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heartsbyani · 3 days ago

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𐔌 현진 .ᐟ ꒱ ── "i'm burning hot? damn right i am."ㅤ♡

HWANG HYUNJIN! ⓘ you come over to his place, only to find your boyfriend burning hot. literally and figuratively. . . ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑏f!hyunjin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , crack ! 3IOOwc. ⎯�� Yᗩᑎi's ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. nicknames , kisses , intimacy , fever. ┆ 🐇 ⋮ an original drabble .ᐟ ֹ ₊

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ happy birthday to the squishiest dumpling! i wasn't sure if i'd be able to post on hyune day... but i did, thanks to the week i have off before my next exam! yn in this entire fic lowkey reminded me of my darling ishi, don't ask why >< also, dear fahrenheit users, please do not attack me. i'm a mere celsius huzz. happy reading <3

the sky outside was a dull slate gray, clouds hanging low and swollen with the promise of rain. city lights flickered through the haze, their reflections smudged against the apartment windows like forgotten brushstrokes. drops of water from the afternoon drizzle traced lazy paths down the glass, the rhythmic pattering mingling with the hum of distant traffic below.

inside, however, the atmosphere was far from serene.

the living room bore every sign of a day spent in restless sickness. a half-crumpled blanket, patterned with little stars, was tangled across the couch. an empty mug, rim stained with honeyed ginger tea, perched precariously on the coffee table next to an abandoned packet of cold medicine.

the air was tinged with the faint scent of eucalyptus and lemon, the lingering evidence of an essential oil diffuser doing its best to combat the stuffiness. the heater hummed low, emitting a warmth that made the space feel cocooned and sluggish.

but the most striking sight of all was hyunjin — sprawled across the bed like a fallen monarch, wrapped dramatically in a heap of ivory sheets. his buzzcut barely peeked from beneath the folds, and his cheeks were flushed a fevered pink.

the poor man had always been a little.. theatrical when sick, but this time? this time, he looked like he was moments from composing his own funeral hymn.

y/n nearly dropped her keys as she stepped inside.

“oh my god, hyunjin!” she kicked off her shoes hastily, the door slamming shut behind her. “you look like death.”

from the depths of the pillows, a low, pitiful groan emerged. “and yet, i’m still somehow the most handsome man alive.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at her lips. “god,” she murmured, already shrugging off her jacket and abandoning her bag on the armchair.

the warmth of the apartment immediately clung to her, a contrast to the chilly air outside. she ran a hand through her slightly damp hair, droplets clinging to the strands from the drizzle she’d escaped.

hyunjin’s eyes fluttered open, though his movements were sluggish. they were glassy, dazed, but still sparkling with that familiar playful mischief. his lips, a little dry from the fever, curled into a weak grin.

“y/n,” he croaked, voice raspy from sleep and congestion. “you’re back.”

“of course, i’m back!” her brows knit together, as a frown graced her lips. “you didn’t answer any of my texts.” she was already approaching, hands on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “you could’ve told me you were dying.”

“i wasn’t dying,” hyunjin sniffled dramatically, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed him. “i was simply… wilting. like a delicate flower.”

“oh, my poor rose,” she mocked, leaning down to press the back of her hand against his forehead. the second her skin touched his burning flesh, her brows furrowed. “jesus, hyun. you’re burning hot.”

his grin grew smug. “damn right i am.”

y/n shot him a glare, though her lips twitched with amusement. “unbelievable.”

she straightened, already scanning the room with purpose. the cluttered state of the apartment made it evident he’d been too miserable to bother tidying up. the comforter had been dragged halfway to the floor, the pillowcases crumpled and damp from sweat.

on the nightstand, a little mountain of used tissues teetered precariously. the sight alone was enough to make her sigh.

“i was going to get a kiss,” hyunjin whined weakly, watching her with puppy eyes as she disappeared into the bathroom. “where’s my ‘welcome home, my beloved’ smooch?”

y/n’s voice echoed from the tiled space. “not until i make sure you’re not actually on the verge of spontaneous combustion.”

“but i miss you,” he drawled, the dramatic edge returning. “it’s been hours. days. years, probably.”

“four hours, cuh.”

“still too long, cuh.”

when she returned, a damp towel in one hand and a thermometer in the other, hyunjin barely reacted — aside from the way his lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout.

his buzzed hair gleamed under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the sheen of sweat on his forehead making it shine.

y/n thought it was unfair, really, how he could still look so stupidly pretty while practically melting into the bed.

“come on, open up,” she instructed, holding the thermometer to his plush lips.

hyunjin obliged his lover without protest, though his eyes never left her. they followed her every move — the way her brows furrowed in worry, the soft parting of her lips as she focused.

her presence alone seemed to soothe him, like a cool breeze through a fevered haze.

after a moment, the thermometer beeped. y/n’s eyes narrowed.

“39.3 degrees,” she muttered, her heart sinking a little. “hyun, you’re literally a furnace.”

“that explains the unbearable hotness.”

“not the time.”

but even as she scolded, she couldn’t hide the tenderness in her voice. her fingers brushed over his buzzed scalp, tracing the warmth radiating from him.

the short hair suited him ridiculously well — made his sharp jawline and pretty features stand out even more. and yet, with his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, he looked more like a grumpy child than an idol adored by millions.

“i’m staying,” she declared firmly, already kicking off her socks and climbing onto the bed.

hyunjin blinked at her, eyes wide. “you don’t have to, baby. i’m fine.”

“oh sure, because i’m totally convinced by the fact that you look like a victorian orphan on his deathbed.”

“i’m merely delicate.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

but she was already tucking the blanket up to his chin, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. hyunjin melted under her touch, nuzzling into the comforter with a content hum.

he was so terribly clingy when sick — and even now, his hands sought her out, fingers curling weakly around her wrist.

“you’re the best,” he murmured, voice slurred. “my beautiful nurse. my savior.”

“i’m your babysitter,” she deadpanned.

hyunjin grinned lazily. “hot babysitter.”

y/n snorted. “sleep for a bit, patient hwang.”

“whatever you say, doc.”

and with that, his eyes fluttered shut once more, the fevered haze pulling him back under. y/n stayed close, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along his buzzed scalp, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a comforting lull. outside, the rain had begun to fall steadily, a soothing patter against the windows.

the apartment smelled like lemon balm and warmth. and despite the fever, despite the mess, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

the apartment was quiet now, save for the rhythmic sound of hyunjin’s breathing. it came slow and steady, the fever finally pulling him into a much-needed rest.

y/n watched him for a moment longer, making sure he was truly asleep. his lashes, dark against the flush of his cheeks, didn’t so much as twitch. his lips, parted slightly, had softened from their usual dramatic pouts into something innocent, almost boyish.

his fingers, which had been curled loosely around the sleeve of her sweater, finally slackened their grip.

she exhaled softly.

gently, she peeled herself away from his warmth, slipping out of the bed with careful precision. the room was dimly lit by the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp, casting elongated shadows across the walls.

the rain outside had settled into a gentle drizzle, droplets streaking against the windows like ink on parchment. the air smelled faintly of eucalyptus, a relic of the essential oils she had turned on earlier to help clear hyunjin’s congestion.

her socks padded silently against the wooden floor as she made her way out, glancing over the apartment with a newfound awareness. hyunjin wasn’t usually messy—if anything, he was meticulous about keeping his space tidy, an artist who treated both his canvases and his home with careful reverence. but sickness had a way of unraveling even the most put-together people. and today, the apartment was evidence of his fevered unrest.

his paint supplies were scattered across the living room table—a wooden palette still smeared with dried strokes of cobalt blue and burnt sienna, paintbrushes left to dry on a paper towel that had since crumpled at the edges. a few unfinished sketches were abandoned on the couch, their graphite lines smudged in places where hyunjin had likely rubbed his tired eyes.

an empty glass sat next to a bottle of vitamin c tablets, along with a half-eaten granola bar he had probably forgotten about.

y/n sighed, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. alright. time to fix this.

she started with the living room, carefully gathering the paintbrushes and rinsing them in the sink. cool water rushed over her fingers, the bristles softening as the leftover pigment bled away, swirling in delicate patterns down the drain. she arranged them neatly in a cup by the window, letting them dry properly this time.

next, she picked up the sketches. a small smile tugged at her lips as she recognized his latest works—quick portraits, some unfinished, some detailed enough to look like they might spring to life.

one was of a woman sitting by a windowsill, her expression contemplative, lost in thought. another was more abstract, a flurry of delicate brushstrokes forming something that looked like wings. and then, of course, there was one of her.

hyunjin had drawn her dozens of times before, but it never failed to warm her heart. this one was a loose sketch, probably something he had done absentmindedly while resting—her face turned slightly to the side, strands of her hair tucked behind her ear, a soft expression in her eyes. dork.

shaking her head fondly, she stacked the papers neatly on the side table before moving on.

the bedroom came next. the blankets were still tangled from when he had shifted around earlier, his fever making him restless. she smoothed them out carefully, tucking the edges so he wouldn’t get cold.

the used tissues on the nightstand were disposed of, the mug from his previous tea taken back to the kitchen. she fluffed his pillow, letting her fingers briefly brush over the soft linen before stepping back.

the scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air, blending with the faint traces of his cologne that clung to the fabric of the bed. something warm settled in her chest.

with the apartment finally back in order, she turned to the kitchen.

the overhead light cast a soft glow over the space, illuminating the sleek countertops and the small collection of ingredients she pulled out. the rain had picked up again, tapping gently against the windowpane, a soothing backdrop to the quiet hum of the refrigerator as she rummaged through it.

soup. that’s what he needed. something warm, nourishing.

she set a pot on the stove, the sound of sizzling garlic and onions filling the air as she started cooking. the fragrance curled around her, mingling with the hints of citrus and eucalyptus still present in the apartment.

as the broth simmered, she added vegetables—thinly sliced carrots, soft potatoes, leafy greens that wilted beautifully into the golden liquid. she shredded some chicken, letting it soak in the flavors, steam rising in gentle swirls as she stirred.

the soft clink of a spoon against the ceramic pot, the occasional bubbling of the broth—it all felt strangely peaceful. outside, the city continued on, neon lights blinking through the misty evening. but here, in the cozy warmth of hyunjin’s kitchen, time felt slower, more intimate.

while the soup finished cooking, she rummaged through the cupboards for medicine. there it was—a box of cold relief capsules, the kind hyunjin always complained tasted like chalk. she grabbed them anyway, along with a fresh bottle of water, setting everything neatly on the counter.

finally, she ladled the soup into a bowl, the aroma filling the kitchen like a quiet promise of comfort. the steam curled in delicate tendrils, rising into the dim light. it smelled of warmth, of care. of home.

y/n leaned against the counter for a moment, exhaling softly.

hyunjin was still asleep, oblivious to the quiet effort she had poured into tidying his space, making sure he’d have something warm to eat when he woke.

but she didn’t mind. of course she didn't. taking care of him wasn’t a chore—it was second nature, something as effortless as breathing.

she glanced at the clock. 19:45.

the rain continued its steady rhythm against the window. the apartment was clean again, the soup was ready, the medicine waiting. everything was in place.

now, all that was left was to wait for the sleeping beauty to wake up.

in the bedroom, hyunjin was still cocooned beneath the blankets, his buzzed head barely peeking out. his fevered flush had deepened, cheeks tinged a stubborn pink. the dampness of sweat clung to his forehead, strands of hair curling against his skin. but despite it all, there was something disarmingly soft about him — his sharp features relaxed in sleep, long lashes resting gently against his cheeks.

y/n stood at the edge of the bed, a bowl of steaming chicken soup balanced carefully in her hands. the broth gleamed golden, the steam curling like tendrils of silk. it was the perfect remedy — warmth in a bowl, made with far too much love. she shifted her weight, gazing down at her sickly boyfriend.

god, he’s lucky he’s pretty.

“hyune,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

nothing. not even a twitch.

she lowered herself onto the mattress, the blankets dipping slightly under her weight. her free hand reached out, brushing gently over his forehead. he was still warm, though not as alarmingly so. the fever wasn’t gone, but it had relented — for now.

“hyunjin,” she tried again, this time pressing a soft kiss to his temple. his skin was dewy beneath her lips, and even in his sleep, he made the smallest noise of contentment.

still, no sign of waking.

“oh my god,” she muttered, setting the soup carefully on the nightstand. “you’re actually impossible.”

she leaned down, her nose brushing lightly against his. “if you don’t wake up, i’m taking all the blankets. and the pillows. maybe even your skincare.”

that did it.

his lashes fluttered, and with a low groan, hyunjin cracked one eye open. “you wouldn’t dare.”

y/n grinned, already cupping his face between her hands. “i would. and i’d post your bare, moisturized face on instagram. hashtag ‘fever chic.’”

“evil,” he rasped, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. his voice was hoarse, deepened further by sleep and congestion. somehow, it still managed to sound ridiculously attractive.

“you sound like you’ve been chain-smoking for a decade.”

“i sound sexy.”

“you sound like a gremlin.”

he chuckled — a low, rough sound that only made him wince. “ouch.”

“that’s what you get for being cocky while half-dead.”

hyunjin hummed dramatically, letting his eyes flutter shut again. “fine. let me die beautifully.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t miss the small, teasing smile playing on his lips. “not happening. you’re getting soup. and meds. and possibly a smack if you keep up with the theatrics.”

“i thought you loved my theatrics,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he burrowed further into the pillows.

“i tolerate them.” she carded her fingers gently through his buzzed hair, the short strands soft against her fingertips. “now come on. sit up for me, baby.”

with a dramatic groan — as though she’d asked him to scale mount everest — hyunjin finally shifted. his limbs were slow and heavy, the fever still anchoring him. y/n tucked an arm behind his back, guiding him carefully until he was propped against the pillows. the blankets pooled around his waist, the flush of his bare chest visible beneath the dim light. his skin gleamed slightly from the fever’s sheen, but the sight of him, even like this, still made her heart stumble.

“you’re staring,” he rasped, eyes half-lidded.

“i’m admiring, yes,” she corrected, fingers tracing lightly over his jawline. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“damn right i am.”

she swatted him lightly on the shoulder, earning a lazy grin. “stay put.”

reaching for the bowl of soup, she gave it one last stir before settling it in her lap. the steam curled up between them, the scent of garlic, ginger, and tender chicken filling the air.

“you cooked?” hyunjin asked, his eyes shining even through the fever haze.

“of course.” she blew gently on the spoonful of broth, then held it up. “i don’t trust you to eat without spilling it all over yourself.”

“i’m a grown man.”

“you’re a sick man.”

“same difference.”

but even as he whined, he parted his lips obediently, letting her feed him the first spoonful. the warmth of the broth seemed to melt into him instantly, his tense shoulders relaxing as the flavor settled. his eyes fluttered shut with a soft hum of approval.

“okay,” he mumbled. “that’s stupid good. you have god's hands.”

y/n grinned, scooping up another bite. “i know.”

and so it went. spoonful after spoonful, hyunjin accepting each bite with minimal complaint — though not without the occasional dramatic sigh, just to keep her on her toes. the warmth seeped into his bones, soothing the ache that had plagued him all day.

every so often, y/n’s fingers would brush against his skin, adjusting the blankets or tucking a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. each touch lingered, soft and reassuring.

“you’re the best,” he murmured between bites, his voice still low and gravelly.

“i know.”

“my angel.”

“mhm.”

“my goddess.”

“mhm..”

“my muse. my light. my—”

“i swear to god, if you say one more word, i’m mixing cough syrup into your soup.”

his eyes gleamed mischievously. “kinky.”

“says you.”

but she was laughing, her nose crinkling in that way that made hyunjin’s chest ache for entirely different reasons. she reached for a tissue, gently dabbing at the corner of his lips, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. the rain could pour, the city could buzz — but here, wrapped in warmth and laughter, nothing else mattered.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “for everything.”

y/n tilted her head, her fingers brushing along his jawline. “you’d do the same for me.”

“in a heartbeat.”

and with that, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers. the kiss was gentle, fevered warmth meeting cool tenderness. he tasted like salt and broth and something undeniably hyunjin — familiar, grounding, home.

“ew,” she muttered playfully, pulling away. “you taste like sick.”

“still hot though.”

“debatable.”

but her laughter filled the space, mingling with his, and as hyunjin curled back into the blankets, y/n tucked him in without a word. the fever would pass, the mess would return, and the city would wake again.

but tonight?

tonight, they had soup, kisses, and the soft hum of rain. and that was more than enough.

⤿ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑟𝘵𝑎𝑔. @its-stayville-forever @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos — send in an ask, message or reply, to be added !! ✶

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flowyisdead4554 · 18 hours ago

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I love your Killer so much, theres something about him that makes me see hope in people. Hope in humanity as itself.

I believe Nightmare could heal if he wanted to, you already made a few comics of him and Color talking and stuff.

I sometimes wish... Life wouldn't be so complicated.

Emotions are complicated.

Its hard to let myself acknowledge emotions. To not hate them.

I am similar to Killer that way, but I think I am far more terrified of them.

I get easily attached, leading to pain when a person doesn't want to spend time with me.

I sometimes wish those emotions would go away... But in the end, when i read this, i understand that life, and emotions, are a gift in a way. Sorry for the rambling.

Thank you for the beautiful comic, it says a lot.

A little life update

Killer making a long awaited call to get somethings off his chest as another step to heal? Yes sir

#Killer is a special guy #I feel like him a lot #but also like Ink in a way #thats depressing

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hotchnerwrites · 3 days ago

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hi!! love your hotch fics so much. I have a request for a hotch fic with a bau reader, maybe someone who’s very extroverted with the team but shy around hotch and hotch notices. up to you where you want to take it!!

The Olive Branch

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, mutual crushes, minor misunderstanding

A/N: i JUMPED at this request, i have been wanting to write this for so long omfgggg!!!! i hope u like it!!! enjoy <3

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

PS. I've stopped adding the three starter pics to my fics (hopefully temporarily) bc tumblr is being uncooperative and won't minimise them. looks nasty with 3 images smh.

It was his job to read people. To break down micro-expressions, decode behavioural changes, and anticipate actions before they happen. In the field, these skills had saved the lives of victims and team members alike.

But somehow, when it came to you, Aaron Hotchner found himself at a complete loss.

It wasn’t something he had noticed consciously. At least, not at first. When you arrived on your first day of work, he had made some superficial observations that remained at the edge of your awareness— quick to befriend the team, understand their dynamics and find your niche. You were so vibrant and easy with the others. You went toe-to-toe with Morgan’s teasing and could even keep up with Reid’s incessant chatter.

But with Aaron? A clipped “Yes, sir” or an awkward “Of course, Agent Hotchner”. It was always stilted, and he got the feeling that you carefully measured your words when interacting with him.

It wasn’t outright hostility. You were his coworker at the end of the day. But it wasn’t comfortable either. And Hotch had spent far too long being avoided by people outside of work to mistake it for anything else.

You did not like him.

Aaron didn’t blame you for it. He knew his reputation as a Unit Chief— he was a hard-ass; he demanded a lot and could shut down jokes in the middle of a case. He barely even spoke about his life outside work. He had spent years convincing himself that maintaining this distance was necessary, that he couldn’t afford to be anyone’s friend, lest he put them in harm’s way.

But with you? Aaron couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of regret at the way things had turned out.

———

The idea wasn’t fully formed. Hell, it was barely a concept of an idea.

It had been a long day of paperwork, and as the others were heading out for the night, Hotch noticed you skulking around García’s desk, staring at something.

A pen. Not just any pen— it was an engraved fountain pen that Penelope’s stepfather had gifted her.

“Pretty,” you had mumbled to yourself, “I used to have one just like that.”

It was a simple enough thing, and Hotch didn’t waste time overthinking it. The next day, he picked up a similar pen— nothing overly expensive, just well-made and practical, personal but not intimate.

A peace offering.

It was Aaron’s attempt at making things right.

———

He left it on your desk before the day started with a short note.

Thought you might like this. - A.H.

He’d be lying if he wasn’t nervous. Still, he tried not to set his expectations too high.

But then he watched you find the pen.

You froze, fingers dancing over the box as if afraid to touch it. Then, carefully, you picked it up, turning it over like it was made of glass.

Hotch didn’t know what he had expected. A thank you? A nod of acknowledgement? Less awkward interactions? That would have been enough. Instead, you smiled. A small, private thing. The kind you offered JJ in quiet moments or to Emily after a tough case. A real genuine smile.

And then— you sought him out.

“Sir,” you started, cornering him after a briefing. Your tone was muted as usual, but there was no note of avoidance in it anymore. Just something he couldn’t quite place. “Thank you. For the pen. You didn’t have to… but I really appreciate it.”

Aaron had opened his mouth to brush it off, to tell you it was nothing, but then you dropped your gaze, fingers fidgeting with the cap of the pen. He couldn’t quite put a finger on your body language… but it was slowly dawning on him.

Aaron Hotchner was realising that he had read you incredibly wrong.

———

The realisation didn’t fully hit him until later that night.

He’d been reviewing annual evaluations, half a glass of bourbon abandoned at the edge of his desk. He’d been fighting sleep for over an hour now— it had been a long week.

Aaron’s mind kept circling back to you. To your smile when you’d picked the pen up.

You, who were always warm and open with the team but hesitant and distant from him. You, who had nevertheless accepted his gift with something more than gratitude. You, who lingered just a fraction of a second too long after thanking him, eyes nervously darting up to his before skittering away.

Hotch exhaled audibly, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t get the image of the way you had looked at him today out of his mind. You had really looked at him, a mixture of hesitance and nerves. The pen had been an underdeveloped idea for extending an olive branch, but you had smiled at it like it meant something.

As he stared off into space, paperwork long forgotten, the pieces slowly clicked into place with the kind of clarity that made him feel like an absolute idiot.

You weren’t shy around him because you disliked him.

In fact, therein lay the answer.

You were shy around him because you liked him.

It should’ve been so obvious. The very idea of it. It had danced around his face, and had it been anyone else, he would have seen it immediately. Yet, when it came to himself, apparently he was blind.

A profiler, indeed.

Aaron wasn’t sure what to do with this epiphany. Was he allowed to do anything? But also, did he really care that much about outdated FBI guidelines? He only knew one thing. For the first time in a long time, the idea of someone likinghim— not respecting, not tolerating, but actually liking him— made something warm and fuzzy settle in his chest.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Then he huffed a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head at his ignorance.

Maybe he was getting old.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

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ellierium · 1 day ago

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☣︎ ₊˚.⋆ 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⋆⁺₊

cw: nsfw and sfw themes ahead. mdni. cannibalism as a metaphor for love and sex (not really a metaphor). mentions of violence, blood, slight gore. mentions of pussy eating, face riding, bondage, venom as a sex toy.

a/n: yeaaahhhhh so im just combining my old hyper fixations together atp. thank you for reading!

𝐬𝐟𝐰:

✮ having a symbiote is not for the weak. since she's a host, she gets the wonderful gift of host communication. having a telepathic link with venom — affectionately known as "v" — means there's another voice in her head that isn't her own. he's very loud, very obnoxious, but fucking funny. you laugh at his outburst almost as much as she cringes at them.

✮ her "accident" and the whole reason she and venom are attached left her with a lot of scars. she has various scars from when she first started learning how to work with venom, before they were able to get a hang of the regenerative healing. in all honesty, she doesn't want them all gone. especially not the giant scar in her abdomen from being impaled, which made venom keep her alive. the story is not necessarily unknown to you but there are details abby refuses to share. and although v likes to give her a hard time, he slithers out of sight if you turn his attention to him during a conversation like that.

✮ she and venom absolutely love indie horror games and platform games. she tends to stream her playing them with venom. she's got a few hundred thousand followers on twitch just because her and venom’s reactions are hilarious. he likes saying hello to everyone in a very obnoxious way, but absolutely goes nuts when they see you in the chat. v and abby are connected, at the end of the day, and share that excitement for you. and obsession, of course.

✮ besides being unserious on social media, she works as a journalist for the daily globe, a newspaper in the heart of new york city. they tend to cover a lot of drama about spider-woman and her fights of the week. anderson is known for providing ratings regarding the fights.

✮ she's really awkward. venom is not a romancer of any sort but he does get obsessed. it leads to him having very interesting impulses. and abby's equally obsessed but is the only sane mind here. so she's gotta keep it under wraps when she sees you.

✮ she rides a motorcycle. beautiful thing that her dad left her, and she's always picking you up for dates on that thing. she'd been kind enough to already have an extra helmet for you. not that you'd need it seeing as venom had taken a liking to you and wouldn't allow you to get hurt in any way, but still. it was a nice sentiment.

✮ she and venom are very protective of you. it's interesting being with them seeing as its a her-him-them scenario. two of them, but its still abby overall. abby the host, abby the one with the last say, and venom who obeys.

✮ venom offers the ultimate of scary dog privileges. he'll snatch poor pigeons out of the sky at any frustration. and seeing how venom tends to be a reflection of abby's thoughts and feelings, its worth noting how embarrassed she gets when he expresses her frustration, disapproval, and worst of all, annoyance. anyone flirting with you in front of her never fails to make venom snap his jaws when they turn their backs. its a very common occurrence that abby has to keep him from biting people's heads off.

✮ they love chocolate. chocolate is the only thing that keeps venom satiated between actual meals — which are few and far in between considering the ethical dilemmas that come about. its not polite to eat people. but there are moments!

✮ if you give the okay, venom likes to attach himself to you, too. a brief hug is what its like, but he's cold, sticky, then gets warm as he adjusts to your body temperature. abby thinks its sweet, and as much as it weirded you out at first, you got used to venom on your shoulders. it doesn't go on for too long, just enough for you to know what it feels like for abby. she thinks its sweet that you care so much about it.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰:

✮ both abby and venom love when abby uses their... abilities... to form a strap. abby can feel the way your cunt tightens around her and it drives her insane. no need to buy any!

✮ venom tends to always blurt out whatever sexual thought abby thinks about for too long, so she tries very hard not to think about you. of course she fails, and of course venom blurts it out anyway. happens mostly when you're wearing something with easy access.

✮ being loved by abby means being loved by a monster of sorts, and that means teeth, blood, scars. evidence of love left behind on your body — bites on your neck, nail marks on your back and thighs. abby unable to fully control herself, venom, and its claws, too, that she can't help but scratch you with. careful not to hurt you too bad, but venom would be there to heal you in the worst case scenario.

✮ gets so pussy drunk, it’s insane. laps at you for hours, begs for a little more each time. rubs her clit with one hand, fingers you with the other, tongue and lips never leaving your pussy and she’ll keep going just like that. could cum over and over again just from that.

✮ likes her hair being pulled, especially if its in a braid. only has her hair loose if it’s the end of the day. guide her by her hair, use it like a damn leash, she doesn’t care. will shake and moan from that alone.

✮ will grind against anything to get her off. your thigh, your hand, your pussy, your mouth — doesn't matter. get her desperate enough and she will!

✮ loves tying you up and who needs rope when you have venom? black sticky tendrils wrapped around your arms and legs, prying you open and abby controlling it all. makes sure to sit still or her grip will tighten!

✮ bites like hell. claws and scratches like hell. constantly holding herself back so she doesn't hurt anyone but she's needy. and if venom wants to eat you, parts of you, the whole of you — would you let them? abby and venom hungry for you only. begging for you only.

✮ sensory play will kill her. in a good way. enhanced hearing and vision now with venom so it definitely throws them off (in a good way!). take one or both away and she'll feel soooo good when you touch her. everything dialed to a hundred. goosebumps on her skin and your name on her lips.

✮ absolutely adores dirty talk. wants to hear any and everything you think about with her-them involved. loves knowing things. wants to think about it for the next few days since the marks will heal soon.

#do y'all see where im goin with this lmfao #ೃ⁀➷; ellierium writes #abby x you #abby smut #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson headcanons

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oofmybad · 2 days ago

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Ankles

synopsis: you and your girlfriend, billie, take the lazy morning gently. the sweet moment slowly progresses into something more passionate. based off the song ‘ankles’ by lucy dacus.

warnings: billie x reader, fluffy smut, sub-ish billie x dom-ish reader, soft switch vibes, lowercase intended

🎶“Help me with the crossword in the mornings

You are gonna make me tea

Gonna ask me how did I sleep…

And take me like you do in your dreams” 🎶

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

laying on your left side in fetal position, you reach out your right hand and pat the bed in search for your girlfriend’s body - but no luck. you huff in dissapointment and peel one of your eyes open to ensure she isn’t in bed with you.

“billie…?” you call out into the abyss. no reponse. dissapointed, you roll over and pad out of bed, heading towards your en suite bathroom. now stood in front of the mirror over the sink, your eyes finally open all the way and you trill your lips at the messy sight in front of you. your hair is sticking up in every direction, and you have sleep in the corners of your eyes. you lean down to the sink and splash your face with cold water - ridding your face of the signs of your recent slumber.

next, you swipe toothpaste onto your electric toothbrush head and push it itno your pouting mouth. a few minutes go by and you spit out the foam, splashing your face with water once again. this time, you delicately lather mousiturizer across your face using your middle and ring fingers on both of your hands. satisfied by your slightly improved appearance, you grab your hairbrush out of the cabinet and comb through the knots that have accumulated on your head. to keep any from returning, you braid your hair loosely - swinging it behind you once you’re done.

slowly walking your way back to the bed, you tap your phone and check the time. you note that it’s saturday, so you decide to get back into bed instead of making it - soaking the day off work. tucked up once again, you reach into the draw at the top of your nightstand and pull out your little book of crosswords. opening the book to the page bookmarked with a pen, you grab your reading glasses and slide them up your nose.

five or ten minutes pass of you periodically writing in letters into the appropriate boxes, your pen rhythmically tapping against the page when you’re not writing. you hear a soft knock on the bedroom door coming from the far end of the bed, and in walks billie holding two mugs.

“good morning, pretty girl” billie approaches you, holding out the turquoise mojave glaze mug in front of you, “how’d you sleep?”

“thank you” you mumble sleepily, smiling at billie. looking down, you notice that billie made you your favorite - a chai latte. “ugh, you’re the best!... i slept good, missed you when i woke up, though.” you say.

billie simply laughs and clambers into bed next to you, careful not to spill any of her chamomile tea. “whatcha got there?” she asks you, pointing at your book with her nose.

“i just have one left now, i’ve been tryna get it for days” you say, blowing into your mug and holding out the book in front of billie so that she can see the clue.

“claustrophobic” billie states plainly.

“what?”

“claustrophobic, that’s the answer” she reiterates. you pull the book back in front of you, counting the word into the boxes in your mind.

“fuck! how did you get that so fast? i’ve been trying for ages” you ask exaserbated, a pout on your lips.

“beginner’s luck?” billie feigns with a wince-smile on her face.

“grrr, do you have to be so good at everything?!” you grumble as you hand billie the pen to write in the answer.

billie mouthes the word ‘claustrophobic’ as she writes it, clearly making sure she spells it correctly. now that the crossword is complete, billie snaps the book shut - sure to mark the next page with the pen, though.

as she places the book on her nightstand, she puts her mug down too. she turns around and straddles your hips with you sat upright underneath her. billie goes in to tickle your sides teasing, “don’t be a grump” with a laugh.

“ah! billie, i’m gonna spill this on you!” you yelp, not wanting to burn her with the hot coconut milk. you bring the mug up to meet your pursed lips and take a big sip so that the level is lower in the cup - less likely to spill. “mmmm, baby. so good” you say, the spicy cinnamon-y warmth soothing your throat and lift your eyes to meet hers.

“yeah? i’m glad” she replies, leaning in to peck your lips. you continue to take sips as billie remains on your lap just drawing shapes against your sides.

“that still tickles, bil.”

“i know” billie responds with a cheeky grin, her gaze never leaving your tummy. “quit it” you huff, using your free hand to capture her wrist. but since billie has two free hands, she continues her antics using her other hand.

“why’re you so clingy today?” you coo at her. billie’s eyes shoot up to meet yours, a look of embarassment adorning her features as her hands retreat. “it’s cute, baby. i’m just curious” you reassure her.

“i just love you extra this morning” billie says, taking the nearly empty mug out of your grasp and placing it on your bedside table. billie grabs hold of both of your arms and throws them around her waist as she leans down into your body. you chuckle at her actions, but follow her implications nonetheless. as she nuzzles into your neck, you leave a soft kiss against hers making her giggle and move her head to give you better access.

following her cue, you leave another kiss on her neck, this time your lips linger - the kiss now open and wet. you stroke your tongue against her collarbone, nibbling against the bone for just a second. billie’s shoulder jerks at this and she lets out a little gasp. you laugh into her skin and mumble “ohhh, i see why you’re so clingy”, billie’s intentions obvious to you now.

your hands unclasp from around her body and grasp onto her sides, tickling billie now. she leans back, cackling, and you lean forward with her - your body chasing after her own.

“stop!…please!” billie yells amidst a laugh. “karma, my love” you continue to tickle her but soon stop to allow her to catch her breath - both of your laughter matching. once her breathing returns back to normal, you pull billie up against you and your lips meet. you two passionately make out, your mouths moving slowly, but deepening by the second. one of your hands reaches up to stroke billie’s cheek as you pull away from the kiss.

billie leans her forehead against yours and whispers into you, “touch me, please.”

you smile at her words and the hand that is against her waist snakes round to pet her core - only covered by her underwear. “you’re so wet baby, you need me badly, huh?”

billie doesnt say anything, but she nods and uses her own hand to mirror your actions. with her hand now cupping your clothed pussy, your breath hitches from the new feeling. desire is now swirling between the two of you - both of you waiting to take the full step, wanting to feel the sweet longing a little longer.

billie begins to grind her hips against your hand, her need starting to become overwhelming, so you move your fingers with her - still touching her over her panties. “please” billie breathes out.

“i know, my love” you coo, your right hand still stroking her cheek. you use your left hand to move the fabric to the side and tease her entrance with your middle and ring finger. billie takes a deep breath in and reaches her own hand down underneath your underwear. both of you push your fingers into eachother at the same time, your heavy breathing is fanning against each others faces.

“baby...” you gasp. billie reaches her free hand to cradle your neck as she kisses it. her actions urge you to create a rhythm with your fingers - you pushing in deeper and more regularly, now. billie follows your lead and reciprocates the action. soon, you’re both breathing into eachothers’ mouths and grinding against the other’s hand.

billie’s hips start to move more vigourously, her body being free-er than yours - allowing you to place your thumb against her clit.

“ungh!” billie moans out at the added pressure. you feel her walls clench around your fingers, causing you to let out a breathy moan in your girlfriend’s ear.

“keep riding my fingers, baby. you’re doing so well” you whisper into her shoulder, lightly biting down on it. your words add to billie’s pleasure. “i want you to cum with me” she says, her forhead rested on your shoulder, as she begins to focus on her fingers inside you. she moves her touch so that her fingers are hooking onto your g-spot and her thumb is circling against your clit.

billie’s touch makes your arm stutter, both of you approaching your peak rapidly, so she begins to grind harder against your hand to compensate for your halted movements.

“i’m gonna cum, my love. cum with me” billie says as she pulls her head back and makes longing eye contact with you. “cum on my fingers, baby” you say back, meeting her gaze, your thumb continues to stroke her cheek.

the two of you keep grinding your hips against eachother’s hands as you simultaneously reach your climax. “uhh fuck!” billie moans, louder than before. “my preety baby, you feel so good” you soothe her.

after a few moments, the two of you come down from your orgasms, your hips slowing with each rocking motion. now frozen, billie lets her body fall on top of yours, both of your fingers still inside one another. you use your free hand to hold her waist as your thumb stokes the dip of her spine.

“i love you… so much” billie mumbles into you, her breath fanning your neck.

“i love you more” you reply, guiding billie’s body up slightly so that you can pull your fingers out of her - wanting only to comfort her now.

#billie eilish #billie #lesbian #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x y/n #billie x reader #billie x you #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish blurb #spotify #lucy dacus

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viasdreams · 1 day ago

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Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ mpreg is very real

previous ~ masterlist ~ after route one ~ after route two

a/n: last main story chpt T_T theres still more to come, dont fret too much. thank yall for reading if you made it this far, im so happy that so many of yall love this story as much as i do 😋 i love you! MUAH 💋

taglist (open): @miyawwn @nanaxwi @mystverse @mmoonlee @dudekiss3r @honeynanamin @haefelt @nneteyamss @iamsimplyasimp @roseangelxfuma @haechsworld @hyuck-me @catpjimin @toyoongg @sthwaaberry @kim-seungmins-gf @sunghoonsgfreal @sunflowerhae @galacticnct @slayhaechan @multifandomania @jasluvsjae @injunnie-lemon @swanyvess @hahaechans @aerivrs @kirbrary @akunoeyebrows @snowyseungs @keeryverse @alethea-moon @flaminghotyourmom @elsbunny @introvertatitsfinest @ypoom151999 @1starqi @emptynote @wonswondrland @smilefordongil @onlyforyoukook @gomdoleemyson @jaehyunandonly @kukkurookkoo @lampcults @nightcat101 @hyuckna25 @yanagisprettygf

(if the tag doesn’t go through, plz check your privacy settings ☺️)

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sandwitchstories · 2 days ago

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She's Not Wrong

Hi everyone!! Just sharing a little drabble I've had taking up space in my brain for days now! I hope this little exchange gives you a laugh, I know it made me giggle as I wrote it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!

For more adventures with Mouse and Sukuna, check out my Daddy Duty Series on my AO3 - Here! )

If you prefer to read on AO3 please click here !

Summary: Mouse is struggling with the adjustment to being a big sister and having a baby in the house. It's day two with two kids and Mouse has some suggestions of how to handle a crying baby.

WC: 800+

CW: Reader referred to as Mama but not described, new siblings, breast feeding, Boob humor, Dad!sukuna, dilf sukuna, family fluff, SFW, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, boy dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms),

“Papa! Put it back! It too loud!” Mouse said loudly as she clapped her hands over her ears.

Sukuna sighed and rolled his eyes. “I cannot put your baby brother back, Mouse.”

“Papa, quick! Eat him!” she said, pointing at the baby wiggling and crying in your arms.

“Mouse, I am not going to eat your brother.” Sukuna gave her an unamused glare. “I mean look at him. He has no fat on him. Meat needs fat to have flavor. Not to mention he’s even more of a runt than you were. He’s not even an appetizer at this point.”

“Not helping,” you glared at your husband.

“Then sell him.” She said with a look of agony on her face.

“Not happening.” It was only day two with the new baby and already Sukuna was wondering if you should have decided to be one and done.

“Mouse,” you said her name, getting her attention as you tried to soothe the baby. “I know he’s loud-”

“And very stinky!” Mouse said, pinching her nose from where she sat perched on her father’s leg. She added a dramatic fanning of the air in front of her face.

“But he is just a baby. It’s only his second day on earth. Crying is the only way he can talk to us,” you tried to explain in a tired tone.

Tired did not describe it. You were beyond exhausted. Your son, nicknamed Monkey yesterday by the same sister who wanted him annexed today, was fighting going down for a nap.

You didn’t remember being this exhausted the first time around. Then again, Mouse had been easier to soothe and you hadn’t been simultaneously trying to wrangle and soothe a toddler who was used to having you and her father completely to herself.

Mouse pressed her lips together, a look of concentration coming over her face. She hummed in a tone you had never heard her make before as she stared down the baby still making noise in your arms. You took in her antics, trying to figure out what she was trying to do.

Sukuna arched his eyebrow at his little imp. “What are you doing, brat?”

“Shh, please and thank you, Papa. I tryin’ to understand him,” she said, leaning forward as far as Sukuna’s hand on her belly would let her go.

You struggled not to laugh at just how serious her expression was. It warmed your heart that she had gone from trying to oust the baby to trying to understand him in a moment’s time. Maybe there is hope yet. “What do you think he is saying?”

Mouse gave a hum before sitting back and looking up at you. “Him still hungry, Mama. Him saying give him a boob, please and thank you, Mama. Just give him a boob and he’ll go night night.”

Sukuna choked on air, sputtering at her response. He was unable to stop his head from falling back against the headboard and the laughter from falling from his lips. You could almost swear you saw tears in his eyes as he wheezed at her wording. You narrowed your eyes, realizing he was going to be absolutely useless in this situation.

“Mouse, don’t say it like that,” you said, trying not to let your husband’s immature sense of humor rub off on you when you were trying to parent your daughter. Someone needed to act like a grown up but did it have to always be you?

“But… it not wrong, Mama,” she looked very confused. “Him hungry. You milk in you boobs. Him eat from you boobs. Him eats then him sleeps.”

“You are correct. But let's just call it feeding him, okay? No need to mention boobs when talking about eating, okay?” You said, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but also wanting to discourage the use of that phrase, no matter how accurate or amusing it was.

“Speak for yourself,” Sukuna bristled.

You ignored him and cupped Mouse’s cheek before you rearranged the baby and helped him latch. He immediately quieted down, nuzzling into your breast and resting his little hand on your chest. You kissed his head and looked at Mouse to see her giving you a smug look from the lap of her equally smug looking father.

“What’s with you two?” You asked, hand rubbing soothingly on Monkey’s back.

Mouse answered first, “Told you him was hungry.”

“It would seem you were not wrong, little Mouse. And what about you?” You asked your husband after giving Mouse a smile.

“I can’t say mine because it involves saying a word I cannot say with another word,” he smirked shamelessly at you.

Mouse looked from him to you and then decided that since she had translated for her brother, she should also translate for her father. “Mama, him means sayin’ boobs.”

“Thanks Mouse,” you groaned.

Sukuna grinned and leaned over, kissing your forehead and saying softly, “Well, yet again, she is not wrong!”

#sandwitchstories #mouse's mini-verse #dad sukuna #soft sukuna #dilf sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #ryoumen sukuna

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slutsareteacherstoo · 21 hours ago

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Me this whole chapter:

NOT EVERYBODY KNOWs😭BUT THEIR ENERGY DOES SCREAM COUPLE

“Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different.” - AND THIS IS SOOOO REAL. Like let’s just stay in the bubble and let me keep it is my own😭i dont wanna share🙅🏿‍♀️

But shout out to Savannah she’s a real one for betting on her friend 😤😤

OMG YES TO RINI!!! I LOVE HIM!!! SUCH GOOD FUCKIMG MUSIC!!!

“Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks…” - oh youre sooo real for this 🤣 and the latter half of this sentence os such universal irony rn. Like these people are playing in my face. Theyre so sick but you are sooo lovely—-tangent but back on track *resumes reading*🧐

Asia’s overstimulation and frustration was so real. And that buildup bc it really is the little things that can send you over. Like im consumed right along with her despite the masked emotions but i def snorted at the hug or choke line bc….idk….

Ooh love how in tune they are with each other like from the beginning of this chapter to the two in the cubicle like theyre mirrors frfr

—

Ooh a love the omnipresent elephant and where it appears. Like i love that. Very lyrical to me, like poetry

Well shit they did start our as a crash course and well, life comes at you fast 😕☹️

Ok Kelvin was on the mic. Also Kitty Kat by Beyoncé started playing as Kelvin calmed down and that part where sings, “We in trouble but you won’t meet me at the bridge” like damn 😔

KELVIN SAID YOU DONT KNOW? BABY I PROMISE I’LL PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS 😩🧎🏽‍♂️‍➡️PLEASE

And Asia just needs the preparation, Kel just please 🙏🏿but also Asia please dont leave him hanging 🙏🏿

He made her want to try—-this reminds of How to Make Love to a Physicist in Deesha Philyaw’s The Secret Lives of Church Ladies anthology. And like the overlap in this moment like oohhh i love connecting media!!!

Alvin over…Well…true true.

Chile not Meet Me in Amsterdam oh…these people are sick 🤣 not for you but for me. oh. If they go 3 for 3, im flipping tables but like youre super talented (duh, you know that and your work is definitely making me look inward) but i had to put on play in the background for full effect cuz 😩

YES TO MAKING IT WORK 🙏🏿😩🧎🏿‍♀️

Lmaooo yeah know get FLO on the line cuz Asia been bending her rules for this man 😭 WHEW ASIA SAID SHES LOCKING IN 🙅🏿‍♀️🔒

Tryna tamp down those 3 words…yeah no that rocket gon land you exactly there. Sorry, Kel 🤷🏿‍♀️

Not the taunting and 101 throwback with some umph 🤣 oh he was serious. He need that feedback like Janet 🤣🤣

"You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?" - 😳OH OKAY ASIA 🤭🙈

TALK YO SHIT ASIA 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔊🔊🔊

“Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing.” - All I Need by Aaliyah started playing and ooh the intensity of the moment went up x10

Wow this glaring reality has Asia up in knots. I do NOT envy her but fuck she’s playing a bit at fake happy here

Wow this part was sooo good. I was scared but we weave in and out of all there emotions like a rollercoaster frfr and I loved that. You took us on a ride, and like Asia probably wishes/thinks when will we get off and have the happy ending🤣 but ooh the tension over that last few days def came out 🤭 but also fuck😭where are going with this. Im looking at the remaining chapter titles, genius by way, but also where are we going ??? Im stressed in a good way. Imma have to go back to my fav couple after this to calm my heart rate 😅

Thank you always for writing + sharing 💜

Midterm

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

Reading a congratulatory email with kind words and instructions to sign a lucrative offer was easy. Simply slip out of your third boring morning meeting, disappear into the surprisingly vacant courtyard, and spend no less than 30 minutes oscillating between excitement and sheer panic while clicking through pages of contracts to add your digital signature to an encrypted document. Kelvin followed the plan to the letter and then some.

The hard part was stifling the urge to scream at the birds and trees during peak business hours.

Voice low and eyes shifting in search of potential eavesdroppers, he sat in pensive silence to contemplate the gravity of his decision. In a little over a month, he'd be a Chicago resident. He'd wake up in his Chicago apartment, walk the Chicago streets, pass by Chicagoans on the way to his Chicago office, and then grab dinner ingredients at a Chicago grocery store. His license would change. Mail would need a new forwarding address. Updated voter registration, new doctors, a change in insurance, learning a transit system; change after change both excited and unnerved Kelvin all at once.

Part of him wanted to barge into his Head of Creative's office and slam his resignation on the table before clicking his heels together on the way out the door. Fuck this job. New and greener pastures were on the horizon! The other part, the terrified part of him that'd been worried sick since Saturday morning, couldn't even say the words out loud for fear that the wooden benches would absorb and tell his secret before he'd had time to craft poetic, well-thought-out lines.

In his mind, Kelvin thought he'd managed to maintain an impenetrable poker face. To a stranger or work acquaintance unschooled in Kelvin-ology, he could come across as convincing enough to overlook. For Asia, watching him from the communal kitchen, worry causing his knee to bounce in triple time told a different story.

"You know you can just go out there and talk to him, right?" Savannah's sarcastic introduction to an otherwise quiet moment cut through Asia's brain fog enough to garner attention as she shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I'm joking," Savannah laughed, trying to ease the tension between them. Asia's quick glance at the back of Kelvin's head provided the final number of a winning lottery sequence. "Wow, you really like him. Like, you two are a couple! I knew it."

Asia tried to remain casual as she crossed her arms and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Kel is my work friend."

"Must be a hell of a work friend for you to spend the night from his place. I noticed the cabinets, but I couldn't confirm until later that day when Kelvin took a meeting from the same place."

Savannah's cheeky grin sparked fear in Asia's heart. Widening her eyes, she craned her neck to see who may have heard her business in the area.

She leaned closer, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "You can't say that out loud," she cautioned. "We're being discreet!"

"Love you so much, Asia, but literally everyone knows."

"Everyone like who?"

"Asia," Savannah reiterated. "Every. One. The main crew has a group chat and everything. You just won me $20 bee-tee-dubbs. I'll share, promise."

Panic should've set in for Asia. Maybe dread and a tinge of fear. They'd broken another rule and crossed another carefully considered boundary in the pursuit of each other. Asia should've been nervous about how their not-so-secret pining had run through the office rumor mill and what it might mean for perceptions of her professionalism as one of the few Black women in the building. But relief was the only emotion worth exploring in the immediate aftermath of Savannah's revelation.

No more hiding. No more planning entrances five minutes apart or driving separate vehicles in busy morning traffic when one would suffice. They could share dinner leftovers during lunch and stop sneaking quiet giggles at jokes shared via text. No more hiding.

Relief helped Asia slowly release the extra air tightening her lungs and expanding her chest. She nodded at nothing in particular. "I expect my cut in all ones. It's for our strip club fund."

"Oooh, spicy," Savannah sang, stepping closer to speak in a hushed whisper. "So… how's it going with you two? How different is personal time Kelvin from work Kelvin?"

"Uh, I mean, you know. He's…you know."

Any sense of calm that offered a reprieve from an onslaught of complicated feelings was quickly replaced by the need to run out of the room and vomit. Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different.

Words sputtered from her lips as she tried to offer an explanation vague enough to get Savannah off her ass. The quiet roar of glass panes sliding on a metal track clipped Asia's start-and-stop sentence, turning all attention to Kelvin as he stepped in, looking like he'd just had his heart ripped in two and was trying but failing to keep his emotions intact. Savannah didn't seem to notice when she flagged him over. Asia couldn't take her eyes off his frown and sullen expression. Kelvin knew his face had betrayed him as soon as he was close enough for a thorough look at the questions knitting Asia's brows together.

Trying to play it cool, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered a wave to both ladies. "What's up?" A greeting he'd used a million times suddenly sounded bizarre. First mistake.

"Hiii!" Savannah's severe lack of subtly pulled a reluctant laugh from Kelvin before he shifted his gaze to focus on Asia.

"Asia. You good?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?"

"I'm good now, yeah."

Anxieties feasting on his mind momentarily paused in reverence for Asia's presence. A true breath of fresh air. One he'd fight tooth and nail to keep in his life, distance be damned.

Savannah stood between the pair and their smitten grins, looking back and forth to see who'd make the first move. "This is just the cutest shit ever. I can't take it." Googly eyes slowly turned into blank stares aimed in her direction. Hint taken. "No, you're so right. I should get out of here. Asia, remember to put the thing on the slide at some point. In the one deck."

"Bye, Savannah!" Kelvin and Asia watched Savannah awkwardly scurry off to do only God knows what until they were safely alone.

Without a buffer to fill in the gaps, all the nausea-inducing worry from the morning's events came flooding back for Kelvin in another crushing wave. Had he been thinking straight, he would've opted to save such delicate news for the privacy of his living room when all the thoughts sitting jumbled like Soul Train board letters were sorted into the proper place. Unfortunately, life-changing information sure to shake the still-wet foundation on which they'd built their relationship ran off with his rationale long ago.

Kelvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when words didn't come out. He tried again. Then, one more time before finally forcing, "I have…something to tell you," into the atmosphere.

Asia tilted her head in curiosity. "So do I. Is yours good news or bad news?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered, trying to smile through the rapid thudding in his ears. "You go first."

Don't press, Asia. Resist! An inner monologue determined to usher Asia away from the sins of her past forced back 101 questions to make way for her surprise. "You know how the Moët client is looking for new artists for that summer series activation?" Kelvin nodded, vaguely remembering project details he'd contributed to in a past life. Asia reached into her back pocket to showcase two laminated passes on lanyards. "I convinced Chris and Sid to give me their passes so we could pull up. Now, we don't have to go all the way to Australia to see RINI. Fun, right?"

Kelvin recognized the big reveal as something he should be excited about. And, had present circumstances not reared its ugly head, he'd have no trouble sharing Asia's toothy grin and silly dance. He tried to fight the heavy haze clouding his day by raising his hand for a high five and flashing a vacant smile. "That's great, baby. I'm excited. Really."

So much for honesty.

Asia couldn't hide her skepticism, pushing her eyebrows high, and Kelvin couldn't hide his discomfort, which made him fidget with the contents of his front pockets.

"Yeah," Asia answered, disappointment in his half-assed reaction instantly stealing the light in her eyes and turning her bright smile into a shell of itself. "Um, what was your news? Anything good?"

Tact was never Kelvin's strong point. Breakups over text and ghosting were more his speed, no matter how much he hated that fact about himself. What everyone else saw as sleazeball behavior reserved for fuckboys deserving of eternal banishment to hell, he saw as protecting feelings.

Promises were promises, and Asia was worth more than slipping back into bad habits. Kelvin had to rip the band-aid and deal with the residual blood later. "Remember the Chicago job?" he asked, wringing his hands.

Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks, but, dammit, she thought that meant traffic on the interstate or an annoying client ask, not the nagging tug of the Midwest.

"Yeah," she answered cautiously.

Kelvin adjusted the hydrant-red beanie on his head and sighed. Rip. The. Band-Aid. "They…called me back with all my negotiation demands met. And…”

"You took the job."

Patience was never Asia's virtue. Why beat around the bush when they could lay all the bad shit on the table and try to salvage a few pieces good enough to keep for fond memories later?

"Yeah." The finished sentence turned an abstract concept into reality, weighing so heavily on him that he found looking Asia in the eye and lifting his head too difficult. He repeated after her in a low, measured voice, "I took the job."

Suddenly, Asia couldn't help but hyper-fixate on her surroundings. The low hum of two French door refrigerators holding employee lunches was annoying. It always had been, but today, it sounded like an army of flies buzzing around the mess Kelvin's news had created. Distant laughter made her nostrils flare. How dare someone find joy in a time like this? The kitchen was too big and too open to contain the grief rising within her. Then, the stupid ping of notifications on Kelvin's phone threatened to blow her gasket. The stimuli converged simultaneously, bringing fresh tears to prickle at her waterline.

Asia forced them all back while Kelvin waited for her to say something to prove she didn't hate him. She extended a closed fist in his direction to match a closed-mouth smile. "Congratulations, Kel. I'm so proud of you. If we were somewhere else, I'd hug you."

"Hug me to sneak in for a choke or a real hug?"

"A real one," Asia chuckled, the sound of it returning to her stilted and lacking the mirth she intended. "I know you're bored here. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

Past all the hurt feelings and rage bubbling in her chest, Asia couldn't allow herself to stomp out Kelvin's fire with negativity. She'd save that for a tearful phone call with Sabrina or a good cry in the shower. Kelvin needed reassurance that he'd made the right decision, not the moaning and wailing she had planned for a moment alone.

"Yeah…" Kelvin paused to scan Asia's face for any sign of an impending adverse reaction but found none before he answered. Nothing. Not a shred of any identifiable emotion presented itself to Kelvin. Anxiety gripped him again. "Asia, don't shut me out. I know you have questions and fuckin' feelings. C'mon. Don't leave me out here by myself."

"Not here." An almost undetectable waver in her voice was enough to shatter Kelvin's heart into a million pieces. He watched her blink back tears to speak again. "Can we just be happy, please? For a little longer?"

He sighed, accepting defeat. "Okay." A mental reminder to add 'needs a moment before tough conversations' to his running list of things to know about Asia ran through his brain like neon letters on a marquee.

His index and middle fingers brushed across his puckered lips, collecting affection he quickly passed on to Asia. She kissed the spot his lips once occupied as a silent promise to revisit the subject when heightened emotions had time to return to baseline.

"You hungry? My treat."

An olive branch. Collective ease passed between them once Kelvin flashed a toothy grin at Asia and gestured ahead of him toward the courtyard doors. "After you."

What Kelvin couldn't have in her raw, unfiltered thoughts, he was more than happy to gain in a spare moment of mindless chatter over sushi a block away.

Something was better than nothing.

If left up to Asia, Chicago and all its complications would disappear because of her commitment to ignoring them.

City sounds and radio chatter on Saturday evening had spent more time filling silent gaps of conversation than Kelvin and Asia had for two straight days. The elephant in the room quickly became the elephant at the dinner table late Thursday night when Asia side-stepped the topic to discuss Married at First Sight instead, the elephant in the bedroom when the thought of Chicago kept her mind wandering too much to enjoy Kelvin feasting between her legs, and the elephant in the backseat while she pretended not to notice her boyfriend stealing glances at the red light.

Given the chance, Asia could avoid broaching the topic for weeks. Kelvin, on the other hand, couldn't ignore issues festering into resentment day by day. Before long, he'd carefully label boxes and precious belongings to ship to their new home. Being on the brink of drastic change without a resolution wasn't an option.

Standstill traffic and a small car accident separating them from their destination provided the perfect opportunity to catch Asia in close quarters and force the issue. Kelvin took a deep breath and slowly turned the volume down on one of Tyler the Creators' piano-heavy tracks, earning a confused side-eye for his behavior.

"Everything okay," Asia asked, shifting her body towards Kelvin so he could feel the full weight of her annoyance.

He shrugged. "You tell me, Asia. I'm not the one tiptoeing around some really important shit right now. Is everything okay?"

"Kelvin, not right now. We can talk about it when we get back tonight."

Arms crossed at her chest, and a deep frown sent Asia retreating into herself, frustrating Kelvin to the point of no return. When he imagined the first roadblock in their relationship, hogging the covers or choosing the thermostat's temperature came to mind. He expected little hurdles to make room for the big stuff. The relationship-altering, make-or-break whammies either strengthened a couple or sent them careening toward total implosion. This behemoth was a tsunami of complications he didn't expect but wouldn't allow to throw him off course.

"You said that last night and the night before. I'm tired of 'tonights!' It's happening, Asia! We can't get around the shit. So, talk to me right now!" Kelvin's body vibrated in time with his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel until he practiced in and out deep, soothing breaths brought him back off the ledge. Asia watched his shoulders slowly slump away from his ears before he reached over to rest a warm palm on her inner thigh to stroke his thumb against smooth denim, his eyes apologetic as he looked over at her. "I didn't ask you to be with me for no reason. Can we talk about what all this means for us?"

Asia rested her hand atop his to twist the ring on his finger while she tried to gather words and explanations she'd practiced for days on end. "I don't know."

In all her soul-searching and reckoning with the inevitable, she realized that she had no idea what the next steps were.

She always had the answers, the plan, and the foresight to know how to proceed in any situation. This one, though – this flurry of warm feelings filled with complicated explanations and head-spinning romance – she couldn't figure out. Not even when she turned to practical skills and timeline plotting to make it all make sense.

I don't know. Kelvin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to corner Asia for an answer, but that wasn't it. Not knowing was worse than not caring. He could deal with the finality of no longer giving a fuck. However, the uncertainty in what he thought was a reasonably black-or-white scenario was unnerving. Kelvin let the gut punch settle until Asia spoke again to soothe the pain she'd inflicted.

"How…how would it work," She questioned in a small voice, her eyes low to avoid cracking the nerve she'd built. "Tell me you have a plan. Because, if you don't, I –"

Kelvin rushed to reassure her. "I have a plan. Trust me." For once in his life, Kelvin was moving intentionally. No stone left unturned; no possibility left up to chance. "I leave in six weeks. Give me two to get my shit together, and you're on the first flight into O'Hare."

"And after that?"

"We'll talk every morning and every night. Then I'm on my way to you every other week, baby. And every other month, I'll make sure you get to me. Nonstop flight. The price doesn't matter. All you need is a packed suitcase. Or not. You can be naked the whole time. That's fine by me."

Two nonstop flights a month, airport pickups and drop-offs every other week, Fridays in, Monday mornings out, constant connection over the phone when the physical was out of the question—simple enough. There was no fluff, only a concerted effort to make a less-than-ideal situation work. The happiness didn't have to die if they didn't let it.

Still, Asia wrestled with separating idyllic assumptions from reality. What happened when schedules presented challenges? Or when the weather interrupted? Did distance make the heart grow fonder or help intertwined lives push away the realities of life together hundreds of miles apart.

Kelvin could see the wheel turning for Asia while she mulled over his proposal from every angle. "Give me a little more time, okay?" Deflating. The air in Kelvin's sails came through his nose in a disappointed huff just as traffic began to pick up enough for steady motion. She held his hand in place, hoping he could feel the intention behind her hesitancy. "I'm not closing the door on us. I need to make sure we're prepared. That's all."

The absence of an enthusiastic yes wasn't a no – another tidbit to add to Kelvin's growing Asia file. He'd have to find comfort in the details to keep her in his life. And damn, did he want to keep her in his life. His plan had more legs, including a permanent address change for Asia.

"That's okay. Take your time," he answered as he laced their fingers together and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Just don't leave me hanging like that again."

"I won't. I'm sorry."

Relationships came with a learning curve Asia had to experience to understand. No one in her life had prepared her for conflict resolution. Being an only child taught her how to play by herself and keep her secrets close to her chest. There was nothing in the manual about coexisting with another human she cared for more and more each day. She didn't know how to share items or feelings. But Kelvin made her want to try. That had to count for something.

Once tense quiet returned to the comfortable, wordless quality time Kelvin and Asia had come to enjoy, it followed them for miles to the venue until the need to mix and mingle took center stage.

In a room full of strangers intermixed with a few familiar faces, they moved around like a couple for the first time. Introductions as a tandem flowed naturally. Seeing them move from group to group hand in hand amused but didn't surprise team members who'd long had their suspicions confirmed by Savannah. 'Alvin' as one member of the group named them. Not their preferred choice, but good enough for the moment.

As alcohol flowed and inhibitions were disarmed, smooth crooning and soul-stirring baselines from the artist of the hour pushed tomorrow's problems further down the road.

Kelvin kept a hand on Asia's hip while she allowed her body to sway along with RINI's soulful cover of Leon Bridges' "That's What I Love." Hearing his voice beyond the warbling of his JBL speaker from Asia blasting music far too loudly reminded Kelvin of the first time she shared her new favorite artist with him. She made him listen to Ultraviolet twice all the way through, forcing him to commit more lyrics to memory than he ever did for any other artist. Truthfully, the music didn't hit the same when she wasn't in the room. He tried listening on his own, but it was missing something or someone to add the depth he needed to make the album spin worth his time.

Applause filled the room just after the final strum of RINI's guitar reverberated. Asia beamed from a spot toward the back. Asia claimed she was fine where she was, but Kelvin knew she was too scared to get close and act like a crazed fan. His lips found her temple for a quick kiss as RINI prepared to end his showcase.

"I gotta find a way to get out to the States more. This is great," he laughed, causing the audience to join him. "My time is ending, but I can't go without singing the song that put me on your radar. Big thanks to Moët for letting me spend some time with you tonight. I'm excited to get to work this summer. Until then, this is Meet Me in Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy."

Asia couldn't contain her squeal, earning a low laugh from Kelvin once the open notes of her favorite song began.

I would sail across the world

Row this boat from dusk till dawn

Kelvin and Asia had heard the song plenty of times together, so much so that Kelvin was tired of its slow drone and accompanying music video. Both RINI and Meet Me in Amsterdam were on his list of things he could live without and still die a happy man.

Until the lyrics started to circle too close to home. A plea for the songwriter's love to make the leap and meet him in a foreign land felt like a page ripped directly from Kelvin's journal. Had he possessed the talent, he would've sung into Asia's ear while she leaned against him, caught in the rapture of beautiful lyrics.

She didn't need Kelvin's additional vocal performance to know her partner had fallen victim to the magic. She was right there with him, letting the music speak where neither her heart nor mind could reach.

Won't you come closer; let it take over

I don't need anything; I just want you

"I just want you." The words came out before Asia could stop them. She was never one to fall into the melodrama of romance, but maybe she'd never had an adequate opportunity. Maybe all she needed was a few glasses of white wine and a man looking back at her like universes formed in her eyes to give in to what she'd always considered unrealistic and a little corny.

Kelvin wrapped an arm around her waist before dipping his head to meet her parted lips as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face. "You got me."

Turning in his arms, she faced him head-on. "I want to try. For you. Let's make it work."

"Every other week. I swear."

"I know. I believe you."

Rolling waves filled with blinding passion set their bodies aflame, connecting them for a kiss too searing to start and end in a room full of people. Some things were best experienced behind doors clumsily kicked closed after Kelvin and Asia burst through the door of his apartment connected at the mouth.

Small items clattered on the ground as they bumped into the wall, sending anything not bolted to Kelvin's entryway table scattering in the darkness. The moonlight streaming through his balcony door was the only light to illuminate their path. They couldn't care less. Kissing and fondling were their only priorities on the way to shedding extraneous clothing.

The bedroom was too far, and the couch didn't provide enough leverage for what Kelvin wanted to do for Asia. The counter was too high off the ground, unfortunately. The table, though, was perfect.

Kelvin thanked God for weightlifting as he hoisted Asia up into his arms, tongues still dancing as he walked them across the room. Asia used her forearm to swipe decorative mats and rattan charger plates to the floor so her backside could fill the empty space.

Soft panting and the light smack of lips coming together and separating rhythmically filled charged cold air. Asia flinched when Kelvin slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt to reach her bra's front clasp.

"Take this off. Hurry up," Kelvin demanded as he stepped back to pull his crewneck over his head. He didn't have time for frilly language and sweet kisses. Maybe later, when they'd calmed down from their high. This first fuck was for all the sessions they'd missed between quiet nights in and words left unsaid. A little something to take the edge off.

Zippers sliding down, garments rustling, and leather sliding out of thin loops made Kelvin's apartment sound like a department store dressing room until they were reconnected in mind and body.

Half-dressed with goosebumps pebbling an expanse of rich brown skin, lovers let their hands roam freely while they grinded against each other.

Asia moaned at the feel of teeth gently tugging her bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. "C'mon, Kel. Right now," she rushed on in one breath. "I need it."

"What about the condom? It'll only take a second." Kelvin asked, half-hoping but not expecting Asia to abandon her primary stipulation.

"Fuck a condom. C'mon."

The go-ahead to proceed with caution thrown to the wind put them on a path to the sort of carnal and fleshly satisfaction Kelvin's father warned him about before he left home at 18.

Sorry, dad. This shit feels way too good to miss out on, Kelvin thought to himself as he slid into Asia's warmth inch by inch. He was weightless for a moment, floating in otherworldly bliss while he fit himself inside her body. "Fuck," he whispered.

"Oh…yes. Yesyesyes." Asia's toes curled, gripping at nothing in a desperate attempt to remain tethered to the atmosphere. "Wait a second. Don't move." Crossing her ankles at the small of his back, Asia pulled Kelvin in a little deeper, smiling at the small groan he muffled against her skin. She just needed to feel him. In six weeks, they'd have to plan moments of intimacy and simulate sex through a screen, waiting for the day they could be together in the flesh. Tonight, with his body filling every dip and ridge like the final piece to a puzzle, they could kick the can down the road for a few more days. "Okay. I'm ready."

Agonizingly slow thrusts helped them get acquainted with one another in a new way. Kelvin lifted his head from the crook of Asia's neck, yearning to look her in the eyes for an added layer of closeness. He pecked her nose, lips, chin, cheeks, and lips again, trying to keep those three words at bay.

"Faster, baby." A firm request teetering on begging broke through Kelvin's haze while Asia tried to pull him into her body by his shoulders.

He smirked. "Oh, you can talk now?" His taunting made Asia squirm against him for extra friction before he stopped and held her in place. "You up for another lesson?"

"Mhmm," she forced out, hoping her compliance would get her closer to the real fun.

"You been quiet all week. Imma need to hear you tonight if you wanna cum."

A horny, exasperated sigh preceded a short whimper. "What? I don't know how t –"

"Yeah, you do," Kelvin encouraged. Tell me what you want, and then I'll give you what you need."

Near painful throbbing has Asia ready to agree to anything if it meant she could finally come off some of the pressure from a stressful week. Quick agreeance earned her a return to Kelvin's slow back and forth, a shiver hitting both their spines as he took a shallow dive inside.

Asia took a deep breath and tested her voice. "You - you feel so good?" She closed her eyes, hoping Kelvin would take pity on her feeble attempt only to be rewarded with nothing. She tried again. "Right there, baby."

"We'll be here all night. Relax. Be confident."

Relax. Be confident. The gentle reminder and suckling at her neck helped Asia partially release the valve on her nervousness. Kelvin rocked into her expert precision and care, waiting to hear more.

A choppy moan caught in her throat before she could speak again. "You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?"

Kelvin groaned and sped up enough for Asia to notice. She smiled, palming the back of his head to keep him close.

"There it is," he whispered. "Keep goin', beautiful. Tell me some more."

Bingo. Electricity sparking between them opened up a whole new world of vocal possibility. "I want all you got tonight, baby. Can you do that for me? Fuck me until I can't take anymore?"

"Uh-huh. I got you."

Asia rubbed circles at the nape of his neck, feeling a jolt in her body from another change in pace. "Mmm. Deeper, baby. You can do better than that, right? For me?" Her provocation ignited a burning desire for Kelvin to perform. He needed the glory. Asia dropped her talking display long enough to moan through her man putting his entire being into testing the limits of his little circular wooden table.

If sweet talk couldn't get him to knock the rings out of her, goading him with a challenge undoubtedly did the trick. Scratching against his back, demanding more depth, more speed, and more kissing spurred Kelvin into fast, furious fucking.

In no time, they were close. Deliciously, dangerously close. No protection meant no staying for the final hoorah. He had to time his exit perfectly for the right mix of precision and mutual satisfaction. Though Kelvin seemed to care, Asia was just hitting her stride.

"I think about you all day, waiting for you to fuck me just like this. I want you so bad sometimes." Asia confessed while Kelvin fucked her on his toes. "Even at work, when we’re not supposed to. That’s when I need you the most.” Grabbing the sides of his face with both hands, Asia forced him to look her in the eye. "Be good for me, baby. Make me cum."

Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing. He needed to focus. Focus on Asia's nipples rubbing against his chest and how her breaths and his started to become one. Then, the light sheen of sweat helping their bodies slide against one another. He focused on the sticky coating of arousal inviting him to rub his thumbpad against her clit.

Asia squealed, then licked Kelvin's open mouth. He rasped out a command of his own. "Come on! Come on!" Resolve began to wane. Any longer, and they'd be in the nearest drug store taking the walk of shame toward the Plan B pills.

If the walls ever decided to talk, they'd blush when recounting the vision of Asia forcing Kelvin's mouth against one of her breasts, trying to balance the sting from his hand colliding with her thigh with his warm tongue tracing braille on her areola.

Her body seized, making it almost impossible for him to pull out. Every other week on a stuffy flying bus sounded like hell, but if he had this to look forward to after the wheels touched the tarmac, he could drum up some enthusiasm in no time.

At the last moment, Kelvin forced himself out of his favorite place on earth just in time for the fruits of a mind-bending orgasm to spill from his head onto Asia's inner thigh. Together, they watched fresh semen coat supple skin, their chests heaving and ears ringing. Kelvin couldn't speak. He could only watch as Asia gathered a small amount on her fingertip and swiped it against her tongue.

Kelvin moaned when Asia moaned to relish the sensory experience of his taste. "Did I pass?" Her question fell on deaf ears, with Kelvin more focused on gathering more semen on his fingers to pop into her mouth. She treated him to a show, sucking the digits clean. She spoke again. "Answer me, baby. Did I pass?"

"With flying colors," Kelvin finally answered. Asia smiled into a searing kiss, reveling in her accomplishment. A new skill had been unlocked, and one more accolade had been added to her mental trophy case.

Another lesson to take her mind off of the inevitable. At least until the morning rolled around to wash the fresh coat of paint she'd forced over a very real, immovable problem.

RINI blasting from phone speakers dampened behind the bathroom door reminded Asia of the night before and how she'd allowed the heat of the moment to lock her into a contract she'd neglected to read the fine print on.

Facing the bedroom window, Asia snuggled deeper into warm sheets and scanned the pros and cons list on her phone. Pro #1: She could eat deep-dish pizza every other month. Con #1: Her man wouldn't be nearby multiple days a week. Which was more important. She couldn't decide. Food or the comforts of stable, local partnership?

She had started typing a new con when Kelvin emerged from the bathroom naked and moisturized from head to toe. "You awake now?"

Fuck. Asia thought she had more time to plaster on her happy face. She used a pretend yawn as her buffer. "Yeah," she answered, faking the funk. "Good morning, baby."

"Morning." Unbrushed teeth could never stop Kelvin from getting his first kiss of the day. He nuzzled his nose against hers before speaking. "Sleep okay?"

"Mhm. You?"

He nodded and slipped into bed beside her. "For the most part. I gotta show you something, though." Kelvin reached back to retrieve his phone from the nightstand's charging station. A few taps against the screen presented a short list of apartment options for Asia's inspection. "I started looking at some spots in the middle of the night. This one has a crazy second room for an office. Look at that view."

A wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape made Asia's stomach churn. Reality smacked her in the face. He was leaving and waiting on her approval on an apartment she couldn't stand in a city she wished didn't exist.

"That's so nice, baby. You can get a nice couch in there as a gaming room, too."

Kelvin considered her suggestion and nodded. "Damn, that's a good idea. I need to take you with me when I look next week. You down?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'll come." Asia shook off her rapidly increasing heartbeat and scooched closer to rest her head on Kelvin's shoulder. "Can you show me another one?"

Enthusiasm fading into meaningless sounds turned Kelvin into Charlie Brown's teacher as he gushed over layouts and natural light. She nodded along to nothing in particular. Smile. Rub his arm. Act supportive. Be the perfect girl. Just be happy for a little longer.

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#kumkaniudaku #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr. x black oc #kelvin harrison jr. smut #kelvin harrison jr fics #kelvin x asia #atiya reacts

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dontlookatme121 · 1 day ago

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here are the fics i enjoyed between march 11th-21st 2025! some new, some old. mostly smut so MDNI! (i may have forgotten a few)

characters: javier peña, joel miller, frankie morales, marcus acacius

my other fic rec lists: march 1st - 11th fic recs, main ppcu smut rec list (almost everything i read between july 2024 - feb 2025)

a/n: since people liked the last one, i’m back with more thots, fav quotes, and some must-read fics. i'm glad i could turn my smut addiction into a little hobby to share with others, i've had a lot of fun making these lists. PSA: my thoughts are a bit more crazed than the last one, sorry, the smut was just so good im losing my mind over here.

note to the authors: you guys are so talented it needs to be studied. thank you for sharing your art <3 *mwah mwah*

WARNING: some of these fics contain dark themes that could be triggering. i will try to label accordingly, but PLEASE read the warnings. not all of these are for everyone!

smut- ♡ angst- ★ fluff- ✿ dark- !!

♡ !! run by @almostempty (wc: 2k, oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: marcus acacius x f!reader

summary: general acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh [inspired by this post]

thoughts: …idek what to say about this besides it’s all i’ve ever wanted. sure, i could hypothetically be in a happy and fulfilling relationship one day… but i’ll never be hunted down in the woods by marcus acacius, sooo…

“Still fighting?” he murmurs. “Good.”

♡ !! OPEN WINDOWS by @pedgito (wc: 8.3k - oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

summary: Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

thoughts: YEAH i’m into it. unsurprisingly another banger from @pedgito.

“You’ve been watching me?” Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.” “You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

★ The boyfriend act, part 8: "The one with Dante and Beatrice" by @capuccinodoll (ch wc: 12k - series) (★- only angst as of now?)

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

chapter summary: Things are a little different in Frankie’s mind. Apparently, you’re in there more often than you think.

thoughts: HOLY SHIT I WANT THIS CHAPTER TATTOOED BEHIND MY EYELIDS. sorry. this is just so good, i have to speak my truth. i already made an offensively long reblog with some of my fav parts so ill try to keep this brief. here are some of the highlights: frankie’s pov (so the whole thing), the convo from the last ch in frankie’s pov, the textinggg, frankie worrying about the cats wellbeing, the sexual tension, the flirting, the conflicted feelings, the dinner convo, the shift in dynamic, literally everything.

♡ family matters part 1, part 2, & part 3 by @daryltwdixon (3 parts for now. plssss i need pt 4.)

pairing: joel miller x tommy’s wife!reader

summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

thoughts: AGHHHHDDJGS. what. the. fuck. this is so hot. read it.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

★ ♡ !! Blind faith part 1 & part 2 by @stylesispunk (wc: 13.6k so far - series) ?? TW !!

pairing: priest!joel miller x nightclub dancer!reader

summary: Joel found you on a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

thoughts: jesus christ, this is so good. im obsessed with every aspect of this story, and i cant waittt for part 3.

(Quote from beginning of part 2:)

In the warm sunny spring of May when the night met the dark and lights reflected on the streets bustled with kids playing and families enjoyed meals. Joel was thinking about you. The cold had been replaced by the warmth irradiating from your smiled when you passed by, the way you spoke to him. The cold had left him on May 3rd, the night you walked into town with the kind of presence that made people take a second look without knowing why. Since then, things had shifted in ways Joel hadn’t expected. He felt it now, watching the world outside from the steps of the church. The night was warm, carrying the scent of fresh bread from the bakery down the street. Laughter echoed as children played in the dim glow of streetlights, their voices mixing with the low murmur of families gathered at restaurants. But Joel wasn’t thinking about any of them. He was thinking about you. Again, and again.

♡ Strawberry Swirl by @baronessvonglitter (wc: 1.9k - oneshot)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Joel fucks you on a Ferris wheel. That is the fic.

thoughts: this is exactly what you promised and what i needed, thank you.

"You enjoyin' yourself?" he asks, wrapping his arm around you. You look up at him, the breeze whipping his graying curls. Wrinkles line his eyes, more pronounced when he smiles, and you press a kiss to his scruffy cheek then one to his soft lips. "I think we both could be having more fun.."

♡ Booty Call by @cxrsed-angel (wc: 3k - oneshot)

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem! Reader

summary: Javier calls for a booty call and of course you cant say no, even its the first time he’s coming over to your place.

thoughts: thank you for feeding my delusions with this one. this is simply a top-tier javier peña booty call fic. im always so impressed when an author fits great smut and enough characterization to make them both likable and believable into a oneshot. chefs kiss.

♡ Give up by @talaok (2 parts)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.

thoughts: to sum this up; nervous old man joel gets his dick sucked, reader expects him to leave after, but he’s a gentleman and returns the favor. joel washes his hair, they fuck. AND ITS SOOO GOOD. tommy clocking him had me giggling and kicking my feet.

dividers by: hearts divider- @uzmacchiato, mdni divider- @strangergraphics, red line divider- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

i fear that the harry castillo fics might take over the next list, so watch out.

#fic rec list #ppcu fics #ppcu smut #javier peña #javier peña fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #frankie morales #frankie morales fic #marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #pedro pascal #smut #my post #fic rec #aggnm

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usedpidemo · 2 days ago

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March Update - the end...?

Hi everyone, π here!

Hope everyone has a wonderful start to their year already and is doing well. 🙂

This update comes from rather uncertain times right now, so please bear with me.

—————

Commissions Update:

Request Link

I’ve gotten a handful of inquiries asking me for fics in the high 20 to 30k word count range, and while not a single deal has been put to paper, it does mean there is a demand, so I have introduced 3 new commission tiers to cater to said requests. So for those of you wanting me to write a grandiose epic, here's your opportunity! Please bear mind that many of my rules when commissioning a fic still apply, so please read this post first and message me privately before ordering.

With that said, I have the executive decision to adjust pricing to the current available tiers. Previously ordered commissions prior to the change will not be affected in any way. I understand that the price jump might seem a bit much, but please understand that I’m also juggling with plenty of stuff right now—from college to IRL stuff in-between writing fics. There’s a lot of commitment into putting out a work, so please understand. I’m trying my best to stay sane in the meantime.

And speaking of personal issues—

The future of this account:

I wish I could tell you that everything’s fine on our side, but the reality is far grimmer than I’d like you to believe.

The family shop we’ve been running for almost 3 years closed down back in late February. The reasoning being that there’s a big renovation of the mall our shop is based in, specifically a parking and walkway extension connecting the current shopping mall with a new one that will open sometime in 2028-2029. Previously they closed off the parking, now they've decided to close off the entire stretch where our shop lies in as well. So yes, the corporate overlords forced us out of a job and livelihood with no compensation whatsoever.

This has put us in a severe financial bind. We’re currently going through a bit of a corporate and brand restructuring, already in talks about setting up shop elsewhere. But the lack of a monthly income has begun to chip heavily into our monthly utilities and expenses. Basic necessities seem like a huge expense. Already lost electricity and water twice because we couldn’t pay on time. We’re literally just surviving day to day, only enough to get by, but just barely. Thank God we’re all perfectly healthy, but I can only imagine having to bear medical expenses as well.

In short, worst case scenario, we get financially buried, and this account is killed in the process. Not because I wanted to leave or retire—far from it—but because of circumstances beyond our control. It would be a damn shame because even four years on, I still really love writing and in a way, it’s become a lifeline for me. Met so many friends, got to experience my first events, and made unforgettable memories that I would gladly redo in another lifetime when given the chance. It may not seem apparent, given our current predicament, I’m barely hanging on—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It's hard to remain positive when all you see around you is darkness and uncertainty.

But I’m not gonna give up. Any little thing I can provide for my family, I’ll do the best I can. I know this is only temporary, a minor setback, but faith needs some action as well.

Of course, I also understand that most of you are probably reading me because it’s entertainment and a form of escape from your own respective troubles, so I won’t beg, force you to feel sorry for us, or paywall my content. Anything I write and release publicly will remain freely available in some capacity, but I also have to look out for myself during these uncertain times. I may consider doing a monthly based subscription/memberships where I can chat with you through a private Discord and give previews to upcoming work, but I don’t know if that’s worth anything, so commissions will make do for now. But if you feel obliged and compelled, any amount/form of donation will be graciously accepted. Hell, even a reblog or repost to spread the word is more than enough to help greatly.

To leave on a more positive note, I should have two releases in the coming weeks, so please look forward to that. If it hasn’t been made any clear, your continuous support is one of the few positive things I can celebrate right now, and I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for sticking through both great and hard times.

With grace,

Peter / π

#update #fanfic commissions #commissions open #commissions

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soilology · 1 day ago

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the first of my hazbin and helluva redesigns starting with my favorite character, NIFFTY!!!

pre-death story and inspirations below the cut!

before she died, niffty was a housewife, residing in the fukuoka prefecture in japan. she was married to a man for a little over 4 years. their lives were quiet, yet happy. almost. niffty had her fair share of misfortunes; she was diagnosed with OCD and had constant instrusive thoughts of aggression/violence, either towards herself or others. though her and her husband had a stable enough income, she refused treatment, afraid of the cost and it interfering with her fixed schedule. on top of her diagnosis, she also was infertile and could not have children. this saddened her, though she convinced herself it was for the best due to the fact she thought her condition would be detrimental to any kid she might have. her husband didn't like this however. he desired kids, and niffty's infertility became a source of growing resentment. her husband started to cheat on her with another woman. what began as a secret affair eventually turned into a second life- one niffty was never meant to discover. but she did. and when she did, her intrusive thoughts became far more than fleeting visions. they became consuming, vivid fantasies she could no longer suppress. the images of inflicting pain- the ones she had spent YEARS trying to silence- now felt like a promise of justice. one evening, she made their usual tea, just like she had countless times before. but this time, she stirred drain cleaner into both cups. the stench was foul. she sat across from him at the table, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips. he drank without suspicion, despite the disgusting, rotten odor coming from his cup. for a brief moment, they sat in silence, just like they always did. then, the coughing started. the retching. his throat burned, his voice strained with confusion and pain. niffty watched him struggle, her eyes dull and distant. she didn’t move to help. she only stared, feeling the same searing pain clawing at her own throat. by the time anyone found them, they were lying cold on the kitchen floor. their tea cups were shattered nearby, the sharp scent of chemicals still lingering in the air. to everyone else, it seemed like a tragic accident or a suicide pact. but only niffty, now down in hell's depths, knew the truth. she made sure they left this world together, bound by the same pain that had quietly torn them apart.

niffty's design has bothered me for many reasons, the main being that: 1. she looks like a child 2. she barely looks like a bug, what her motifs are supposed to be. 3. her hair is not 50's at ALL, which is when she supposedly died (which seems to be a major problem with vivzie's designs, the sinners do not match the era they died in.)

to combat these problems, i have her a more mature and period accurate hairstyle, as well as some lipstick! her pilot design had colored lips so i always thought of it as red lips. her original hairstyle looked more like some sort of shaggy bob, while female style's in the 50's were much more curly/wavy and well-kempt. i'm going with a 7 deadly sins motif for each of the main characters. of the sins, niffty represents ENVY.

she is now based off an asian lady beetle, which are commonly mistaken for ladybugs. lady beetles have a foul smelling odor, which i'm giving niffty as a nod/punishment to the smell of the drain cleaner that killed her and her husband. they're also known to bite as a defense mechanism. along with her buglike limbs and her spotted dress, her headband is supposed to mimic bug antenna.

as nods to her heritage, her teeth are similar to an oni (a japanese demon), and the top of her dress is crossed over like a kimono. instead of the normal correct way to wear a kimono where it is folded left over right, it is right over left, which is for dressing the dead.

if you came down this far, thanks for reading !! i really hope you like her, i think even after i re-do all of the other characters she'll be my favorite design. reblogs and constructive criticism is appreciated! <3

#anti hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel niffty #niffty #hazbin niffty #redesign #hellaverse #anti helluva boss #anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #helluverse #hellaverse critical #hazbin criticism

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pmpmyread · 13 hours ago

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Okay. I can’t hold back anymore, I must share this FANTASTIC commission crafted by the amazing @aliasnnmknt!!

A couple of weeks ago, I reached out to Teri to see if she could help me bring an idea to life. This was the first time I’d ever commissioned an idea including an original character/MC, and watching Teri turn my scattered descriptions and references into the EXACT vision I had for this character was like witnessing magic. And we all know Teri’s depictions of Nanami are always A1 (and if you don’t know, you must check out her page, yesterday lol).

The level of detail she managed to incorporate in this is truly incredible, from the braids and the charms, to the sheet music, to the specific vinyl LPs! The mood captured here, in the facial expressions, in the posture and overall body language is immaculate and so true to what I wanted to convey.

I feel so blessed to have been able to collaborate with such a talented artist and to add such a wonderful illustration to this little idea that has been trotting in my mind for a while. I keep staring at it in awe and I am using it as fuel as I put the finishing touches to this story.

Working on this was such a delight, Teri is so kind, patient and incredibly quick! Thank you @aliasnnmknt, for taking my request and for crafting such a lovely piece! Anyone reading this, run, don’t walk to her blog — she delivers banger after banger after banger!

This concept is based on an upcoming Nanami x Reader fic of mine titled Syncopation. It’s a story that tackles themes that are so meaningful to me, such as combatting stifled creativity, finding purpose in life, and learning to accept love, and it’s all set against a backdrop of modal jazz music as a genre.

I’ll be posting it in the upcoming days, in the meantime, I’ve put a snippet below, if you’d like a sneak peek:

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I hope that you'll enjoy the full story! Now go follow the wonderful @aliasnnmknt!

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanart #nanami kento fanart #nanami fanart #jjk fanart #jjk nanami #jjk x reader #nanami x you #nanami x black!reader #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #art by teri #commissioned art #pmpmyread

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zepskies · 1 day ago

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Ooooh my God, Abbie!! 😍😍

You're right, this episode is heartbreaking and it's not easy to rewrite (I've done it too and it was a doozy on my heart lol). But what I love about that in fics is everything you've included here. (Girl pls don't worry about word count. Write what you think the story needs always, is what I say! loll)

And God, this version of "Lebanon" had everything -- the Dean!Michael angst, Dean having a family, John getting to meet Dean's family, the reader getting to (gently) confront John, John and Mary's reunion, Dean and reader being such a solid, loving pair and completely adorable with Bobby John Winchester! I absolutely can't compute. I could quote this whole fic as far as amazing moments and favorite parts, but this one very much stands out to me:

“My whole family—together again. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And after Bobby was born…” His voice broke just slightly, and he let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering to his sleeping son with something deeper, something that made your heart ache. “God, I wanted it even more.” You lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, bringing him back to you. His stubble scratched against your palm as he leaned into your touch, his lashes fluttering shut for a moment like he was grounding himself in it. “Dean,” you whispered, aching for him.

This whole scene melted into my heart tbh, but Dean is just so raw and honest here. He really does feel and love and yearn down to his bones, even if he doesn't usually let himself show it or express it. I feel like in this, having her and his son in his life has allowed him to soften those edges enough to admit all this to her.

I honestly can't say this enough, but I'm just more and more in awe with your writing with every new story I get to read of yours, friend. Thanks for sharing this lovely "Lebanon" with us! 💕💕

Lebanon

Paring: Dean x Reader

Summary: A wish gone wrong right brings back a familiar face. However, you all soon discover it's not as simple as it seems when what you’ve all accomplished, and your family, hangs in the balance.

Word Count: 7.4k (yikes 😬)

Warnings/tags: Major spoilers!! S14 Ep 13 especially, angst, fluff, canon (semi) divergence, episode rewrite (kinda).

AN: Okay so this was a lovely request from an anon which you can read here. The summary of it was John interacting with his grandson, fathered by either Sam or Dean. Ofc I went with Dean on this one. Personally I struggled finding a way to fit this in and be faithful to the boy's journey. The only thing that felt right to me was what I have written. I hope that is okay anon? ❤️

Main Masterlist

You sit at the library table with Bobby, your three-year-old son, surrounded by scattered crayons and sheets of paper filled with colourful scribbles. His tiny fingers clutch a crayon tightly as he drags it across the page, his little tongue peeking out in deep concentration. His brows furrow—just like Dean’s do when he’s focused—and the sight tugs at something deep inside you.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his soft, sandy hair.

Even now, three years later, you still found yourself in awe of him. Of the fact that he was yours. That despite everything—despite the life you’d lived, the battles you’d fought, the countless times you weren’t sure you’d even see another day—you had him.

You never thought you’d even be able to have a kid after all the knocks your body had taken over the years. But then Bobby happened—an accident, sure, but never a mistake. Not once. And Dean… Dean had loved him from the second he knew he existed. He loved him with everything in him.

A lot had happened since you first met Dean. You’d bumped into him and Sam on a case years ago, all of you unknowingly hunting the same thing. Sparks flew instantly—partly from attraction, but mostly from the sheer force of your clashing egos. Neither of you were the type to back down. He was cocky, you were stubborn, and together, you were like gasoline to his flame.

But somewhere between the banter and the bickering, a friendship formed. The three of you started meeting up more, sharing research, trading expertise. And then, one night, that tension between you and Dean finally broke.

After that… Well, life never stopped moving.

Losing Bobby Singer. Dean being dragged to Purgatory. Losing him for a year. Getting him back. Then the angels fell. Metatron. Almost losing Sam. Sam being possessed by Gadreel. Losing Kevin. Losing Charlie. The Mark of Cain. Losing Dean again—only to get him back as a demon. Getting rid of the Mark, but unleashing something worse—God’s sister, the Darkness. Oh and God was Chuck? Then Mary came back. Then Lucifer and he had a son, Jack—a Nephilim who, against all odds, had become family. And then there was the discovery of other earths, alternate realities bleeding into their own, which had led you here.

To Michael.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that, you’d fell pregnant and raised a, now, three-year-old.

Bobby had been the one good, untouchable thing in all of it.

But since Michael… Everything was different, because of your son.

Dean had been in turmoil. He hid it well most days, but you saw it—in the clench of his jaw, the way he rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake off a weight he couldn’t see.

Michael was still there, buried deep, locked away—for now. And that terrified him. Not just for himself, but for you. For Bobby. Because no matter how strong his will was, no matter how hard he fought to keep control, there was always that lingering fear…

What if the lock didn’t hold?

So you did what you always did. You held everything together. For him. For Bobby. For all of you.

Because no matter how much the world took from you, you still had each other.

And maybe—just maybe—you were still holding out for another miracle.

The heavy bunker doors creaked open, and Bobby’s head snapped up. His green eyes went wide with excitement, his crayon slipping from his grasp.

“Daddy!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the library.

You barely manage to help him down from his chair before he bolts, little legs pumping as fast as they can across the cold bunker floor. His tousled hair bounces with each hurried step, arms swinging as he races toward the only person in the world who could make him forget everything else.

Dean barely has time to brace himself before Bobby collides with him, tiny hands grabbing at his flannel. A tired but genuine laugh escapes Dean as he scoops him up with ease, holding him close. The exhaustion lining his face softens, replaced by something warm and unshakable.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Bobby’s head. “You miss me?”

Bobby nods enthusiastically, burying his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

The sight pulls at something deep in your chest—Dean, looking worn from whatever they’d just faced, but still lighting up the second he has his son in his arms. His perfect little double. The same green eyes, the same cluster of freckles dusting his little nose.

Sam steps forward, offering you a tired smile before ruffling Bobby’s hair. “Hey, little man.”

Bobby grins, immediately stretching his arms toward his uncle. Sam chuckles, taking him with ease, and Bobby squeals as he’s lifted high, giggling when Sam playfully swings him in the air. Your son has them both wrapped around his tiny fingers, and they don’t even try to hide it.

But your gaze flickers back to Dean, and you immediately notice the weight in his stance. The way he rolls his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake something off but can’t. The way his smile, as bright as it is for Bobby, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What happened?” you ask softly, stepping closer.

Dean and Sam exchange a look—silent, heavy, something unspoken passing between them. And then, after a beat, Dean finally meets your gaze.

“A Baozhu?” you echo, brows knitting together as you absorb everything Dean and Sam just told you. The day they’d had sounded like something straight out of a horror novel.

It started with them tracking down an old friend—well, former hunter—who had been murdered. His death led them to an antique shop owner who had a whole damn room full of occult objects. Dean had rattled off some of the inventory like a bad joke—dragon’s breath in a perfume bottle, a skull supposedly belonging to Sarah Good from the Salem witch trials.

And then, just when things couldn’t get crazier, a couple of idiot teenagers stole Baby, along with all the cursed artefacts they had loaded into the trunk. Dean’s jaw still ticked when he mentioned it, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing—because, yeah, it was serious, but the way he got so damn worked up about his car was just so him.

That would’ve been enough of a headache, but then came the kicker. One of the stolen objects contained a spirit. And not just any spirit—the ghost of John Wayne Gacy.

“Seriously?” you’d blurted when Sam told you. “Like, the John Wayne Gacy?”

“Yup,” Dean had muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Evil clown and all.”

Sam still looked a little queasy at the memory, and you knew why—his fear of clowns was legendary. But thankfully, the boys had handled it, no one got hurt, and the worst that came out of it was a couple of traumatised teenagers who now knew the truth about what lurked in the dark.

But out of everything, the most important discovery was the pearl.

Sam sits at the table now, flipping through an old lore book, his eyes scanning the pages. “It’s supposed to grant the user their heart’s greatest desire,” he explains. “Like a wish.”

You inhale sharply, the weight of those words pressing into your chest. “A wish? Like, an actual wish?”

Sam nods. “That’s what the lore says.”

Your mind starts racing. If it works… if Dean uses it…

You glance at him, and you can tell he’s already there, thinking the same thing. Michael. The archangel still locked inside his head, slowly eating away at him.

It hasn’t been easy. Not for him. Not for any of you. The sleepless nights, the migraines that leave him clutching his skull, the way his hands sometimes shake when he thinks no one’s looking. The moments where he just stares, zoning out, fighting a battle no one else can see. You’ve watched him struggle, pushing himself beyond his limits, trying to hold it together when you know he feels like he’s falling apart.

“Dean…” you murmur, reaching across the table, lacing your fingers through his. “You're sure?” You ask softly and his grip tightens, warm and solid. He exhales, steadying himself, his voice quiet but firm.

“Yeah,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “If this thing works—Michael’s gone. For good.”

All Dean had to do was hold the pearl and concentrate—wish Michael away for good. Simple.

But the moment he did, the bunker’s lights flickered violently, plunging the room into an eerie, stuttering darkness. Then, without warning, a deep, unnatural red glow pulsed around you, filling the air with a static charge that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

Your breath hitched as you clutched Bobby tighter against your chest. His little fingers fisted into your shirt, his small body trembling.

“Dean?” you called, alarmed, but his sharp, commanding voice cut through the chaos.

“Take Bobby to our room. Now.”

The authority in his tone left no room for argument. Your heart pounded, panic clawing at your ribs, but keeping Bobby safe was all that mattered.

You turned and bolted down the hall, his small arms locked around your neck as you ran. Behind you, the sounds of grunting and scuffling echoed—something was happening, something bad.

“Mommy?” Bobby’s voice was small, uncertain, his wide green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. His bottom lip trembled, and the sight of it nearly broke you.

You placed him gently into his cot, cupping his soft cheeks between your palms, forcing yourself to smile. “Mommy’s just gonna make sure Daddy and Uncle Sammy are okay, alright?” You kept your voice steady, though your pulse pounded erratically.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the bunker fell silent. The flickering lights steadied. The air no longer buzzed with electricity.

You swallowed hard.

“You’ll be my brave boy and stay here, yeah?”

Bobby hesitated, then gave you a small nod despite his fear. You kissed his forehead firmly, lingering just a second longer than usual, then forced yourself to pull away. You slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind you, willing your hands to stop shaking.

As you rounded the corner, your steps slowed, your breath catching in your throat.

Dean and Sam stood frozen in place, their expressions a mix of shock and something almost… reverent. But it wasn’t fear in their eyes. It was disbelief.

A man stood before them, his stance rigid, a gun poised tight in his grasp, not aiming, but gripped tight. He wasn’t Michael— you’d met that bastard before he possessed your boyfriend. No, this was someone else entirely.

“You boys better tell me what the hell is going on.” The stranger demanded, his voice deep, weary.

Your grip on your gun tightened as you raised it, the chamber clicking into place, shattering the heavy silence.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You demanded, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

All six pairs of eyes flickered to you at the sound of your voice, and the moment the strangers gaze met yours, a chill ran down your spine. You knew that face.

It took another heartbeat before the realisation struck like a freight train.

You’d seen him before. In the small collection of worn photographs Dean kept tucked away—memories of a childhood long gone.

John Winchester.

After leaving Dean, Sam, and John to catch up, you had gone to check on Bobby. He was still curled up in his cot, clutching the stuffed moose Sam had gotten him for Christmas last year. You’d learned quickly that it was his comfort toy, and seeing him holding onto it so tightly made your heart clench.

His green eyes found you instantly, and he climbed to the edge, making grabby hands. His bottom lip jutted out, a clear sign of distress.

You scooped him into your arms without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Hey, sweetheart.” Your voice was soft as you ran a soothing hand over his back. Truthfully, you needed the comfort just as much as he did. John was back. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any crazier…

“Where’s Daddy?” Bobby mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“He’s with Uncle Sammy and—” You hesitated. How exactly do you explain to a three-year-old that his grandfather—who’d been dead for over a decade in your timeline—was alive and plucked from another?

Bobby frowned. “I wanna see Daddy.”

His voice wobbled, and that was all it took for your hesitation to crumble. You weren’t sure if barging in with a toddler was the best timing, but Bobby didn’t understand that. Right now, he just wanted his dad.

“Alright.” You kissed his forehead. “Let’s go see him.”

He clung to you as you carried him down the hall, his little fingers curling into your shirt. As you neared the kitchen, low murmurs drifted through the doorway—John’s voice, rough and gravelly, eerily similar to your boyfriends.

“So, you’ve, um… been busy,” John said, amusement laced with something softer.

Before Dean could respond, Bobby stirred in your arms. The second he spotted his father, his whole face lit up.

“Daddy?”

The room fell silent.

Dean turned at the sound of his son’s voice, surprise flickering across his face before his eyes found yours. You mouthed a quick I’m sorry before setting Bobby down.

John’s gaze never left the toddler as he toddled toward Dean, arms reaching up without hesitation. Dean scooped him up with practiced ease, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips as Bobby buried his face in his neck.

John let out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you, Dean, and the boy in his son’s arms. His voice was quiet as he added.

“Really busy.”

There was no teasing in his tone. Just awe.

Dean swallowed, bracing himself. He wasn’t sure how John would take this—learning he was a grandfather, seeing a piece of Dean’s life he’d never expected to, but John’s eyes glistened with something unreadable, his throat working around words he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, his gaze softened.

“What’s his name?”

Dean hesitated for just a second before answering, shifting Bobby slightly. “Robert John Winchester.”

John inhaled sharply. His lips parted, but no words came. His gaze flickered between Dean and Bobby, something glassy and overwhelmed in his expression. Then, after a beat, he cleared his throat and reached out, hesitating.

His voice was quieter than before, rough but vulnerable.

“Can I?”

Dean held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.

Carefully, he passed Bobby over. John took him like he was made of glass—almost reverently—his arms wrapping securely around his grandson. Bobby, unaware of the weight of the moment, gripped onto John’s shirt with tiny fingers, tilting his head curiously.

John let out a shaky breath, one hand settling on Bobby’s back, the other gently cupping the small boy’s head. A tearful huff escaped him as he whispered, “Hey, little man.”

Bobby blinked up at him, studying his face with quiet curiosity. Then, slowly, his tiny hand reached out, cupping John’s cheek. John froze for a moment, his breath hitching as Bobby assessed him with those big green eyes—the same shade Dean’s had been at that age.

Then, Bobby giggled at the prickle of John’s beard, the sound breaking the heavy air in the room. A small, watery smile pulled at John’s lips as he let out a quiet chuckle, his hold on Bobby tightening just slightly.

You, Dean, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

But after a moment, Bobby shifted, his little arms reaching back toward you. Instinctively, you stepped forward, and John, though reluctant, carefully handed him over.

His eyes lingered on you, then flickered to Dean and Bobby—his grandson, his son, this family he had never gotten the chance to know.

His voice was rough with emotion as he admitted, “I just… I just wish I’d been here to see it all.”

Dean’s throat tightened. He knew John wasn’t just talking about Bobby—he was talking about everything. The years they’d spent fighting, losing, surviving. The pain, the victories, all the impossible things that had led them here.

Dean met his father’s eyes, his voice steady when he said, “Dad, none of this would have happened without you.”

John looked at him then, really looked at him, his eyes flicking to you, to the boy in your arms, before landing back on Dean with a soft, knowing smile.

Then, as if needing to ground himself in something familiar, John let out a breathy chuckle. “Well, I went out taking out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? Get the thing that killed Mom.”

The shift was instant. You felt it in the way Dean’s grip on your hand tightened, in the way Sam tensed across the table. The air in the room seemed to still.

He didn’t know.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, the same realisation hitting them both at once.

And then, before anyone could figure out how to tell him, the bunker door creaked open.

“Boys? Y/N?” Mary called out and John’s face twisted in recognition and something deeper.

John turned as she approached, pausing in the doorway, eyes wide, breath catching the second she saw him.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stared. The kind of stare that cut through time, through decades, through life and death itself.

Then John stood and surged forward.

She barely had time to whisper his name before he was there, pulling her into his arms, kissing her like he’d never let her go.

It was raw, desperate, a reunion, decades in the making.

You felt Dean exhale beside you, his grip on your hand loosening as he watched his parents cling to each other like the world had stopped moving.

You met Sam’s gaze, then tipped your head toward the hall. A silent suggestion. He gave a small nod.

You turned back to Dean, giving him the same look, and he sighed before nudging his head toward the hallway.

Giving them this moment was the least you could do.

You followed Sam and Dean out of the kitchen, Bobby tucked securely in your arms. Dean let out a breathless chuckle, running a hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exhilaration.

“It’s Dad,” he murmured, like saying it out loud might make it feel real. His eyes flickered between you and Sam, wide with wonder. “This is amazing. I’m—I’m freaking out.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, his own voice tinged with the same stunned disbelief. You met his gaze, both of you thinking the same thing.

Sam turned back to Dean, grounding him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “But Dean—Dean, listen.” His tone was steady, cautious. “How did this happen?”

Dean blinked, still reeling. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, stumbling over the words. He was overwhelmed, barely holding onto the moment, and as much as you loved seeing him like this, you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. When did anything this good happen without consequences?

“You said the pearl gives you what your heart desires, right?” He continued, looking to Sam for confirmation, who nodded pensively, “so my heart desired—“ He shook his head, trying to articulate it clearly, “I’ve wanted this. Man, I've wanted this since I was four years old.”

Your hold on Bobby tightened, the weight of Dean’s words settling deep in your chest. His gaze lingered on you, desperate and vulnerable, like you were the only one who could truly grasp what this meant to him.

And you did.

Dean had carried this ache his whole life, a longing so deep it had shaped the man he became. How many nights had he wished for just one more moment? One more chance to have his dad back—to have his family whole again?

“Okay, I know,” Sam began, voice softer now, careful. “And I—I love this too, Dean, really I do…” He sighed, not in frustration but in that way that said he knew better. “But messing with time… You know how this ends. Things change—”

“Yeah, great—we got our family back together. I’ll take that change,” Dean interrupted, voice sharp with defensiveness. You could see the way his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched like he was bracing for a fight. And damn it, you wanted so badly to agree with him. To ignore the reality Sam was trying to lay out.

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Stop. Just stop, okay?” Dean cut in, his voice tighter now, more upset. He looked between you and Sam, his expression pleading. You knew he wasn’t delusional—just desperate. Desperate to hold onto something that never should’ve been taken from him in the first place.

“Look, can—can we just have one family dinner?” Dean’s voice cracked slightly as he exhaled, his walls barely holding up against the weight of this moment. “Just one. Us—All of us together. That’s all I want. Can you just give me that?”

Before either of you could respond, Dean turned on his heel, walking off, his frustration radiating from every step. He didn’t want to hear the truth. Not now.

And your heart broke for him.

Because even knowing what Sam was saying was right… What was so wrong with just one dinner?

Sam sighed, exasperated, his expression torn. He turned to you, searching for some kind of understanding, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“This means everything to him, Sam,” you murmured, your voice quiet but certain. “Just one dinner can’t hurt, right?” You weren’t just pleading for Dean—you were pleading for both of them. Because you knew how much this meant to Sam, too. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. Even if it hurt to be the one pointing out the reality of it all.

Sam let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Yeah… maybe.” He gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before squeezing your hand back. Then, with a sigh, he kissed Bobby’s head and walked off, leaving you standing there, staring after them—standing in the wake of something you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

You found Dean in your shared room, shrugging on his jacket like he was heading out. He barely looked up at first, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.

“Hey,” you said quietly, not sure if he still needed space or if he was ready to talk.

Dean hesitated for a second, then glanced your way, his expression softening just a little.

Bobby had started dozing off on the way to the room, his small head resting against your shoulder, warm and heavy with sleep. You carefully lowered him into his cot, tucking the blanket around him. He barely stirred, his little chest rising and falling steadily, completely lost to the world.

A quiet sigh left you as you straightened, only to startle when you felt Dean’s hands slide around your waist from behind. He pulled you in against him, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked down at Bobby. You felt the deep inhale he took, like he was trying to memorise this moment—like he was afraid to blink and lose it.

When he finally turned you in his arms, his hands found your hips, his forehead pressing to yours in that familiar way that made the world go quiet. You let out a slow breath, your fingers instinctively sliding up his arms before wrapping around his back, holding onto him just as tightly as he was holding onto you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

You shook your head, but he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hands tightening on you like he needed you to hear this.

“I really did wish for Michael to be gone,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “But I guess… this just won over that.” His lips pressed together like he still couldn’t believe it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, bringing him back to you. His stubble scratched against your palm as he leaned into your touch, his lashes fluttering shut for a moment like he was grounding himself in it.

“Dean,” you whispered, aching for him.

He opened his eyes again, searching yours, something pleading in them. “I know the risks,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “But just for tonight… I just wanna pretend.” His fingers traced soft, absentminded circles against your lower back, his forehead still pressed to yours. “Pretend this is how it’s supposed to be.”

Your throat tightened, your chest aching with how much you understood. How could you not? You knew what it meant to him. Knew what it was like to want something so badly it hurt.

So instead of answering, you kissed him.

Soft, slow, tender.

Dean melted into it immediately, his hands gripping you tighter, like he was afraid you might slip away. His lips were warm, familiar, desperate in a way that made you feel like you were the only thing holding him together. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself pour every bit of understanding, every ounce of love into that kiss.

When you finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his forehead dropping against yours once more. His hands lingered at your waist, his thumbs brushing gently over your sides.

“I was just gonna grab a list of ingredients from Mom,” he murmured after a beat, his lips ghosting over yours. “She wants to make dinner.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, your fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Then I guess you better go make sure she has everything.”

He smiled against you, but there was something fragile in it, something that made you brush your lips against his one last time before stepping back, your arms slipping from around him reluctantly.

Dean lingered a moment, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before finally heading for the door.

For tonight, you’d let him have this.

For tonight, you’d pretend too.

After Dean left, you turned to one of your most reliable coping mechanisms—cleaning. If your hands were busy, your mind had less room to spiral.

You started small, straightening the blankets on the bed, smoothing out every wrinkle with practiced hands. You fluffed the pillows next, then folded Dean’s shirt—the one he’d tossed carelessly over the chair earlier. The fabric was warm from the heat of him, smelling like him, like home. You exhaled, a quiet ache settling in your chest.

Then there were Bobby’s tiny socks on the floor. You picked them up, rolling them together, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the weight pressing down on you. It was funny, really. You were standing in the middle of another damn apocalypse, juggling the chaos of archangels and time travel, but here you were, folding laundry like it could anchor you.

But no matter how much you focused on the small, mundane tasks in front of you, the worry still crept in. About what came next. Not just with John but Michael, too.

A sudden knock at the door shattered your thoughts. You flinched slightly, blinking as you turned.

And then you saw him.

John Winchester stood in the doorway, shoulders squared, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was the same man from the stories—the ones whispered among hunters, the ones Bobby had grumbled about over a glass of whiskey. And yet, he wasn’t.

You knew enough about him to form an opinion. Maybe more than an opinion. You resented him for what he put his boys through, for the way he shaped them into men who never got to just be. And yet... you understood grief. Knew how it could twist a person into something unrecognisable. You had lost Dean before—more than once—and each time, the world blurred at the edges, reality tilting until you weren’t sure how to stand up straight again.

John was staring at you now, his expression unreadable. But something in his eyes—something raw—made your breath hitch.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” His voice was rough, quieter than you expected. He raised a hand, almost apologetic.

You shook your head, straightening. “No, it’s fine.” You set a folded pair of Dean’s jeans on the bed and turned to give him your full attention.

His gaze lingered on the crib. You followed his line of sight, your lips twitching at the edges. You supposed it must be surreal—coming from a time when his sons were much younger, still in the thick of his mission, only to find himself here, where Dean was not just a man, not just a hunter, but a father.

John exhaled, shaking his head slightly. Then, with a small, almost hesitant smile, he looked at you. “You know, I owe you a thank you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For taking care of my boys.” His voice was steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “For giving Dean something real.”

Your throat tightened.

John glanced at the crib again before meeting your gaze. “I know I should’ve been—could’ve been—a better father to ‘em.” His jaw clenched, his voice thick with something heavy. “But seeing Dean with Bobby... It’s proof of how much better he turned out than I ever could’ve hoped.”

He took a slow step forward, stopping just short of the crib. He didn’t reach for it, didn’t intrude, just stood there, watching his grandson sleep. His fingers curled into his palms at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to be here.

The hardened hunter was gone. In his place was a man who carried the weight of too many regrets.

“You weren’t always a good father,” you admitted, voice even but not unkind. “You did things that left scars. On both of them.”

John nodded, accepting it without argument. He didn’t try to justify himself. Didn’t try to fight you on it.

“But they’re still here,” you continued. “Despite everything, they’re still standing.” You huffed a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “And knowing them, they’d probably say they’re proud to be your sons.”

John’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering with something close to pain.

He let out a breath. “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “I’m proud to be their father, too.”

For the first time since you met him, you saw it. Not the soldier, not the myth—but the man.

And before either of you could say anything more, the bunker door creaked open.

The boys were back.

“A temporal paradox.”

John repeated the words slowly, almost like he was testing them out, rolling them around in his mind. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, like he couldn’t quite believe it. But that glimmer of amusement was fleeting. The weight of the situation pressed down, the reality of what it all meant sinking in fast.

During Dean and Sam’s trip into town, they were faced with all the reasons why you should never mess with time. It wasn’t just that things were different—it was that if they didn’t undo what Dean had unintentionally wished, they could lose a hell of a lot more.

“That’s what Sam’s calling it.” Dean shook his head, huffing out a small breath. “Egghead.”

John chuckled softly, a flicker of something warm in his expression. But then, as quickly as it came, the smile faded. The truth settled in. He’d suspected as much.

“Basically, uh,” Dean started, exhaling through his nose, like the words were heavier than he expected. “If you don’t go back, Sam never gets into the life, and Mom, she, uh…” He trailed off for a second, his throat tightening.

John’s expression shifted—something sad, something knowing.

“Well, without everything that we did, with God, the Darkness… she never comes back.”

Dean cast his gaze downward, the words pressing into his chest like a tone of bricks. He’d already told you, and you’d left him to have this moment with his father while you tended to a restless Bobby. But saying it now, out loud, made it all feel so much more real.

“And, uh—” His voice wavered, betraying him. John caught it immediately, and his face softened in a way that Dean wasn’t used to.

“What?”

Dean swallowed hard. “I never meet Y/N,” he admitted, voice raw. “And, uh… Bobby is never born.”

John let out a slow breath, nodding in understanding. “Sam thinks they’ll just fade away,” Dean added, his voice barely above a whisper, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

John then looked at him—really looked at him. His mind already made up. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

“Okay.”

Dean blinked, caught a little off guard. “Okay?”

John nodded again, firmer this time. “I mean, me versus your Mom? Your family?” He scoffed slightly, shaking his head. “That’s—That’s not even a choice.”

Dean looked away, but nodded in agreement. Despite how impossible of a choice this was, his heart and soul had already picked you and his son.

John studied him for a long moment, his sharp gaze flickering with understanding before he tilted his head slightly. “Does she know?”

Dean exhaled. “Sam’s telling her now.”

Before anything else could be said, the quiet moment was broken by the sound of tiny, excited babbling from the hall. Bobby.

Dean and John both instinctively turned toward the sound, and despite the weight of everything hanging over them, a small smile pulled at their lips.

“I think that’s your cue,” John chuckled, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

Dean let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

With that, Dean turned, already set on making a beeline for you—until John’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Dean.”

Dean hesitated, glancing back.

“I, uh…” John exhaled slowly. “I never meant for this.”

Dean shook his head immediately. “Dad, we pulled you here.”

“No, son.” John’s voice was steady, unshakable. “My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you—” He trailed off, eyes scanning Dean’s face like he was taking him in for the first time. Like he was seeing just how much his son had lived through, how much he had lost, how much he had become, and Dean held his breath.

“You’re a grown man,” John said, voice quieter now, but no less firm. A small, almost wistful smile touched his lips. “And I am incredibly proud of you.”

Dean swallowed hard.

For years—his whole damn life, really—he had chased those words, hunted them down in every action, every sacrifice, every order he had followed without question. He’d needed them more than he ever wanted to admit.

And now, hearing them…

He didn’t know what the hell to do with them.

John let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “I guess I always hoped, eventually, you’d get yourself a normal life. A peaceful one.” His lips twitched in something between amusement and regret. “But you did get a family. And boy, what a wonderful one you got.”

Dean’s chest ached. Not in the painful way it usually did, but in something lighter, something warmer, and he nodded, voice thick. “I really do.”

John placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. His eyes were glassy, his expression proud, happy, even.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before they both let out small chuckles, both clearly not used to this kind of open emotion between them.

John cleared his throat, smiling. “Alright. What’s next?”

Dean patted his dad’s shoulder, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We eat.”

The library was quiet—too quiet. The usual warmth of the bunker felt dimmed, weighed down by the unspoken grief hanging thick in the air. The large wooden table was set with plates of home-cooked food, a rare sight among the usual takeout containers and beer bottles. Dishes of mashed potatoes, roast chicken, green beans, and cornbread were carefully laid out, though none of it seemed as comforting as it should have been.

At the head of the table, Bobby sat in his high chair, blissfully unaware of the heartbreak surrounding him. He kicked his little feet, happily munching on soft baby carrots, babbling to himself between bites. The sound was a bright contrast to the silence of the adults, their appetites dulled by the weight of what was to come.

Mary sat beside John, her hands resting in her lap, her gaze downcast. Her expression was unreadable—except to those who knew her well. The tight set of her jaw, the slight furrow of her brow, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve—it was grief, raw and quiet. She was trying to hold herself together, but you could see the cracks forming. Your heart ached for her, for all of them.

Dean sat beside you, his posture tense, his grip on his fork loose. Sam sat next to him, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darting between his parents. No one knew what to say.

And then, John cleared his throat.

“Near as I can tell, we have two choices,” he announced, his voice steady but thick with meaning. He looked around the table, making sure each of you heard him. “All right, we can think about what’s coming, or we can be grateful for this time that we have together.”

A smile ghosted his lips as he reached for Mary’s hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The tenderness in his touch, the way she squeezed back with slightly trembling fingers—it was enough to make your throat tighten.

“Now me,” John went on, his voice quieter, but firm, “I choose grateful.”

He lifted Mary’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her skin. The small, simple act of love shattered something inside you, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. You discreetly wiped it away, exhaling a shaky breath—until you felt Dean’s hand slip into yours under the table.

His grip was firm, grounding, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. When you looked at him, his eyes were shining—not just with unshed tears, but with love, with quiet adoration. His lips quirked into a barely-there smile, as if to say I’ve got you. And you squeezed his hand back, a silent I know.

John cleared his throat, straightening in his seat. “So, to whatever brought us together,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “We owe you one. Amen.”

You swallowed hard and echoed softly, “Amen.”

John’s gaze landed on you, warm and grateful, before Dean murmured his own amen, followed by Mary and Sam.

And then, as if on cue, Bobby lifted his sippy cup with both hands, grinning as he let out his own version of an, Amen, but without the A. The moment of it—so innocent, so sweet—broke the tension, and laughter rippled through the room, soft but genuine.

Dean chuckled, kissing his son's head, lingering a little before lifting his own beer bottle, and with a glance around the table, everyone followed suit, toasting together.

The warmth lingered long after the laughter had settled, weaving through the quiet moments that followed. Plates clinked softly as forks scraped up the last bites of dinner, the heavy weight of earlier conversations giving way to something lighter—something cherished.

Bobby remained in John’s lap for the rest of dinner, small hands grabbing at whatever was within reach. He giggled happily, his little voice rising and falling as he gestured animatedly, as if telling the most important story in the world. John listened intently, nodding along, his expression soft in a way rarely seen. Mary reached over, brushing Bobby’s soft, blonde hairs from his forehead, her smile tender, her eyes brimming with emotion as she watched her husband and grandson together.

Across the table, you and Dean sat close, his arm draped around you, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded strokes against your shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he exhaled deeply, soaking it all in. When Bobby let out a bright burst of laughter—pure, unfiltered joy—your heart clenched.

Dean must have felt it too because he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips warm against your temple. When you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were already on you—shining, full of something deep and unspoken. He didn’t need to say anything. It was all there.

The moment stretched, the low hum of conversation, the occasional bursts of laughter, the soft clatter of dishes—it all melted together into something perfect. Sam leaned back in his chair, watching with quiet amusement as Bobby shoved a piece of bread into John's mouth, earning a chuckle from the older man. Mary shook her head fondly, her fingers tracing small circles on John's forearm.

It was a picture of something rare.

A family—whole, just for now.

The air felt impossibly heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of what was about to happen. The time they had borrowed was running out.

John turned to Mary, his eyes soft, glassy with unshed tears. He reached for her, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear before cradling her face in his rough hands. "My girl," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

A choked sound left Mary's throat as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. They kissed—slow, lingering, as if they could hold back time just a little longer. Your heart clenched as you clutched Bobby closer, rocking him slightly as if to soothe both him and yourself.

When John turned to you, his expression was unreadable for a moment, but then, with a tremble in his voice, he asked, "May I?" He gestured toward Bobby, and your throat tightened as you nodded, tears spilling over. Carefully, you passed your son to him, watching as John pulled Bobby close, pressing his lips to the little boy’s hair.

"I'm so grateful I got to meet you, buddy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Bobby blinked up at him, small hands reaching out to cup John's scruffy cheeks. The gesture made everyone smile through their tears, the sheer innocence of it grounding them all in the moment. John closed his eyes, pressing another lingering kiss to the top of Bobby's head before exhaling shakily.

When he looked back at you, his expression was serious, but not heavy. There was something lighter in his gaze now, something settled. "You watch out for these boys, yeah?"

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and nodded. "Always."

John lingered, giving Bobby one last kiss before handing him back to you. As you stepped away, Dean's hands found yours, holding tight, grounding you as you passed.

Then, John turned to his sons.

"I'm so proud of you boys," he said, voice breaking, eyes shining as he looked between them. The words hung in the air, sinking in deep, and neither Sam nor Dean could stop the tears from spilling over as they stepped into their father’s embrace. He held them tight, arms wrapped fiercely around them, as if trying to memorise the feeling, as if trying to make up for lost time in a single moment.

You couldn't hold back your own tears as Bobby nuzzled into you, his small arms wrapping around your neck. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he sensed your sadness, and in his own little way, he was comforting you.

John stepped back, his fingers intertwining with Mary’s as he took one last look at his family. His gaze swept over all of you—his boys, his grandson, you—before he nodded, a final acceptance settling in his features.

"Okay," he murmured, squeezing Mary’s hand. "Okay. I'm ready."

Sam hesitated for only a moment before he laid the pearl on the table and then the sharp crack of breaking glass echoed through the quiet space.

Everyone watched in wonder and sadness as John Winchester faded into nothingness.

A heavy silence followed, the air still trembling with his absence. But as the initial grief settled, something else remained—a sense of peace, fragile but real.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t how things were meant to be. Dean’s wish had rewritten fate. But if it gave them this—a chance to say what had been left unsaid, to mend wounds that had ached for too long—then maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

AN: Okay so this one was a long boi 😅. But I would love to know everyone's thoughts? Did you think this fit well for the request? Also I know John Winchester is a bit of a sensitive topic, not everyone likes him and it's understandable, but I feel I catered more to his human side a little here. Plus this episode was pretty heartbreaking. Anywho I hope you guys enjoyed and thank you anon for the request! 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

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#lebanon #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #Sam Winchester #john winchester #jensen ackles #spnfamily #spn fanfic #spn #dean winchester angst #lovely mutuals #zepskies reads

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foreverisntenough · 1 day ago

Text

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

a little note from me 💌

Chapter 9- 'Subconscious Slips' | 'Aperture'

word count - 13k

The following weekend it was Leon’s birthday. Trent needed to not do what he did the previous weekend, his head was still pounding from that last party. And if it weren’t for the alcohol, his head hurt worse at the slivers of the night he remembered. He didn’t even touch Cassie but just being in another girl's proximity made things all the more obvious— he wasn’t interested at all. He had the training session from hell the following day after his self defined ‘pisstake’ of a night. The weather was starting to warm again though or at least not be frigid and Leon was having a big bonfire in his back garden to celebrate. You told Foster you’d go over early and help her with set up. You didn’t really want to help, well you didn’t mind as much, you just wanted to hopefully see Trent before liquor potentially got involved again. But it felt like you were drunk already. Like the whole world tilted just slightly on its axis, forcing you to steady yourself upon seeing him. Trent was bent over a crate of firewood, strong hands gripping the edges as he lifted the logs effortlessly. His hoodie stretched over his back, muscles flexing beneath the fabric, and you felt your breath hitch before you could stop it. You didn’t want to acknowledge the excitement bubbling under your skin at seeing him. But you also didn’t want to acknowledge the fear.

The air still carried the lingering bite of winter, but the bonfire would take care of that once the sun dipped. Leon’s backyard was already half-set for the night – but right now, it was empty, just you and Trent, the world still for a moment but the second he heard your voice, it was like he forgot reality.

“How was your hangover?” you asked sweetly, your voice quieter than intended, betraying the nerves you swore you weren’t feeling as you took a seat on the stone ledge around the perimeter of the patio in front of him. Trent, bent over a box of firewood, glanced up at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melted into something softer, warmer. His lips twitched into that lazy, half-amused smirk that had always made your stomach feel weightless as you caught a flash of dimples.

“Mine was filled with a £500 fine from the lads, a very, very long sauna, a couple footie drills I fucked up, and a few Ibuprofen.” He told you and before you even realized what you were doing, your hand found his arm, solid and real in a way that made your heart beat harder in your chest. His skin was warm under his jumper, and you felt him tense—just for a second—before he relaxed into your touch. That moment was a reset. Or maybe just a pause in the chaos. Either way, you’d take it. “You survive? Didn’t like seeing those tears.” He smiled at you sympathetically but it wasn’t patronizing, it was sincere.

“Survived would be the word.” You sighed mildly embarrassed you’d cried at all. “£500 is hardly a dent in your salary though, T.” You giggled trying to swiftly move on from your embarrassment to his. Trent exhaled a laugh, looking down at where your fingers had stayed pressed into his bicep, locking onto the way your fingers curled around him. He felt it in his chest, in his stomach, in places he really shouldn’t. He hated how good it felt, how natural, how bad he wanted it there.

“Little bit of a dent in my ego, though.” He added. You let go quickly, suddenly aware of yourself, but Trent shook his head—small, almost imperceptible. You don’t have to be sorry, not for touching me. Something curled low in your stomach, hot and twisting. Your bodies reacting in a way words couldn’t describe, in ways conversations could never cover.

“Was too big anyway,” you teased, trying to settle yourself, trying to find solid ground in this conversation instead of whatever dangerous edge you were teetering on. You squeezed your hands together in your lap, not knowing where else to put them now, awkward, unsure. Trent, though—he wasn’t listening anymore. Or rather, he didn’t hear you. He got distracted by your open jacket. [ref index]His eyes had dipped, dragged lower, lingering on the way your tank top clung against you just right, the curve of your tits teasing, taunting, pushed together by your arms as you fidgeted. It wasn’t intentional. But it was enough to make his mouth go dry forcing him to attempt to swallow the fantasy down.

“What’s big?” he asked, dragging a hand over his head as if it would shake the thought away. You blinked, confused for a second until you followed his line of sight, heat creeping up your neck.

“Your ego, T,” you laughed repeating yourself, and his smirk curled slow, sinful.

“You’re very funny.” he murmured, a little teasing but there was something about the way he said it—low, smooth, deliberate—that made your breath catch.

“I’m funny…” You paused. “And I’m also your friend, right?” You asked it playfully, but the words felt like they hung between you, too heavy to be casual, too charged to be brushed aside. Trent cocked his head, studying you, dark eyes flicking between yours. “We’re friends?” You taunted him unintentionally intentionally as he tried to shake the memory of your tits out of his brain hearing the word ‘friends’ roll off your tongue.’ But there was nothing friendly about the way you said it, it was flirty. A flicker in your eye, the tiniest quirk of your lips, like you already knew the answer wasn’t simple. Trent, still watching you too closely, still lingering in whatever spell you cast over him, tilted his head again.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” He smirked lazily, his eyes locked on yours returning the taunt. It should’ve been definitive. It wasn’t. You parted your lips, maybe to say something, maybe just to breathe, but the sound of the back door sliding open had reality crashing back in. Foster. The tension wrapped around you both, thick and suffocating, settling in the space between your knees, in the inches of air between your bodies. You could feel the heat of him, the pull of something unnamed and unspoken, the way his eyes flickered to your lips just for a second too long.

“Stop saying it like we’re not!” you giggled, accusing him of being the only one feeling the unsaid, shoving at his chest playfully, desperate to lighten the moment, to put it into a box you could understand. Your eyes flicking to where foster was to see if you’d been caught flirting— you hadn’t. Not by her at least. Trent let out that boyish giggle—the one that knocked the wind out of you, that made your stomach clench in ways you refused to acknowledge. He liked that he just had you so on edge, that he caught you flirting.

“You’re saying it like we’re not!” He threw back with a grin. He had a point. His eyes still holding something wicked, something teasing, something that said he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. Neither of you were saying those words with any real conviction. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, pretending like you weren’t burning from the inside out. Trent looked back at you and nodded toward the yard, motioning for you to follow. And you did. And it was a step—forward, backward, sideways. You didn’t know. But you took it anyway. And that was a step—one you weren’t sure you were ready to take. But you took it anyway.

—

[Heaven - Niall Horan]

The fire crackled between you, glowing embers dancing up into the night, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as the space between you and Trent. You two had started the bonfire and plenty of people had arrived but they were far away. Friends scattered across the back patio, laughter spilling into the air, drinks clinking, voices carrying—but here, tucked beside the flames, it felt like you and him existed in your own little world… attempting to be friends.

“I think I eventually will get out of Manny,” you murmured, watching the way the firelight flickered against the edges of the logs. Trent turned his head toward you, his knee bumping yours.

“Yeah?” His voice was soft, almost like he didn’t want to break whatever this was. “Sorry I’ve only seen your place in bad circumstances. Wish I got to see more. Was nice. ” His tone was apologetic when it didn’t need to be. You two were talking about your apartment, your lease, stupid stuff you were pretending friends talked about.

“It’s nothing special.” You shrugged, lips curling slightly.

“So, families not up here? Not from here?” His brow furrowed, desperate to learn more about you. But a flicker of irritation passed through you—he’d know that if he’d bothered to come to the Burberry dinner. But you swallowed it down when you realized he was leaning in again, eyes expectant, actually wanting to know the answer.

“Do I sound like my family’s from here, T?” you teased, tilting your head.

“Nah,” he chuckled, shaking his head. He felt stupid. Obviously you didn’t have a northern accent but he didn’t know where you grew up, he hadn’t had a chance to ask yet, well he did but he bottled it and now he wanted to know. “Well, if you move, you should come live in the best city in the world.” He added attempting to rectify the dumb question he was embarrassed by.

“Oh yeah?” You smirked with a stupid smitten smile.

“Liverpool. Just so we’re clear,” he grinned, doubling down.

“You don’t even live in Liverpool.” You laughed, nudging his thigh lightly with yours.

“So you want to live near me?” he teased, voice dipping into something playful, something bordering on dangerous. Subconsciously you scooted towards him on the bench you were sitting on. It was a last minute addition to individual seats circling the bonfire, added per Foster’s advisory to accommodate more people eventually. But for right now, you preferred this being where you were. Being closer to him, not confined in by the arms of a chair.

“That’s not what I said…” you murmured, licking your lips, fighting the giggle bubbling up your throat. But he was too close now, his fingers resting on the bench beside yours, barely a whisper of space between them. He was all golden warmth, firelight dancing across his skin, highlighting every curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes cast long shadows against his cheekbones. He looked beautiful. Then the silence stretched. Not awkward—never awkward—but charged. Like you were both hyper-aware of every breath, every movement, every unspoken thing hovering between you.

“You look beautiful,” Trent said, so quietly you almost thought you imagined it. Your stomach clenched, your heart a traitorous thing in your chest. That’s what you were thinking, you wanted to say about him. Instead, you shook your head, rolling your eyes like it didn’t affect you, like you weren’t aching from the inside out. “Give it…” he murmured, smirking just slightly.

“Give what?” Your brow furrowed.

“The camera. You have it.” He extended his hand toward you, palm open, waiting.

“T…” you whispered, shaking your head, pleading with him not to do this. Not to make you see yourself through his eyes. Last time you did, it ended up with the film ruined on the pavement and tears streaming down your face. His hand dropped, but instead of retreating, it landed on your thigh, palm up, fingers brushing against the denim of your jeans. It wasn’t a squeeze, wasn’t even a grip—but somehow, it felt like he was holding onto you, like he was kneading at something deeper than just skin. Like he was remembering, just like you were.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, tilting his head, smiling at you so softly you felt like your chest might cave in. The dark brown of his eyes honeyed by the flames. “I’ve done it before. Just want you to see what I see.” The words settled in your stomach, heavy and light all at once. “I’m a good photographer as well, you know.” He was relentless, wasn’t he? You sighed, rolling your eyes for show as you reached into the big pocket of your jacket, fingers closing around your small camera. When you placed it in his hand, your fingertips brushed against his, and suddenly, the sparks from the fire in front of you felt like they were landing on your skin instead. You sucked in a quiet breath, but he caught it—his lips twitched like he knew. Like he felt it too.

The fire crackled beside you, sending waves of warmth over your skin, but nothing burned hotter than the way Trent was looking at you. His fingers fumbled with the camera, adjusting the lens with the same kind of thoughtfulness he usually reserved for a football at his feet. But his concentration faltered the second he felt you watching him.

“How do I…?” he muttered, turning the dial aimlessly, his brows drawing together in frustration as the viewfinder remained blurry.

“T, just…” you sighed, shifting slightly, your knee brushing against his.

“I got it, I got it…” He reassured you, but his hand—warm and steady—landed blindly too high on your thigh in the process. A completely thoughtless move. A completely devastating one. And then– the lens finally focused, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Already forget?” You teased, your voice softer now, more careful. You meant the film camera tutorial, but the way Trent swallowed, the way his grip subtly tensed on your thigh—it felt like you were asking something else entirely. Like you were asking if he’d already forgotten the way you used to fit into his life, the way you looked. If he’d forgotten the way you fit into him. But he hadn’t. Not for a second. Through the grainy lens, he saw you clearer than ever, the firelight turning your skin to gold, your eyes holding something he was too afraid to name. It twisted something deep inside him, the kind of ache he couldn’t outrun. He exhaled a soft laugh with a shake of the head, a silent answer of ‘never.’

“Smile for me, baby…” And just like that, the world slowed, the words spilled out of him before he could stop them. It was quiet, nearly drowned out by the popping embers, but you heard it. Heard the way his voice dipped, the way his breath caught. And you didn’t correct him. You didn’t want to. Not when it sounded like that. So you smiled, cheeks rounding, lashes dipping, the warmth in your chest blooming into something deeper. A smile reserved only for him. And then—click. The shutter snapped. “Hold on… one mo-” he said, shifting forward towards you more, tilting the camera slightly.

“T!” You giggled leaning towards him to get him to stop as he clicked another, the laughter bubbling out of you before you could stop it. His grin stretched wide, gorgeous and effortless, and it made your stomach twist in that way it always did around him.

“Alright, alright.” He laughed, finally lowering the camera, but his arm—his hand—found your waist before you could move too far. It was instinct, like muscle memory, like he couldn’t help himself. “You look beautiful tonight, though. I mean that.” His voice had dropped lower now, quiet but sure. His thumb dipped into the back of your jeans.

“Thank you…” Your breath hitched. You were close. Too close. Practically in his lap, your legs brushing, his fingers still pressed against your waist. You held his gaze for a long, weighted beat, something unspoken sitting heavy between you. The flames flickered, the party buzzed in the background, but the world felt small—just the two of you, just this moment. And then, recklessly, helplessly, it slipped from your lips.

“I’ve missed you.” You hadn’t meant to say it. Maybe you had. Either way, it was too late now. The words hung there, delicate and dangerous, and Trent… Trent looked wrecked. His eyes darkened, his jaw ticked, and for a second, he just stared at you like you’d pulled the ground from beneath him. And you swore you could see it—the ache buried deep, the same one you carried, the one neither of you had spoken about. You wondered if he ever would. If you ever could.

–

Trent swallowed, his grip tightening just slightly around your waist. Your words were soft, barely above the crackling of the fire, but they landed heavier than anything else tonight. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out everything except you.

"Say that again," he murmured, voice so low it sent shivers down your spine. He needed to know you actually just said that, he wasn’t dreaming. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You hadn't even meant to say it aloud, but now there was no taking it back, no pretending it didn’t exist between you. His eyes bore into yours, dark and honeyed by the firelight, waiting—no, hoping—you’d say it again.

"I missed you," you whispered. Trent exhaled sharply, like the words had hit him square in the chest. His fingers flexed against your waist, his free hand lifting to your jaw, thumb ghosting over your cheek. You knew this look—had seen it before, had felt it before—but this time, it felt different. It felt like he wasn’t just looking at you. He was holding onto you, memorizing you, afraid that if he let go, he’d lose you all over again.

“I never stop missing you,” he admitted, voice raw. His forehead dipped closer to yours, not quite touching but so close you could feel his breath against your lips. The fire crackled, the distant laughter of your friends a hazy backdrop, but here, in this tiny pocket of space, it was just you and him. The world had shrunk to the span of his hands on you, the warmth of his body so close to yours, the weight of emotions neither of you could ignore anymore. You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was both of you—but suddenly, you were closer. His nose brushed against yours, his fingers slid up, cupping the back of your neck. You felt the heat of his skin, the unspoken words hanging between you like embers in the night. But he didn’t close the distance. Instead, he stayed there, staring at you, waiting for something—permission, a sign, anything. And God, you wanted to give it to him.

—

It felt like fire had died down to its embers, but the warmth between you only ignited more—heavy, aching, impossible to ignore. The world had quieted around you, or maybe you’d just tuned it all out. All you could hear was the soft crackle of the dying flames and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, loud in your ears as you sat so close, his arm still around your waist, his fingers barely pressing into your side, his hand holding your jaw like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“We’re friends, right?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like saying it any louder would shatter the fragile thing hanging between you. You wanted to take the words back though. Trent wanted you to take them back. Why did you have to just say that? And then slowly, his hand dropped from your jaw, slipping down to your thigh, retreating in defeat. You weren’t ready. He couldn’t kiss you. No matter how bad he wanted to. No matter how bad he knew you wanted him too. Trent’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening for just a second. He nodded slowly, lips parting before he caught himself.

“Mmm.” He hummed, but it wasn’t agreement. It was longing, an ache for something entirely opposite. The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. Then, quietly, hesitantly, he asked, “Think I can have that photo?”

“Hm?” You blinked at him heartbroken by your own question moments ago. Why did you push him away when it felt so right?

“The one I took,” he clarified, his voice unreadable. Your fingers twitched against the camera in your lap.

“Oh,” you exhaled, not confused by the request itself but by what it meant. What it could mean. “Do you… want it?” He nodded, gaze steady on yours. “It’ll take a minute, you know. To develop,” you added, fumbling, stalling, maybe trying to put him off.

“I want it.” His voice was quiet, firm. “And I’ll wait.” The weight of his words crashed into you, heavier than they should have been. He wasn’t just talking about the film. He was saying something else, something deeper. He’d wait. For you. His eyes searched yours, silently begging you to understand. And you did. More than you probably let on. But still, you only nodded, scared. “The second one, Y/N,” Trent muttered, almost like an afterthought, but it wasn’t. Your breath hitched.

“No, T… I don’t even know how I—I wasn’t ready, why…” You trailed off, your voice unsure, pleading. You weren’t sure if your heart could take this, if you could keep pretending you were just friends when he was making it really fucking hard.

“Because.” He sighed, taking his hand off your thigh to rub over his jaw before finally meeting your gaze again. “That’s my Y/N... The one I lost.” You felt your chest tighten, breath shuddering.

“Didn’t lose me.” You whispered. His? Were you ever his? Did he think you were? But your voice wavered, because maybe he had lost you. Maybe you didn’t want it to be true, but it kind of was. Trent shut his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose like the words hurt more than they should have. “Just…” You tried, but you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. You didn’t know why it felt so complicated, why it felt so intense, why you knew that if you let yourself have this moment, if you let yourself fall, you could end up saying I love you tonight.

“I hurt you,” Trent filled the silence, his voice laced with regret. “I know.” He sighed, looking at you like he could physically see the damage he’d done. And he did know. He got it, but he had plans. He was gonna play the long game. He wasn’t giving up.

“T…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. You were trying to ask for something you weren’t sure you were allowed to anymore. Not when you pushed him away like this.

“Mhmm?” He hummed, tilting his head slightly. Your lips parted, but the words never came. You wanted to say something, maybe to tell him not to do this, not to make you feel like this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t say it, because deep down, you didn’t want him to stop. And he knew that. You wanted to just ask for a hug. “C’mere, baby,” he murmured, pulling you into him. You didn’t fight it because it was exactly what you wanted. You let yourself fall against him, your face pressed into his neck, his arms wrapping around you like they belonged there. And maybe they did. He knew what you were asking. You didn’t need to say anything. Trent could read you, always had been able to. And in your own way, you were begging him to stay. So he did. And the way your body melted into his was a silent agreement. Maybe this wasn’t easy. Maybe it wouldn’t be for a long time. But somehow, in some way, you both needed proof that you could be here first—as friends, as something softer—before either of you could risk more. Before either of you could fall all the way.

—

The fire crackled, sending the same embers that sparked between you and Trent floating into the thick late winter air. Laughter hummed through the night, weaving between the flickering shadows cast by the bonfire. The scent of burning wood mixed with the lingering traces of cologne and liquor-warmed skin, a heady combination that made the air feel heavier. One of Leon’s other friends arrived late, his voice cutting through Campbell’s, mid story. You glanced around—every seat around the fire had been claimed. Evidently even Foster’s additive seating was under calculated. Without a second thought, you shifted forward.

“Here, I’ll move,” you offered, rising from your spot closest to the house. “I’ll go grab another chair.”

“No, Y/N, it’s fine! Lee, go,” Foster chirped from her seat, but before you could process her words, you felt it. The weight of a stare. Trent. Your eyes found his, and something dangerous flickered in his gaze—something slow, something greedy. He barely looked at the empty space, his attention locked entirely on you. The words floating in the air before he even wrapped his brain around their intention.

“Y/N, come sit with me till Cam’s done with her story,” he cooed, his voice smooth, dripping with an intent that curled around you like smoke. A ruse. A trap. Everyone at the fire pit knew it, too. If you sat with Trent, you weren’t getting up after Campbell’s story. Your lips parted slightly, instinctively seeking an approval from someone other than your aching heart, and your gaze flicked to Foster, silently pleading for some kind of lifeline. She smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah, just sit with T! We’ll get another chair in a bit.” Her words filled the air with opportunity, sealing your fate before you could even decide it for yourself. Trent leaned back against his chair, eyes half-lidded, entirely unbothered by the spectacle. He lifted his chin, nodding you over lazily.

“C’mere.” Low. Rough. Only for you. Your stomach fluttered, heat blooming up your spine as you hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. His eyes never left yours, even as you lowered yourself onto his lap, your body molding against his like it was meant to be there. The second you settled, his arm curled around your waist, locking you into place in a way that felt too easy, too natural. Foster rolled her eyes at the obviousness of it all, but you barely noticed. You weren’t even listening to Campbell’s story as she continued on. You weren’t listening to anything. Time blurred, the fire shrinking to a distant glow. The voices around you became background noise, like the static hum of a song you weren’t paying attention to. All you felt was him. The slow, absentminded circles his thumb drew on your waist. The way his other hand settled heavy on your thigh, fingers splayed, warm, claiming. The way his chest rose and fell against you, steady, grounding, like you were meant to be right there. The way his plump lips moved when he spoke, slow and deliberate, and the way your eyes shamelessly tracked them, entranced. The scent of him—clean but edged with smoke, intoxicating in the worst way. And god, the way his fingers flexed just slightly, tightening on your thigh like he knew. Like he felt it too. It was suffocating and electric all at once. You swallowed, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you forced yourself to attempt to focus on the conversation swirling around you, but it was useless. Trent had you exactly where he wanted you, and deep down, you knew it was exactly where you wanted you– you were never going to get up after Campbell’s story.

–

The night air carried a crisp chill, weaving through the back garden, making the flames flicker and dance. You shivered. Not much, just enough for Trent to notice. His grip on you tightened instinctively, his body against yours. Then he turned his face slightly, just enough that when your eyes met, it felt like a slip, a near-collision, the space between you too small, too charged. Panic flickered in your chest. Words rushed out to fill the space before your lips could.

“Sorry. cold.” You whispered apologetically. He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips, and adjusted in the seat beneath you. The subtle lift of his hips had your stomach twisting, your pulse quickening in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. But then, he leaned back and peeled off the jacket draped over his hoodie, and everything stilled. “T…” Your voice softened, barely above the crackling of the fire. You weren’t asking for his coat. You didn’t need it. You’d survive. Trent only shook his head.

“Nah, it’s calm. I’m alright—wouldn’t offer otherwise,” he murmured, voice low and sure, meant for you alone. It was sweet, sincere. And then, so effortlessly, so fucking tenderly, he wrapped it around your shoulders, his hands lingering for just a second too long before he pulled you back into him. He slouched further back in the chair again, settling beneath you, arms still draped lazily, but firmly around your frame. And then you slipped. Without thinking, without hesitation, your body responded before your mind could catch up. Arms curling around his waist, your cheek pressing into his chest, your fingers gripping onto his hoodie like instinct. Like something you’d always done. Like something you weren’t supposed to still do.

“Thank you,” you whispered, but you were so close, too close, that your lips brushed the column of his throat, and Trent’s breath hitched. He hummed—deep, rough, strained. You felt it more than you heard it, the vibration thrumming through his chest as his hands flexed on your waist. He shifted slightly, adjusting, but you could feel it. The tension. The restraint. Trent was fighting demons. Because you were in his lap, your breath on his neck, your hands gripping him like you belonged there, like you weren’t afraid of the way his body responded to yours. And god, if you stayed here much longer, he was going to break. But the party faded. The cold didn’t exist. The fire became nothing but a glow in your periphery. There was just Trent. Just the warmth of his body beneath you, the scent of him wrapped around you, the way his fingers pressed into your waist like he needed to remind himself that this was real. That you were real. And as the night stretched on, as the conversations blurred into a background hum, you stayed right there. Both of you knowing—neither of you were supposed to, but neither of you wanted to move.

—

The night wrapped around you in a hazy, firelit glow, but none of it compared to the warmth of him—the weight of Trent’s hands on you, the heat of his breath at your ear.

"Still cold?" His voice was a whisper, low and unhurried, his lips ghosting your temple like a promise. His fingers squeezed your thigh, a teasing pressure that sent a shiver rippling up your spine.

"A little," you murmured, refusing to turn toward him, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting you. This was a game. A careful, coy thing. If you kept it subtle, no one would notice. No one would catch on to the whispers, the glances, the lingering touches that felt anything but innocent.

"Wanna go inside?" His voice was smooth, controlled, but you could feel the tension beneath it, the way his body had been humming with restraint all night. Your heart stuttered. Every nerve in your body screamed yes. In your mind, you were already making out with him, letting him press you into the nearest surface—but in reality, at Leon’s birthday party, you gave him the smallest, quietest nod. And then, before you could process it, Trent shifted. His grip on your thigh tightened, and in one effortless motion, he pulled your leg completely over his lap, situating you nearly astride him. Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flooded your body, a slow, molten ache curling in your stomach. But you couldn’t even process it before he moved again.

"Yo, we’re going inside. Too cold," Trent called out casually, standing up with you in his arms as if it was nothing. As if he hadn’t just changed the temperature of the entire night with one move. You felt like you were going to fall, too weak from the shift of his hold on you and your heart stuttering too fast, your arms not ready for him to stand. Your legs locked around his waist instinctively, your hands draping over his shoulders fast but smooth. Still, as your breath hitched as you tried to untangle yourself, to slide down and find your footing, Trent only readjusted his hold—his arms locking under you tighter, like he had no intention of letting you go. No one said a word. There were some nods, a few disinterested glances, but the people closest to you? The ones that knew there was nothing disinteresting about this. They were locked in. Watching. Taking in the shift, the unspoken tension.

"Gonna carry me the whole way?" you whispered, a quiet tease but far from a rebuttal, tucking your face into the crook of his neck, hiding from the knowing looks of Campbell and Foster you knew were behind you. Trent hummed, a deep, rumbling sound, and kept walking toward the house. What he wanted to say was, ‘no, I have no idea what I just did. I was trying to practice restraint and you’re killing me.’ But what he also really didn’t understand was why he just did that. He didn’t know why he even offered to go inside alone with you. Because as he looked at the glowing door ahead, it felt like a death wish.

—

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the friends outside. The warmth of the house wrapped around you both, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off Trent as he carried you effortlessly through Leon’s place. He made his way to the living room, dropping onto the sofa with a groan, like he’d just run ninety minutes at Anfield, taking you with him—no hesitation, no intention loosening his hold on your body and on your heart. You sat up slightly, shifting in his lap as you peeled off his jacket, taking your own coat with it. The moment you were left in just your little top, Trent’s breath hitched. It was subtle, barely there, but you caught it—the sharp inhale, the way his fingers flexed on your hips, like he had to physically restrain himself.

“Want your coat back?” you asked softly, your voice dipping between playfulness and something heavier. You were straddling him, and it was dangerous. Trent’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before his lips curled into that signature smirk.

“Nah, I’m all good. You’re not still cold?” His voice was laced with something teasing, taunting—like he was onto you. Like he knew. Knew that maybe you weren’t as cold as you said. Knew that maybe you just wanted him to hold you. Knew that maybe he wanted all of this just as much as you did. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips as you slid off to the side of him, still close, still touching, still too much. Your arms wrapped around his waist instinctively, and though straddling him had felt reckless, this—your leg slung lazily over his thigh, your palm sliding over his covered abs, your body still tucked into his—felt just as dangerous.

“I’m okay now,” you murmured, letting yourself sink into him. “Grab that blanket for me though.” He nodded calmly reaching for the throw beside you two but the request sent a wildfire through Trent’s chest. You were staying. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t leaving. You wanted to be here. With him.

“Good. So you gonna bundle up next time?” He whispered, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around you both. His arms found their place around you again, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Mmm” You shrugged. “I’ve got you though,” you mumbled, nuzzling your nose into his chest, letting his scent consume you—woodsy, clean, mixed with the lingering smoke from the fire. Trent exhaled, his grip on you tightening.

“Yeah… you’ve got me.” He smirked against the top of your head, his voice dropping, rough and low.

The moment the door shut behind you and Trent, a hush fell over the group around the fire. For a second, they just blinked at each other, processing what had just happened. Then—

“So… do we—” Foster started, looking around, unsure of how to proceed with a cheeky giggle.

“I mean,” Leon exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. “They clearly wanted to be alone.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious,” Campbell scoffed with a victorious smile. She wanted you alone with Trent. “Man literally carried her inside.”

“Nah, honest though… we all know he’s in love with her, right?” Kieran leaned forward, eyes flicking toward the house before settling back on the group. It’s not like there had been verbalized confirmation from either of you as much as it was just shown, and all your friends knew it, they felt it.

“Obviously,” Campbell deadpanned.

“It’s actually a little ridiculous,” Foster added, shaking her head. “He’s an idiot but she’s being naive. Trent acts like she personally invented the sun and stars and she’ll tell you he’s just being "nice."” She smiled knowingly. Your friends could never understand the semantics of why you and Trent couldn’t just iron it all out, and honestly, you barely did. But from the outside looking in, it appeared a seamlessly simple task.

“It’s so obvious,” Leon laughed. “He’ll try to act like he isn't but he’s an absolute melt for her. He doesn’t shut up about her either, drunk, sober, doesn’t matter. It’s her…” He rolled his eyes about how stupid his friend had been acting. “We all see the way he looks at her? Forget astronomy, Fos. She’s something Trent cares about. She’s the last minute of stoppage time and he’s got one shot to win the whole thing.”

“That’s poetic,” Kieran nodded, teasing Leon but it also was fact. No matter how hard Trent tried, he no longer was the same guy he was. The composition of his whole galaxy was you now, and a hundred and five yards of a football pitch felt small in comparison now.

“It’s also sad,” Foster countered. “Because she likes him back. She’s just fighting it for whatever reason.” Campbell exhaled a soft laugh.

“Yeah, fighting a battle she already lost, because she caves instantly. That wasn’t exactly a protest.” She smiled recalling watching you and Trent all night, watching you dating all the way back to when she introduced you two in Ibiza; like two magnets unable to repel.

“Think anything’s happening in there?” Kieran asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Grow up, lad.” Leon rolled his eyes with a hearty laugh.

“I mean, Trent’s got the patience of a saint when it comes to her evidently because since he fucked up… I don’t think that’s happening,” Foster said thoughtfully but she wasn't going to let his friends know just how hurt you were by him.

“And rightfully so, he doesn’t deserve it.” Campbell added similarly because the truth was, all of your friends knew the situation, you barely needed words, it was in the air.

“True… is shitty behavior but also, if she whispers in his ear one more time, he’s gonna need divine intervention.” Kieran smirked. Everyone laughed, fully aware that the next time they saw you and Trent, you’d probably try to act normal, as if nothing had changed. But it had. Even in the handful of times they’d all seen you two interact, the shift had been obvious. They didn't need to see behind closed doors, it was out in the open.

“One hundred percent when we go inside, they’ll both be flustered,” Campbell grinned. “Like, ‘oh, we just talked, nothing happened.’” She mimicked your voice dramatically. "T, pretending like his hands haven't been glued to her." She giggled.

“Trent’s gonna look like he just fought for his life if nothing happens.” Kieran snickered. Leon chuckled, shaking his head. The group burst into laughter again, knowing full well that neither you nor Trent were fooling anyone, not even yourselves.

“All I’m saying is, if they don’t figure it out soon, one of us is gonna have to say something to one of them because they'll implode as "friends"" Foster smirked. “But until then...” Foster dragged her words, raising her drink. “I’m just happy we get to witness the slowest burn of the century unfold in real time.”

“To Y/N and Trent. The worst-kept secret of the year.” Leon clinked his drink against hers, kissing her temple.

—-

[Melting- Kali Uchis]

Your phone buzzed against your pillow, the screen illuminating the dark room. Trent. Your heart lurched at the sight of his name, and for a split second, you hesitated. You weren’t supposed to be this eager, this giddy, but you were. You were meant to be taking space, to be friends—and yet, here you were, clutching your phone like it held something vital. Still, you hesitated before answering. But then you did.

“Hi.” Your voice was soft, uncertain, like you weren’t supposed to be speaking to him this late. But it sounded like a siren to him. Trent didn’t speak for a second. You could hear him breathe, hear the hesitation thick in the air.

“Hey,” he finally murmured, voice low and a little rough, the word baby almost falling past his lips out of habit. There was something about the way he spoke though that made your stomach flip. There was silence, long enough that you thought maybe the call had dropped.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

“Yeah.” But he exhaled shakily, and you knew he wasn’t. “I just… I feel stupid even asking… calling now.” He let out a dry chuckle, but it didn’t reach his voice.

“Ask what?” you prodded. Another pause.

“Do you—you wanna come over?” It was meek, so un-Trent.

“Trent…” Your stomach clenched. You swallowed.

“I know.” He cut you off quickly, like he was embarrassed he even said it out loud. ‘Fucking melt’ he cursed himself in his head. “I know. You don’t have to. It’s late, and I—I shouldn’t have called, just—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Because you knew why. You’d watched every minute of his match this evening, glued to your TV, your chest aching every time the camera caught him, your heart clenching when the final whistle blew. A loss. A hard one. You’d felt awful—not just because of the result, but because of how badly you wanted to reach out, to just say something. But you didn’t. Instead, you spent the last hour typing and deleting messages, second-guessing yourself, because you were the one pushing to be just friends. Because it wasn’t your place. Yet somehow, hearing his voice now, the hesitation laced between the syllables, the way he sounded like he regretted calling the second you answered… it undid you. You opened your mouth, searching for something to say—something rational, something that would put distance where it should be—but then— “Baby…” Desperate. It was soft, so quiet like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you heard it. And it broke you.

“…I’ll be there.” You exhaled shakily. No details. No questions. No hesitation. Just him. And that was enough.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the house settling. The only light came from the dim glow of the tv, spilling into the room in streaks of colors and casting soft shadows along the walls. Everything about the space felt warm, cocooning, and intimate. But none of it compared to Trent beneath you. You were curled into him on the couch, his larger frame molding perfectly to yours, his body heat seeping into your skin. His arm lay heavy around your back, fingers idly tracing slow, absentminded shapes under the hem of your top. Every glide of his fingertips sent a whisper of electricity skittering up your spine, setting every nerve ending alight. The television sat ignored across the room, long forgotten, because the only thing that mattered in this moment was this—the way his chest rose and fell steadily under your cheek, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, the way he smelled of body wash, faint skin, and something inherently him. And yet, he was quiet. Too quiet. His body was exhausted beneath you, muscles still taut from the game, still vibrating with the weight of the loss. You hadn’t said much since you arrived, only the necessary pleasantries—a soft hello, a murmured thank you when he handed you a drink, the way his hand lingered on your waist when he pulled you in for a long, heavy hug at the door. Even now, as he held you close, as you melted into him, he hadn’t spoken much. You shifted slightly, your fingers ghosting over his stomach, feeling the way it tensed at your touch. His arm curled tighter around you in response, anchoring you to him, like he was afraid if he let go, you’d slip away.

“Was a shit game?” you finally murmured into his chest. He let out a long breath, the sound more of a sigh than an answer.

“Mmhm, baby,” he hummed, voice thick with exhaustion. His fingers pressed into your back before smoothing over your skin again, lower this time, his touch firm. The word baby slipped from his lips so easily, so naturally, and it sent a dangerous kind of warmth unfurling in your stomach. But Trent was too lulled by you to bite his tongue, you were dragging him out of cautiousness and into his subconscious. His hand dipping dangerously low on your back and then dangerously too high. “Thank you for coming over.” He murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. Trent needed this. Needed you and he didn’t care to fight it. He didn’t want to.

“Always.” You held him. Neither of you second guessed how good this felt.

“Just didn’t feel like being alone.” He replied quietly just inhaling you, vulnerability in every syllable. Your arms tightened around him instinctively.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he felt it in the way your breath fanned against his neck. You felt it too—the way his body melted just a little more, the way his hand stilled on your back like he was memorizing the feel of you. Before you could think twice, you pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heartbeat. It was instinctive, subconscious—something you hadn’t even meant to do. But the moment your lips met his chest, everything shifted. ‘Shit shit shit’ echoing on repeat in your head. Trent’s breath subtly hitched. His fingers flexed against your back, his entire body tensing beneath you. Your own breath caught in your throat, heat rushing to your cheeks, to the tips of your ears, to the place deep in your stomach that had been aching since the second you walked through his door. “Sorry…” you whispered, your voice unsure, nervous. You shifted in his hold like you were about to move away, to create some distance before this could turn into something you weren’t sure you were ready to face. But Trent didn’t let you. Instead, his grip on you tightened, his hand pressing into the small of your back, keeping you exactly where you were.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, lower. And then, after a beat—“Can always kiss me.” Your stomach twisted, your entire body growing warmer. Trent’s heart felt so beyond full that you just kissed him. Maybe not his lips but it was a start.

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled against his chest shyly, your lips curving slightly even as your heart pounded against your ribs. But he meant it. Every damn word. His fingers skimmed up your spine before sliding lower again, his touch reverent, like he needed to feel every inch of you. And then, slowly, his hand traveled lower, pulling your leg higher over his waist. A subtle movement, but one that sent a current of something heavy and dangerous crackling between you. Without thinking, you kissed his chest again—maybe on purpose this time. And Trent? He let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose, his grip on you tightening, his body pressing just a little closer to yours. Then, suddenly—

“We’re friends, right?” He whispered like a hot knife through butter. Maybe it was out of protection for himself but the words were teasing, laced with something playful, something cocky. But beneath it, there was something else. Something raw. You stilled. Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“Mmm.” It was the only sound you could manage, and instead of answering properly, you buried your face against his chest, hiding from the weight of the moment, from the truth that was pressing against you both. You hugged him tighter, feeling stupid. Stupid you came over. Stupid for cuddling. For kissing him. But nothing in this world could’ve pried you off of him, not even stupidity.

“Gonna go all shy on me now?” Trent let out a soft chuckle, his hand smoothing up your back again, this time slow, careful.

“No,” you mumbled, barely lifting your face from where it was tucked against him. “Just tired.”

“Mmhmm, alright,” he mused, amused, but satisfied. You weren’t the only one playing a game. Trent knew it too. You weren't stupid but neither was he—he could feel the way you reacted to him, the way you leaned into every touch, the way your body softened beneath his hands. Maybe it was unfair to invite you over, maybe he didn’t think this through all the way, maybe it was even selfish, but right now? Right now, he didn’t care, he couldn't think straight around you. You couldn’t resist him and he relished in that. “You wanna stay over?” he asked after a beat, his voice quieter now. You hesitated for half a second before nodding. You felt him exhale softly, relief washing over him. “Alright.” A pause. “Gonna fall asleep on me here or do you want one of the guest rooms?” You knew what the right answer was. You knew what the safe answer was. But still—

“Maybe here…” You whispered. His fingers tightened on your waist.

“Mmhmm.” He hummed accepting your answer but then, before he could stop himself, before he could rethink it—“Or if—you know.” He offered feeling a fear he wasn't expecting. You swallowed. Your stomach clenched. You knew what he was implying.

“Not anything but a cuddle?” you asked, testing him. Testing yourself. Because, frankly, if he peeled your top over your head right now, you wouldn’t stop him, you’d help him take your bra off too.

“I know, so…” he prompted. You nodded silently. Trent exhaled through his nose, his smirk evident even in the dim light. His hand slid lower, firmer now, like he was staking his claim, like he was trying to tell you he knew exactly what he was doing to you, but communicated clearly that you knew exactly what you were doing to him. “Better be careful, baby,” he murmured, voice low, sultry, a lilt of smugness. “I could get used to this.” Your stomach flipped, your body aching with something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge yet. And to be honest, so could you; his hands on your bare skin under your top and his curled pink lips had your heart pounding and somewhere south pulsing. Yeah, this wasn’t so bad… So instead, you just smiled softly against his chest and kissed him there again, drowning in the inevitability of what was to come because careful had gone out the window the second you first met him.

—

You and Trent sleeping in the same bed as "friends" felt a little ridiculous… actually insane, really. You weren’t sure where to put your hands, if you should stay on your side of his bed, if he was regretting the invitation now that the reality of the night had arrived. He’d been quieter than usual since you arrived, the weight of the loss still lingering in the air between you. You knew better than to push, but lying stiffly next to him in the dim glow of his bedroom felt unnatural—like forcing a distance that neither of you wanted.

“T…?” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, as you turned toward him. “Want a cuddle?” You asked. Maybe to console him? Maybe because you just wanted him… either way Trent didn’t even hesitate. Without a word, he reached for you, pulling you into him with an ease that made the tension from before feel dumb, irrelevant. His arm slotted around your waist, strong and steady, his body warm against yours. And just like that, everything melted away. You’d never been more comfortable. But it was charged. So fucking charged. You could feel it in the way his fingers rested just under the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him, his touch skimming absentminded circles over the small of your back. You could feel it in the way your lips brushed his bare chest—innocently, but not really. You weren’t even sure you realized you were doing it until you felt the inhales he took to steady himself. Trent said nothing, only held you tighter, letting his thumb stroke your skin like he wasn’t even thinking about it. You swallowed hard, your hand splaying against his ribs, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. It was stupid, really, the restraint. The closeness. The way you both pretended this wasn’t something more, something undeniable. But at the same time, it was perfect.

The following morning was quiet, the kind of early stillness where the world hadn’t fully woken up yet. The soft hum of the kettle, the occasional sizzle of the pan, and the rhythmic clinking of a spoon against ceramic were the only sounds filling Trent’s kitchen. You stood by the stove, his shirt draped over your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. The fabric smelled like him—clean, warm, a little like whatever cologne still clung to it from it simply being his. Your hair was a little undone, sleep still heavy in your limbs, but you moved with familiarity, hands knowing exactly where to reach for the mugs, where he kept the milk, which drawer had the spoons. Trent sat at the kitchen island, silent, just watching. His elbows rested on the countertop, fingers loosely intertwined as his eyes followed your every move. He looked exhausted—hoodie thrown on over his bare chest, hood up, shadowing his sharp features. But there was something about the way he was looking at you, something soft, something completely infatuated. Domestic. This felt dangerously domestic. His gaze lingered on the way his shirt hung off one shoulder, the way you absently reached up to fix it, the way your legs moved, the way the soft morning light kissed your skin in. He could get used to this—waking up with you still there, hearing you in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, making him tea like it was second nature. He could definitely get used to this. And then the moment shattered with the sharp ring of your phone. Trent blinked, the haze of his sleepy infatuation interrupted. Your head snapped toward the sound, brows furrowing slightly. Across the counter, Trent smirked, stretching his arms over his head lazily as he glanced at your phone.

“Your mum’s calling.” He muttered joking through a groan flexing his muscles.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes not believing him. He didn’t move at first, just sat there, smirking at you, before finally pushing himself up and making his way over. He grabbed your phone from where it lay on the counter and extended it toward you. Campbell.

“You’re dumb.” Your lips curled, shaking your head as you took the phone from his hand. Trent grinned, but before you could answer, his arms looped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his chest. His chin dipped, nose nudging against your neck as he hummed softly against your skin. You exhaled, relaxing into him instinctively, your body melting against his. You answered the call, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder, still tending to the eggs for him in the pan.

“Hello?” You softly cooed. A pause. Then—

"YOU’RE AT TRENT’S?!" You winced, your entire body jolting from the sheer volume of Campbell’s scream. You forgot she had your location… an oversight in retrospect. Trent flinched too, letting out a quiet, ‘Jesus Christ.’ His forehead dropped to your shoulder, silent laughter shaking his chest against your back.

“Cam, hold on—” You groaned, pushing through your own laughter.

“I KNEW IT,” she shrieked, completely ignoring you. “I FUCKING KNEW IT.” You let out an exasperated sigh, reaching down to idly squeeze Trent’s arm where it was still wrapped around you. He just hummed, pressing a lazy, barely-there ‘not kiss’ kiss to the side of your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder, completely content.

“I have to go,” you told Campbell flatly, already knowing this conversation was going nowhere fast.

“No, no, no, don’t hang—” She babbled, attempting to keep you on the line. Click. Trent let out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening slightly as he rocked you gently side to side, teasing.

“That woke you up more than a cuppa, hm?” He smirked.

“Don’t start.” You laughed, tilting your head slightly toward him. He grinned, burying his face into your shoulder. Just as you settled back into each other, his body molding around yours, his warmth melting into you as you absently caressed his forearms wrapped tightly around your waist—

“Oh shit…” The deep voice from the doorway into the room made you freeze. Wrapped up in each other too entirely to be aware of your surroundings. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had anyone over, bro” Trent’s arms loosened slightly, and you turned your head just enough to see Marcel standing there, looking as though he’d just walked into something he definitely wasn’t supposed to see. His jaw was slightly slack, eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the way Trent was wrapped around you, the way you were tucked so easily into his chest. You didn’t move at first, but then—sizzle. The eggs. You quickly turned your attention back to the stove, flipping them before they burned, pretending your body hadn’t just gone stiff under Marcel’s surprised stare.

“Nah, all good.” Trent finally spoke, his voice casual, teasing letting one arm stay wrapped around you, dipping to hold your hip as he created a sliver of distance in defense. “You just coming to raid my fridge, lad?” Marcel blinked before laughing, shaking his head as he flicked his gaze back to you with a raised brow. And Trent? He just shook his head. A silent conversation between the brothers. No explanation. No justification. Just…this.

And so, without another word, the morning continued. You made eggs for three, setting plates down at the island while Marcel shot his brother pointed looks that Trent pointedly ignored. You sat across from them, sipping your tea, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of the way Trent’s foot nudged against yours under the countertop. And then—just like that—you were out the door. Just Trent’s friend who had slept over.

—

Marcel leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, staring at his brother with an expression that was equal parts amused and incredulous. Trent was standing by the sink, rinsing out his mug like they were having a completely normal conversation—like he hadn’t just spent the morning wrapped around you, like you hadn’t been cooking in his kitchen, like you weren’t wearing his damn shirt.

“So…” Marcel finally broke the silence, tilting his head. “What the hell was that?” Trent didn’t look up, didn’t pause, didn’t even flinch.

“What was what?” He replied. Marcel scoffed.

“Are you two back together?” That made Trent glance up, his lips twitching, barely holding back the smirk threatening to take over his face.

“We were never together.” He confirmed. True but also bullshit. Marcel rolled his eyes so hard he might’ve pulled something.

“So you’re telling me that you’re just friends?” Trent hummed, nonchalant, placing his mug on the drying rack.

“Yeah. Just friends.” But the smirk—the absolute smugness of it—was impossible to hide. Marcel burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You don’t even believe that.” He yelped. Trent’s chest shook with a quiet chuckle, but he still shook his head, insisting,

“We’re friends. We didn’t sleep together.” A half-truth. You had slept together—just not in the way Marcel was implying.

“Trentski… you don’t do ‘friends.’” Marcel leaned forward, grinning like he was enjoying every second of this.

“She is my friend.” He doubled down, never one to concede easily although he was lying through his teeth.

“Never in the history of mankind have two people acted like you two did this morning and are just friends.” He lifted a hand, ticking things off his fingers. “You slept in the same bed, you “cuddled” all night,” He air quoted the word. “Which I also don’t believe and then this morning—bro, I walked in and you were all over each other in the kitchen like you've been married for five years.” Trent just hummed again, reaching for his phone like he was bored. Marcel wasn’t having it. “Mate, just say you like her.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like her!” Trent yelped, spinning around, finally giving Marcel his full attention. But that smug little grin was still there, still cocky, still so obvious. “I said she’s my friend.” Marcel squinted at him, crossing his arms tighter.

“Yeah, but you don’t want her to be your friend.” Trent tilted his head slightly, the smirk deepening, his silence loud as hell. Marcel gawked at him. “Bro!” he yelped, exasperated. Trent just shrugged, turning back toward the counter, unfazed.

“Long game, bro… long game.” His voice was sure, confident, dripping with the kind of arrogance that made Marcel roll his eyes so hard he had to look away. But Trent wasn’t entirely confident he knew this was a repercussion of his pride.

And so, that was the start of it all. Skirting around sex, but practically dating. Dinners, dates, alone time, all the time. A relationship in every sense except the one that put latex on and a label on.

—

Since then, in a crowded room, Trent always found a way to be near you. It was never obvious, never planned—just instinct. At Foster’s birthday party last month, he stood too close—one hand grazing the small of your back as he moved past, his arm thrown lazily around the back of your chair, like it was nothing. And you liked it that way. You never said it out loud, but he knew. He always knew.

Trent called you without thinking. When he got his call-up for the Euros, before his brain even caught up, his thumb had already pressed your name. It rang once—twice—before you picked up, and only then did he realize he hadn’t considered calling anyone else. You realized it too. But neither of you said a word about it. Because it was obvious. Because that was just how it was.

He caught you off guard on the kind of day that lingered in your bones—the kind that dulled the light in your eyes, weighed heavy in your shoulders. You didn’t tell him. You didn’t have to. He just knew. And he didn’t fill the silence with empty words, didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. He just sat with you, his thigh pressed against yours, his pinkie grazing your hand, until the world didn’t feel so unbearable anymore.

He sent you things that no one else would have thought to send. A playlist, carefully curated—songs you loved, songs you had once mentioned offhand, songs he just knew would settle under your skin the right way. A snack you always grabbed from the corner shop. A text that read simply, ‘Know today was shit. I’ll shut up if you just want company.’ Never flowers though — he knew better than that because that would be too real. Only small things. But not really. Because over time, the small things became big things. Trent wasn’t just someone—he was the only one.

His presence seeped into your life like ink bleeding through paper, staining everything in its path. You slept at his home more than your own, and when you didn't, he was sleeping at your apartment more often than he didn’t when he was back in town. He’d go to bed achingly hard, his body coiled tight with restraint, but your soft breaths against his chest pacified him, and that was everything to him. He was the last number you called. The last text you sent. The last takeaway order had his name on it too. The sweatshirt you wore around all your friends was his. Your things lived in his ensuite, your scent clung to the leather seats in his car. You were everywhere. He breathed you in, drowned in you willingly, and didn’t want to come up for air.

You’d go out to dinner, and there was something so dangerous in the way it felt like a date when it wasn’t. When you walked back into the house, your lips got too close, your breaths mingled, your fingers twitched like they wanted to reach. But you both pulled away before you could fracture this perfect kind of peace you had created—this delicate, fragile thing you had built with careful hands. Because once you let go—once you let it happen—there would be no turning back. And that thought? It was terrifying. So you kept the bed you made. You stayed on your side, he on his. For now.

—

[No Idea - Don Toliver]

The edges of your friendship began to fray because it never was a friendship to begin with. It never had been. The club pulsed around you, neon lights flashing in dizzying waves of red and blue, bodies swaying in the humid air, music so loud it vibrated in your ribs. But none of it mattered—not the packed dance floor, not the overpriced drinks you weren’t sure who had even paid for, not even your friends who were somewhere nearby, probably casting knowing looks in your direction. Because Trent was beneath you, his strong thighs spread wide as you perched on his lap, your body melting into his like it was always meant to fit there. His hands were everywhere—fingertips pressing, kneading, tracing slow, lazy circles against the bare skin of your thighs, sneaking under the hem of your shorts [ref index] just enough to tease. Your arms draped around his shoulders, fingers splaying up the fade of his hair at the nape of his neck, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you spoke only for him to hear you in the loud room or maybe to tease.

“I'm so hot in here,” you murmured, your voice lost in the thumping bass, your breath warm against his skin. Trent’s lips quirked up, and his grip on your thighs tightened. He wasn’t processing anything other than you.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” He murmured, completely lost in you. You blinked before a drunken giggle bubbled out of you, your fingers tightening against his skin as you let your head drop against his. His hands, still heavy on your legs, twitched under your touch.

“No,” you laughed, dropping your hands to place your smaller ones over his, pressing them into you as if to keep him there on you. “I said, the club is hot��” His smirk deepened, but before he could respond, the word, a pet name addressing him, slipped out of you—thoughtless, instinctual. “...baby.” Trent stilled beneath you for a second, his breath catching against your throat. Then, with a low chuckle, he ducked his face into your neck, hiding like you’d caught him off guard. But the moment only lasted a beat—because then his lips moved, brushing behind your ear, barely there, just a whisper of warmth and want.

“Both things are true though,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but deeper, darker with something else. Something that coiled low in your stomach and made your fingers tighten in his curls. “You are hot, club is too.” You giggled, fully, freely, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes in the flickering club lights. He was already looking at you, gaze slow and syrupy, sliding over your face like he wanted to drink you in. Like he didn’t care about anything else in the world but you—because truthfully, neither of you did. His hands inched higher, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy patterns against your skin. His lips hovered dangerously close, his breath warm and thick with whatever he’d been drinking. And the world could’ve burned around you, the music could’ve cut out, the club could’ve caved in—but none of it would’ve mattered. Because in that moment, Trent was the only thing that did.

The club was a blur of the heat you’d complained about and noise, a dark haze of neon and bodies, but Trent was the only thing in focus. His touch, his scent, the way his lips lingered too close to your skin—it was intoxicating, a dangerous game you weren’t sure you wanted to win or lose. You shifted further into his embrace, turning to straddle his thigh properly, your shorts riding up slightly as you settled against him. His breath hitched just a little, barely noticeable over the bass reverberating through the room, but you caught it. You felt it in the way his hands tightened around you.

“No, seriously, baby…” You purred. “Aren’t you hot?” you murmured, your fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his jumper. You pressed your palms against it, feeling the definition beneath, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. Trent was in a sweatshirt while you were in clothes reserved for clubs or warmer weather, it was an earnest question but honestly, maybe not at all. Then, teasingly, your nails scraped up the fade of his hair again and Trent shivered. He exhaled a slow, amused breath, a lazy, sexy smirk tugging at his lips.

“Little bit,” he admitted, his voice thick, deep, laced with something dark and amused. His fingers flexed against your thigh, the other hand creeping up your waist, teasing but firm. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need a cold shower tonight.” He told you, inferring it wasn’t the temperature of the room causing the warmth it was you all over him, sending him spiraling. You hummed, leaning in, your lips ghosting the shell of his ear, only so he could hear you - of course- your own smirk growing.

“Mmm. I can't wait to shower.” You dragged the words out just enough, watching as his jaw flexed. Then, before you could think twice, you added a subconscious thought, a desire, slippier from the liquor. “Bet you look good in the shower, T.” His pupils blew wide. His grip on your waist tightened. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared at you, gaze dripping in greed and hunger. His hand, the one kneading your thigh, flexed possessively, the other dragging up your side, slipping beneath the silk of your top just enough to feel your bare skin, gripping you like he needed something to hold on to.

“I know you’d look fucking unreal wet,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, like he was walking the very edge of his restraint. Then, teasing, smirking, he added, “Maybe someday I’ll get lucky.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. You were too close. Too close. Your lips hovered, the heat between your bodies unbearable, the tension unbearable, his hands burning you alive. And for a moment, for a split second, you almost caved. He almost caved. But sexual chemistry had never been your issue. The problem wasn’t whether you wanted each other—you knew you did, that much was undeniable. No, the real challenge was restraint. Could you do that? And if you could make it out of this club without tearing each other apart, maybe that was more of a win than getting you into bed. For now.

—

[Time's Up - Kacy Hill ft. 6LACK]

The moment you settled into the car, the low murmur of the music and the soft hum of the tires against the road lulled you into a comfortable haze. The night had been long—the heat of the club, the closeness of Trent, the weight of your own exhaustion pressing into you. You’d told everyone you two were heading out, too tired to continue on, but provided no explanation as to why you needed to leave together. But they didn’t ask – not even a cheeky joke, it was obvious… at least to them. You blinked slowly, your head tipping into Trent's shoulder, but before you could drift off, Trent’s voice, low and soothing, cut through the quiet.

“Baby, don’t fall asleep on me,” he murmured, his arm draped along the back of the seat, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along your shoulder. You hummed in response, barely coherent, and a moment later, you felt his hand slide down, finding your thigh, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles. The car was dimly lit, the occasional flash of streetlights illuminating his face, catching the soft curve of his lips as he looked down at you. You must have fully dozed off at some point, because the next thing you felt was Trent’s fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a gentle whisper. “Hey, made it home, beautiful,” he said softly. That alone should’ve been an indicator– home. Not his place, no, somewhere you two shared so much time together lately it was dubbed home for both of you. You blinked up at him, still hazy with sleep, and before you could move, his hand was already under your chin, coaxing you awake. “C’mon,” he urged with a small smile, reaching for the car door as he murmured a quick thanks to the Uber driver. Your limbs were heavy with sleep, but Trent was already there, sliding an arm around your waist as he helped you out of the car, keeping you steady against his side.

“I can walk,” you mumbled sleepily, though you made no effort to move away from him, in fact you hugged your body into his.

“I know,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple as he guided you up to his front door. “But I like taking care of you.” By the time you were inside, you had woken up just enough to stretch lazily, watching as Trent kicked off his trainers, reaching for your hand again without even thinking. His touch was instinctual, grounding, as if letting you go wasn’t an option.

“You shower first,” you told him, already making yourself comfortable in his room, too drunk, too tired from the mental gymnastics of restraint you’d practiced all night as you slipped out of your heels. He gave you a look, like he wanted to argue, but you just gestured toward the ensuite. “I’m serious, T. Go.” You giggled. With a dramatic sigh, he disappeared into the bathroom, and you sank back against his bed, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the distant sound of running water fill the room. You peeled off your own clothes, pulling the silk ties of your top undone and you ached. You wanted him to do that, causing a subconscious drunk pout to form on your face. Reluctantly you nestled into your shirt for bed, well it was his, but it had become yours with every night you spent here. When he finally emerged, towel slung low on his hips, his skin was still damp, the scent of his body wash lingering in the air. He reached for a sleek white bottle with a rounded black top, blanche Byredo body lotion, it was him encapsulated, from his dresser. The smell of it tightening like a noose around your neck. He began to rub the product over his arms, his broad shoulders flexing with the movement as he took a seat on a boucle bench at the end of his bed. You sat up slightly, watching him, something warm unfurling in your stomach as he dragged his hands over his chest, spreading the lotion across his golden skin tiredly.

“Baby, come here,” you offered, voice soft but certain. It just flowed and neither of you could stop it. Neither of you wanted to. Trent turned and looked back at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You crawled across the mattress towards him, taking the bottle without a word, settling perched on the bed behind him. You pumped some lotion into your hands, rubbing it between your palms, warming it, before smoothing it over his shoulders. The second your hands met his skin, he exhaled slowly, his head lolling slightly to the side. It was supposed to be helpful, just a favor - sort of. But it lingered. Your hands moved over him with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging him, your thumbs pressing into the knots at his shoulders before gliding down the expanse of his back, up his neck, around his ribs. He was warm beneath your touch, solid, and every time your fingers traced over his skin, he let out a quiet, satisfied sigh. It felt intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated but should've—charged yet comfortable, like you’d done this a hundred times before. When you finally finished, you stayed behind him, draping your arms lazily over his shoulders, your cheek pressing to the damp curve of his neck. “All good now?” you purred.

“Mhmm. Thank you.” His voice was thick, almost dazed, but then—“Can you be a good girl for me tonight?” Your breath caught. The words too familiar, too loaded. He turned slightly, his lips hovering just inches from yours, the weight of it settling deep in your stomach. You nodded slow. “Don’t tease me too much tonight in bed…” He exhaled, voice rough, strained and yet strangely earnest. Was he finally going to cave, to want you back in this way? Would you let him? “I’m losing…” He took a deep breath, feeling a wave of vulnerability far more intense than he was expecting. “My ability to restrain myself here, beautiful.” His pout almost beginning to curl. His eyes bore into yours. Your heart pounded as your nails dragged lightly over his chest subconsciously, watching the way he tensed beneath your touch.

“I’ll be a good girl for you tonight…” you whispered, and the smirk that ghosted over his lips was downright sinful. He shifted slightly, leaning in, but you stopped him with a soft murmur. “Only if you promise to let that restraint go eventually.” Trent stilled, considering you, his fingers finding your chin, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His gaze was dark, heated, but his smirk was slow, teasing.

“My restraint is already gone,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “You just tell me when you’re ready.” And if possible, not kissing you, might’ve been the sexiest thing he’d ever done.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 10 Coming Soon!

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#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

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