most attractive men she’s ever laid eyes on.

A man that gives her butterflies with just one look of his dark, beautiful eyes.

She tries telling herself that it’s just Roman. That she shouldn’t overthink it so much. That he’s made his attraction to her clear, time and time again. But, it’s hard to factor those things in when he’s never seen this much of her, so much skin, so much scarred skin. Skin with stretch marks and cellulite. Scars from the stabbing. The pudge of her belly.

It’s all so…revealing. Physically and emotionally.

It’s almost to the point where she has more anxiety about him seeing this much of her body than actually getting in the water, which was and should be the main source of her abundance of nerves.

But, it’s not. It’s not because even with all of her progress, it’s so hard to not compare herself to other women he’s been with. Women like Samantha who look nothing like her, who must look better than her.

That brings on a deeper level of insecurity.

Will he compare her body to Samantha’s? How can he not?

They’re night and day. One is preferred. One is shunned.

And Solana has never been preferred.

Eyes watering, she reaches for the large t-shirt and slides it over her body, comforted by not being faced with so many flaws. Deterred entirely, she starts to think of an explanation she can give Roman as to why she can’t get in the pool tonight.

Or any other night.

But when she steps out of the bathroom, that plan is thrown out the window because Roman is sitting on the edge of the bed.

Shirtless.

Wearing only swim trunks.

She’s momentarily focused on him. Focused on every rippling muscle of his body that’s damn near perfect. So opposite of her own.

Realizing she’s staring, she shakes her head, “I—”

“It’s been an hour.” Roman drags his eyes over her, and it’s like she knows what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “You’re not dressed.”

Pushing back some of her hair, Solana is very much focused on the piece of abstract art on the wall opposite his bed. “I was thinking—”

“No.”

That she wasn’t expecting. Such a….blunt rejection. Eyes back on him, she frowns. “What?”

“You’re not backing out.” Solana swallows. He sounds so definitive. “I won’t make you get completely in the water, because I understand why that’s difficult for you.” She says nothing, at least grateful for his understanding in that area. “But you can at least sit on the edge. Work your way up to it.” An ironic choice of wording considering the other thing they’re working their way up to. He stands from the bed, and as much as Solana wants to look away, she can’t. She’s focused on him. All 6’3 of him. So intimidating. But not to her. So strong. But he’s never used his strength against her. So attractive. The same way he feels about her.

“Without the shirt.”

Her stomach drops, anxiety brewing again. “Roman….”

He’s suddenly in front of her, his hands reaching to pull her against him. “That’s not your trauma. It’s your insecurity, and I’m not accepting that shit because it’s not fucking fair for you to be as beautiful as you are and not see or feel it.”

She swallows as he reaches for the hem of her shirt. “Off.” It’s a statement, but there’s a questioning nature to it. Like regardless of how he feels, he’s still giving her the space to say no.

To have that autonomy.

It’s appreciated.

It’s also why despite her anxiety, with her eyes closed, she relents. “O–off.”

Roman doesn’t seem to waste any time pulling her shirt up and over her head. And as soon as she feels the chilly air of his room on her body, the realization that she’s more exposed in front of him than she’s ever been before, she’s crossing her arms over her chest.

Hiding.

Embarrassed.

“No.” And his hands are on her forearms, pushing down, gently but with purpose. “No hiding.” She keeps her eyes closed as he forces her arms down at her side. “Solana, look at me.” And she wants to, she actually wants to, but it’s hard, because all she can imagine is his disgust, his disinterest. “Look at me.”

His tone is somehow forceful but gentle, in a way only he can do. In a way that never makes her feel scared, but always safe.

So she obliges.

Roman’s gaze is on her, intentful and burning. His jaw is clenched. “It pisses me the fuck off that you’ve been made to feel anything less than fucking gorgeous.” And she watches as he travels his beautiful eyes over her body. Slowly. With a level of desire that she, even with all of her insecurities, can’t deny. Men like Roman don’t look at women like that unless they want them in that way. “The things I want to do to you….”

And once again, he’s affirming and practically repeating everything he’s assured her of several times now.

He wants her.

“I’m going to make you believe it.” Wetting her lips, she watches Roman take her hand in his. “Come here.”

He walks them over to the opposite side of his room where the black, full body mirror rests against the wall. His hands are on her hips, positioning her so that she’s standing directly in front of him, her back pressed into his chest.

“Keep your eyes open.” His voice is commanding but still calm enough where it doesn’t unnerve her. “Spread your legs.” Solana is certain Roman can feel the way her body instantly tenses, because he’s kissing the shell of her ear, reassuring her. “Relax, baby. I won’t touch you there until you’re ready. Just trust me.”

And she does.

Maybe more than she’s ever trusted anyone.

It’s why she moves her legs apart so that her thick thighs are no longer rubbing against each other.

Again, he’s comforting her, “trust me…” Solana is briefly confused as to why he’s repeating himself when his hand is on her backside, squeezing in a way that makes her head fall back against his chest. “I love your ass.” She makes a sound, almost too low to hear when he moves his hands to her chest, big, strong hands cupping her breast. “But, I especially fucking love these.”

She moves her much smaller hands over his. For what reason, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that she nearly groans when his thumb flicks over her hardened areolas through the fabric of her swimsuit.

“Roman….” Despite his clear directive, it’s hard to keep her eyes open when there’s so much coursing through her body.

“You know why I said your name when I was with her?” Not really, but also yes. It’s difficult for Solana to think straight with him touching her like this. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settling at the bottom of her belly.

His mouth is back on her, kissing her jawline as he continues to caress her breast, alternating between light massaging and caressing her nipples. “Because I was imagining she was you. Because it’s you I want to be inside.”

Solana’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between open and closed, the soles of her feet almost numb as standing suddenly feels much more difficult than it should be. There’s an unfamiliar ache in between her legs that has her thighs pressing back against each other.

Her body is on fire, and despite this intimate touching, she has no desire to push him away. Doen’t feel shackled and stuck in a way that’s reminiscent of her trauma. She wants his touch on her.

His deep, alluring voice is in her ear, watching every single one of her erotic reactions through the mirror. “There’s not a single part of you that I don’t want to touch….” Her breathing is labored and heavy almost as he moves his hand and trails his finger down the valley of her breast. “To feel…..” Her eyes are fluttering as his hand moves down to her stomach, hers shooting to rest on top of his, an unconscious effort to keep him from feeling the part of her that she’s always felt

self-conscious about. Only for her to cry out when he lightly squeezes her stomach, rolls and all. “To taste….”

It should make her mortified, for him to be grabbing so freely a part of her that she used to cry over from embarrassment. But, it doesn’t. She’s simply trying to remain strong enough to remain on her own two feet.

Her body is on fire, and there’s this pressure building in her core. Intense but oh so delicious. A brand new sensation.

Whimpering, she moves her hand to his wrist. “Roman, I—”

“I know,” he coaxes, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “That’s what I want, baby.” He moves his mouth over to her clavicle, tongue wetting her burning skin. “Want you to feel good….”

Good is an understatement. She feels completely overwhelmed in a way she didn’t think possible.

And it only intensifies when his fingers create circles across her lower belly. Tears are pooling in her eyes, the throbbing in her belly and most intimate part increasing with every touch and every word that leaves his mouth.

Solana also recognizes the wetness pooling between her legs. Something else she’s never experienced. Not like this. She’s been able to become aroused before, but never to this extent.

Not to this intensity.

The pressure feels too much, too heavy, but she can’t seem to find the words to express as such while Roman continues to talk her through it.

“The next time you touch yourself, I want you to think of me.” His lips are ghosting the shell of her ear, his fingers continuing to trickle across the lower skin of her belly. “My mouth on you. Me inside of you.”

She gasps, loud enough for it to almost echo throughout the room and almost bounce off the walls. “Oh my god….”

She feels just about ready to explode when his other hand has moved to her inner thighs, long fingers dancing across her skin and prying her thighs apart. She’s almost certain her essence has made her way past her bottoms and coats the tips of his fingers. “I’m gonna be your first.” His words puncture her resolve, but it’s the latter statement that completely destroys it. “And your last.”

Solana cries out, stomach in waves as she squeezes his wrist, intense pleasure nearly knocking her off her feet if not for his strong arms around her. Solana feels partially discombobulated as he whispers things in her ear that she’s far too overwhelmed to make out.

She’s not sure how long she’s standing there, doesn’t know how long he’s holding her, helping her land back down to earth. She just knows there’s a pulsing between her legs that she’s never had before. An aftermath almost.

The aftermath at what had to have been a climax.

It takes a few minutes for her to finally be able to formulate words. She looks up at him, trying to not think too much of the way he circled his finger around the spillage between her thighs. It’s enough to make her womanhood start to pulse again. “how did—-I’ve never—”

Roman looks down at her, eyes almost narrowed with pure curiosity as she asks, “have you never had an orgasm before?”

Cheeks still flamed from what just occurred but also slight embarrassment at her answer, she explains, “I’ve—I’ve tried before, but I just—I couldn’t.”

He actually looks surprised but simply brings his hand to her chin, kissing her softly. “Well, it damn sure won’t be your last.” He gently bites down on her bottom lip before backing away. “Be outside in 10.”

It takes a second for her to realize what he’s talking about. She’d completely forgotten what even kicked off all of that.

Watching him leave with her t-shirt, it’s only when he closes the door and she’s alone that something he said finally settles in.

Something that somehow gives her a sense of pleasure more enjoyable than even his talented touch.

“I’m gonna be your first.”

Just thinking of it brings tears to her eyes. For an entirely different reason. For so long, she felt so broken and devastated at having her virginity so brutally ripped away. To have it stolen from her before she could even understand what sex was.

And no, she can never truly get it back.

But this….Roman can give her. That first time of actually having a choice.

And that means more to her than he could ever know.

She cares for him more than she’s certain he knows.

And truth be told, Solana is starting to wonder if care is still a strong enough word to describe what she feels for a certain Roman Reigns.

________

After cleaning herself and gathering her bearings, Solana finds Roman out back already in the pool swimming laps as Dulce sits on the side just watching him, her tail wagging. She always seems so excited around him.

Taking advantage of him being underwater and not aware of her presence, Solana moves quickly over to the steps, faltering for a bit before stepping in just enough to where the water brushes against her knees. That’s when the anxiety starts. Her stomach begins knotting.

It’s also when Roman comes up from under, and she’s briefly distracted by just how good he looks while quite literally doing nothing out of the ordinary. She watches him swim over to her, one hand pushing back some of hair, the other reaching for her.

She hesitates, and he sees it, gently reminding.

“I’ve got you….”

Solana just looks at him. He’s yet to not come through on that promise made time and time again. An oath almost, in every single situation where he’s asserted it.

It’s why she finds herself accepting his hand as she descends further into the water. And just as she recognizes her anxiety heightening along with the water that’s brushing against her chest, Roman tugs her against him.

Gasping, her hands naturally move onto his shoulders, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist.

“Roman….” She’s looking from side to side as he moves them farther away from the steps. “I—”

“Can you swim?” His question both makes sense and serves as a brief distraction.

“Y–yes, but I haven’t done it in years.” He’s still moving them though, and that still makes her nervous as more distance is created between her and a way to escape without actually getting under the water. “Roman, I—I can’t—”

“I know.” His assurance is soft, gentle almost. “I’m not gonna let you fall, Solana.”

And she swallows, because there’s an undertone to his statement. Like there’s another meaning that maybe one or both of them isn’t entirely ready to come to terms with.

It’s when they stop moving, she realizes that he wasn’t just aimlessly moving around. He wanted to bring them over to the stool within the pool that he sits on. It’s only then she really becomes cognizant of the fact that she’s straddling him as well as just how close her body is against his.

Not that he seems to mind.

His gaze on her is both distracting and tantalizing. She wants him to never look at her with such desire at the same time she wants him to never look away.

It’s….a strange experience.

Needing there to be some type of conversation, she goes with the first thing that comes to mind. “How….how was your day?”

Roman chuckles. “The same as most.” Solana makes an active effort to ignore how his hands remain planted on her ass, giving just the slightest pressure that makes her softly scratch at his taut skin. “How was yours?”

Eventful. She starts to tell him about Emma and Brandi, but that would somehow lead into a conversation about Solo and his odd behavior recently. And Roman already deals with enough. She doesn’t want to add onto his plate.

She can handle that on her own.

It’s why she decides to share the most exciting news, a smile growing on her face. “I pinned Bayley today during my training.”

“Did you?” Something tells her that he already knew about this, that he was made aware of this occurrence prior to this moment. Regardless, she’s thankful for him trying to fake surprise. For him trying to give her the satisfaction of being the first to tell him. “Damn. They told me you’ve gotten good. That you’re fast.”

She nods, smile dimming a bit. “I do feel a little bad about how I did it though.”

“Don’t.” He’s quick to dismiss her concerns. “Bayley’s taken much worse in the ring.” After seeing Bayley fight on Night of Champions, she doesn’t doubt that one bit. “There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.”

Her anxiety returns at his ending statement. “O–okay.”

Roman seems to take a minute before explaining, “I think we need to expand your training.” Her confusion is evident and expected as he clarifies with all the preparation in the world for a less than pleased response. “You need to start training with a man.”

Deep down, she already knows his answer before she asks. But, she has to do it anyway. “Like with you?” Open to it, she even suggests, “or the twins?”

Safe people.

As expected, he shakes his head. “No. It needs to be someone you’re not familiar with. Not like you are with me or them.” She looks away, eyes focused on the spotlight on the opposite end of the pool. “It’s only to help you. You can fight now, that’s good. But, you need to learn how to fight someone you don’t feel comfortable with, because that’s the reality of our world.” He elaborates, seemingly pulling her closer to him. “I’m never going to let you be in a position where you have to defend yourself like that against a man, but it’s good for you to know regardless.”

That helps a bit. She believes him. Believes that he’ll never let her be in that space ever again.

But, there’s a ‘what if’ thought that she can’t push away. Because nothing in life is promised or final. Anything and nothing can happen. She could very well find herself one day on the opposite end of her brother, and the thought of him having that hold and power over her makes her sick.

Should that day ever roll around again, she wants it to be different. She wants to be different.

She wants to be able to fight back.

“I’ll do it.” She agrees in a quiet tone and goes on to briefly explain her answer. “I think—I think I need to do it for me.”

Roman simply nods and acknowledges her acceptance with a single word. “Okay.”

Solana is grateful he doesn’t follow up with additional questions. She doesn’t really want to talk about that, doesn’t want to participate in conversations that bring up old, painful memories. “Can I at least meet them before we start training?”

“Of course.” That provides another layer of relief. “Are you still alright with the Gala?”

And this time, she nods. A few days away, she’s already figured out her look for the evening, courtesy of Bayley and Naomi. Biting on her bottom lip, she finds her fingers moving across his chest. “I—I got my dress.” He makes a sound followed up with his mouth moving to her neck. “I think—I think you’ll like it.”

She struggles to keep her eyes open when he starts kissing on her wet skin. “I like everything you wear.” She smiles. “You thought about what you want for your birthday?”

Once again, it’s hard to talk with him touching her like this. “No, cause I don’t–”

He chuckles against her. “Still on that shit, I see.” And before she can push him on that, he informs with all of the textbook coyness, “it’s alright, I’ve got it figured out.”

That makes her push lightly on his chest, to force his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” His words are intentionally vague and don’t manage to answer her question. It’s expected, not entirely out of character for him, but still a bit irritating.

She sighs. The last thing she wants is for this man to go out of his way for her more than he already has. “Roman…

“Solana, I’ve got you in my arms. Half naked.” His eyes take on a dark, lustful glint as he focuses on her mouth. “I really don’t feel like talking, baby….”

He brings his lips back onto hers, but it’s hard to get too into the kiss when her mind is so focused on one little word.

Baby….

A nickname he seems to use with her more and more, the increasing usage doing nothing for the butterflies every time he calls her as such. But this time, this time the butterflies are for something more, something different.

Something she’s not even sure she should be telling him right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage.

It doesn’t stop her from saying his name, her tone serious enough to alert him that she has something to say.

“Roman….” He lifts his head, gaze focused on her, and Solana finds herself momentarily captivated by him. He’s so handsome. So attractive. The embodiment of strength. In so many different ways. Licking her lips, it falls out almost accidentally but also with all of the determination. “I’m going to give you an heir.”

His expression falters only for a second. He’s so good at maintaining composure at all times that it takes her off guard. His voice is lowered. “Solana, I told you, I’ll handle—”

“I know, but—but, it’s not because of that.” And maybe a part of it is, maybe she feels guilty that she’s failing to do the one thing he agreed to marry her for. Maybe it’s out of her trauma. Maybe it’s a sense of obligation. Whatever the potential contributors, there’s no denying the largest chunk comes from a place of pure individualistic want. “I never thought that I could, but….but I can.” This part she knows to be true. Solana never envisioned a life for herself where she could withstand the touch of a man, the desire to have a man touch her. The ability to be intimate. But Roman has changed all that. “I know I can, so I will.” When he says nothing, she adds on, starting to feel a bit unsure of herself. “And we don’t have to now, per se, but….we will. I—I want to do that for you.”

For us.

He still says nothing, but Solana can see there’s a million thoughts floating through her head. She’s prepared for him to push back, to maybe chastise her or scold her for whatever reason. In her experience, men have never really needed solid reasons to be upset with her.

He does none of that though.

Instead, she seems something gleam in his brown eyes, something she can’t name but feels is eerily similar to what she feels whenever she looks at him.

“Non sei quello che mi aspettavo.” Solana has no idea what he’s saying, but with the way he holds her, the way he hikes her higher onto his waist so she’s almost looking down at him, wet hands moving to his face, she doesn’t really care. Doesn’t really need to know. “Ma credo che tu sia esattamente quello di cui ho bisogno…."

—----------

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Xavier smiles at the hint of nervousness in his son’s voice. Any other time, he’d scold him for weakness. But when plotting against the Bloodline, especially Roman Reigns, one can never be too careful.

“Not necessarily, but I do know your sister. She’s weak. Blinded by love.” Just saying the word leaves a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. “Your mother fed her that shit, and now she holds onto it. It’s how I know she won’t let him do anything.”

Wes’s dark gaze rakes over his father’s still recovering state. “And yet he still put us both in the hospital.”

Xavier glares, voice icy. He hates being reminded of failure. “Watch it, son.”

We looks away, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his body. “I just think there is another way—”

“Have you heard from your sister? Found a way to get into contact with her without going through Reins?” Xavier already knows the answer but wants his son to recognize the stupidity of his stance. “This is the only way, and it’ll work. Trust me.”

Wes is still quiet, but Xavier is unbothered. He’s instead focused on his phone that vibrates three times, his lock screen showing a set of messages from an unknown number. And it’s in reading the messages that his day goes from good to so much fucking better.

“Well, I’ll be damned….”

Wes notices the change in his father’s mood and gestures with his chin. “Who is it?”

“Not sure.” He reaches the phone to his son. “But, we’re definitely going to find out.”

And it’s when reading the text that Wes also smiles, the same wicked scheming oscillating in his father’s head traveling over to him.

“Got you now, you little bitch….” Wes reads over the words once more, basking in the relief and potential this new development will provide.

Unknown: I believe we may have a mutual problem that needs to be….taken care of.

Unknown: Your daughter. Solana.

Unknown: Let’s meet.

—----------

translation: “you’re not what i expected, but i think you’re exactly what i need.”

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook #black writers

243 notes · View notes

milksuu · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Worry. I'll Support You. | PT. 01

❥ prompt: Your HEARTSTEEL boyfriend has to undergo minor surgery, and they chose you to be their caretaker for the day. Let's see how they are before and after anesthesia. ❥ content/warnings: fluffy fluff, drugged behavior (all medically safe), mention of needles, mild profanity, minor angst ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel! (aphelios, ezreal, kayn) x girlfriend!reader

an: i don't know why this was tumbling around in my head. wow, this post got longer and longer the more i wrote. i swear I'll write for the other babes too.

APHELIOS

Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the first time Aphelios had to undergo surgery. Happened when they had to remove the nodule from his vocal cords. And he doesn't remember a single thing from that day. Alune took care of him at the time, but she never mentioned anything beyond how he slept most of the day (probably to spare him from embarrassment).

He appreciated you taking a day off work to take care of him and be his interpreter. He was fine with all his consents and paperwork. But when it came to more detailed questions concerning his medical history, he would have you translate his sign language to the medical staff. Thanks to you, the process went smoothly.

IV's were never fun to have. Especially when it had to be in the hand. Aphelios couldn't lie and say he wasn't nervous about it, despite his aloofness. But all he had to do was shift his eyes away for a moment, and look at your cute, bubbly face. He could tell you were rambling on trying to distract him, and he guessed it worked. By the time he looked down again, the IV was in. He denied the golden star sticker usually meant for the pediatric patients, but you took it for him as a momento.

When it was time for him to go into the OR, the medical team gave you two a moment. You slipped a hand into his and gave him two love squeezes. He smiled softly and gave three love squeezes back. A quick peck to his lips and you left to sit in the waiting room.

When he was brought to recovery and awake, you were taken to his bedside. When you stepped through the curtain, you saw him resting as if he were asleep at home. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glazed over with mild recognition. Although he felt lethargic, he signed sloppily with his hands.

Is this heaven?

You bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You shook your head and reminded him where he was.

Oh. Really? Because you look like an angel to me. And if they want you back up there. Forget it. I'm keeping you.

You covered your mouth to keep from giggling too loud. You weren't sure if he was being serious or actually trying to flirt with you. It wasn't common at all for him to be so corny, but you blamed the anesthesia for that. When the nurse came to the bedside, she went over discharge instructions while you held his hand. He kept giving you light squeezes and rubbing his thumb gently against your fingers. Just to make sure you wouldn't fly away. Of course, anytime you had to let go and sign a paper, he sighed heavily (almost a whine if he wasn't careful), until your hand floated right back for him to take. Then he was sighing with relief again.

While at home, it was just the same. Aphelios didn't want you to leave his side for even a moment. If he had his way, you'd be sleeping next to him, still holding onto his hand. You had to remind him many times that you had to take care of him, so no cuddles or naps just yet. You also had to remind him he needed to eat and take fluids after fasting for so long. If there was thing you knew, he was a picky eater. Aphelios seriously thought ketchup packets counted as a full meal and satisfied his daily fiber intake. Luckily, you were able to spoon feed him some soup with a couple of crackers.

After you had him take his first dose of medication, you could finally indulge him. You settled next to him in bed, and he took no time to wrap himself around you, nuzzling your chest. A small, sleepy smile formed against his lips. Maybe you weren't a real angel. But you couldn't convince him you weren't his heaven on Earth.

EZREAL

Oh, boy. This was the first time Ezreal had to have any kind of surgery. Even though it was supposedly minor, that didn't stop the nerves itching underneath his skin. Is it normal to be this nervous? He wasn't sure, but he tried his best to hide his chattering teeth behind a forced smile. He really didn't want you worrying about him more than you had too. You were already doing him a big favor by taking care of him. He just hoped he wouldn't be a wreck before and after.

Apparently, signing consent forms and answering medical questions became a challenge. His hand trembled so much, his usual confident signature looked like a preschooler forged it. And when it came to answering medical questions, he found himself stuttering, feeling like someone stuck cotton balls inside his mouth.

When it was time for the IV, his whole body was ready to collapse in on itself. Was it always so hot in here? Sweat dampened the top of his skin. W-What's the big deal anyway? Not like he was afraid of some tiny, sharp...needle....OK, the room was spinning now. Great—awesome. Man, he felt so lame.

Seeing the color drain from his complexion, his head drop back, and his eyelids fluttering close, you politely asked the nurse to give him a moment with you. She laid him down in the stretcher and brought you a wet cloth. Wiping at his damp face and neck, you rested a comforting hand against his heaving chest. "It's okay to be afraid, Ez. It's not easy to have surgery. You're brave for even being here." He shook his head weakly, clenching his eyes tight. "B-brave. Yeah right, babe. I mean, look at me. I'm practically comatose and the nurse barely even wrapped the tourniquet around my arm."

"Brave doesn't mean not being afraid of anything. It's doing something even knowing it's scary." Another wipe of his cheek and you planted a reassuring kiss. "There's no one braver in my eyes right now." Ezreal swallowed the ball of anxiety nested in his throat. A couple of more inhales and he gathered his remaining courage for the next step that had to be done.

You held his hand the entire time the nurse worked to get his IV started. You told him to close his eyes and take big breaths, and it would be over before he even knew it. He did as instructed, and just like you said, it was done. He admitted to you that it felt a bit itchy, but that he could deal with. Oh, but was it so worth it when the nurse offered him that golden star sticker. He slapped it on the chest of his gown like a badge of honor.

When the medical team arrived to take him in the stretcher, he gave you that million dollar smile and peace sign. Granted, you whispered to the anesthesiologist to give him some relaxing medication before he went in. The anesthesia provider was way ahead of you. When he started giggling, waving, and blowing kisses like he was out the sunroof of a limo driving down the boulevard—oh yeah. You knew he was feeling it.

When it was all over and they called you back to recovery, the nurse informed you he couldn't stop talking the moment he opened his eyes. And all that he was talking about was you. "Babe! Babe! I did it—I can't even believe it's over. I don't even remember them putting me to sleep. Crazy, right? Like, did I count down from ten? Did I make it to zero? I bet I made it to zero." He practically wiggled himself over the safety rails on the stretcher. You sweetly instructed him to keep still so that the nurses could get a decent blood pressure on him. "Okay. Okay. I'll be good. Promise." He forced himself to lay back, but that didn't last long. While the nurse was going over instructions, he was tugging on your shirt sleeve, calling your name, interrupting every moment wanting your attention. Apparently, he had a lot to say to you in the span of thirty-minutes you were separated.

When you arrived back home, by some miracle you were able to have him settled on the couch once you put on his favorite K-Drama. While sitting next to him (and making sure he didn't get up) he rested his cheek against the top of your head. "Thanks for everything, babe. Honestly, you make me feel like the bravest guy. Like Indiana Jones....or Captain Kirk...maybe even that...one actor from National Treasure...." before you could say anything back, you felt his body relax further into you. His light breaths signaling he dozed off seamlessly. With a warm smile, you pulled the blanket over the two of you, and snuggled closer before you joined him for a nap.

KAYN

GOD DAMN IT'S EARLY! Kayn wanted to shout when you woke him up for his 6AM arrival time. Instead, he grumbled, kicked on his crocks, and went in his pajamas. He was too tired to really argue and complain. He just wanted to get this done and over with so he could move on with his life.

Kayn didn't diddle-daddle with his forms and medical questions. He wanted to put on his gown, toss himself into the stretcher, and possibly get a few more winks before his surgical time. You sighed—this was going to be the longest hour before surgery.

Although still in a foul mood, Kayn eased a bit when you worked up a distracting conversation with him. And when the nurse came in to do his IV, Kayn didn't bother blinking. He probably stuck himself countless of times with other—probably sharper—and deadlier objects. Actually, he took it one step further. When the IV was inserted, just to mess with you (and the nurse), he made a loud, and seductive moan. You pinched his arm for startling the nurse. Poor thing didn't even know how to react to that nonsense. "Ow. Ow. Nurse—nurse, she's hurting me." He said, cowering away from you. "You deserve that for almost giving them a heart attack. What if they missed and had to stick you twice?" Kayn smirked, rubbing at his nipple line. "More of a good time for me, then." You rolled your eyes, begging for him to behave for the next half-hour.

When the surgeon came to the bedside, he discussed the procedure at length and a few expectations afterwards. When he finished, he asked if either of you had any questions. Kayn raised his hand like the serious kid in math class. "Yeah. Question, Dr. Shen. When can I have sex again?" You almost spat out the complimentary coffee the front staff so kindly gave you. You couldn't believe he had just asked that question so casually at...let's see.... 06:50 in the morning!

You apologized on his behalf, but Dr. Shen merely dismissed it. "That's quite alright. It's a fair question. And one I receive plenty of times from my male patients. Even ones well into their eighties, and surprisingly, nineties." Kayn nodded with a grin and you rubbed your warming forehead. Of course. What else would they bother to ask? The surgeon went on to say; "As far as any kind of exertional activities, that will all be discussed and cleared at your follow-up appointment in two weeks."

TWO WEEKS!? Kayn almost fainted right then in there. He looked at you with such concern, as if someone told him a Pentakill concert sold out before he could even buy a ticket. He reached over and grabbed your hand, holding tight. "Listen, kitten. I don't think I want this surgery anymore. Can we go home now?" You shook your head disapprovingly. After hearing such news, and you not bailing him out, Kayn sulked as if he was getting surgery to forever castrate him.

When it was time to take him, he begrudgingly let you kiss his cheek. Otherwise, he didn't reciprocate your affection. He tossed his chin away and said. "Whatever. Let's just get this crap over with." Once again, he had you shaking your head, and you apologizing to everyone in the room.

When the nurse came to bring you back into recovery, you noticed he was sleeping on his side, back turned to you. You wondered if he was still upset by the whole ordeal. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, he tensed, but slowly turned over. "Kayn. Are you feeling alright? If you're in pain, I'll tell the nurse—" Before you could finish, Kayn reached forward and grabbed you, pulling you into the tightest hug. You felt him bury his face into your neck and shoulder, hands desperately clinging to you.

"Oh, thank you, thank you." You heard him choke up. You brought a hand to gently comb through his hair, asking him what was wrong. He shook his head. "I...I don't know. I thought— just before everything went black—what if I never saw you again. And the way I acted before they took me..." he squeezed tighter, burying his sulking face deeper. "I'm sorry. I love you, okay? Just, trust me on that. Please."

"It's okay. I love you too," you hummed and stroked his back, continuing to assure him. "You don't have to worry anymore. It's all over. You're still here. The doctor said you did so good, and there were no complications." Pausing, you planted a kiss to the top of his head. "How about we get you dressed so we can go home, hm?" He nodded against your shoulder, and you helped the nurse dress him for discharge.

When you brought him home, Kayn wanted to do nothing but turn off the lights, close the blinds, and lay next to you in quiet darkness. Breathe you in, feel your warmth, and listen to the softness of your pulse against his ear. Focus on the fact that he was alive and you were alive with him—nothing else.

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel kayn #aphelios x reader #ezreal x reader #kayn x reader #league of legends #reader insert #x reader #my man dr shen making an appearance #divider by leafsea

756 notes · View notes

demonsslayersstuff · 2 months ago

Text

When You’re Sick (JJK Men x Reader)

A/N: Doing my first head canon/ drabble for JJK men. This about how they take care of reader when they are sick because I am battling a nasty cold. No major warnings mostly fluff, maybe slight angst. I'm going to do this for AOT and Demon Slayer too, so stay tuned for that!

Characters: Nanami, Choso, Gojo, Sukuna, Higuruma, Geto

Kento Nanami:

I feel like this man is 1000% husband material, like he is not my top choice for who I find the most attractive in JJK, but he is my top choice if I was going to marry anyone cause this man would take care of you and treat you right

When you wake up with a sore throat and cough he is immediately checking your temperature, telling you to stay in bed, and going to the pharmacy.

If its not a bad sickness he'll feel comfortable to go to work as long as you promise to check in with him throughout the day. If your really really sick he's taking the day off, driving you to the doctor and keeping an eye on you

Nanami would always make sure you had enough water, tea, soup, whatever. I could see him drawing you a bath and also cuddling you. He doesn't care that if he might sick, if you want to be held, he's holding you

"Ken", you call out, voice scratchy. Today was not a good day for you, you felt like utter and complete shit. "Honey, what's wrong?", he asks coming back into the bedroom. "I don't feel like I'm going to make it to work today, I feel like crap", you say before curling up into a ball, your head was killing you. Nanami places his hand your forehead, noting that it was a little warmer than usual. "You do feel warm, let me go run to pharmacy across the street and get you some cold medicine", he tells you. In record time Nanami is back giving you your first dose of meds. "Ok take the next dose in four hours. I put crackers and tea on your nightstand, do you need anything else?", he asks. "No, thanks love, what would I do without you?", you mumble, feeling drowsy. "Of course, I'm gonna head to work, but I'll text you, rest up", Nanami says before leaning down to give you a soft peck as the medicine pulls you into sleep.

Choso Kamo:

I feel like Choso would freak out a little bit the first time your sick. Like he's never seen anyone like this and would be a bit panicked. He'd worry about you so much, like will do anything in his power to stay home with you, even if its just simple cold.

Will do anything and everything for you. Want your favorite food, already ordered. Achy from the illness, Choso is giving you a soft massage. Want some tea and honey, he's making it for you.

If your really really sick, I could see him immediately calling Shoko and being like "What the hell do I do?". Takes you to the doctor and monitors you 24/7

If for some reason he cannot stay with you, Choso is texting you as much as possible and calling you every couple of hours, he needs to know you are ok.

Choso places the mug next you as you cough hard, nearly hacking up your lung. "Baby, is there anything else I can do?", he asks, worry evident in his voice. "No Cho, the doctor said to rest as much as possible", you tell him with a weak smile. Choso pulls the blanket around you and gives you a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Ok, I'll be downstairs if you need anything, please tell me", he says before standing up to turn off the light. "Cho, can you, maybe cuddle me? Would that be ok? I don't want you to get sick-" you start to ramble, but he quickly cuts you off. "Absolutely", Choso says climbing into to bed with you. He pulls you on his chest, fingers gently massaging you temple. "Thanks", you mumble. "Anytime, anything for you love", Choso replies as you snuggle down into his warm embrace.

Satoru Gojo:

This man is a silly boy, but at the same time I feel like he would be caring. Like he hides his true emotions behind this playful manner, but if you were sick he'd be generally worried. Gojo would 100% be texting Shoko at the first sign of your illness.

He's a busy busy guy, so as much as he wants to, unfortunately he would not be able to stay home to take care of you. Gojo would make the effort to text you throughout the day more than he normally does and would probably call you halfway through the day to hear your voice.

If he can't do it himself he's having someone going to the pharmacy, picking up food for you, and I really could see Gojo asking Shoko to stop by and check on you if you were fairly sick.

When he is able to be home with you, your wrapped up in his arms. He doesn't care if he might get sick, he was unable to prevent you from getting sick, so he will keep you close watching over you until you get better and then he'll still keep you close lol. (Why do I feel like he would be a cuddle monster)

“Sato?”, you mumble as you feel strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards their chest. “Yeah it’s me, how you feeling?”, your husband asks as he gives you a quick peck on the cheek. “M’feeling better, still a bit tired and achy”, you say before turning your body to face him. “When did you get back?”, you ask threading your fingers through his white locks. “Just now, I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you today”, Satoru says and you see the sadness in his eyes. “It’s ok love, Shoko came by to check on me and give me some more meds”, you tell him. “Still…I should be the one-”, he starts but you cut him off. “Satoru, it’s ok. You’re here now and that’s all that matters”, you tell him gently. “Let’s sleep, yeah?”, you continue. “Ok”, he whispers before kissing you softly, hoping sleep finds him quickly that night.

Ryomen Sukuna:

Listen, this man has got other things to be doing than taking care of you. That being said he would still task someone with watching over you

Would want updates on the hour every hour especially if you were really sick. While he himself isn’t the one caring for you he still wants to know your ok

He makes sure you have plenty healthy food, tea, etc ready for you at all times. If you were sick enough that you needed to see the doctor he’d have Uraume personally be there with you every step of the way with again updates every hour.

At the end of the day while you’re sleeping he’d come by to check on you personally. If you want him to hold you it’s gonna take a lot of coaxing on your end, but at the same time I would see him coming to sleep/ lay next to you at the night.

“Make sure you drink all of this with your medicine”, Uraume instructs as they hand you a full glass of water. You grimace as the giant pills move down your throat. “Where is he?”, you question as Uraume takes the cup from you. “The master is busy as always, why?”, they reply. You sigh as you lay back into the bed. “Nothing..I just want him, that’s all, it’s not a big deal”, you say as Uraume pulls the covers over you. “Regardless I will pass your message along. Rest”, they instruct before leaving the room. Hours later you awaken, feeling his presence. “Ryo?”, you call out into the darkness. “You should be sleeping”, he replies, though you note a barely there worry in his tone. “Hold me please”, you say. “Why should I do that brat, you’re sick”, he replies. “Because I’m sick. I feel like shit and I just want to held”, you say as tears well in your eyes. Sukuna sighs, but you feel his hands grip your waist, pulling you to him. “Sleep”, he commands as you lay your head on his chest. For once you don’t argue, clueing Sukuna in on how sick you really were.

Hiromi Higuruma:

This man is a lawyer turned sorcerer so needless to say he is a bit busy. However if y’all are married/dating this man is most definitely putting you first.

Similar to Nanami he’d go to the pharmacy or take you to the doctor to get you the help you need. As long as your not too sick, he’s going into work, but calls you throughout the day when he has time

I see him being a bit more on the hesitant side to kiss or cuddle you cause he doesn’t want to get sick, but he’ll still find other ways to show you he cares like buying you your favorite tea or cooking your favorite sick food

If you’re sick sick, he would totally work from home. Checking on you and making sure you’re taking your meds and keeping fluids down.

“Hiro”, you call from the bedroom, voice scratchy from all the coughing you’d been doing. “What do you need”, he calls, head poking through the door. “I’m sorry to ask, I know you’re working, but would you get me a hot tea please? My throat hurts”, you ask, slightly embarrassed that you didn’t have the energy to do it yourself. “Of course, one tea coming right up”, he says before heading to the kitchen. When he comes back you give him a small smile. “Thank you, sorry for disturbing you”, you say before taking a sip. “Hey now don’t apologize. You’re sick and I know you’d do the same for me”, Higuruma tells you. “You should try to sleep more”, he continues before laying his palm against your forehead, noting that you were still feverish. “Once I finish this, thanks again Hiro”, you say. “Of course, I’ll be on the couch if you need anything else”, he says with light smile before leaving you to get some much needed rest.

Suguru Geto:

For some reason I see him knowing you’re gonna get sick before you even get sick. He notices your sneezing a lot or that you have a light tickle in your throat, so he hits the pharmacy to buy meds before you even need them

When you do wake up sick the next day you see a box of tissues, cough drops, meds, and your favorite hot drink already prepared for you

Texts you throughout the day to keep an eye on you and if you’re sick sick, like the others he’s staying home. Similar to Higuruma he’s gonna keep his distance cause he doesn’t wanna get sick, but still takes care of you

If you aren’t sleepy he’ll bring a chair into the bedroom and watch your favorite movie or read your favorite book to you. Makes sure you take all your meds and drink plenty of fluids

You awaken with a pounding headache and sore throat. “Fuck”, you mumble, sitting up a bit before you see the array of things on your bedside table. Almost if on cue your phone rings. “Make sure you take the blue pill first and then the cough medicine”, Suguru says as you pick up. “You know me too well, thank you Sugu”, you say with a light chuckle. “Of course, I have to be out most of the day, but call me if you need anything ok?”, he tells you. “I will I promise”, you tell him before hanging up. Just as you finish taking your meds you phone pings with a text message. “Drink the whole glass of water love”, Suguru had messaged. “Damn”, you sigh as you look at the half empty glass of water. “He knows me too well”, you mumble before finishing the water. You snuggle under the covers willing the meds to kick in soon.

113 notes · View notes

aernx · 1 year ago

Text

under the rearview 𖧷 （ 엔하 ）

[❕] secret relationship w enha maknae line · warnings jealousy in jungwon’s part · genre · fluff, minor angst?, university au · not proofread （hyung line ver ）

001. KIM SUNOO （김선우）

It’s the nth time they asked, yet your answer remains the same. You and Sunoo were just friends, nothing more, nothing less. Well for them, that is. But in reality, you two far exceeds the label of “friends”. It’s been nearly three months since you both started dating and watching your friends remain clueless towards your intwined hearts, made everything more exciting.

Sunoo was your crush friend since high school. With his perfect looks and personality sweeter than the dose of sugar in a candy bar, it was extremely hard not to catch feelings. Not that anyone can blame you, Sunoo’s charms were irresistible.

After endless years mastering the art of pining and denial, you finally mustered the confidence to confess. Much to your surprise, the feeling you held for him did not remain one sided.

Stolen glances across cafeteria tables, intwined pinkies in between lecture halls, you and Sunoo were good at keeping it under the rearview.

Always so cautious, but it makes everything better, more thrilling. Sneakily hiding behind staircases, biting back the smile that crept on your lips as he enters your line of sight.

One day maybe. One day you’ll be able to tell your friends. But right now, you feel content on what was going. Just you and Sunoo, overlooked under the blinding lights, hands joined in the darkness where the shadows loom.

002. YANG JUNGWON （양중원）

Maybe it was an impulsive decision. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it. Hell it was your idea, you wanted to keep you and Jungwon’s relationship private. And you regret every second of it.

You get that Jungwon was popular—hell you are even popular too. But you didn’t think he would be that kind of popular.

There was a difference between you and him. If any guys dared to approach you, you were quick to turn them down. But Jungwon? He’s different. He’s too kind to shoot down girls like that. Especially when that girl is the student council secretary.

As the council president, it was his job to deal with countless of students, and that was no issue for you. After all you yourself knew better. As his vice, it was also your job to attend such matters.

But you knew something was wrong when the secretary never once spared you a glance in meetings, or such. Her eyes basically glued to your boyfriend as he presented the important matters in hand.

You felt like rolling your eyes. Hell maybe you did. Sure maybe it’s not her fault—she didn’t know any better. You had no reason to hate her.

It’s not her fault she developed a tiny little crush on Jungwon. I mean the whole university probably did at some point. But you didn’t like it. Maybe it’s your fault you decided to keep it private. But you didn’t want your relationship spectate any unwanted attention. The council was already busy as it is, there was no need anymore unnecessary stirs.

But once you informed Jungwon of this matter, you knew you did the right thing. He understands, because that’s who he was. You took notice of the way your boyfriend set boundaries with the secretary you were wary of. After all their relationship were just bound to student council matters, nothing more. Unlike you and him, who’s hearts beat in sync in between all those meetings, amidst the busyness of the council. Because you knew he always got your back, and you always got his.

003. NISHIMURA RIKI （西村力）

You loved it. You loved every second of it. Seeing his eyes searching yours in the midst of the crowd, seeing his friends tease him for having a crush on you while in reality, you were already his.

He loved seeing them completely oblivious with the fact. It’s funny, really. Maybe it’s a bit childish, but that’s just how you and Riki has always been. Light and carefree was the motto of your relationship.

You wanted to keep things easygoing, slow. You both weren’t ready for the others to know just yet. Though, it’s not like you both were trying hard to hide it. Your friends and him was just a bit blind. If one were to pay attention it would be all too obvious.

The way his eyes lights up everytime you pass by was hard to miss, even for a blind person. The sight of you itself made him giddy to the heart. Sure maybe it’s a shame that he couldn’t show you off. That he couldn’t shove the smirks of his hyungs’ face, a clear look of triumph displayed on his features as he tells his hyungs how he got the girl.

It’s a shame, really. But deep down, you both think it’s more intimate. No one knows about what’s happening under the bleachers. No one knows the way you sneak him in your dorm room in twilight, where the moon shines its brightest. No one knows the way his heart is in your grasp, fingers fully intwined, as he held you close, not willing to ever let go.

perma taglist ❀ @1-800shutthefuckup @astrae4 @chaerybae @haechansbbg @ja4hyvn | nets. @enhanet @hyfenet @kflixnet @k-labels

#kflixnet #enhanet #k labels #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #sunoo x reader #enhypen drabbles #enha x reader #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #riki x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n

938 notes · View notes

e1dritchjackal0pe · 8 months ago

Text

𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔳𝔬𝔴'𝔰

Summary: It's been a few months since that haunting morning at Saltburn, and life hasn't gotten any easier. You aren't sure if either of you have truly left that day behind, even though your bodies are miles away from those grand, boundless walls.

But together, you know you'll both survive.

Warnings: 18+, MDI! Oral (F! receiving), Face sitting, unprotected sex, AFAB, American!Reader. Some decent amounts of angst. Farleigh is going through it after Saltburn (follows canon and Felix's and Venetia's death's), but there's some corny, domestic fluff to take the edge off. A little small dose of jealous Farleigh. Mentions of alcohol and (implied) cocaine usage as a means of coping (but it's brief).

Notes: 16.9k words. Not proofread yet. @saradika-graphics, placed on Halloween night because I'm already missing fall and I'm completely shameless. Thank you to everyone who has ever left a comment and praise - it's always very much appreciated! Seriously, it makes me so happy! And I am sorry to anyone who I may have kept waiting for this. I hope you enjoy.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦- 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

You could still taste the party on your tongue; the scent of the alcohol that had been in the air, pungent and sharp. It was like the blaring music was still playing, vibrating across your skin from the volume of the stereo system instead of the mellow country classic faintly warbling out of the diner's tired speakers. It was a harsh juxtaposition and your brain, still a little sluggish from the chaos of the night is still trying to catch up. You could still feel the sweaty bodies bumping up against you own, smelling with the salt of sweat, the artificial fragrance of face paint, and that sweet plastic scent of fake blood. It was practically embedded in your nose, even with the warm plume of steam wafting up from the plate of food sat directly underneath your face.

You had scarfed down most of it already. You were practically starving after all of the dancing you had done. It always manages to make you hungry, regardless of the previous meals you've had. You've forgone a sense of decorum in your famished, sensitive state and shove the entirety of your last piece of toast into your mouth, leaning over in case any of the jam wiggles loose and falls. Oh, course that's when the server makes another appearance. When you're wolfing down a mouthful of food. You try to smile up him around your chewing, awkward and apologetic, before lifting a hand up to hide your mouth.

"Need a refill?" He asks, gently shaking the pitcher of water in his hand while he looks down at you with a polite smile of his own. He's making an odd amount of eye contact with you too, but you try to tell yourself that it might just be the light adrenaline induced buzz humming through your veins making you a little hyperaware. Something about his mannerisms seem strangely familiar, but your slow-moving brain comes up empty when you try to chase after that thought. Instead, you just nod wordlessly, humming out a short "mm-hmm" in lieu of a verbal response and nudge your glass closer to him across the scratched and Sharpie defaced tabletop to make it easier for him to pour.

The few quick seconds that pass seem entirely too long, and the sound of the flowing stream of water seems to enunciate the time passing by. It feels embarrassing for no reason, and in your effort to shed some of the shame prickling over you, you glance over at the other end of the table to Farleigh.

It's then you notice the way that he's outright glaring at the waiter without even trying to conceal the look. His mouth is twisted into a scowl as he props himself onto the table with a single elbow, and he takes another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep him tethered in place. His habit has skyrocketed these past couple of weeks in the absence of his other vices. You aren't a particular fan of the indoor smoking, but you'd seen the cook pass by a few minutes earlier on the way to the bathroom with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips, so it didn't seem to be a problem. Not to mention, the server had even provided him with a tiny little ashtray which he promptly flicks the embers of burnt tobacco into.

You send him an inquisitive glance, but he's too caught up with glowering to notice. All you can figure is that they may have some kind of history, but then you can't help but wonder why he'd let you drag him to this particular diner if that were that case.

The server - Daniel, you note, and the name is familiar too - hasn't seemed to notice Farleigh's displeased expression, and he's gone just as quickly as he had appeared, conveniently just as you're able to swallow your toast. You chase after it with your water before settling your attention back on Farleigh who still looks just as grumpy. Sure, his mood had admittedly dampened a little bit while you were both out celebrating, but that could go the same for you as well. As much as the both of you tried to shrug it off and move on, parties of all kinds have become a little bitter, a little raw after . . .

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, ignoring the way the polyester cushion clings to the bare skin of your legs despite the chill in the diner. He perks up a bit, peering at you from over his mug as he takes a sip.

"What was that about?" You ask, but he just raises an eyebrow at you like he's confused. Even while he looks so disgruntled, you can't help but muse how adorable he looks with those dark kitten whiskers smeared across his cheeks, made from your eyeshadow pallet.

"What do you mean, 'what was that about'?" He sits his drink down on the table, letting himself recline against the backrest of the booth.

You shrug, letting your eyes rove over the window beside your shoulders and the cut-out paper decorations pasted to the glass; retro styled Jack o' Lanterns and ghosts. Though it was probably the condensation from the since passed storm that's really keeping them secured to their places. "I don't know. It seemed like you may have known him."

His brows perk up, almost unamused while he shakes his head. "No. Not really," he responds cryptically.

He doesn't seem to be lying. Farleigh's ability to be convincing when it comes to concealing the truth is sort of on a spectrum. No matter the scope of the lie, he's never great at hiding them. His eyes can get shifty, or he'll get a little too animated like he forgets how to express himself normally, becoming too self-conscious. It's obviously the smaller ones, the white lies usually, that he's able to be a bit more convincing with. But whatever this is, it's enough for him to be a little restless, fidgeting with the handle of the porcelain mug like he needs to distract himself. But from what, you aren't sure. And despite claiming not to know him, there must be some reason why his mood had taken even more of a decline since seeing the server.

"He does look familiar though," you mumble absentmindedly.

"I'm sure he does," Farleigh replies lowly, like the comment was only meant for him. But you hear it regardless and it's said with a kind of snark that you hadn't heard aimed at you in a long time.

The expression on your face is incredulous. For a second you just stare at him silently and the music drifting across the quiet does little to make the atmosphere feel any less foreign. The old, florescent panel lights flicker above and buzz in an insistent drone, making everything even more bare and alien than it already is. You hadn't taken the brunt of Farleigh's ire in a long time. Okay, 'ire' might be a little dramatic. Irritation is probably more accurate. But it feels so weird - uncomfortable - to have him genuinely annoyed with something that you've apparently done. You're used to his sarcasm and quips, you're on the receiving end of them on a daily basis, just like he's on the receiving end of yours. It's normal. It's a part of your dynamic, and your shared, taunting and impish kind of humor is how the both of you grew close. Long before either of you had even realized. You can count on a single hand the number of times that you've had an actual disagreement or argument with Farleigh. But you don't enjoy them in the slightest, so you'd like to find out the root of this little problem before it builds and blows up in both of your faces.

"First of all, what is that even supposed to mean?" You ask, pulling back to cross your arms. "And secondly, what's wrong?"

He shoots you an exasperated look, like he's unconvinced of something. You don't reply aloud. You just shrug, openly confused.

"Seriously?" He says with what sounds like disbelief.

"What?"

He scoffs and pins you with a glare that's simultaneously annoyed and relieved. You can see the minute way that his shoulders seem to relax, shedding the bit of stress that had been winding his body up tight. "You really don't recognize him?"

The question makes you feel a little dimwitted. It prompts you to lean a little in your both, towards the end of the seat and you let your eyes move away from Farleigh. Scanning the diner, searching for the sight of the waiter in the hopes to toggle free that sense of familiarity that shrouds him. Maybe you'll finally be able to remember just who he is. It's been searing at your brain all night, and Farleigh's insistence that you know him just drives the urge deeper. You finally spot him behind the C shaped bar, refilling the salt and pepper shakers that he must have collected from the vacant tables. There is something there. The kind of acquaintance that comes with seeing the same cashier at a gas station more than once, or noticing the same neighbor trimming the bushes in their lawn when you go out to check the mail. But there isn't anything more than that. The sharp jut of his chin and the tattoo peeking out from underneath the short cut of his sleeve are features that you know that you've seen before, but you just end up drawing another blank. You'd like to blame it on alcohol, but despite having spent the entire night dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a party, you haven't drank a single drop.

You tilt back into your seat and return your focus to Farleigh with a lost shrug.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs. "He's served us at least four other times."

"Oh, that's it?" You say, a little indifferent. You were expecting something more . . . exciting than that. Maybe some drama involving a drunken fight that you couldn't remember at a bar or house party, and he had been the culprit. Literally anything other than he was just you're regular server. Plus, you hardly found that enough to warrant the heavy scowl that Farleigh had been giving him earlier.

Farleigh sags even further against the cushion of the booth, and the expression on his face is outright petulant and soaked with annoyance. When he speaks next, his voice is at this odd cross of defeated but passionate. "He flirts with you all the time."

Ah, there it is.

You want to counter the argument. You yourself have been a waitress who's been accused of flirting with customers boyfriends just because you had come across as overtly friendly when asking for a drink order or dropping off the bill. An exhausting symptom that seems to come with serving the public and insecure lovers out on dates. But that little comment does manage to jog something free. Vague memories of said waiter - Daniel - staring at you for a little longer than necessary or brushing his fingers along yours whenever you'd hand him a cleared plate during past visits. But that's about all. Just subtle, otherwise harmless interest that he's apparently garnered for you. "Well, clearly he didn't do a very good job, because I hardly remembered him."

The stormy expression doesn't slip from Farleigh's face, and as much as you're trying to joke, you know that this little bout of jealousy has stemmed from something deeper. Sure, he's always had an inclination of being a little possessive. You've caught glimpses of it in the past with his old flings and exes, but the way that he grips you is entirely different from that. He makes sure to touch you in some capacity when in public; a hand on the back of your waist to guide you through crowded areas, keeping his fingers laced with yours on walks, or pulling you into his lap whenever he's able to. He always makes sure to stake his claim on you somehow. Especially whenever he feels as though someone could be a threat to your relationship, even though you do your best to talk to him and placate those insecurities. On any other occasion, you would have been annoyed that he felt intimidated by some random guy at an IHop, but for whatever reason, this just feels off. But you know that this is different. Tonight is different.

You had seen the shift in him at the party. It was just some get together for Halloween that one of his old friends had thrown for the holiday. It was meant to be small, and that was really one of the only reasons that you had agreed to go. You had wanted to stay inside your apartment for the night, as lame as it may sound. To just spend time curled up on the couch with him against your back while you both gorged yourself on candy and junk food and watched a few horror movies that you had rented from the Block Buster down the street. But Farleigh had insisted that he wanted to go, complaining that spending the entire Halloween night inside was lame.

A part of you had been a little reluctant. The first weeks after Saltburn had been particularly hard on Farleigh. He had been on a path of self-destruction, like he was insistent on punishing himself for Felix and Venetia. He had made sure to frequent any and every party that he could manage, drinking and snorting whatever he could get his hands on. For a moment you thought that you might have lost him too. It put a strain on you both. With you constantly voicing your concerns and him always insisting that he was fine. It had all come to a head one night when Farleigh had made a snarky comment towards someone he shouldn't have. Despite all of his sarcasm and harsh words, Farleigh isn't a fighter. At least, not in the physical aspect. But that's all it had took. Some drunken, scathing remark, that honestly, you can't even remember. But you do remember the fist that came after it. How it had cut through the air, and the loud thump of bone hitting bone, leaving a tender bruise, blue and purple in its wake.

Even then, you could still see the temptation in his eyes while you had dug around in your freezer for some a makeshift ice pack, the temptation to curl back into a bottom of a bottle and never come back out. Finally, you had been the one who broke down, right in the middle of your kitchen, clutching a pack of frozen peas in your hand while the anger, and fear, and anxiety welled up to the surface. He had been quick to jerk up from his seat at the table, crossing the space between you and pulling you from the fridge and into his arms with broken, "I'm sorry's" spilling from him.

"I can't lose you Farleigh," you cried, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his scent like it might vanish. "I can't."

His self-hatred and the blame that he held his cousins didn't just clear up overnight after that. There were times where you could still see the temptation and loathing glimmering in his eyes, but he was getting better. He was starting to work past it a little bit at a time. To finally let go of all of the booze and writhing, dancing bodies; the sound of laughter and streamers drifting down in the air. The reminders of that summer night back in England, and the morning after, when Felix had failed to show up to the breakfast table. It was hard for both of you. The vacant, bleeding wound that was left in his absence. The pain that comes with it. But even worse, was the reminder that if you must be hurting from the loss, that the sheer agony that Farleigh feels is something that you'd never truly be able to understand. The anguish and torture that must weigh over him every waking moment from his cousins' unexpected death - the death that he had been blamed for in the eyes of James, all because of the words of a stranger.

Farleigh holds you like you're a ghost. He holds you like you might disappear if he doesn't. That you'll vanish and turn to smoke, or you'll turn your back on him like the Catton's - his family - have. God, even Venetia. Sweet Venetia is gone too. That's what Elsbeth had said to Farleigh when she reached out in a phone call one random evening. The last call - the last favor, she had said that Farleigh would ever receive from her. He had been inconsolable after that. Collapsing on the floor with violent, heaving breaths tearing from his chest after she had hung up on him. He had gone completely still before the flip phone had slipped from his hand with a harsh clatter. That was the only warning that you got before he had looked up to you, and the tears threatening to spill from his eyes had ripped your heart in half. It was the pained, lost sob that tore from his chest that ripped you from your shock and had you dropping down beside him and pulling him into your embrace.

You can't recall how long you had sat with him on the carpet, clutching him to your body while he cried and gripped at your arms, and shoulders, and back like he didn't know what to do with himself. It had been your turn to cling to him like he might have been the one to disappear if you hadn't, doing your best to swallow back your own tears as he cried into the junction of your neck.

You know that's all that his jealousy is. Fear that you'll leave him behind like the rest of his supposed family has. Sure, he has his mother and his father. But truthfully, he's always been saddled with the responsibility of keeping the relationship between them cordial; perpetually caught between the both of them. And his relationship with his mother is strained at best. Taxed by his constant worries for her recklessness with her monetary spending, and her inability to keep track of her expenses and bills. A defect of growing up wealthy, you suppose.

So when Farleigh insisted that he wanted to get out of the apartment. To go out and celebrate you were reluctant. You voiced your concerns about it, but you didn't fight him on it. You knew that he needed the distraction. A break from all of the loneliness, misery and pain. You both had come to the agreement not to touch any sort of alcohol or drugs during the duration of the little Halloween get together, and that was enough for you. You trusted him completely.

The first few hours at the party had been great. Even when way more people than planned arrived; all of them bringing friends and those friends brought their own until the house filled to its maximum occupancy. The floorboards and walls had practically been pulsing with the volume of the music blasting. Everything from Rob Zombie's Dragula to old Halloween classics like Thriller and The Monster Mash had blared out from the stereo system hooked up the living room. It had been nice to just let go and relax, letting yourself enjoy the first positive party experience in close to a couple months. For a while you allowed yourself to dance, grinding and moving against Farleigh, soaking in his heat and scent from around the chaos, feeling the warmth of his palms sweeping underneath your skirt and gripping onto your hips. It had been peace despite the excitement and havoc tainting the air like a sharp, heady buzz. But you knew something was wrong when you felt the brush of his lips pause over the skin of your neck, and his body had stilled against yours. It made you stop in turn, looking over your shoulder to check him with the confused whisper of his name on your tongue. And when you caught his eyes, locked onto something past your shoulders like a deer staring into the headlights of an approaching car, you wordlessly turned to track his sight.

It was a pair of wings. Tinted in shades of a fiery orange and violet from the lights strung around the circumference of the room. Their true color must have been a shade of soft white, but some broken part of you waited for them to shift into a rich, glint of gold. And in that moment, for a quick but painful second you could remember the scent of the summer air. Tinged and damp with dew and sweet with pollen and the alcohol that had been spilt across the lawn. The shifting bodies around you weren't people at all, they were the looming hedges of the maze, and the soft leaves sweep and scratched at your skin. It wasn't a girl in an angel costume wearing those wings, but Felix, dead and sprawled out on the lush grass while the heavy music mutated into the anguished cries of Venetia and Farleigh -

Farleigh.

You had snapped out the trance with a gasp. You had turned to him as quickly as you could. Gripping onto his forearms firmly, strong enough to break him from his lost stare. When he had looked down at you then, he was so broken. You could see a layer of tears glittering over his eyes from the cast of the lights; lost and defeated. "Let's go outside " you had said, sliding a hand down to thread your fingers into his own, gently tugging to lead him towards the front door, weaving through the shifting, wild throng of people who were caught up in the night.

You left without warning, desperate to get outside to breathe in the crisp autumn air. But once you both had made it out onto the front porch, neither of you stopped. You had both kept walking with your hands tightly fastened to each other as you set off down the street, vacant now that all of the trick r' treaters had long since purged the houses of all of their candy and turned in for the night to gobble down their bounties. Soon the loud pulse of music projecting from the house party faded into silence, and the only sound was the sharp clap of your heels and the thump of Farleigh's shoes against the damp concrete while the insistent barking of an unsettled dog a couple of blocks away range out distantly. It was still. Calm. And you just walked with no particular destination in mind, focusing on the feel of each other's presence underneath your hands. You would glance up at him every now and again, silently checking on him and you could tell by the look in his eyes that a part of him was still there. Still trapped in Saltburn; seated at that grand table in a room bathed in red.

And you suppose that you're still there too. Trapped in that chair, looking across the space that separated you to try and meet Farleigh's shocked, unseeing gaze. And so now you did your best to be there for him. Reminding yourself that you aren't there anymore. You're in the present now. You both are. You did what you could to remind Farleigh of that as well. Talking about anything that would pop up in your head to try and draw him out. You rambled about work, particularly your coworker Joy (which had to be the most ironic name ever) because he's always interested to hear the newest scoop of drama that comes from working with her. He hates Joy even though he has yet to meet her. He dislikes her just because you don't like her. It's always the highlight of your night to come home from a shift and just being able to sit down at the tiny kitchen/dining table for two and venting to Farleigh about your day. He always hangs onto each word like your gossip is an update on his favorite reality TV show. It's ritual of sorts that you'd usually save for at the night, when you were both unwinding from the day, but you found yourself rambling regardless.

You ranted about today's most recent bout of drama. Drama that he had already heard before when he had gotten home from his own shift, but it didn't keep the story from spilling in some desperate attempt to get him to come back to you. You reiterated how Joy had been caught sleeping with two of her ex's close friends without either of them being aware of it. Adding minute details that you had previously forgotten in an attempt to liven up the story. Retelling the drama that had blown up quite fantastically this morning, with both the both of her boyfriend's showing up to confront her, with the sort of coincidental timing that should have been impossible. You and the customers scattered around the store had been quite entertained for a good ten minutes before your manager had grown privy to the situation - mostly due to the loud shouting match that broken out between the scorned men - and threatened to call the cops on the pair.

"She deserves it," Farleigh had responded. The sound of genuine mirth had been enough to put you at ease and a quick glance had confirmed that he was smiling. It was faint. Hardly there, but you could still see the light impression of it perking at the corners of his lips. It motivated you to keep talking. About anything and everything that came to mind. But this time you felt less anxious to get the words out. Less worried. It was all relaxed and at ease as you strolled down the street, idly admiring the decorations strung up the houses along the road, burning string lights in varieties of purple, and green, and orange bordering their roofs. There were quite a few cemeteries made in the front lawns this year; fake Styrofoam headstones with skeletal arms propped up beneath them to mimic the dead rising from their graves.

But it seemed that your gut had other plans when you eventually found yourselves coming to a stop in familiar fractured parking lot belonging to a frequented IHop. One that could easily be mistaken as abandoned with its faded yellow paint dividing the parking spaces and the sun damaged pylon sign; muted to a dusty robin blue from all the years in the weather. You supposed that it wasn't all that odd that your subconscious brought you here. It was you and Farleigh's go to spot after a night of bar hopping.

Before you could even ask Farleigh if he was hungry, he was already leading you across the parking lot towards the double front doors with those corny decals stuck on the windows in the shape of witches on brooms and the silhouettes of soaring bats.

Now you watch Farleigh with a bittersweet smile on your face, tracing over the shape of the cat ears secured into the thick of his curls. It was some random headband of yours that he had dug up from the depths of your closet. To be completely honest, you aren't even sure where it had come from, but you're glad that he found them. You never knew that seeing Farleigh in a pair of cat ears was something that you needed to see.

It's in your blatant admiration that you realize that you're being watched as well, and it's enough to break you from your trance to look back over to the main dining counter where Daniel is finishing up with refilling the pepper and saltshakers. His stare catches yours and it catches you off guard how confident he seems. There's a playful, assured glimmer in his eyes while he watches you from behind the bar. You can't help but wonder just how long he's been staring at you for, and he makes it even worse when he winks at you.

Ugh.

Okay, Farleigh hasn't been wrong about the flirting you suppose.

You don't even bother hiding the disgust that seeps into your features, pulling your mouth into a scowl and you can see the way that he deflates with disappointment when you pull your focus from him and back onto Farleigh, who thankfully hasn't noticed the exchange. With the hand that balances the lit cigarette between its fingers he's absentmindedly fiddling with the handle of his mug, shifting the cup around like he's studying the way the porcelain glints underneath the pale glow of the fluorescents. You don't even think when you shuffle from your side of the booth. Farleigh watches you curiously when you step around the table to slip onto his seat until your nestled up against his side, smushing your cheek against his shoulder. A wistful smile lifts at the corners of your mouth when you feel him tilt his face onto the crown of your head, going lax against your body with a soft, inaudible sigh. You drag in his cologne in a lungful, taking in the warm spice of it, amber and cigarettes; infused with the subtle saccharine notes of vanilla and it has you relaxing even more. And with a full stomach, the influence of sleep is already beginning to pull at your limbs.

"We should head home," you suggest, tilting your chin up to peer at him from underneath your lashes - or you look at him as best as you can with him still leaning his cheek on the top of your head. "It's getting late."

"It's barely three," he counters. You can hear an amused puff of air leave his chest, but his tone almost sounds playfully offended, like he couldn't believe you'd propose such a thing. You just barely fight off the urge to roll your eyes.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" You ask, reaching for his coffee to steal a sip, drinking down the sugared beverage without a shred of remorse. Even though you can practically feel the way that he's side eyeing you.

"Thanks for reminding me," he grouses with no real bite.

"You're welcome," you reply easily, tone lightly teasing and good-natured. You let your head roll back onto his shoulder, knocking his chin free from its perch so that you're fully able to look at him. He's already focused downward to watch you; the dark of his eyes glittering underneath the harsh glow of the fluorescents, highlighted with flecks of honey and bronze. "C'mon, you can't say that being home right now doesn't sound at least a little bit nice. We could be curled up underneath a warm blanket right now, watching bad scary movies. And we could finally knock out that bag of candy I bought," you tempt. "Or maybe you're just blowing it off because you screamed like a girl that last time we watched horror."

"I did not!" He denies, sounding and looking wildly offended.

Your eyebrows perk up, an unattractive snort leaving you. "You absolutely did."

You can recall that night quite vividly. You'd experienced Farleigh's . . . eh . . . incompatibility with horror films in the past, during movie nights and little get togethers at theaters with friends. So you had done your best to try and pick out something else to watch but he had been insistent that he could handle the movie. Unsurprisingly, he had flinched every time the harsh sound of that iconic chainsaw had blared through the speakers and had tensed up every time the camera had panned off the characters to imply a jump scare or oncoming attack from the unseen slasher. You had given him your hand to squeeze for moral support, but he had decided about midway through the movie that it wasn't enough and had practically begun to use you as a human shield, trying to wedge his body between you and the couch. His excuse had been that he just wanted to hold you, and for a moment you had believed him with how he had all but scooped you into his lap. But the way that he would nearly hide his face into the crook of your neck during the gory parts of the film was pretty telling. And when he wasn't using you as a buffer, he had tried to preoccupy himself by pointing out any plot holes and the dumb decision that any of the characters made. Not that you minded. His commentary is actually pretty hilarious when he gets nervous.

"That's not how I remember it," he counters confidently, prompting a light laugh from you.

"My mistake then," you reply softly, voice low but jesting. "I must have remembered it wrong."

He hums lowly in agreement and there's the hint of a smile on his lips. With the way that your faces are angled towards each other the points of your noses brush just a bit. You can feel the gentle warmth of his body heat wafting over your skin and sinking in deep. For a second you forget that you're curled up the booth of some ratty diner, that it isn't just the two of you in the world. You think that you could stay here forever, huddled up against him with the scent of coffee and his cologne in the air. His head angles closer to you, and you can feel the hint of his lips on yours making your lashes lower, threatening to slip closed.

"Let's go then," he says suddenly, and the gentle sensation of his lips vanish.

You jerk back with a look of betrayal on your face, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. If anything, there's a sort of satisfaction and mischief glinting in his gaze. You want to offer some kind of retort, but your brain is sluggish, a little addled with the desire to sleep and the waning influence of alcohol that nothing smart makes its way to the tip of your tongue. But you do pass a cursory glance at the table and the empty plates scattered along the countertop. "What about the bill?"

He looks at you like the answer is obvious, a sassy "really?" type of expression, leaning back against the backrest, stretching his legs out to give himself the leverage to reach into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. "We eat here all the time, and you always order the same thing. I know how much the bill cost."

"Damn, all right then," you mumble, watching as he throws a couple of bills onto the table between the plates and cups. Then he's nodding his chin at you, silently asking for you shuffle out from the booth, snuffing out the end of his cigarette and wedging what's left of it between the divot made into the edge of the ashtray. He's quick to follow after you with his body nudging along yours as you both slide from the seat. He tucks his wallet back into its place once he's up on his feet, already reaching to take one of your hands but the sudden projection of a familiar voice rings out, making you both pause. "Do y'all need the check?"

You turn to see Daniel who's leaning himself away from the bar and pepper shakers like he's ready to move and make his way around towards your table. Farleigh passes the server a look that seems nonchalant, but you know him well enough to still be able to notice the subtle curl of his top lip, judgmental and unimpressed. You just barely resist the amused urge to roll your eyes at the display.

"No, we're good," Farleigh says as he shrugs off his tux and then he's twirling the jacket around so that he's able to drape it around your shoulders in a single flourish. It's an obvious way of him trying to put a silent claim on you, but you find yourself exchanging smiles regardless; soft and almost private. He steps closer to you, and you turn on your heels to face the exit as he secures one of his arms around your waist, tugging you close against the warmth of his body. "Money's on the table."

He gives Daniel one last glance as you press one of the double doors open; it's just a pointed as the last and the smile on his face is just a little bit smug when you lean into him. But you don't let him revel in his gloating for long before you subtly grip the hand that he has around your waist and tug him out from the cozy shelter of the diner and into the night, tossing a quick, courteous "have a goodnight!" to Daniel from over your shoulder.

The walk back to the house seems quicker than the one before it, and before you know it, you're both slipping into the little Civic situated along the curb. Farleigh had rolled his eyes when you had expectantly held you hand out for the keys, which he had relented you to you with a small scoff. It's all for show. There's nothing he loves more than being chauffeured around; sitting in the passenger seat to tell you when the light has turned green and where to turn (even though he might just be one of the most directionally challenged people you know).

You take the backroads home, ignoring the main drags in an effort to avoid the scattered throngs of traffic that still occupy the popular streets. It's a short drive, but that doesn't stop Farleigh from digging around in the CD binder for music. The song only gets to around the halfway mark by the time you're sweeping the car into the designated parking space underneath a glowing streetlamp, decorated with one of those Halloween tensiles with those tiny pumpkin silhouettes. He doesn't let you turn off the engine, having you let the vehicle idle until the chorus of the song is over. Then and only then are you allowed to shut off the car. Not that you can complain much, you're always more than content to hear Farleigh sing.

Before you know it, you're both jogging up the steps of the second floor, passing by the door of your close neighbor; bordered with a garland and decorated with a Christmas wreath, already in preparation for the next big holiday. A juxtaposition to the Jack o' lanterns posted outside of your door like guards. The both of them are complete opposites of each other, with the face that Farleigh had carved in his made from smooth, seamless lines. Yours on the other hand . . . is a little less fortunate. To put it lightly, it looked like you had been under the influence of every drug and alcohol known to man and went at the pumpkin while you were seeing double; all jagged edges and overlapping corners. Carving had never been a particular talent of yours.

You have to wiggle the key into the lock when you twist it, the damn thing always sticks and snags on some inner mechanism that you don't know anything about. And when you nudge the door open, you have to firmly push it with the point of your shoulder to help it swing on its hinges because it always drags over the threshold. But you feel nothing but relief when you step inside with Farleigh closely trailing behind you, making sure to close the door and lock it once he's inside.

It was a comfort to be home after such a long night out, and the fragrance of a candle that you had burned earlier, fusing with old traces of laundry detergent and the distant scent of the Eggo's that you had toasted this morning (still somehow going strong) feels inviting. It's a small space. Hardly enough room for two people. But you and Farleigh happily make it work. The tight walls feel cozy, decorated with pieces of you both; framed photos from vacations and past road trips, and that painting of a gorgeous golden field that Farleigh had reluctantly gravitated towards at a thrift store (he had snubbed his nose at buying anything second hand for a while, but you had gotten him to come round to it eventually). It was your home. A safe space, a shelter from everything, and everywhere you look there are little hints of him.

After landing back in America from that awful flight from England with James' cold, harsh words still echoing around both of your skulls, you and Farleigh had practically become inseparable. You clung to each other. You were buoys for each other, keeping yourselves afloat with the unforgiving torrents flooding through your minds. That night at Saltburn feels like a dream. A ghost story. And no matter how hard you tried; you couldn't get that morning out of your head. The flashes of golden feathers; the sight of limp, pale skin; those wine-red curtains pulled over the windows, dousing the room in an awful crimson light, making the streaks of tears pouring down Farleigh's cheeks glitter lowly, his face pinched with confusion and anguish. The memory always has something bitter and sharp washing over your tongue; your chest tightens like your heart might rip in two and burst.

It had been you who had suggested moving in together. Only a few weeks after returning home from Saltburn. You and Farleigh had practically been cinched at the hip since then. It was odd for everyone on the outside looking in. You had always been at each other's throats before, lashing out with insults and sarcasm, but ever since returning back from England, neither of you could manage to pull away from the other for long. It was clear to see that something had happened during the trip, something to cause a fundamental shift between you and him. But neither of you ever bothered explaining much more past the fact that you had both "made up," so to speak, back in England. And you only told the necessary people about what had happened to Felix, such as Graham, who had built somewhat of a friendship with the Catton during his visits to the States. But that was all.

For a time, you struggled to find your rhythm in everyday life, to get out of that strange, muddled rut that your brain had sunk down into since Felix and Venetia's passing's. Farleigh, obviously, had struggled more than you. The cloud that loomed over him was thick and suffocating, and you could tell that it was threatening to tear him down and burry him underneath its weight. You made more of an effort to be near him, doing you best to visit him, to keep him out of his head and his guilt whenever you had time off from work and personal affairs.

He had, for the most part, moved in with his mother. Not because he had to, Farleigh had been able to save up a small cushion of money when he was still in the good graces with the Catton's, but because he needed it. He needed to be close to some part of his family. A part of it, no matter how small, that hadn't turned their back on him. Frederica did her best to console him too. But it wasn't always a help when she would often wind up just as equally as distraught as he was. Just as ravaged by grief of her niece and nephew's deaths and the hurt of her own brother fully cutting ties with her and Farleigh and renouncing them as part of the family.

As a result, Farleigh would often spend most of his spare time with you back at your old, shared apartment with Graham. Sometimes you wouldn't even talk. You just sit quietly and feel. Soaking in each other's warmth and scent. Reminding yourselves that you were both okay. That you were still present and here. That Saltburn hadn't taken you from each other and eaten you alive. It was one quiet night just like that, with Farleigh curled up in your arms while you reclined on the old outside couch on the balcony, gazing at the neighboring complexes and looming office towers with that particular question heavy on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes idlily skipped along the glowing windows of another nearby apartment building, taking in the sight of distant silhouettes shifting within them. Of other people going about their task, glimpsing into people's lives. Like the man pacing along his living room floor, angerly shouting into his phone; a young woman a few floors above him gently rocking her infant within the cradle of her arms as she halfheartedly watched something playing on the TV; but what caught your attention the most was an older couple shuffling along their carpet, arms wound around each other in a firm but soft embrace as they danced. Just enjoying the other's presence. Like they were the only two people left alive.

It had that question back with a vengeance, searing your tongue with the insistence to get out. But you held back. From fear, reluctance, anxiety. You weren't sure if he was ready for a step yet. The timing was admittedly a little awful. He was still mourning. Still bound and wrapped in grief. But you still couldn't help but hope that maybe this would be just what he needed. Maybe this could help to soothe him. It wouldn't heal his wounds. Not entirely. Only time could do that. But maybe it would be enough to let him know that he wasn't alone. That you weren't going to leave him. That you wanted and needed him just as much as he wanted and needed you.

The lease was coming up in about a month. Something you and Graham had talked about extensively before, mostly because he was planning on moving out to Nashville. Something about his music career because L.A. wasn't panning out how he had imagined it to. He said that he has put out an ad for possible roommates if you wished to stay and keep the apartment. But truthfully, you didn't need a space that expensive, that big. A fresh start was in order, a place to make new memories. And you knew exactly who you wanted to make them with. Who you wanted by your side. All you had to do was ask. It was just a simple question, that's all. But it really wasn't, was it? You don't just ask your boyfriend to move into an apartment with you after not even a full two months of dating. Especially after two of his family members died and his uncle disowned him. But you have known him for years, to be fair.

"Farleigh?" You spat it out before the anxiety could seal your jaw shut. For a second you had thought that he'd fallen asleep; the puffs of his breathing are warm and steady against your neck. You felt it more than you heard it, a low inquisitive hum that reverberated across your skin. You contemplated about lying, coming up with some kind of excuse and pretending that your question had never existed in the first place. Your silence must have caught his attention or concerned him, because he was shuffling himself back, nudging himself along your body and curling up along the sofa as best as he could without falling off of it, so that he was able to peer up at you from his place on your chest.

"What is it?" He asked, eyes glinting softly in the warm, pale lights strung up along the ceiling of the balcony. You saw something flash in them. Something vulnerable and worried, and you knew then that his brain must have been leaping to the worst possible scenario, hardwired in after all of the misery and tragedy that's fallen over him since Saltburn. It hurt you to know that he was jumping to the most horrible conclusion because of you, as unintentional as it was. It was more than enough incentive for you to spit it out.

"Do you want to move in with me? " You nearly cringed when you said it, and you made an effort to look anywhere else but him. You were afraid to see even the faintest possibility of hesitance or disgust cross over his features. "Not here. I mean it's fine. The rent and the utilities are honestly insane, and the landlord is kind of an asshole. So, maybe we could try something new? A fresh start for the both of us. I just - it's just an idea. You don't have to agree, obviously. I know it's a lot to sort of just ask you."

You tensed up when he moved himself fully off of you, and you adjusted yourself against the arm of the couch, drawing your knees close to your chest so that he had room to sit himself up beside you. It felt too stifling. Suddenly everything had been too loud. The sound of the traffic humming down below, the sharp honk of car horns and the squeal of bad brakes. The gentle breeze suddenly felt like it was howling and deafening in your ears.

"You're serious?" Farleigh's voice split through the chaos, drawing you attention onto him. The expression on his face had struck you. It didn't look betrayed or uncomfortable; it was hopeful, if not a little disbelieving. All of the anxiety lumped within your chest had thawed in an instant, vanishing like it had never been there at all, melting into something warm.

"I'm serious," you answered, the slight shake in your voice shifting into something firm and assured.

His throat bobbed, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he stared at you like he didn't know how to react. You wanted to say something. To tell him that he didn't have to answer so soon, or at all for that matter. He didn't have to agree or disagree with you. Either would be fine. His lips parted, the corners quirking with what might have been the faint pull of a smile. "I -" he drew in a short breath like he was trying to ground himself. His throat bobbed, while his gaze roved over your features like he was searching for something. The hint of a lie or a joke maybe, but he found none. "Yeah, " he answered, wincing slightly before correcting himself. "Yes. I'd love to."

It had only taken a couple of weeks to find something that seemed promising. Though it did help that neither of you had too many requirements to meet. As long as it was affordable (a near impossible condition to meet in a place like L.A. unless you want to live in a complete hole in the wall, but you got lucky - somewhat), and Farleigh also wanted a place that was close enough to his mother, and something that wasn't too far of a commute from your either of your jobs. Not much later, something had come up. It was . . . quaint to say the least. The size of the space was nowhere near the amount of room provided in your past apartment, nor Farleigh's old place. Something that he was less than enthused about when you were given a tour by the landlord, but it was something that he would eventually look past. Mostly. It wasn't perfect. On some nights, you can hear one of the neighbors practicing on their piano - luckily, they're pretty good at it, so it's more of a nice background music than a nuisance - and it takes close to a good ten minutes for the water to heat up, but it's yours. And with Farleigh with you, it's your home.

And now that you're finally back after a long night out, your first goal was to change out of your costume and clean up the makeup and grime of the night. You and Farleigh went about your usual routines, putting away your clothes and somehow the both of you wind up jumping in the bath together for a quick rinse. Exchanging soft kisses while basking in the warmth of the water and sneaking gentle touches under the guise of spreading bodywash along each other's skin. It didn't surpass any further than that. Not even with that delicate warmth and longing smoldering along each and every touch, the potential to become something more. You can see it in Farleigh's eyes too, glinting like something eager and hungry. But it's also soft when he looks at you. It makes you feel cherished and so wholly wanted, that for a moment, it's almost like your chest could burst open and all of the love and devotion filled up inside might come spilling out.

It's always been these little private moments between the two of you that you really hold dear. That you cherish and replay over and over again during idle moments throughout the day; quiet lulls in your work shift or when you're home alone. You can only hope that you can offer the same solace for Farleigh. A reprieve from his anguish. His guilt. He feels responsible for Felix, and by proxy, Venetia. You know that he does. You've seen it in his eyes, heard it from his mouth when he's distraught with the tears that come and go. He still jolts awake some nights, harsh enough to rattle and pull you from your sleep. He'll be disoriented, hazed over and still caught within the stubborn hold of sleep and bad memories. His eyes are always a little wild, glassy and damp from tears that have yet to spill over. On others, he does his best not to disturb you, doing his best to swallow down his quiet cries and slipping out of bed. But it's almost like your body can tell that he's gone. Whether it be the loss of his body heat, or the absence of his weight nestled beside your own, you never fail to wake up, slipping a handout over his side of the mattress to check for him. Clarity always rushed over you whenever you feel that he isn't there. Thankfully the panic has finally left after the first couple times he's done it, but the drive to find him never goes away.

He's usually in the living room, absentmindedly watching the TV. Or sometimes he's at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee or tea while he looks through old pictures on his phone. You always announce yourself with a small 'hey' as not to startle him, and he'll always greet you with a smile. Sometimes it reaches his eyes, sometimes it doesn't. But you always refuse to leave his side. Not until you're able to get a genuine laugh from him, not until you can see some sort of peace reflect in his eyes and you know that the horrors of that morning in the maze finally release their claws and sink back into the recesses of his mind. Not entirely gone, but not at the focus at least.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pierces through the reminiscent fog clouded over your brain, drawing you from your thoughts and onto him. You have to tilt your head at an angle from the way that you have yourself tucked towards his chest with some of your back nudging against the chilled enamel of the tub. There's amusement flickering in his eyes, glittering like a dark bronze and molten honey underneath the glow of the warm bathroom lighting.

"You." A bit of a corny response maybe, but an honest one, and it comes out low and gentle.

"Sap," Farleigh smirks, an amused huff rising from his chest, but he presses his forehead against yours, sighing deeply when your skin brushes over his. A smile tugs at your lips, but you can't find it in yourself to form a response to his light teasing. Not with the dull lull of sleep in your system. The water is too warm, too pleasant, making your limbs pliant and heavy. And the feel of his body pressed against yours doesn't help fight off the sense of ease weighing your body down. "Come on," he calmly urges. "Let's go watch those movies you've been harassing me about all night."

"Don't act like you don't want to," you grumbled. "You even picked out one."

He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he does make sure to land a slap on your ass when you rise up out of the bathtub to slip into the clothes you had left on the sink. You shoot him a playful glare over your shoulder, but all you get in response from him is a cheeky smile.

That's fine, you'll tag him back. You're patient. He's quick to pull the drain on the tub before rising up and stepping over the enamel boarder, and you're hyperaware of his movements, quietly waiting for an open window to strike. You go about your business, trying not to make your anticipation obvious as you apply lotion over your body before slipping into your comfy clothes, all the while watching him out of your peripherals as he towels himself off. But he's still fully facing you, running the thick linen over his damp skin. He must pick up on your focus because his eyes skirt up to you, suspicion flickering in them and he squints at you with a smile curling on his lips. "What?"

"Hmm?" You hum cluelessly, doing your best feign ignorance with a light shrug. "Nothing."

He doesn't seem to be fully convinced, but he doesn't speak on it. For a quick moment you forget about your revenge completely. Getting caught inside the intimate atmosphere built within the bathroom; the humid cloud lingering over the space, perfumed with the fragrant notes of your bodywashes and lotion; vanilla, nutmeg, and cardamon. It's warm in here from the moisture, not uncomfortably so, but soothing like a rich balm. And with Farleigh here, it just helps to make the mood that's settled over you feel even more private and placid, like being wrapped inside a familiar blanket. But as peaceful as this is, you can't forget that easily, and a moment presents itself when he turns away from you in favor of reaching for his sleep plants, slightly bending over to tug them up and around his knees. You don't wait, reaching out and cracking your palm down on the soft swell of his cheek just before he manages to tug his sweatpants over his hips.

His head turns in your direction so quickly you briefly fear that he might get whip lash, but you see the warning flash in his eyes before he even moves, and luckily your body is quick to jerk into action before you have to consciously make an effort for it. You dart out of the bathroom, making sure to keep your footing and not slip on the tiles as you all but leapt out onto the carpeted junction situated between all four of the apartment's spaces. You could practically feel him coming up on you, even without the rapid patter of his feet tracking across the distance between you. There's a quick, playful shout of your name, urging you to make a split-second decision and you sharply veer off into the living room, just narrowly escaping the reaching fingers of one of his hands; you could feel them brush over your back as you flinched out of their grasp.

An excited, breathless laugh bubbles up from you, triggered by a combination of delight and an unserious sense of nerves; a primal instinct urging you to just move and avoid being grabbed. It guides you to swing around the end of the coffee table furthest from the entrance of the room just in time to see Farleigh bolt through the threshold. He's stops himself short before he could all but slam into the coffee table, and his body is pulled taunt, muscles bunched in preparation to sling him around the small piece of furniture and in your direction at any given moment. It has you on edge, even more so than that competitive glimmer in his eyes. "You know I'm gonna catch you," he taunts, leaning forward with a type of confidence that pisses you off. "So you should just give in now, and cling onto what little bit of dignity you have left."

You can't hold in the scoff that leaves you, the way that your mouth twists into a playful scowl. "Like I'd give in so easily."

You know realistically, this game isn't going to last long. There's only so many places to run to in the apartment. He's going to catch you at some point, but that doesn't mean that you can try to avoid it for as long as you can. He's growing impatient, you can tell by the way that he keeps shifting to different sides of the table, trying to trick you into flinching close enough for him to reach out and grab you. But that's fine. It's good even. You use it, pretending to jerk over to the left when he moves, prompting him to lurch forward to get ahold of you. But you anticipate the move, darting back on your feet and rounding around the side of the table before he can so much as blink. A loud surprised swear rings out behind you, a strained 'fuck' as you bolt towards the open threshold.

There's the hope that maybe if you get to the kitchen, you can hold him off better. The space isn't massive by any means, but the sparing amount of furniture provides more of an open area to move around in. The table there is bigger than the compact one in the living room, making it a better shield to provide distance. Your heart rate spikes with excitement as you dash towards your chosen destination, intent to put as big of a gap between you both as possible, tearing across the floor with a laugh. You come up on the kitchen in a matter of seconds, but before your feet can step from the soft carpet and onto the fake, vinyl flooring a sturdy arm snakes around your middle and pulls you into the firm expanse of a chest, ripping a sharp gasp of his name from your lungs.

It's his turn to laugh now, but it sounds smug and mocking as he backs up deeper into the living room. Every step just drives in your loss. You make idle efforts to get free, squirming and shifting in his grip, but his arms might as well as be steel bands around your abdomen. "So much for putting up a fight," he teases. But you don't get time to make a comeback before you're being spun and shoved down onto the couch. The push was light, but the fall steals the air from your lungs regardless, and the abrupt change in perspective leaves you a little disoriented. It's the sensation of the cushions around you shifting from someone's weight that reorients you, forcing your eyes to focus on the figure that sweeps over your body. His body heat rushes over you with the smell of amber and spice that has you sinking further into the piece of furniture when you should be trying to shuffle out from underneath him to escape.

The expression on his face is fully gloating, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, and the sight of it is enough to finally have some sort of retort spilling from your mouth, as delayed as it is. "Fuck you," you snap, but it does nothing to snuff out his apparent delight. If anything it seems to amplify it.

"Careful," he warns, dipping his voice down that low rumble that you love. His hands are placed on either side of your head, keeping you comfortably trapped underneath him. He angles his head with a teasing smile, the tip of his nose ghosting over yours. The shift in mood is obvious, but not jarringly so, nor is it unwelcome. It falls over you both as easily, and suddenly the intention of calming down for the night and enjoying a horror movie marathon leaves you just as the air from your lungs has. "I might just take you up on that offer."

"What makes you think I was offering?" You query, tilting your head so that his lips brush against yours, soft and inviting. The little amount of space between you gives you enough mobility to rearrange your legs, lifting to them to wrap securely around his waist, and he lets you draw him closer into the gap between your thighs with a light nudge. His eyelashes flutter, a minute gesture that you just barely catch underneath the intimate, dim glow of the lamp in the corner. Farleigh can hardly resist, draping himself against your body until his hips and stomach are pressed along yours and you can feel his body heat radiating from both of your clothes. Your body shifts in its own accord, softly rolling against his in a desperate motion to seek out more of him, and the thrilled look on his face makes a dull sense of embarrassment prickle at your cheeks.

"Call it a gut feeling," he answers and the pout of his lips whisper of yours when he speaks.

You fleetingly contemplate on taunting him back, but you toss that train of thought out the window. Instead, you tilt your chin to seal your mouth over his, swiping your tongue over the delicate skin, sweet and bitter with coffee and the smoke of a cigarette. He moans into you, light with what almost sounds like relief, and the noise, as simple as it is, is more than enough to have a dull throb of heat ripple down your spine. You slip your hands up his neck, reaching to scratch your nails up the base of his neck near the curls there, and it you're gratified to pull the desired response from him, satisfaction flaring in you when a pleasured shiver goes down his back. He licks into your mouth, languid and hungry.

His hips grind over yours, drawing a gasp from your chest when you feel the shape of him, already hot and heavy, through the material of both of your pants. It's more than enough to get you to chase after the sensation, working your own in a desperate attempt to build the warmth smoldering deep inside the base of your abdomen until you're both humping at each other on your living room couch like a couple of teenagers. One of his hands moves to your thigh, drawing it up higher and spreading it further open so that he can lean more of his weight, dragging himself across your clothed cunt meanly. You're already a little wet, slick between your thighs, but even then, you don't feel any urgency to rush. You just want to feel him. To focus on the press of his body against your own, and to breathe in the scent of him.

But the clothes you both wear serve as an irritating barrier. A buffer that dulls his warmth and the sensation of his skin on yours. The only thought swirling around in your head is that they need to be off, gone and tossed somewhere across the room. You slip your hands underneath the edge of his shirt, wadding it up within your hands and tugging. It earns you an amused laugh with him breaking the kiss to pull back and look at you, but not without a teasing bite against your bottom lip. "Is there something you want?"

"Yes," you say, voice almost petulant and determined. "Off. I want it off."

You don't stop trying to slip his shirt off, shooting him a glare when it hitches underneath his armpits, and he doesn't make any effort to assist you in shedding his clothes. "Okay, okay, " he relents, shuffling on his palms to readjust himself but he must have caught onto your hair because it has a stinging heat blossoming on the side of your skull, tearing a surprised yelp from your mouth. "Fuck! Hair - you're on my hair!"

"Wha - shit! Sorry!" He jerks back onto his haunches like you had struck him, thankfully drawing his hands back. The relief is near instant, but you can still feel the side of your scalp throbbing from the pain making you swear lowly. His gaze roves over you like he's expecting to find some kind of visible wound, and the concern in his eyes has affection curling in your chest despite the sharp tenderness echoing throughout your skull. That's what you get, you suppose, for trying to make out on a couch.

"It's okay," you assure, and the gentleness in your tone has him relaxing. A smile makes its way on his face, and he leans down again, this time making sure to be mindful of your hair, to place soft kisses across the expanse of your face. Peppering the cushion of his lips over your cheeks, your nose, your chin; each one an apology. Neither of you can hold in the small puffs of laughter that spill from you, lighthearted and close. You stroke your hands back up his neck again, curling your fingers over the nape to draw him in closer to return your own bout of kisses along the corners of his mouth and jaw.

"Still, I do feel bad," he says. That familiar cadence is back already, dipping low into a smoky rumble that you swear you can feel thrumming over your skin. "Let me make it up to you."

And even with the little slip up and the brief shift in mood that had come from it, it isn't enough to have dampened that coil of desire and want that burns in the cradle of your hips. Not in the slightest. The look in his eyes is consuming, dark and glinting with hunger and longing type of want. It's a look that never fails to weaken you, it's one that you've yet to build an immunity against, and you don't think that you ever will. It's honestly a little embarrassing how quickly it never fails to make you crumble. "I can't say no to that." You try to sound collected and unbothered, but there's a pale quiver in your voice regardless; a gasp nearly catches in your throat.

The smirk that tugs across his face is impish, entirely too complacent and a little mischievous for your liking. It's the type of gaze that you've been pinned under probably close to a hundred times already, and it's one that spells trouble and pleasure all in one. Just a pleasure that's always given on his time. But maybe . . . if you play your cards right, you might just be able to him underneath you instead.

Not just yet though.

"Atta girl," he purrs.

He moves himself off of you in a nimble blur - a complete opposite of the guy who had just awkwardly caught onto your hair earlier, to situate himself down on the floor. He doesn't wait for you to follow. Choosing to grip you by the hips and tug your body to face him, threatening to pull you right over the edge of the old polyester cushions and sending you ass first onto the carpet. But you manage to get a good grip on the headrest of the sofa to secure your seating. Which proves to be helpful when Farleigh hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear in a single pull and begins to jerk them down without fanfare. His movements are impatient but fluid, working the fabric from your legs in fast rush, balling them up and tossing them across the room. He hardly gives you any time to process anything before he's grasping both of your thighs and spreading you open by hooking your knees over his shoulders.

The tepid air brushing over the damp heat of your cunt is almost jarring and the gasp it pulls from you shudders across your ribcage. The anticipation welling up inside of you is already unbearable despite having done so little to warrant it; some dry humping and making out. But when it comes to Farleigh, you're damn near insatiable, and even the simplest things about him can set you off and dangle you over the edge. His scent, sweet and syrupy with the subtle notes of vanilla, but also warm from amber and cardamon. There's that spiced musk of cigarettes always on him too. It's never been a habit you've liked, a smell that you've ever enjoyed, but coming from him it still manages to make your mouth water. And then there's his eyes; expressive and bright despite their dark shade; dipping from what almost looks like a near black to a heated bronze, glimmering with flecks of copper and gold depending on the strength of the casted light. The sight of them pinned on you always has your body humming like a live wire and watching them skip around a room or from the faces of people, animated from the fervor of his passion or opinions never fails to make you flood with an array of emotions: peace, happiness, adoration. And then there's the sound of his voice and all of the various shades of it, from the soft, nonchalant rumble it takes during day-to-day conversations; that inflection that hits it in a playful spike when he's feeling particularly mischievous or sardonic; how low it can dip when he's got you malleable and eager underneath his palms, just like he does now.

You love all of it. All of the various sides of him and all of his qualities and imperfections. You could blame it on the honeymoon phase. That it'll just all wear off once the freshness of your relationship has worn off and sunk in. But truthfully, everything about Farleigh has always set you on fire, practically from the moment you met him, and you don't think it'll ever go away. That the sheer amount of heat and desire that you feel for him - that the aching way that you crave him will ever dampen or dull.

It's a realization that you've come to a while ago, but it still never fails to surprise you from the sheer scope of your feelings and adoration. Just how much you love all of him. From something as simple as waking up next to him every morning. Especially when he's asleep while the city is still sluggish and casted with the lavender and champagne hue of dawn, giving you time to admire him while he's relaxed and safe from all of his troubles. How expressive he is, all snark and sarcasm and sharp, quick-witted comments that never fail to get a laugh from you. He sometimes uses British terms and slang when he talks, and every now and again you swear you can hear a little bit of an accented lilt on his words when he speaks - especially if he's upset or impassioned in some way. And it even though it pisses you off to no end and you've given him plenty of ear full's about it, you can't find it in yourself to hold it against him when he's rarely able to keep track of time. Not even with red little watch secured around his wrist or the alarms on his phone; dates and schedules always seem to slip his mind. But he's gotten better. He's made and effort to try. And you love that little fact about him, because it's a part of him. Of who he is. And you love him so much that you wonder if it might just eat you alive and light you on fire. God, you really do love him. You love -

"Farleigh," you nearly whimper. He snags the tender skin of your inner thigh between his teeth and lips, nipping and sucking to tease you and wind you up.

"Be patient," he says, dragging the point of his tongue next to where you need him the most, leaving a blazing trail along your flesh in its wake." I haven't even started." There's that smug amusement saturating his tone, and you want to snap at him. To say something. But then he's slipping his hands underneath you to cup to the swell of your ass within his heated palms, slipping his thumbs towards the front of you to spread you open even more. You can feel how wet you are, smearing a little along your skin, leaving it chilled. Shame doesn't even register for you. You're already too worked up, too desperate. At this point you just want him to touch you. You know that begging him won't really get you anywhere. Not when he's like this. All you'll end up doing is stroking his ego, but you can hardly care about that right now.

"C'mon, Farleigh, pleas-" you fully choke on your words when his tongue drags over you, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit in a single stroke. Your legs twitch from the surprise and you can't help but reach out to grasp onto his hair, threading your fingers into his curls as your lungs swallow down a moan in a shaky breath. He's working his mouth against you like a man starved, like he's desperate to drink down your taste and savor every bit of you. Sure, you've been with passionate lovers in the past, people who genuinely enjoy the act of eating someone out, but the enthusiasm that Farleigh always has when he goes down on you never fails to shock you. It takes every bit of conscious effort not to cry out. You do your best not to be loud, reminding yourself that it's got to be around three a.m. by now and you have neighbors. You've already had to deal with that once before. A little after the first week you and Farleigh had moved in, he had made it his mission to fuck you on nearly every available surface in the apartment, and it's safe to say that you two had been a little louder than intended. It had made checking the mailbox compartment outside near the front desk and taking out the trash to the dumpster unbearably awkward with all the side eyed glances and glowers you had gotten. Not that you could necessarily blame your neighbors for being a little disgruntled. Still, it's safe to say that you'd rather not do that again.

But it doesn't help that Farleigh seems to take your silence as some sort of challenge. You see it flicker in his eyes when you glance down at him, catching sight of his eyes from between your arms and the frame of your thighs. The look that glimmers in them is lethal and almost defiant, but it isn't something that you can brace for. He's always been talented with his mouth. The first night that you had hooked up on that stone balcony back at Saltburn you're pretty sure that he had damn near killed you with his tongue. And in the few months you've been together, somehow, he's gotten even more dangerous with it. He's had time to learn everything about you. How to take you apart piece by piece. What makes you twitch, and shudder, and scream, and you can tell concentrated glare that he has that he's going to do his best to pull you apart by the seams.

He curls his tongue around your clit and sucks hard, making you jolt and then he's laving the muscle down to sweep it along your entrance. That's the only warning you get before he slips inside, dragging it slow to make sure you feel every bit of it. He's only just started, and that molten heat is already curling down your spine and building between your hips. His hands slip upward to grip onto your thighs, squeezing the sensitive skin there and mushing them against his ears. He moans against you, sending vibrations across your cunt that makes your toes curl. But even in the midst of the bliss searing at your body, your brain is still able to cling onto the fact that the noise he made almost sounded doleful. It's with a ragged gasp that you force yourself to pull your focus onto him, trying to center your attention through the low haze that's already clouding your brain. You can see the way that his eyebrows are pinch closed, almost like he's displeased or annoyed. But before that nervous flutter in your gut can become anything serious or unignorable, he's jerking away from you, forcing a mournful whine to spill past your lips from the absence of his mouth.

"Far, what -"

"Sit on my face."

His request - command, really - comes out a little ragged. Breathless. And he all but flops back on the floor, letting his limbs sprawl out carelessly. But his eyes don't drift from your in his descent, they remain locked onto you with a sort of depraved yearning. For a moment your brain seems to lag, and in turn your body straggles behind, leaving you lie across the couch and stare. Too caught up in the sight of Farleigh. His breathing is already slightly labored, causing his chest to rise and fall, forcing air from his lips, which are glistening and smeared with your arousal. And you don't miss the fact that he's already hard, heavy and straining against the burgundy fabric of his sleep pants. Even with of tempting of image that Farleigh is spread out in front of you, there's still a question on your tongue. He must have been able to see your hesitance, something in your body language or a glimmer in your eyes because the look that he fixes you with is steadfast and maybe even a little exasperated. "Sit. On my face." He enunciates the words slowly, like he's giving each of them time to really sink in through your skull.

That's really all it takes for the majority of your doubt to waver. Farleigh isn't one to ask for things that he doesn't want. And in your small time together you've already managed to build up a strong level of trust between each other, especially in regard to sex. It's enough to give you the confidence to slink off of the couch, kneeling yourself down over his legs to work yourself along his body until your hovering over his chest. But even with his anticipation palpable in the air, you still can't help but be a little bit nervous and the torrent of thoughts raving your mind does nothing to ease your concerns.

What if you smother him? What you're too heavy? What if -

"Hey."

His voice gives you something to cling to, centering your thoughts with something as simple as its sound. His hands cup your thighs, gripping them with their warmth and caressing the skin with their fingertips. It pulls your focus downward where he gazes up at you from between the apex of your legs, eyebrows raised and the hint of an amused smile perking at the corners of his lips. "You've literally choked me before."

The comment has a small bubble of laughter leaving you, despite its truth. He isn't wrong. It's not like breath play is a new development between the two of you, so you honestly aren't sure why the idea of sitting directly on his face seems so daunting. Just two taps against your thigh. That's all it would take, and then you'd be pulling yourself off of him in an instant. This really isn't unfamiliar territory in the slightest. It's just nerves, is all. That little realization, no matter how small, is enough to have excitement and heat burning through your veins; flaring and needy.

"Ready?" You ask, trying to swallow down the faint flutter of nervousness in your stomach.

The expression that flickers across his face is absolutely delighted, if not a little wicked. "Fuck yes," he pants, sending a warm puff of air across the slick that's smeared across your inner thighs. His hands clench around the grip they have on you when you adjust yourself forward and begin to lower yourself downward. Apparently, you were going much to slow for his liking because he's lifting his head up to meet you, tongue first. It feels as though it's been doused with liquid heat when it lashes along cunt, forcing a sharp cry from your lungs from the pressure of it. It's enough to catch you by surprise, making the muscles of your thighs twitch and give out. The full brunt of your weight would have collapsed onto his head if you hadn't managed to grab onto enough awareness to catch yourself with your palms.

"Farleigh," You hiss, equally elated and scolding.

All you get from him is a moan in response, but it sounds purely happy. Almost euphoric. The vibrations of it thrumming over you and the pressure of his nose nudging across your clit fully douses over what little reservations you have left. His fingers flex tight, and his strength bears down on your legs to fully seat you on his mouth, sealing the heat of it over you. If it wasn't for the fact that you're already supporting your weight on your arms, you probably would have doubled over from the sensation of it. It's completely involuntary when your hips begin to roll, seeking out the friction of his nose and tongue. You can't even find it in yourself to be worried about crushing him or cutting off his breathing with the wanton groans that start to pour from him in an uninhibited stream. It's almost as though he's the one . . .

That trail of thought has you leaning yourself back, just barely managing the coordination and thought it requires to pull your weight into your thighs again and off of your arms. You turn your head to glance over your shoulder and the sight of his hand stroking up and down his cock is enough to tear a whine from you. Your cunt clenches around nothing, achingly empty while he laps and sucks at your clit, stroking molten bliss throughout your veins. You aren't sure when he had pulled himself free from his pants, and you aren't sure how you didn't manage to hear the low wet sound of his palm dragging over his length, slick with the flow of precum, but you're unable to pull your attention away from the sight of it now.

You can already feel the pressure of that sultry heat coiling deep inside of you, dangling you precariously close towards that delicious edge. You mouth drops open in a silent whine when his tongue slips inside, lapping deep like he's trying to drink you down. Pleasured tremors zip up your thighs and stomach with each drag and suck from his mouth, threatening to make your eyes roll. Even then, you still have enough clarity and drive to want to return the favor. You reach behind yourself, managing a cursory glance over your shoulder just long enough to be able to grab ahold of his cock, just above his own hand. The position is admittedly a little awkward, and you can feel the strain of it simmering along the taut muscles of your back as you squeeze his length and twist your wrist over his heated skin. But it isn't enough to get you to even consider stopping. He whines against you at the feel of your palm on him, and his hips jerk up into both of the holds you have on his cock, desperately seeking out more friction with fervent thrusts from his hips.

The two of you easily fall into a unanimous, rhythmic pace, and his hand brushes against your own as they both slip and down his girth. You make sure to squeeze the head of his cock with each upstroke, pulling a frayed moan and another flow of precum with each tug. The broken, sharp moans that spill from him help to hurdle you towards that rising, frenzied tide of bliss. The way that his tongue works inside of you makes your muscles seize, threatening to sweep you under quickly. A little too quick. You don't want this to end just yet. On just about any other time, it wouldn't have been a problem, but you don't think that you have more than one round in you tonight. Not with all of the dancing and partying you had done earlier; the emotions that had run; the small glimpses back into Saltburn and wounds that had reopened with just the small glimmer of a pair of Spirit Halloween costume wings. You wanted to feel him. You needed him. But you had to stop now before the smoldering warmth licking across every nerve and cell in your body lit up and engulfed you entirely.

"Farleigh - wait." You gasp around a choked moan, trying not to mourn the loss, to focus on the heavy ache that racks through your body at the absence of his tongue. "Wait, wait, wait."

Even though you can feel the hesitance in his grip he allows you to pull your cunt from his mouth, but there's a torn whine from his chest and for second he chases after your hips before letting his head plop back down on the carpet with a defeated sigh. There's a confused furrow set between his eyebrows, though you're sure he's getting mixed signals based on the way that you haven't paused or released the grip you have on his cock.

"As much as I'd love to cum from your mouth, I need you to fuck me." It's then that you remove your hand from him.

"Okay - fuck - please, yes." He nods his head vigorously and the look that burns in his eyes is bright and eager. Suddenly the hand that he was jerking over his length is now on your waist, following as you begin to shuffle down his body until you can feel the crown of his cock drag across the heat of you, spreading your lips open around the shape of it and dragging along your clit in a delicious grind. You both moan at that little bit of friction, and as worked up as you are, you can't help but stay that way for a moment; slipping a hand down to grip the base of him so that you can roll your cunt over him with tight circles from your hips. His head tilts back against the floor and the expression that melts over his features looks tortured and dazed all at once. You take the time to just watch him; the mixture of his spit and your arousal that gleams over his lips like a perverted sort of balm; the short, almost labored gulps of air that shudder across his ribcage, only concealed by the fabric of his T-shirt; and you can see the light of the lamp glittering dimly across his hair, showing up like streaks and winks of amber and cinnamon.

"Don't tease me," he complains, hitching his waist up to thrust the head of cock against you in a way that has you crying out in surprise; sending a smoldering shot of lust into your veins. Even then, you can't hide the amused smile that stretches across your lips. But that's as much as you bother to taunt him considering that you're already plenty of worked up yourself. You don't bother with any smug comments or sarcastic quips. Instead, you're taking ahold of him and lining him up with your entrance. And you don't bother giving him time to breathe before you sink down around his girth, taking him in with a single motion that makes him choke on an inhale. Maybe it's a little mean of you, not letting him catch up and adjust to the sensation, but the sheer delight that burns in his eyes lets you know that he isn't bothered in the slightest.

That doubled with the flexing grip he has on your hips lets you know that he doesn't want you to stop. You press your palms flat on his chest, not enough to be crushing, but enough to provide you the leverage that you need to rotate your hips over him in smooth, deliberate rings that have you both quivering and plunged in an ecstasy that frays your senses and pulses over your nerves. He helps you along by meeting the shift of your hips, thrusting into you with deep, heavy strokes. He's insatiable, running his hands all over you. Like he's afraid you'll vanish, and he has to commit you to memory before you slip through his fingers. It has you dipping your head as low as you can without disrupting the rhythm you've built, and he props himself on his elbows to meet you so that you're able to lock your lips with his. You come together with the brush of teeth and tongue. It's clumsy and messy, but even then, it has nothing but pure want melting over your bones like wax and honey.

The hold his hands have on you is greedy and fervent, like he wants to soak your warmth in through his palms and keep it to himself. He slips them underneath your shirt, coasting along your skin until they meet the swell of your breasts, kneading them with his fingertips. It's enough to have you keening aloud and fucking yourself on him like you'll die if you don't. Each stroke tips you that much closer to burning alive, and you can tell by the way that Farleigh's muscles tense with each grind and push from your hips, that he isn't that much better off either. You're both going to pull each other under into something alive and lambent until there's nothing left of yourselves but heaving, wrecked pieces clinging to each other. And you want nothing more than to singe and ignite with Farleigh.

The thought alone gives you the motivation to work yourself on his length, squeezing the walls of your cunt over him, making him groan and swear under his breath against your lips. It has his head tipping back, severing the press of your mouth against his. But you don't have time to mourn the loss when he all but whines into the air, pitched and raucous like he's been overstimulated. Though the near bruising grip he has on your tits and the way that he vigorously meets your thrusts lets you know that he's far from at his limit yet.

But you can already feel it, rising up and threatening to take you apart. You can taste it on your tongue; sweet and electric, and you chase after it with a desperation that might knock you into oblivion. And God, do you want that. It's so selfish, but you want nothing more than it to be just you and him, tangled together for eternity; caught within the push and pull of reaching limbs and constant desire and love; suspended in time - in this moment permanently. You try to warn him as best as you can, but it comes out as a jumbled pile of mess and a breathless sob when your body seizes tight around him like it wants to take him for all he's worth. It zips up over you like something white and hot and consuming. Stars blanket over your vision, sweeping over your limbs and spine with a weight that knocks you down into his chest despite the hungry grind of your hips.

It's with a worn gasp of your name that you feel him pulse deep inside of you, filling you with a warmth that you swear settles so far in the pit of your stomach that it has you going boneless. The colorful array of stars blinding your vision blot out and fizzle like you're staring into a sky full of fireworks as pleasure fizzles and wracks through your body bone deep. You seize over him, clamping down on his cock one last time and you distantly register him hissing lowly like he's been wounded. You aren't sure how long you lay like that. Suspended and doused in pleasure and heat, floating above your body. But when you come to, Farleigh's panting beneath you, drawing in heavy lungful's of air while his fingertips run along your ribcage, tracing over the bone.

You take him in. The moment: the weight of him still nestled within your cunt; the scent of his cologne and sex in the air and the sound of your labored gasps. This is peace, you decide. Just him and you. His heat, his presence. Him.

"I love you."

The confession hangs heavy. For a moment you don't register who spoke it. If it was you or him. But the tone of it, smoky and rumbling, paired with the vibrations of a voice thrumming throughout the chest pressed underneath your ear let you know who had spoken. It has you lifting your head to look at him, but his gaze is focused on the ceiling like he's afraid to meet your astonished stare. Your lip's part, ready to speak and assure him. To share a confession of your own and let him know that his feelings are returned but then his voice is drifting out again, cutting you off before the words even leave your throat.

"I've been wanting to say it for a while," he says. Something flickers across his face, vulnerable but steadfast. "But I waited. I just . . . I didn't want you think I was saying it because of what happened - because I was hurt."

The admission breaks something it you. It isn't angry but sympathetic and loving. It's warm - gentle. It guides you to prop yourself on your elbows so that you're really able to look at him, and it draws his attention enough to have his eyes flickering onto your face. "It's . . . I have regrets from that night. That morning -" he pulls in a deep breath to steel himself and you move a hand to cup his face, hoping that it'll help to center him somewhat. You feel a bit of relief when he leans into your touch instead of pulling away, and some of the tension in his muscles slip. His eyes suddenly seem as though they're pinning you in place; dark and certain even though there's the hint of tears welling up around them. - " things I would have done differently. You aren't one of them."

You can feel tears of your own threatening to spill over. But these are of joy. You swear you might actually burst. That the sun might appear within your chest and eat you alive. "I love you too."

The smile that breaks across his face is euphoric and light. Like the weight of the world has just been lifted from his shoulders from your words alone. It has you dropping your head forward until your forehead nudges against his own and you're breathing his air. His hands sweep up to cradle your face, guiding you to look at him. And for the first time in your life, you truly know what it means to be gazed upon like you had hung the stars in the sky. Like you had suspended the moon in its dark cradle and lit the sun alight. To be looked at like you are everything. "Say it again."

"I love you," you answer without hesitation, and all you can do is hope that your own eyes convey the sheer magnitude of your own feelings. That your voice properly projects the scope of your love for him.

"Again," he begs like he's been starved, placing soft kisses along your face.

"I love you, Farleigh Start. I always have."

You hardly get time to register the fact that he's flipping you over, swapping your positions with a single move until your back is pressed into the cushion of the carpet. Suddenly he's taking up the entire expanse of your vision; dark eyes twinkling and alive. The laughs that leave you both are chiming - almost musical. Airy and entirely carefree. His lips brush over yours and his breath coasts over the shape of your face, and the only thing that you can smell, and feel is him. The warm, soothing weight of his body and the familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes.

"We're gonna get a noise complaint one of these days," you warn without any bite.

His eyebrows raise, and the smile that stretches over his face is entirely unapologetic. "If the dude with the piano hasn't gotten any shit yet then we should be fine." He runs his nose along yours, nudging you to angle your head so that he can brush his lips over yours. "Fuck 'em."

You can't hold back the small bout of laughter that puffs from your chest, even as you playfully roll your eyes. "Fuck 'em," you agree just before you meet in a burning kiss.

#farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh start smut #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #farleigh catton #saltburn #felix catton x reader

295 notes · View notes

alexsoenomel · 1 year ago

Text

The Apparition (Dean Winchester x Reader angst-ish/fluff-ish/smut-ish)

Summary: Dean can't sleep, until you show up.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: just...sad. Dean is sad+ light smut.

Word count: 1.5k

Note: I was sad and listening to Sleep Token. Fic inspired by one of their songs The Apparition (my personal favorite) . Enjoy!

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

He tossed and turned for hours before he eventually fell asleep. Every night was the same; an endless cycle of sorrow and sleepless hours. He would be exhausted the next day, barely keeping it together, even after his daily dose of black coffee, and yet he did absolutely nothing to change anything. Insomnia became his friend and he was more than happy to accept it. His brother tried to talk to him but he didn’t want to hear the sound of your name – hearing it would mean he had to face the truth and he wasn’t ready to open that box yet.

Not until you came back. Not until he finally saw you again and your name left his lips. He was drinking beer in his favorite pub, when he saw you, beautiful as always and with a smile so otherworldly he couldn’t help but smile back. Like a drug, you went straight into his system and he wanted nothing more but to get another hit, and another and another…

“Why did you leave?” Dean asked you after you ordered the same beer he was drinking.

You smiled softly. “I never left Dean.”

“You were never a good liar, you know.”

You were sitting in comfortable silence, drinking cheap beer, Dean swallowing every drop violently, trying to numb the pain that started creeping in all of the sudden. Your taste buds on the other hand were dull, so beer had a peculiar taste of nothing. Almost like water. Bar music was playing in the background, but you were too fixed on his gaze to distinguish what song was playing.

“I told you, I’ll be back.” You finally confessed.

Dean’s eyes softened, his jaw was tense and hurting. He ignored the pain, looking you in the eyes. He missed those eyes, but something about them was different this time – they seemed tired and the spark you once had was completely gone.

“Will you stay this time?” His voice was weak. He swallowed nervously when he realized how pathetic his words were.

“Take me home.” You simply said.

Dean still wanted to know the answer, but was also pleased with what his ears heard. Like an addict he was, he immediately took your hand and went straight to his car. You were wearing your favorite pair of jeans and his old AC/DC shirt – the one you told him you would give back, eventually. That day never came.

“Nice shirt.” He commented.

“Thanks. I got it from an idiot.” You smiled and went into the car. Dean looked down with a smirk before opening the door of his beloved Baby. He missed you dearly.

The drive was silent. No music and no words exchanged. Just his hand tightly holding yours. He missed feeling your skin under his fingertips. Your skin was cold but still familiar. Your touch was familiar.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?” He quickly glanced at you before looking back at the dark foggy road.

“No.” You answered.

The drive seemed oddly longer than before or Dean was just impatient. It was the most important drive of his life. He was finally ready to feel whole again. He was ready to let go and just let you take the wheel. He was growing tired.

The night was darker today, no stars in sight and everything around you just blended into black nothingness.

***

The bunker was cold as always. A familiar smell of old books and booze filled your nostrils as you stepped inside. Your home still felt like home.

The lights were off so you assumed Sam was already asleep, but didn’t ask. Dean took you to his room – his hands felt a little bit sweaty. He was nervous.

He closed his door before facing you again. Without a word, in complete darkness he cupped your face and kissed you, finally reminding his kiss starved lips of the touch that once was. They were cold, but too sweet to pull away. You kissed him back, your lips perfectly melting into his as your body started to react. The vibrations of your heart beat spread all over your body, legs slowly giving up before Dean picked you up when you wrapped your hands around his neck. Sometimes you’d wonder if he could read your mind; always knowing what you needed, what you thought, or if you were just two lost souls that already knew each other in every realm of the universe.

Clothes started slowly falling down from your bodies, desperation taking both of your touched starved bodies. You were hungry and each kiss, touch and bite satisfied that hunger, but it didn’t subside. It was only growing stronger.

He was on top of you, whispering how much he missed you, asking you if you were still his, secretly terrified of the answer.

“Forever yours, Dean!” You would tell him every time. Kisses were sweet and loving, his fingers tracing every inch of your body, mapping it, even though he already knew every nook and cranny. Every mole on your body was a little star he desperately wanted to reach, every scar was a reminder of your strength and resilience and he couldn’t get enough of it.

The kisses became impatient, deep, while his hand went between your thighs, before feeling your wetness through your underwear. A sigh escaped your lips as he was exploring your sex with his index finger.

“Fuck!” He whispered, placing a kiss on your neck.

You cupped his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look at you. Even in darkness he was as beautiful as day. Every curve of his face perfectly fit in the palms of your hands. He was made for you. He was made to love you, just as much you were made to love him.

“I love you!” You whispered. He wanted to say it back, but you swallowed his words with a kiss before he could tell you.

He took off your underwear as well as his boxers before finally entering you. Soft moans filled the room as he filled you up.

“Move, please!” You said, kissing his shoulder.

His pace was slow at first, he was worshiping every part of you, wanting nothing more, but for you to feel comfortable and loved. You were his home, his sanctuary and he was like a guard dog – loyal and there to protect you.

Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades when the pleasure started taking you over and his pace became more intense. Messy kisses were placed all over each other’s bodies, praises from his perfectly pink lips escaped; how good you were, how beautiful and perfect you were to him…

“I love you so much, Dean!” You said.

“I love you too, sweetheart!” He said it back.

But it was too late.

You were gone.

His phone was playing the same obnoxious melody he heard a million times when it was time to wake up. He was covered in sweat, panting and his blanket was on the floor. He groaned and snoozed the alarm. Your side of the bed was empty as he instinctively went to hug you, but only felt the cold sheets next to him. He closed his eyes again and saw you in that oversized AC/DC shirt and underwear with bed hair, calling him – wishing him good morning but only in the past. The future didn’t exist with you anymore. All the what if’s died.

He couldn’t sleep anymore, remembering your absence made his heart physically hurt. He sat up, morning erection already gone and rubbed his temples. The whiskey from last night helped him cope but didn’t make the pain go away; instead it just added more to it. His mouth was dry, but he was too lazy to stand up and get himself a glass of water.

“Fucking hell!” He mumbled.

Sam knocked two times before opening the door.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Dean said.

The sight of his older brother broke Sam a little. Seeing him getting consumed by grief and losing control over himself made him feel powerless. Dean wasn’t someone who would ask for help, not even his brother sometimes. Sam knew he had to let him ride this one out by himself.

“How’re you holding up?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“Peachy.” Dean said, looking at him with an empty stare.

“We will get her back, you know!” Sam told him. First time he actually dared to say those forbidden words. Dean hated false hope and Sam knew that, but he also knew his big brother and his abilities. They both cheated death multiple times so believing in the impossible was nothing strange – their job was the impossible.

Sam looked down, feeling nervous about his brother’s response. The last thing he wanted was to give Dean false hope and make him mad, but this wasn’t false hope. For him this was a fact.

Dean just looked at him and without a word went to the bathroom.

And with that, another day of trying to find a way to bring you back from hell had begun.

413 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months ago

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 20 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - It’s eight months later and Spencer’s life has changed dramatically. Did he ever get his happy ending?

A/N - Final chapter folks! 'Bout time, right?

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - some light angst but overall long overdue fluff. WC - 5.3k

Chapter 20 - First Day of My Life

And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been,

But I know where I want to go.

And so I thought I'd let you know,

Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow,

But I realised that I need you,

And I wondered if I could come home.

“How did you find me?”

“I know a guy.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“Spencer. We need to talk about Spencer.”

***

Eight Months Later

Spencer Reid had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he slotted the last handful of books into their new home on the bookshelf in his new office.

He ran his fingers over the spines and the smile started to take route, blossoming and growing until it reached all the way to his eyes.

He surveyed the room, tucked away at the back of the second storey of his new home. His old trusty desk sat beneath the old bay windows with the most gorgeous lighting drifting in through the open curtains from the surprisingly glorious winter day outside.

He slid into his leather chair and brushed his fingertips over the dark wood desk.

He’d officially moved into the old gothic style house back in the fall and the rest of the home had come together nicely. But his office had been a slow process, a tiring process.

This room more than any others in the new house had to be perfect. He would be spending a lot of time in this room and it had to be just right. And after weeks of shuffling furniture around, it finally fit his criteria.

Eight months ago Spencer had made a decision about his future. He’d quit teaching, never returning to Georgetown after the summer break. Instead he struck a deal with BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss.

On the weeks Maeve had the girls he would work from Quantico or go away with the team on cases. When he had the girls he would work from his home office as a consultant.

His FBI badge sat next to his computer along with his new credentials and every time he looked at them he couldn’t help but smile.

The BAU was his home. In all the years since he’d left he’d felt like something was missing from his life. But now he had found his way back to his rightful place in the world.

It allowed him to feel fulfilled in both his home and work life. He didn’t have to give up any of his precious time spent with his daughters and he was able to work a job he loved with every fibre of his being.

Since the incident the night of the art show, Spencer had not had a single sip of alcohol. He was closing in on nine months sober and honestly he’d never felt better.

He still took his antidepressants, but a much lower dose now and he’d quit seeing Doctor Sanchez months ago.

His relationship was Maeve had slowly repaired itself over time to the point he would now call her one of his closest friends.

Eight months ago he would never have believed he could be this happy again. But it just went to show what a little hard work and determination could do.

He ran his fingers over the desk again as he got to his feet. He walked past the desk and across the room.

In the doorway he turned back for one last glance around the room.

Yes, everything was falling into place.

***

You fought with the zipper on the back of your dress, huffing and puffing through excretion. When you finally got the thing all the way up your arms fell back to your sides and you let out a large breath.

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, turning this way and that and scrutinising your appearance. You’d looked better, that was for sure. But given the circumstances you didn’t look half bad.

The pile of papers on the dresser caught your gaze through the mirror and you rolled your eyes as they seemingly taunted you.

Tomorrow was paperwork day. Today there were more pressing things at hand.

You’d received your doctorate in August and since Doctor Spencer Reid’s sudden resignation from the university you had taken over teaching his classes.

It wasn’t your end goal, but for now you couldn’t deny you loved teaching. Maybe one day you’d look elsewhere but as of right now you quite liked your place in the world.

The past eight months had been a whirlwind to say the least, and where you’d found yourself was not at all where you imagined ending up. But you couldn’t pretend you weren’t happy where you were.

You moved over to the bed, your stomach coiling a little as you sat down on the edge of it. You slipped your feet into your shoes as your mind wandered back some eight months.

“How did you find me?” You scrutinised the woman on your doorstep, recognising her from one fleeting sighting of her some time ago.

“I know a guy.” She shrugged simply.

“What do you want?” You folded your arms across your chest.

She was the last person you expected to see here and the last person you wanted to be face to face with.

“It’s time we had a long overdue talk.” She mirrored your action and crossed her own arms.

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” You scoffed.

“Spencer.” She rolled her eyes. “We need to talk about Spencer.”

Having the former Mrs Reid show up at your apartment had thrown you through a loop. You’d been so shell shocked you’d actually invited her inside.

Maeve proceeded to tell you all the reasons you needed to give Spencer a second chance. She explained to you why he’d lied to you about not being in love with you, how he was simply trying to protect himself from getting hurt again.

She went into great detail about how she knew you and Spencer belonged together and that you were the loves of each other's lives.

You hadn’t spoken much, simply listened. And when she left she tried to put the whole thing behind you so you could move on. You still had no idea to this day how she knew where you lived and could only assume someone at the BAU had given her the intel.

Two months later you’d gone back to work to find Spencer had quit the university. And for some reason the thought of never seeing him again undid all the hard work you’d put in over the summer to get over him.

“Y/N?” He blinked at you as though he wasn’t sure he trusted his own eyes. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” You hugged your arms around yourself.

“Yeah, sure. The place is still a mess, I literally only moved in a few days ago.” He held open the door to his new home and let you inside.

Boxes were piled up all over the place. A couch and a coffee table were the only visible furniture.

“How did you know where I live?” He hovered between piles of boxes.

“Maeve,” you croaked. “She came to me a few months ago and left me her number. I didn’t ever expect to use it but when I found out you’d quit I just…I wanted to know why. So I called her and she gave me your address, said she has the girls this week.”

“Maeve came to you? Why?” He frowned, scratching at the back of his head.

“She wanted to explain some things. About you. About why you lied to me.”

“Right,” his frown deepened.

“So why did you quit?”

“That’s why you came here? Really? You want to know why I quit Georgetown? I haven't seen or heard from you in months and that’s what you came here for?” He looked at you somewhat indignantly.

“They offered me your job. I just want to know if you plan on coming back before I take it.” You shrugged.

“You got your doctorate?” His lip quivered into something resembling a smile.

“I did. So are you coming back or can I take your job?”

“I rejoined the BAU.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Not a full caseload like I used to work, I can fit my hours around the girls now Maeve and I have joint custody. It’s where I belong.”

“Fine.” You finally let your arms fall to your sides. “That’s all I came here for.”

You turned away from him, back towards the old mahogany front door with the stained glass window in the centre but you didn’t get very far.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” He spoke and when you turned back around he was a few steps closer to you. “I thought I was protecting us both but really I was only hurting us.”

“I didn’t come here for this.” You shook your head.

“Well you certainly didn’t come all the way out here to ask if I was coming back to work.” He chuckled dryly. “I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

You pushed yourself up, wobbling slightly as you did so. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes to try to ease the dizziness.

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your dress which was a little tighter than you would have liked it to be, before shaking your head and pushing out of the door.

***

“You really don’t have to do this.” Maeve rolled her eyes at him through the mirror.

“Oh please, I’m great with kids.” Spencer scoffed, nudging the rocker a little and smiling down at the little dark haired bundle of joy.

“Well yes I know that,” she huffed, toying with the strap of her dress. “But it seems weird to have you look after my son.”

Little Elijah, Daisy and Lily’s half brother, was twelve weeks old and Spencer had almost forgotten how tiny babies were.

“It’s really no big deal. He’s my daughter’s half brother, he’s basically family.” He shrugged.

“And what a weird family we are.” Maeve laughed as she turned back to face Spencer. “So, how do I look?”

Spencer glanced up from baby Elijah and onto her and tears immediately filled his eyes. He stood up and crossed the room towards her, gaze flicking up and down her frame.

“Good gosh Maeve,” he breathed. “You look incredible.”

“Don’t cry.” She shook her head. “Because if you start I’ll start.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his palms to try and dismiss the tears. “But seriously, you look amazing.”

She smiled at him, glancing down at her white, satin dress. She felt like a princess, and judging by Spencer’s reaction she looked like one too.

“Thank you,” she took hold of his hands and squeezed them. “And you’re sure you don’t mind watching over Elijah for the day?”

“For the one hundredth time I do not mind at all. For the record, I hate weddings anyway so this kinda works out great for me. If he cries I have an excuse to leave early.” He smirked at her and she removed her hands from his so she could slap his bicep.

“You’re such a cynic.” She rolled her eyes.

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I heard eloping is all the rage.”

She rolled her eyes yet again.

“Can you believe we’re here? I never in a million years thought I’d ever get married again.” She sighed wistfully.

“I always thought when I got married it would be forever.” He nodded. “And after all we’ve been through I never thought we’d end up here.”

“Friends you mean?”’

“Is that what this is? Huh. Good to know.” He chuckled, yet again making Maeve roll her eyes.

She turned her back on him again and toyed with her hair in the mirror. Spencer moved back over to where baby Elijah was dribbling down his chin, making little gurgling noises.

He picked up the rocket and attached it to the frame of the stroller so he was ready to make a quick exit when needed.

Just then the door to the bridal suite flew open and his two boisterous daughters barrelled in, wearing their matching purple bridesmaids dresses.

“Mom!” Daisy gasped. “Oh my gosh you look amazing!”

“Mom you’re so pretty!” Lily agreed excitedly.

“Thank you sweethearts.” Maeve turned and held her arms open for the girls who quickly embraced their mother.

“I mean, I’m also here.” Spencer shrugged. “I thought I looked pretty good too.”

“Shut up dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah dad, you’re not the one getting married.” Lily also rolled her eyes.

Since turning eight a few months ago, Lily had started becoming more and more like her sister by the day. Spencer couldn’t remember the time she’d called him daddy or the last time she’d asked him to read to her.

Life was moving way too fast for his liking. His little girls were growing up, soon enough they’d be leaving him. Now wasn’t the time to get down about it though, he still had exciting things in his future.

“Fair enough,” he sighed. “I’m going to take Elijah and get a seat. Try not to upstage your mom, kiddos.”

“He’s such a dork.” He heard Daisy say.

“Yeah who says kiddos?” He heard Lily reply.

He smiled to himself as he left the room, pushing Elijah’s stroller towards the large ballroom down the hall.

Soft music played through small, indiscriminate speakers, as people started taking their seats either side of the grand aisle.

Maeve had always dreamed of a big wedding, their own nuptials at city hall had left a lot for her imagination to desire. And Spencer was glad she was finally getting everything she’d always wanted.

He came to a stop by the door where Bobby, beaming with pride, was waiting to greet people. He spotted Spencer and his son heading his way and waved at them.

“Hey, how’s my little man doing?”

“I’m not bad, thanks.” Spencer joked, now making Bobby roll his eyes. “Oh you mean Elijah? He’s good aren’t you buddy?”

Bobby crouched down and cooed over his son for a moment or two, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing back to his full height.

“Thanks for being here, man. It means a lot to Maeve that you approve of this.” Bobby smiled a gentle smile at him.

“I just want her to be happy.” Spencer shrugged. “And I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.”

Bobby extended his hand and Spencer took it, shaking his ex-wife’s soon to be new husband's hand.

It was probably extremely weird if he stopped to think about it, but that was a thought for another day.

“Are you happy, Spencer?” Bobby surprised him when he asked.

A smile toyed on Spencer’s lips as he closed his eyes briefly and gave thought to his life. When he opened his eyes again his smile grew.

“You know what? I really am.” He nodded.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder before Spencer took the stroller again and headed through the doors.

He headed towards the bar in the corner, spotting JJ, Will and the boys already in their seats and offered them a wave as he passed.

Towards the bar he saw Luke and Garcia, holding hands and giggling between themselves. Nearby Rossi sipped his scotch and tilted his glass at Spencer as he passed.

Cameron was hovering on the other side of the room, looking much like a spare part. He didn’t know anyone here and was instructed to wait patiently for his girlfriend while she fulfilled her bridesmaids duties.

The rest of the team were due to be here but the ceremony wasn’t due to start for another half hour so he had no doubt they’d be here soon.

He pushed the stroller up to the bar and applied the brake, ordering himself a club soda and leaning on the bar top while he waited.

Elijah started to stir, his gurgling noises starting to sound a little strained. Spencer stood back up and peered in his stroller.

“Hey you,” he reached towards the tiny boy and unclipped him from the seat. “It’s ok.”

He lifted Elijah from the stroller, his little face contorted as though he may start crying at any moment. Spencer held the back of soft head and brought him to his chest, cradling him in his arms.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He bounced him gently. “Don’t cry, it’s your mommy and daddy’s big day. We don’t want tears.”

He rocked him back and forth and thanked the bar tender when he placed his club soda on the bar. Elijah continued to gurgling, but the rocking motion seemed to calm him.

“It’s ok.” He kissed the side of Elijah’s head.

He’d missed this. He missed when his girls were this small and they didn’t talk back to him and one cuddle from their daddy solved all their problems.

He missed sneaking into their rooms at night just to watch them sleep when the baby monitor wasn’t enough. He missed the way they would cling to his hand so tightly, the way they’d once thought their dad was a superhero.

He loved his girls, more than humanly possible. He loved them as babies, as toddlers and he loved them now, one as a teenager and another who thought she was a teenager.

But as time went on Spencer felt like his girls needed him less and less with every passing day. He sometimes felt redundant as a parent, like his job was done.

Elijah was brand new. Maeve and Bobby would have all those things he’d taken for granted with Daisy and Lily.

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time, really savour those moments. In the blink of an eye his girls would be going off to college, having families of their own and then they really wouldn’t need him anymore.

He held Elijah a little longer than he needed to, momentarily pretending he was Daisy or Lily and he had a chance to do it all over again.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you little man. And you got so lucky. You’re mom and dad love you so much and you have the two best sisters in the whole world. And this extended family of yours…” he trailed off, glancing around the room at his family, his BAU family. “You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it kid.”

He started getting a little misty eyed as he stroked Elijah’s head, still rocking him in his arms. Elijah made a happy little cooing sound and Spencer smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in that new baby scent, imagining one of his daughter’s in his arms when they were so small and vulnerable.

“That’s a good look on you, daddy.”

His eyes snapped back open and he couldn’t hold back the smile on his face. He cautiously laid Elijah back down in his stroller, buckling him back in.

“Just remembering what it was like, it's been a while.” He chuckled, reaching out his hands. “You look like a goddamn dream.”

“You say that like you didn’t see me this morning.” You laughed, taking hold of his outstretched hands.

“You somehow look more beautiful every single time I lay eyes on you.” He pulled you close by your hands and moved them to cup your face.

“You’re not going to cry are you?” You teased him as he kissed you.

“I can’t promise anything.” He laughed against your lips.

“I may always have complicated feelings towards my ex but my feelings for you are anything but. I love you Y/N. I love you more than words can describe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please don’t walk away. Please give me another chance.”

Your eyes misted with tears but you were not going to let them fall. You bit the inside of your cheek in hopes of keeping them at bay.

You straightened your back, clenched your jaw and spat a simple, “no.”

Turning away from him towards the door, you soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not good enough for me.” He turned you back to face him. “I cannot let you walk away again.”

Before you knew what was happening, Spencer caged you back against the door and kissed you. And despite everything, all the pain and hurt he’d caused you, you kissed him back.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

You didn’t walk away, couldn’t even if you tried. You hadn’t walked away in the six months since and you knew you never would.

Four weeks later you moved into his new home with him and the girls.

Daisy and Lily adored you and in return you loved them just as much. They enjoyed having another woman around and oftentimes the three of you would gang up on their dad, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

Daisy talked to you about things she wasn’t always comfortable talking to her parents about. Lily liked it when you braided her hair. They both enjoyed the shopping trips you took them on.

Spencer kissed you once more before letting go of your face and taking hold of one of your hands again.

“This place is fancy.” You spoke as your eyes flitted around the grand room.

“I did try to explain to her the benefits of eloping.” Spencer shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not for everyone.” You chuckled.

Spencer raised your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles, right next to your gold wedding band.

“Do you regret it? Not having some big fancy event like this?”

“Are you kidding me?” You pulled a face, glancing down at his matching band. “The only person I needed at our wedding was you, Doctor Reid.”

Some might say it was too soon, that the two of you had rushed into things but they would be wrong.

When you know, you know and you both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were meant to be together and didn’t want to waste a second not being married. Nothing had ever felt so right as standing up in that little Vegas chapel and promising each other forever.

“I love you so much. Doctor Reid.” He squeezed your hand.

The kiss lasted several minutes and by the time Spencer pulled back you were both panting.

The look he was giving you was like no look anyone had ever given you before. And it told you all you needed to know.

This man was incomparably in love with you, and would go to the ends of the earth for you. This man would do anything for you.

He’d made some mistakes, but so had you. Life wasn’t always perfect, there would always be bumps in the road. But with any luck the hardest hurdles were now in your past.

He loved you and you loved him and it was just as simple as that.

“I don’t want the best days of my life to have passed me by. I want it all, Y/N. I want to get married, I want to have more kids. And I want it with you.”

“It really is a good job we don’t both work at Georgetown anymore, two Doctor Reid’s is just confusing.” You laughed.

“Well I think it could be done. There would just be the hot Doctor Reid and the other Doctor Reid.” He shrugged, his eyes sparkling playfully.

“Which one am I?”

“You will never know, my love.” He chuckled, pulling you close again and kissing you slightly more fiercely than was appropriate for the current setting.

Before things could get too hot and heavy, Elijah whined, tearing the two of you apart. You both moved to his stroller and looked down on him.

“Hey little man, what seems to be the problem?” You stroked his wrinkly forehead.

He kicked his tiny legs, blowing little spit bubbles in his mouth. Spencer cooed at him while you continued stroking his head.

Within a few seconds he calmed down again, perhaps he just wanted some attention. Baby’s and dogs weren’t all that dissimilar, Taco had a penchant for whining when he wanted attention.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink.” Spencer stood back up and picked up his club soda.

“Just water, please. I’ve been feeling a little queasy again this morning.” You rubbed your stomach.

“Hopefully that’ll pass soon.” He kissed your cheek before getting the bartender's attention again and ordering you a glass of water.

Soon after handing it to you, Daisy and Lily in their beautiful dresses, carrying bouquets, were heading your way.

Spencer saw the coy smile Daisy sent in the direction of her boyfriend and it made his stomach tighten. How he wished he could slow down time so his daughter never got older.

“You need to go sit, it’s starting in a minute.” Daisy demanded.

“Sit please.” Lily echoed.

Spencer looked between his girls and you and little Elijah who could now barely keep his eyes open. He was flooded by nostalgia, weddings always did have that effect on him.

The girls turned to leave, to finish their rounds but Spencer stopped them.

“Hey, pumpkins?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

“Stop it.” Daisy frowned at him, hearing the way his voice broke.

“Stop what? Spencer frowned back.

“I can see you getting sappy. Don’t do it. Please, dad?” She begged him.

“Yeah please, dad?” Lily repeated.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” He looked over at Elijah again. “I just miss when you girls were that little. When you needed me.”

You slipped your hand in his, giving it a squeeze to try and tether him to the present before he went down a rabbit hole into the past.

Daisy and Lily looked at each other, communicating subconsciously in the weird way sisters seemed to be able to do.

“We’ll always need you, dad.” Lily spoke as they looked back at him.

“You will?”

“Of course, you’re our dad.” Daisy shrugged.

“We love you.” Lily insisted.

“I love you both so much.” His voice cracked again, eyes misting with tears.

“Oh god,” Daisy groaned. “Do not cry. Stop it.”

“Make him stop, Y/N.” Lily looked at you pleadingly.

“I wish I could.” You chuckled, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “But you know your dad, he’s an emotional kind of guy.”

“We can’t stay little kids forever, dad.” Daisy offered him a slightly sad smile.

“I know, I know.” He nodded, using his free hand to wipe his eyes before any tears fell.

“But hey, at least you get to do it all over again.” Daisy shrugged, nodding towards your belly.

“Hey Y/N?” Spencer spoke to you from the bed of the Caesars Palace Honeymoon suite.

“Yeah?” You called back from the bathroom.

“Let’s make a baby.”

You frowned to yourself and put down your toothbrush, padding back into the bedroom.

“Excuse me?” You leant against the doorframe, your new husband lying naked on top of the covers.

“Let’s make a baby.” He repeated.

You’d come off your pill a week or so ago after you’d discussed wanting to try for a baby at some point in the future. You were still using condoms though and Spencer still never finished inside of you.

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“We literally just got married like five hours ago.” You laughed, stepping further into the room.

“I don’t want to wait.” He reached for you as soon as you were close enough, pulling you down to the bed. “Let’s make a baby.”

Your hand involuntarily went to your growing stomach, the one that you could barely fit inside this dress. You were at fourteen weeks and only just starting to show, it wouldn’t be long now before none of your clothes fit you.

“That is true.” Spencer looked at you with a smile that lit up the entire room.

He was now for three for three. Three times in his life he had unprotected sex, finishing inside of someone, and all three times he had gotten them pregnant. He often wondered if he had some kind of super sperm.

He placed his free hand on top of yours on your stomach, on the future addition to his pumpkin patch, to his crazy, slightly unconventional family.

He wouldn’t change his past, wouldn’t change Daisy and Lily or the way they were brought into the world. But this new baby growing inside of you, you at his side as his wife; this was the life he chose and the life you both chose to make.

“Anyway, you seriously need to go and sit down, mom will be pissed if you miss this.” Daisy snapped him out of his revere.

“Please don’t use that word.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Daisy shrugged. “Come on Lil, let's get the others.”

Lily happily followed her sister while the two of them rounded up all the guests and motioned them towards their seats. It wasn’t lost on him the way his youngest lit up when Michael LaMontagne smiled at her.

He swore one day he would be at their wedding.

Spencer glanced around and spotted Matt and Kristy hand in hand, closely followed by Emily and Tara who were chatting between themselves as they found seats near JJ and Will. He looked back at you, tears now back in his eyes.

“Don’t.” You shook your head. “I am a hormonal mess as it is. If you start crying, I will too.”

“Sorry,” he sighed wistfully. “I’m just so damn happy.”

“Me too, Spence.” You agreed, leaning in and kissing him. “Me too.”

The two you hung back with Elijah now asleep in his stroller while everyone else took their seats. Your own eyes took in the room, the girls, the BAU members and everyone in between.

This family had found you and accepted you as one of their own with open arms. The Reid family, the BAU family, without really meaning to you’d become a part of something you never knew you’d always wanted.

It may be slightly unorthodox, but it didn’t make what you had any less special. In fact in your eyes, the oddness of this family dynamic made it even more exceptional. And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

Spencer let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your head while reaching for the stroller with his free hand.

“Looks like it’s just me and you, angel.” He held you close, he always held you so close.

You glanced at Elijah before looking back around at all the faces in the room.

Daisy and Lily were waiting by the doors with their baskets of confetti, awaiting their cue to take to the aisle. Bobby stood proudly at the end, his best man at his side as they waited for the music to begin.

You looked over at JJ and Will, at Penelope and Luke; Matt and Kristy. You surveyed Tara, Emily and Rossi before you looked back to your husband.

“Yeah,” you smiled as you leaned closer to him, closing your eyes and breathing him in as though it was the very first time. “Just me and you and everyone we know.”

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamelessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @weridothatwrites

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

160 notes · View notes

littlebumblebeesstuff · 10 months ago

Note

Can you do a jasper hale x little reader nd do have him punish them for throwing a tantrum

Fussy Baby

Hiya! I changed it a little bit, but I hope you enjoy 💙

Notes: fluff, Angst, sickness (fever), bratty reader, timeout.

It started off with a stuffy nose, that turned into a runny nose, and then back to a stuffy nose.

Then your body started to feel owie. Like when you press on a nearly healed bruise.

You didn't want to play, you didn't want to eat. You didn't want to do anything.

Jasper was very aware that sometimes his little doll just woke you up in a funny mood, but that as long as he kept an eye on you you would be ok.

He let you do what you wanted today, which was to lie on the play mat and watch cartoons on the iPad while your daddy sat in the rocking chair reading a book

You managed to pick away at a snack plate that Jasper brought you, some apple slices, some crackers, strawberries, little sandwich bites etc.

So when it turned 1pm, Jasper was ready to put you down for your nap- nothing out of the usual.

"Hey, baby." You did melt a little when he kissed the top of your head. "Come, it's time for your nap."

He was about to go and close the curtains, stopping dead in his tracks when he heard you say something he's not used to from you at all.

"No."

His head slowly turned to face the back of your head. "Excuse me?"

He was looking at you sternly and you knew it wasn't the best idea to repeat yourself, an apology was a much better option, but you were feeling frustrated and you didn't want a nap.

"Wanna try that again?" he asked raising an eyebrow at you.

Your silence is more incriminating than it should be, showing your reluctance to apologise or do as your told.

You're suddenly hoisted up by your waist and set in his hip. A whine slips from you when you realise where he is going... naughty corner.

He sat you down on the large pillow in the corner of the room, facing the wall. You pout, you didn't really know what you expected by telling him no but you really didn't want to sit here now.

"5 minutes darlin', then we can have a chat about our feelings"

Jasper soothed with a soft pat on your head. He already knew that you were feeling frustrated, but that wasn't the point. The point was for you to understand how you were feeling but also understand that you can't be rude to your daddy.

You huff and stare at the floor, listening as Jasper steps out of the play room to go and set up the bedroom for your nap.

In a very rebellious move, you shuffle over and pick up one of your toys and take it back to the naughty corner. You just wanted comfort from this icky feeling. You felt like your nose was all clogged up and you were cold despite your fluffy oodie.

Of course Jasper heard you move and sighed, rubbing his temples and walked back in.

"Darlin'.... what are the rules?" Jasper calmly walked over to you, kneeling beside you as he gently takes the toy.

"....no toys in timeout...". If it was anyone other than Jasper, they never would have heard what you said, but he nodded.

"Yes. No toys in timeout. For that, I am going to add on another 3 minutes-"

That just burst your bubble.

You let out a scream, kicking your little feet as hot, stinging tears drip down your cheeks.

All your frustrations and your ickyness was just too much for your little body to deal with.

You were instantly picked up and rocked in Jaspers arms, his cool hand rubbing over your back. His coldness was actually really soothing and you press into him as much as you can.

The next thing you know, you are in his bathroom, still in his arms, as he tries to coax you into letting him take your temperature.

You can hear the soft murmur of Carlisle talking to Jasper as you continue to fuss and cry. Soon the thermometer under your tongue beeps and shows that you have a light fever.

"Easy darlin', daddy is gonna help you feel better"

Jasper places a kiss to your temple, measuring out a dose of medicine to give you to help with your discomfort and fever.

Everything seems like a blur as you continue to cry, fussing when Jasper patiently changes you into clean pyjamas and carries you through to his bedroom rather than your adjoining little room.

By now you are starting to exhaust yourself, your sobs turning to sniffles and your fever making your head and body ache.

"Here we go, have some water baby, make you feel a little better."

Jasper holds you close as he holds your sippy cup to your lips. The cold water helped you feel a bit better, but what really makes you feel better is just being in your daddy's arms, his cool skin soothing your low fever.

You soon end up falling asleep in his arms, snuggled up under the blankets.

Jasper should have known that something was up, you were usually such a well behaved little darlin'.

When you woke up you would get all the snuggles you need and you wouldn't leave the bed for as long as possible.

#agere little #little!reader #littlereader #sfw little community #sfw little post #little reader #sfw little blog #jasper hale

385 notes · View notes

starlightkun · 1 year ago

Text

❧ word count: 18.3k ❧ warnings: cursing, renjun gets CONSENSUALLY dosed with a magical aphrodisiac For Science ❧ genre: fluff, humor, one (1) heavy makeout scene but no actual smut, 0.1 seconds of angst if you can even call it that, academic rivals to lovers, modern magical creatures au, college au, siren reader, human renjun ft. siren ten, same universe as strawberry sunday ❧ extra info: in my lore, siren scales are visible when they’re in more human-like forms because of magic, and it’s not an indication of their skin tone at all. so when the reader’s scales are mentioned, please don’t take this as any sort of allusion to them being pale/light-skinned! i tried to take care and make sure i wasn’t implying that in how i wrote it, but please tell me if it reads like that this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe, they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: y’all. get ready for this one. no spoilers but renjun and reader r both crazy and nobody should be subjected to them except each other. like they both look at the other and think “i could fix them but whatever the fuck is wrong with them is infinitely funnier to me” but they’re both Wrong. they could not fix the other. i don't want what they have but good for them. anyway as always i had way too much fun writing this that it went over my projected word count and i hope y’all have a lot of fun reading it too

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

“Would you shut up?” You sat back up, grabbing him by the hair.

“Why?”

“I’m trying to kiss you again, idiot.”

2608, 2610, 2612…

The numbers of the study rooms you passed by went up, up, up, as you continued your hunt. You knew he’d be here. It was the day before the first test in your Linguistics in Magical Creatures Studies class, meaning he was going to be holed up in the library until closing time. Now it was just a matter of finding him. Somewhere quiet, obviously, which was why you’d completely skipped the first floor with its wide-open “collaboration areas.” The second floor was all bookshelves and private study rooms that would hold four or five students at most. You peered into the narrow window on each painted metal door as you walked down the hall. While the first floor was recently renovated with new technology and upgrades such as the “collaboration areas” and bright pops of your university’s school colors that made for great promotional photos to put on the website and pamphlets to hand out to new students, this floor hadn’t had seen anything more than a janitor in a good couple decades. The musty, stale smell of old, unused books was all around you, the air conditioning hummed and clicked irregularly, all the furniture had ugly, outdated patterns, and the exactly three desktop computers they did have in a far back corner were practically as old as you. Which, in the digital age, meant that they were artifacts belonging in a museum.

And of course, sitting at very last one, as if he had been hiding behind all of these bookshelves from you personally, was Huang Renjun.

Renjun was sat in the wooden chair facing the computer, clearly deep in thought. He had one foot propped up on the wide chair seat as both of his hands were on the archaic-looking keyboard, speedily typing something out. He wore a pair of jeans, yellow hoodie, and a red backwards baseball cap kept his hair out of his face. An open energy drink can and empty bag of chips on the desk next to him belied that he had already been there for some time.

Now that you had found your target, you put on a burst of speed, stalking up to him from the side and smacking your hand down on the tabletop beside him. “Renjun.”

The human jumped in his seat, looking up from his screen to you. Taking his hands from the keyboard, he made a couple quick clicks on the mouse as he used the other to take his headphones out of his ears. “Y/N. Fucking hell… is your new strategy this semester to give me a heart attack and kill me?”

“If murder was on the table as part of our little academic rivalry, don’t you think I would’ve just drowned you after our Intro course freshman year?” You asked, tilting your head innocently. After all, you were a siren, that would be much easier than scaring him into an early cardiac episode.

Huang Renjun was not your friend. Not necessarily an acquaintance either, you’d known him for going on four years now, since your first class on your first day of college. The two of you were in the same Introduction to Magical Creatures Studies class. He had sat in the very front row, you just behind him in the second row. When your professor had asked an open question to the class, both you and Renjun eagerly blurted out the answer, Renjun just a millisecond before you. Dr. Li gave him the credit, and also requested that you two raise your hands in the future. And from then on you hated Huang Renjun.

Well, hate may be a strong word. You overlapped in at least two classes every semester being in the same major, and were both chronic overachievers. The first to raise your hands when a question was asked, studying in the library until closing (separately), and visiting professors’ office hours just to discuss topics from class further. Your professors noticed this. Some would pit the two of you against each other, and others would try to pair you up, whether on projects, research, or just in general, as a meeting of the minds or whatever. And you two would get your project done, pocket your As, and part ways again. Academic rival slash frenemy was the best way you could describe who Huang Renjun was to you.

“Who knows, you might still, if they ask me to carry the banner,” he muttered, picking his pen up and spinning it between his fingers.

This was your last semester, both you and Renjun were graduating in just a few months. At commencement, each department picked one “outstanding student” to lead the progression, carrying a flag with the department’s name and seal on it. This semester it was Magical Creatures Studies’ turn to select a student for the College of Humanities and Social Sciences, and your program head had already heavily implied that they could choose either you or Renjun, but they hadn’t made their final decision yet.

This was actually a pretty good segue into what you were really here to talk to him about. Pulling your lips into an alluring smirk, you nodded, “You’re right. It doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out that—”

“A fucking what?” He cut you off, his face scrunching up as he blinked at you in confusion.

“Obviously it’s going to be one of us two, since we’re the two best students in the program.”

“Well, yes.” He nodded, seeming to let go of what had presumably been another one of your jumbled human malaphors. You admittedly hadn’t been living among humans for terribly long, and for some reason their idioms just didn’t stick in your brain very well.

“I mean, we not only are dedicated to the field itself and the content we study in class, but the program too. We probably know everybody in it, professors and students, right? Between the two of us?”

Renjun considered this for a moment. “Yeah, probably. We’ve both taken on a lot of SI and tutor opportunities for lower-level classes.”

“Right. So, you know those forums the school has on the online class platform? The general message boards?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m going to need you to sit tight with me on this until I finish talking, okay?” You pointed at him sternly. He nodded slowly. “Good. Back in the fall, about the end of September, I was on the message boards, just browsing around killing time. I was in the Tips & Advice section and saw this post. It was a gryphon who was losing feathers on one specific spot on her wing, and she didn’t know why. The witch she went to didn’t know why, nobody could figure it out. I was about to reply asking if it was her left or right, when I saw that somebody else already had. It was her left, and she’s a lefty. The same person replied again, asking if she sleeps with her wings out or not. She sleeps with them out. It turns out she was stress-preening in her sleep. Username: dr_magic2303. A couple weeks later, same message board, Tips & Advice, a human is suddenly producing dark purple goop from his feet but it’s so slippery he can’t even leave to go see a doctor or a witch and he was typing the post from his bathroom. Within an hour, this Dr. Magic is back telling him someone’s put an aether ooze hex on him, and to sit down and scoot on his butt to the kitchen and gather up all these ingredients for a cleansing foot bath. And if he doesn’t have them, then he’ll have to butt-scoot his way to an apothecary or call one who does home deliveries. Now people are posting on there specifically asking Dr. Magic to come heal all their magical aches and pains.”

Renjun stared at you, unblinking. The pen had gone still in his hand.

You breathed in, continuing, “I tracked this Dr. Magic all the way back to their first post in the first week of fall semester of this year. Now, I’ve been trying to figure out who they are on my own, and I’ve made a lot of progress on who they aren’t. But I’m going to lose access to those message boards once we graduate at the end of the semester. I know Dr. Magic has to be an MCS major, there’s no way they would be able to have to breadth, depth, and flexibility of knowledge by just Googling this stuff. And you and me, Renjun, I know we can do this. Not only do we know MCS, but we know the department, the people in it. It has to be us.”

He was still staring at you, mouth slightly agape. Then, his whole demeanor shifted. He dropped his leg so that both his feet were on the ground, and he resumed spinning the pen.

“Okay. I’ll help you.” He nodded thoughtfully. “If you’ll do something for me.”

“Do what?” You straightened up.

“I’ll tell you after we find Dr. Magic.”

You crossed your arms. “No, tell me now or no deal.”

“I tell you after, but you can still say no then if you don’t want to do it.” He bargained.

“That just sounds even more concerning, Renjun. Tell me now or I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m hurt. What happened to ‘it has to be us?’”

“I’m a siren, I know how to sweet talk. Don’t take it personally.” You snorted. “Now, what do you want from me?”

“You’re a siren,” he echoed plainly, as if that were all the explanation you needed.

“And you’re a genius.” You retorted. “Tell me now or I walk out.”

“I... want to experience siren venom. For science.”

Oh, you could kiss him right now, no deal necessary. He was meeting your gaze head-on, a slightly unhinged glint in his eye. Not a hint of fear, just a craving for new experiences, unbridled curiosity. Yeah, he was a bit crazy, you were realizing four years on, and you wanted him.

“You’re insane.”

He leaned back in his seat, putting his hands up in front of him in an ‘I-don’t-care’ gesture, “If you don’t want to find Dr. Magic—”

“I didn’t say no, I said you’re insane,” you corrected him with a grin, dragging your eyes up and down his form as he sat so confidently, negotiating with a siren like it was any average Tuesday for him.

“So do we have a deal?” He set his pen down and held a hand out to you.

“You help me find Dr. Magic, then I’ll spit in your mouth.” You momentarily thought about the disparity in division of labor on that, but decided not to point it out aloud. Easiest handshake of your life. “Deal.”

You wanted to eat him alive.

“You’ve tried IP tracking?” Renjun asked, scrolling through your word document of notes that you’d accumulated on Dr. Magic.

“‘You’ve tried IP tracking?’” You mimicked him under your breath, making your voice so high-pitched to the point of mocking.

He rolled his eyes.

This was your first meet-up to try to hunt down Dr. Magic together. It was a couple weeks after he had agreed to help you in the first place. There was a test and some assignments in a few of your classes to get through first before either of you had enough spare time to dedicate to this. But now the two of you were back in the library, having taken a study room on the second floor and set up with your own laptops. You’d sent him your notes to look through on it while you perused the message board for any new posts from Dr. Magic.

“You do know that any geographical location an IP address can give you will just be the city, right? It’s not like the movies,” you snorted, dropping your voice back down to your normal intonation as you shook your head. “Anyway, I did do some extra legwork with the IPs, and matched most of them to desktop computers here in the library. I think the others are a personal device, their laptop or something.”

“They’re all different.”

You tutted at him, “Oh, you sweet Thursday’s child…”

“That’s not the say—”

“They’re all somehow on other continents. Now, I don’t think Dr. Magic teleporting abroad and cross-dimensionally to make forum posts.”

“VPN?”

“Definitely. They’re covering their tracks, they almost never use their own device, and when they have to, they use a VPN to cover up the IP address of it.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, eyes still focused on his screen.

Then, something on the forum caught your eye. “Oh! Right here. Thirty-six minutes ago, a dryad posted that she can’t sprout daffodils from her body anymore. Every other plant and flower are fine, except daffodils. She posted it specifically asking Dr. Magic if they know what’s wrong with her.”

“Huh.” Renjun’s brow furrowed. “Just daffodils?”

“That’s what it says,” you confirmed, making a few clicks on your computer. “And… ‘notify me.’”

“You can turn on notifications for forum posts?”

“You can’t,” you informed him smugly. “But one of the sirens in my pod, he’s got a bunch of CompSci friends who I paid to write a browser extension for me that bookmarks forum posts and sends me email notifications when anybody replies to them. So I’ll know exactly when Dr. Magic responds.”

“You…”

“Have definitely spent too much time, energy, and money on this, I know. Sunken cost fallacy, look it up.”

“I was going to say ‘are insane,’” he breathed out, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.

When you looked up from your computer at him, you saw that he had a curious gaze fixated on you, eyes narrowed slightly, mouth parted, and head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

You leaned forward minutely, holding his eye contact. “Takes one to know one, Junnie.”

He looked down at his keyboard, shifting in his seat before he looked back up at you. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Do you not like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you do like it.” You smirked.

He frowned. “I didn’t say that either.”

“Well do you?”

“Answer my question.”

“Answer mine.”

“I asked first.”

“Ooh, how very primary school,” you teased, setting your chin in your hand.

“It’s only fair.” He pointed out.

“We could flip a coin.”

“Y/N.”

“Junnie.”

The human sighed, holding your eye contact wordlessly, looking entirely unamused.

You finally gave in with a casual shrug. “I just am.”

“Seriously? We’ve known each other for four years and you’ve never called me that—you’ve called me plenty of other things—but now suddenly you’ve got a nickname for me?”

“I’m not trying to be derogatory with it, if you’re worried about that,” you clarified. “Just sort of happened. I’m a siren, I flirt with cute people, sorry. Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing some off his face as he turned his focus back down to his screen. “It’s fine.”

“Anyway, I bookmarked the new forum post, so it’ll go on the board.”

“The board?”

“I, uh, I may be using a spare wall in my apartment to host a conspiracy theory board with you know, the red string and thumbtacks and stuff…” You admitted quietly.

“Can I see it?”

“Ho-ly shit,” Renjun breathed out, staring up at the multiple time-stamped printouts of forum posts, pictures of classmates and faculty, sticky notes, and yards of red string that you had pinned to a blank wall in your apartment.

You stood next to him, gazing up at your creation with a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment. This was the first time you’d let someone see this, and you were kind of glad it was Renjun. He actually seemed impressed. You were sure that any of your friends and family would be weirded out at best, and very concerned at worst.

“Yeah, I’m adding color copies off the school printers to the invoice I’m sending Dr. Magic at the end of all this.”

“You’re sending them an invoice for your self-assigned mission to hunt them down?” He snorted.

“Yup. It’s their fault for not using their school-issued login.” You crossed your arms. “Makes them enigmatic.”

Your classmate pointed to one of the headshots. “Is that Dr. Li?”

“Did you think our scope was narrowed to just students? Faculty have access to the message boards, too. And we’ve learned everything we know from our professors, so they obviously have the knowledge and skill to be Dr. Magic.”

“And their names also start with Doctor.” He added dryly, which you took to be a joke.

You decided that it wasn’t at your expense, though, and after giving a short chuckle, continued on with your explanation of why you specifically had your program head up on the board. “When I was grilling Dr. Li for information in the fall, he was giving me very duplicitous answers. Pointed me towards a freshman who I swear didn’t even know the difference between Arctic sirens and glacial sirens.”

“You think it was a diversion.”

“Obviously.”

Renjun tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What sort of questions were you asking him?”

“I couldn’t straight up ask him if he was Dr. Magic. So I was asking him things like... other than you and me, who did he think was the best student in the program, that kind of stuff. Said that kid reminded him of you and me on that first day of Intro to MCS.” You couldn’t help but let out an indignant scoff at the idea. “Can you believe? Didn’t know the difference between Arctic and glacial sirens…”

“Who was it?”

“Some basilisk in one of his Intro classes last semester. Uh…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to remember his name. “Seunghan! Hong Seunghan!”

“Seriously?” The human turned to look at you incredulously, clearly offended at the comparison as well.

“Seriously!”

He clutched at his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. “That’s who he thinks is the next us? I was an SI for that class…”

“I know! He’s not the brightest tool in the shed, huh?”

“So close, Y/N. So close…” He sighed.

“It almost completely threw me off my search for Dr. Magic. I figured I needed to seriously step up my game in his undergrad research or something.” You shook your head at the horrible memory. “Then I realized he might have been trying to get me to do exactly that.”

“Huh.” Renjun folded his arms over his chest as he looked away, pretending not to seem interested. “You did research with Dr. Li last semester?”

“Don’t give me those kicked puppy dog eyes, you’re doing research with Dr. Kwon this semester and she’s like, my academic idol!” You pointed at him accusatorily.

“And Dr. Li is mine!”

You waved your arms in front of you, shaking yourself out of the academic envy-induced frenzy you’d gotten worked up into. “We’re getting off-topic. We’re here to catch Dr. Magic, remember?”

“Right…” He took a deep breath, turning back to the conspiracy wall.

As Renjun studied your work, you studied him. You had a strand of fairy lights clipped up above the conspiracy wall for light and ambiance (mostly ambiance), and they now lit his features from the front. He didn’t have a baseball cap on today, leaving his brown hair to fall over his forehead, down past his eyebrows and just into his eyes. He blinked and shook his head slightly. A piece had presumably been bothering him. The curving slope of the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin that he still had one hand propped up to hold, a finger tapping against his cupid’s bow like a metronome. You listened closer, curious if it would be mimicking the beat of his heart. The tapping was just slightly slower than his heart, and would stop if he found something that he took particular interest in, then start back up when he moved on again.

Not that you were going to tell him, but you were double motivated to find Dr. Magic now. Seeing Renjun under your venom was going to be a reward all on its own. You understood full well why he felt like he needed to ask you as part of an exchange like this, but he seemed to greatly underestimate his own selling value. Which was good for you. This was a win-win-win in your eyes.

Thinking of the deal made you curious, though. He had that request ready to go almost like…

“So, do you want to be petrified by a basilisk, too?”

Renjun didn’t take his eyes off the wall. “Already have been.”

“Really?”

“My friend Mark is a basilisk. When he had just gotten his powers a couple years ago and couldn’t control them, he kept accidentally petrifying his human roommate. So I figured out when it was most likely to happen, invited myself over and hid his sunglasses. It was strange, being able to think but not speak, see but not blink, and telling my muscles to move and not having them obey.” He casually detailed what sounded like one of the most horrifying experiences ever to you, leaning in towards a specific post from November. “But it only lasted one minute and twenty-nine seconds.”

You stared at him with both admiration and alarm. “You manufactured an opportunity to get petrified.”

“I knew he wouldn’t do it if I asked. He’s a wimp. That, and he couldn’t do it on command at the time, even if he did agree.”

“Have you had your blood drank?”

“Yup.”

“Been flying?”

“How so?” His eyes flicked over to you for a second, and you were glad that you had relaxed again with the more casual conversation.

“With a gryphon, phoenix, take your pick.” You shrugged.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you have a list for this stuff or something?”

“Written down, no. But I suppose I have a mental list.”

“Poisoned by a wyvern?”

“Would have to find one first.”

You felt your eyes bug out of your head. “You want to be poisoned by a wyvern? You know there’s no cure for that, right?”

“Yes, I took the same class that you did on them last spring.” He reminded you tersely. Your head jerked back minutely, surprised for a second that he had noticed, remembered, and brought it up. The two of you didn’t have a spat in that class, taking an ‘ignore and pretend the other doesn’t exist’ approach that semester when you could, and hadn’t mentioned it since. Seeming to realize what he’d done, Renjun rushed to move on, “So I also know that there’s no cure because they went extinct hundreds of years ago.”

“Supposedly.”

“You think they’re still out there?”

“Maybe.”

“Hm.” He stepped to the side to read over the next post from the first week of December.

You scoffed. “Okay, coming from the guy who believes in aliens.”

“We haven’t explored all of space. But we know what habitats wyverns lived in, and they’re not there anymore.”

“They could’ve adapted, gone somewhere else,” you tried to argue. “I’m not exactly splashing around the ocean right now, am I?”

“Where did they go, then?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, holding yourself by your arms protectively.

“Hmph.”

You tightened your grip, swallowing hard against the lump threatening to grow in your throat. “I just don’t want to believe they’re gone, okay?”

“So this isn’t a scientific hypothesis, but some rosy daydream?” Renjun’s disapproval of the lack of academic rigor in your argument was clear in his tone as his eyes never left your wall, following a red string up to your next connection for Dr. Magic.

“I don’t want to believe that wyverns went extinct because that means that sirens could too! Alright?” You finally snapped, hands squeezing tightly around your biceps as your claws came out with the raw burst of emotion. “I know that Magical Conservation was just some class to you, but I had to sit there and take notes on how exactly the native habitats of sirens—me, my friends, my family—are shrinking, and could theoretically lead to our extinction, and then write a discussion post on it after like it was some intellectually stimulating bit of information. So yeah, maybe I like to imagine that there’s still wyverns out there somewhere, because it gives me a modicum of hope that after everything, there could still be sirens, too. Sorry that that’s not academic enough.”

The image of Renjun that you had been yelling at in front of you was wavering as tears swam in your vision. He’d turned around to listen, mouth parting as he seemed to immediately realize his mistake. The human nodded regretfully, running a hand through his hair before finally picking his words.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to be so dismissive. I-I misread the tone of the discussion. Sirens aren’t wyverns, and you won’t meet the same fate they might have. Siren advocacy and conservation groups are making huge progress. The world now is a lot different than it was hundreds of years ago,” Renjun said, and you could hear both the remorse and firm belief in his tone. “And who knows, maybe there are still some wyverns out there. I could be wrong... it’s been known to happen before.”

You took a deep breath, your claws receding back into your fingers and just leaving your normal fingernails. As you looked down at your arms, though, you let out a sigh.

“Damn, I got myself.” You clicked your tongue in your throat regretfully, spotting a few drops of what looked like molten silver metal welling to the surface where you’d punctured your skin.

“Ooh,” Renjun winced sympathetically. “Do you have some… bandages?”

“Even better, I’ve got running water.” You started towards the door, then noted that there were no footsteps behind you. Turning back around, you looked at the human knowingly. “Do you want to watch, Renjun?”

He perked up. “Please?”

“Come on,” you jerked your head, holding your arms level as you shuffled towards your kitchen.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been nearly deep enough to get your scales, just the skin overtop. Turning the kitchen faucet on, you grabbed one of your sleeves, then looked at your classmate imploringly.

“A little help, Junnie?” You nodded towards your other arm, where the end of your sleeve was getting close to your blood.

“Oh, sure.” He surged forward to help you roll up the other one.

“I know you know this but be careful not to touch my blood,” you reminded him, finally pulling up the sleeve you’d started on well enough. Siren blood was a neurotoxin to humans—and not the fun kind like your venom, but a proper ‘kill you in an excruciatingly painful way’ kind.

“Uh-huh, got it.”

A couple drops on your left and a drop on your right had run down to your elbows, and you just managed to catch yourself so that they dripped into the sink and not onto your counter (or gods forbid, Renjun). Looking over to make sure he was watching, you stuck your left bicep under the stream of water first. The ocean blue scales that peeked through your skin shimmered in the kitchen lights directly above your head. Thankfully you hadn’t come anywhere close to nicking one of those. That would’ve actually hurt. Within a second of touching the water your skin had meshed itself back together. You turned your arm to rinse off the blood, then brought it back out to show that there was no scar left. Doing the same with the other, it healed just as quick, no mark left behind to indicate that anything had ever happened.

“Yep…” Renjun breathed out as you grabbed a hand towel and went to dry off your arms. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

“How many does that make?” You giggled.

“What?”

“How many creatures have you seen magically heal themselves? What number am I?”

“You make me sound so…”

“Like a common MCS whore?”

“I was going to say clinical, but damn, tell me how you really feel, Y/N.”

Both of you laughed, and you put the hand towel back.

“You’re the first siren,” Renjun answered your question genuinely anyway.

You hummed as you mulled this over. “I’ll take it.”

He made a dramatic motion of wiping sweat off his forehead, and you reached forward to smack his forearm. You two laughed again.

After a bout of comfortable silence, your eyes settled on him again, still thinking about exactly how you’d accidentally stabbed yourself in the first place.

“I forgive you, by the way,” you said. “I don’t think I said that.”

“You didn’t.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“You really mean all that? You think I’ll—we’ll be okay? Sirens?”

“Of course I mean it. Or I wouldn’t have said it. It’s the most scientifically plausible. I did take that Magical Conservation class seriously, you know. I know it couldn’t have meant the same thing for me as it means to you, but I did my final paper on siren conservation projects in the Arctic. The progress that’s being made there is incredible. I-I don’t want to tell you about your own species’ problems, obviously, but—”

“I did mine on siren conservation in the tropics.” You let out a dry chuckle at the flawless symbiosis. “You can tell me about your paper sometime, Renjun.”

“And I’d love to hear about siren conservation in the tropics.”

“Ah, ‘a meeting of the minds.’” You did your best impression of Dr. Li, thinning your voice out to sound like an elderly man, which garnered a smile from Renjun. “Isn’t this what our professors always wanted?”

“Uh-oh. We’re giving them exactly what they want.” He shook his head ruefully. “Quick, you need to start yelling at me about something.”

“Well you need to say something obnoxious first.”

Another gentle lull in the conversation, and you watched as Renjun looked around your apartment a lot more carefully than when you two had first entered. Your destination then had been solely the conspiracy wall, but now he seemed to be really taking it in.

“So why don’t you have like… a fish tank or something?” He asked.

“Because that would be cruel! Imagine if someone kept you in a 2-foot by 2-foot box!” You jabbed a finger into his chest accusatorily.

He held his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. That was a stupid question.”

“I’m glad you said it, because I was about to.”

“So why don’t you reply? To the posts.” Renjun asked curiously, back to trolling the message boards for new Dr. Magic posts. You two were holed up in your second floor study room again. “You’ve been tracking Dr. Magic so closely, you’re getting to these posts before they do, and you can help all these students, too. So why don’t you just reply instead?”

Yours and Renjun’s search for Dr. Magic had been going on for a month now, and he’d been proving himself useful. He’d finally convinced you to rule out Dr. Li as a suspect when he found a message board post made from a school computer while Dr. Li was away at a conference giving a presentation. Confirmed to be done at the exact same time. So you’d found another wrong person, but you still didn’t feel any closer to the right person. The remaining people felt like they were going to turn out to be dead ends, and there was nobody good to rule in either.

Spring break was coming up in a few weeks, which meant that commencement preparations would be starting, which meant that the colleges would be announcing who would be chosen to carry their banners, which meant the actual students who were going to be chosen would be told at least a week or two ahead of time. Every time you thought about that you wanted to bite something. Maybe there was some ancestral link between sirens and werewolves. Another paper waiting to be written.

“They don’t want me. They want Dr. Magic.” You told Renjun, hating the irritable edge in your voice when you addressed him. You weren’t upset with him, you were just anxious in general. He didn’t deserve to have you take it out on him.

“Right. Sorry…”

“No, Renjun, I’m sorry,” you sighed, taking the wood pencil out of your mouth that you had been gnawing on. “I just want to get this Dr. Magic stuff over with before midterms because you and I are both going to get super busy studying for midterms, and then no matter which one of us gets picked to carry the banner, that’s going to suck up a lot of time preparing for commencement too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you though, sorry.”

He offered you a small smile. “It’s okay, I get it. It’s another deadline. But it’s a group project, remember? We’ve got this, Y/N.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just feeling the pressure. I’m going to get something from the vending machine. You coming?”

“No, I’ll keep chugging along.”

“Okay. You want anything?”

“Nah. Thanks, though.”

“Alright,” you nodded, standing up and rolling your neck out. “I’m going to stretch my legs while I’m up, so I’ll be a few.”

“I won’t sound the alarm then.” He gave you a two-fingered salute as you headed to the door.

You meandered around the second floor, taking your sweet time to get to the stairs. There was a vending machine on the second floor, but it had a limited selection. The good snacks were all in the vending machines on the first floor, by the collaboration zones. Your back cracked all on its own as you plodded down the steps, and you let quiet groans with each one, until you finally landed on the first floor. There was a noticeable hum to the first floor, which only increased as you neared the two-thirds of the floor that was taken up by the collaboration zones. The vending machines were on the boundary of the bookshelves and the open spaces filled with tables and TV monitors and so many students.

Stopping in front of the drinks machine first, you mused over the options for a moment. Picking out your preferred seaweed-infused iced tea—an option you only saw sirens and the really hardcore human health-nuts drink—you then sidestepped to the snacks. It took you just a second to select a pack of mini peanut butter sandwich cookies. Neither peanut butter nor peanuts themselves were in the regular diet of a siren, but Renjun sometimes had the cookies on him for one of his werewolf friends and you’d picked up a taste for them. You would’ve never considered even trying them before hanging out with Renjun. Being an MCS major, you didn’t like to admit it, but your social circle wasn’t very diverse species-wise. You had your siren pod, and you were very happy sticking with them, thank you. Renjun, meanwhile, seemed to be best friends or friendly acquaintances with everything except a wyvern. You knew plenty about other species, after all, you excelled in class. But practical experience, you were finding you seemed to be lacking in. Maybe you should start your own Renjun-esque bucket list. Something to consider after finding Dr. Magic.

Taking a step back over to the drinks machine, you made the split-second decision to get Renjun’s favorite non-caffeinated, non-alcoholic drink. Honeydew melon soda. He had already said that you didn’t need to get him anything, but you wanted to.

“Hey, Y/N!” A cheerful voice greeted you, and you spun around, your two drinks and bag of sandwich cookies in hand.

You already knew who it was going to be, smiling at the familiar face of Ten. He was not only another siren, but specifically a siren from your pod, ocean blue scales and golden eyes matching your own. You threw your arms around his neck to give him a hug. “Ten! Ah, hey!”

“Are those… peanut butter?” He looked at the snack in your hand suspiciously.

“Uh, human study buddy,” you brushed off his concerns nonchalantly.

“Right, gotcha.”

The two of you usually hung out a lot—about as much as you and Renjun were together now, you figured—but since your spare time had been taken up with putting the search for Dr. Magic on full throttle, you were blanking on the last time you’d seen him. The beginning of the semester. Oh shit, you felt so guilty now.

The apology immediately started spilling out of your mouth, “Gods, I am so sorry we haven’t hung out, I wish I could say it was classes, or even research or something, but I’ve got this project. I can’t even really explain it without sounding crazy but—”

“Woah, Y/N, it’s okay,” Ten reassured you with a laugh, the same bright smile on his face as always. “I know how you get when you get really into one of your projects. Just let me know when you’ve finished it, and we can hang. Or if you ever need a break from it, too. It’s fine. If you weren’t a little crazy and obsessive, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you.”

He ruffled your hair with a snicker for good measure, and with your hands full of food, you couldn’t fight back, just huff and try to duck out of the way. But he was genuine about his sentiments, which really did make you feel better.

“Thanks, Ten. I’ll get in touch soon, I promise. I think I’m almost done!” You told him proudly.

“Soon in normal person time or soon in Y/N time?”

“Me time…”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll see you in six months then.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Remember when I wondered aloud if sirens at the North and South poles were related, and you ended up spending our entire winter break researching that?”

“It only took four weeks!”

“You said it would be a quick search.”

“Exactly! People will dedicate their entire lives to that kind of research! I vastly condensed it!”

He shook his head fondly at the memory, elbowing you gently. “Get back to your project so you can finish early again and we can hang out soon, okay? And scoot, I’m trying to use the vending machine. You’re always in my way, I swear.”

You playfully pretended to block him, laughing as he nudged you out of the way with his shoulder. Starting back off towards the stairs, you turned around to give a cheery, “See you, Ten!”

“Bye, Y/N!” He waved to you with one hand, punching in the vending machine code with the other.

In better spirits having seen your friend, you traipsed up the stairs with extra pep in your step. Except Renjun wasn’t in your study room. Huh. Well, nothing in the rules saying a guy can’t take a bathroom break.

Setting his melon soda down next to his laptop, you plopped back down in your chair and kicked your feet up on the table. You ripped open your peanut butter sandwich cookies and cracked open your tea. The cookies were sweet, and while you didn’t have any oceanic reference for what peanut butter tasted like (you were told that “nutty” was a flavor profile unto itself, which wasn’t very helpful), you had decided that you liked it.

Waking your laptop back up, you saw that you had a new email, and shot up in your seat when you saw the subject.

dr_magic2303 replied to a post.

8 minutes ago.

Holy fucking shit, 8 minutes ago. While you were in the library? They could still be there. You looked around frantically. Where the fuck was Renjun when you needed him? Shooting to your feet, you snatched your phone from the table and rushed to throw the door open. Into Renjun’s face.

He stumbled back, holding his face as he let out a string of curses.

“Shit! Sorry, Junnie!” You didn’t sound all too sorry as you bounced on your feet, antsy to get a move on with your search. “No time for an ice pack though. Dr. Magic just replied to that dragon post we had bookmarked eight minutes ago. Which means that they’re probably still in the library! We need to go look for them right now!”

You took off in the direction of the desktop computers on this floor, keeping your voice at a fervent whisper-yell. The second floor computers were their favorite, according to the IPs.

“I know!” Renjun hurried after you, still clutching his nose. “I saw the email, and I tried to call you, but you left your phone in the study room.”

Checking your phone, you did in fact have a missed call from Renjun from 6 minutes ago. Well shit.

“So I went to go get you, but you weren’t at the vending machines, so I came back up to the study room and then nearly got my nose broken.”

You looked over your shoulder at him with wide eyes. “You went to get me? Not look for Dr. Magic on the freshest lead we’ve ever had? When they were quite possibly around the corner?”

The two of you had arrived at the desktops, and there was nobody in sight. One was awake, on the account login screen, the other two asleep on the ancient screensavers. You let out a heavy sigh, looking over at Renjun.

“I went to get you because this is your thing, not mine. I don’t know, I’d figured you’d want the satisfaction of taking the mask off them.”

You nodded. “Thanks, Junnie. Next time, though, just get them.”

“And how about you keep your phone on you?”

“So we both fucked it up.”

He gave you a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s still three more floors, Y/N.”

“Right, come on. You take the first, I’ll go up to the fourth since I smacked you with the door.”

The other floors were busts, and when you finally met back up with Renjun in your study room, you were glad to have your cold bottle of tea waiting for you. Knocking back a third of it in one go, you let out a noise of relief. Renjun had already opened the soda you’d gotten him.

“Thanks, by the way.” He held it up gratefully before taking a sip.

“You’re welcome.”

“And, I’m sorry. That I let Dr. Magic get away.”

“We don’t even know what floor they were posting from yet. They’ve could’ve been on the fourth floor and would’ve been gone by the time you got there anyway.” You brushed away his apologies. “Or they could’ve been on the second and been a psycho and you would’ve been a poor defenseless human all by yourself.”

“Oh, right, without my big strong siren to protect me.” He scoffed. “Woe is me.”

“Exactly,” you laughed, shutting your laptop. “Anyway, I’ll take a look at the IP later. Who knows, they might not have even been in the library. Might’ve been one of those rogue VPN posts.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked over you packing up your things. “You heading out?”

You nodded, zipping up your bag and tossing it onto your shoulder. “Prior arrangements. Sorry to cut this short, completely forgot about it when we agreed to meet up.”

“You’re so popular.”

“I know!” You mimicked his sarcastic tone, holding the door open with your foot as you stopped in the threshold. “Oh, hey— the midterm in MCS Linguistics. It’s my only one this semester, I’ve just got papers in all my other classes. Do you want to study together for that?”

“Yeah, sure, sure.”

“First session Saturday? My place for lunch?”

Renjun grimaced, presumably remembering your typical stock of pantry items tailored to a siren’s food preference. “I’ll pack a lunch.”

“Cool. See you in class, Junnie!” You waved to him cheerily as you took off for the faculty advisor meeting with Dr. Kwon that you were going to need to run across campus to be on time for.

“What is it?” Renjun set his book down where he was sat across your coffee table from you, an inquisitive eyebrow quirked up at you.

“What? Nothing.” You bit down on your lip, eyes boring holes into your computer screen.

“No, it’s not ‘nothing.’ You’ve been staring at me ever since I got here, while also refusing to make eye contact with me. What? Something in my teeth? My hair look bad?”

Normally that would’ve made you chuckle—he was wearing a backwards baseball cap again today—but you just bit down harder on your lip and shook your head.

“Now you’re refusing to talk?” He scoffed. “Did you get hexed or something? I can’t believe you’re refusing to talk.”

“No, I can talk,” you insisted. “What uh, what’d you get for number four? On the review packet?”

“Don’t tell me you’re still stuck on number four. Y/N, I’m almost done, and there’s twenty-five questions on this.”

“I’m not, I finished and went back, it was just one that I didn’t—”

But Renjun had grabbed your computer and turned the screen around, and you knew he could see that you had only done the first one. You buried your face in your hands, your skin prickling uncomfortably with shame. Your friend’s sigh was audible, but surprisingly, the next thing said wasn’t a string of derision. Instead, you heard the shuffle of clothes against your rug, and then he was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee with you.

“Y/N, what’s going on with you today? Or, not today, the past couple days? You weren’t all there in class yesterday either. I left it alone then because it was Dr. Hyun, and nobody is ever all there for her classes but— what’s wrong?”

You slowly shook your head.

“You can’t tell me?”

You nodded.

“Okay. Is it bad? Like, dangerous?”

You shook your head.

“Alright, that’s good.” The relief was audible in his voice. “Is it family? Or, pod?”

You shook your head.

“School?”

You nodded.

“Alright, yeah. A lot going on. Is it like burn out?”

You shook your head.

“So, new stuff?”

You nodded.

He put an arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know you already had a lot. Getting this midterm over with will be one more thing off your checklist, right? That’ll open a spot for this new thing.”

With a sniffle, you nodded.

“Ah, but you’re not going to be any good studying like this.” He sighed again, dropping his arm from around your shoulders and his presence shifted away from your side. “Come on, quick field trip. Then we’ll come right back to the MCS Linguistics grind. Sound good?”

You finally took your hands from your face to look up. Renjun was standing right next to you, offering you a hand. You tentatively put yours in his, and he tightened his grip to pull you up to your feet.

The two of you ended up in a froyo shop down the street from your apartment. You gleefully picked a gummy shark off the top of your swirl, biting the head off first before tossing the rest in your mouth. Renjun lifted a meticulously curated spoonful of froyo and toppings to his mouth, satisfaction on his face as he tasted his perfect bite. You watched in amusement as he went to start creating his next scoop that had the precise ratio of yogurt and every single topping he had chosen—each partitioned to their own area atop the froyo. You decided to save your second big gummy shark for last, and took a big spoonful from the melting edge of your froyo.

“Why not me?” Renjun asked abruptly, his gaze still on the dessert in front of him.

“Huh?” Your jaw dropped. How could he have known what—

“You haven’t asked me if I’m Dr. Magic. Why not?”

Ah, Dr. Magic. Of course.

“You were my first guess, and the first person I ruled out back in like September,” you admitted with a shrug.

His head snapped up at that. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re such an arrogant, neurotic overachiever that you’d want credit if you did all this. You wouldn’t use an alias.”

“Oh. Huh.” Renjun looked between you and his froyo, a sheepish smile coming to his face. “Strangely, that makes me feel better.”

You watched a dollop of froyo fall off your spoon and plop back into your cup. “And I nabbed your IP address off your laptop the first time we hung out in January and double-checked it with every Dr. Magic post. Just in case.”

“When I was in the bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course you did.”

“Were you taking it as an insult to your intelligence that I had apparently not considered you as an option?”

“Maybe…”

You laughed, and laughed, and laughed. You laughed so hard your sides hurt, there were tears in your eyes, and you genuinely started wheezing. Renjun pretended to roll his eyes, but you saw the smile on his face and knew what he was thinking: success, no more mopey siren.

Once you had enough air back in your lungs to talk, you pointed your spoon at him firmly. “See? Just proving my point. You want people to know you’re smart.”

He crossed his arms. “As if you don’t.”

“Oh, I definitely do. But I know I’m like that.” You put a hand over your chest, looking him dead in the eye. “Do you?”

With your head screwed back on the normal amount, you and Renjun were able to dive back into your study session at your apartment. Several hours into it, though, you noticed Renjun blinking like way too much and constantly rubbing at his eyes. It was to the point where it was distracting for you.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” You asked bluntly.

That immediately burst the Renjun griping dam (which was really held together with tape and prayers anyway). “The screens hurt my eyes and human blue light glasses don’t do shit and no fairy has let me try theirs out. I know I should probably just take the plunge and buy them but I really can’t justify the price and—”

“Try mine.” You stood up, walking over to a display shelf on the other side of the living room.

“You have a pair? Why? Sirens don’t—”

“You collect magical experiences. I collect magical things.” You said nonchalantly, grabbing the pair of silver frames from where they sat between a phoenix feather (a gift) and a small wristwatch that would tell the correct time until it was put on, then it would be set on the time and date most significant to the wearer in that moment until it was removed. Walking back over to him, you held them out to him insistently, “Here, try them.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Renjun gingerly took them, sliding the arms over his ears and the frames onto the bridge of his nose. The pair you had was a little older, admittedly. You’d picked them up at a novelty shop, so they had some retro charm to them. An older style of frame, thicker lenses. But you thought it added a quaintness to their look. Especially on Renjun, he just looked downright adorable in them.

You sat back down to watch with your head in your hand as his brown eyes blinked from behind the thick lenses, and he looked around your living room like a newborn woodland animal. His face had already relaxed, and he turned his focus down to his laptop screen next, messing with the brightness up, then down. After that, he took out his phone, doing the same with that device.

“Well?” You prompted him, though you truly would’ve been content with watching him look around as if he’d been born colorblind and it were his first time seeing in color. Which, you had an enchanted pair for that too, but he wasn’t colorblind to your knowledge.

The human looked at you, a giddy smile stretching across his face. “They’re perfect! Thanks, Y/N!”

His hand reached up to take them off, but you stopped him.

“Keep them—”

“No, these had to be so expensive!” He protested immediately.

“Just for a week or so,” you finished your sentence pointedly. He was cute, but not that cute. “Make sure you really like them before you buy, okay? If you end up hating them, give them back. If you like them and buy your own pair, you can give them back whenever yours arrive in the mail.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not like I’m using them. Superior siren eyesight.” You tapped next to one of your eyes for emphasis.

“Thanks for not rubbing it in or anything.”

Scrambling to dial Renjun’s number, you put your phone on speaker as you fervently flicked through all of your Dr. Magic notes. You’d been laying in bed binging some mindless baking competition to numb your brain from all the studying you’d been doing when an email notification had popped up alerting you to a new Dr. Magic post.

“Y/N?” Renjun answered the phone, sounding utterly confused. “What’s—”

“New Dr. Magic post. I ran the IP and they’re in our city!” You blurted out.

“Okay… Well we already knew that, right?”

“Yeah, but this is an IP in our city that they posted from at midnight on a Saturday. Not any of the school computers.” You hit CTRL + F, typing in the string of numbers to quickly cross reference it with your extensive list. “This could be their IP. Like, their actual one, from a personal computer.”

“Oh, yeah. Could be.”

“Can you give me a little more enthusiasm here, Junnie? Did I wake you up or something? It’s only—” You stopped like you’d just walked face-first into a brick wall, eyes locked on the search result.

“Yeah, only quarter after midnight,” he scoffed.

You clicked the next arrow on the search bar, but that was the only match. 1/1 results.

“Y/N?” Renjun called for your attention. “You there?”

You hung up.

Not wanting to lose your nerve, you pressed the doorbell over and over insistently. You could hear the complaining tone of the occupant before his words were even audible.

“Christ, I have neighbors, you know?” Renjun swung open the door with a scowl. The human was in a big, slouching hoodie and pajama pants. His hair was stuck up in a couple different directions, making you think he might’ve just woken up. Except behind him, you could see that his kitchen light was on, and a couple books and his laptop were open on his kitchen table. Late night studying. And the fact that you’d just talked to him on the phone fifteen minutes ago.

“Can I come in?” You requested, fidgeting with the sleeve of your cardigan.

His face immediately softened. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry to just show up like this,” you said as you took off your shoes by the front door before following him further into his apartment.

“It’s okay.” He stopped you two in the kitchen, picking up a colorful, patterned cardboard box. “Uh, I was just about to make a midnight snack. Pizza bites, you want some?”

“I… don’t think I’ve ever had them.”

“Perfect, you can try one now then.”

“Mm,” you made a non-committal noise, leaning against his kitchen counter to watch him pour out the frozen food onto a baking sheet.

The oven beeped, and he put the tray in before pressing a couple more buttons.

“So, I was thinking about the Dr. Magic stuff. Not the IP stuff but like… What even is your plan for when you do find Dr. Magic?” Renjun asked as he put the remaining pizza bites in his freezer.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned against the countertop across from you, though in the narrow space of his kitchen, you were practically knee-to-knee. “Like, say we finally find out who they are, we run up to them in the library or on campus or something. Then what? What are you going to do? What are you going to say? You’ve done all this, and I know why you had to. I get it. But, do you know what you’re going to say to them?”

“Probably something along the lines of…” You trailed off, giving an exasperated sigh. Dropping your chin to your chest, you groaned, “Gods, I don’t know.”

“Hey, that’s why you got me. So you can bounce ideas off someone, do a dry run.”

“I thought the words would just come to me, and now that I’m trying, I can’t—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let’s think about why you did this. I know it’s really hard to put into words. I mean, I know why you did. I get it. It’s that need to know. Not because you can, but because you have to, right? It’s curiosity in its rawest form. So obviously it’s not going to be some schmaltzy ‘haha I caught you’ spiel or anything.”

Looking up from the kitchen tile to Renjun’s eager features, you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re still helping me… when I know it’s you, Junnie.”

He tilted his head to the side, a comical noise of confusion coming from his mouth, “Uh?”

“I know it’s you, and you know that I know that it’s you.”

“You already ruled me out, because I’m an arrogant—”

“Junnie, you made a post on the forums from your laptop. No VPN. When you knew I was still tracking Dr. Magic’s IP on every post they made, and that I had your IP. That’s not a whoopsie that you make unless you want to be caught.”

The human crossed his arms over his chest, but otherwise seemed entirely calm about being caught. “And you didn’t come in here guns blazing now that you’d caught me, either. Why?”

“I didn’t know how to say it. I mean, you’re right, I only did all this because I needed to know.”

“And now you know.”

“Why now? Why just give up now?” You asked with a shake of your head. “You started posting as Dr. Magic back in August, and I came to you in January. You knew everything I was doing; you could have cruised through the rest of the semester and I’d have never caught you.”

“You wanted to find out who it was by midterms. One less thing on your plate.”

“And now I know…”

“So how does it feel? Finally catching Dr. Magic?”

You wrinkled your nose and sighed, “Bit disappointing. I was right on my first guess.”

“And you immediately dismissed me out of hand for being an arrogant, neurotic overachiever on your first guess,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t really know you then. If I’d known you then like I know you now, I would’ve known as soon as I saw the first post.”

Renjun batted his eyes teasingly. “Aww, Y/N…”

“Doctor underscore magic two, three, zero, three? Twenty-three, oh-three? That’s your birthday, Junnie,” you deadpanned.

“Right.”

Pushing off the counter to stand up straight again, you said, “Anyway, you did help me find Dr. Magic. So, my turn.”

“Oh, no, you seriously don’t have to do that. I rigged the deal—”

“Yeah, about that.” You took a step forward. “How did you think that was going to end up for you, anyway? Were you going to sell somebody else out as Dr. Magic and hope I wasn’t going to talk to them? Spit in your mouth first and ask questions later?”

“I was thinking on my feet.”

“Maybe think laying down next time, Junnie.”

“Ouch.”

“Anyway, come on, you’ll want to sit down for this.” You grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the living room.

“You don’t need to feel like you have to do this,” he reassured you.

Stopping the two of you in front of the couch, you turned to face him with a smirk. “Believe me when I say that it is going to be a treat unto itself for me to see you under the effects of siren venom. M’kay?”

Renjun’s surprise was evident on his face. “Oh.”

You stepped closer to him, delicately placing a hand on his chest. “Now unless you want me to literally spit in your mouth, I’m going to have to kiss you, to administer the venom.”

His eyes flicked between the hand you had on his chest and your face as he replied. “I’m okay with that—the kissing—if you are.”

“Renjun, I’ve been ready to eat you alive since you said the words ‘I want to experience siren venom for science’ to me.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. So why don’t you sit?” You guided him with the hand against his chest to sit back against his couch. Swinging one leg over his hips, then the other, you lowered yourself onto his lap. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, tentatively settling his hands on your thighs. “Is this okay?”

“More than.” You smiled, looping your arms around his neck. “Now, a couple things, before we get started.”

“We haven’t started?”

“You’ll know it when we do.”

“Right.”

“I know you think you know what siren venom is like, but whatever scientific articles you’ve read, or documentaries you’ve watched, or slides you’ve studied under microscopes in lab, cannot actually prepare you for what it’s like. Which, I imagine is why you want to experience it for yourself.” You smirked down at him as you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down with a gulp. “So before I actually dose you up with it, I need you to tell me what you’re actually okay with doing and what you’re not. Because once you get my venom in you, you’re going to want to let me do anything and everything to you, up to and including kill you, remember?”

“Well that’s off the table.”

“Good to know,” you snorted, running a fingernail down the nape of his neck. You felt a shudder go through him. “Is this okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” He seemed to be fighting to keep his eyes open. You halted your motions to let him think, and watched in amusement as he blinked his mind clear.

Once enough time had passed, you prompted him, “So?”

“I think just kissing,” Renjun answered. “Like, making out, or whatever. If you want…”

You snickered. “What part of ‘eat you alive’ was I unclear about?”

“The ‘eat’ part, actually. How literal is that?”

“Guess you’ll find out,” you teased. Then, you focused again as you sat back a little. “Okay, making out. Making out means different things to different people. So… we know kissing’s on the table. Tongue?”

“Yeah.”

“Teeth?”

“Where?”

“Waist up. You got somewhere you don’t want them?”

He took a moment to think about this. Then shook his head. “No. You can use them. Anywhere.”

“Same goes for you. Hickies?”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both. You first.”

“Both are okay. You?”

You were already zeroing in on his neck and a small part of his collarbone peeking out from under his hoodie. “Same. Touching over clothes?”

“Okay, as long as you don’t think it’ll be too much with the venom…”

“Oh, Junnie, everything is going to be too much.” You grinned down at him.

His breathing had picked up pace as the two of you were talking. “You? The touching?”

“Good. Great. Touching under clothes?”

Renjun squirmed underneath you, but maintained your eye contact. “Just under my shirt.”

“Smart boy,” you said approvingly. “Me too.”

“Is that it?” He asked quietly, eyes now flicking down to your lips.

“I think so…” You looked around the room to buy a couple extra seconds of thinking time. When you hadn’t come up with anything else, you looked down at the human below you once more. “Ready, Renjun?”

“Yes.”

You took one final look over him like this, how much he already wanted you before he’d even gotten any of your venom in him, and dragged the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip instinctually. His heartrate jumped, and you wondered if it was fear—if the motion had reminded him perhaps of a hungry predator—or need. Or maybe a bit of both.

But you couldn’t tease him nor yourself any longer, swooping down to connect your mouths. You started off with just a couple light, closed-mouth kisses, to ease him into it. You heard him inhale quickly through his nose, his grip on your thighs tightening minutely. Swiping your tongue across the seal of his lips, you were delighted when he immediately parted his mouth in response, his tongue seeking yours out. You hummed contentedly into his mouth as you started stroking a fingernail down the back of his neck again. At the same time, your venom was beginning to mix in with your saliva, being passed onto Renjun.

Once his jaw started going slack in the kiss, and his hands slowly slid off your legs entirely to rest lamely at his side, you deemed him plenty dosed up. Consciously, you blocked off your venom glands once more. When one particularly drawn-out scratch down the back of his neck finally elicited a noise from him, an involuntary whine, you felt something in you snap. You needed more of that.

“So this is what siren venom feels like…” He mumbled breathily, letting his head loll back against the couch cushion as you kissed a path down his jawline and neck. When you felt his breath hitch in his throat over one particular spot, you decided to take your time there, sucking and nipping a mark into his skin.

When humans were… locked in a lover’s embrace, they let off a certain perfume distinguishable only to sirens—which was what made them the favored prey of sirens for so long. A human under the influence of siren venom? Delectable. And every human’s was unique too, so Renjun under the influence of your venom? Absolutely addictive.

With each kiss you stole from his lips, every nip you left on his neck that you then soothed over with your tongue, you got another taste of it. A sweetness that came with a bite, like ginger candy.

Renjun was still talking, though, his vocal cords vibrating under your lips. “My-My heart’s beating so fast, and I’m so warm—that’s so the ocean water doesn’t feel cold, of course—”

“Would you shut up?” You sat back up, grabbing him by the hair.

“Why?”

“I’m trying to kiss you again, idiot.”

“Oh. Right.” He closed his mouth, looking up at you with glassy eyes, waiting. Gods, he was so pretty like this.

You crashed your lips back on his, a mess of teeth and lips and tongue as he tried to keep up with you. But you knew that your venom was in full effect now, every single one of his nerve endings was approximately three and half times more sensitive. So you were sure it was all a little overwhelming. But he was definitely trying his best, kissing sloppily into your mouth with hungry, desperate whines.

Pulling him back off with your grip in his hair, you traced a thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip, cooing over how fucked-out he looked like this. “Oh, baby. Oh, poor Junnie. What’s wrong? Can’t even kiss me properly because it feels too good? Baby’s overwhelmed with just a little bit of kissing?”

He opened his mouth wider, darting the tip of his tongue out to brush against the pad of your thumb. You pushed the finger in his mouth, groaning as he immediately closed his lips around it. “Gods, you’re perfect, Junnie.”

Taking your thumb back out of his mouth just to grab his chin with the same wet digit, you attacked his lips with yours again. Ginger candy. His hands that had been lamely resting at his sides the entire time now fumbled at something in the area where your hips met.

“What? What are you trying to do, baby?” You asked, leaning back to look down. He was grabbing at the hem of his hoodie, unsuccessfully yanking it up towards his head as part of it was stuck under one of your thighs.

“‘m too hot. Please…” He panted, dropping it as he looked up at you pleadingly.

You nodded slowly in understanding, knowing that one of the effects of the siren venom was an increase in body temperature, not to mention what you two were just doing. The collar of another shirt was visible underneath the sweatshirt. “Okay, Junnie, we can take your hoodie off. But only the hoodie. Your other clothes are staying on, understood?”

He nodded quickly, hips bucking up against you. Sweat was beading up on his forehead, his hair getting stuck to the damp skin. You shifted back on his lap so that none of the sweatshirt was under you anymore, grabbing the hem and reaching behind him to yank up from underneath him as well.

“Sit forward for me, baby?” You requested in his ear sweetly.

Renjun obliged as best he could, leaning forward to get his back and shoulders off the couch. You pulled the hoodie up over his head, tossing it off to the side, leaving him in a black t-shirt that certainly couldn’t be helping much either. But having that heavy layer off seemed to provide some relief for him, as he let out a sigh, falling back against the furniture again.

You giggled as you settled back into the crux of his lap again, lacing your fingers together behind his neck. “Is that better now, Junnie?”

He shook his head, and you arched an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh? What’s wrong, then?”

Renjun tugged gently at your cardigan where it had shrugged down to show one of your shoulders. “Please?”

Pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, you thought this over. You had a tank top on under the cardigan, and both of you were still wearing everything else. Not to mention that you were starting to get a bit warm too. Sirens ran naturally cooler than humans, so you were sure that to him, you felt practically refreshing right now, but you honestly were a bit hot for a siren’s tastes.

Giving a contemplative hum first, you finally relented, “Alright, Junnie. But just my sweater. Everything else stays on, because we didn’t talk about that before the venom, do you understand?”

He rushed to strip you of the knit cardigan, his mouth following his hands’ path down your skin. First on your shoulder, then down your arm. You let the garment drop on the floor behind you as he kissed back up along your shoulder, then over the fabric of your tank top until he got to your collarbone, and finally the hollow of your throat. Fondly stroking the back of his head, the pleased purr that had started in your chest turned into a surprised moan when he licked a long stripe up your throat.

Holding his face in your hands so that your noses brushed, and your lips barely ghosted over each other, you let your breaths mingle in the meager space afforded. Renjun ended your little anticipation game quickly, kissing you tongue-first, and you kissed him back just as eagerly, sucking on his tongue with lewd, wet noises. He moaned into your mouth, his hands grabbing at your waist for purchase first, then slipping and curling into the material of your shirt, bunching it in his fists.

Slowing the pace of your kisses, you eventually sat back, appraising the state he was in. You affectionately ran a hand through his hair as you took in his blown pupils, kiss-swollen lips, and pink cheeks. “Junnie? How are you feeling? Need a break?”

You hadn’t given him another dose of venom since the initial one, which wasn’t very large to begin with. But this was his first time experiencing it, so you wanted to check in. He should be just past the peak of it by now, starting to come down but for all intents and purposes still very much intoxicated. Siren venom wasn’t meant to last very long, after all, it took an adult human less than a minute to drown.

“Need you…” He insisted, arching up towards you.

Indulging him in one, two more feverish kisses, you pulled away once again. “I know, baby. And you’ve been doing so good for me. So I need you to tell me if you need a break. Okay?”

“’kay.” He agreed before you sealed your mouth over his again.

Kissing down from his mouth to just under his jaw, at the same time you trailed a finger down the center of his front until it got to the hem of his t-shirt.

He nodded fervently before you could say or do anything more. “Please… please…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” you quieted him down gently. “Doing so good for me, Junnie. The best.”

You slipped your hands under his shirt, just to stroke his waist. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a sound of satisfaction. He grabbed at your thighs again, but you couldn’t tell if it was an attempt at reciprocity or to have something sturdier to ground himself to than your flimsy tank top. The corner of your lips quirked up as you pressed a couple more kisses down his neck to hover your lips over his pulse point, content to start a new mark there as your hands continued to explore under his shirt. It was when you gently raked your nails down over his pecs that you got the loudest moan out of him yet, and you groaned in response.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” you nuzzled your nose into Renjun’s neck, then pressed a couple relatively chaste pecks to his cheek. “Just perfect…”

Taking your hands back out from his shirt, you silenced his whine at the loss of contact by slotting your lips together once more. You cupped his face with one hand, using the other to take one of his hands off your leg and lace them together, palm to palm. This seemed to make him content once more, especially when you brought your connected hands up to the back of the couch, pinning his behind his head. He squirmed under you, letting out a familiar noise of pleasure into your mouth and squeezing your hand tightly.

You knew the venom was well and truly starting to wear off when Renjun began keeping pace with your slow, lazy kisses, his mouth not as sloppy but no less delightful as it moved in tandem with yours. The thumb of the remaining hand on your thigh started to stroke over your skin, and the hand that you were holding gave yours a gentle squeeze. You gave him one, two last lingering kisses, drinking in the dwindling taste of ginger candy while you could, Renjun matching you beat for beat.

Unlacing your fingers and dropping your hand from his face, you drew back from him. Before you could say anything, though, Renjun grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you in for one more kiss, sinking his teeth into your already tender, over-kissed bottom lip. You gasped into his mouth, which gave him the perfect opportunity to intertwine his tongue with yours again on his apparent mission to try to kiss the breath from you. A nigh impossible task for a human to do to a siren, but it definitely felt like he was succeeding. He was crushing his lips against yours so hard you were worried about him drawing blood—not because you would mind the pain, but for fear of his safety if he got a direct hit of your blood in his mouth.

In the back of your mind, you were desperately trying to remember if you had maybe accidentally opened your venom glands a second time later on, but just drew a blank. That wasn’t something you did unaware, it wasn’t automatic, it had to be done on purpose. Then, for a brief moment, you were worried about secondary wave syndrome—some humans break down siren venom in two phases instead of one, and the second one almost always kills them if they’re not brought to a human medical doctor for treatment—and you started running through the symptoms as well as the nearest human emergency rooms in your mind. Burst capillaries in the eyes, refusal of food and water, the hospital three blocks over should have an ER, right? But the kiss didn’t feel like when he’d been intoxicated on your venom before, this one felt deliberate, in control. He was in control. You let out a small moan at the thought, and Renjun’s lone hand on your thigh tightened in response.

Once he finally let you go, you both sat there in silence for a good few seconds, you still on his lap. You stared extra hard at the whites of his eyes. They looked normal. He seemed… normal.

It was rare for either of you to be speechless, much less the both of you.

“Well…” you broke the silence. “That was siren venom. You should drink some water. Stay right here, I’ll get it.”

You climbed off of him, heading into his kitchen. Looking at the oven, you were wondering how the timer hadn’t gone off in that entire time when you saw that it wasn’t on. The words ‘TIMER SET?’ were flashing on the screen at you, and the preheat hadn’t been started either. The pizza rolls had just been slowly defrosting on a pan in the cold oven. You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching into his fridge for his Brita filter then securing a couple cups from the cabinets.

Walking back into the living room, you handed the human his cup of water and remained standing as you took a sip of yours.

“You didn’t start the oven, for your pizza rolls,” you informed him quietly.

“Wh— oh, shit,” Renjun groaned, tipping his head back. “I guess I don’t get to give you your first pizza roll tonight.”

“That’s okay.” You dropped onto the couch next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“So… that was siren venom,” he breathed out, then took a long gulp of his water. Definitely not second wave syndrome.

“That was siren venom,” you confirmed with a laugh, fondly brushing a piece of sweaty hair off his forehead.

“You were right… I was not prepared,” he admitted with a laugh, taking another drink.

“So do you think you would’ve let me kill you?”

“Yeah. I would’ve given you my credit card info, bank password, spilled all of my friends’ worst secrets, let you kill me, killed someone else if you asked me. God, that was…” He said with wide eyes, shaking his head. But there was a familiar glint in his eye as a smile cracked across his face, “Incredible.”

“Glad you think so,” you giggled, patting his chest. “Now don’t become a venom junkie, okay? I couldn’t live with myself if you did and it was my fault.”

“I won’t. Not really what I meant anyway.”

You grinned slyly at what he seemed to be implying, that it might not have just been the siren venom, but that it was you and your venom that made it so incredible. Like how every human had a slightly different essence, every siren had a unique chemical signature in their venom. It’s why using it non-consensually nowadays would be extremely stupid (as well as just an immoral thing to do and also a crime)—it can be matched to the siren in a lab like DNA. In addition, anecdotally, every siren’s venom was said to produce a slightly different high, but no mass studies had backed that up. You were inclined to believe the stories, though.

Renjun was still a bit hazy, though, still riding the high of the venom, so you decided to tuck a conversation like that away for another time.

“So why did you pick Magical Creatures Studies? Other than you’re insane?” You redirected the topic to a more neutral one.

Renjun didn’t seem put off at all about this jump. “When I was a kid, my family traveled around a bunch, for my dad’s job. I got to meet a lot of different kinds of beings, some of them became my best friends, and I never wanted to stop learning about it all.”

“What does your dad do?”

“Government job,” he answered, suddenly interested in picking at his nails.

You furrowed your brow thoughtfully. “Wait a minute… Huang Renjun. As in, your father is Ambassador Huang? That we’ve had to write papers on in class?”

Ambassador Huang was the first human ambassador sent on diplomacy trips to outside nations of magical creatures post-integration. His trips had largely been considered a monumental success, and credited as a big driver behind the huge uptick of immigration that your city has been seeing from outlying areas in the past couple decades. You’d hardly gotten through a single contemporary MCS class without directly learning about him or at least hearing his name. And you’d apparently been going to school with his son for four years and just pumped said son full of your venom and made out with him while he was high on your venom.

“Yeah…”

“Dude! What the hell? You didn’t think to mention that at some point?” You asked incredulously.

“And sound like some uppity nepo kid bragging about my dad? No thanks,” Renjun snorted.

“Yeah, maybe not like day one but like… I don’t know, before I used my venom on you!” You nudged his arm teasingly.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I just venom-ed Ambassador Huang’s son!”

“Oh my God, could you not call me that?” He snapped at you. “This is why I don’t tell people! Because now I don’t have a name anymore, I’m just Ambassador Huang’s son.”

You immediately realized your mistake, your stomach dropping as you heard the hurt in his words. “Renjun, I’m—”

“Just go.” He demanded, standing up from the couch and putting distance between you two again. “We both got what we wanted, right? You found out who Dr. Magic was, and I experienced siren venom. That’s all this was, so you can go. You don’t owe me anything else.”

You clenched your jaw, setting your cup on the end table beside the couch. Picking up your cardigan from the floor with as much dignity as you could, you pulled it back on. Neither of you said another word as he watched you stalk over to the front door, shove your shoes back on, throw the door open, and slam it closed behind you.

Drumming your fingertips along your keyboard, you squinted at the flashcards on your screen. You were in a sour mood, which had persisted ever since you’d left Renjun’s last night feeling used.

Ten was next to you at your picnic table outside the student union, finishing up a pencil portrait sketch of one of his other friends—one of the CompSci majors you’d paid to write your browser extension, actually. Dejun, a dragon, whose slit pupils, many bejeweled earrings, and a singular fang poking out from under his top lip featured prominently in the portrait. The sketch was part of Ten’s midterm portfolio check-in for one of his classes. Midterms were literally this week. Like, right now. You forced your sharp teeth further into the wooden pencil in your mouth.

“You’re going to ruin your cuspids like that, Y/N,” Ten chastised you calmly, rubbing at a line with the pad of his ring finger to smudge it before flipping his own non-mangled pencil around and continuing to sketch with the graphite.

“I’ll grow another set,” you grumbled, but took the writing utensil out of your mouth nevertheless.

“And have no teeth in the meantime. Real sexy siren stuff. Sure to lure all the hotties to their deaths looking like GamGam missing her dentures.”

“Shut up!” You shoved his head away, earning a loud peal of laughter from your friend. “As if you’ve been pulling anybody yourself. You’re literally a siren art major covered in tattoos that he designed himself, more piercings than a dragon, including nipple rings, and you haven’t been on a date in… what, almost a year?”

“So we’re both disappointments to the good siren name, huh?” He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Just a couple of poor, celibate sirens doomed to be disgraces to their species forever…”

“Can you not yell that to the entire courtyard, dude?”

“What? Not announce very loudly that you haven’t been with anybody in exactly four—”

You lunged to cover his mouth before he could publicize precisely how long it’s been since you’d hooked up with someone. Ten immediately broke down into laughs behind your hand that was covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking even as you smacked him on the back of the head with your other hand.

“Gods, what is wrong with you?” You hissed at him. “You’re a menace to society. And me.”

When you’d finally let go of his face, he said through a couple more chuckles, “Hey, you could easily do it back to me.”

“Why would I want to do that? And the fact that you’re suggesting it makes me think that you want me to do that, which makes me want to do it even less. You freak.”

Before your podmate could respond, you caught sight of a figure approaching your table head-on. Setting your jaw, your body immediately tensed. There was no mistake, Huang Renjun was walking straight towards you. Ten seemed to have noticed the shift in your body language and mood, as he didn’t say anything further, quietly going back to his sketchbook as you watched Renjun get nearer and nearer.

“Y/N,” he said your name quietly, stopping not quite at the end of the table beside you, but next to the end of the bench across from you.

“What do you want from me now, Renjun?” You replied bitterly, pretending to return your hands to your keyboard as if you were going to refocus on your studies.

“Uhm, to talk, I guess?”

Ten interjected, “Do you guys need a second? I can go—”

You held him in place with a hand around his wrist, your voice curt, “No, Ten. Stay. This will be short.”

Your friend lowered himself back down into his seat.

You then set your hard gaze on Renjun. The marks you had left on his neck were still visible above the collar of his t-shirt. Moving your eyes from that to his face, you cocked your head to the side. “What’s in it for me? You established that our relationship is purely transactional, remember? We apparently just use each other. You scratch my back, I spit in your mouth, quid pro quo.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Ten declared, wrenching his arm from your grasp to grab his sketchbook, pencils, and backpack before taking off.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I don’t see you like that at all, I just... I got defensive and snapped. It’s not an excuse, but still, I want you to know that I don’t mean anything I said. I’m sorry.” Renjun shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but you could see the genuine remorse on his features.

You breathed in, then out.

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, letting your voice relax back to the natural softness that it held around Renjun. “You’re your own person, aside from just ‘Ambassador Huang’s son.’ I’m sorry for treating you like anything other than Renjun.”

“It’s not that I’m not super proud to be his son or anything, I think he’s really awesome. He was my hero growing up; still is. I mean, I’m going into the same field as him. Kind of. You know? It’s just because we’re going to be doing the same kind of thing, I want to be able to be looked at for what I do. Good or bad.”

“Bad? You plan on using your degree for evil, Renjun?” You teased, scooting over on the bench seat to take Ten’s previous spot and freeing up a place for Renjun to scoot in beside you.

“I could,” he played along, gladly taking the seat offered.

The two of you made eye contact, then burst into laughter at the same time.

“What?” He questioned in mock offense. “I think I’d make a great evil dictator, personally. You don’t think so?”

“Not at all, you’d be great at it.”

“Thank you. My friends don’t take my threats so seriously.”

“Which will ultimately be their downfall.”

Renjun looked back out at the campus in front of you two, his voice turning serious again, “But, seriously, I mean, I don’t want people having all these lofty expectations for me and then be disappointed when I don’t change the whole world, nor do I want them making things easy for me because they know my dad.”

“That’s fair. Unattainable, but fair to wish for,” you nodded in understanding.

“Ugh...” He slumped forward, dropping his head into his arms atop the table.

“Look, Renjun…” You rested one hand on his arm as the other rubbed up and down his back supportively. “You can’t change who your dad is, and you said it yourself, it’s not like you’re ashamed of him either. So don’t brag, and don’t be a dick when somebody brings him up either. Just do your best to show people who Huang Renjun is. And if they still don’t get it, that’s their loss. Because I already know him, and I think he’s pretty cool.”

Renjun sat back up to look you in the face with a skeptical eyebrow raised. “You’re such a cheeseball. Aren’t sirens supposed to be alluring and enchanting?”

“Shut up! I will drown you! See how alluring I am when you’re under a siren call,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m kidding.” He grinned at you, nudging your shoulder with his. “That really did make me feel better, thank you, Y/N.”

You smiled back. “You’re welcome, Renjun.”

The two of you kept smiling at each other for a moment before he broke the eye contact, looking down at his hands then shifting his gaze back to the courtyard.

“Uhm, while we’re airing stuff out about last night...” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, Junnie?” You tilted your head to the side, watching as his cheeks started flushing.

“I don’t think I ever said thank you. I kind of popped off on you right after... everything. But thank you, for taking care of me before, during, and after. It didn’t even occur to me to talk about what we could and couldn’t do beforehand. Thank you for that, and for getting me the water. And... all of it in between...” His ears were bright red too at this point, but he managed to look you in the eye as he gave you his genuine gratitude.

You nodded in understanding. “You’re welcome. I’m glad that you felt cared for during all of it. In addition to, you know, everything else you felt.”

“Mm, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Studying his face curiously, you said, “You look like you want to ask me something else.”

“Well, I feel like you still weren’t very clear on the ‘eat me alive’ thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “Gods, Junnie, I’m not going to actually eat you—”

“I mean...” Renjun took a deep breath. “I kind of always feel like I’ve got a little bit of siren venom in me when I’m around you, Y/N. My heart races, and my skin is warm, and everything is just better when I’m with you. I want to see you when you’re not around, and when things are hard for you, I want to make everything better. I like you, and between the Dr. Magic deal, and our stupid academic rivalry, and what we did last night, I don’t know what I am to you, but that’s how I feel.”

If someone had told freshman you that Huang Renjun would ever say words like that to you, you’d have laughed in their face to the point of tears— or slapped them. And yet, in that moment, you weren’t surprised in the slightest. It was the most natural, beautiful, delightful, perfect thing that could’ve happened. Just like you leaning over to give him a modest, near-demure kiss on the cheek, absolutely beaming at him as you pulled back.

“I like you too, Renjun,” you admitted.

His eyes went wide before a broad, tender smile spread across his features and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He let out a drawn-out sigh of relief, “Ohh, that’s one weight off my chest for this week.”

You laughed in agreement. “Me too. Actually makes everything feel lighter.”

“Yeah, it does,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “So how much do I owe you?”

“What?”

“You said you were going to invoice Dr. Magic. For the browser extension, and the color copies, and whatever else. How much do I owe you?”

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think before a smirk pulled across your lips. “Mm, should be exactly the price of one nice dinner and a movie.”

“Dinner and a movie? Just how many copies were you making?” He asked with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“A nice dinner,” you reiterated. “I paid those CompSci majors fairly for their time.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Friday night after your last midterm, you were knocking on Huang Renjun’s door. The two of you had seen each other this week for your Linguistics in MCS class, but had been utterly locked into academic mode and hadn’t met up aside from that. So, per his invite, you were here in your “midterms best”— i.e., the pajamas you had been wearing at your own apartment since submitting your last mid-semester draft earlier today. You’d been told this wasn’t going to be a fancy affair.

Judging by the pajamas that Renjun had also answered the door wearing—giving you vivid déjà vu to the last time you were here—you were dressed appropriately for the occasion. He led you in by the hand, informing you there was something he wanted to show you in the kitchen.

You came to a stop in front of a plate piled high with small, pillow-shaped pieces of dough, some with bursts of red sauce leaking out of them. You couldn’t help but let out a sputtering laugh. “Pizza rolls? Did midterms scramble the egg on your face so bad that you missed the part where I said nice dinner?”

You might not have ever eaten pizza rolls, but you knew what section of the grocery store they came from.

“I can’t even tell what that was supposed to be… You’re so beautiful…” He was staring at you with a look of pure adoration, and surprised you by giving you a fleeting peck on the cheek, gone as soon as you’d realized what he was doing. Your hand instinctually came up to brush at your skin, almost in disbelief, as he went back to explaining his plans for tonight. “Anyway, I didn’t get to give you your first pizza roll the other night, and I figured that the last thing you actually wanted right after midterms week was to go out to some hoity toity place and be out at the movie theater really late, right? So, I’ve got pizza rolls, peanut butter cookies, your seaweed tea, and like way more snacks and candy and stuff. So we can chill and watch whatever movies you want tonight, unwind from midterms. And then next weekend, we’ll do your nice dinner and go to the movie theater. Think of it as an IOU.”

A fond smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you nodded your approval. “Mmm… you’re right. This is great, Junnie. Thank you.”

Set up on Renjun’s couch with the assortment of snacks—pizza rolls included—and your first movie chosen, you settled in next to him, knee to knee, under the same blanket as the two of you ate. You decided that pizza rolls weren’t that bad (you still liked peanut butter sandwich cookies better), convinced Renjun to try some of your ocean flakes again—a favorite snack of sirens, which he’d already tasted on one occasion at a Dr. Magic hunting session and hated—to similar results, and finished off a bottle of seaweed-infused tea by the time the first movie was about a third of the way done. At this point, you were pretty satiated food-wise, and set your empty drink bottle on the coffee table to sit back on the couch.

Linking your arm with Renjun’s, you rested your head on his shoulder as he was still finishing up his plate of pizza rolls. “That was good, Renjun. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I call dibs on little spoon first, by the way.”

“Damn.”

Once he was done eating as well, you laid down to eagerly take your promised place as little spoon. Renjun stayed partially propped up against the arm of the couch so he could see the TV as you were nestled back against his chest, one of his arms slung over your waist. Your fingers played with his under the blanket absentmindedly as you got used to your new place, with him, in his arms.

“Renjun?” You said into the quiet. The only noises were coming from the TV. The movie was nearly done, just a couple little resolving scenes after the climax left. You’d seen it plenty of times before—both of you had, it was a favorite that you’d discovered you two shared earlier in the semester—which was why you’d picked it, an easy watch that you both liked. But nothing that required your full attention, so you could talk or miss scenes if you wanted.

“Yeah?” He responded just as softly.

“This is really nice. Hanging out, just us. No school, no Dr. Magic.”

“I know. Almost doesn’t feel real.”

“What? That we’re hanging out without trying to kill each other?”

He let out a couple laughs, catching your hand that had been playing with his under the blanket and lacing your fingers together. “I think there’s definitely some people that would be shocked to see us right now. But I meant more-so that we don’t have any schoolwork to do right now, and that the whole Dr. Magic thing is finally over. Other than the dinner that I owe you.”

“Oh… I owe you… I-O-U…” you sounded the words and letters out slowly. “I get it now.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed dreamily, brushing your hair away from your face to press two kisses to your temple in quick succession.

You turned over to face him to properly protest, “Hey, I didn’t grow up around humans, you know that, right? I just came here to go to school! I moved here like, two weeks before our first day of freshman year—”

“I’m not making fun of you, Y/N!” He promised, sandwiching your hand between both of his and squeezing it tightly. “I respect how difficult it must have been for you to acclimate to the new culture and city when you moved, and so suddenly, on top of starting school. I just love y- love when you do that. Genuinely, I’m so charmed by it. Endeared. Bewitched. Whatever word you want to use. It’s something I never noticed until this semester, when we started doing the Dr. Magic stuff together. Despite knowing you for so long, in the department, in classes.”

“You know what I never knew about you before this semester, Junnie?”

“What?”

“That you were such a softie,” you snickered fondly. “I thought you were all textbooks and GPA and flashcards and whatever.”

The human ducked his head bashfully. “It’s something I’ve been working on this year.”

“Between this and Dr. Magic, I think you’ve been doing pretty well.”

“Thanks.”

“So, why did you do it, Junnie?” You asked curiously. “Not be a softie, I mean, but…”

“What? Be Dr. Magic?” He clarified, to which you nodded. “I didn’t mean to make a persona like that, really. I had to pick a screenname, and the guys had jokingly called me that a couple times when I helped them out with some problems. That’s all.”

“I know why you started the account. Knowledge. That’s also why you didn’t get the credit. You just needed to know. Though, the story behind the name is cute,” you pinched his cheek, and he tried to deter your hand with his shoulder half-heartedly. “I mean more like, why were you hiding your IP and using VPNs and stuff before you even knew that I was trying to track you down? In the fall.”

“I made the first couple posts from the school computers just because I like to do my work there, I wasn’t trying to cover anything up. Then I pictured what I’d do if I found someone posting like I was on the forums. And I would’ve tried to find out who they were. So I started covering my tracks a bit more intentionally after that. Didn’t want any groupies rolling up on me.” He pinched your side teasingly with the last sentence, and you slapped his hand away with an eye roll.

“Oh shut up!” You scoffed, ignoring his hands as he tried to pull you back towards him again.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sorry,” he apologized through his chuckles. “If anything I’m your groupie, I swear. Your number one fan from the moment you showed me your conspiracy board.”

“Mm, fine.” You scooted closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you once more. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

Renjun shifted to lay on his back, and you easily followed the move to snuggle in mostly on top of him, resting your head in the crook of his neck and your hand on his waist, fingers innocently smoothing over a patch of skin above his hipbone where his shirt had ridden up. It sounded like the credits were on by now, but you didn’t really care about picking another movie as Renjun hummed along to the familiar song that played over the scrolling names. You’d sing along too, if you were alone at your own place. But now you didn’t dare even hum like the human with you for fear of what it could do to him. Renjun’s voice was plenty lovely enough though, even just this casual little bit humming. You’d see if you could get him to sing for you properly one of these days. If an opportunity came before graduation. Who knew what your days would even look like before then.

Gods, graduation. You felt like you could shrivel up and die just thinking about it. Not to mention that you hadn’t even told Renjun that you’d—

“Hey. What are you thinking about?” He suddenly asked, his disapproving tone clear.

You gulped. “How could you tell I was thinking about something?”

“For one, you’ve got your bad thinking face on.” He pinched your bottom lip. “You pout. It’s very dramatic. You look very concerned.”

“I have different thinking faces?”

“Yeah, you look different when you’re studying. I’ve seen you do plenty of that to know the difference. And you’ve got a third face when you’re contemplating. Usually you do that one when you’re looking at menus.”

“I didn’t know I was apparently an open book.” You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“It’s cute, Y/N. You’ve got a cute face, and you make cute facial expressions with it, don’t cover it up.” He gingerly grabbed your hands to encourage you to take them off. “Except I am worried about what’s making you make your bad thinking face right now. What’s wrong?”

With a sigh, you pushed up into a sitting position. Renjun followed your lead curiously, a thoughtful frown on his own features as he watched you pull your knees to your chest.

“Renjun, I need to tell you something.”

He regarded you with a skeptical eyebrow raised. “Okay… go for it.”

Nervously, you smoothed out some wrinkles in your pajama pants as you confessed, “Uhm, Dr. Kwon asked me to carry the banner at commencement. I said yes.”

“I knew that.”

“What?” You looked up at him in disbelief.

“Well, since it was midterms already, I figured that if they’d picked me, they would have asked me by now and since they hadn’t, then they must have picked you. I was just waiting for you to tell me so I could tell you… Congrats.” Renjun grinned brightly at you, reaching out to rest his hand on your arm.

“You’re not upset?” You asked trepidly.

“We’re not petty little freshmen anymore, Y/N. No, I’m not upset. I’m proud of you, you deserve it.”

“So did you.”

“Not any more than you did.” He shook his head firmly. “So would you just accept my congrats already?”

You gave a small, shaky smile. “Thank you…”

“There we go.”

“This is what I was so freaked about… when we went to get froyo.”

“You were afraid of me being mad at you for being picked to carry the banner?” Renjun asked incredulously.

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” You defended yourself. “And now I have to do the commencement practices, on top of senior capstone and my extracurriculars…”

He wrinkled his nose. “Ew, commencement practices. So glad I didn’t get picked now, actually.”

“And that was so convincing, Junnie.”

“You remember what you said to me when we got froyo?”

Scrunching your face up, you struggled to think back to the exact conversation you had that day—you’d been really stressed. “Uh, ‘exactly two gummy sharks on mine please?’”

“Well, yeah, your hyper-specific froyo order—”

“Throwing stones at black kettles much?” You teased.

“Excuse me?” Renjun’s eyes went wide.

“Is that not—? I really thought I got it that time.”

“Did you mean to say ‘throwing stones in glass houses’ and/or ‘the pot calling the kettle black?’”

“…Yes.”

He turned very serious as he went to tenderly cradle your face in his hands. “I’m going to kiss you in like two seconds after I finish what I was saying, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” you agreed weakly, wishing very much that he’d just do it now instead of making you wait. He then let your face go.

“When we were talking about wanting people to know that we’re smart,” Renjun clarified. “You said that we’re both like that, and you knew that you were like that. And then you asked me if I knew that I was like that. I had tried to swear up and down this entire time that I was doing all of this—the needing to be the best—for myself. But it wasn’t. I’m like that too. That’s kind of what Dr. Magic was, me taking a step back from needing everyone to know I was the smartest person in the room. A quasi-experiment, to see if I could do it.”

“I think that after graduation, maybe we both chill on being the smartest person in the room, and try to just spend a summer working on that magical bucket list of yours?” You suggested.

“Oh?” He perked up at this. “Really?”

“You ever seen a werewolf shift?”

“No…”

“That sounds like a ‘not yet’ to me.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He confirmed with a conspiratorial grin that mirrored the one that you could feel across your own face. “You know how sirens can’t get dosed up on their own venom?”

“Yeah…” You nodded, wondering where he could be going with this.

“Well, I know a witch with a proprietary love potion blend that I think we might be able to modify to produce similar effects.”

“Fascinating.” You thought on this for a second, very quickly running through your knowledge of potion properties to imagine what it could be. “Two-factor blood potion?”

“Yes. But we’d put your venom in it instead of your blood so it wouldn’t kill me.”

“That could work…” You mused. “Speaking of, I should really give you a full dose one of these days.”

He breathed in sharply. “That wasn’t a full dose?”

“Nope.”

“Holy shit…”

“Have you ever watched a phoenix reincarnation?” You added another suggestion to your joint summer bucket list.

“Have you? Wouldn’t that literally blind us?” Renjun questioned, something akin to genuine concern on his face now.

You shrugged. “Allegedly. It’s never been recorded in a lab setting, so who really knows.”

“I think we’re going to get each other killed before we can get our PhDs,” he declared with a fond smile and shake of his head.

“Hey, the betting pools said we’d kill each other by junior year, so I think we’re doing well for ourselves.”

“Do you think we can collect on those bets when we graduate and we’re both still alive and have all of our limbs?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”

“Oh my god, come here,” Renjun groaned deliriously, kneeling to grab your face with two hands and crash his lips to yours. You curled your fingers in the front of his shirt, pulling him down with you as you fell back against the arm of his couch, still connected.

Yeah, you’d drive off that burning bridge when you got there.

⤷ blog masterlist ⤷ anthology masterlist

#renjun #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #renjun x reader #huang renjun #nct dream imagine #renjun imagine #nct imagine #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #renjun fluff #i: renjun #f: dr_magic2303 #au: strawberry sunday #*100 #*200 #*300

328 notes · View notes