#like. jesus. I started it before I was on hormones and had my names changed

[punch-love]

love-punch is such a personal work as a trans guy who really struggles dealing with being a trans guy in a world that makes transition as difficult as possible. every time I re-read it I'm like. huh. I really wrote about that on the internet

[themerelypersonal]

dear konkai,

I miss writing more frequently. Before tumblr there were paper journals, some of which I named. One was called Konkai which I believe was my 5th or maybe 6th grade journal? Dear Konkai.... the start of many ramblings about Jesus, my best friend, or and maybe soccer, I'm sure. I looked it up and in Japanese it means this time or lately. However, at the time, konkai was named after these apartments I found from a newspaper clipping I cut out for a math project of all subjects.

Dear Konkai, followed by a series of run on sentences on the drama of a simple life. Now, I'm an adult and still have a journal but have replaced my colorful gel pens with times new roman and ditched my barbie sheets for this green couch.

I love to formulate the unseen thoughts into visible words before me. It helps to make sense of my life and the world.

I've been struggling internally a bit Although, my struggle now is not similar to what it looked like years back. These past couple of years had made me a lot less angsty but the hormones from the pregnancy aren't helping. I think it is tough to have someone say goodbye to you. I think I'm in disbelief, but I shouldn't be. I let my tough feelings simmer down until they are cooler. Hopefully the cooler temperatures come sooner than later. For now, I climb, read, and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. The beauty of the changing colors of the leaves and the position of the sun in the sky.

[supernaturalgirl20]

Blind date

Pairings: Marcus Pike x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, blind date, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of pregnancy, fluff.

Summary: your sister sets you up in a blind date with her friend from work. You’ve had a lot of failed relationships and all you want is to find someone to settle down with. Could this be the answer to all your prayers.

A/N: This is just mush! I’m sorry I’m very hormonal this week so I just needed the fluff!

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated 🥰

You have lost count of how many times you’ve changed outfits, you just felt ‘ugly’ in all of them. You were going on a blind date tonight set up by your younger sister, some guy from work that was supposedly perfect for you. You doubted it! Hitting thirty has really made you think about your life and how you wanted a husband, a family. You thought you had it with Dave but when you arrived home from work early to find him ploughing the neighbour, well that put a nail in the coffin.

“Your not ready yet? Jesus Y/N, your date is in like half an hour.”

“Look Elaine I know you mean well but I really can’t do this. Besides he’s gonna take one look at me and run.” You see her expression shift to sympathy and she moves beside you.

“Dave was a dick! Trust me when I say this guy is perfect for you. Your forgetting I’m your little sister, I’ve looked up to you my whole life, if anyone knows what the perfect man for you looks like it’s me.”

“Ok! Well which dress then, red or black?”

“The red! When you get to the restaurant the booking is under my name.”

“Wish me luck.”

“No! You won’t need it, just remember to thank me in the wedding speech.”

Standing outside the restaurant, your tempted to turn around and leave but you know Elaine would kill you. When you ask for your sister’s reservation, your surprised to hear that your date is already there. The nerves start to creep in and you can feel the sweat on your hands. As you approach the table you can’t see what he looks like as his back is facing you.

“Here we are miss.”

“Thank you!”

He finally looks up and you almost faint at how handsome he is. He stands quickly and helps you take you seat.

“It’s lovely to meet you I’m Marcus. You look…beautiful by the way.”

“Oh thank you. Y/N , Elaine’s sister.”

“Younger?”

“Older.”

“Really? I mean don’t tell her I said this but you look younger.” You laugh at that, definitely not telling Elaine she would kill him.

“Thank you, I like you already.”

The night flew by with how easy Marcus was to talk too. You would hate to admit it but Elaine was right, he was perfect for you. He was so sweet and such a gentleman, offering to walk you home. When you arrived outside your door you fumbled with the keys, anxiety flowing through your veins. You didn’t normally have one night stands or sleep with men you didn’t know but you were willing to make an exception.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?”

“Sure.”

You were staring up at the ceiling of your room, wondering where the hell this man was all your life. Marcus was so sweet and the perfect gentleman but sweet Lord could this man do things with his tongue. You moan out his name, back arching off the bed, hands threaded through his hair, as you come for the second time on his tongue. When you come down from your high he lifts his head up, a smile on his face as he nips at your thigh. He kisses his way up until his body is flush with yours.

“God your beautiful.”

He kisses you softly and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His hard length nudges at your entrance before he slides inside, moaning into your mouth at the feel of your tight walls around him. He pounds into you over and over again but you need more so you push on his chest, and he looks at you with a confused expression until you push him completely off you and onto his back. You straddle him and slowly sink down onto him, causing his head to fall onto the pillow as he groans.

“Jesus…..fuck feels so good.”

His hands grips your hips as he thrusts up into you, your hips moving up and down him, hitting that perfect spot inside you.

“Marcus!”

You move faster as your orgasm draws closer and you both moan loudly as you climax together. Marcus comes hard spilling inside coating your womb in his seed. You fall onto the bed beside him, kissing his shoulder softly.

“That was amazing.”

“You can say that again.”

He turns on his side and looks at you with those big brown eyes and you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“I’m so happy Elaine set us up, I’m not going to lie I didn’t really want to go tonight. I’ve been hurt too many times before.”

“No I get it, I was exactly the same. I’m glad I did though.”

“There’s this art exhibition in town and well would you like to go with me this Friday? Or is that weird two dates in two days?”

“No that’s not weird at all, I’d love too.” You lean over and press your lips to his, his hand on your lower back pulling you close.

“I should probably go.” Although the words leave his mouth you can tell by his face that he would rather stay, and quite frankly you want him to.

“You can stay if you want, I don’t snore I promise.” You say through a smile. “You sure?” You nod your head and he smiles brightly at you, his eyes crinkling a little. God he was so handsome. You were gonna have to thank your sister.

You’ve been dating Marcus now for five months and things have been amazing. Tonight he was taking you to that new restaurant you’ve been wanting to try, so you got off work a little early and got your hair done. Your phone ring in your purse and you see Marcus’s face flush in your screen.

“Hey baby how’s work?”

“Busy that’s actually why I’m calling, can we rain check for dinner, I really hate to do this baby but we got a lead on the case and we’ll be here late going over some stuff. I’m so sorry.”

“Marcus it’s ok we can go again. You still want me to come over tonight?”

“Yes! The fact that I know you’ll be there when I get home is the only thing keeping me going. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too. Talk to you later.”

You were a little disappointed but you knew he was working really hard on this case and he loves his job. Your stomach rumbles with hunger and you get an idea. Changing into your floral summer dress you grab your jacket and purse and head into the city.

Stepping into the elevator you push the buttons for the art theft department, bags in hand.

“Y/N it’s lovely to see you again, here to see Marcus?”

“Hi Laura, yeah is he in his office?”

“No there all in the conference room going over some paperwork, but you go on right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

You slowly open the door and all heads turn towards you.

“You are the best big sister ever!”

“For what exactly?”

“I could smell that food from the elevator.”

Marcus smiles brightly and makes his way over to you. Wrapping his arms around you pulling you close.

“Hey baby, this is a nice surprise.”

“Well I figured you wouldn’t get anything to eat so I brought dinner for everyone.”

“God I love you.”

“Ugh you two get a room!” You both laugh at Elaine and the disgust on her face. Marcus laces his fingers with yours and leads you into his office. Once your inside and he has the door locked he turns you around and pins you to the door. His mouth is on yours in a searing kiss, hands finding there way beneath your dress.

“Baby I want you so bad.”

“Then take me Marcus, I’m yours.” He lets out an animalistic growl at that and quickly unbuckles his bed and frees himself from the confines of his trousers. Pushing your panties aside he lines up and thrusts up into you. Marcus is always so giving when it comes to sex, making sure you know he loves you, but today you don’t have time for that so it’s hot and fast. You grip onto his shoulders for leverage and you come hard, your walls fluttering around him, your face buried into his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure. He comes deep inside you with a grunt and when he finally pulls out he helps clean you up before you both eat some takeout.

“I’ll let you get back to work, see you at home later?”

“Yeah, and thanks for the food you’re too good for me baby.”

“Never.”

Marcus watched you get into the elevator and he thought about what you said, ‘see you at home’ and he knew that he had to ask you to move in with him. You were home!

You were sitting in your kitchen, nervously biting on your nails, Elaine watching her phone countdown the three minutes. When the alarm goes off she grabs the white stick and looks at the result. She glances between it and you and you can’t tell from her facial expression what the result is.

“Oh god just tell me, please I can’t take the suspense.”

“You sure you don’t want to wait for Marcus?”

“No I need to know.” A smile makes its way onto her face as she hands you the test.

“Congratulations mommy.”

You look down at the test, the word pregnant 2-3 weeks written clear as day. You had a feeling the last few days having been very sick but when you missed your period you knew. You’ve been with Marcus a year tomorrow and you knew exactly what you were going to do for him.

“I have an idea, can you help me?”

“Of course I will.”

You found it so hard to not tell him when he arrived home from work but you knew your little gift was going to make him so happy.

The following evening Marcus had made reservations for dinner and you were so excited about his present. He drove through the city, his hand resting on your thigh but when he passed the restaurant you gave him a questioning look. As if he could sense what you were thinking, “I’ve planned something a little different for our anniversary baby.” Pulling up outside the art gallery you were a little confused, but you trusted him so you held onto his hand and let him lead the way. He brought you to the new exhibit where you were met with candlelight and rose petals along the floor. You let out a gasp at the beautiful sight. There’s a small table and two chairs and then movement catches your eye from the corner of the room. Your sister Elaine and her husband Daniel appear dressed as waiters.

“You did all this?”

“Yeah I wanted to do something special, I hope you like it baby?”

“Like it, Marcus I love it.” Sitting down, dinner is served and it’s from your favourite Italian. He really went all out tonight. You grab his hand across the table and you notice he looks a little nervous.

“Marcus are you ok? You seem a little anxious.”

He rubs his hands on his thighs before standing and coming around to you, before slowly dropping to his knees. You gasp as he grabs your hand and stares into your eyes, love and adoration shining through.

“Y/N a year ago today Elaine set us up on a blind date, one I was reluctant to go on. At that point I had too many failed relationships and the idea of meeting someone I didn’t know or had never seen, well it was daunting. Then the romantic in me said, but what if? What if she’s it, the one and you miss your shot. Turns out that little voice was right, I did meet the one. Baby I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. Will you marry me?” You had tears streaming down your face but you still managed to nod your head.

“Yes! Yes I’ll marry you.”

He slips the ring into your finger and you pull him into a heated kiss. “I have something for you that I think will all this even better.”

“You just agreed to be my wife, nothing can tip that.”

You hand him the box and he excitedly unwraps it. You just watch him, wanting to see his face as he realises that your having a baby. He rip open the lid and ruffles through the paper, his hand stopping when he sees the cup, best dad.

“Babe but I’m not a dad.” This man sometimes. “Keep going, there’s more.”

He put the cup on the table and pulls out a baby grow that says Baby Pike and on the back Coming August 2022. He’s just holding it staring at the writing and you start to worry a little until he sees the pregnancy test. That just finishes him as the tears run down his face. He puts it all down on the table and pulls you into him.

“This is real? We’re having a baby? I’m….I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yeah baby, it very real, I’m pregnant!” You grab his hand and place it on your still flat stomach, resting yours over his. “Our little baby is in there.”

He crashes his lips to yours and you can hear your sister crying in the background. What are you crying for Jesus, babe your too emotional. You laugh at your brother in law and look up at Marcus.

“That blind date really did give me everything. I love you Y/N.”

“We love you too.”

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[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.��

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[engie-ivy]

Another story for my candy heart fix from @goodboylupin and the Candy Hearts Challenge! Humour, lots of shameless flirting and a fed up Regulus.

Candy heart message: CRUSHIN'

Regulus has agreed to tutor a classmate in statistics, but quickly comes to regret his life choices when the only chance the guy seems interested in, is the chance of getting to snog Regulus’ older brother.

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Part one: Crushin'

Part two: Fallin'

What chance do I have? Part one: Crushin'

REGULUS BLACK: You can come over. My parents aren’t home.

REMUS LUPIN: ??

REGULUS BLACK: Oh my god. That sounded wrong.

REGULUS BLACK: I meant for the tutoring session.

REGULUS BLACK: I know my parents’ reputation. I thought you’d feel more comfortable coming here knowing they aren’t home.

REGULUS BLACK: I am NOT trying to hook up with you.

REMUS LUPIN: Oh thank god.

REMUS LUPIN: Not that you’re not an attractive guy.

REMUS LUPIN: I just don’t see you like that.

REMUS LUPIN: And I mean, you’re probably a bit young for me.

REGULUS BLACK: Lupin.

REGULUS BLACK: Please shut up.

Remus drops his phone on his bed with a shudder.

He’s not a bad student. He knows all about history and writes killer political essays. He’s just terrible with numbers, but he needs to pass his statistics course.

Regulus is a quiet guy, but he’s nice enough. Rumour has it that his parents are these excessively pushy and high-demanding lot, who bully their children to do nothing but study and threaten the school into letting them skip grades. Apparently, they want their eldest son to become the youngest doctor in town, and their youngest son the youngest lawyer, just so they can brag about their advanced children to their posh friends. They’re lucky both their sons are actually very intelligent. Regulus is in Remus’ class, despite being much younger, and they say his older brother, who should be somewhere around Remus’ age, is already in college.

In any case, Regulus won’t pass up the opportunity to earn some extra credit by tutoring Remus in statistics over the summer.

The house of the Black family is exactly like Remus would’ve pictured it. Very old-fashioned, with weird, old objects everywhere, but while some houses packed with old stuff seem warm and cosy, the Blacks’ house just seems cold and dark.

Remus is sitting at the kitchen table watching Regulus flip through textbooks, talking about how they’ll start with refreshing his knowledge on basic chance calculation before moving on to z-scores and significance tests.

Remus is already bored.

Suddenly, a tall, muscular, slightly sweaty guy barges into the kitchen. He’s wearing running shoes, shorts and a t-shirt that clings to his form and shows off his broad shoulders. As good as the shirt looks on him, Remus isn’t complaining when he takes it off, revealing his well-trained torso.

“Jesus, it’s warm outside,” the guy says, dropping the shirt on the floor while pulling the hair tie out of his hair and letting it fall in dark waves across his shoulders. He grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, and throws his head back to drink, spilling some water that drips down over his chest.

As Remus not very subtly ogles the guy, he wonders whether statistics was so boring that he zoned out and is now in some sort of hormonal teenage fantasy. Well, he hopes that if that were the case, he would’ve at least not fantasized Regulus sitting there, glaring from the guy, to Remus, and back to the guy.

“Sirius!” Regulus eventually snaps. “We have a guest.” He gestures at Remus.

The guy, Sirius, who must be the older brother, turns his head and only now spots Remus sitting there. He smiles sheepishly at him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hello,” Remus says, and they just look and smile at each other for a while.

Then, Remus leans his head on his hands, giving the guy a sweet smile. “So, do you come here often?”

Sirius blinks at him. “Eh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I kind of live here.” He quickly recovers himself. “What about you? You’re a classmate of Reggie? You must be new. I don’t recall seeing you when I went to school there, and I definitely would’ve remembered a face like yours.”

Remus grins. “Yes, my parents moved around a lot, so I went to a lot of different schools.”

Sirius raises his water bottle. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll stick around this time.” He takes a swig and then grins. “And hoping you’re so bad at... statistics, was it? That you’ll be coming around here more often.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Remus says, looking up at Sirius through his lashes. “I’m bad. I’m very, very bad.”

A slight flush appears in Sirius’ neck, but the grin stays in place. “Good. Then I guess I’ll be seeing you. I’ll try to keep my shirt on next time.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account!” Remus calls after Sirius as he leaves the kitchen.

As he stares through the window at other side of the house into the backyard, where Sirius has gone to stretch, Remus can feel Regulus’ eyes burning on him.

“What?”

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Regulus shakes his head. “What is it that people see in him?”

Remus points towards the backyard, where Sirius is just bending over to stretch the back of his legs. He doesn’t think he needs any more explanation.

Regulus groans.

The second tutoring session, Sirius walks into the kitchen in low-hanging sweatpants, clearly just out of the shower, with damp hair and a towel around his neck, again shirtless.

He smiles as he sees Remus. “How is it every time I see you I’m not wearing a shirt?”

“I guess I’m just lucky?” Remus suggests.

“I know chance calculation isn’t your strong suit,” Regulus says without looking up from his book. “But considering the fact that Sirius walks around shirtless ninety percent of the time, you don’t need much luck. In fact, it would’ve been more impressive if you saw Sirius with his shirt on.”

Remus lets his eyes wander over Sirius’ muscular chest and abs. “I highly doubt it.”

Regulus’ eyes snap up as Sirius sits down on the kitchen counter. “No. You. Out. Now.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You’re kicking me out of my own kitchen in my own house? I’m not disturbing you.”

“Lupin has enough trouble learning anything as it is, without you sitting there making eyes at him, turning his brain to mush.”

Sirius glances at Remus, who just shrugs. Regulus isn’t wrong.

The third tutoring session is, to Remus’ disappointment, at his house. He’d wanted to protest, but Mr and Mrs Black are apparently back from their business trip, and shamelessly flirting with Regulus’ hot, older brother in front of their strict, high-society parents seemed a little awkward anyway.

When Remus opens the door, a disgruntled looking Regulus immediately pushes past him and strides into the house, leaving Remus looking at a brightly smiling Sirius.

“Hi! Regulus wanted to ride his bike here, but you know, it’s probably going to rain, so I thought it better to give him a ride in my car instead.”

Remus looks up at the clear blue sky with the sun shining brightly, not a cloud to be seen anywhere.

“I see,” Remus says. “And I suppose you have to give him a ride home as well?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“And it’ll be a lot of trouble if you have to drive all the way up and down again.”

“So much trouble indeed.”

“The best thing is probably for you to just stay here.”

“That sure seems like the best solution to me.”

For the fourth tutoring session, Remus has lost track of time sitting at the kitchen table at the Black family home, drinking tea and chatting with Sirius. Remus is telling him about all the different places he has lived, and Sirius is telling him what it’s like to be in college at his age.

REGULUS BLACK: What’s keeping you?

REMUS LUPIN: ?

REMUS LUPIN: I’ve been at your house for like more than an hour, waiting for you to come down from your room?

“You said you’d let me know when Lupin got here!” Regulus points a finger at Sirius.

Sirius blinks innocently at him. “It slipped my mind. I have such a bad memory.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You know the Latin name for each part of the human body by heart!”

“Did you know Remus wants to study history?” Sirius says, not very subtly changing the subject. “Won’t he just make the cutest professor?”

“Not so much as you’ll make the hottest doctor!” Remus replies.

“Yes,” Regulus says, while placing his books on the table. “I’m sure the scientific community and the world of medicine will be greatly benefitted from your good looks.”

Remus sighs.

Sirius has just gone upstairs after Regulus threw a book at his head when he interrupted his explanation for the fifth time, distracting a very willingly-distracted Remus with cute dog videos.

Remus sighs again.

Undeterred, Regulus keeps on talking about some jar of marbles out of which Remus for some reason only wants to take the red ones.

Remus sighs again.

“Is there any chance you’re going to stop doing that if I keep ignoring you?”

Remus shakes his head, and Regulus drops his pen and looks up at him. “Okay, what is it?”

“I don’t think I want to snog your brother anymore,” Remus says.

He had expected Regulus to be relieved, but instead something fiercely protective flashes over his face. “I swear to god, Lupin, if you were just leading him on all this time...”

“What? No!” Remus quickly says. “I just mean that I don’t want to just snog your brother anymore. I think I actually like him! Like, like like him! I think I have a crush on your brother! You know, the massive, won’t-go-away-on-his-own kind.”

Regulus just stares at him.

“I mean, at first I just thought he was incredibly hot, funny and charming,” Remus continues. “But now I found out he’s also clever, sweet and caring!” Remus’ tone makes it sound like it’s the worst betrayal he’s ever experienced.

“And this is a problem how?” Regulus asks.

“He’s in college!” Remus exclaims. “He’s probably just looking for a fun summer flirt to pass his time before school starts again, and now he has ruined me for other men forever!”

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lupin, I know you’re terrible at chance calculation, so I’m going to put this in words even you can understand. The chance of my brother being into you is one hundred percent.”

“Really?” Remus’ face brightens.

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to sigh. “I never thought I’d ever be saying this, but I’ve had enough. Lupin, will you please go upstairs and snog my brother?”

Remus knocks once and then steps into Sirius’ bedroom. He’s immediately backed up0 against the door by Sirius’ body pressing against him. Sirius’ arms wrap around his waist and Remus’ arms almost automatically wrap around his neck, so he’ll soon be able to finally run his fingers through that perfect hair.

Their faces are so close together Remus can feel Sirius’ breath as he speaks. “Took you long enough.”

Part two

[7wanderingpaws]

Always, yours (5) M

Word count: 6.4K

Warnings: language, kinky mature content, angst 

tags: @geniusloey​ (let me know if you want to be added!)

NOTE: if you want to skip the mature part, you can scroll until you see “💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘”

Masterlist / story masterlist

<– Previous - Next -->

“Are you sure?” Baekhyun whispered, and this time reached for the hem of your shirt to properly bring it up. “I will want this off, my little lady,” he told you, his breath hitting your lips. The way his fingers left feather-like touches on your skin made you shiver. And yes, you very much wanted the shirt off. No more hiding from him. “And I might want to visit down there, too,” he added when the shirt was now at your breasts, his hand revealing more skin.

With his last request, your breath hitched. He and you both knew it wasn’t the place you allowed him to see yet. He hadn’t seen you down there since pre-birth times. That’d been months. Because of your ugly scar, you couldn’t bear the idea of Baekhyun seeing the butchered up skin that was stitched together, leaving behind an ugly scar.

In Baekhyun’s mind though, it was a scar that he cherished and wanted to give it special attention. Without it, you would probably have a scar on your tummy. He believed the scar down there was the special proof of how strong of a woman you were; how much you fought to bring your beautiful children to this world.

God, sometimes he just had to be virtually slapped again and again; you risked your life for your offsprings. You, still so young, naturally brought triplets to this world and made Baekhyun the most blessed man. He was proud to have you as his wife; there was no way he would ever let another man let his words get into your head like it happened with Junho.

“So what do you say?” he purred and you automatically lifted yourself up so he could lift your shirt over your head, throwing it behind him casually, his eyes carefully looking for your eyes, even though it was dark. There was only a distant glint in them. “Will mummy let daddy see her?” he breathed as he inched closer, his hand coming to rest on your hips before he slid them upwards to tease the underside of your breasts.

You gasped, the feeling growing foreign over the time. You were nonstop exposed with your chest, the babies had bitten you, slapped you with their little hands but the touch of Baekhyun’s fingers on the sensitive skin was magical and something you didn’t know you desperately needed. While his index finger was under the breast, he let his thumb brush over the nipple and you gasped again, leaning closer to him.

“Baek-Baekhyun,” you stammered, as if gasping for air and trying hard not to close your eyes at the beautiful sensations.

“Just answer me,” he replied instead, “because oppa is getting a little impatient.” With that, he finally cupped your breast, his palm warm, testing the way your breast felt after birthing your munchkins. They were incredibly full and huge; he already knew that. But it was mind blowing how your nipples changed, their shape perky and sticking out; the fullness completely different with the way you were overproducing milk. He groaned and leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Yes or no?”

You closed your eyes at the feel of his nose nuzzling yours, lulling you into a pleasurable slumber and, into complete submission to him. You licked your lips, unable to think straight when you gave him the green he’d been dying to hear for so long. “Okay, but don’t look,” you said, trying to burn him down with your warning gaze.

“It’s dark,” replied Baekhyun matter-of-factly and his hand that was on your chest was now on your shoulder, pushing you backwards to lie down. “I won’t look but I’ll definitely have a taste, sweetheart. I’ll have you my way tonight.”

You were already eager and very much aroused. “Take me the way you want,” you whispered and brought his face to yours, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss. He hovered above you, always careful and making sure he was holding himself up properly before you opened your legs for him to rest his body, and he dipped his head, capturing your lower lip in a slow, sensual manner. With that he rolled his hips against yours like a Latin dancer, making you part from his lips to let out a moan. Both of you were so hormonal.

Baekhyun kissed your reactions away, pushing his tongue in to swirl around yours as he rolled his hips again. You were completely naked under him while he was in his sleepwear which you found unfair.

So, while reciprocating the passionate kiss, you took the hem of his black shirt, bringing it up and making him separate to take it off and toss it somewhere on the floor. Before you could get lost in another make out spree, you had him take off his shorts and underwear and you gasped when you spotted Baekhyun hard. He must have been horny for a while.

He murmured your name passionately but he stopped himself as he laid  back down hovering over you with lust lighting up his eyes. “You’re mine,” he murmured, diving for an open-mouthed kiss at once. His hand travelled down your sides, the pads of his fingers tickling you. You slid them down your hips and he made sure to caress your bum before he stopped by your thigh and under your knee, bringing it to his side. “I’d fuck you senseless right here and right now but we have to make sure mummy is ready, right?” he muttered against your lips, already breathing heavily.

Your head fell to the side with a moan when he trailed kisses to your jaw and neck, his wet lips leaving a small trail. With every eager touch of his, he had you falling apart under him. It was so endearing to you that even when you knew he was trying to get himself over the fight and wanted to take you roughly, he still made sure you were okay with it. “Then do it. You’re all big talk, oppa,” you teased with your eyes closed.

You felt Baekhyun’s little laugh, his hot breath fanning your pulse point. He made his way to your breasts and kissed around the outline, growling when he felt how full of milk they were. “If I bite, they’ll burst,” he told you in small astonishment, and despite the dirty talk, he was very gentle and made sure to only use lips on your nipples, knowing how much of a hard time the babies’ sucking was giving you.

Meanwhile you were already panting, almost in a dilemma, because you shouldn’t have been so aroused with Baekhyun paying attention to your breasts. You were breastfeeding after all. You felt him flick his tongue over the nipple, while his free hand massaged the back of your thigh. The movement made you roll your hips, just for you to feel his manhood on the inside of your thigh. There was a sudden splurge of wetness leaking out of you at the sensation and you moaned, making Baekhyun smirk in satisfaction.

After kissing your breasts and welcoming them back into his life, he slowly made his way south, his open mouth hovering over your skin, over the stretch marks that he licked at, as if his moisture would heal the stretched out skin.

And then, finally, the place you wanted him the most but was scared senseless. His own panting was growing with each second and when it hit your wet opening, you let out an airy moan.

“Jesus,” Baekhyun whispered at the sound and experimentally brought his fingers to your lower lips, index and ring finger spreading them apart.

“Don’t look,” you managed to say, your chest going up and down erratically. Baekhyun looked up at you, barely seeing you over your huge breasts but you quickly propped yourself up on your elbows, the sight of your husband between your thighs giving you shivers. His cheeks were flushed and he kept licking his lips with his tongue. “Don’t,” you added when his eyes travelled downwards.

“It’s okay, baby,” he told you softly and tapped your bundle of nerves a couple of times, making you fall back on your back. “Oppa wants to cherish you,” he told you, “and he won’t do anything bad.”

“Don’t look, though,” you pleaded when his fingers, still on your womanhood, started to draw circles and he dipped his head, diving for a lick.

Baekhyun didn’t listen to you. He looked and strained his eyes as he could to make out the way your skin was stitched up, and he did spot the pink, tender skin. He was fast to kiss on the length of it, leading from the inside of your thigh to your center. It was still shocking; when he first touched it he was shocked and now, somehow seeing it in the darkness and feeling it with his soft lips, it was all too real and yet hard to process. How much pain it must have brought to you. Just the thought of having his own scar down there made him shiver and he was quick to kiss and mouth and nibble at the skin, making you squirm on the top of the bed sheets.

“Oppa,” you groaned when you felt him lick up your lips, collecting all the arousal with a huge lick, his tongue creating a small cup before he slurped and swallowed your essence.

At the nickname, Baekhyun felt his inner man break free, the sudden need to take care of you and ruin you at the same time eating him up and making him go blind to your pleas.

He hooked his arms around your upper thighs and abruptly yanked you closer to him, making you yelp in surprise. His face was buried in the middle, his tongue licking your lips before poking you in your opening teasingly, roughly pressing it in before moving his flat tongue up and over your sensitive nerves.

You were sighing in pleasure, the sounds in the room coming out obscene and scandalous when Baekhyun wouldn’t give you a break, eating you out like a hungry man. Your hands were buried in his hair, the soft strands strongly contrasting to the way he was licking you up clean. He didn’t stop and he pushed two fingers in, another one of your moans falling on his ears, making his own manhood twitch with need and want.

He made sure to give you a proper first orgasm, his experienced tongue bringing you into a paradise that only consisted of him. His teasing fingers, aggressive mouth and tongue; the combination was deadly and you couldn’t wait to have him inside like you’d been imagining the whole day.

“Babe, I want you,” you mumbled distractedly when your mind cleared up. Baekhyun was kissing your chest softly, his hair tickling your chin while his hand was resting against your hip, his thumb caressing you.

“Hmm?”

Instead of replying, your hand found his erected manhood and you wrapped your hand around his length, making Baekhyun gasp into your collarbone. “Oh fuck, how is it that you have such small hands but you can do this to me,” he groaned when you pumped him, enjoying Baekhyun’s reactions.

“I want you in me. Oppa.”

The magic word did wonders and you knew it; hence you used it. Baekhyun smirked when he looked up at you. “Oppa will take care of you,” he mumbled as his lips inched to your parted mouth, kissing you softly. You could still taste yourself on his tongue. He positioned himself at your center, your hand leading him inside of you. You let out a quiet moan when you felt him there, pushing in through your slick opening that greedily swallowed him up.

“Heaven,” breathed Baekhyun as he closed his eyes and boldly bucked his hips, sliding almost all of him in.

You hissed, throwing your head back at the pleasurable yet painful stretch.

“You good?” he was quick to check, worry lacing his eyebrows.

You opened your eyes to meet his steady ones. “Yeah. Just stay like this for a little bit.”

“Of course, my angel.”  He trailed his nose around your face, nudging the side of your nose with his like a puppy and effectively making you giggle. He was staring into your eyes the whole time, honesty, loyalty - all of them spotable in his black orbs.

You managed to smile even wider when you felt confident enough and you shimmied under him, prompting him to move. Baekhyun made a slow roll of his hips, almost lazily, which contrasted with the way he was looking at you; like he wanted to eat you up.

The mind-blowing friction he was causing made you arch your back, your one hand buried in his hair and the other one scratching his back in desire.

“Yes! Go on, go on.” He was hitting your special spot. “Faster, Baekhyun.”

He snapped his hips right away, making you scream out his name. He set up a relentless pace that you hadn’t done in bed for a long while. His hips were hammering you into the mattress, the bed almost moving along with you. To make it even a more pleasurable experience, he kneeled between your legs, his hands on your hips as he lifted your bum gently before he thrusted short, fast and hard.

The sweat on your chest glistened in the dark room as you arched your back while Baekhyun snapped his hips, bringing a deep moan out of you. “That’s right, my baby girl,” he growled, enjoying the view of your naked body splayed in front of him. “I’m going to put another baby in you, hm?” 

Baekhyun was unstoppable as he kept riding you up the bed sheets, his head tilted backwards while his hips rolled sensually along with yours. With that, he was fast to bury himself deep, and he climbed back over you, the tip of his nose touching yours. “I’m going to make you have my baby again,” he repeated in such a raw way, his intense, dark eyes staring into your soul so desperately that you swore you would combust.

“Yes,” you panted airily, attempting to move your hips, urging him on as you needed to chase your release but Baekhyun kissed you, bringing your attention to his soft, but very much biting mouth. His words ignited a want in you; the fantasies he was bringing alive were making you quiver inside, your entire being a ball of electricity with his every word powered with his thrusts.

He let go with a smooch and moved downwards to your breasts as he started to move again, though his strokes were very short and snappy. You felt the pressure in your breasts and you knew you’d be leaking soon.

“Wanna try?” you asked him as he kept exhaling shallowly. “Wanna try the babies’ milk?” You brought your hand up to his nape as Baekhyun looked at you, a little shocked.

It was all so comical as he was riding you like a rabbit, and now he was all frozen with puppy eyes. “You want me to suck on your breasts, my little lady?” he rasped, his face moving closer to yours. He once again  stopped thrusting, making you feel so incredibly stretched and full. He traced the tip of his nose over your red cheek, letting his open mouth hover over the skin, sometimes licking and kissing it. “Daddy will try mummy’s milk, hm?”

“Yeah, try, oppa.”

Baekhyun was observing you, his own sweat collecting around his hair line and he’d never looked more sexy.

He brought his face to one of your breasts and you closed your eyes when he gently took one nipple in, your hand automatically flying to his hair to scratch and comb your fingers through it, egging him on. It seemed that Baekhyun himself was a little unsure, never having done anything like that before with you.

He tried to suck a few times, still buried deeply in you when he started to suck harshly, successfully bringing out milk and with it a hum vibrated through his chest, sending pleasurable waves down your body.

You sighed, and your arching back just got Baekhyun’s mouth to grow eager, his tongue lapping on the tip of your nipple to catch every drop. “That’s right, baby daddy,” you sighed, using his words. It was shameless but you were extremely aroused. You needed Baekhyun to move, the way he was motionless yet still bringing so many sensations to your body was driving you crazy. You attempted to roll your hips again, and Baekhyun was quick to detach himself.

Without warning, his mouth was on yours and he forced your lips apart, transferring your milk into your cavern. The taste of the liquid hit you, some of it escaping down your chin messily.

“Swallow, my little lady,” ordered Baekhyun strictly, distracted at the sight of the milk leaking the side of your mouth. He kissed your jaw as you did so, but there was no time to talk about the peculiar taste as Baekhyun pulled out of you completely before slamming back in, making you scream out wantonly in pleasure when you felt his tip at your cervix. “Baby daddy, is it?” he panted into your open mouth. “Your new little kink, my love?”

Upon hearing the teasing in his voice, you smiled in bliss as the familiar pressure gradually built up in the pit of your stomach. “Baby daddy making me feel so good,” you exhaled loudly and chased his lips, messily making out with him.

He grunted, not focusing on your lip-locking instead wanting to chase his and yours highs as he sped up sloppily, strokes short. “You’re mine,” he gasped when he felt your walls closing around him. “Fuck, you’re oppa’s and only oppa’s. C’mon, scream my name.” He scrunched his eyes shut and you did as he said, incredibly sensitive when he kept riding wildly until his warm seed was filling you up to the brim.

His thrusts slowed down for a second, just for him having to speed up a bit, as more and more release leaked into your greedy womanhood. “I'm coming so good,” he said, biting his lower lip and pressing his forehead to yours. You were whining from oversensitivity but he didn’t stop. “Be louder. Let everyone know who is making you feel good.”

“Ah,” you threw your head back and arched your back, soon another orgasm making you see stars. You hugged Baekhyun to your body although you were running on your last bits of energy. “Baekhyun.”

“Yes,” he hummed and slowly came to a stop, his cum leaking out of you and onto the bed sheets while he kept himself warm inside of you. “I’m so putting another baby in there,” he whispered into your ear seductively. “Making mummy’s tummy swell with oppa’s child again.” To prove his point his hand caressed your stomach that managed to shrink over the weeks.

“I love you, Baekhyun oppa,” you murmured, opening your eyes to see him staring right back at you. “I love you so much.”

Baekhyun’s swollen lips stretched into a smile. “I love you more,” he whispered endearingly, his eyes softening. “But I’m not done just yet,” he told you and you were just about to groan when he snaked an arm under your sweaty back and rolled the both of you over, making you squeal and laugh. He was grinning when he appeared under you and you were on top now, slowly sitting up. Your hands were on his chest, the strong pectorals perfectly outlined thanks to the perspiration. Shit, you thought to yourself, you were one lucky woman. Baekhyun was a gorgeous man and a father, and jealousy might have made him hotter.

“You’re gonna ride oppa,” he told you as he tapped your hip gently. “Hm? Doesn’t it feel nice to have oppa snuggled all the way up there?” he purred and sat up so that his chest was pressed to your breasts. Since he only took a little from your milk, you knew you would be in trouble if Baekhyun kept you in bed any longer. Everything would be stained. “My breasts are starting to ache, honey,” you told him somehow light-headedly because of his words and because he was still deep inside you. “I don’t think-“

“Oppa will take care of the problem,” he murmured as you felt his hands massaging your sides in a sensual manner. “So all you’ve got to do is work those hips for me, sweetheart.”

You squirmed on his lap and the both of you hissed in unison. Your heartbeat, barely recovered, sped up right away when Baekhyun captured your lips in a head-spinning, romantic kiss while he moved under you, creating small circles with his hips. 

“Jesus, what are you doing to me tonight,” you whispered, so drunk in love with him, you could barely notice the glint in his eyes.

“I’m doing you.” He paused. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered eventually, one hand trailing upwards to grab your sensitive, round mound. “Of course you’d make any male want to chase after you.” It seemed that he was talking to himself more than he was talking to you. If it weren’t for his distracting ministrations, you would have talked back, but all you could do was tilt your head backwards, exposing your neck to his mouth. “Too bad for all of those salivating bastards. You’re mine. I’ve already put three babies in you.” He suddenly placed his other hand on the nape of your neck and pushed it ahead making you look at him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby,” he said in an insisting manner and you could feel the heaviness of his words while you tried hard not to get aroused by them.

“I’m only yours, Baekhyun,” you reassured him as you circled your arms around his neck. To prove a point, you finally gained enough strength and lifted yourself up and let yourself sink down his length, his hardening member at your attention at once.

Baekhyun groaned in ecstasy, his teeth sunk into his lower lip. “Jesus, you should be illegal.”

And just like that, the baby cries coming in through the monitor interrupted the steamy love-making. Baekhyun groaned as you froze on top of him, panting into his face. You looked like you were contemplating about what to do next but Baekhyun made the decision for you. His grip on your hips tightened. “You’re not going until I’m done with you.” At his tone and words, you felt the thrill curse through your center. “How can you feed when oppa had most of it?” he pouted at you and for a second you were in complete disbelief at the way he changed his expressions. He was a rough tiger, deaf to your sensitive body and now he was a worried father but in a very wrong, dirty way.

“You’ve gone crazy,” you told him with a bewitched smile. Neither of you wanted to leave the bed; the cycle of having to take care of the triplets tiring you ever since they were born. But both of you were responsible parents and-

“Gone crazy for you,” he hummed and pushed you up on his lap before helping you sit down again, creating a delicious friction. Both of you moaned, successfully blocking out the baby cries. You pressed your chest to Baekhyun’s and he tilted his head upwards, always chasing your lips which were swollen, almost bruised by now.

Since the cries would only intensify, you sped up, challenging yourself. You weren’t working out so you might as well use this precious time to make your body move.

“We shouldn’t always come running when they cry, sweetheart,” Baekhyun told you in a low murmur when you sank down again, his droopy eyes watching the way your full mounds moved up and down, entranced. “They will get used to it and it’s not good. They don’t always need us.”

You breathed airily closing your eyes in concentration, his words only barely registering in your brain. The muscles in your thighs were screaming, burning up from exhaustion, let alone the tremble in them was very much obvious and you would have been embarrassed back in the days but not anymore. Your husband massaged your hips, helping you out with repetitive motions but they slid to your thighs for a bit before they landed on your butt cheeks, squeezing and touching up at very sensitive areas. “What about you, hm? Don’t I come running to you when you need me?”

Baekhyun smirked, sweat collecting around his forehead as he started to mouth at your breasts, preparing to suck. “But you’re oppa’s baby girl. Of course you come to me and I come to you when we need each other.”

You groaned when you felt his fingers massaging your womanhood, your ears falling deaf on any other noises besides the slick sounds of your connected parts and Baekhyun’s sucking. The room was so hot, you were a ball of fire ready to explode with the loudest moan yet.

“C’mon, one last time,” urged Baekhyun with gritted teeth after he swallowed as he let his head fall backwards, his mouth open wide, eyebrows scrunched when he felt himself releasing into you, once again coming before you. Your high-pitched moan managed to bring him back from his dizziness. You fell on top of him which prompted Baekhyun into falling completely on his back, both of you heaving loudly. The heat from both of your bodies collected and made your entire being flush with heat. Your body was almost spasming at the overwhelming orgasm and you didn't know if you could recover fast enough.

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

“Oh god, I love you,” whispered Baekhyun into your ear and over the noises of the crying that gradually became clearer in your hazy mind. “Goodness, I love you so much.”

Your heart, beating crazily, still managed to make one particularly painful jump at the way he said the words. “I love you too.” You kissed his chest and you felt his fingers in your hair, combing through the messy strands gently. “You’re my everything.”

He smiled to himself, closing his eyes. Sleep was chasing him down and so did you, but the more you ignored your munchkins the heavier their cries were becoming. As much as you wished to stay in bed and cuddle and sleep, it was not an option.

Still running high on adrenaline, you separated from Baekhyun’s clingy arms, slipped back into your panties and Baekhyun’s shirt before rushing to the babies’ room to calm down the circus. 

Baekhyun was still breathing heavily, lying in bed on his back and not wanting to face the responsibility of being a parent. But he wouldn't let you deal with it by yourself and so he was swift to join you. He was a man, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself he missed your presence after he so passionately made love to you just minutes ago. If it meant dealing with crying babies, his and yours, then so be it.

You were shushing Jun quietly, preparing to change his nappy, when Baekhyun appeared, his black pants on and a hoodie that he didn’t bother zipping up, revealing his chest and stomach.

You tried hard not to pay attention. It was ridiculous as you’d already been through rounds of pleasuring, yet his sexy aura as he stepped into the room and went to take crying Juna out of her crib made you all hot and bothered again. The way the baby looked tiny in his arms and on his chest, the way his cheeks were flushed red and he was still most probably sweaty from the actions you’d done were making you dizzy.

“There, there, sweetie,” he hummed in a cooing voice he saved for his babies. “Daddy’s here.”

You bit your lip as you smiled, expertly cleaning up Jun before securing the new nappy around his belly. You felt Baekhyun’s presence behind you, Juna’s cries not ceasing. 

“Okay, okay, sorry. Mummy and me ignored you for a little bit, we’re sorry,” he begged in a childish, regretful tone and you giggled as you turned with Jun in your arms. Baekhyun looked at you with a boyish grin, quickly turning into a smirk when he saw Jun’s hungry mouth digging into your chest, seeking milk.

“Baby exchange,” you announced over the loud cries, ignoring his pervy smile as the both of you handed one another the baby you were holding. Just like with Jun, you were fast to change Juna’s nappy. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We will eat in a bit, hm?” you murmured, though Juna seemed to be relentless in her cries, obviously not forgiving you for not coming running to her right away.

You wondered; had you come earlier would she be crying as much. She was red in her face and thrashing around, making it hard for you to fasten the nappy. “We’re never ignoring them again,” you spoke up in determination once you were done and looked at Baekhyun who had now Junhee in his arms, too.

“Let me change her and you can start feeding,” he told you instead as, once again, you had a baby exchange. Both of you were trying not to get annoyed at the relentless cries, one baby louder than the other. It was quickly taking away the excitement that was flowing in your blood, instead the frustration sucking all the delightful emotions out of you.

You sat down in the corner with two hungry mouths while you watched Baekhyun change the nappy of the last triplet. Thanks to Baekhyun’s prior ministrations, you were sensitive when you let the babies suck on your milk, their small hands caressing your mound absentmindedly with their tiny, chubby hands.

The room became silent almost right away and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re okay, sweetheart?” asked Baekhyun once he was done. He was hovering in the doorway, going for the milk stored in the freezer so he could feed Junhee. He looked so hot; he had to stop. With the babies’ aggressive mouths and Baekhyun’s chest and stomach peeking out in between the hoodie’s slit, you had a hard time not getting turned on all over again and it made you incredibly embarrassed.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nipping on your lower lip. “I’m great.”

Baekhyun smiled knowingly, a cheeky glint ever so present in his eyes. Once he was back with the heated up milk and tired Junhee feeding, he rested against the chair and poked your calf with his toe. “Isn’t it exciting though?” he murmured quietly, not to disturb the half-asleep triplets.

You frowned in question.

He licked his lips as he looked at your chest and then up to your eyes. “Sex while they’re crying.”

Gasping, you pushed him with your foot, making Baekhyun cackle. “That is scandalous!” you exclaimed as quietly as you could.

“But you did it. And you loved it.”

“No!”

“Oh, you were so turned on,” he insisted.

“Baekhyun!”

“You mean baby daddy?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you, very much enjoying your suffering.

Scrunching your eyes shut, you groaned, wanting the earth to swallow you up. “C’mon, oppa, no teasing.”

“Can you blame me? You were so hot. I think this is my most favorite thing now.”

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be letting this go for a very long time. 

“You loved it, admit it,” he said lowly as he leaned towards you carefully, not wanting Junhee to wake up or irk her more.

You shook your head gently as you reciprocated his eye contact. “Yeah, I loved it very much” you muttered, letting out a small breath when one of the babies bit on your nipple. “Your mouth is so much nicer.”

Baekhyun snorted out a laugh and faked a gasp. “So scandalous!”

“Baekhyun!”

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

You groaned again, giving another reason for Baekhyun to burst out into a fit of giggles. “You’re terrible. You owe me a cuddle.”

“Well, I’m terrible so I guess I’m not cuddling you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that was growing on your face. This banter was reminding you of the older days when Baekhyun was pursuing you and you were so high on excitement and crush on him, every minute and every laugh with him could send you tumbling onto cloud nine, the softest yet most delightful dream. Surely, now those butterflies weren’t as intense, instead morphing into something much more deeper, but he could still make you laugh like that high school girl you once were. Baekhyun was an extreme flirt and you could barely say two words without stuttering in his presence. And now, here you were: casually bantering, with your three beautiful babies.

“You’re terrible but not that terrible,” you poked out your tongue at him and it instantly caught his eager gaze.

He hummed, observing you with affection. “You’re right. And I could never refuse my princess.”

<3

One week later, Baekhyun arrived home with good news. And bad news. 

He was excited even though his features were tired. You were on the couch, going through some job applications on your phone when he stormed into the apartment with a tad too much enthusiasm for the late evening hour.

“Babe,” he grinned widely as he dropped his bag and cardigan on the couch, leaving him in only his fit white shirt. “I have something to tell you!”

You watched him with sparkly eyes as he sat down next to you, his hand landing on your thigh. “First comes a kiss though,” you reminded him with an index finger in the air.

Without a warning, he gave you a loud smooch, making you smile into the kiss. “My graduation is in a couple of weeks! You and the babies have to come!”

You gasped excitedly, clapping once. “Great! I was waiting for the big ceremony! But...” you trailed off carefully, not wanting to spoil the mood. “I'm not sure if the munchkins should come. How will I manage them alone in the crowd?”

It wasn't like you weren't with them 24/7 but at a ceremony where you had to keep them quiet, the idea scared you.

“Our mums will come,” replied promptly Baekhyun, waving his hand as if it were no problem. “I already texted my mum, hopefully she and dad will come.” He was looking around the living room with calculating eyes. “We can accommodate your father, too. Four people can easily fit in here.”

You looked around, trying to see what he was seeing. So far, only your mothers were over for a bit to see the little ones, and to give you and Baekhyun some space that you barely got after giving birth. If it were up to you, you'd have your mother by your side all the time. She was a huge help and her experience was needed; although she didn't know as much about triplets, each of her rules applied to every baby and it always worked.

“Alright,” you nodded, “I agree. I hope all of them will come.”

Baekhyun looked at you with a gentle smile. “It would be nice to celebrate a little with our families and not in the countryside.”

He was right. Both of you missed your parents, albeit you much more. Being left alone most of the days, you craved a loved one's presence and even though you talked a lot with your mother, she and your father were busy with farming. No work, no food was what they always said. Baekhyun's parents were no different and you were in close contact with Baekhyun's mother as she was always curious about the babies, but Baekhyun himself would barely notice this as he was busy with work. 

“And one more piece of news I have to tell you,” he said, but his tone had a slight change to it. He licked his lips before saying: “I'll have a trip to Japan with the hapkido team,” he told you. “The school pays for it and it would be my first official trip as their master and professor.”

You blinked a few times, surprised. “Oh, really? That's great! For how long, babe?”

“One week.”

“One week?” you repeated, your tone higher.

Baekhyun smiled sheepishly, scooting closer to you. “Just one week I’ll be away.”

You were staring at his puppy eyes; it almost seemed like he was asking for permission, but of course it wasn't up to you. Both of you knew it would be best for Baekhyun to go because he needed to make good connections, a lasting impression as a new and very much young professor. You just didn't know he would have to leave for a business trip so early on. If you tried to imagine, you couldn't recall the time you spent so long without him by your side and it would definitely be the first time without him since you became parents.

“Alright,” you murmured, uncertainly, “and when?”

“In September,” he told you, “at the beginning of the semester.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, but you could only nodd.

“Sweetheart, do you think you'll be alright?” Baekhyun asked softly, his eyes seeking yours eagerly. “Because I know this would be the first time me leaving you for this long but-”

“Pff, what nonsense. Of course I'll be alright.”

He bit his lip, trying to look through you. “Sukyeong could come over and you girls could have some girls time, hm?”

You scoffed but lightheartedly. “Baekhyun, I'm not some kid that needs her best friend to be over whenever you're away. We are married and she is also in a serious relationship. Plus, there are the babies-”

“Exactly because of the babies.”

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in exasperation. It wasnt Sukyeong's job to be the second parent when the other one was not available. But you kept this to yourself, not wanting to hurt Baekhyun's feelings and definitely not wanting a fight. “I'll be just fine. You make sure you do well.”

“I always make sure I do well.”

You gave him a close-lipped smile as you reached out with your hand to caress his cheek. “I know you do,” you muttered and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “But first - your graduation!”

Even though your exclamation was enthusiastic, you couldn't help the little fallen feeling growing in your chest.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

A/N: A long, steamy udpdate with an angsty ending. Hope you enjoyed it. After the next chapter, the time skips will be more frequent and triplets' characters will finally grow! ^^ Please let me know what you are thinking?❤💕🤗 

[choiwrites]

pjm | high school sweethearts (m.)

Words: 18.4k Genres: high school!au, f2l, never been kissed!au, a lil bit of 2000's movie angst :) Warnings: defloration, fingering, dry humping, a smidge of dirty talk, oral (f&m), teenagers being hormonal what else would this be :( Rating: 18+ Playlist:  ♡

Summary: You are not one to believe in high school romance nor any kind of romance at all. Your world is turned upside down when you had to write about falling in love in high school. Having no experience, good thing your best pal Jimin came to the rescue. He's about to show you what falling in love is like through his broken perspective after his girlfriend just broke up with him.

The school cafeteria stretches before you. Chattering getting louder every second as more students join in the next table, your eyes peered at Yoongi, the President of the School Publication, who had just told you the feature's deadline. You were killing him inside your mind, butchering his insides, God you just want him to get kicked out of the school.

Exams are in a week and you did little to no effort in prepping for it, it was driving you nuts. But the cafeteria's coleslaw drove you even madder, its stupid taste lingered in your mouth even after you just took another chug of your second box of milk. You made a note to yourself to never get coleslaw ever again, no matter how convincing Jungkook's smiles were, though there's no denying that the lunch lady's son has somehow crept into your heart.

"Candid!" Jimin appears behind you, his camera flashing your eyes when he takes a candid shot of your face. You slap him on the shoulder before he could sit down beside you. "Do you have a crush on Yoongi?" His eyes scan the unfinished coleslaw on your table, his smile turning into pure disgust.

"What? No! He's just ruining my week," you reply after releasing a huff.

You tear your gaze away from Yoongi before his laughing figure would notice. Jimin giggles at the picture he had just taken. If Jimin didn't have a hundred pictures of your unreserved face, maybe you would have cared. Still, your eyes burned at the sight of your face in his camera.

"What made you sit with me today?" you ask, your eyes not traveling to his face but rather focused on everywhere else except for him and Yoongi.

His breathing was a little ragged, but enough to make your ears notice. He was breathing through his mouth, you could tell. You were that observant of Jimin. Your hand picks up the tiny box of milk, taking another sip from it while you wait for Jimin's answer. He was busy on his camera, then you heard a sniff.

"Seulgi broke up with me," he sniffs again, then he laughs in a croaky way. His voice was usually high, like an optimistic kind. Hearing Jimin's voice always sent you a jolt of happiness, hearing his voice crack made your knees wobble.

You were positive they'll get back together again like the other high school couples, it's their routine that you've gotten used to. It would only take a week before you see them smooching in the locker room again, or maybe eating each other's face in front of you. You wait for an explanation before you could ask, giving him silence so he could proceed with his sentiment.

"She was tired of me. She couldn't see a future with me," he began and forced a small snicker, one you could immediately tell was fake. "I was going to follow her to college. Good thing, I haven't."

You admit, your heart recedes at his tone. Though you've never received such words yourself, being told you're tiring would sure tear anyone's heart apart. And wanting a future with someone with no reciprocation sounded mean. You couldn't search for the right words on how hurt he looked beneath those eyes, you weren't one to have experience in any of the pain he's going through.

You place a hand on his back, a shaky motion vibrated against your palm. You could feel how hard he was trying to suppress all the tears inside him, he was afraid you would laugh. You pat him softly on his cotton jacket, scared to make the situation worse by saying the wrong thing. He took your silence as comfort, needing no words from you to make him feel better. He sniffs again.

"What was she tired of?" Jimin knew that asking you wouldn't bring actual answers, he needed those from Seulgi. But it was you beside him, not Seulgi, so he confides. "It can't be my dick," he laughs, which you returned.

"How sure are you?" Your forehead wrinkled as your brows knot together, a grin forming on your lips.

"A hundred percent, solid. It's probably my snoring, isn't it?" His stare leaves the camera, which had shut down moments ago, taking the courage to look at you who never looked more concern through the small smile you were showing.

"I've never heard you snore, but yeah. I guess so. I don't really follow the relationship you both have."

"Had," he corrects, and then released a nasal huff.

Through his burning face, he was still perfect in every way. His hair lays flat on top of his head, parted in the middle. His bottom lip bitten. His nose scrunches trying to sniff, then he brings the back of his hand to cover the lower part of his face. Your lips curved when he laughed at himself.

"Can we go? I just... I feel like she's on the way here and I don't really want to see her laugh with her friends," he said, nose blocking him from speaking properly.

Seulgi stands by the entrance, searching the cafeteria and when she spots Jimin, she pulls her friend to the counter. This didn't go unnoticed by Jimin, he pulls you harshly out of panic. You've never seen him so frustrated, it was funny.

"Dude, Jimin, what the fuck?" Your bag was open and as he tried to pull you away, your notes dropped on the floor, revealing all your drafts for the feature.

Jimin squats on the floor, examining your written works. The panic passes onto you, his face turned into a frown.

What could he have read?

"Jesus christ y/n, who broke your heart? These are so pessimistic," his hand ravishes on the crumpled paper, reading essays of a hundred words. You somehow regret not throwing those in the trash the moment you finished them.

"Can I just-" He stops your hand from reaching the papers, stretching his other hand away from you.

"This is not what 'falling in love in high school' is like! You're not following the topic given!" he yells, but a glint of happiness spreads across his face. He finds some sort of amusement from your reaction.

"You don't get it, Jimin. You only have to take pictures of couples, I have to write about them! It's not as easy as you think!"

Jimin was also a part of the school publication. He was mostly praised for his average photos, you've told him many times how they're not at all impressive. But he was a popular and good-looking student, everything he does will be adored by many. As opposed to you, who have only written one successful work throughout four years of being in the same page with him. High school will always be that way.

"Whatever. Your works won't make it to the paper if you keep them this way," he says with a stronger voice, a restrain on his throat from earlier brushing away.

"Can you just give them to me?" You reach for his other hand, but his hand on your shoulder kept you away from him. His strong scent burns your nose, but you didn't care even if you felt how hot his skin was. You only pushed yourself further, desperate to get the drafts.

"No, no," he clicks his tongue, "gotta tell me who's this ex of yours first." He waved his eyebrows and your shoulders slumped.

"I don't have an ex-boyfriend. There, you happy?" you declare under a small tone.

He inches his face to yours, and you pulled away when you felt him breathe against your lips. "No shit, y/n. Why the pessimism then?" He was trying to get a rise out of you and you are almost giving in. He reads them again but this time you give up, you couldn't stand his perfume any longer.

"I hate highschool couples. They act like everything is about relationships, even going to college together. Ew." You raise a brow, cocking your head towards him as you cross your arms on your chest.

"Fuck off. You just don't get it." He folds the torn pieces of paper, placing them in his pockets.

"Hey, give that to me!" You try to reach again, but he got a hold of your hand and you soften.

"They suck. I don't want Yoongi to read them, he'll probably judge the shit out of you."

"Why do you care? I take criticism."

"Yeah, and you're gonna get it from me," he says without a lot of consideration. So much of smiling caused his face to lose its puffiness, eyes losing a little bit of their shine.

"I don't need a photographer judging my work. Give them back!"

"Shush." He waves his index finger in front of your face.

You slap his hand away, thinning your lips and giving in to whatever Jimin was trying to do. "What are you gonna do with them?"

"I'll change them," he tilts his head before grabbing you to exit the cafeteria, the hallway rolls before the both of your feet and Jimin only puts his arm around you, "because that's what good friends do."

"For your entertainment, fine. Change it however you'd like, hell you can even put Seulgi's name as the title, I don't care. My idea of high school romance will remain the same!"

"I love Seulgi, alright? It's true, I felt it. Just because we are young doesn't mean our emotions are invalid."

"That's not my point, Jimin. All I'm trying to say is there's not a single record of relationships making it out of high school. It ends in high school and that's it."

His grip on your shoulder loosens and he turns to face you, your eyes remained on the walk ahead. Again, the smell of his perfume irritates your nose, you breathe shortly to avoid it.

"My parents met in highschool, you know that," he argues.

"But their relationship didn't start in highschool, you also know that."

He releases a breath of defeat, but he continued with his debate. "Regardless, high school romance is real. You've never had a crush before?"

"I've had crushes, Jimin. But they're crushes, nothing ever led to 'love'," your tone curved by the end of your sentence, hating the word.

Jimin was aware of your crushing habit, and he knew about each of them. Jungkook from the cafeteria, Seokjin who used to be a senior in the school, and Mr. Kim Namjoon of Biology class. He never missed a single one, but there's one you've never admitted to Jimin. Which was your tiny feelings for him. But you find no use of telling him since it only lasted a month, then he became this jackass friend of yours and you never wished for it change. He has been an amazing friend and everything was platonic between the both of you, he was the only boy you could look in the eyes without feeling insecure.

"Infatuation is the start of everything, dumbass."

"I don't want any of it," you reply and Jimin takes a hold of your arm when you tried to enter your class.

"Wait, I have a proposal." Your hand holds a strap of your bag, slouching in front of him. You turn to him again, brows rising to let him continue.

He takes a few moments before talking again, his adam's apple bobbed slowly as he takes the courage. Your eyes narrowed at his figure, trying to analyze his thoughts faster than he could. Jimin can get unpredictable sometimes, a kind you can't read. It's unfair he could read you like a book, a book he knows all too well.

"What if I make you fall in love?"

Your eyes widen, pulling away from him harshly, just enough to make him feel your rejection to his proposal. He can't be serious, and he can't be this horrible to use you as a rebound for Seulgi.

You as a pawn? No way!

You're not letting Jimin make your last year of high school dramatic with Seulgi's friends judging you by the hallway when you walk past them with Jimin's hand in your back pocket. No, that's not gonna happen.

"Are you insane? What's wro-"

"No, not with me. I phrased it wrong. I meant what if I make you feel like falling in love. You can't just keep denying emotions all through out highschool."

You weren't denying anything. You have a belief, a belief that no relationship in highschool ever lasts.

"Why do you want to prove me wrong so bad? Can't you just let me be?" your tone loomed over him. Anger took over your voice when you didn't mean it, so you looked at him in a stern way to let him know you weren't mad, just confused.

"I want you to know that I am in love with Seulgi. And your opinion is wrong, people fall in love during highschool."

"Jimin, I get it! You're in love with Seulgi, I don't care. Blah blah blah, love is relevant for you. Now get over it."

Both of you were standing before the door to Biology class, it looked stupid. Your classmates are starting to look at you funny, gossiping before entering the room behind you. You take your attention away from it and focused on Jimin's argument and hand which was still wrapped around your arm, he doesn't seem to notice how sweaty his palms are.

"No, you obviously don't get it. You're taking my emotion as a joke."

Why was he getting so worked up with my statement?

"Fine," you surrender. "What is falling in love like?"

Mr. Kim — or Mr. Joonie as you like to call him, appears behind Jimin, his height hovering over your friend. He nods at you and says "You have five minutes" before entering the almost rowdy class. You catch your favorite musky smell when he made his way behind you.

"I'll come by" was Jimin's last response before he vanished from the empty hallway, your mind not comprehending his reply.

Come by what? Where?

Whatever it was, you tried to pushed it to the back of your mind and failed. Biology was interesting, Mr. Joonie was wearing your favorite black and blue striped tie paired with his thin white long sleeves shirt. He discussed further about DNA base pairs which you fell behind on when your brain decides to bring back Jimin's last words.

You tried to bring your ears on Mr. Joonie's lesson, but your mind could only pull away. Screw Jimin for ruining this class for you, distraction was the last thing you needed this month and here comes your infatuated friend to fuck everything up. But it wasn't his idea that made you think, it's your reaction to his idea that caught your attention. You were too defensive earlier, but you guessed it's the right thing to do. However, you can only overthink.

Jimin's proposal was garbage, in what way would it possibly help you?

Falling in love? That's overrated, your mind is set for your one and only goal and that is graduating from this hellhole of hormonal teenagers seeking for love.

Jeez, you sounded like an old lady, but you know it's the truth. Falling in love leads to nothing but a disaster and worst case scenario: baby, which is not part of the high school bucket list you've made for your graduating year. Thanks to your hormones, they weren't as wild as the other teens.

Biology was quicker than you expected. Well, you spent the whole time looking out the window and wondering what the fuck Jimin meant. Lucky for you, Mr. Joonie never paid attention to you to even notice you weren't paying attention to him.

When you finished your Spanish class — your last period, you never caught Jimin in the hallway. Which you wouldn't have expected from what he had said, but you were only left disappointed. You guessed he went after Seulgi to give her the talk. You head home quickly, preparing to study the whole night. You cringe at the idea, already missing the feeling of the living room's sofa while binge-watching 80's sci-fi movies.

He probably forgot already, you tell yourself while flipping through the dull pages of your notebook. A tinge of small dismay tugs at your stomach, you shouldn't have expected too much from a friend like him. You left the thought as you push the first paragraph of your reviewer into your mind, it was ineffective. You only longed for something else, maybe it was food.

You leave your cold room, tiptoeing towards the kitchen downstairs. Your tummy jumps when you saw the cookie jar full. A neon green sticky note beside it reads "clean the house. - mom <3"

You roll your eyes, ignoring the note and opening the glass of sweets. The doorbell rings before your fingers could make contact with the cookies, annoyance builds inside you.

I swear, if this isn't the dress I ordered online. Your pj's drag along the floor as you reach for the door, and a sweaty Jimin stands in front of you. You close your eyes out of embarrassment, regretting that you didn't check the peephole first. You stand in your loose black shirt that barely hangs on your left shoulder, revealing the strap of your bra.

"Wow, you look awful," Jimin narrows his eyes, meticulously scanning your appearance. Your bra strap was only a part of your horrible get up.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you assert, pulling the sleeve of your shirt to cover your exposed skin.

"I said I'd come by remember?" Oh, that's what he meant. "Sorry, I took long. Taehyung called for a meeting for the Curious Minds Club."

Of course, the Curious Minds Club, possibly the worst name for a science club. Jimin loved that name so much, he would always mention it in its entirety. It was his and Taehyung's idea, which you opposed when he asked for your opinion. He reasoned that you never cared about science anyway so you had no right to oppose him, which was stupid 'cause he asked for an opinion in the first place.

"You know what, it's a good thing you and Taehyung are graduating this year so juniors could rename that stupid club."

He walks past you and throws his bag on the floor before laying on the couch, not needing an invitation from you. "Why do you always have to hate my ideas? Just agree for once, Curious Minds is a legendary name."

You shut the door, heading back to the kitchen and finally getting your hands on the cookies. You moan in satisfaction, its taste exploding on your tongue. Jimin spins his head to you.

"Did your Mom make those?"

You nod, bringing the whole jar to him.You let the couch eat you, completely forgetting the reviewer waiting for you in your room. Jimin takes a bite and you absorbed his reaction, similar to yours.

"What are you gonna tell me?" you start.

Jimin's face lit up. "Right, almost forgot about that."

You sat a foot away from him, keeping distance from his nauseating perfume. Your legs cross in front of you, Jimin's arm spreads on top of the sofa right above you.

"So, you've never been in a relationship, right?" Not this again.

You nod, taking another soft cookie.

"I read your drafts during English class, and I gotta say y/n," you stare at him in anticipation, "you suck."

"You're gonna come over to my house, eat my Mom's cookies, and then roast me?! Fuck you, Jimin."

He laughs. "I'm kidding. You filled that paper with passion of hatred towards highschool couples, I started hating them as well," he explains.

"You're one of those couples, dummy. I actually took inspiration from you and Seulgi."

"I thought you don't follow our relationship?" he asks, his head cocking to your direction.

"I heard enough from you throughout the course of six months. Seulgi this, Seulgi that. Seulgi's being complicated, Seulgi's so cute when she burps. Seulgi's being too friendly with Taeyong, oh nevermind, Seulgi just said she loves me," you imitate his irritating ranting from the past, which you wish you would never receive anymore. Expecting an exasperated expression, you were surprised to see Jimin smiling at you.

"I thought you weren't listening all those times."

"Sadly, I was and I shouldn't have."

"The Taeyong part is still true, though," he extends the cookie he was holding forward, trying to pinpoint, "I saw them before dismissal."

"Look at you, all sad and sentimental. Cute li'l Jimin stalking his ex-girlfriend. Awe, how tragic," you vexed, pouting at the obviously annoyed boy.

"I wasn't stalking. I just saw them."

"Poor guy getting his heart broken in the hallway, poor Chimchim. How is he gonna move on now?"

"Quit it," sneered Jimin, indulging on his cookie.

He was still affected, it happened only a few hours ago, he won't be moving on too quickly. Seulgi's laugh is still fresh in his memory, and he could hear it vividly. He could still feel his stomach drop when he thinks of her. His world crumbling into pieces, like the cookie at the bottom of the jar, whenever he's reminded of how her eyes disappear when she smiles much like his — eyes forming intro wrinkly crescents. You felt as if you went below the belt when he became quiet, an uncomfortable silence sitting in the gap between the both of you.

"Back to my proposal," he breaks, "it would really change your writing."

You face pulled together in a center. "How can you say so, Mr. Photographer?"

He inches closer, but his smell was weaker, it was bearable. "Just like what the late Benjamin Franklin had said, 'either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.'"

Your lungs deflate, narrowed eyes processing him. "And what does that have to do with my writing? I wrote something worth reading," you proudly announce.

"No, you're writing your own opinion on a feature. When I read it, I felt like going nowhere. I didn't feel like going back to high school. I felt like I'm in the same place, there's nothing that opened in me," he explains, his words tightening your own throat. "The topic is falling in love in high school, but all I ever felt was hatred."

He pulled a chord in you. He was actually right. Your body falls on the couch, groaning out of frustration.

"What you wrote isn't worth reading, but-" he slouches on the couch and faces you, "you can do something worth writing."

Your cheek sinks on the couch, glaring at Jimin who never looked more passionate about helping you. Break ups do things to people, really.

"And what's that exactly?"

"I know you've never fallen in love in high school, so I'm gonna let you experience what people in love do."

"That doesn't sound like a good idea. I don't want to get messy with Seulgi." The cold leather against your cheeks didn't stop them to burn.

"No, y/n, we're not gonna date. Just trust me on this one, okay?" he convinces and you give in, finding no sense in arguing about a stupid subject

"Just don't do anything weird. I don't really get the gist of your plan."

"What are things that couples do?"

"Aside from making out and having sex at a party? I don't know," you say, his face not impressed.

"I really hate you right now. That's not what we do-"

"Did," you correct, a smile forming on your lips. His frown only worsens from the continuous mocking that you were doing. "Go on, what else did you do?"

His eyes rolled. "Dates. Have you ever been on dates?"

Of course, you have. Family dates count as real dates. That coffee date you had with Sana last Thursday counts, right?

And so, without further arguments within you, you decided to turn down Jimin's dumb idea. Who is he to make fun of you for not going to dates often? You were about to tell him that he's not an inch entitled to show you what a date feels like.

Unreasonably anxious, you tug your skirt down as a small swirl of wind hits on your thin skin. Jimin waves from the bench, standing up to analyze what you wore. You weren't supposed to feel your stomach fall when you finally came to face him, but you did. A tiny voice doubted your outfit choice, and a tiny voice told you how good he looked. Satisfaction fills your wandering mind, you were scared you'd come overdressed with your white puff sleeves.

There was a short amount of silence that gave you enough time to admire him. His Canon camera hangs around his neck, it was the first thing you noticed. He stands there in his skin-tight black pair of ripped jeans, and topped with a thick mustard hoodie. His cute yellow sneakers popped out from the gray cemented ground. Your nose tickled when his scent enters.

"Sorry" was all you could say.

He grins gently, eyes disappearing. "You're about thirty minutes late."

If you didn't spend minutes arguing with yourself about what to wear, you would've arrived sooner. But here you are, still regretting the choice you made. His bright fashion didn't complement your pale vintage look, not that it mattered to him, but you grew conscious.

"Where are you taking me?" you strengthen your voice, trying to seem more confident than you really are.

He tucks both of his hands inside his pockets. "Just pretend I'm either Jungkook or Mr. Kim, whoever you wanna go on a date with."

Imagining Jungkook with a sheepish bunny-like smile, your heart starts to melt and it was vivid in your cheeks.

"See, you're already flustering."

"No, I'm not. Get on with your plan." It was obvious but you chose to deny it, Jimin should be the last person on earth to see you flustered. "Where are you taking me?"

"There's a photography exhibit down the street I'd like to take you in. Wanna eat first?"

His eyes can't help but wander around your body, and you'd be blind to not notice what he was doing.

"Is there something wrong with I'm wearing?" The loud children playing by park almost made your voice inaudible.

"Nope, it's amazing. You look beautiful, y/n," his pitch ascends, tweaking your ears.

You diminish your mind from his compliment, it's all an act. You know he's only doing this to make you feel something which what everything is about. You look away from him, distracting yourself with the pigeons nearby, hoping it would stop your blood from rushing to your face. Jimin takes your hand, intertwining it with his soft palm. Your body hitches and he only held on tighter.

"I know a cafe."

You didn't give him an answer to decide, but he was already pulling you towards a corner. It would've been an unbearable silence if you weren't in public. You hoped he would not notice how your skin has gone damp, tensed by the moment his warm soft fingers made contact with yours. Excitement awakens within you, an unfamiliar emotion.

The moment you saw him sitting on the bench waiting for you, it already felt like a poem waiting to be written. You could already write a hundred words just describing how he looked today. It isn't love, it's just attraction.

He opens the entrance to a cafe — you were too distracted to read the name. You lose contact with his hand as he sits by the counter and so did you. A middle-aged woman with a forced grin awaits on the other side of the counter.

"I'd have a chocolate milkshake," you tell Jimin, shyness was completely obvious in your voice.

"Just one chocolate milkshake," Jimin tells the waiter, his gaze focused on you.

Jenna — written on her name tag — gives a forced lift to her cheeks, proceeding to the kitchen behind. You were in the midst of asking him why he only ordered for himself, but you jumped when you hear his camera click, a flash directed towards your way.

"Ugh, what's wrong with you?"

"To make it last longer," Jimin mumbles, you ignore.

You shouldn't have agreed to this. You shouldn't have rejected Sana's offer to review at the library. You shouldn't have let Jimin take control of the day. Because ever since the moment you arrived in your carefully picked clothes, your mind never acted straight. Never in your five years of high school have you ever felt so embarrassed and timid.

Why isn't he talking? Did I look stupid in the last photo? How many chapters could I have reviewed by now if I stayed home?

Jenna slams the glass of chocolate shake on the counter. You and Jimin didn't bother to react, too busy thinking of what exactly is this tension between the both of you. Jimin takes two straws, slowly inserting them on the mushy drink. He leans forward on his elbow rested against the cold edge of the table, facing sidewards to look at you better. You looked cute when you're ignoring his gaze, and for a second, he forgot the hole in his heart. It only felt stronger the moment you side-eyed him.

"What?" you mutter, unaware of your effect on him.

After a small sip, his eyes widened when he gulped. "It's good, c'mon, try it."

His bottom lip glistens, you weren't even sure why you caught that detail on his face. With a scrutinizing look from him, the moment didn't grow comfortable for you. The longer you stayed with him, the harder it is you try to stop your stomach from doing unnecessary turns.

You sigh. This is not gonna get better if you keep acting like a shy high school girl — well, you are a shy high school girl, but that's never the case with Jimin. He was your friend, a very close friend. With a lump swallowed in your throat, you approached the elephant in the room.

"Jimin," you breathe. "This is weird. I don't even kno-"

"I'll stop you there. You're having butterflies in your stomach, aren't you?" He licks his lip, excited to hear your answer.

"No. No, I'm not having butterflies in my stomach." You raise your chin.

He snickers. "You're supposed to feel it, not deny it. You're such an amateur. Your writing's not gonna get better if you keep being subjective. You feel flustered like the other girls in high school on a date, accept it."

He's making sense and you hate it. But at least it has been addressed. He knows what you're feeling and you don't have to keep it a secret. Defeated, you sigh. You regained your composure which you might have lost by the moment he smiled at you at the bench.

"You take Seulgi here often?" Your lips trembled in the slightest way before taking a sip from your straw.

Jimin chokes on his own breath. "What? You're asking about my ex on our date?"

An intense heat builds upon you, beading of sweat forms on your nape. Our date, two words that repeated like a broken vinyl in your head. Maybe it was being numb for years that everything right now starts to feel like everything. It's not the same emotions you feel when you wrote those drafts, it's something else you can't put your tongue on.

You purse your lips, swallowing the cold drink. "What do we even talk about?" you giggle out.

He didn't take any second to think, Jimin already had something in mind. His hand touches the glass of the drink, finger rubbing the small drips of water on its sides. There isn't something that he's doing that you weren't noticing. You're quite aware that he was just as observant as you by the way he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you sat down.

"Why do you write?" He lifts the glass off the table, bringing it close to him and taking a sip while he waits for your answer.

Well, it's a simple reason. It's all you know, it's all you ever do. Your second grade teacher was quite an amazing narrator. You remember closing your eyes to her melodic voice as she describes the dragon's tower: red bricks stand over a thousand pieces, to the sky it went and in the cloud it hid, scared to be found by a knight who wanted nothing but to save it. It was a remnant of your almost forgotten childhood, since then you only wanted to seek more of those words. A flaming desire sparked in you, that is to write a picture.

"You ever had that feeling like flying when you read something? It's so vibrant and you could almost feel it take you places." You bit your lip, eyes closing to pull your words together. "I want people to feel what I feel, what I see, what I know. To get them to react the way I want them to, but learn something I never knew I wrote." You open your eyes to see him deeply absorbed in your explanation. "You probably don't even get it," you sigh.

"No, I totally get it. I understand."  He places the drink back to its wet ring-like mark on the table. "That's exactly how I feel about photography. I want people to see the way I view things, my focal point in life. With photography, I can get them to look at things in a specific perspective."

You were unconscious of the smooth smile that grew on your lips. All this time, you thought you knew Jimin well, but this only opened a door to him. For five years, you've always been ignorant of what others do and what others feel. It felt like a waste of years, the only thing you learned about in high school was Sana's love for body sprays and now, Jimin's reason for photography.

Your throat goes dry, not having anything to say. Though you had a lot in mind, how his eyes shined bright when he enthusiastically praised what he loves. Regret screams inside you, how could I let five years pass by so quickly. There was so much to learn and so much to write, it's a disappointment you've only written for essays and Min Yoongi.

You scoot towards the drink, trying to catch the straw with your lips while your eyes are darted on Jimin. Slurping impulsively, you caught Jimin's face turn into a shock.

"Don't finish our drink!" He dives in with you, sipping much more intensely than you.

You slid off to laugh, a small amount of chocolate drapes on your bottom lip but you were fast enough to catch it with your finger. You catch the straw again, trying to compete with Jimin. The proximity between you was the last thing in your mind, you only cared about getting more milkshake than Jimin who seem to fall behind your level.

You slam your fist on the table after finishing the drink and Jimin leans away to laugh, already accepting his lost. "I win!" you cheer, holding the biggest smile.

Jimin cocks his head, stretching out his hand for a handshake. With a graceful pump, he exhales a tired huff from laughing too hard. "I guess that's one thing you're good at," his lips curved, forming a soft wrinkle on his right cheek. "Sucking."

You snort. "You're also good at finishing early." Earning a chuckle from him, your brow raised.

"How would you know? You never tried me."

You inhale silently, not wanting him to be aware of your reaction. What a stupid comeback. He stands from his seat, pulling his black leather wallet from his back pocket.

"Let's split it," you tell him immediately, hand already reaching for your purse.

"Hey, no. This one's on me. I invited you remember?" He was already placing a bill on the table which Jenna quickly approached, leaving a tip for her that made her smile a little different than earlier.

Your skin turns moist as the both of you walk out the cafe, heat raking against your skin. He returns his hand in yours, so casually it felt so real. He's got a hold of your fingers and he does it so well, it didn't feel foreign, like your hand has somehow molded in there and made its home.

You follow his direction, not bothering to speak since you were afraid your words would only fail you. Silence doesn't seem to bother Jimin as much as it bothers you, he only focused on his way to the exhibit and how your hand felt wrapped in his. Not being able to endure it any longer, you dared to speak.

"I'll pay you back, I promise."

His head didn't turn, and his mouth didn't open. Instead, his thumb rubs over yours. It was a movement so subtle, yet electricity bursts under your skin. You drift your focus on your footsteps, refusing to step on a crack making your phase noticeable to Jimin. You fall a little behind from him, but the game you're playing with your feet felt so serious at the moment. Jimin eyes you, then to your feet, figuring out what the hell you were trying to do. Thinning the space between his brows, he pulls you close with a tight grip on your hand.

"We're here," strictly he says.

A narrow door towers in front of you, and Jimin pulls you inside. Like a normal exhibit, walls were white, exaggerating the black and white photos hanging around them. Strangers inside could easily be counted, scattered around every corner of the room.

"They're all by Ash Park, a film photographer," he states, leading you to the left side to showcase the first picture.

In a golden frame, a pale girl bends to play ball with children much shorter than her in an alleyway. Jimin finds interest in your face, clearing his throat to begin his explanation. You ignore the description pasted on the wall beside it, letting Jimin do the work.

"That's in Cuba. That girl there is an actress, not so popular though. She and Ash are very close friends, if not more than that."

Your brows quirked up, lips pouting with the information given. "Bet your ass they are."

He breathes a laugh before walking to the next frame, and you follow.

"Did you go here already?" you asked, arms crossed against your chest and eyes pinned on the picture.

The same girl sits at the end of the bed, winking at the camera. Her hands politely placed on her thighs with legs crossed. Even in a colorless picture, her personality can be vibrantly seen. She was simply beautiful in her lacy dress.

You turn to Jimin who was staring right at you, his head quickly turning to the photo.

"I've been here with Taehyung," he answers. "About the picture, it's the same girl obviously. I think it's exquisitely symmetrical. Just amazing how aesthetic she looked sitting so proper on the bed. She's like the center of everything in that hotel room, I think that's what Ash is on about."

"I love your depiction, it's making me fall in love," you thin your lips, "with the picture, of course."

Jimin huffs. "Just the picture? Look at her, she's beautiful. He's clearly in love with her. I could hear her laugh from this picture, it's making me fall in love with her too."

"What's her name?"

"Jinri."

You've always thought that words are the only thing that can move a person, but Jinri's smile shines through the printed material. In an unexplainable way, you could feel the chemistry built within the photographer and the model, it is way beyond words. Again, Jimin explains another picture and always find yourself so absorbed within his way of interpretation. And aside from that, whenever your eyes look upon him, he already had his on you.

It goes on for a while, then you found your favorite piece. Jinri reading a book while her body rests on the glass of a store's window. Surrounded by a busy street, it seemed scripted. Nonetheless, it was still beautiful.

"This is my favorite," Jimin says.

"No way, I was just debating about that." Your eyes wandered around the picture, trying to pick up more details.

Jimin grins in astonishment. "It reminds me of a specific picture I took back in eighth grade. Do you remember the book fair?"

"Are you kidding? That's where we met."

"Yeah. That's the day I first brought my camera to school. I was playing around with the lens, trying out different stuff, and then I accidentally took a picture of this girl reading a book. And when I looked at it, the camera focused on her and the rest of the crowd was a blur."

"Do I know her?"

Jimin gulps. "No, probably not. From what I heard, she transferred schools the same year. It's my favorite though, I even printed it out."

"Really? Let me se-"

"It's in my Science notebook. I'll show you some other time."

The rest of the day continued, Jimin asking if you wanted to eat again which you wasted no second to say yes to. You eventually found out about Jimin's hatred towards ketchup. And when you got home, unopened books greeted you from your desk. However, regret didn't knock on your door that night, you were only left smiling while highlighting half of the pages.

But you weren't supposed to be thinking of Jimin like that, knowing the fact that you were supposed to imagine Jungkook during that date. It was bothersome that Jungkook never even crossed your mind today.

Sana's menacing eyes scanned you from head to toe, not believing the lie you had just told her. Your words completely stopping her from reviewing the Lush soap in her hand. Placing the glittery soap back to its container, she minimizes the gap between your bodies.

"I know damn well when you're lying, y/n. You did not review with Park Jimin." Your chest heaved at the mention of his name and you hope Sana didn't notice.

But of course, she's much like you. Quite the observant type, that's why she's your best friend. Years of observing and chattering about high school drama in the cafeteria would be useless if she didn't notice that small body language.

Lately, you keep finding yourself in situations you regret going to. Again, you were supposed to be diving deeper into your calculus reviewer, which you failed to finish last night, but to make up for rejecting Sana's offer to review at the library a day ago, you let her drag you to the mall. You wish you can just gauge your eyes out to make it impossible for Sana to read them.

She releases a breath, the mint chocolate ice cream she had from earlier traveling to your nose. "Please tell me you used a condom."

You slap her shoulder, eyes widening while she solemnly awaits your response. "What's wrong with you? That's the last thing on my list." Immediately regretting your last sentence, you shut your eyes tightly. "I mean it's not on my list." Fuck.

"You're risking failing the exams for a date, that's very unlikely of you."

Not wanting to look at her much longer, you drew your eyes to the bath bombs placed on the wooden table, hands skimming through their rough texture.

"We did not date. We had to do our assignments for the school pub," you clarify, emphasizing every word clearly.

Sana's body remains to face you, ignoring her favorite shimmery body products lying on the shelf beside her. "Last time I heard that was on Fifteen and Pregnant. Was it missionary? Come on, tell me the details."

"Holy shit, quit it! I didn't have sex with Jimin!" You heard every head turning to face you, looks of disgust thrown towards your way.

"Oh, really?" A deep voice sneaks behind you, making you place the lavender bath bomb back to its place. Taehyung blinks like a dumbfounded child, contrasting his deep voice from earlier. His height towers over you and Sana who was just as confused as you are.

"Excuse me? Is it normal for nerds to be such a creep all the time?" You felt Sana nod from beside you with her arms crossed on her chest.

"What? I'm not a nerd. You're a nerd," he points to Sana, "you too."

"Why are you here anyway? This is Lush not Gamestop."

His nose crinkled. "Just a quick FYI, there's a difference between geeks and nerds. And I am not any of those." Placing a hand in the middle of his chest, he looks you deeper.

You smirk, turning to Sana. "Nerd."

"Are you buying lotion for your boyfriend? Is that why you're here?" Sana curves a corner of her lips, proud of what she had said.

"No, I'm here to buy wax for your Mom. You got any suggestions?" retaliated Taehyung, cocking a head towards Sana. "I happen to pass by and I heard you talking about fucking Jimin. I was intrigued."

"Ew, no. She was joking," you reply, rolling your eyes to Sana.

"Oh, I know. He wouldn't be talking with Seulgi if you guys did... you know?" He raises a brow, and you furrowed yours, trying to pretend that you don't understand.

The mention of Seulgi's name struck a chord in you. You knew it was physically impossible for your blood to boil, but it's the right way to describe it. Guessing it's only the hatred for Sana and Taehyung teasing you about Jimin, somehow deep inside you were envious of Seulgi. It was probably the reason Jimin was hard to be seen today, and you're not denying that you did expect him to come talk with you.

"He was?" you ask with a tiny voice, unaware that you just said it.

"I saw them during lunchtime, didn't you?" Taehyung replies sternly, having no intention to make fun of your reaction.

"Right. Yeah, I saw them," you lie quickly, biting your lip afterwards.

Sana looks at you from your side, pursing her lips and trying her best to not say the wrong thing. It was her first time to see you unreadable. Your emotions were new and something she's never encountered before throughout years of knowing you. She's only used to comforting you about a failed quiz, or a scolding from Mrs. Cruz when you can't pronounce Desafortunadamente properly. But she can guess it, jealousy and confusion isn't something new to her. However, it's still absurd to see those emotions printed on your face.

Sana ended up buying a strawberry chapstick, and Taehyung had left before you knew it. She insists to take you home for unknown reasons, it was unusual of her to do so. And you throw yourself on the bed, still with your hot sweater on, careless if you start to smell or not.

You push your head onto the soft fabric of your pillow, trying to take your mind off of your reviewer and the unresolved teenage drama, ew. Now all of your actions are revealing their consequences, your mind falling into a pit of regret. Your crush on Jimin can't come back now, not before the exam at least. You have no strength to fight all that emotions, you should only have one thing in your head and it should be Chapter 8: DNA Base Pairs.

Screaming into the pillow, your Dad comes walking to your door, knocking passively and asking if you were doing okay which you stuttered a yes to. You release an exasperated sigh when you hear him walk back downstairs, continuing his favorite ESPN show.

You would think that a long exhausting day would actually exhaust you, but for some dumb reason, you got up from your bed and sat behind your desk. With a palpitating heart, your eyes wander around the messy table, looking for some sort of entertainment.

I should sleep, like right now. It was a school night, and staying up to decide whether to watch a RomCom movie or to write stresses you more than it should. For the mean time, fuck DNA Base Pairs and calculus, life is now and you're watching 50 First Dates for the seventh time.

The light emitting from the crevice below your door and the floor dims down a few moments ago, and your Dad was no longer cheering for a Christiano Ronaldo rerun. The night has gone quicker than you thought, it was already twelve o'clock sharp, and your eyes are not weighing down at least one bit. They remain full and in awe whenever Drew Barrymore is shown on screen.

Your jump out of your skin when you heard a soft clonk from outside your window, thinking it would just be a twig falling down a tree, you ignore. But they continued for three more times, and twigs falling down during a serene quiet night would be strange. If it was windy outside, you would've heard its gush.

You pause the movie on your laptop screen, waiting for another sound. And then you heard three more knocks. Your head follows the sound. You've never felt more overly excited in your life, stomach jumping in anticipation.

Jimin smiles through the window, relieved that you haven't gone deaf. He waves, then points towards the lock on your window. You nod, hopping out of your seat to unlock it. You hear him sigh, throwing his bag inside your room.

"What are you doing here? Did you get in trouble?"

Jimin's petite body slides right in with no problem, huffing in front of you after his success. He looks to your door then back at you, sweat rolling against the frame of his face.

"You wanna wake your parents? Can you chill for a sec," he whispers, walking towards the end of your bed and dropping on the floor.

While you were busy struggling to pull down the window, Jimin drags his bag to get his camera. Before you could flop beside him, the camera flashes your face. Your lips remain thin, too lazy to react. Scratching the back of your ear, you sit beside him.

"Seriously, how'd you get here in the middle of the night?" you ask, hugging your legs while your fingers tug on the fabric of your jeans.

Jimin spreads his legs, slouching on the wood behind him. He turns the camera off before seeing the picture, his focus already on you. "I stole my brother's car."

"And for what reason?"

"I can't sleep," his head hits the hard material as he turns to see you closer and you cringed for him, "I didn't see you at school today, why's that?"

"Sana dragged me to the mall right after my Spanish class. As for lunch break, I finished my Social Studies essay in the library."

"You could have told me at least. I was waiting for you during lunch."

"No, you weren't," you say quickly, "you were with Seulgi."

Jimin's head rises from its comfort, tilting in confusion. "Why would I be with her?"

You gulp, preparing to say the next lines without jealousy interfering in them. "Taehyung told me so. I ran to him at the mall."

He laughs, making you nervous. His head falls back again, bringing his hand on his stomach. "He probably saw us in the hallway. I did talk to her."

You bit your lip, confused why you expected a different answer from him. Your emotions remain unsolved.

"She wanted to get her bracelet back. She left it in my room before we broke up, but that's about it."

Contentment calms your nerve. He leans closer, and his familiar scent once again enters your nostrils, you exhale it away. "So, I came here uh... I feel like I needed someone to talk to."

"Taehyung's a choice," you reply, closing your eyes to lessen the excitement.

"His parents are actually going through a divorce right now, I don't want to add to his problems," he lets go of a long sigh, body falling to your side.

You lean backwards to make him feel more comfortable, watching his eyes close gently. "You should be there for him," you suggest in a soft tone.

"When I saw her earlier, I didn't want to approach her. I was confused when she walked to me," he said, disregarding your reply. "I feel guilty. I feel like I shouldn't be over her so quickly, I mean... I'm not over her, it's just that I feel better than how she's doing."

You listen to the sound of his calm breathing, and his hoarse voice that tried its best to get lower than it already is.

"When I talked about following her to college, I only said it to feel like I'm doing what I should as her boyfriend. I've always felt obligated around her and that's not how it should go. I love her but it's not the kind of love where everything falls into place." Jimin groans, lifting his body off you.

He ruffles his hair, bending his legs upwards to hug them, copying your position.

"I know it sounded like I'm seeking for perfect love, I'm not. I know relationships have their struggles, but my love for her isn't strong enough to keep it going. She broke up with me, but I feel like I was just waiting for her to."

"You children are so in love with the word 'love'." You dig your chin in between your knees.

"Y/n, it's love whether it's weak or strong. It's love for what I knew love to be. But I love her in a way I couldn't do things for myself, not that she forced me to, I just felt obligated to do so."

"Then don't do it. She'll still love you back even if you don't follow her to college."

"Do I sound stupid?"

You lift your chin to look at him, his eyes already angled towards you. "Honestly? Not really. You're in the midst of things, you can laugh about it later if it's stupid, but it's how you feel and you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

"Exactly, so why are you hating on high school romance again?"

You laugh. "I might need a little more convincing from you."

Your response was what he wanted to hear. There's more comfort in your hand and he realized that the moment he have let go of it during the day at the exhibition. He wants to do this with you, more than ever.

"Do you want to get some KFC?" he asks.

"Are you kidding? It's 12AM!"

"Do stomachs close when it's midnight? Come on, I'm really craving for some zinger right now. And we'll be back before your parents even know it," he insists. "Do something adventurous for once, high school is ending and all you can tell your grandkids about it is homework."

You roll your eyes. "I really can't," smacking your lips, "say no to that."

Jimin wastes no time in pulling you towards the window, but you shake his hand off to take your dirty sweater off, revealing your sky blue smocked bodice cami top. Jimin ravels his eyes on your body, a lump forming inside his throat.

"Move," you tease, pushing him towards the window. Thank God, it was humid outside, you wouldn't have survived with just a sleeveless top.

The next thing you know, Jimin was singing at the top of his lungs to What Lovers Do and with such a falsetto voice, you sang along as well. Looking to your side was when you realized how great the city lights compliment Jimin's smile, and everything felt so fixed, you weren't worried about getting caught nor falling asleep in class tomorrow, it just felt so right and perfect.

This was something based on novels you read as a middle schooler, and you were foolish to never believe in any of it. Some quotes start to make sense, everything was a hazy dream and no words can ever define how extraordinary Jimin's eyes looked as they twinkle inside the dark vehicle.

Jimin had no other thoughts than enjoying the moment with you, in this year is where it all ends and everything starts. Graduation was nearing and the only thing making perfect sense for him was that soft beam you have while you bob your head to the beat. Bokeh was something that he only sees in pictures, but he dies right the moment you smiled at him and you were surrounded by them.

He makes a turn, almost forgetting that you were here to eat with him. As soon as the both of you arrive inside, Jimin runs to the counter to place the orders.

You sit near the entrance, chin resting on your palm while you wait for Jimin to finish. The girl in the counter seems to be around your age, and she looks at Jimin with so much happiness in your eyes. You giggle. Jimin leans on the counter, silently talking with the girl to which she keeps responding with a laugh.

Jimin sits across you, setting the food on the table. His hand immediately grabbing his zinger. You watch him take the first bite while you unwrap yours, pretending to be as hungry as he was.

"How do you do that? Flirt all over the place?" You point your sandwich towards Jimin whose cheeks are bulging.

He swallows, eyes shutting to savor the satisfaction. "Oh, I'm not flirting. She was." He turns his head to the girl with a wide smile, then to you. "How do you do that? Hate on something you've never felt nor experienced?"

"Hm," resting your arms on the table, "I don't actually hate it anymore. This thing that we're doing, teaching me what people in love do, it's kinda fascinating."

His gaze alternates to you and his food. "There's more to this. This is what friends do, but what Seulgi and I did was so much more than just this."

You look down, taking a bite to ignore the weird emotion forming inside you.

"I mean what couples do. I know you're pretending I'm Jungkook and that's the thing, friends are great companion but when it's the person you love, time feels faster."

"I'm not actually pretending you're Jungkook," you confess, and you felt him lose his composure but he was quick enough to take it back.

"You seem to smile at me like I'm somebody else."

"I smile at you just fine," you take a sip of the Sprite beside your tray. "Anyways, do you already have something to send Yoongi?"

He nods. "Already took my masterpiece."

You roll your eyes. "Wish I could say the same. Exams are two days from now and I just gave up reviewing."

"I could study with you, I'll come over tomorrow."

"How is that gonna help me review?"

"I'm like the best study buddy ever. Have you written anything yet?"

You huff in disbelief. "No, inspiration's not coming to me."

Jimin moves away, mouth agape. "Y/n, look at me," and you did more than you already were, "I'm all the inspiration you need. Write something about how I smell good or how my eyes look when I talk, girls love to read that shit."

"First of all, you smell like every rotten fruits combined. Second, no. That's not what feature writing is about, I'm not gonna turn it into a John Green novel."

"Turn it into an erotica, let Yoongi jack off to it before rejecting it."

You snort, cheeks turning red. "You think he jerks off to erotica?" you ask in between laughs.

"I did, Fifty Shades of Grey chapter thirty-nine." He leans back, waiting for your reaction. "It was worth a wet page."

"I do not need details. Jimin, what the fuck?"

He raises his brows, chewing on his fries. Eating has never been more attractive. He smirks. "Hurry up eating." Jimin cleans his mouth with a tissue, slamming his fist on the table to rush you.

"Jesus, you wanted me to eat," you reply with your mouth full, crumpling the wrapper to slip it inside the empty cup.

The both of you leaves the place laughing, pushing each other on the way to his car — brother's car in the dark and empty parking lot. It was just the crickets, moderate hums of cars passing by, and your laughs, play fighting with each other. Before the car splits the both of you, Jimin pulls you to remain behind the vehicle.

"What?" He holds your arm in a careful manner, calming down from his giggles.

"I've never done this before," Jimin leads you to the driver's side, opening the door to reach for the radio. Leaving the car door open, Linger by The Cranberries made its way to your ears.

You feel your neck sets afire, you swear they've turned a bright pink that roamed to your cheeks. With wide eyes, questioning Jimin's actions. "You're not turning this into a coming of age film, are you?"

His palms glide to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Thank goodness the lot was empty, but you doubted maybe the girl Jimin was flirting with earlier can somehow see your bodies ridiculously swaying. That's the least of your worries, because Jimin's hands was electricity to your exposed skin. You decide to wrap your arms around his neck, not wanting to make it any more awkward and just going with the flow.

He blinks at you. "Yes, we certainly are." He purses his lips, you can only look.

Besides your swelling heart, your lips shake trying to suppress its cavernous grin. "So, this is what corny couples do?"

Jimin exhales through his nostrils, taking your hand to extend it to the side while he hugs you closer. "No, no. This is what we do, y/n."

You couldn't comprehend what he said, disregarding it by burying your head deep into his chest, inhaling his scent like making a memory, he does the same by digging his nose into your hair. You close your eyes to concentrate on the beat of his heart, just as fast as yours and synchronized perfectly.

"I've never done this before," he repeats and he feels you nod. "Have you?"

"No," you tell his chest. "Why would you think I've done it?"

His hot breath rolls on your scalp, enjoying the smell of your papaya shampoo. It goes on for a while, steady breathing no matter how fast both of your hearts rush. Then he lets go, a part of you already missing the feeling of his chest against your cheek.

"Can I just..." Jimin breaks, ignoring your question, his hand that used to intertwine yours holds your cheek, his grasp on your waist tightening. Your eyes were still, and he watches as though they were incomparable even when they're closed.

In a sharp push from behind you, fingers extending to push you further to his groin. Your eyes flutter open as his lips connect with yours. You pull away and you catch Jimin's eyes close, slowly opening them again.

"I'm sorry." He moves away, feeling horrible for just kissing you like that. Before he enters the car, you tug his arm, framing his face with your hands to pull him again back to your lips. He rakes his fingers on your back, just a little above your ass.

Feeling shy, the movement of your lips were subtle. But Jimin just devoured them, and you followed his sloppy kiss. He exhales heavily it sounded like a grunt, smiling in between. You wrap around him again, and he lifts his fingers to your nape. Pushing you towards the car, he jerks his hip and so did you, unfamiliar heat pooling between your thighs.

You thrust against him again, he grips you waist tighter only to pull away.

"You need to stop that," he purrs, giving you one last peck.

You followed his body, but he signals you to stop. Confused, you went to the other side and processed what he was trying to do. The kiss was too good to regret, it felt like an achievement rather. And the ride back to your house was unsatisfying, you didn't want to go home, you only wanted more. But Jimin leaves the moment he takes his bag, silence wrapping every second. No words exchanged after he stopped you from kissing him again, fazing you the whole night.

You spent your day memorizing at school, just happy that the teachers gave enough free time to let their students study for the upcoming exams. Except of course for Mrs. Cruz who went about Spanish adverbs.

Tuesday was boring, well, a little. It would've been extremely boring if the kiss last night didn't happen. Aside from flipping pages in the library while Sana sits comfortably beside you, your mind wanders why the fuck - why the fuck Jimin kissed you then stopped you. You poke Sana, intending to tell her about it, it doesn't matter if she can help, but she shakes your hand away and made a hissing noise. Slouching in your seat, you pick up your notes again, rereading each sentences.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Trying to get the definition of protein inside your head, but you're far from getting there when footsteps behind you felt closer. Please don't be him. But of course, destiny seems to love the idea of you being miserable.

"We need to talk," Jimin says right when you stand to face him, holding a brown teddy bear in his hand.

"No, dingus. She's with me," Sana protests, putting down her trig notebook.

"Actually, we need to really talk. Like really need to really talk, you know?" you reply, leaving your seat while Sana frowns.

Sana was only two steps away, yet Jimin continued with his statement.

"About the kiss," he begins. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know what I was doing. I shouldn't have done it."

"Right," you lie. "I also didn't know what I was doing. I was just thinking of Jungkook and I dived right in, I'm such an idiot. It was like one in the morning, I was hallucinating." You fake a giggle and Jimin furrows his brows.

"You were thinking of Jungkook?" he mutters, almost inaudibly. "I mean, right. Yeah, you're thinking of Jungkook, I should know ha ha."

"Let's just forget about it. It's dumb." You nod your head, and he bites his lip trying to ignore your gaze. "Is that for Seulgi?" Pointing towards the medium stuff toy, and he lifts it while scratching his nape.

"Nope, this is actually for you," he extends the toy forward and you uncertainly accept. "Are we still on tonight? You know? About the studying thing?"

You grit your teeth, pushing your thumbs roughly on the bear's stomach. "Of course, why wouldn't we be? Let's just forget about that thing last night, uhm... See you at five?"

Jimin finds you unbelievable, he couldn't even get over about the kiss ever since this morning but here you were, someone who's never been kissed before being so casual.

"Five it is." His lids drop, ignoring the prickly feeling as he walks away.

You release a huff, staring at the bear while Sana watches you with her mouth wide open.

"Wow, you're actually dating him."

You turn over to see her face, rolling your eyes. "Last thing on my list, okay?"

She shrugs.

It wasn't long 'till the sun sets, you were already in your pj's and this time, you wore a tight shirt to prevent Jimin from seeing your boring bra straps. You weren't even preparing the study materials, you were just sitting on the couch, tensed and dense, with ears waiting for the doorbell to finally ring.

Bracing yourself, you stare at the bear placed on the other side of the couch and it looks as though it's speaking right back at you. The doorbell rings, and you run to the door as fast as you could but you stopped before opening it, arguing with yourself whether to smile or not, pretending like you don't care that he's here.

"Hey," he clears his throat, "are you ready?"

"For what?"

He grins at your stupid question. "To study? What else are we gonna do?"

You shake your head, throwing your thoughts in a bin as you move away from the door, leaving him to close it. The heat beneath your thighs from your seat earlier comforts you, you're home and there's nothing to be nervous about — except you're home alone with Jimin and you have every reason to be nervous.

"What do study buddies do? I'm not really a fan of company," you confess as if he doesn't know yet.

"I don't know. I've never done it either." He laughs. "Let's just ask each other questions."

You nod, watching him sit a foot apart from you, positioning his black bag next to the couch.

"Oh," he expressed, looking at his gift that lies comfortably next to him. "Hello."

You place your thick Biology book on top of your lap, searching for questions you could ask him. "You ready?"

"When you are." He waits, rubbing his knee.

Fuck, there really was this stupid tension that won't go away even if you try. You breathe unsteadily, hoping your voice won't crack.

"What's a codon?"

He clicks his tongue. "It's a sequence of three nucleotides that corresponds to an amino acid. A full set of codons is called a genetic code." His voice was suave, completely unaware of your thoughts.

"Great, that's great. That's more than what a blank would need. Next question."

He nods.

"What's a DNA made up of?"

"Phosphate, 5-carbon sugar, and nitrogenous bases."

"Yes. Are you sure you need to review?"

"Yeah, it's just two questions I got right."

"Fine. What kind of bonds hold together the nucleotides within one one strand?"

"Special covalent bonds called phosphodiester bonds. Is that correct?"

"Yeah. This is unfair, you're in a science club."

"It's not just a science club. It's the Curious Minds Club."

You groan. "I was trying to forget that stupid name."

"Say what, Ms. Secretary of Mr. Darcy Fan Club."

"That's not the name of our club! It's Diverse Readers Literary Group."

"Oh, I forgot. You know why I forgot? It's boring."

"Dee-Ar-El-Gee. Sounds more professional than Curious Minds, it's like you're hosting a Disney show."

"DRLG? Sounds like a social worker group."

"Whatever. Your tiny brain won't understand."

He steals the book from your lap, flipping to a page you've never seen before. "What kind of bonds hold together the nucleotides within one strand?"

"Shit. Hydrogen bonds?"

"See? You got this. How many bonds do the nirogenous bases form?"

"A and T form 2... uh... hydrogen bonds while C and G form 3."

"You're just as qualified for the Curious Minds Club."

"Oh, no."

He laughs, dismissing your thoughts away. You find yourself breathing properly around him, forgetting the taste of his lips.

"Next question," he snaps his fingers, "how well do I kiss?"

You look at him for the first time in a while, his legs on the couch before you could even scold him for it. He has his arms on top of the couch, right above you. "Seriously?" was all you could say.

"Quick survey." You weren't kidding but it sounded like he was, though he anticipates your answer.

"It was great," you whisper, remembering it all again. How you thrusted onto him, tasting his sweet lips from the remnants of sprite, and how his smell didn't bother you a single bit.

"Just great?"

He shifts closer, and you turn your direction in front. "What do you expect me to say?"

"Did you really think of Jungkook?" You heard the tussle in his tone.

"Mhm," you recline. "Didn't you think about Seulgi?"

He laughs through his nostrils, the air gushing to your cheek. "Why would I think of her? I was kissing you. God, how oblivious can you get?"

"Well, maybe because you stopped me? You realized I'm not her so you stopped me."

It took a moment before he responded. "I didn't want you to stop. I just can't take you there."

"Take me where? Look, it's okay if you were thinking of Seulg-"

"My God, y/n. I was trying to control myself!"

"From what?"

"From fucking you," he half-yells.

There it was again, the fire building in you. Why did he have to bring this up again? You were close to forgetting everything - err, at least some of it.

"Y/n, I'm sorry if you felt like I was rejecting you. I can never do that." He scoots again. "Say something."

You had no clue what words you were trying to search for, all you wanted was to feel his lips on yours again. What do they taste like without the sweet drink lingering? How would it feel to kiss him in private? To kiss him in a comfortable place, somewhere no one can interfere?

There's only one way to find out.

"Then prove it."

He thinks for a moment before attaching his lips onto yours once again. It was like a taste you've been craving, and having his lips on yours again felt ecstatic. Without the drink, his lips tasted just the same, sweet and satisfying. He skims a hand to your thigh, while the other holds your nape. God bless the teenage hormones!

He pulls away, breathing raggedly. "On top of me." He taps your thigh and you oblige, sitting on his lap and returning your lips to his.

The kiss was running out, you want more. You want to feel more than just a kiss, it was insatiable. His sweatpants did no justice in hiding his hardening cock, softly poking on your entrance. But he kept his hands on your waist, trying his best not to grab your ass. You grunt, finally rolling your hips to feel that friction you've been needing.

He fails at controlling himself after hearing the noise you made, thrusting upwards to get the satisfaction he needed. His hand stops before the curved of your breast, needing an affirmation from you. For the mean time, he was entertaining himself by playing with your tongue. You earn a groan from him when you rub your pussy against the outline of his cock, he pulls away again to stare at his crotch, biting his lip.

"Did I do anything wrong?" you ask with so much worry.

"No, I just... I won't be able to stop if you keep doing that."

"Jimin, please," you beg, trailing his hands to your waiting breasts, moaning while you continuously rub yourself on him.

He watches you get yourself off with hooded eyes, his mouth open as he releases quiet moans himself. "You're doing so well, y/n, fuck." He pulls you again, biting your lower lip as he inserts one of his hand in your shirt, lifting your bra to pinch a nipple.

You were nearing your climax, and Jimin just kept watching without intention to take his clothes off. Slowing down, Jimin lifts your shirt right above your breasts, licking a nipple while he gropes the other.

You release a high-pitched whine, encouraging Jimin to twitch his dick. "Woah, you could do that?"

He giggles slightly, giving you a peck on the lips. "You're so adorable."

He thrusts again, pushing you further to your orgasm. Struggling to face him, he lowers your chin with his thumb, murmuring words you couldn't decipher at the moment, but they sounded comforting and sexy. With one last hump, muffling a loud moan in Jimin's shoulder, you find it hard to look in his eyes again. You could feel yourself throb in wetness, too ashamed to get off of Jimin only to find a wet spot on his gray sweatpants.

"It's okay, baby," he whispers as you pull away, resting back on your seat.

"Are you... Did you?" you stutter, currently having a hard time finding the right question to ask him.

He didn't. You saw the tip of his cock — it looks so good — bulging through the fabric, dry and desperate for attention.

"Hey, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." Nothing was fine for you, everything was embarrassing. You shouldn't have done that, you shouldn't have let your hormones get the best of you. You couldn't look him in the eyes, needing time to process your orgasm and what the hell you just did.

"I think you need to leave," you sternly command, "I need to-"

"I get it. Sorry." You regret telling him to leave because after his apology, he grabbed his things and actually left, giving you more the reason to regret everything.

The room was quiet, but you can still hear your reckless moans, wishing that the neighbors didn't hear any of it or else you're dead meat once your parents get home.  You glance at the teddy bear, immediately grabbing the soft toy to hug it.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

The proctor was Mrs. Cruz, the first to ruin your day. She walks a lot around the classroom for someone who's having back problems. From time to time, she'd have a sit behind the desk, typing slowly on her laptop keyboard. She would also readjust her thinly-framed glasses, tuck her dry dark hair behind her ear.

That's enough description of Mrs. Cruz, you're absolutely lost for words when it came to the unexpected essay. Who puts an essay in a Maths exam? Apparently, it's Mr. Uley. You've left a couple of blanks, and some were lacking solution. Mr. Uley also came up with the worst idea for an exam: right minus wrong.

Rolling the edge of the paper to find relief, you signaled to Sana who sits beside you, luckily. Leaning to the side, you slump your foot down ever so slightly so that Mrs. Cruz wouldn't notice. Sana looks at you, then to Mrs. Cruz who was busy finding a letter in her keyboard.

You mouthed, "Number six."

Sana furrows her brow, flipping through her pages to see her answer. She smiles, and you sigh inside your head, she has an answer.

"I didn't answer it," she whispers back, catching the crooked teacher's attention. Sana plays it cool, pretending to think while she rolls her pen in her fingertips.

Your world drops again, shit. You're most likely going to fail Trigonometry, and that means watching motivational videos on Youtube about blaming the education system and how it fails the students completely for being incompetent when you really just didn't study.

That was only the first exam, there were more to come. You have already lost your motivation, but you were confident to take Biology. You have all the reasons to be.

Jimin appears at the cafeteria from time to time, but you would ignore it. He was aware of how uncomfortable it have gotten between the both of you and he wasn't planning to make any move. Good thing Sana has stepped out of her diet and finally started to join you for lunch again. But it's not that much fun with Sana, because for every bite of your sandwich, she had to talk about how unhealthy it was and that you should change your diet too. But it's her or no one.

Well, Jungkook was one person to talk to other than Sana. Short talks with him aren't so bad, he was just too shy. You can't expect much from a tenth grade boy, but you've made a close friend in him.

Two days of examination felt longer than it should, and time for studying felt shorter before exams. The only thing you're having trouble with was coming up with a story. You missed Jimin and his scent, and you knew things would be better if your problem with him would just go away, but you can't bring yourself to talk to him and arrange things between your relationship. He wasn't doing any effort either to come talk with you.

Maybe it really is over. Maybe you really ruined everything. You can't blame it on your hormones itself, you wanted to cum on Jimin's lap, it was all on you. It was your choice, and you've come to the conclusion that you might have actually fallen for the school publication photographer. Shit, you tell yourself.

You shut your laptop, frustrated for not finishing yet again another draft. You decided to fill your stomach instead of forcing out a drabble, it always ends well when you're munching on something sweet. When you reached downstairs, your Dad was cheering for Christiano Ronaldo again. ESPN must've ran out of ideas and just kept showing reruns of the same game, still your dad was entertained by them even after long hours of working.

He glances at you while you open the fridge, unbothered to ask you how was school. When the door rings, you dropped the box of leftover donuts. You were a little hopeful of who it could be.

Seeing your dad remain in the same position of the couch, you proceeded to the doorstep with a glazed donut in your hand. It's not him, but it sure was a surprise to have Sana visit you during this ungodly hour for a school night. She's got her hair straightened and fixed, wearing a white skin-tight dress that stops on her mid-thighs. She looked glamoured up.

"The hell are you doing here?" you asked the blondie while the donut melts in your mouth. Your Dad turns for a second, but he goes back to watching.

"I'm picking you up, dummy. Daniel is hosting a party, you should definitely come."

"What? No, I'm busy."

"You're not busy. Exams are over so let's have a celebration. Your boyfriend's gonna be there."

"He's not my boyfriend! I couldn't care less if Jimin will be there, can you let me be?" Yes, you actually cared that Jimin will be there. You just can't get the idea of him having fun while you are left here confused and still thinking about last time.

Of course he was over it. You were just another girl he had on his dick. You thought you would've memorized Jimin's tactics by now, but you're still as naive as he knows you would be. Your lids lightened against your eyes, a tingly feeling creeping inside you but not in a good way. You could float and fall at the same time.

"Let's go to this stupid fucking party." You swore your dad's head turned, but that's the least of your worries.

You rush to your room, picking up whatever you find sexy, and immediately throwing it on. You wanted to be unexpected and spontaneous, everything Jimin thought you wouldn't be. When you wind up to the party, his mouth is gonna drop on the floor while you grind on some jock's crotch. Maybe you'll regret it in the morning, but you've already done enough of regrettable stupid things in a span of a week. What's one more stupid mistake?

Things don't always go as planned, that's why you're sitting next to Hoseok, a senior like yourself from another school, you can't remember. But the discussion was great while Sana plays Truth or Dare with the band geeks. He was in the middle of talking about his hiking with his very wealthy family, and you were in the middle of falling asleep hoping he won't notice your lids dozing off.

You've never caught a sight of Jimin in the party, and you've already come to the conclusion that Sana just said that to make you come. You hate the fact that she was successful in her attempt.

Irritation brushed your nerves, keeping you awake as you stare deeper into Hoseok's beautiful smile. You wanted to make your plan come true whether Jimin was here or not — which in this case, not.

Whoever was in charge of music, you were thankful. It was probably an indie party song, somewhere around Grouplove's genre. Now you were throwing your hands around Hoseok, his smile disappearing and turning into a smirk. You felt dirty, what has high school become?

It wasn't that one glass of tequila that made you sway in front of Hoseok, you just wanted to take your mind off of Jimin. You hiss at the thought of him, placing a soft kiss on Hoseok's neck. He pulls you close, but it didn't feel like how Jimin pulled you that night in the lot. It felt cold, Hoseok's hand wasn't homely. His scent was probably Old Spice, you used to love that scent, you could smell it from Jungkook back then.

This wasn't working. For the first time in your high school years, you've failed yourself to accomplish something — aside from your Trig exam. Hoseok wasn't grinding himself and you appreciate the chivalry. He was just sorta enjoying your sloppy tongue against his neck, and he loved the way you were cutely dancing in front of him.

It wasn't long 'till his hand trails down to your ass though, and he was gripping it tightly. Before you could react, he was moving away. And when you looked at him, he was staring behind you. A familiar hand traces your waist, and a sweet fragrance travels your nose.

"I didn't expect you to be here," Jimin speaks from behind before you turn to face him. Hoseok was gone and you didn't bother.

"Get your hand off me, Jimin." He doesn't let go, only gripping the curve of your waist tighter. He was holding a sippy cup in his other hand, moving to your front to get a better view of you.

"What did I do wrong?" In all your honestly, nothing. You pushed him away and he did well, but you just wished he could read your mind during that time like he always does.

"How was exams for you?" You drop the topic, trying not to think of your embarrassing "cumming undone" moment. He sips in the most attractive way. You remain your arms crossed.

"I think I did horrible. I'm pretty sure you did well, baby," he slurs, obviously drunk.

When his breath reached your nostrils, you can't deny the way you throbbed for his lips to just latch onto your neck.

"Don't baby me," you irked, earning a chocolate laugh from him.

"Why not?"

"Because you're drunk."

"What made you think I'm drunk? I'm very much sober." He grips you tighter, and you didn't insist, only attaching your hips to his groin. "I'm just lazy talking." He bites his lip, watching how your hips teased the front of his fly.

"Why did you leave?" you asked.

"I didn't want to, y/n. I just know you felt uncomfortable and I don't want to push you further."

There was silence before you could process his answer, nothing proper came up as he molds his hand to your ass. He was confident when he's drunk. Unlike Hoseok, it felt right.

So much caressing happened, heavy petting. And Jimin being the suspect, you can't help yourself. You just somehow found yourself tangled with him on the way upstairs looking for a room to do things seventh grade you despised. Fuck relationships and young love, right? But if Jimin could make your hormones rage like a sexually-deprived normal teenager, why not try?

Whoever Daniel was, he's one hell of a rich guy. Losing your virginity in a luxurious palace looking room sounds better than losing it in the backseat of a car after prom night. Good thing Jimin had good control of his dick, or else you would have been pumped in his brother's car at a parking lot in front of a KFC.

You pushed your thoughts away as Jimin had his fingers at the hem of your underwear, tugging it down slowly. The air fills the gap, for the first time in your life, your pussy ached out of lust. Being the patient man, he looks you in the eye for a second, waiting for a word.

"Do you really want this?" he asks, his index already forming circles around your inner thigh. "I'm so fucking hard for you right now. If you're not sure, tell me before I shove my dick right in your pussy."

You were never a fan of porn, not even a single bit. You would never waste time on horrible actors, but Jimin's words were straight out of a porn script. Yet they didn't draw you back, instead you squirmed under his fingertips.

"Please, Jimin."

He buries himself in your slit, latching his tongue against your clit.

"Oh," you exclaimed. It felt like that evening you were on Jimin's lap, except more intense and raw. There's nothing more that you want than for him to do it again.

"You like that?" he asked, but you ignored. His tongue was gentle, placing kitten licks on your sensitive bud, having you arched your back like a professional gymnast. Both his hands traveled to your breasts, groping them amidst the fabric. You place your hands on top of his, it felt romantic to hold them for reasons you can't explain. He leaves one of your breasts, feeling him near his finger in your entrance.

Your eyes widened, jumping at the sensation of something entering you. He affirms you by tightening his hold on your hands. Again, massaging your clit with his plump luscious lips.

"Baby," he whispers to your pussy, as if making a bond with it. Enjoying the curving of a single digit in your hole, he slowly eased in another one. "Are you taking it well?"

"Yes, yes. God, yes." You grope his hair, pushing him to your clit and you feel him smirk.

He adds another once you got comfortable, the sting passing away after a few more pumps. When he feels you nearing again, he pulls away. He winks as he removes his pants, kicking it down until his member sprung out.

You have seen a dick, of course. Well, if anatomy illustrations count. It looked scary, but it was Jimin. Thick and veiny is the proper way to describe it, he was right. Seulgi would never break up with him because of his dick, it wouldn't even make the list of why she had broken up with him. You stared at it for a while longer while Jimin prepares himself by putting on a show.

He positions himself in between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock in your cunt. He kisses you, muffling your moans as he eases inside, in a very gentle way as if you were a butterfly that landed on the tip of his finger. Though it was tearing you apart, Jimin finds a away to make you comfortable by rolling his tongue against your jaw. It helped only a little, and when he moved smoothly, you whimper which he takes notice of.

"Jimin, wait," with such an embarrassed tone, but he comforted you by staring into your eyes, stopping himself no matter how hard it was. "I'm sorry. I just need—"

"No worries, I'm okay. Do you want to stop or not?"

"No, just wait."

He nods, the air he emits heating your face. He stares at your teary eyes, falling more than ever. He's never seen anything so precious, if only he could take a picture of such moment, but there are things that the camera can't see, much like words can't express.

You wrap your arms around him, signaling him to continue. He doesn't disappoint, he pushed again deep inside you, releasing a shaky groan to your ear. Every thrust felt euphoric, not a single one didn't give you pleasure. You clench around him, earning a nasally exhale from him.

"Chim-ah..." you trail, clawing at the skin of his back. His face wrinkled, and it was the sexiest thing you've seen. "Feels so good."

He sped up his pace, and just like before, you were cumming around him. But he motivates you, unbothered whether he was finished or not. He sends you to your orgasm, legs clinging tighter around him. He watches you bite your lip to suppress the loud moan, still thrusting harder to ride the high.

Then he throws himself beside you, and this time you wanted to return the favor. You get on your knees which had Jimin's eyes flutter open, yet still hiding his excitement. Once you grip his length, he bites his bottom lip, trying to remain his calm. He focuses on you, propping on his elbows to see you better.

"You don't have to do this," he comforted.

"I want to. I'm no expert so please—"

"Shh, everything you do is sexy," he whispered, placing his thumb on your cheek to give you the warmth you needed.

Here goes nothing, you tell yourself. You slide a thumb over the head of his shaft before rolling your tongue from the bottom to the top. I should've watched porn more, I'm such an amateur.

Jimin saw the doubt in your eyes, giving you a sly smile before he speaks. "It feels good."

You swaddle his balls, finally pushing your lips further down his cock, softly sucking. You can taste yourself, it felt dirty doing something like it, but when you saw Jimin's eyes pinned on you while his face crunches in pleasure, you couldn't help but be motivated. You pumped the rest of his cock, latching you tongue on every visible vein which had Jimin grunting. You hollowed your cheeks while your tongue ripples inside, tickling the edges of his cock.

"Shit, y/n. You're going fucking—" he groaned, not being able to articulate proper sentences.

Then he explodes right into your mouth without a warning except for a hand in your hair, thrusting his hips upwards which made you gag. It was salty and bitter—not really your definition of swallowable. You still gulped it down, and Jimin laughs at your reaction.

Patting the space beside him, you slump down. You've always thought sweaty tangled bodies were disgusting, but it was actually comforting and warm.

That's the first night of hearing Jimin's cute little snores.

A flash to your face wakes you up, and through heavy lids you saw Jimin in his usual black pants, topless of course. You panicked this time, not because of your sleeping face but because you were just as naked.

"Jesus, Jimin! Delete that!" you demanded, the boy only grins.

"Just for me, trust me." He sits beside you on the bed, giving you a smack on the lips.

Your breath smelled like the night before, but Jimin didn't care. Having his warm body right next to yours was different, and even though your values don't really support what you were doing around him, you still wrapped them around his waist. Jimin does the same, the sound of his breathing calmed your thoughts.

You've always wondered why couples spend a lot of time together, like don't they run out of things to say? However, the silence in the room spoke something to you. No words need to be exchanged to let each other know the thoughts of the other.

Jimin gave you a ride home (with his brother's car) at four in the morning, kissing you goodbye, leaving you smiling as you walk to your room. You want to see him again, maybe even have a breakfast with him.

Wait, what? I'm not in love with him! This is just a huge crush.

You diminish the smile, proceeding to the shower to wash away his scent. Shaking your head as you think about actually falling in love. No! You're too young for that, right? Though the hot shower didn't really help you scrub the emotions off, it did give you the time to deny.

English was dry, and so were the other classes. If only Sana came today, maybe you would learn another nutrition fact about your usual chicken sandwich. Also it's not to your surprise that Jimin joins you for lunch and gave you a chocolate box. You've known him for years and he even went as far as buying a bouquet for Seulgi as a gratitude after their sexual escapades.

"You're giving me Ferrero Rocher for fucking you last night?"

He snickers, one that could make your cheeks burn. "Can you— What's wrong with you?"

"You're acting like I'm a new person. Jimin, I'm still your best friend," you say without expecting your tone to be as high.

"Babe, just open it for me." You roll your eyes at the nickname.

You lift the lid of the heart-shaped box, a note taped in the middle of the lid surprises you. Swooning a little, not trying to show Jimin your actual reaction.

“Do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my prom date?”

"No," you sighed. "I mean, no way this is real."

Jimin's gaze falls over, that look of hurt surrounding his face. "Hey, I'm not rushing you."

"This is just stupid, no offense. You know me, Jimin. I know you more than anything. I know you still think about her," you protest, not daring to look him in the eyes and just staring at the note.

"I'm not forcing you, y/n. I'm just offe-"

You scoffed, but you kept your composure. "I'm not going. It will be a waste of time. I'm really sorry. You can just ask her instead."

"I like you, y/n. I don't even think about her when I'm with you." You grew nervous at the thickness of his voice.

"Because that's what it is. You move on easily because you're not really in love, kids like us don't know the meaning of love. Stop pretending that for every sex you've had, you're in love."

"Jimin," Seulgi appears behind him, clearing her throat.

"I'm gonna go," you tell him with a broken voice, giving a thin smile towards Seulgi. You take the box half-heartedly, chocolates can't go to waste.

That was the last time you spoke to Jimin and from time to time, he'd give a call but you never answered any of them. Things slowly went back to normal and finally, you've finished your feature before Min Yoongi spams you with e-mails. The outcome never really satisfied you, but it was better than nothing.

In my long years of high school, the word "love" had never crossed my mind. A week ago, I was assigned to write about falling in love at a young age. But the truth is, falling for someone during these early years will never happen. Love takes so much more than just a spoken word. I know, you're in love with your partner right now, but let me tell you this one thing: you're not. These butterflies, all the fluttering inside our stomachs, they're most likely just happiness and excitement. College will come, and all the emotions we feel now will be forgotten. So, what's the point in falling in infatuation? Save yourself the emotional roller coaster, love in high school is the last thing you should think of. There's so much more to love in the world, like baseball or cheerleading. It doesn't always have to be a person. The right time will arrive, and you're actually going to fall in love. But not when we're still struggling to solve for the x, or when we can't come up with an essay. Love is everywhere, but our young little hearts won't recognize that just yet. Just like what Ricky Nelson had said, "We haven't the right to decide for ourselves, dear, what's black and what's white."

"This sucks." Sana slams the paper on the lunch table, giving you a judging look. "I can't believe Yoongi allowed this to be published."

You roll your eyes, cringing at the sight of your highly-disliked feature. "I know, okay? No need to remind me."

"Well, everybody in campus hates you now for thinking that their relationship is all just a joke to you. It's not like they care about your opinion, just that they feel humiliated. You could have done better." Her expression was disappointed, aware of what you're hiding. "You know Jimin submitted your picture right? The one in the cafe sayin-"

"It's published. What can I do?" You cut her off before she could make you feel bad about Jimin, munching on your chips as you slouch on your seat.

Sana puts her hand behind your back, straightening your posture. "I know you can write better. You're just trying to run away from your inspiration."

You give her a dirty look before speaking with your mouth full. "Shut up, I'm not running from anything."

She laughs, caressing your back. "Oh, my y/n, you can't lie from me." She smiles, her perfect teeth annoying you.

"Who cares if they don't like my feature? They go ahead and write their own, I don't care."

"You're so narrow-minded. Are you sure you're not coming to prom? I can still get you a dress in case you change your mind."

Right, you almost forgot. Prom was tomorrow, and you're kind of regretting not going after finding out that Jungkook will be there to serve the food. But seeing Jungkook wouldn't be worth it if you will be seeing Jimin dance with Seulgi all night long.

"I'm not changing my mind, Sana." You stood, gathering your stuff before leaving Sana behind in the cafeteria, not wanting to talk about how excited she is for prom.

You spent the next day watching reruns on ESPN much like your father, nodding along as he complains how a professional athlete couldn't make a single goal. He was too absorbed by the sports in front of him, he couldn't notice the distress in your eyes. There's no hope from your mother either who was busy finishing her reports. You groan.

Then it's prom night, you flop down to your messy bed, staring at the untouched chocolate heart-shaped box Jimin had given you two weeks ago. You breathe deeply, pulling yourself from the bed to approach the partly golden box. When you open it again, the message was still there—it's not like it's going to disappear over time. But it felt like yesterday, the chocolate looked good as new, and even smelled as sweet as... him.

You jump through your skin when you hear your mom opens the door without giving a quick knock, making you jolt the box to the floor.

"Mom!" you yell, and she broke into a fit of laughter.

"Sorry, hun. What would you like for dinner?" she asks in her velvet voice, warming the cold night.

"I'm not really eating. You and Dad can decide." Your eyes wander around the room, throwing your ego to ask her a question. "Mom?"

She comes back to the door, leaning on the door frame with one of her hands on her waist. "Yes?"

"This will sound really stupid, but" — you exhale — "how did you know you were in love with Dad?"

She giggles, making you feel more ashamed of the question. She moves to your side, sitting beside you before she speaks. "Well, I didn't know it. I felt it. One day, I hated the sound of his snores, then I woke up next realizing I can't live without them. There's so many things I hated about your dad, but I still love what I hate about him. By the way, your dad had the worst perfume back in the day, but now I can't breathe without it."

You chuckle, suppressing the twinge of dismay filling your mind. "I feel like I made a mistake of letting this boy go."

She gasps. "Why didn't you tell me about this boy?"

"That's not really the point right now," you laugh.

"That's what kids do. You guys make mistakes and you keep making 'em. If you love him, then go for it, honey."

You choke. "You think I love him?"

"Don't you? You don't have to love a person to chase 'em, you chase 'em because you want to love them." She sighs. "You're young, you're not supposed to make the perfect decisions just yet. Don't stress about whether you love this boy or not. If it doesn't work out, you can use the lesson for the next."

"That's more than I need, Mom. Thank you."

She gives you a squeeze on your shoulder before leaving you room.

I screwed up.

You pick the box from the floor, and a picture falls out from it. It took you a while before you could analyze it. A black and white photo of a girl reading a book, very similar to the one in the museum. What caught your attention is you knew who it was, the clothes, the book, the face. It was you back in eighth grade during the book fair, you had your eyes pinned on Wuthering Heights.

With heart racing, you flip the picture to reveal the message behind it.

"To the first girl I fell in love with :)"

Your mouth was left open, frozen in place as you try to process your emotions. You're the girl Jimin was talking about, you were Jimin's eighth grade crush. He had feelings for you just like you had feelings for him back then, and it all came back when you started hanging out with him again.

You wasted no time getting into your hoodie, running downstairs which made your mom look at you in horror.

"Mom, I need the car keys. I made a mistake." Without a nod from her, you grab the car keys and ran to her forbidden Civic.

It's been long since she have let you borrow the car, but it's now or never. It seemed like the perfect timing to tell him how you actually feel, under chandeliers and surrounded by young couples dancing in love. You weren't even sure if he decided to show up to prom as well after your hurtful rejection in front of Seulgi. Or maybe he had changed his mind, choosing to take your advice and actually taking Seulgi to prom.

You brushed the negativity off, pulling in Chelsea Hotel. A parking valet stopping you from entering the hotel, but you shove him from you, quickly running towards the venue. Poor guy just trying to do his job.

You exhale, trying to catch your breath. The room glimmers, a disco ball instead of a chandelier spins on the ceiling. You roll your eyes, your school has always been a disappointment when it comes to decoration. You seek through the students, searching for the pale boy. You only found Sana who was already waving at you, eyes shinning in joy. You give her a sly smile, continuing to look for Jimin. And you found him by the photo booth, approaching him with tiny steps.

"Hi," you greeted.

He looks up from the camera and your words were already backing away, throat thinning when you meet his eyes.

"I am sorry for what I said. I was being narrow and stupid. I shouldn't have said those, you know?" You voice cracks in every word, and he goes back to his camera. "Jimin, please."

You saw him suppress a smile, but it wasn't enough. He was still fiddling with his tripod, fake fixing the stand.

"Fine!" you blurt, walking away from him.

You caught a lot of eyes staring at your outfit as you approach the stage, and you felt nauseated when you reached for the microphone. A blond girl furrows her brows at you, pointing towards her bandmates.

"What are you playing?" you confidently ask.

"Excuse you?" she returns, annoyance obvious in her tone.

"Trust me, I'll let you sing. Just tell me what song are you playing."

"Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer," she says without certainty.

"Look, I can get you in front of the page of our next publication issue. Everyone in the school will know your band, just do me one favor."

She turns to her bandmates and they all nodded. "Spit it out."

"Can you please... play the intro while I have my speech?"

"You got it."

When you said that, you didn't expect them to actually play the intro immediately. But there's no turning back, all eyes were already on you except for Jimin. Everybody gave you looks, obviously aware that you were the one that wrote that hateful feature.

You pat the mic, feedback traveling through everybody's ears. Then you sighed again, prepping yourself.

"I know I've hurt some of you because of what I wrote. I'm sorry to everyone. I was the one wrong, I shouldn't belittle these emotions because we're young. I've come to the realization that whatever we feel now will always matter even in college, even when we're old. Falling in love today doesn't make anyone less of a person, we're young and we're supposed to make mistakes. Fall in love now and fall in love again, it's how stories are made. And to that person I specifically broke, I think I like you." You breathe, picking in your nails. "So, Park Jimin, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

You bit your lip, waiting for the audience's response to your corny speech. And your back straightens when they started clapping, some even yelled "Fuck yeah!" which made you laugh in embarrassment. Your eyes couldn't find Jimin at the moment, and you gave blondie the microphone, letting her continue her performance. You have some deals to make with Yoongi for the next front page.

You walk down the stairs, trying to calm the race of your heart. A hand pulls your waist, plump luscious lips devouring yours. Sweet fragrance entering your senses, you knew who it was.

"That was the cringiest shit you've said," he comments. "I knew you would come."

You roll your eyes. "I think I owe you a meal."

Jimin puts his hand at the small of your back, directing you towards the photo booth. "No, you owe me a story."

(unedited)

[blushing-starker]

don't expect that line I previously mentioned because I'm chaotic and forgot about @starkerfestivals amazing omegaverse week since it goes hand in hand with finals and my brain only fit one of these events in my mental planner

Today's theme is heat/rut and it's slightly nff, has some sexual teasing but nothing too explicit. I'd rate this teen, is all I'm saying. I apologize for any writing mistakes, I'm finishing this at 11pm before collapsing in my bed.

Tagging @vaguekiwi cuz I mentioned this to her today

Needy little alpha

------------

Tony wakes up to a purring alpha throwing himself on top of his defenseless body with the force of a freight train driven by a drunk man on drugs. Peter's been told a thousand times before how yes, he may be as heavy as a goddamn feather, but it still aches when that super strength plops down and refuses to let the victim's lungs function adequately. But his boyfriend is a sadist who loves cuddles and making Tony suffer.

"No."

"You love my cuddles," it's true, they bring him pain and purple bruises everywhere but there's nothing quite as soothing as a content alpha kneading like a kitten at his chest, " and you know it. "

"Uh, that's false. Never said I love cuddles. I tolerate your octopus habits, there's a difference." Peter leans back with a pout and teary eyes, wobbles that God forsaken bottom lip like he always does whenever Tony denies the kid something and presents a challenge.

Nimble fingers slide up into, unfortunately, silver hair and nonononono that's unfair. He snarls, tries to infuse the air with as many displeased pheromones as possible so Peter can take a hint when nails scratch right above his nape and Tony's done. Unravels at this hobgoblin's feet and he's half way sure his soul goes out in a huff as little circles are pressed into the exact spot that causes him so much neck pain.

Peter unashamedly preens when Tony melts into their bed and starts pawing at him for more cuddles. "Say you love my cuddles and I won't leave the bed for an hour. Throw in a kiss and I'll rub your back."

He hates(loves) this kid. Hates(loves) how he sing songs as soon as the situation doesn't favour the actually responsible adult in the relationship. Hates(loves) the way Peter never misses the places that leave him sinking into fluffy pillows. Hates how, oh that's nice.

There are tiny kisses littered on a chest glowing blue, small indentations from teasing lips pressed into spread arms and cold hands.

"Ruts gotten you needy, huh, little alpha?" Not that this one was any different from all the other ruts they've shared since dating. Tony secretly adores Peter like this, extra affectionate the minute his shyness and fear of outside criticism is washed away, replaced with the need to shower his omega in love and attention. Yes, Peter has his heart 365 days of the year. Yes, he'd die for his tiny spiderling no matter what.

But this is just really nice, ok? Previous lovers were rarely alphas so this ritual of gluing their bodies together when rut came was an added benefit to being with Peter. That and the hormones he let out while happy soothed Tony to no end.

Peter nips at his finger, still a bit too early on for him to accept the nicknames. He blushes though, a pale pink highlighting a face much more lovely than the cherubs painted on the cathedrals of Rome. Jesus, he's whipped and all they've done is cuddle.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I love your cuddles. Cherish them. Want them every day for the rest of my life. But I love you, my needy little alpha with a fantastic," there's a pillow smashed against his face.

"If you say dick, I'm climbing down to wrestle Bucky and I won't let Karen record it for your spank bank. " Oh, that's a low blow.

He relaxes, let's Peter sink into him with a startled yelp, rolls them over, sits on the kid's lap and clamps his knees around a trim waist. Peter may be Spider-Man, but he's Tony Stark and Tony Stark doesn't lose in bed.

Well. Not unless he wants to.

"You do that and you can say hello to your toy, the one I know is stashed in your old room under the bed in a comic book box, because that'll be the only thing helping you out when the rut really hits." Will Tony suffer immensely if that happens? Yes. He's a sucker for a needy Peter being ridiculously horny and possessive. Thing is, you don't threaten a man's spank bank. No sir. Everything else is fair play. His carefully organized folders of viewing material are not to be messed with.

Peter's blush is on full blast, spreads over a long neck and absolutely delicious, no. Be strong, Tony.

"You know about the toy?" It's a squeak, normal voice rocketing upwards thanks to the position Tony's ass is in and the knowledge that his secret is out. Which wasn't even a secret to begin with anyway because Tony is in love with the only genius not smart enough to erase his browser history in the lab's computer. Which Tony uses. Routinely. Every day.

"Know about it? I've seen it. You left it out once, all used up on your bed while you were showering. You remember that, don't you? We had sex in the bathroom that day. Bruised my back and everything?"

Peter furrows his brow, works a plush lip and no, look away, Tony, look away. The kid is sin and indulgence and heaven and no.

"Oh. Oh." Whenever he thinks his boy can't go any redder, Peter busts out a new shade of pink.

"Yup. So. I'm pretty sure this is what you wanted in the first place. Maybe it wasn't your intention," he stresses when Peter's already launching up and nearly throwing him off in an attempt to reassure Tony that wasn't his purpose with the cuddles, "but you certainly wouldn't have minded this outcome. And by this outcome I mean my incredible ass on top of that fantastic dick."

Peter tries to suffocate with a pillow held over his face.

"You've got two choices, kid. You threatened the spank bank. The teasing is fine, you know I love when my pretty kitty shows his claws," a hand slaps his arm, makes him grin, " But threatening such an integral part of my mental stability? Wrong move, Queens. You aren't getting any until tonight, not even so much as a French kiss will be given. Unless you let me bite a mark on that amazing neck and don't push me away when I nuzzle you in front of the team. "

Well. Now he's definitely being thrown off of Peter's lap.

He lands on the other side of the bed with a groan, is assaulted by a whining Peter intent on receiving something to further postpone the urge for sex that's sure to hit him soon enough.

An alpha, Tony's learned, will usually be very cuddly and affectionate the first few days of a rut week. Then the possessive, protective side will slowly emerge. Nests of pillows, couch cushions, blankets and favorite pieces of clothing appear on the fourth sunrise. The next morning comes with the need for relief, for intimacy and a marathon of sex that'll leave any supersoldier exhausted by the end of it. The resulting days offer comfort, an aftercare of sorts, where the alpha and their partner show a soft affection similar to the beginning. Nests are utilized and bodies soothed. It lasts, at most, a week and the majority of the population only has to take slightly increased portions of food.

That's for people without the metabolism of four grown men.

Peter needs sex, as much as possible, so the itch for urgent intimacy doesn't result in Tony tackled to the floor of the lab in the middle of an experiment every day of the week. It's like giving him nicotine patches instead of a cigarette.

So now he's whimpering, tugging on Tony's clothes just a little too hard if the ripping sound is any indication.

"...sorry, Tony..."

"It's fine, I've got more. I'm not letting this go though. The teams' seen us fuck against a wall, their opinion and respect, your worth, didn't change. So come on. Just one little mark. One. And Bucky nuzzles Steve and Sam all the time. Hell, Pepper sometimes nuzzles me when I'm stressed out. Please, baby? "

There it was; Tony's secret weapon. Peter blushed like a virgin on a wedding night whenever he used pet names, but the genius knows his boyfriend enjoys the familiarity and subtle intimacy. Felt reassured that they were a romantic couple and not a mentor fucking his protege.

The kid nibbles at his neck, wraps gangly limbs around a body that's always been his to take comfort in. "Just one mark? And light, I mean it, Tony, light nuzzling in front of the team. For today. Then I can get what I want?"

He snorts, can't fully comprehend how the universe paired him up with someone so intent on making Tony's joints ache and creak. "Yeah, we can have sex later, Mr Charming. Subtle as brick, that Spider-Man. Let's go get you cleaned up, make sure that rut has a hard time getting my boy under the weather."

He goes to get up. He leans forward. He cannot, in fact, leave the bed.

Peter bites with a bit more pressure, drops his hips down harder and Jesus Christ, they're never seeing the light of the kitchen if his boyfriend can't wait til it's dark.

"Or..."

"I'm an old man, I need protein before you go jumping tired bones that have to spend two hours updating your suit." Ok, so maybe he's slightly bitter and annoyed at not having enough stamina (or refractory period, for that matter) to keep up with a repressed teenage superhuman. It's not his fault Pepper keeps bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to the office meetings.

It'd be rude not to eat with the others anyway.

"You don't have to do anything." Ah, it's one of those ruts.

Tony softens, smoothes a hand down a back that could hold a plank under a five story building with ease, kisses a heated cheek.

"Needy little alpha." It's his turn to whisper and nuzzle against soft skin.

"Kind, not so little omega?" Tony laughs, presses their lips together so Peter can see what's it like to taste a smile radiating with joy and love. Slowly clicks the button on the nearest nightstand; unless someone is dying , it'll just be the two of them in the room.

(There was an incident once. Groot may have been traumatized by a situation involving superstrength, webs and the Ironette costume Tony only adored when it adorned Peter's body.)

"I do so love my needy little alpha needing me, don't I?"

His boyfriend blinks, grins at Tony as if he's just hung the moon and stars for his spiderling and ok, a little sex early in the morning isn't that bad.

"You love my cuddles too."

"Shut up and kiss me, Queens. I'm not getting any-"

They don't talk about anything too important after that.

----------

A little sex early in the morning actually is that bad when you miss a meeting with the U.N and show up smelling like sex, infatuation and, oddly enough, strawberry.

Rocket doesn't stop teasing for months.

[hotchley]

i’m not bulletproof

Jesus Christ why am I so dramatic? Okay, my laptop is very close to dying, so I am cross-posting this, hotchner’s hoodie and the waiting game, then I will be gone... until tonight

Umm... yeah. This was my second fic. It’s literally for my pinned because I’m dramatic </3

Trigger Warnings: referenced child abuse, canon-typical violence, violence towards children and references to child deaths, suicide

read on ao3!

It started, not with a case, but with an argument. 

Jack wanted to go to a party. Hotch said no. He said no because it wasn’t safe, and the party was taking place on a school night, which meant Jack had to be in bed by ten at the absolute latest. He had hoped that by calmly and softly explaining his reasons for not letting Jack go, his son would understand why he was being told no and accept it with the same grace and dignity that he accepted most things in life.

Unfortunately, his son was a hormonal teenager muddling their way through puberty. And instead of accepting he couldn’t go, he kept pressing and asking why. On the third day of being asked, Hotch got irritated and raised his voice slightly, it became an argument.

“I just don’t understand why you never let me do anything,” Jack complained.

Hotch looked up from the budget report. He hadn’t wanted to bring work home- a remnant of the life he had once shared with Haley, but it needed to be done and he had wanted to spend time with Jack. With hindsight, it probably would’ve been better to stay at the office and let him stay with Jessica to calm down.

“I let you do plenty of things that aren’t irresponsible or dangerous Jack,” he replied calmly.

“But this party isn’t going to be irresponsible or dangerous, it’s just a bunch of teenagers. And doesn’t it count for something that I told you about it? I could’ve just snuck out the house and let you wonder where I’d gone,” Jack said, wildly gesticulating. 

He closed the file. “I appreciate you telling me, but my answer is no. You may be responsible, but not everyone is. I don’t want you being exposed to drugs and alcohol before you’re old enough to understand the effects it has on you.”

“You let me be exposed to death before I was old enough to understand what it meant,” Jack spat.

Hotch paled, all the blood leaving his body and turning him into a frozen statue, unable to move as the memory of Haley’s dark hair- of course it was dark, she’d gone into witness protection- spread out on the carpet like a halo and her eyes, still open but almost like the glass eyes of those dolls from that one case, haunted his memory.

“What?”  his voice was soft, dangerously calm.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard me. You’re telling me I can’t go to a party, but I was just down the hall when mom died because of you. I’m not a little kid anymore, and you can’t protect me from anything anymore.”

“I can still protect you from some things,” he whispered, not making eye contact. The colours of the folder started to blur together as his eyes filled with tears. It was a morbid thought, but Jack’s words felt like the thorns his mother would throw in his side when she was angry at her husband and needed to let go of the pain.

“Well maybe I don’t want you to.”

“Jack, I’m still your father.”

“Are you? You’re never home at a normal time, you don’t know who any of my friends are, you always go on cases and leave me with Aunt Jess. Mom died because of you and your stupid profiling, but you still always answer when Miss Jareau phones, and you still go all around the country like I don’t even matter.”

“Of course you matter to me Jack. I love you more than anything in this world. But a profiler who catches the bad guys is who I am and-”

“I’m not five years old anymore. You’re not a superhero. You’re just the man that got my mom pregnant and sometimes makes me mac and cheese for dinner.”

Jack stormed off to his room before Hotch could say another word. He didn’t go after him, knowing that was the last thing his son would want. Rationale told him Jack didn’t mean a word of what he had said, that he was just angry and hurt, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all true. Of course Jack knew how to hurt him, what child didn’t know what would upset their parents, but he was also right.

He wanted to go and hold his son, to let him go to the stupid party and tell him he would stop being a profiler, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen in place, unable to do anything more than bury his head in his hands and wonder where he fucked up. 

Somehow he managed to get up and make them both something to eat- he went for stir fry instead of mac and cheese- before he went up to Jack’s room and knocked on the door.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” came the muffled response.

“I know you don’t. And I won’t make you.” I’m not your paternal grandfather, he thought. I won’t kick the door in and grab you by the back of your neck because you ran away. “I won’t let you starve though. Dinner is outside the door.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hotch sighed. “Jack, please. I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“And I want a real parent. We can’t always get what we want- isn’t that what you always say to me?”

Hotch had to step back, press a hand to the wall to stop himself from falling to his knees and crying. He wanted to tell Jack that wasn’t the way to speak to anyone, especially not an adult, but the words got lodged in his throat and he couldn’t speak, too scared of shouting or repeating the words his father had used the one time he had tried to fight back.

“I know,” he said instead, and walked back to the dining room. He pushed the plate he had set down away. 

His work phone lit up with Dave’s name. He answered.

“Hotchner.”

“Is everything okay? JJ tried phoning you but apparently you didn’t answer all three times. She thought you were with me, and when I said you weren’t, everyone got a bit panicked. In fact Morgan is on his way right now.”

Hotch felt bad for making everyone worry, especially given what had happened last time he hadn’t answered his phone and they had gone and looked for him. “I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. Do we have a case?”

He cursed himself for being stupid. Dave wouldn’t call if they didn’t have a case, even if all he wanted was for that to happen. For Dave to call once they had both gone home, just because he wanted to talk about something random.

“Yeah. It’s bad. Three kids have already been buried, fourth was reported missing twenty minutes ago. JJ will brief us on the jet. Morgan said he’s going to pick you up.”

Hotch was not stupid. He knew why Dave had said buried instead of killed. And whilst he hated the coddling, he couldn’t help but appreciate that he never needed to speak when it was Dave.

“Okay. How far away is he? I need to call Jess.”

“Garcia said ten minutes. She’s coming with us by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Aaron. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hotch ignored the warm feeling that came whenever Dave said his first name. “I’m fine. I promise.” He hung up before his answer could be profiled.

He had a short, polite conversation with Jess, then went to Jack’s room. He knocked to the theme of Harry Potter- Jack’s new favourite book series, courtesy of Reid. Whenever Jack saw Spencer, he came home with a glint in his eyes and a whole new shelf worth of books. And when Hotch went to chastise Reid for spoiling his son, Reid would give him the happy puppy eyes and he would relent.

“Let me guess. Aunt Jess will be here in twenty minutes, and you’ll call everyday. And you’ll hopefully be back as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry buddy.”

“Don’t go then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Then don’t apologise.”

He didn’t have a response for that. Instead, he headed to his own room to change. He entered the code to the safe- the day Jack was born, the month he was born, the year Haley was born and holstered his weapons. 

Before he left, he tried to say goodbye to Jack properly. The bedroom door was locked.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. The only acknowledgement he received was a grunt.

Morgan texted, saying he was outside. Hotch sighed, schooled his features into a somewhat neutral expression and headed down to meet him. 

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said, once they had started driving.

“No problem. I have to ask, why didn’t you answer?” Morgan responded. “And you know I don’t want to pressure you to talk or anything like that, but everyone was really scared. We thought something had happened. I mean, Rossi was ready to get everyone from the FBI to look for you.”

His stomach twisted. They weren’t meant to worry about him. “I’m sorry. I was with Jack.” It wasn’t a lie. And Morgan was respectful enough to not profile the truth.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. 

“We’re heading to Boston,” JJ said, once they boarded the jet.

Hotch nodded, taking the file from her, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. Boston. One of those places he would never not associate with terror, blood and death. Just like Georgia. And Milwaukee.

“Over the past three months, three teen boys have gone missing from three different cities. They’re all pretty similar in appearance, all come from pretty similar backgrounds. All were found in their local parks. No evidence of torture or sexual assault. The only reason anyone made the connection was because of a conference, where two of the detectives spoke and realised something was up,” JJ explained.

Hotch nodded, feeling nauseous. He wished he had tried to force down some of his dinner. Then he opened the file and was suddenly glad he had skipped his meal.

For when he looked at the pictures, both from the crime scenes and of their smiling faces, all he could see was Jack. Dark blonde hair, light green eyes, wide smiles. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing and looked back at the files. Focused on the victimology. Teenage boys, but no evidence of sexual assault. Mothers weren’t in the picture, either they had passed away or not received custody after the divorce. The fathers were all in high pressure jobs, most of them spending more time at the office than at home.

“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular, heading to the toilet.

JJ gave him a concerned look but let him go without a word. 

To keep up appearances, he flushed the toilet and let the tap run to make it seem like he had actually gone to the toilet, as opposed to stare at his own reflection- tired, old, broken, absent father- and remind himself to maintain some sort of control.

Rossi was stood on the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hotch nodded, ignoring the taste of bile in his mouth. He didn’t want Rossi to worry about him. He didn’t want anyone worrying about him, but especially not his best friend. Because every time he did, it only served as a reminder of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. The day he realised he loved Rossi had been terrifying, for a number of reasons. He had told Haley by accident, and she had laughed and said he was probably the last one to realise. She had told him to go for it, but he had been a coward and refused. It was another broken promise he had made to her. 

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look great. And you sounded distant on the phone.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a thing with Jack,” he confessed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I want to get to Boston and solve the case.”

He walked away, unable to stand the look in Dave’s eyes.

Things went from bad to worse when they landed. Hotch had gone with JJ to set up in the field office, only to find out that all four dads were already there and ready to give whatever information they needed to help the investigation. And with JJ talking to the detectives about how to handle the media, he was tasked with speaking to each of them.

He ignored the looks the officers gave him when he asked to speak to them in a conference room instead of an interrogation room. He knew none of them were responsible. 

After speaking to each of them, and promising to do his best to find the person that had taken their children from them, and bring the last one back home safely, he felt a pit in his stomach and a migraine starting to form. He had no idea when he had last eaten, or drunk anything, but he also knew he couldn’t handle anything.

Talking to the parents had made it almost impossible to remain professional. He saw himself in each of the fathers. They had all been working when their sons were younger, never fully prepared to tackle fatherhood alone. They had all argued with their sons just minutes before they were taken. When Hotch asked them how they felt after they argued, they all responded with some version of the word bad. When he asked why, all parents argue, they told him they felt like their own parents. It had been like staring at a mirror.

“My son died thinking I hated him,” the third parent had whispered. “What kind of person does that make me?”

Hotch softened his gaze and his tone, clearing his throat before he replied. “Your son didn’t die thinking you hated him. You’re nothing like your own father. All children argue with their parents. He knew you loved him and you cannot blame yourself for what happened. We’ll find the man who did this and bring him to justice.”

The man had just nodded before leaving. 

Hotch left the conference room, and was greeted by Rossi.

“Dave. I thought you were still at the M.E’s office.”

“We finished up there. You should listen to your own advice every once in a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, already brushing past him to go and talk to Prentiss about what they found at the last crime scene.

“Jack doesn’t hate you. No matter what he may say.”

Hotch turned, ready for an argument, when Rossi raised his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t profile you. But I am your friend. And the only thing that would make you this tense would be something with Jack.”

“Now is not the time to talk about it,” he hissed.

There hadn’t been any DNA found on the scene, which meant they only had a profile to go on. After a quick dinner, that he didn’t really eat, Hotch told everyone there was nothing more to do, and even if there was, they were all exhausted. Rather reluctantly, everyone headed back to the hotel, where it immediately became clear they would be doubling up.

“We can have a girl’s night!” Garcia exclaimed.

JJ and Prentiss laughed, but took the middle room, which for some unknown but helpful reason had three beds.

“Come on pretty boy, you can tell me all about that book you read on the way here,” Morgan said.

Reid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Morgan nodded, taking the cards and slinging an arm around Reid’s shoulder. Before they left, Hotch called out for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“We forgot his birthday. Listening to him is the least I could do.”

“Not just for that. Thank you for coming to check up on me as well.”

“Hotch, you may be a drill sergeant, but you’re still my friend. And JJ may have yelled at me after she found out what I said to you about trusting people. We’re cool man.”

He nodded. “Go, Reid’s practically exploding with excitement.”

“You going to stand there watching them all night, or are you going to get some well-deserved sleep?” Rossi teased, suddenly behind him and pressing a card into his hand.

“You seem awfully chipper for someone who hates sharing a room,” he said as they went to the elevator.

“I don’t mind when it’s you,” Rossi said.

Hotch blushed, ignoring the way the words made him feel, ignoring the look in Rossi’s eyes that left no room for doubt, ignoring the way his heart sped up and the lack of space between them as they were crammed into a tiny elevator. 

They both dropped their bags down. Hotch immediately sat on the bed, knowing Dave would want to shower before he went to sleep. He smiled as his friend- because that was all he was, all he would ever be- left and opened up the case file. Yes, he had told everyone to go to sleep, but something was bugging him.

“You can at least loosen your tie,” Rossi teased from the doorway after he had showered.

Hotch turned and felt his throat go dry. He was only wearing a towel, hair still dripping. “I- what?”

“Tie. Loosen it. Actually, better yet, take it off. Go for a five minute shower. And then sleep.”

“Rossi, I can’t.”

“You can and you will. Don’t make me phone Jess and put Jack on the line.”

That convinced him to get a move on, but not for the reason Dave was smirking at. 

There was so much blood everywhere, but he couldn’t work out where it was coming from. He couldn’t move. He was completely trapped, the weight of a body on top of his. There was a flash of something silver and then so much pain. He couldn’t show any fear, but the pain, oh the pain, it was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but scream. All that existed in the broken home of his mind was that pain and the fear and the terror and that sudden, blood-curdling, chilling realisation that this was how things ended; this was how he was going to die. But someone was calling his name, who would be calling his name that urgently, Haley had Jack and-

“Aaron!” Dave yelled.

Hotch’s eyes flew open and he tried to kick the duvet away, only to find himself tangled in amongst the sheets and blanket and why couldn’t he move, why was it so dark, who was touching him, where was Jack- he was working the case, he needed to save him-

“Aaron, it’s Dave. You’re in a hotel room in Boston for a case. Jessica is at your apartment with Jack. Breathe with me.”

“Dave,” he whimpered.

“That’s right. That’s good. Just keep breathing. It was just a nightmare.”

“M’sorry for waking you up,” he murmured, clinging to Dave’s t-shirt like a lifeline.

“Nonsense Aaron. We all have nightmares. Remember what I told you all those years ago?”

He did. It had been the first case he had worked with the BAU that had involved victims of abuse. He and Dave had been sharing a room when Hotch had the first of many nightmares involving cases. Dave had woken him up, given him a glass of water and told him the nightmares reminded him he was human, that he felt, and however scary they were, however the case ended, they had done their best. There was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Yeah. That if I have a nightmare, I should remind myself of the people that love me and of all the good things I’ve done.”

“Good. So let me start off that list for you, because it’s a very long one. Jack.”

Hotch snorted. “He hates me. I told him he couldn’t go to a party because he’s not old enough and he said I wasn’t really his dad and that it was all my fault Haley was dead. I dreamt about him you know? Foyet. But it’s been two and a half years, I should be over this, shouldn’t I?”

“You’ve always been open with Jack. He knows what will hurt you, and that’s why he said those things. He’s angry. But he loves you. And as for Foyet? He stabbed you nine times. He killed your wife. You don’t ever have to move on, not if you don’t want to. But you have to learn to cope. Let us help you cope. Let me. I’m your friend.”

There was that word again. Friend. He hated it. He didn’t want Rossi to be his friend, not anymore, but how was he ever supposed to look him in the eye and confess that? It would ruin everything. Rossi would probably tell Strauss, who would fire him, and then he would have nothing. 

“Yeah,” he ended up saying.

“Besides, every parent bans their child from doing something. At least you haven’t told him he isn’t allowed to date until he’s thirty or explore his sexuality. And don’t give me that look, you know you would be okay so long as they were a good person and he was sixteen and being safe.”

“I guess.”

Rossi patted his shoulder and Hotch didn’t even try and pretend that the touch hadn’t made him tingle. It had been so long since someone had touched him- it was always him hugging Jack or touching his shoulder. He thought of that time Reid had talked about being touch-starved. Was he touch-starved, or was he just an adult with a schoolboy crush?

He laid awake for the rest of the night, unable to do much more than close his eyes for a few moments.

They found the unsub the next day. And they bought the boy home safely. But Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be happy at another case solved. Because it hadn’t been successfully, not completely. The unsub- a man in his mid-forties- had been abused. And when he saw those children, who argued with their fathers over something trivial, he had snapped. He’d wanted to save them from his own fate. When Hotch tried to explain that the fathers weren’t bad people, that the children didn’t deserve to die, he hadn’t listened. When he tried to relate, the unsub realised what had happened. And seeing no other way out, he’d turned the gun away from Hotch and to himself.

Hotch couldn’t help but shout no as the bullet released.

“Strauss approved us staying for one more night,” Rossi said when they got back to the hotel.

“That was nice of her,” JJ said.

“God, I need a drink,” Prentiss complained.

“We should all go for a night out. It’ll be fun. And I’m here for once, so I can’t even complain about missing out,” Garcia said.

“That’ll be nice. Reid, you’re coming, no excuses,” Morgan said.

Reid shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’ll remember every embarrassing thing you do, so just be warned.”

Everyone turned to Hotch.

“Come on sir,” Garcia pleaded.

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

“Hotch, if they’re making me go, then you have to come,” Reid replied.

“It’s one night Aaron. And you’re not a newbie anymore,” Dave said, placing a hand on his lower back to steer him away from the elevator.

He blushed, both at the incident that was being referenced and the placement of Rossi’s hand. 

“I’ll go if you don’t bring that up,” he reasoned.

Rossi nodded. Everyone else looked curious, but Hotch shot them all his famous glare, with a small smile to soften the blow. And then they left, still in the same clothes they had been wearing as they had packed up at the station.

Hotch had made it a rule that he didn’t get drunk in front of colleagues. He’d drink enough alcohol to keep them off his back, but he wouldn’t allow himself to become even slightly intoxicated when they were present.

Some cases made all the rules go out the window. It was the only defence he had for getting absolutely shit-faced.

At some point he had loosened his tie, so he didn’t really understand why Rossi was complaining so much as he pulled him into their room and started complaining about the way he dressed.

“If Garcia can come on a case wearing a cat-ear hairband, I don’t understand why you need to always need to wear a suit,” he complained after he got the shoes off.

Hotch grinned. “It’s like my superhero costume. It protects me from people finding out who I really am.”

“Wow you really are drunk.”

“Is it bad that I’m drunk? I told Jack he couldn’t go the party because of the alcohol and he said I was being stupid. Maybe he’s right. I am stupid.”

“Why can’t you ever just stick to being a happy drunk? Why must you always go from happy to crying?”

“Are you mad at me too? I don’t want you to be mad at me. I care about you too much. I don’t think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Not when Jack’s mad at me- did I tell you about that? I think I did. He’s mad at me, Haley would be mad at me if she could see me now, so I can’t have you being mad as well.”

“Haley wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You’re wrong. She would.”

“Oh, really. Why?”

“Cos I told her I liked this person and she told me to go for it but I was too scared of being rejected and ruining the team that I didn’t. At least, that was I told her, which is the other reason she’d be mad. I semi-lied. I was scared of rejection and ruining the team, but I was more scared that they’d be like my father. He caught me with a boy once. Only once. I was too scared after that. It’s stupid though, this person is as far from my father as you could get.”

At the mention of the person, Hotch went back to being happy. Rossi smiled, still wrestling with the suit jacket, unwilling to make his friend move his arms lest he break the spell and made that smile vanish.

“You going to tell me about them or do I have to profile it out of you?”

“Wouldn’t do that,” he slurred. “Too nice to. Unlike Gideon. Gideon never followed the rules. But you- you may be a pain in the ass, but you follow the rules that matter like not profiling us and not pushing and not using our pasts to get to an unsub.”

Rossi snorted. “Thanks Aaron. It’s nice to know I’m not like Gideon.”

“Be weird if you were.”

“Why’s that?” he had got the jacket and the tie off. He untucked the shirt and unbuttoned the top one, knowing Hotch wouldn’t want any more than that done. 

“Cos I love you. I love your stupid notebook and your Italian cooking and your don’t-be-stupid voice and your stupid face and how you’re always nice to me, even when I’m being stupid. I love you Rossi, and I wish you’d love me too, even though I’m a mess who-” the rest of his sentence was cut off by a yawn.

Rossi had no idea what to say. He’d never come out to the team because there had never been a need to. Yes, he had three ex-wives, and only wives, but that was because he hadn’t been able to marry any of the men he dated, and times had been different then. He hadn’t wanted a long-term thing with any of them.

But now, Aaron was drunk and confessing his love, and it occurred to him that he did love the younger man. He had just never realised.

“I’m a mess who can’t get the voice of their father out of their head long enough to ask you out on a date,” he murmured, falling back onto the pillow.

Rossi opened his mouth, but Hotch was already asleep. He sighed, brushed the hair off his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well.”

The morning came, and with it, a pounding head.

Hotch woke up with a groan, immediately pressing his hand to his temple. 

“There’s aspirin and a glass of water on the night stand,” Rossi said.

Hotch blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Wha- why do I need it? What happened?”

Rossi stopped, his coffee halfway to his mouth. Hotch looked away. Not the time.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

“We went to the bar. I- oh. I drank far too much. I’m sorry. Had the others gone by then?”

“No, but they all agreed to spare you the shame and not mention it. Do you remember anything else that happened?”

“You were the one to bring me back. And after that it’s all a bit hazy.”

“Do you want to try and remember or do you want me to tell you?”

Hotch paled. “What did I do?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Hotch fell off the bed trying to scramble away. He noticed that Rossi had left him in his clothes, thank goodness for small mercies, but the sheet got tangled in his legs. Rossi stood as he managed to stand up, his head still pounding and the light making his vision hazy.

He felt a hand on his arm and managed to force it off. “Just let me go, Dave, please.”

“No. We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to say? I told you I love you. But you’re this amazing, caring, funny, handsome straight person and I’m me. Please just let me go. I’ll file my transfer when we get back, but I can’t be here and watch as you reject me,” he said, walking towards the door.

“Aaron. Stop.” 

He froze. Rossi had never bossed him around, even when he’d been the newest profiler that was still learning the ropes. But god, there was something about his tone that made him want to fall to his knees and do whatever he wanted. He’d been still for too long, Rossi would have realised too.

“Turn around and look at me.”

Aaron wanted to resist, wanted to run out the door and never come back, but something in him- probably the part of his brain that was self-destructive- made him turn back. And the sight that greeted him made his heart stop all over again. Rossi didn’t look angry or upset. He didn’t look like he was about to hurt him or force him to explain why he was such a coward.

He looked happy.

“I don’t understand, why are you smiling at me?” he whispered.

“Because I love you too. I just never realised until last night when you were drunk out of your mind, terrified that I was going to reject you, that I realised all I wanted was to hold you against me, listen to the steady beat of your heart to remind myself that you were still here and never let you go.”

Before he could even process what was happening, Aaron had crossed the short distance of the room and had buried his head in his shoulder. Hesitantly, Rossi bought his arms around the younger man in an awkward hug.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Aaron confessed, staring at him with dark brown eyes, still full of the fear of rejection. 

“We can work it out together.”

“I don’t know how to get over my fear, or tell Jack and the team- and what are we even supposed to tell Strauss, she’ll fire both of us and what about all the other things, like dates and the romantic things,” he rambled.

Rossi pressed a finger to his lips. “We’ll work it out. But that’s not the concern for right now.”

“Then what is?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Hotch nodded, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ve only ever kissed Haley. I doubt I’ll be any good.”

“I don’t want good. I want you.”

Without another word, Rossi placed his fingers under Aaron’s chin and tilted his head up. It was a chaste kiss, barely more than a brush of lips, but Aaron felt his heart speed up and fireworks explode behind his eyes. This. This is what he had always wanted but never had the courage to ask for, and now he had it and he just felt… good.

“We need to brush our teeth,” he decided once Rossi pulled away.

“Agreed.”

“Dave, what are we now? Because boyfriend seems immature, and I plan on telling Jack and the team as soon as possible so don’t even try and suggest lover. And other half is stupid, we’re both whole people without each other.”

“I’d like to think of you as my partner. That’s what we started out as- don’t give me that look you know I’m right- and it’ll always fit us. You the workaholic drill sergeant and me, the agent turned author turned agent-author with three ex-wives.”

Aaron laughed. “I have no idea how that makes any sense but okay. Partners. I like that.”

“It makes sense because it shows that we’re both adults that can depend on each other no matter what happens.”

“No matter what happens,” Hotch echoed.

It was going to be a long journey to undo all the damage his father had done, but he was willing to work through it. He was willing to do whatever it took to let him spend the rest of his life beside the man he could now call a partner.

The team essentially worked it out the moment they got on the jet. JJ just shook her head fondly, Reid smiled and told them that if they needed any advice he was there, Morgan smiled and patted Rossi, claiming he had his work cut out for him, Prentiss actually hugged Hotch with tears in her eyes and Garcia squealed and told them she was going to knit them matching scarves.

It was nice. Unfamiliar and different and scary, but nice. Rossi sat beside him, close enough so their shoulders brushed every time one of them adjusted the way they were sat. Every time it happened, Aaron smiled and blushed a little.

When they arrived back at Quantico, everyone at lot happier than they had been at the end of the case, there was an unfamiliar car in the lot. 

“I haven’t seen that one before,” Reid commented.

“It’s probably just someone for Strauss. Let’s go, write the reports and go home,” Hotch said.

“Home. Sounds nice,” Rossi said.

Hotch went pink as Garcia cackled.

Since Emily’s return, it had become tradition for Garcia to sit with them in the bullpen as they did their reports, mainly to annoy them, and if she had accompanied them, to do her own report as she only managed to do them on the job when she was on base. They all headed to the sixth floor, everyone looking forward to the few days of down time they would have once they finished their reports.

It was still early- or was it late- enough for them to be the only people in the building. As everybody else set themselves up in the bullpen, Hotch and Rossi went up to their respective offices, Morgan still talking to Reid and Garcia about something. When Hotch walked into his office, putting his bag down with unnecessary force, Rossi winced.

“What’s going on?”

Hotch bit down the urge to say nothing. “Jack still doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Why don’t you try phoning Jessica then? Maybe he’ll change his mind once he realises just how much you’re willing to sacrifice for him.”

“Maybe.”

“And I know Morgan drove you in, so once you’re paperwork is done, you’re coming home with me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but this case must have hit close to home. I’m dating you now, which means I’ve signed up for the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m sure Jess would love to spend more time with Jack anyways.”

He knew trying to fight was a bad idea, and the thought of going home to an angry and hurt Jack was almost too much to bear. Did it make him a bad parent? Maybe. But he was tired and he wanted to give Jack space.

“I’ll give you some privacy to phone him then.” 

Hotch managed a weak smile, then dialled his home number. Jessica answered almost immediately. She sounded like she hadn’t slept and he wondered why he thought phoning her at three in the morning was a good idea.

“Hi Jess. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It was a bad case that’s all. I should let you sleep. I’ll be back in the morning, well later in the morning so you can go once you’ve had breakfast if you need to do anything.”

She laughed, and his chest tightened. Her and Haley had been nothing alike, but when they laughed, it was like they were the same person. “It’s okay. I’ll stay for the whole day and let you get some rest. Jack, what are you doing up? Okay, get your water and then back to- actually do you want to talk to your dad?”

He heard Jack say no. Jessica made a few uncomfortable sounds.

“Jess, it’s okay. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to. I get it.” He got that he was a useless father, that Jack had every reason to hate him and he didn’t understand why it had taken so long for him to start. He understood that he had failed to protect Jack and Haley, and that nothing he did now was going to ever make up for it.

“Are you sure? He’s gone back to his room but I doubt he’s sleeping. I can talk to him if you want.”

“No, just leave him. He’s allowed to be angry.” Because if you speak to him, you will stop seeing me as the angel Haley loved all through high school. You will stop seeing me as the man who has lost everything and start seeing me as the man who can’t be there when his son needs him, and the man that got your sister killed.

“If you’re sure. But before you go, just listen to me. You’re a good parent. And whatever Jack said, he doesn’t mean. He’s a hormonal teenager going through puberty. He loves you.”

“I know.” But did he really love his father? “I’ll see you in the morning then. Bye Jess.”

“Bye Aaron.”

Aaron. Sometimes he wondered where the lines between Hotchner- god, how he hated his surname, forever tarnished by the memory of his father and everyone in their small town who thought that little Aaron Hotchner was just the quietest little boy, just like his mother yet somehow the spitting image of his father, Hotch: the stoic leader that could be trusted with everything and somehow not collapse and Aaron: absent husband and father, the man that had loved and failed Haley, Kate and even Elle existed. 

Sometimes he just felt like that little boy, curled up in the basement of a house that never felt like home, wishing he could just let go and cry for once. But he couldn’t. Not when he was aware that the team were watching him instead of doing their paperwork.

He finished it in record time, unable to look at the images of smiling teenagers for any longer than was necessary. 

Dave was already waiting for him. Everybody else had gone home.

“Are you ready?” Dave asked.

Hotch nodded, unable to trust his own voice after having to read through everybody’s accounts of the victims, their parents and the unsub.

They drove to Dave’s in silence, Aaron having texted Jessica he was going to a friends but would hopefully back by late afternoon. He wondered again if he had made a mistake by letting Dave in. It would only be a matter of time before he realised Hotch was damaged and nothing in the world would fix it.

“Aaron, we’re here.” The sound of Dave’s voice, suddenly soft and gentle, lured him out of the darkness of his mind.

He got out of the car, still not knowing what to say. He wasn’t like Reid, who would rattle off statistics about any given topic when he was nervous. He wasn’t like Garcia who would keep digging a deeper hole when she was in trouble, or Morgan who managed to charm anyone with a few words.

Dave’s house, despite its size, had always felt homely. When staring at the wall where the bullet hole had been did more harm than good- and who was he kidding, that had been every time he’d sat there, surrounded by files- Dave’s house had always been a safe haven for him.

“I’m going to make some light breakfast and then try and get some sleep. Do you want anything? And don’t say coffee, I’m not letting you do anymore work until you get some rest.”

He shook his head, already sat on the couch.

Dave sighed, but he didn’t push the issue. Before he could leave, Aaron turned to face him.

“Dave?”

“Yes?” he was already in the doorway, minutely turning to see him properly.

“I’m having a bad day,” he whispered.

Rossi froze. Aaron Hotchner did not admit that easily. Only to him. Only when he was moments away from falling apart. He did not know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse that he was the only one trusted enough to piece him back together. He did not know whether or not he could do it this time. Things were different. He had only ever had to do this as a friend, or as a colleague. Never as partners- and wasn’t that ironic, he was the one to suggest the label but now it didn’t seem significant enough.

He walked back over, sat beside Aaron. Close enough so their feet- Hotch hadn’t even taken his shoes off- brushed, but far enough to let him move away if he wanted. He didn’t. He shifted closer, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. Dave raised one hand to gently stroke his messy hair. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m meant too, aren’t I? Haley always used to say there was no point in being together if I was just going to hide from her every time I had a bad day. I know she was right, but I just don’t know how to talk about it. It’s stupid anyways.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like your problems aren’t as important because you’re supposed to be an alpha male. That’s only at work. Here, we’re just Aaron and Dave, two old men who never learned how to communicate properly, so they’re muddling their way through life.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re here. And I’m scared you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. I’m scared that the ghosts of my past are going to be too much for you to handle and that you’ll get tired of waiting for me to be comfortable around you. I’m scared of ruining what we have with my nightmares and scars. I mean, I have a son who’s a teenager now. You never even wanted kids. And I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared I’m never going to be able to repair my relationship with Jack. We’ve never argued before. I don’t know what to do. My father would hit me if I dared speak out of turn. I never learned how to be normal. What if I hurt him?”

He had curled into a ball, his legs pressed against Dave’s stomach. His voice had started shaking, and Dave felt a wet patch forming on his shirt.

“I won’t leave you, ever. We’re going to have problems, but I won’t leave, and I will spend the rest of my life waiting for you to be comfortable around me if I need to. I have nightmares as well, we can keep each other up. I love Jack and he loves you too. I have no idea how to be a parent, but you do. You would never hurt him. And I’m sure Jessica has already told you this, but he’s a teenager. You’ll know what to do when you see him. If you don’t, just ask him. He wants to be there for you.”

“Thanks Dave.”

“I love you Aaron. You never need to thank me. Now move off of me so I can take you to bed. You need a good night’s rest.”

He obeyed. Neither of them were about to believe Dave was strong enough to carry a fully-grown man to bed, so Hotch forced himself to stand and let Dave lead him to the master bedroom.

“You’re practically asleep already. I’m glad. Would you let me undress you?”

Hotch hesitated, but nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m so proud of you. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will.”

He started shaking as Rossi pushed his shirt off his shoulders, the final layer of armour stripped away from him. He closed his eyes, the tremors only stopping when Rossi pressed their foreheads together.

“You survived. You survived them both. And there will be more, there always is, but I will be here to catch you. Believe that.”

Aaron nodded, tears falling onto the duvet. He couldn’t express how glad he was that Dave wasn’t spouting some bullshit about how the scars on his torso and the lines on his back made him even more beautiful. He didn’t know how to say that though, which he was coming to realise the beauty of their relationship: they just knew.

Rossi was tucking him, having successfully changed him into pyjamas without any incidents when he realised he needed to address something from earlier.

“You’re wrong, you know that right?”

Rossi laughed. “About what?”

“Earlier. You said you don’t know how to be a parent. You do. I see it in the way you tease Morgan, curse at Prentiss in Italian, protect Garcia and JJ, listen to Reid and the way you treat Jack and Henry.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He pressed a kiss to the other man’s cheek, then left. There was one more thing he needed to do.

Aaron awoke when he heard voices. It took a moment for him to realise where he was, but when he did, he smiled. Dave hadn’t left. He left the room, trying to find the source of the voices. The search led him to the same couch where he had started crying only a few hours ago.

“Jack!” he exclaimed. 

Jack launched himself into his father’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff, it isn’t true and I love you. I won’t go to the stupid party I swear but please don’t be sad. Uncle Dave told me the censored version of your case. He also told me that you two are partners and I’m really happy about that because he’s cool and I have a vague memory of mom saying you were silly for thinking he didn’t like you-”

“Buddy, it’s okay. Sometimes people argue. I still love you too. And yes, Dave and I are together now but you’re still my first priority. You always will be. So if you need me to take less cases or spend more time at home, then just tell me. We don’t need to let it explode like that.”

Jack looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re my son. You’ll never be a burden to me.”

“Do you promise?” He looked so much like that little boy who believed his father was a real superhero that Hotch could only nod his affirmation.

“Will you stay for breakfast? Jessica dropped Jack here, but she said she’d go to give us some time alone and apparently he only ate a single piece of toast,” Rossi asked, almost nervously.

“Please can we do that?” Jack added.

Hotch nodded, letting go of his son. “Did you want any help?”

“No. Just go sit at the dining table and look pretty whilst you talk to your son,” Dave said.

Hotch flushed but obeyed.

Dave watched as Jack launched into a conversation about the pretty girl in his class and the tension Aaron had been carrying for far too long finally bled off his shoulders and saw as he went from FBI agent to loving father, eyes crinkling as he finally, genuinely, laughed.

There would be bad days. There would be arguments and reckless endangerment. There would be ghosts that would never leave them and fears that couldn’t be destroyed. But Aaron was smiling. And for one David Rossi, that was enough.

[justanotherblonde23]

You Can’t Please Everyone - A Marcus Moreno Story

Author’s Note: Welcome to Part 3 of my Marcus Moreno and Doctor Iris Moreno one shot series! This wasn’t originally the one I planned on releasing today, but I was going through it last night and @autumnleaves1991-blog​ suggested that I write my feelings out and let it all pour into my writing. She was right, I felt so much better afterwards. Still no descriptions for what Dr. Moreno looks like, I want you to feel like you can see yourself as her <3 Thank you all for your love and encouragement, I really appreciate it. 

Warnings: angst, crying, parental problems, hurt/comfort, pregnancy mentions, language

Let me know what you think, what you’d like me to write next, want to be on a tag list for this series, etc. I want to interact with you all! 

Iris opened the front door, trying her best to be quiet; she didn’t want to wake the kids. If Marcus got the timing right, their girls should have just finished their bedtime routine and have settled in for the night. She took her jacket off, hanging it up in the coat closet. All she wanted was to grab a glass of wine and curl up and have a good cry. Unfortunately, being pregnant meant no alcohol, so she would soldier through with a good cry in the shower, maybe. 

Her heels clacked on the stairs. She went slowly, her heart and mind weary. Both girls had their doors open a crack, the universal sign that they wanted kisses and to be tucked in by momma, too, even if she came home a bit late. The drowsy kisses and ‘I love yous’ filled her with joy, covering the ache just a little. She knew that no matter what went wrong throughout the day, she would always be coming home to two precious little girls that loved her dearly. At this point, she couldn’t even imagine life without them. 

Marcus was right where she expected him to be, in bed curled up with a good book. It still blew her away every time she stopped and realized that he was hers, and she was his. Being his wife, it was bliss in every sense of the word. She hadn’t expected him to propose; how could she when his last marriage ended the way it did? Iris would have been happy to be with him forever in any way that he’d have her, but she had to admit that she had wanted to be his wife. She had changed her name as fast as humanly possible, for the thought of being Dr. Moreno filled her with pride. He had suggested keeping her last name or maybe hyphenating it after he proposed. He knew how hard she had worked to make that name worth something, and he didn’t want to take that away from her. She had appreciated the gesture, but she insisted that her work was her own, no matter her last name. She wanted to share everything with Marcus Moreno, including his last name. 

The man in question looked up, giving her one of his earth-shattering smiles, the one that made her feel as if she was the center of his universe. How could she not melt when his soft brown eyes held her gaze, baring his soul to her? She loved this beautiful man with every breath she took. 

He frowned when he noticed her eyes had welled with tears, leaving black mascara tracks down her cheeks. Silently, he stood up, gently unzipping her dress for her and helping her into a shirt of his that she loved to wear to bed. He knew that she would talk to him when she was ready. He would wait her out; it was better not to press her. Marcus led her into the bathroom, sitting her up on the counter while he cleaned her face with a warm washcloth and makeup remover. With each tender swipe of the washcloth, more tears fell. He could feel her shaking underneath him, the silent sobs giving way to heaving gasps.

Once he finished washing her face, he cradled her in his arms, carrying her back to their bed. He settled her on his lap, her legs straddling his hips, arms wound around his neck, face tucked in next to his own. The closer he could get to her, the better he knew she’d be able to feel. His hand snaked under the shirt, rubbing soothing circles on her back, fingers pressing patterns into her spine. He whispered words of comfort in his wife’s ear, willing her to hear what he was saying. Darling, I love you. I’m here for you; you’re not alone. Let it all out, baby. It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it all stuffed inside; just cry it out. Missy loves you, Jules loves you, I love you. He went on and on, pouring his love and adoration into her. Eventually, her tears subsided, and she was ready to talk. She pulled back a bit so that she could look into those kind eyes of his that never judged her or made her feel less than. 

“Dinner with my dad was a disaster, Marcus, it was horrible. I should’ve known it would be bad, but I was hoping that this time might be different.” 

He nodded sympathetically; her relationship with her father was complicated. That man was manipulative, two-faced, selfish, and frankly a terrible parent. He had never approved of their relationship, blatantly refusing to even come to their wedding, insisting that they’d be getting a divorce at some point anyway. No matter how happy they were together, that man was always finding something to nitpick. If it wasn’t the age gap, it was the fact that Iris had stepped up and filled the spot of mother that the girls had so desperately needed. He hated their jobs, their house, the fact that they were individuals with enhanced abilities. Marcus couldn’t think of a situation where he had ever said anything positive about, well, anything. 

Despite all of this, he knew that Iris still loved him, still cared about him, and desperately wanted some type of relationship with him. She was the kindest person that Marcus had ever met. Her passion for people, her ability to truly empathize with others and try to help them heal was inspiring. He had never seen anything like it. He had seen it firsthand with his girls. She poured every ounce of love and devotion into them, treating them as if she had given birth to them herself. She said time and again that there was no difference to her. They were her girls just as much as they were his, and she loved them as such. That love and care extended to her father, too, no matter how many times he hurt her. 

“What did he do, honey?” he was hesitant to ask. Marcus knew that he would get mad at her father and have to rein himself in. He hated to see his wife hurting like this, and it made his blood boil. No one should cause her this much turmoil, especially someone that was her parent. 

“The whole thing was just a mess from the start. Dad was giving the poor waitress a hard time the second she came to the table. You know when he acts like he’s funny, but actually, he’s just rude? He was playing that game. I tried to talk him off the ledge and get him to bring it back in a bit. You should’ve seen her face, Marcus. She was petrified. Every time she came to the table, I could see the apprehension in her eyes. I tried to make sure that I was as nice to her as humanly possible to make up for him. Jesus Marcus, he should know better. I bartended to help mom with money when she was sick, for goodness sake. I was just like that poor girl all through med school and up until I got hired at Heroics HQ. You’d think he’d be willing to consider that.” 

He shook his head, placing a kiss on her forehead, not interrupting her as she spoke. He knew that Iris needed to get it all out before he chimed in. 

“Then he realized that I didn’t order any wine and commented on that, and oh fuck Marcus; it just came out. I just blurted out that I wasn’t drinking because we’re having a baby. He fucking laughed at me, told me not to joke about shit like that. When he figured out that I was serious, he was furious. He told me that I made a mistake, that this baby would just tie me down. He told me that this was a sign that it was time to give up my career and commit to being a mother. I just- I can’t believe everything he said. He went on and on about how I was finally having a real kid of my own as if Missy and Jules aren’t mine, and how it was unfortunate that this baby was yours. I thought that maybe he’d be happy that he’d be excited, but it was a shit show. He didn’t ask how far along I was or anything. I don’t know why I even do this anymore, why I even hope for his approval. It’s a battle I’m never going to win, so why even try? And fuck, these pregnancy hormones are making me so goddamn emotional. I couldn’t even make it through the main course. I made up a work emergency and left. I’m hurting, I’m fucking starving, and I just want to curl up and call it a night.” 

There was silence for a few moments, Iris once again hiding her face in the crook of Marcus’ shoulder. He wished he could physically take the pain away, that he could take her heart in his hands and cradle it to his chest, protecting it from everything that threatened to break it. It killed him to see her like this, and it wasn’t fair; she didn’t deserve this. It didn’t help that at 12 weeks, her pregnancy was beginning to take a toll on her. It was always tricky for enhanced individuals to carry a child, even more so when the child was also enhanced. It just made everything a bit more complicated. He hadn’t seen it up close himself before. His ex hadn’t had powers. To see Iris suffering and struggling with harsher than average symptoms tore at his heartstrings. They were both so excited to have this little one; it would just be a bit more challenging.  

“Baby, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna grab a few things, get comfy okay?” 

Marcus hated untangling himself from her, but he knew what might make her feel a bit better. She let out a noncommittal grunt, letting him know that she heard him. He quickly went down to the kitchen, grabbing supplies. He put everything on a tray, double-checking that he had what he needed before going back up to the bedroom. He set the tray on the bed, earning a grin from his darling wife. 

“Okay, so you said you were hungry; I thought I’d grab the things you’ve been craving recently. I’ve got a bowl of butter pecan ice cream with strawberry sauce, the whipped cream from a can, and crumbled up potato chips with a side of frozen Reese’s peanut butter cups and that guava juice you started liking last week. Oh, and a grilled cheese that I made earlier and put in the fridge. I know you like them cold right now. I’m not gonna question it. I’m sorry you didn’t even get to eat anything when you went for dinner, but this might be even better.” 

He settled into bed next to Iris, putting the tray on her lap. The giggle of delight that left her mouth made him feel warm inside. He watched her dig into the ice cream, telling him about the new developments that she was working on for his katanas, how she wanted to adjust the grips a certain way, and asking for his input. There she was, his wife was crawling back out of the pain and the hurt. He adored her enthusiasm for science and invention. She always had some idea or other to improve his weaponry and armor. He could listen to her passionately explaining her thoughts and ideas for the rest of his life, and he’d never get bored. 

By the time she finished, the disaster of a dinner had been wholly forgotten. Marcus got up, placing the tray on the dresser. He’d deal with it in the morning. They spent another hour talking, cuddling, and holding each other tightly. After a while, he noticed that Iris began to nod off, her eyelids struggling to stay open. He adjusted their position so that they were lying down, and his love was wrapped securely in his arms. She fell into sweet slumber to the sound of Marcus murmuring sweet nothings in her ear and his hand rubbing her tummy, holding her and their baby close. She may not be able to please everyone, but she had Marcus, their two girls, and this baby. In the end, that was everything. It was all she needed.  

Tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @madness-roses​ @bisexual-space-slut​ @dindjarindiaries​ @frannyzooey​ @cinewhore​ @revolution-starter​ @mrschiltoncat​ @softpedropascal​ @paniclana​ @jollyrancher87​ @hdlynnslibrary​ @maybege​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @cyaredindjarin​ @magicsuperheroes​ @flightlessangelwings​ @itspdameronthings @fallingoutofthe1975​ @thestreamergirl​

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 2 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Descriptions of dead bodies and cases. Usual CM stuff. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites 

~~~~~~~~~ 

Okay, so, maybe you'd admit that sitting next to Reid on a plane was making you nervous. 

After you had made it to the jet, you carried your go back to the back of the jet where they stored the luggage. Right as you did so however, your phone began to ring. You looked at your watch and sighed. You would have to answer the phone and get on the jet. Whoever it was was going to have to accept that it would be a short phone call. 

"Hello?" You answered, adjusting your bag as you made your way back to the boarding stairs of the jet. 

"So~? It's probably not your lunch break yet… but how did seeing mister teacher's pet go? Did he give you any hair care tips cause he looked good for having such messy hair." 

You fought the smile that formed on your face, staying put near the bathroom so your phone call could be semi-private. Though you knew that Gabriel wouldn't have cared otherwise. 

"Hello Gabriel. And for your information, I'm headed out on my first case. On an actual jet of all things. So don't expect me home tonight. I don't think these cases are usually as quick as a day." 

"Ah okay. So you’re avoiding the question now? Jesus, you're really into this guy." He teases. 

"Gabriel I swear-!" You growl. After a much needed sigh, you close your eyes and start your statement over again. "You tease me enough about my study habits. If you don't stop this you'll need to sleep with one eye open. Maybe start wearing a night-cap so I don't cut that hair of yours." You playfully threaten. Gabriel lets out an offended gasp. 

"You wouldn't!" 

"I totally would. Try me." 

"Grr… Fine. Get me lover boy's number and I'll call it even. I'll tell Iris we'll be alone for a few nights~" You could hear his tell-tale smirk in his voice, causing you to roll your eyes. 

"Don't you even dare. You know you'll wake up in the middle of nowhere in nothing but your rainbow underwear. She's capable of more than you realize." You laugh as you warn him of what you both knew Iris was capable of doing to him if he pissed her off. 

"Yeah yeah, sure don't want that to happen again. Anyway, have a good trip with that pretty boy of yours~" Gabriel teased. 

"What did I say?" You warned sternly. 

"What? You didn't get me the guy's number yet, so teasing is still on the table." 

"Leave it to you to find a damn loophole." You groan, rubbing the creases of your forehead out with your fingers. 

"Everyone please take your seats, we need to go over the case, see if we can start building a profile." Hotch announces behind you. 

"Sorry, I gotta go. We're about to take off. Don't die, please." You teasingly beg before you hang up and put your phone in the slot on your belt. 

"So… Gabriel, huh?" 

You gulp a bit and turn your head frantically until you find where Derek had sat on the jet. You roll your eyes and specifically choose the seat farthest away from him out of spite.

"Oh hush. He's my roommate. Not what you think." You insist as you grab your bag and place it in your lap, situating the case file in front of you. As soon as you get settled into your seat, you feel a presence suddenly sit next to you. 

"Sorry, I had to grab something real quick." 

You feel a slight blush grow on your face as you realize who the presence was. That was also accompanied by the sudden increase in the smell of mahogany wood and soft musk. It was pleasing. 

"Don't worry about it, Pretty boy. We were just talking about L/N's little 'roommate'. Weren't we?" Morgan teases. Instead of taunting back you feel like almost sinking into your seat. Why did he have to bring that up right now? Especially when Spencer was here to fucking hear?

"Living with roommates is actually more common than you think. There was a study done recently that showed a total of 18-34 percent of people have roommates. It's more logical as it helps people afford apartments with minimum wages." He explains. You sigh with relief. You were glad for Spencer’s statistic. It moved the conversation away from you. At least you hoped. 

"Whatever. Still. Who is this 'Gabriel'?" Morgan asked with a determined smirk, ignoring Spencer’s statistics. You sighed. You weren't going to get out of this as easily as you thought. 

Spencer swallowed a bundle of nerves as Morgan pushed aside his attempt at changing the subject. If he was truthful, he didn't want to speak about the possibility of you having someone special in your life already. Although he doubted he ever had a chance. Who was this Gabriel though? He wouldn't deny that he was curious, at least to his own conscience. 

"Fine," you sigh. "Gabriel is my best friend. Well… one of my best friends. He is gayer than a rainbow and is currently working as an FBI undercover agent. Happy?" 

Morgan raised his hands in defeat, chuckling. 

"I'm just asking baby girl, no hard feelings." He teases. 

Spencer let out an undetectable sigh of relief, his unknowingly clenched fist loosening against his leg. "He's an undercover agent? How did he get hired as one as a new graduate?" Spencer asks. "Of course there are some rare occasions where recently graduated agents have gone immediately to a semi-high position, but that in itself is exceedingly rare. Almost impossible." He rambled, finally finishing and turning towards you. 

"Oh, well I think it might've been because of his family ties. His father works in the CIA. Though I doubt that his father pulled any strings. He's kind of homophobic." You shrug. "But hey, it's not too impossible. It happened for you and me, right?" You asked, wiggling a teasing eyebrow. 

Spencer chuckled a bit and nodded, laughing gently. "I suppose it isn't as impossible as I make it sound. Although it still is rare. We just both happen to meet the requirements." He answers, flashing you a genuine smile. 

"For someone who's pretty private about her own personal life, you're pretty open about sharing your roommate's life." Morgan speaks up with curiosity. Spencer bites back a growl and glares at Morgan to knock it off. 

"Don't worry, Gabe's not that worried about his own life being leaked. He's got a squeaky clean record, and he says anything that someone finds out from someone other than him is always hearsay in court without proof." 

Morgan shrugged and pulled out the case file, getting the notion that the conversation was over. 

"We should get started. We'll be touching down in Illinois in a couple hours." Hotch announces, gathering everyone's collective attention. Garcia's face popped up on Derek's laptop he opened up as Hotch began to go over the case. "Any outstanding details yet, Garcia?" He began. 

"No sir, the only thing I could find was that each of your victims visited stores for newborns to toddlers. Babies R Us, Bottles and Babies, you name it. Each of them also had either a wife or serious romantic partner who had recently given birth." Garcia answered, looking up from her list. 

"What kind of job would you have to have to know this stuff about your victims? I don't think our unsub is stalking them." Rossi spoke up. 

"Maybe they work at one of the stores? Garcia I'm gonna need a list of employees at each of those locations." Derek started. 

"No wait, if they're all different stores then the idea of the unsub working at one doesn't fit… do each of these stores have the same supplier?" You speak up, looking over the case details before looking up at the rest of the team. 

"Uhh… yes, a company called Mommy and Me supplies all three of the stores these men visited." Garcia clarifies. 

"Good work, (L/N). Garcia, I'm going to need that list of names." Hotch informed. 

"I'll get that straight back to you sir as soon as I can. Garcia out." She says, disappearing from the screen. 

"So what are we thinking about behavior? Why would our unsub attack these men? And why now?" Emily spoke up. 

"The stressor in this situation is most likely to do with a partner. Or perhaps something to do with our unsub's physical appearance or self-esteem. Since each of the men are dark haired and left out for anyone to find." Spencer explained, laying the folder down onto the table in front of him. 

"Maybe something to do with a child? This unsub might just be a customer at each of these places. Maybe their partner recently left them and they're lashing out at surrogates for that partner." JJ suggests. 

"Are we looking for a female unsub?" Morgan asks. 

"I believe so." You spoke up. 

"Why is that, (L/N)?" Prentiss replied. 

"Well, in one of the crime scene descriptions, it was said that the newborn of one of the men was fed after their father had been murdered. I don't believe any man could do that. There weren't any leftover bottles either." You answered. 

"Actually, it is possible for a man to lactate. Although very rare, some men still produce the hormone prolactin even if they have a Y chromosome. This produces the process of lactation. But I doubt that is the case here, as most examples of this happening have been influenced by medical means." Spencer expressed, his eyes widening and sparkling with wonder at his fact. 

Derek groaned. "I really, really did not need to know that man." 

"But he's right. If there is no trace of a bottle having been used, or of one missing, we could be dealing with a woman." Hotch affirmed. "That paired with the obvious craving of power in the way the bodies are dumped and each victim is tortured." 

"What if our unsub recently had a baby also?" JJ spoke. 

"That would make sense, if our unsub is finding men at these different stores, then it could be plausible for her to have taken these men while alternating between stores." Rossi points out. 

"Good work everyone. When we land JJ and I will talk to the families. Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, I want you three to investigate the last dump site, see if we can gather any more information on this unsub's methods and cause. And (L/N) and Reid, I need you two to take a look at the bodies. See id there are any patterns we missed. However we need to be quick, or Galesburg is going to have another body on their hands very soon." Hotch divides the jobs, closing the folder for the case. "Reid." 

Spencer looks up and turns towards Hotch. "Yeah?" 

"Show (L/N) the ropes for Prentiss. Try to teach her if you can. This is a learning opportunity for her as much as this is a case for us." Hotch orders. Spencer nods in understanding, feeling nervous butterflies building up again in his stomach. 

"Well, I guess you're stuck with me for a couple hours. I promise I don't bite too hard." You tease, nudging his shoulder. He smiles at your tease, letting out a soft laugh. 

"Oh I know that. The question is…" he pauses, raising a teasing eyebrow. "..if I do." 

You snort and laugh, shaking your head. "You wouldn't hurt a fly, Reid. No offense." 

"Wouldn't hurt-" Spencer playfully scoffs. "You hearing this, Morgan?" He says with a teasing smile on his face. 

"I've hurt a fly. I outsmarted its mother." Spencer insisted. Morgan snickered and looked towards Prentiss with a knowing look. She gave him one back, smiling smugly.

"Really? Outsmarted its mother? Reid, a human infant is capable of outsmarting a damn fly. But whatever you say, Fly Genius." You teased. Morgan let out a long 'Ooo' in response.

"You just got told." 

"Whatever Morgan." Spencer playfully rolled his eyes, smiling still under his attempt at trying to look annoyed.

"You're just mad I ended up getting you to prove your innocence." You insist. 

"You totally didn't." He retorts. 

"Spence, you've always been innocent." JJ interjects. 

"See? You can't deny that." You insist, a playful smile cemented on your face. 

"Who knew of all of us to bond with, you'd choose Pretty Ricky first." Morgan teased. 

"You're just jealous I got to talk to her first." Reid insists playfully. You roll your eyes. 

"Yeah, cause without seeing a map I assume your sense of direction is terrible." You tease. He looks at you mock offended and laughs a little. 

"Is not. Your eyes just met mine and you looked friendly." Spencer defended. 

"Alright children settle down before you give me an aneurysm." Rossi teases in a playful sigh. You giggle and shake your head. You didn't expect that amount of welcome feelings coming especially from Spencer. But everyone was already warming up to you. It felt nice. You just hoped you didn't let everyone down. 

○●♡●○ 

Walking off the jet, you immediately were greeted by the chief of the Galesburg PD. 

"Hi, you must be the BAU. I'm Chief Anthony Sherwood. Thanks for comin' down so fast." The chief thanks, shaking Hotch's hand. 

"Of course. I'm Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, Rossi, Reid, and our trainee, Agent (L/N)." Hotch introduces.  The chief goes down the line, shaking almost everybody's hands. (Spencer gave him a peace sign instead) 

"So, a trainee huh? If we weren't so crunched for time to find this guy, I'd ask how you're liking the BAU. Come along now, we got everything you need set up at the station." Sherwood spoke to you before he gestured to everyone else and began to lead you all to the rental SUVs they had waiting for you all. 

You gulp softly and sigh, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple of times before you begin to follow. It was your first case. You were a big bundle of excitement mixed with nerves that wouldn't go away. 

Once inside the police station, you found a place for your things, setting them down in the main room that the Chief had set aside for you all to use. 

Once you had everything settled, you began to head out to the SUVs again without much of an introduction to everyone else. Hotch had said to get to the morgue as soon as you could to take a look at the bodies. You told yourself you were just following orders. 

You climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV that you had ridden to the station and immediately groaned, placing your now aching head against the steering wheel. With all the excitement of being on a case you hadn't been prepared to go on yet, you hadn't noticed you were having one of your head splitting migraines from your hyperthymesia. And lucky you, you had left the bottle of acetaminophen in your bag that you had left in the station. Great. 

"Rough day already?" 

You jumped with sudden fear, banging your head against the window of the car. You groan and rub the affected area, turning your attention to the owner of the voice who just spooked the shit out of you. 

"Reid…" you sighed, turning back to the wheel. Of course he had followed you. He was supposed to go with you. How dumb could you get? 

"Yeah… that's me." He says, a slight smile on his lips. "You okay?" He asks. 

"Yes… No… No not really. With my condition, I get occasional head-splitting migraines. They usually happen at least once a month. I hadn't gotten one yet, till today. And I left my prescription in my bag." You groaned, running a hand through your hair. 

"I see… but I don't think it's just the headaches." 

"Guess you caught me. I'm just nervous about this being my first case. Trainee or not. I've thought about this experience plenty of times. But you can't predict what the case is gonna entail." You conclude, squeezing the steering wheel. 

"That's understandable for any new agent, (L/N). Whether you're wide-eyed like Hotch and Rossi, or cautious, I think it's pretty normal. At least from my own experience." 

You can't fight the urge to smile as he finished his advice. He really didn't have to do this. You were new. But then again, he probably just saw a piece of himself in you. 

"Thanks Reid." 

"Of course, (L/N)." 

○●♡●○ 

"I've seen plenty of messed up injuries in my time, though I've never seen something as crude as this." The mortician said as she guided you and Spencer into the cold chamber room. 

"Most places like this don't usually see much serial killer action, so it's to be expected." Spencer says, trailing off as the mortician pulled out the most recent victim. 

"He looks pretty athletically built. Garcia texted me and told me they all were pretty active in the gym too. Not the same ones nor the same days though." You point out, pulling on a pair of gloves to take a look at the different injuries. "Each of these bruisings seem to be done by hand, no remnants of wood or anything else. So then how did our unsub subdue these men? They had to have been stronger than her." You questioned, looking over John McAllister's wounds near his neck.  

"He wasn't strangled around his neck either… she might've used some sort of drug to temporarily paralyze the body. We've seen it before in a few cases. Was there any traces in their systems?" Spencer asks the mortician. 

"Unfortunately, no. Nothing other than an increase in the production of glutamine, epinephrine, norepinephrine, and a few others." The mortician clarifies. 

"Hm…" you pondered, crossing your arms briefly. "Are there any needle marks at all?" 

Spencer considers what you say before he takes a gloved hand and tilts the head of the victim to the side. "Yes, behind his ear. Though the access to the blood supply would be harder to reach." 

"I doubt that mattered to her." You remind. 

"Can we see the others? Or have their bodies been claimed?" You ask. 

"The first one, yes. But the second one no." The mortician says, putting the latest victim back in the cold chamber before pulling out the second. 

"Is there a needle mark?" You ask, hoping this connection would help the case. 

"Yes, around the same area too…" Spencer trails. 

You turn your head to the second victim's file and narrow your eyes. "Hey… from this photo, our second victim is supposed to have long dark brown hair, our unsub is cutting the hair." 

"She's trying to make them look like a partner." Spencer realizes, pulling out his phone to alert Hotch. You nod to the mortician and help her put the second victim's body back into the freezer. 

Then you began to follow Spencer out of the morgue, your nerves finally having calmed down. Maybe this is what you had needed, as morbid as it was. Just to see the reality of the case instead of just your own worries and ideas of the case. You were going to be fine. You felt like a real profiler. 

Of course it helped that Spencer was there, but still. It felt good. And you knew this case needed the good. 

[saintqueer]

On Being 13

by saintqueer

Date Written: July 2019

CW: brief mention of an eating disorder

I will be posting a series of old creative nonfiction essays I wrote in 2019-20 every Friday and tagging them #a saintqueer original. Some might be a little outdated but I'm getting my feet wet in the experience of sharing my own writing again. Hope you enjoy! My inbox is always open.

Your name is Jordan. It is 2006 and you just turned 13. You are officially a teenager. Not a preteen. Nor god-forbid a tween. You’re in eighth grade at middle school in the Bay Area suburbs and you just got your first cell phone. It’s a silver LG flip phone without a camera. Modern social media has been born but is not yet widespread. Myspace and AIM are still the name of the game. And your friend’s Top 8s are literally worth crying over. You buy songs you like on iTunes for 99 cents. Songs like Far Away by Nickelback and Jesus, Take the Wheel by Carrie Underwood. That is, until you wizen up and start using LimeWire in 2007. By that time, you’ll think your tastes much improved. You’ll illegally download songs like Buy U a Drank by T-Pain, Wait For You by Elliott Yamin, and everything Chris Brown puts out. Every single feeling you have is so large it’s like it has the potential to kill you. Weird shit is happening to your body. You started puberty early but it shows absolutely no sign of stopping. Things just seem to be getting weirder and more emotional. You cut your own side bangs and they look hella cool.

Ok, let’s pause there. I’m gonna go ahead and break the fourth wall here. Reader, I was planning on doing this entire piece as a kind of immersive second person experience. But. I. Just. Can’t. It’s too hard and writing about being 13 is difficult enough. I think that intro was enough to get you in the right head space of Jordan circa 2006-2007.

Over the last year, there has been more truthful explorations of the adolescent experience in media than ever before. With shows like Pen15 and Big Mouth and films like Eighth Grade, I feel like for the first time I’m starting to come to terms with my own adolescence. Being 13 is really fucking hard. And 13-year-olds get such a bad rap when, honestly, they’re just trying to do the best they can with all the shit they’ve been thrown.

I first felt compelled to write this piece when reading a section of a book from my favorite podcaster, Karen Kilgariff. Karen describes a lecture series she went to in which one of the presenters made a case in defense of 13 year olds. Karen writes that being 13 “is the hardest age you ever have to be because of all the chemicals and hormones constantly raging through your body. It’s like you’re being drugged and then woken up with speed on a daily basis. All social structure implodes and resets itself in a totally unfamiliar way. You’re simultaneously the oldest version of a child and the youngest version of an adult, so you don’t belong anywhere. You don’t get babied, and you don’t get respect.” Basically, it fucking sucks!!!

At 13, my eating disorder was already in full swing and my body-dysmorphia-riddled brain had no shortage of reasons for why my life would be so much better if I weighed 25 pounds less. They would weigh us in gym class, one by one, and assign us our BMI classification (mine was “overweight”). I was constantly dieting, with resounding approval from family and peers; starving my growing body of whole food groups and then binging. My school used to sell these pizza hot pocket things in plastic wrapping called pizza sticks (they were so DELICIOUS). One time, I found an unopened and still-warm pizza stick on the floor next to a garbage can. Wildly hungry from my meager carb-less lunch I picked it up off the floor and shoved it into my mouth, facing the wall, in as few bites as possible so no one would see. OFF THE FLOOR…OUTSIDE. I think it was on a pile of leaves and other trash (though unopened, it was slightly flattened on one side so it might have been stepped on?). This is actually the first time I’ve told anyone that I did that. Blogging is fun.

I was truly beginning to understand that my body was a commodity in society. I couldn’t take up space as a girl and to be beautiful was to be frail. My body was a sexual thing but I was not allowed to be a sexual being. Boys were the horny ones, not girls. But boy, was I! The thing was I couldn’t tell anyone, only the bathtub faucet could know. This was heightened all the more by my church and my faith. Youth group taught me the importance of dressing modestly and how we had to do everything within our power to help easily tempted boys remain sexually pure. I had so much shame that I had any kind of sexuality at all.

A majority of us wanted to fit in when we were 13. And I wanted it desperately. It’s not necessarily that I wanted to be cool, it’s more like I just wanted to belong. I wanted to have best friends. I wanted boys to have crushes on me. I wanted to be wanted. And it never happened for me. I didn’t develop deep lasting friendships until my late teens. I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 21, for god’s sake. My friends at 13 were changeable and excluding. I felt like I was constantly vying for their approval and as I entered high school in 2007, my social life became the center of my world.

Admittedly, high school felt much more enjoyable than middle school. I had established my place in the cool crowd and shirked academics. I stopped listening to Christian Rock and started listening to Lil Wayne and learning how to twerk. I cut class with a friend to straighten my hair with my hot pink straightener in Starbucks. I got in trouble with the cops for underage drinking. I got better at actually starving myself for a few days at a time instead of just dieting. I was significantly better at swearing. However, every single thing still felt like the biggest deal ever and it felt like it would always be that way.

Now, over a dozen years later, I hardly ever think about how it felt to be 13. I always forget that I “fell in love” with a boy named Alex at church summer camp who I saw from afar five times and talked to once for two minutes. It’s hard to believe now that I wrote his name in sharpie on my converse sneakers and sang I Drive Myself Crazy by *Nsync while crying and staring directly back at myself in the mirror.

This might seem unforgiving but I feel like the one redeemable thing about being 13 is that it doesn’t last forever. It ends. You grow and you change and you work through your trauma. If you’re lucky, you get better friends and you go to therapy and do some healing over ten years later by watching tv shows and movies that remind you of every painful feeling. Then you look back and laugh. You laugh at that school dance where Peter said he’d never, ever slow dance with you. You laugh at the school dance less than a year later where you grind provocatively on a dude you don’t know to Get Low by Lil Jon and the Ying Yang Twins. You laugh (hysterically, I might add) at eating that pizza stick off the floor. You laugh at smoking weed for the first time using a plastic water bottle your friend somehow turned into a shitty bong. You laugh at shoplifting your first thong from Ross. You laugh at your self-cut side bangs. You laugh and you laugh and you laugh and then you, finally, move on.

[language-of-love]

For the intimacy prompts: 3. Touching foreheads and/or 51. Slow dancing

For some reason, this sparked a little high school AU idea, so I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3.

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

Spreading his fingers wide inside his mittens, he tries to soak up as much heat as possible from the roaring bonfire as wisps of snowflakes mix with the embers shooting up towards the stars. It’s too cold to be out here and there’s a million reasons why he should have gone home hours ago, but the one reason he’s stayed is inching ever closer. 

And he just can’t help but wonder. 

The music coming from the open windows of Twyla’s hatchback changes to a soft guitar intro that’s familiar, but his memory of it is too far out of reach as his mind is so focused on the proximity of Patrick Brewer as he hums along beside him under his breath.

David doesn’t usually come to these high school parties, but Patrick had asked him if he’d be here as they’d put a final coat of black paint on the chairs for Cabaret and David had found himself so tongue tied that he’d somehow mumbled that he'd “maybe make an appearance”. Patrick’s smile had been immediate, wide and welcoming before he’d quickly tucked it back away with reddened cheeks and David knew he had to show up. To see. To put himself in the path of a possibility. 

“What song is this?” he asks, needing to break the silence with something.

“The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty. That’s the best he can come up with? Patrick’s the best musician at their school and…

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Oh. Okay.

“Where did everybody go?” Patrick asks.

When David lifts his arms to tug his beanie down over his ears, his elbow rustles Patrick’s coat and swirls of anxious anticipation erupt in his belly at the unescapable knowledge that Patrick is choosing to stand very, very close to him right now. Ten minutes ago, he was standing on the other side of the bonfire. He’s not now.

“I heard something about a beer run and I think some of the couples have retreated to their cars. I’d steer clear of Jake’s truck by the barn unless you’re into that sort of party.”

Patrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly and the breath he expels creates a cloud that mixes with David’s before disappearing up into the smoke. 

“Nah, I’m good here…” Patrick’s words trail off into the cold air and David conjures some courage to look over at him, finding him staring back with a look so full of questions David feels a bit uneasy at the multitude of possible answers. “...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Is that…? Is that okay?”

David’s face gives away his answer as his mouth curls up into a half smile that he can’t seem to stop, even as he chews at the inside of his cheek. God, he just likes Patrick so much and he’s wondered, for a while, if he was picking up hints. But Patrick’s always been with Rachel. Until a few months ago. So...David just wasn’t sure of his preferences. 

Stevie had chastised him just last week about that though, spread out on her bedspread as she puffed smoke from her joint towards the ceiling. “David, you’re not going to learn his preferences hanging out every night with me.”

Fuck, she’s going to be unbearable if she learns she was right all along.

The music gets louder suddenly and David shifts his attention to Twyla’s car, spying her through the window holding up her thumb in a silent show of encouragement and oh god, does everybody know? How mortifying. Looking back over at Patrick, he has to catch his breath at the smile he sees there, waiting, patiently for whatever is supposed to happen next. 

“Do you want to dance?” he hears himself ask.

When Patrick’s eyes go wide, David regrets that impulse immediately and tries to conjure up something to say so he can take it back.

“Um, I’ve never,” Patrick says, his voice quiet as he speaks towards the frozen leaves at his feet. “With a guy, I mean.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrick’s fingertips from where they are poking out of his fingerless gloves are bright pink as he tentatively reaches out for David’s arm, and David lets his body move in the direction he’s being lightly tugged until he finds himself face to face with a very flushed, very nervous, Patrick Brewer.

“But I’d like to.”

“The song’s almost over though,” David hedges, suddenly overcome with a wave of insecurity.

“David.”

“What?”

Patrick’s hands are on his waist now, pulling him forward and David, well, he takes a deep breath in and lets the cold air shock his system into action.

“Come here.”

He does. 

His arms anchor into the thick padded shoulders of Patrick’s brown corduroy jacket and his eyes dance everywhere except Patrick’s face for a good ten seconds as he lets himself acclimate to this new, dreamlike reality he’s found himself in. When he does force himself to meet Patrick’s gaze, he almost stumbles in surprise at the warmth reflecting from the fire in Patrick’s whiskey colored eyes and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Too strange?”

Why did he ask that? God, he needs to stop self sabotaging himself all the time.

“What?”

“Dancing with a guy.”

Patrick’s hand at the waist of his entirely weather inappropriate leather jacket clenches a little and David’s afraid he’s about to let go, but instead, he slides that hand inside the open jacket and spreads his fingers wide along David’s back and David’s unsure of what to do next. But something he’s heard his mother say many times as she’s prepared for another role pops into his head and maybe for the first time in his life, he heeds her advice. 

He leans in. 

And so does Patrick.

Their foreheads are thankfully warm from the fire as they meet and David waits with bated breath for Patrick to answer the question he probably shouldn’t have asked. But now that he has, the answer has somehow taken on monumental importance.

“It feels right.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Before he can respond, the song ends and there’s a jarring shift to a driving beat, but things go silent and David chuckles softly as he pictures Twyla in her car, frantically searching for another slow song on her drugstore brand MP3 player. He could let go of Patrick’s shoulders while they wait, but he doesn’t, and neither does Patrick. They just keep shuffling their feet and smiling down at their shoes crunching the dead leaves and the thin layer of snow.

When the first few notes of Christina Perri’s “Arms” comes on though, he huffs and can’t stop himself from turning towards Twyla’s car and shouting “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“But David, it’s so romantic!” 

She gives her horn a little honk and David gives her the finger, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as Patrick’s arm winds its way into his jacket to join the other one to draw him in closer. 

“David,” Patrick says, so soft, practically a whisper, drawing David’s attention back where it belongs, back to where Patrick’s eyes are darting new questions straight at his mouth.

Okay. 

So, this is happening.

His cashmere mitten gets snagged a little in the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck as he tips his chin and draws him in and their lips are a little chapped from the cold, but the tiny pant of breath Patrick expels the second their mouths touch spreads like fire all over David’s skin. Patrick leans into it, just lets himself be kissed, smiling sweetly into the firelight when David pulls back too soon to let him, both of them, take stock of what’s just transpired. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his fingers are pushing tenderly into David’s plush sweater and he’s keeping the tip of his nose close so it’s brushing David’s as he takes a few uneven breaths, so David just waits. He wants Patrick to make the next move.

Thankfully, he does.

“Wanna go warm up in my car?”

“Did you fix the heater?”

He can’t help it. The last time he was in Patrick’s car it was an icebox.

“Yeah. I watched a YouTube tutorial.”

“That does not dispel confidence, Patrick.”

“Fine, you wanna stay here and makeout in front of Twyla and whoever else is watching us from their cars right now?”

David’s jaw drops open at the return of the overly confident Patrick Brewer he’s been crushing on for weeks and he just shakes his head and lets himself be led through the parked cars, many with windows scandalously fogged, to the passenger side door of Patrick’s little silver sedan. Away from the prying eyes of their classmates and past the unknown of their first, Patrick doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, from initiating their second kiss. He presses David up against the car and with fingers so cold David can’t help but flinch, he holds David’s face steady as he kisses all the breath from David’s lungs. His stocky frame is warm and pulled tight as he settles his weight between David’s legs and it’s not long before the back door is opened and they scramble into the back seat in an uncoordinated tangle. 

Through laughs and demands, he manages to wrestle the car keys from Patrick’s pocket and climbs over his lap so he can reach up into the front and turn the car on and get the heat going. The radio station is set to some sports talk show and he’s about to start turning the dial to find something more appropriate for the mood, but Patrick’s hands are on his hips dragging him back and he abandons that task for the prospect of more kissing. 

Patrick’s thighs are thick and wide and a perfect perch as he settles himself onto his lap and smiles down at flush pinked cheeks and lips wet from his kisses and he honestly can’t believe that all of this is real. Pulling off his mittens, he finally gets his hands on Patrick’s skin as he wraps his hands around his neck and lowers himself down to his waiting mouth, shivering at the eagerness of Patrick’s lips and hands welcoming him back. Patrick’s ineffective tune-up of his heater is no match for the stamina of teenage hormones and it eventually sputters out, but they’ve done a pretty good job of warming themselves all on their own at that point anyway. 

Their drive back home is spent with fingers clasped, shivering, and smiling from ear to ear as Patrick’s death trap of a car trudges slowly along the back country roads with fogged up windows and young love blooming warm in their hearts. 

He hears it from his mother the next day at dress rehearsal when Patrick’s neck is covered with hickeys and the makeup team can’t seem to cover them up. He can’t help it if Patrick was already wearing the lightest shade.

From the look on Patrick’s face as he smiles over at him from center stage, he can honestly say that neither of them have any regrets. Not a single one.

[odd-birds-and-booksellers]

For Once In My Life

Hailey is keeping one life changing secret from Jay.

It's just fluffy upstead.

Hailey was so angry with herself...with the world. She couldn’t seem to catch a break, things were finally going good and she’d called it, she said to Jay only two weeks ago that things were too good. He’d laughed it off, telling her that thing just got better with time, refusing to believe a bomb was waiting for them but right now as Hailey stared down at the stupid plastic stick in the sink she knows she was right and he was wrong as usual.

“Hailey, are you ready to go?” She heard Jay knock against the bathroom door as he passed by, heading towards the stairs. She sighed clutching the plastic, making sure she was definitely reading it right. These things could be false right? “Hailey?” Jay's voice pulls her from thoughts again.

“I’m coming giving me one sec,” she yells back hoping he couldn’t hear the slight tremble in her voice as she opened the cabinet in front of her shoving the test behind a box of tampons as she quickly splashed some cold water on her face. Come on Upton get it together.

“You good?” Jay mumbled as she reached the bottom of the stairs where he was putting his boots on.

“Yeah...fine, let’s go before we’re late.” Hailey forces a smile on her face, not giving Jay a chance to respond as she heads for the door, she knew the longer she was around Jay the quicker he would pick up on her obvious angst.

They drove to work in silence which wasn’t uncommon for them, she was lucky to be with someone who she felt completely comfortable around, she could enjoy the quiet moments just as much as their usual banter.

Hailey jumped slightly when she felt his warm hand wrap around hers on the console, intertwining the fingers.  He flashed her his warm signature grin before turning back to the road, making the butterflies stir in her stomach. He had no idea the noise going on her mind, the thoughts racing around in her head.

It wasn’t the right time. She wasn’t ready. she wasn’t ready in her career to take the time out she had imagined she would when she finally started a family. She hadn’t even really spent the time considering if that’s what she wanted if that’s what Jay wanted. They’d been living together for three months, she thinks in all the time she’d known him, Jay, he’d maybe mused the idea of a family like once or twice. It wasn’t the right time but there was this small part of they kept reminding her there was never a right time and maybe her Jay hadn't been together that long and maybe they'd never properly discussed kids but she sure as hell knew she'd never felt love like this before so how could a baby made from the love possibly be an inconvenience.

“You good?... You were a little quiet this morning. Are you still feeling a little sick?” He mumbles as they pull up at a stoplight, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. It takes everything in Hailey not to just blurt it out right there, knowing everything is better with Jay when they just talk through it. That’s what worked between them, talking even when it was hard, even when they could think of nothing worse. They were always better when they faced things together.

That’s why the words were at the tip of her tongue when his phone rang out, Ruzek's name lighting up Jay's phone as they untangled their hands, Hailey grabbing it for him. They have a case and thank the god she doesn't believe in for the distraction.

She stared down at the info Kim had sent through as Jay does a sharp turn towards the crime scene, the team were already on the scene waiting for them but Hailey's mind was whirling with Kim’s pregnancy a couple of years ago, she’d have to stop working pretty much immediately, even if Voight didn’t immediately bench her Jay would never let her out of his sight and definitely nowhere near a crime scene.

She should tell him, she should just say it. She should just rip off the band-aid before they're wrapped up in a case, running headfirst into danger.

Luckily for Hailey the crime scene is already under control when they get there, though she’d definitely turned heads when she’s stopped to retch on the side of the street, she’d heard sniggers from the uniforms clearly assuming she couldn’t stomach the scene.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Jay grumbles rubbing her back softly, they tried to keep any affection towards each other to a minimum while working, they wanted to prove nothing could get in the way of their work but clearly watching your other half attempt to throw up on the side of the street trumped any professional boundary.

Hailey shrugs, standing up and straightening out her shirt. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Hailey...do you honestly think I can’t see right through you.”

“I...er.”

Jay rolls his eyes, glancing around quickly to see who was watching as drops his hands to her waist. “It’s fine if you don’t wanna talk about it yet.”

“I...can we do this at home?” Hailey shrinks away from him, brushing his hands off as she takes a few steps back.

“Sure…” Jay nods, she could tell from the look on his face he wasn’t quite ready to give it up but as he hears Kim call out for their attention he has no choice but to let it go for now.

Hailey spends the rest of the morning at her desk trying to focus on the case at hand but every so often she’d find herself drifting off, little images of the baby half her half Jay filling her mind. She had to be sure. If she was gonna tell Jay. If they were gonna make any sort of decision. She had to be sure before she set off a bomb.

Grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair she heads towards Voight's office ignoring the way Jay's eyebrows knit together as he watches her curiously.

“Come in…”

Voight waves her in as he looks up from the paperwork scattered around his desk. He frowns as he watches her expectantly waiting for her to speak.

“I need the afternoon…” Hailey mutters quietly as she meets Voight's eye, hoping he wouldn’t press her on the subject. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

He raises his eyebrows at her contemplating her request for a moment as he fiddles his pen between his fingers. “Sure go do what you gotta do…”

Hailey nods, muttering her thanks as she begins to back out of the room. “Hailey.” Just as her hand reaches the doorknob he starts to talk again. “Everything good?”

Hailey glances through the glass looking out at Jay who seemed to be squinting at the screen as Kevin leaned over his desk both deep in discussion. He was a good man...he made mistakes. I mean they both did but he was good, he was loyal and he was funny and he would make the most amazing dad...if that’s what he wanted, all she knew is the longer she thought about it the more she wanted it.

“Yeah...yeah, I think it’s all gonna be good.”

Confirming it had been harder than expected, cringing as Jay's smiling face lit up her phone once again, he’d called pretty consistently since she’d sneaked away earlier today. She should’ve gone to Lakeshore...why had she come to Med knowing Will was slinking around the halls? At any moment he could appear and patient confidentiality be damned Jay would be here in a heartbeat.

“Have you got it? Do you have the results?” Hailey yelped the second Natalie came back into sight. Squirming uncomfortably on the hospital bed she’d been forced to sit in for the blood draw.

Nat laughs, shaking her head as she slips into the room, pulling the curtain back as quickly as possible. “Jesus Hailey...you know most people don’t get their labs rushed through as fast as you do.”

“Nat…” Hailey deadpans.

“Congratulations Hailey...looks like there’s a baby Halstead on the way.”

“Oh god…” Hailey cries dropping her face into her hands, a small part of her thought maybe she'd been wrong, but now she really was pregnant, a tiny part of her and Jay was growing inside her and suddenly her whole world had changed.

“Were you guys trying?”

“No...no we were doing the opposite of trying. Well, not the opposite actually...more like a lot of trying…”

“Hailey calm down” Natalie comes to stand in front of her, wrapping her arms around Hailey who wasn’t usually one for hugs but right now that seemed to have gone out the window. “I’ve never seen you this worked up, you’re usually so calm and collected.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Hailey cried, mumbling into Nat's shoulder.

“The hormones no doubt, I remember them well, and from the looks of it, you are already about nine weeks along. I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out, detective.” Natalie smirks as she pulls back, pulling up the results on the tablet for Hailey to look at, she didn’t really understand any of it but she appreciated it nonetheless.

“Sometimes I miss my periods...the stress at work...I just figured.” Hailey shrugs, her heart thumping hard in her chest as it all suddenly felt so much more real than this morning. “Oh god, I’ve got to tell Jay.”

“Oh that you do, I’ll pray for the world another Halstead is on its way.”

-

“Jay…” Hailey calls out as she shrugs her jacket off, kicking her boots to the side as she enters their home.

“Hey, where have you been?” She hears him before she sees him, standing at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta and she had to resist the urge to snap a photo because even though they’d been together a while now it still amazed her anytime she saw Jay Halstead doing anything remotely domestic.

“I text to say I had something to do,” Hailey mutters wrapping her arms around him from behind, leaning her head against his back.

“Something is pretty vague babe.” She feels him wrap one arm around hers, lifting her hand slowly to press a kiss against it, she knows she’s about to change his world but he has no idea how every small thing he does settles her nerves and makes her feel safe and loved and protected. “Hailey it’s me whatever is bothering you-”

“-I’m pregnant.” She blurts out, her eyes squeezing shut as she cuts him off, the words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to know what she was doing.

“What?” Jay exclaimed, unwrapping her arms from him as he turned around, pushing her back lightly, his eyes searching hers.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry” Hailey begins to cry, huge tears welling in her eyes as she looks at his face. “I had this whole speech planned out, I was gonna tell you how in love with you I am and how great you are at taking care of the people you love and what an amazing dad you’d be and I’ve ruined it.” She groans as the tears begin to flow down her face.

“Hey hey hey, Hailey come here...don’t cry, babe.” Jay shushed her gently wrapping his arms back around her, pulling her in so his chin was resting against the top of her head.

He slowly guides them over to the sofa as Hailey tries to speak but it all sounds like a blur of apologies and hiccups to Jay. “You haven’t ruined anything.” He mumbles, rubbing her back softly as he pulls her down onto his lap, brushing the mess of blonde hair out of her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You’re pregnant?” He whispers eyes wide as she looks up at him, taking deep shaky breaths as she tries to calm herself. This was so un Hailey like, she wasn’t a huge crier at all.

“I’m pregnant.” She nods, her fingers dancing dangerously close to her abdomen as she speaks.

Jay stared at her for a moment, his eyes flicking between her face and stomach in disbelief as he tried to process the news. “We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah...is that okay?”

Hailey bites her lip, watching as Jays breaks into a huge grin that lights up his whole face, instantly squashing all her fears with one smile. “Hailey, that's more than okay. We’re gonna have a baby...there’s a baby in there right now.” He mutters, his own eyes welling with tears, as he places his large hand over her still flat stomach.

“But our job and we’ve only just moved and…”

“Hey, none of that matters as long as you’re happy...are you happy?” Jay asks, shifting back on the sofa, pulling her impossibly closer, one hand coming up to cup her face.

Hailey nods biting her lip gently, her eyes sparkling with happiness that makes Jay's heart soar. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day and I think I am...I really am happy.”

“Even to be on desk duty?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hailey exclaims wrapping her arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he begins to press light kisses along her collar bone. “Platt is like my icon...she's terrifying but totally my icon...maybe they’ll let me shadow her.”

She squirms in his lap, as he reaches her pulse point sucking lightly, knowing how much she enjoys it when he does. His grip tightening on her hips. This is why they’d managed to make a baby without even trying because she was putty in his hands, she had no willpower when his lips were on her.

“So that’s what had that lost look on your face all day...and you’re disappearing act earlier?”

“I had Nat confirm it at Med.” She nods, pushing him away lightly before they get so carried away she forgets what’s she’s trying to say. Slowly she pulls out the black and white photo Nat had given her. After they’d got her blood results back Nat had insisted they have an ultrasound to really see the baby.

“Wow…” Jay's mouth drops as Hailey laughs softly rubbing her thumb across his lip as she helps him shut it, leaning in so they can both examine the photo, a tiny black and white blob already so loved.  “Look at that.”

“Definitely a Halstead look at the size of that head.”

“Hey…” Jay shakes his head, rolling his eyes at the way Hailey smirks. “My head isn’t that big.” He pouts.

“Your head is perfect… I love you, Jay.” She whispers, taking his face in her hands as she pulls him in, her lips finally finding their home on his.

“I love you too...and I love you, little man.” Jay grins pulling away as he places his hand back over her stomach.

“Who said it was a boy?” Hailey mutters, placing her hand on top of his, all the worries of her day finally fading away, she had everything she needed right here, her tiny little family.

“I sure hope he is...man am I in trouble if it’s a little girl...hmm if we have another tiny Hailey in the house I don’t stand a chance.”

Thankyou so much for reading, leave a comment and a prompt if you feel like it. It's my first time writing for Upstead so please leave some feedback.

It's just a short drabble but I hope you like it.

Also please check out my other socials twitter and insta @oddbirdsandbooksellers for more upstead edits

[ursulaismymiddlename]

“All That’s Best of Dark and Bright” (Bucky Barnes x Reader) Epilogue - Completed

Well, it's been nearly 3 years since my last update and I felt it was time to give up the ghost.  The muse for this fic hasn't been very kind to me, but I was able to write the epilogue for the fic way back when.  So now I'm sharing this to finally put this fic (and my guilt about it) to rest.  Maybe, one day, when I'm old and gray, I'll go back and try to write the chapter that should have been before this and all the deleted scenes/one-shots I had in mind for after.  But today is not that day.  In the meantime, enjoy what was to be the epilogue for the story itself.... Sorry for the wait.

On AO3

---

A warm breeze carried the scent of sweetgrass and fresh-turned soil past you, yet the normally pleasant smell was more off-putting given the location.  The crisp spring day seemed a stark contrast to the rows of gravestones you strode past, your daughter tucked in your arms.  She’d been walking on her own for a while now, but it had been a long day and her little legs could only hold out so long.  Her face was tucked in the crook of your neck now, dozing lightly with her small feet dangling and her arms thrown around your neck in a hug.  Maybe you should have had her keep practicing across the somewhat uneven ground, but how could you pass up holding your sweet little girl with her father’s dimpled chin and your sister’s name.  Besides, it was probably best she was out of it for what you were about to do.

Stopping in front of one of the plots, you bit at your lower lip quietly a moment, uncertain how to start.  Your eyes roamed the marker as your heart thundered in your chest, eyes tracing along the letters etched in stone.  Barnes.  The name made your gut twist in knots and you had to take a shaky breath to steady yourself.

“Well, Buck.  You told me I had to tell you.  No matter where you were at or what you were doing,” you spoke quietly.  You had to sniff against the tears forming in your eyes, pet your daughter’s soft, dark curls before you could go on.  “I’m pregnant again, Bucky.  Gonna be another little Barnes running around.  Can you believe it?”

Silence met you in those few heartbeats, even the wind in the trees seeming to have stopped, waiting.  Then Bucky’s face turned up to greet you from where he knelt at the foot of the grave, his expression overjoyed and overwhelmed in equal measure despite the dark circles under his eyes from a fitful night’s rest.  After a second, he surged to his feet to grip the back of your neck and haul you in for a kiss.  Of course he’d be happy, ecstatic.  It was probably only the first stirrings of hormones that had you worrying otherwise.

“No foolin, right, sweetheart,” he breathed hopefully against your lips when he rested his forehead to yours.  “You wouldn’t play with an old man’s heart like that, would ya?”

“I just got off the phone with the doctor’s office.  I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew for sure,” you answered with a fond roll of your eyes as you grasped his hand to press his palm low on your belly.  His delighted laughter was infectious, crinkling the corners of his adoring eyes even as he turned back toward the row of grave markers.

“Ya hear that Ma? Pop,” he asked, a soft sob to his voice through his wide grin.  His eyes fell to where his fingers rested, thumb brushing aimlessly along your stomach as he stared nearly awestruck.  “Gonna be a dad again.  My sweetheart’s givin me another baby.”

“Daddy,” a small voice spoke from your shoulder, little fists rubbing against tired eyes.

“Aw, c’mere, sugar plum,” Bucky cooed sweetly.  The excitement in his voice was barely contained as he carefully took her from you, tucking her in the crook of his metal elbow with a little bounce.  “I’m sorry.  Daddy didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“No sleep, daddy,” she protested with a yawn before leaning in to press her cheek under his chin.  Her eyes slowly drifted shut again as little fingers reached up to grasp near the buttons of his shirt and Bucky ducked his head to press a kiss into her hair.

His gaze returned to you, that soft, loving expression lighting his face as his free hand cupped your jaw with flesh fingers.  As you pressed into his touch, you finally realized your cheeks had begun to ache from how much you’d been smiling.  Bucky leaned in to kiss you again, warm and lingering, like he couldn’t pull away, and even after all this time it still made your heart flutter.

“Jesus, baby, another baby,” he chuckled at himself.  Then a proud grin lit up his face.  “Can’t wait ta tell the guys.  They’re gonna be so excited.”

You fixed him with an admonishing look as you pulled his hand from your cheek to tug him toward the car.  “Oh no you don’t, mister.  You better not say a thing at the party tonight.”

“C’mon, a party’s the perfect place to tell everyone,” Bucky countered, shooting a look back over his shoulder to his parents’ plot.  You let him go, scolding yourself for being so rude and trying to rush him away.  But he only paused a moment longer, nose buried in your daughter’s hair as she snored gently.  When you slipped your hand low on his back, he hooked his arm around your shoulders to tuck you into his side before moving to guide you down the grassy row.  

You were nearly back at the car when Bucky spoke again, opening up the back door where the carseat waited.  “Can’t believe you don’t want me ta share the good news tonight.”

“Bucky,” you clucked your tongue, but with no real ire in your voice as he strapped your daughter in.  “Tonight is about Sam and Steve, not us.”

“It’s a housewarming, not an engagement party,” he snickered as he tried to click the harness quietly to avoid jostling the baby too much.  “Besides, everyone, everyone, knew before me last time.”

A little hand stayed wrapped around Bucky’s until he carefully removed it, replacing his wrist with the arm of the giant stuffed polar bear in the seat beside.  It had gone through quite a bit since he’d won it for you, from the weeks and months you were apart and it was your only comfort, to becoming your daughter’s near-constant companion after daddy told her it would watch over her in his place whenever he absolutely had to be away on a mission.  Its white fur was dingy now, with a few colorful stains and spots where you’d had to mend seams from a bit of rough handling, but it was well-loved and you wouldn’t change a thing about it.

“Okay, fine,” you said, relenting as Bucky straightened himself from the backseat.  “You can tell Steve and Sam and if they give the go ahead, you can make a big deal out of it.”

“As you wish,” he smiled with a mischievous glint while settling his hands at your waist and smothering you in another kiss that had you leaning back against the car.  Maybe you both knew those two men, who called themselves uncles before you even had a chance to, would be almost as excited as Bucky was.

After managing to pull away to catch your breath, you couldn’t help tugging the front of his shirt affectionately.  “So, you ready for another nine months of me waddling around, fat and moody?”

“Are you kiddin me, sweetheart?”  Bucky crooked an amused eyebrow at you.  “I dunno how you managed it, but you were even more beautiful when you were carryin our little girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you scoffed gently and shoved lightly at his broad chest.

It didn’t bother him one bit.  Instead, a cheeky grin spread his face and he dipped his head closer to speak in a lower tone.  “Besides, I can’t wait til them hormones hit ya and you won’t be able to keep your hands off me again.”

You snorted, trying not to be too loud with the baby sleeping closeby.  What a joke.  Since when have you ever been able to keep your hands off him?  To prove the point, you reached around and slipped your fingers into his back pockets, pulling him closer to you, which he easily complied with.  “Are you sure you can keep up with me again, old man?  We could see about getting you some Viagra...”

“Oh, you don’t gotta worry about that, kid.  Ya smart ass,” Bucky chuckled under his breath with a shake of his head, tip of his nose brushing yours before he pressed his lips to yours again.  

He kissed you thoroughly, taking his sweet time despite the awkward locale.  But stealing moments in the strangest of places and at the oddest of times had become practically a necessity since your daughter came along.  How you’d found time to make another was a miracle.  So, there were no qualms keeping you from slipping your fingers through his hair and giving over to him momentarily, letting him pour some of his joy back into you and melting a little more when his hand found your stomach again to palm just below your belly button.  The gentle intimacy of the touch sent a fluttering through your gut.  Your arms were still looped around his neck when the two of you parted, but he had no interest in moving away at the moment.  Bucky tilted his head back to regard you with a tender, disbelieving expression.

“You’re too good to me, солнышко,” he said quietly, in that familiar, vulnerable tone.  “After what I been through, I couldn’t let myself hope.  Now I got more’n I ever coulda dreamed of.  How’s a bum like me get so lucky?”

“You deserve this, Bucky,” you replied, cutting off the protest forming on his lips with a furrow of your brow and a gentle tug of his hair.  “You deserve to be happy.  You’ve earned it.”

Tongue darting out along his lower lip, Bucky shook his head with a huff before setting his smile back on you.  “And what about you, huh, Mrs. Barnes?  How’re you feelin?” 

“What can I say, Sarge,” you sighed, teasing, knowing the title sent a thrill through him as much as calling you by his last name.  Regarding him a moment, you remembered the way he looked the first time you met him, when he’d been shuffled into your house, stoic and disheveled and displaced.  Though he was still occasionally plagued by his past, it was a far cry from the man standing in your arms now.  The man who mucked through hell and still wanted to do good.  Who you were meant to help and helped you too.  Your husband, the father of your child.  Children, now.  Your fingers slid from his hair to grip his chin affectionately.  “I guess I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.”

Another bright smile greeted you as you pulled Bucky in for one more kiss before he carefully, quietly shut the back door of the car and helped you into the passenger seat.  He rounded the front of the car to slide behind the wheel, taking a glance in the backseat to check on your daughter before the engine roared to life.  Once he had the car in gear, his fingers slipped between yours on the console, thumb caressing gently over your knuckles as he threw you a grin and pulled away from the curb.

---

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[tyonfs]

i like me better (when i'm with you)

❝ jesus, mark, if you’re not going to read the room at least sparknote it.❞

PAIRING ▸ jeong jaehyun x fem!reader (ft. best friend!mark lee) 

GENRES ▸ smut, crack, fluff, friends to enemies to lovers, college au, rival sports teams 

WARNINGS ▸ more to be added as i keep writing but !! sexual !! tension !! lots of it, jealous!jaehyun, public sex, teasing, fingering, hate sex, raw sex (pls use protection), oral sex, lots of sneaking around, pool sex, mark being oblivious to his cockblocking, slight exhibitionsm, and yes actual fluff exists ! 

SUMMARY ▸ there was no one else on the planet that made your blood boil like jeong jaehyun did. you never thought that your feelings toward him were anything past pure hatred, but when you were lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your body, you couldn’t help but think that maybe a part of you didn’t completely hate his guts. (props to @chanluster​ for making me scrap my old summary bc it kinda sucked)

PLAYLIST ▸ i like me better by lauv • unravel me by sabrina claudio 

RELEASE DATE ▸ roughly around september 1st (or hopefully sooner) 

WORD COUNT ▸ probably around 10k?? or more?? idk but i have about 7k rn 

TAG LIST ▸ @gotoartistprofile @chanluster​ @steamyjaehyun 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ send me an ask if you wanna be added to the tag list !! i hope ya’ll stick around for this! i can’t wait to publish it & btw the preview is shortened down a little and isn’t the final version so some parts might be changed for the final version :)

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“You and Jaehyun,” Chenle said, “there’s some tension there.”

“Wow, Sherlock Holmes. Observant, aren’t you?” you spat, words dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve hated each other for years. Of course there’s tension.”

“Y/N, I think he means a different kind of tension,” Mark said.

“What kind of tension?” you asked, shocking the rest of them with your surprisingly innocent response. In retrospect, it was more because you couldn’t imagine the answer being anything past the realm of hatred.

While they all hesitated to respond, Johnny spoke up, “He meant the ‘I wanna beat you up and then have rough sex with you’ kind of tension.”

You immediately froze—long enough for Chenle to take a picture of your reaction—the expression on your face a cross between incredulity and visceral rage. You must have looked like a ticking time bomb because Mark had to take a cautious step back.

“Come again? Rough sex?” You were well aware of how strangled and pitched your voice sounded as soon as it escaped your lips, how guilty it sounded, but you couldn’t focus on that as the weight of Johnny’s words were sinking in. “Jaehyun and I?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Johnny answered.

“That’s a lie.”

“Yeah? Then why do you two always look at each other so weird?”

You didn’t know how to defend yourself now so you just said, “He’s a bastard and I would never see him in any other way.”

“You say that now but we all know—”

“Alright, let’s drop it,” Mark said, trying to defuse the situation before you blew it up into an argument. “I would rather go rest in my hotel room instead of being a witness of a homicide.”

“Fine, fine,” Johnny relented.

You scoffed and jabbed at his foot with yours before letting the topic go. Your squabbles with them were all in good nature, but this one somehow put you off. It was like Johnny had planted the seeds and were waiting for them to grow. You were starting to mull over every interaction you’ve had with Jeong Jaehyun.

Johnny and Chenle had made a startlingly accurate observation. You and Jaehyun did look at each other for a little too long sometimes, nearly to the point where it seemed like you were basking in the attention of the other—

No fucking way.

You were not going down that path. There was nothing more to your relationship with Jeong Jaehyung than pure hatred and resent. He was a douchebag who was intent on making you feel like shit. His only motive was to start shit again between you and Jaemin, who you would’ve completely forgotten by now if it weren’t for him.

No way. There was absolutely no undercurrent of desire that was creeping its way to be uncovered.

Or was there? a small, treacherous part of your mind offered.

You were lost in your thoughts as the coaches handed you your room key, as you waited for your roommate who was some girl named Eunha from the other school, as you made your way to your room on the fifth floor.

The only thing you could think about were those long stares, those mesmerizing eyes, and the implication behind them. You always attributed it to Jaehyun being a hormonal teenage boy, but you had to admit that you’ve seen him look at you with some semblance of lust. Perhaps that same feeling was buried far in the depths of your consciousness, too.

Could you be attracted to Jeong Jaehyun?

No, you argued with yourself, and shit, even your frontal lobe sounded unconvinced. He’s a petty bastard and that’s all he’ll ever be.

You instilled the mantra of you and Jaehyun being sworn enemies in your head, but you couldn’t help the fact that it was peppered by the memories of an irritatingly familiar smirk. You scowled, willing your head to get rid of all-things-Jeong-Jaehyun, but he was right there.

Literally. He was standing right in front of you.

“Hey, neighbor,” he teased, all too satisfied with the horrified look on your face. “Guess you can’t get rid of me.”