#that i plan on posting in the coming weeks but ao3 will have to wait a little longer

[jeminie-rising]

onigiris for valentine's

[ Inumaki Toge x Reader ]

link to AO3: [ onigiris for valentine's by JEMINIE ]

summary: "Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair."

Or, it's valentine's day and you give everyone a bag of cookies with ribbons of their favourite colours apart from Inumaki. He then realises that his ribbon was actually in your hair all along.

warnings: Inumaki Toge uses sign language, Soft Inumaki, Inumaki says more than just rice balls ingredients, fluff, toge and reader being complete idiots in love, no smut!, they're both so in love, Not actually unrequited love (they just shy), Yuuta is so supportive, love confessions (finally), slow burn

characters: inumaki toge, The Inumaki Clan, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Zen'in Maki, Panda, Yuta Okkotsu

word count: 6,623

authors note: hi, i know i know. It's the end of February and why am i posting a Valentine's themed one shot?

WELL BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!

sorry, i wasn't in the mood to write about love during the month of my ex's birthday lmao. so not only was i late, but this one shot might not be as good as i would have hoped. I shall come back in the future to fix it, hopefully

In the meantime though, ENJOY xx

and reminder:

sign language in this fanfic, like in all the others, is based on japanese sign language, not ASL.

this is part 3 of the Holidays with Toge series but can 100% be read on its own

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Don’t wait for someday. She’s thinking the same thing as you. - kids that fly

It has been weeks since New Year’s Eve. January seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and even worse, it seems like nothing really has changed. Not the classes they took, not the amount of times Itadori begged for you to help him out with English, not the missions you took up with your classmates, and not the way Inumaki treated you.

You started to believe everything that has happened was a figment of your imagination. His little trick and tease during the countdown to the very last second of last year, was nothing more than his way to pull a joke out of you. It’s not that it was something out of the ordinary. He liked to pull pranks on people with Panda all the time. Something Maki had to deal with every day, being the only other classmate they had that was present. Unfortunately for her, the mysterious fourth second year was always absent, making her the only and biggest target of Inumaki and Panda’s annoying plans.

But exactly because of it, they moved on from Maki and started widening their target to the first years. They started with Itadori, quite the gullible one and easier to get forgiveness from. A safe bet, you’d say. They managed to make him believe he was invisible for an entire afternoon. Even miraculously got help from Megumi, who did not want to get involved. But because it came natural for him to ignore Itadori, he indirectly added to the two’s bit.

They managed to pull one on you too. But in comparison, your prank seemed quite mellower. One day, mid-january, you came back to your room after class only to see it filled up with Christmas decorations when you were sure you put them down just the previous week. Even then, you were certain that you never really owned Santa curtains and elves bedsheets. It took you a whole two days to bring down everything.

Up to this day, you weren’t sure how it was that they entered your room. 

“I can hear you both snickering there,” Maki warned the two solidified prankers of the school, “if this is one other prank you’re planning you will–”

“It’s not!” Panda was quick to defend himself, “Toge was just making a joke.”

“If you two have so much time to joke around then might as well use that to train the first years.”

You and Nobara couldn’t help but smile at that idea. Training with a second year other than Maki? Definitely! 

Maki was a force of nature. She may not have any cursed energy but she made up for it with raw skills and talent. Nobara swore she would take ten Pandas over one Maki any day. And that she did. Maki wasn’t even done sparring with her before she ran towards Panda to start their training. You only looked at her, a little bit of betrayal in your face for leaving you behind.

Maki looked at you expectantly, now that Nobara was gone, you were next.

“I, actually–”

“Hey, guys!”

Everyone turned around but only the second years reacted to the newcomer. 

“Who is that?” Itadori asked, almost appalled, as soon as he saw Maki actually smile.

Megumi, who was the only one from the first years who has been in the school long enough to know, smiled proudly as he answered Itadori, “That’s Yuuta Okkotsu, the last of the second years of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Te–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobara interrupted him. “That’s the last of our upperclassmen then?”

“I guess...?”

With a groan Nobara let down her shoulders, “ugh, so there’s really no handsome guy in this entire school uh?”

“Hey!” Itadori pouted, but Nobara was already waving her hand, shooing him away.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” you admitted.

“Yeah, in a sick Victorian kid way,” Nobara was looking at Okkotsu from the midfield with the rest of her classmates. He was quite far from them, but she could already observe him without problems from where she stood. “He looks like he’s ready to go at any time, are we really sure he’s a special grade?” 

Megumi scoffed at her question. There was little to underestimate about Yuuta Okkotsu, and his grade was not one of them.

“Hey guys come here!” Panda waved for the first years, “let me introduce you to Yuuta Okkotsu, our classmate and friend.”

Everyone gave a small nod, all with their own reasons as to not make the first step, but overall, the cursed energy he emanated from that distance was enough to keep them away.

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna bite,” Panda reassured them.

“Not him anyways,” Maki added, making Inumaki chuckle.

“Hello, I’m Yuji Itadori!” The pink haired boy was the first to introduce himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he trusted Panda enough to do it or he really was just that kind of guy to not care about his own safety. The times you went on missions with him made you think it was the latter.

“Nobara Kugisaki,” she simply said, studying him with her gaze. She only let a beat pass before she added, “You’re really a special grade sorcerer?”

Yuuta could only smile at her, and with the most casual tone he answered her, “uh, yeah, I am.”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he?” Maki snickered, knowing exactly what hid behind the false appearances.

“I guess…” Nobara continued, still quite skeptical. Her reply mostly being for his appearances. “Well, my friend here thinks differently.”

Your eyes widened, “I didn’t say anything!”

“You said he was kinda cute!” Nobara reminded you. Your eyes were almost falling out of your eye sockets.

You were not the only one. Everyone present was quite taken aback by that comment. Not really expecting that at the moment. Yuuta couldn’t help but glance towards Inumaki, the boy’s face was half hidden, but he knew his friend enough to notice that little frown between his brows forming.

“And I guess you must be [name], right?” Yuuta tried his best to break the ice that was formed. You frowned at him, confused as to how he could possibly know your name. Catching on your reaction he continued, “Sorry if that sounded weird. I was away for missions, but my friends kept me updated about everything and everyone… Inumaki especially talked to me, so of course I’d know of you.” 

“Oh, well, yeah that’s me,” you chuckled, then turned towards Inumaki, his gaze was avoiding yours. He spoke about you? You quickly shook the newly forming delusions away. He must speak of every single one of you.

That’s just the kind of person Inumaki Toge was in your eyes. Sweet, kind, considerate, and so loving and caring about other people. To the point where he would limit his entire life to a few ingredients just to make it a little bit safer for everyone around him.

“Why are you here anyways, Yuuta?”

“Well, I wasn’t around for Christmas and New Years, at least on Valentine's Day I could spend it with my other single friends!” Yuuta cheered.

“Single?” Panda asked skeptically before whispering, “Is that safe to say for you?”

Yuuta could only chuckle, but you, Nobara, and Itadori were left confused. Itadori was the only one mouthful enough to bother to ask, “does Okkotsu-senpai have a girlfriend?” Others hesitated to answer, and when they did Itadori was quick to add thinking he got it wrong, “or boyfriend? …Partner, perhaps? …lover?”

“Yuuutaaa,” a screeching voice came out of nowhere bringing the three first years ready for combat, sensing the cursed energy around them becoming heavier out of nowhere.

“Calm down,” Maki warned, and you weren’t sure if she was referring to you first years who were instinctively in fighting positions, or Yuuta and whatever entity that was slowly appearing from behind him.

Everything within you, every training combat and exercise was pushing you over the edge to attack, but you hesitated. You pulled yourself and your instincts back, knowing well that if it was an enemy, your second years would be the first to react. With a deep breath, you calmed yourself down.

“Rika, it’s okay,” Yuuta was… reassuring the creature?

You frowned. Unsure how to react and even less sure what to think. Was that what made him a special grade? Was that even a cursed technique?

“Yuutaaa, why are they flirting with youuu?” 

The voice seemed to reverb until your bones, chilling your spine. But the tone seemed like that of a child throwing a tantrum, something about it seemed odd. It wasn’t until Panda started explaining the situation that Nobara placed her hammer back in her belt and Itadori let go of his tight fists.

“Sorry for having spooked you,” Yuuta apologised quickly after the explanation.

“It’s alright!” Itadori was the first to smile at him, “I understand your predicament.”

“Predicament uh, big words from you,” Megumi scoffed. “Trying to impress or something?” 

“Shut up,” Itadori gritted his teeth.

The second years all laughed, and Yuuta went back to the topic he was hoping to have since he came, “anyways, I was hoping we could all do something for the fourteenth? It’s a Friday so we all could go do something after classes…”

“I think that’s a fun idea!” Itadori cheered at the thought of being able to go out with his friends, “Maybe we can watch a movie?”

“I would love that!” Yuuta smiled fondly at the pink haired boy, “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the movies…”

“I’m going if we’re not watching one of those weird movies with long ass titles you like,” Nobara sighed.

“I heard they’re making a release of rom-com movies for the week of Valentines,” you brought up the ad you recently searched. It was in your plans to invite Inumaki for a date, but you knew that was never going to happen. This group activity could be the closest thing you could get to seeing him during Valentine’s day.

“Perfect!” Itadori looked through his phone to buy tickets for everyone before anyone could even agree on coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You were a coward.

Or at least that’s what you have been thinking of. Hiding behind the opportunity of hanging out with everyone to avoid confessing your love and asking Inumaki on a date. Both Panda and Nobara have been cheering for you since the winter holidays to take a step, and you were sure that this Valentine’s was going to be your perfect opportunity. However, it all went to smoke when Yuuta came around (you pathetically excused yourself). Or maybe he gave you the opportunity to see Toge on Valentine’s day without having to confess your feelings. 

With this new motivation you thought of what you could possibly do to make the day a little bit more special for him. Maybe a Valentine’s gift was going to be enough? Or was that too forward?

You thought of giving him chocolate. But only giving him while giving others nothing felt kind of weird. So you started making everyone some cookies, something different from his but still made from the heart. But by the time you made everyone a pack of cookies, you noticed how his chocolates paled in comparison to homemade cookies. Sure you didn’t want his gift to stand out, but now it seemed like it was too little.

You racked your brain over what else you could do, but before you realised it, the first few rays of sun came through the window and you knew you had no more time to do anything else. You still had to prepare to go to class and fix the kitchen. With a calming breath, you told yourself that you’d have time during the lunch break. So without battling yourself over it for longer, you quickly cleaned the utensils and counter you used.

You almost didn’t make it to class in time, but fortunately, your training as a sorcerer was helpful to you in more ways than just fighting curses. Classes that day went smoothly. Well, not smoothly, more like they were just background noise for all the thoughts you were getting for later than day.  

“Hey let’s have lunch at th–”

“Sorry but I have to do something right now!” You said running away already, giving them no time to say anything. 

“Where is she going?” Panda asked, confused to see you running away.

It wasn’t often that everyone would have lunch together. Usually it was first years with first years, and second years among themselves. Often everyone would have their lunch alone too as they had their own things going on. But that was one of the rare times when Okkotsu was home from his long term missions, so they all decided to take advantage of that by spending more time together.

“We don't know either…” Itadori admitted.

“Girl things?” Megumi offered it as an excuse but he honestly didn’t care much. Compared to Itadori, he trusted you to do stuff on your own without getting in too much trouble.

Inumaki stayed quiet, not even offering an ingredient as an addition to the conversation as he usually does. The only one noticing his gaze fixed on you running away towards the dorm rooms was Yuuta.

“She’s probably okay,” he reassured his friend by putting a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t seem the kind of person to go through troubles by herself.”

“Tuna tuna,” the boy replied, his gaze lowering to the chocolate he hid in his pocket.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Other than your absence, the break went quickly and without a hitch. Everyone had a laugh sharing stories with each other. While for the afternoon classes, you were, once again, tardy, but nothing too outrageous to get the teachers to complain. Their annoyance seemed dissipated thanks to the sweet smell that came from the big paper bag you had with you.

Itadori couldn’t help himself, he had to ask about it. He leaned to the side and whispered closer to you, “What do you have there?”

“It’s just a little gift,” you giggled to yourself.

“It’s for Inumaki-senpai, isn’t it?” Nobara leaned in to join the conversation.

“Aww dang,” Itadori pouted back into his seat, his groan a little too loud catching a stern look from their teacher. He lowered his voice again, hoping it would be low enough to not be reprimanded despite knowing he could be heard anyways, “I wanted something too…”

“Just wait for later!” You tried to keep your voice low.

Patience wasn’t one of Itadori’s virtues. He kept poking at you during class, after class, on the way to the cinema, and when they were in line to claim their tickets. The others weren’t phased by anything at this point, especially when it came to Itadori, but Yuuta was new to the bunch.

“You guys seem like a good pair,” he said, smiling at you and Itadori. There was only a beat, before he realised his choice of word and had to add, “I meant that as a like platonic pair –like good friends–”

“Yeah,” Itadori laughed, “I imagined.”

“But what are you guys doing?” He asked, “Is this a normal occurrence?”

“More than you’d think,” Maki sighed. 

“It would stop if you could finally spill the beans,” Nobara poked at you. “What are you hiding?”

You looked at the remaining line for the movies. There was still quite a line, pairs of people for the most part, and those that weren’t were a group of girls celebrating in pink –galentines, you thought. There would be enough time before your group’s turn so you decided to take the opportunity at your grasp.

Putting down the paper bag, you started grabbing the elaborated pink bags tied each with a different coloured ribbon. Analysing the colours of the ribbons, you started to distribute them to all the different members of the group.

The green one to Maki. You assumed she’d prefer a darker chocolate flavour, given how much she enjoyed coffee in the early mornings. Similarly to Megumi’s, which was tied with a teal ribbon, who received coffee flavoured cookies from you.

In your hand you still had a red ribbon confection and there was no question to who it would go to. Even Nobara was eagerly looking at the bag with her favourite colour. The girl grabbed it from your hand before you could even offer it to her. Soft and chunky cookies inside, just like she likes them. Similar to hers, but bigger in size, was Panda’s. His bag was also the biggest one among the ones she held. A black ribbon wrapped around it tightly. 

After giving Panda his bag, there were only two more remaining. Yuji awaited his turn impatiently, his feet marching in place as a way to stimulate his eagerness. You almost wanted to keep his bag to tease him, but his face made you guilty enough to give his next. A bag adorned with a pink ribbon, and different flavoured cookies inside to reflect his chaotic nature. 

“Yaaay! Nothing beats homemade cookies!” He celebrated them above everyone’s head the moment he had them in hand.

Everyone chuckled at the boy, his enthusiasm contagious to everyone. But it wasn’t enough to keep Toge distracted for long. He looked at the last bag you held in hand, and could smell the sweet sweet cookies that fought their way out of the white ribbon.

“And this one…” you held the bag in front of you, “is for you!”

It wasn’t only Inumaki who was speechless, but among everyone was Yuuta, who hesitantly reached out for the bag you were handing him, “Me…? I–I wasn’t expecting anything… we–”

“Of course you get some too!” You laughed as if it was an obvious thing.

“Uh… how about Inumaki-senpai?” Itadori pointed out what everyone was thinking.

At his question, a dust of pink blush, similar to his ribbon, tainted your cheeks. You were trying to avoid doing this in front of everyone, but with everyone’s eyes on you, you had no choice. You opened up your purse, instead of the paper bag, hesitantly, hoping for an escape. And there it was, like the Gods answered your prayer.

“Next!” The lady called out for them.

This was enough to grab everyone’s attention to the cashier lady. In between busy choosing the movies and which seats to take, you took this opportunity to grab the purple tupperware from your purse and push it against Inumaki’s side.

“For you,” you whispered. “Happy valentines, Inumaki-senpai.”

You didn’t even let him say anything before you rushed your way after the other first years, who were arguing if it was better to have all seats in one row or take two rows of equal numbers.

“She gave you… tupperware?” Panda peaked over Inumaki’s shoulder, “Are the cookies inside?”

Inumaki could only shrug his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to have a cute bag with a ribbon too, but he shoved that feeling aside. He was about to eat cookies you prepared for him, who cared what they came into?

He carefully opened the tub but instead of the sweet smell of cookies he smelt the familiar scent of… onigiri?

The two looked at the tupperware container holding two rows of onigiris carefully placed over purple sheer paper. There was a moment of silence between them as they stared at the rice balls, before Panda started laughing dropping on the floor, catching the attention of people around them.

The silver haired boy could only frown and send a kick to his friend, “Bonito flakes!”

But the panda only laughed more at the unintended pun, “t-that’s right! There are bonito flakes –This may be the best prank ever!”

Toge looked back at the tupperware to notice one of the onigiris to have bonito flakes on top of it. That wasn’t common to have from store-bought onigiris –these were home-made, he concluded. With one look he searched for you among the first years, unsure truly how to react or feel about the gift he received. Although, once found the little bow on your head amongst the others, his doubts were somehow cleared. 

How could he not have noticed before? 

“What’s your favourite colour, senpai?” You once asked him once when the flowers were blooming and offered a various range of colours for him to pick on without having to speak out loud.

Inumaki looked pensive for a bit. Then pointed at a violet that was by her hand, “tuna mayo.”

You followed his finger with your gaze. For a second you thought he referred to your new set of nails, but then noticed the violet in between your pinky and ring finger. 

“Violet?” You asked to clarify.

He gave a single nod, “Salmon.”

“It’s a pretty colour!” You affirmed, “they’re similar to your eyes…”

Inumaki was once again grateful for the collar that hid his face and his red. Hoping to change the attention from himself to you, he pointed his finger back at you, “mustard?”

“Me?” You asked before thinking about it. You aren’t sure why you had to think about it. You knew what your favourite colour was. It has always been white. The infinite possibilities white could hold is far too alluring for you to not have it as your favourite colour. But after seeing the purple in Inumaki’s eyes, you hesitated for a bit. What were possibilities compared to the certainty that you found in him? “W-white,” you finally admitted after a moment too long.

Inumaki looked up at the sky, his gaze pensive and they looked farther away than where you ever could, but then he pointed at the clouds. You could only nod, smiling at him. 

“Yes, like the clouds.”

He then looked down at the ground. Picking a single daisy, he offered it to you. 

“Yes, like daisies.” You reached out for it and twirled it between your two fingers, “and mongolias… and jasmines –my favourite!”

Inumaki looked at you, his head tilted, “Mustard?”

“Yeah, I love Jasmines, they smell like comfort!”

Inumaki seemed to think about something for a bit, then brought his hand to his hair, he grabbed a few strands from his bangs and looked at it making cross eyes you giggled at. Then he looked through his bangs and directly at you, “Mustard?”

You frowned slightly unsure if you understood him correctly. This seemed to not translate to you in his ingredients, so he shifted his body towards you and clearly showed his hands. Back then, he was already studying sign language from the book you have gifted him on his birthday. He was still quite choppy on his sign language but he was getting the hang on it quicker than you did.

You knew his intentions and with a focused eye, you followed his hands as he unzipped his collar down. A sign of vulnerability from him, you learned. You tried to not get entranced by the snake fangs by each side of his mouth and forced your eyes to follow his hands instead. With all his fingers together he twisted the tips of them against each other. Colour.

“Colour?” You repeated his sign out loud and he gave you a nod.

He then pointed his pointer to his teeth showing his own fangs. The small smile he formed as he signed and flicked his finger, made you almost forget what he was trying to say. You shook your head trying to regain focus, but poor Toge assumed you didn’t know that particular sign and looked up instead to point at a new cloud. Then back to your daisy that still rested between your fingers. 

You nodded and repeated the sign for the colour white by grinning your teeth out and flick your pointer finger against it. “White,” you spoke out before bringing your two fingers at each side of your cheek as you dropped your hand down, your two fingers met at the tip of your chin. “I like the colour white.” Before a pause you added without sign language, “My favourite.”

He couldn’t avoid a smile at your words. He pointed at you before repeating your own sign. You. Bringing his fingers to his chins, highlighting his snake eyes, and dropping his hand to meet his two fingers to the tip of his chin. Like. Then he pointed at his forehead.

“Y-You…” You gaped before finally realising, “...r hair.”

He nodded and you could not keep in a smile, “yes, I do like your hair colour.”

White was your favourite colour. That was not something Toge would forget anytime soon. That was the colour of his hair, the colour of the flowers you smelt like, the colour of endless possibility. Ever since that afternoon at the field of flowers with you, he has seen the colour in a different way. 

He looked at your ribbon again, the one that held your hair together, but it wasn’t white like it usually would be to match your uniform, it was purple instead. His favourite colour. The same colour as the paper that held all his onigiri safe. Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The movie was a hit. Everyone fell in love with the characters as much as they fell in love with each other. Itadori in particular was ecstatic over the ending.

“I can’t believe she wasn’t dead after all!” He jumped as everyone followed on the way back home, “I still don’t understand how it happened…”

“Of course you don’t, simpleton,” Megumi commented a few steps behind.

“It wasn’t said in the movie!” Itadori fought him.

“There are implications!” Megumi scoffed.

As the two argued between themselves you couldn’t help but laugh. It was nice to have a moment with them like that. With studying and missions, it was hard to find a time where everyone could act like normal kids –as normal as a sorcerer could get anyways. Having a literal panda walk with you guys didn’t really keep the attention away from the group. You could only guess the things going on inside people���s heads. But you assumed, just like you did when you met him for the first time, that people thought he was just one of those people who liked to get into anthropomorphic animal costumes. 

You looked behind you to check on the said friend, beside him, of course, there was Inumaki who already had his eyes on you. You knew it was too late, but you still looked away and hoped he didn’t pay mind to you. After giving him his valentine's gift, you weren’t sure how he would react, but he hasn’t said anything and that made you more anxious.

“You should make a move,” Yuuta approached him after witnessing the very short interaction.

“Tuna?”

“You never know when it’s too late,” the boy shrugged. “Sorcerers like us don’t have the privilege of time.”

Toge couldn’t look away from his friend. He was right, with all the missions you both had to go through, even more now after Sukuna’s return, there were no promises of a tomorrow. He only had today and his feelings. And with nothing more than that, the boy gave his friend a thankful wave as he caught up to you, who walked ahead of them.

You, in turn, hoped for any kind of reaction for your gift, a comment, a sign. You weren’t really expecting a grand thank you, but nothing seemed a bit too much. Sure you walked away the moment you passed the gift, but part of you was hoping for even a nod from the distance. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you knew it was him.

“Kelp,” he greeted you with a gentle nod.

“Hey, did you enjoy the movie?” You asked, hoping that the question would lead him astray from the thought of your onigiris. But it only did so much as he nodded again.

“Tuna tuna,” he changed the subject again, pointing at your purple ribbon.

You followed his hand, something you found yourself accustomed to at that point. “Ah yes, it’s new, do you like it?”

He paused before nodding at you, “salmon.”

“Seems like you hesitated there,” you chuckled, teasing him, but it didn’t seem to budge him at all.

“Onigiri,” you heard him say, that new word made you almost snap your head towards him in surprise. You weren’t quite sure if he meant that literally or if he was using new food-related words to communicate his thoughts. With a slight frown you tried to look for the answer in his subtle expressions.

“Onigiri…?”

He nodded, grabbing the tupperware you gave him from his bag, “onigiri.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yes, onigiri.”

He then placed the tupperware back into his bag, allowing him to use his hands for signs. You watch him as he placed his left hand flat over a pointer finger directed towards you. With one single movement, he pointed towards you. Why?“Why onigiris?” you asked clarifying, he hummed at your interpretation. “Well, I thought you’d like to have onigiris, I just assumed they were your favourites since you chose the ingredients to be your vocabulary… Did I get it wrong?” “Bonito flakes!” Your worried expression made him shake his head as quickly as he could, hoping to shoo away your doubts. “Tuna mayo.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. The sound of your light laughter was too soft for Inumaki to hear over the chatter of the people around. Especially with Itadori having a full conversation with Nobara right in front of you. He had it in mind to curse them to shut up for a second, just to hear your giggle better. But he quickly moved that bad idea aside when you spoke again. “Each of them have different ingredients inside, I made one of each of the ones you mention the most –There are two of tuna mayo, your favourite.”

Toge could only smile fondly at your words, his chest fluttering with affection towards you, even more than before. He thought about the savoury snacks he had in his backpack, and then of all the cookies and chocolates that were being exchanged throughout the nation at that moment, and he felt like he had the best deal out of all of them. You didn’t simply give him chocolate, like he initially would have wished for, but took time to think about what he would have liked most and actually make it. He puffed his chest lightly at the new treasure he held in his bag, eager to take a taste of them as soon as he could.

“Do you like it?” You asked, looking at him, as you all walked down the street, now closer to your school, “Maybe I should have given you cookies too…”

“Bonito flakes!”

“So you’re okay with it?”

He smiled at you, and he looked around before placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked at him in slight surprise, but his gaze was directed towards Panda, “Tuna tuna.”

The friend smiled at him and gave him a single nod, as the others continued to walk away. You saw Panda pulling Itadori away by his hood. Something about wanting to watch being mumbled away. Without Itadori and the rest, there was a soft silence around you, realising how much quieter things were when it was only you and Inumaki. Nothing awkward, just peaceful. But what did warrant for such quiet and for your friends to go ahead without you both? Your delusions were already jumping everywhere, and you had to push them away before you could get ahead of yourself.

Your gaze turned back to Toge, who had his eyes already on you. “Is there something wrong?” You asked unsure. You felt like there was something to be said, but couldn’t bring yourself to take the first step to leading the conversation.

He shook his head, before zipping down his collar. You were quite sure that he was going to use Sign again, so you followed his hands closely to focus. But to your surprise, he brought his fingers to your chin and gently pulled your face up to meet his eyes. 

This simple gesture was enough to cause you to sweat cold. You fidgeted with your fingers hoping to distract yourself from his, that were still on your chin. 

“Inumaki-senpai?” You asked hoping he would finally get to the point. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being so close to him without breathing.

He took a step back, much to your health. But his gaze was still fixed into yours, silently guiding you to not look away. Not that you could even if you wanted to, his eyes were as hypnotising as that of a snake luring a prey.

Then he did what you didn’t expect him to, he began to open his mouth.

“I…” he attempted, “have been practicing.” 

You swore your heart stopped the moment he opened his mouth and began to beat only at each word he spoke. Unsure if you were supposed to ruin the moment, you kept quiet, not daring even to move a muscle, afraid you might miss something.

He seemed to be thinking about it for a bit, then with careful breathing, he spoke again, “I have been practicing, to not infuse my words with cursed energy.” He paused as he breathed in a big chunk of air. You wondered if it took a lot of him to do so.

“That’s amazing, senpai,” you said before you even realised you were talking. Perhaps when Inumaki could talk, it was you who was rendered speechless. You looked for words to say as he smiled at you clearly quite proud of himself. “Since when?”

He paused before answering. For the first few times he did so, you thought it was because he was thinking about what to say, but it seemed like he was actually selecting which words to use. Despite him keeping from infusing his words with cursed speech he still deliberately thought of words that were still relatively safe to speak, just in case. 

“Since New Year’s Eve,” he carefully enunciated his syllables.

You couldn't contain your own smile, “You’ve made amazing progress!” 

He smiled back at you and gave a small polite bow, “Tuna mayo.”

You giggled at his favourite onigiri ingredient. Perhaps he was still more at ease with speaking like that. And to properly show his gratitude, he was going to do it with ease.

Then he took another deep breath in and nodded to himself. You watched him patiently, hoping for more words from him. It was cold, middle of february but spring was still so far away from arriving in the hills of Tokyo. But you paid no mind, you could stay there for an entire day and a night if it meant that you could have a conversation with Toge.

“I wanted to be able to speak properly with you,” he said after having attentively selected his words. He imagined everyone would practice their speech to themselves and to a mirror before giving it, and although he did so too, it still didn’t feel enough for him. Nerves got to him quickly as he inched closer to where he was aiming. He looked at you, hoping to gain courage from it, but it only made him even more nervous. 

In the long pause, you assumed he was done, so with a small smile you tilted your head, “that’s sweet, Inumaki-senpai.”

“Wait–” he shook his head, “Ikura.”

Your eyes widened slightly, shutting up. It was faint, but you felt the tingle of a cursed energy in his ‘wait’. It didn’t hurt, you noticed, his cursed speech never did hurt you. But it was an odd sensation crawling into your skin and grabbed onto your very muscle cells, forcing you to comply by pure force. There was worry in his eyes, as he noticed it too, but you smiled at him hoping to reassure the boy. With a single nod from you, he was able to breathe again. Perhaps your actions too had the same effect on him as his cursed speech. It took so little from you for him to change emotions and follow your silent commands.

“I wanted to tell you so many things,” he continued his thoughts from earlier. For the first time ever since you’ve known him, it was him speaking and you were listening. It was a dream that you never thought would be real. It made you so grateful for your world of curses, spirits, and impossibilities.

“I like the colour white too now,” he admitted out of nowhere, remembering that one afternoon in the field of flowers. 

“And I don’t actually like fish eggs…” he said, recalling that one time you offered some to him and he could only grimace at you. You never knew why he did, but now you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“I don’t like morning assemblies,” he admitted before carefully selecting his next few words, “that’s why I never go.” –That’s why you never see me. He wished to say, knowing from Panda how often you looked for him during the assemblies. But if he said those words he was scared you would go blind, or worse, you’d never see him specifically.

He took a deep breath and then, just as he practiced, “I wanted to thank you for Christmas,” he said remembering how it was her idea to bring everyone to visit him, “and that I am sorry for taking your last grape on New Year’s Eve.” You tried to hide your smile at the memory. At the time, you were stunned and flustered, but looking back it was quite silly. But if that memory was not going to make you blush, his next words would have been enough to do so.

“And that you looked very beautiful.”

He smiled looking at you. Perhaps because he started to get the hang of it, he wasn’t feeling as nervous as earlier. But the more he spoke and the more he looked at you, he could only find more courage to spill all his secrets. To give you everything he had. To tell you every single thought he ever had selfishly hoping you’d keep them all.

“I was going to tell you on New Year’s Eve,” he continued before chuckling to himself, “but we got interrupted.”

The memory of your silent conversation on New Year’s Eve came back at you. The way he held his fingers on each side of his cheek close to expressing how he felt. You kept your eyes fixed on him, afraid to even blink. Afraid that in that fraction of a second where you blinked, your lashes might swipe him away from you or miss his words.

You had a vague feeling of what was to come. He was so close to telling you so many times that you developed so many ‘What-If’ scenarios that all of them resembled the one where you were in at the moment. You prayed to all the Gods looking over at you two, to the saint of Valentine’s day, that nothing would interrupt you anymore.

“This might be nothing compared to your onigiri, but…” You watched him as he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket, and with another deep breath in, a solemn look, and a fond smile, he offered both the chocolate and his feelings to you, “I like you.”

[mangofresca]

cloudburst

He taps his fingers when he’s bored.

Not that Spain blames him. Not that Spain isn’t also just as bored, dulled, yearning and longing and aching for the willowed shade of broken sunlight through blooming Juniper trees, warmed by humid air and clouds so soft he could pull them from the skies, if only he had the will to lift a hand to them, to try.

His boss will likely scold him for not paying attention, but Spain can’t be bothered today, too unfocused to listen to off-handed bickering made worse through obligation, not when he can still hear the thumping of rain on the roof, pattering against the windows.

Not when he can watch Romano skate his nails against the table, pressing the soft of his fingertips up and down as if he were writing something, composing something, following the tune of a melody only half-constructed and–

Spain sits up a little straighter, squinting.

Romano keeps his eyes half-lidded and hazy, looking for all the world like he is two seconds away from drifting to sleep, but Spain can see the way his fingers move, curled, as if cradling the neck of an invisible guitar, other hand almost imperceptibly pressing down into the table, plucking notes Spain can almost hear being strummed aloud, if only he tried hard enough to listen.

Spain watches, head propped on an arm that fell asleep about half an hour ago, too lost and transfixed on the image of Romano shirking his duties in favor of– of writing, maybe, or composing, creating something Spain is already desperate to hear, to mold into his life in the way he molds everything Romano does, every noise Romano makes.

He’s out of his seat seconds before they’ve officially been dismissed, but Romano doesn’t notice, still in that world of tabletop timbres and notes unwritten, of hands born to cultivate.

“What are you playing?” Spain asks, and he smiles when Romano startles, eyes widening and fingers dropping, forming into fists atop pages with not one word written on them.

Not that Spain blames him. His own are the same, after all.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Romano snaps, cheeks ruddy with caught-out indignation, and Spain knows he was right, that he’d formed himself an audience for a performer who didn’t know he was being watched.

“You were playing something,” he says, beaming when Romano collects his papers with more stumbled force than necessary, always too combative, too cagey with his vulnerabilities.

Romano huffs, says nothing, brushing past Spain with shoulders that are a little too tense for comfort.

Spain follows, whistling, doing his best to find the cadence of whatever rhythm Romano had been tapping against the table.

It takes two months for Romano to bring it up again, and when he does, it’s by dropping down next to Spain in the sand, feet and ankles damp with dusk-sweetened sea foam, hands steady and curled around a guitar he had always insisted he rarely used, that sits too comfortably in his lap to be anything less than adored.

“Don’t say anything,” is all Romano says, and Spain can only bring himself to smile, arms pressed atop his knees as he feels the kiss of broken waves and clumped seaweed against his toes. He’s more than content to wait, would always be content to wait if it meant Romano pressing himself into the space at Spain’s side, frown on his lips like he’s shy, wary.

Romano shoots him a look—I mean it, bastard!—but Spain only rests his chin on his arms, watching with slowly blinking eyes and a smile he is sure is horrifically besotted.

Romano doesn’t look at him when he plays, head tilted down so his hair falls across his forehead, curling around his eyebrows and the rounds of his ears. Spain bites back the urge to brush it away, and when Romano begins to hum, the softest accompaniment to a tune Spain has never heard, Spain can feel his heartbeat in the palms of his hands, in the urge to mold himself against Romano’s back, to be close and close and close.

Still, he does not move, waiting until Romano’s fingers pluck the final string, mumbling hums and soft breaths petering out until the only noise left is the swell of the ocean and the rustle of air through grains of sand and surf.

Spain blinks—once, twice—and Romano clears his throat, forefinger and thumb drawing absentminded patterns across the guitar’s body.

“I wrote it,” he says, voice low, deep, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been working on it for…fuck, I don’t know how long. A while, I guess. Mostly when I mi–”

He flushes pink, voice cutting off in a choke, and Spain sits up immediately, thinks he knows, and his delight is immeasurable, second only to grand, enamored infatuation.

“When you what?” he asks, because how can he not when Romano is looking like that, like he’s already cursing himself for speaking, as if Spain wouldn’t lay himself and his heart and his soul bare just to find the words humanity hasn’t created yet.

“Forget it.” Romano is scowling, bristling in that way he gets when he speaks before thinking, when Spain is close enough to hear him—when he’s paying attention—and Spain couldn’t forget this if he was given a millennium, if he was given an eternity and longer.

“When you what?” he asks again, because he has to, has to, would be a fool not to, would die, maybe, if he doesn’t. “When you…miss me?”

Romano shoots him a look so blistering and venomous that Spain knows he’s right, knows immediately and without question he’s right, and his hand is around Romano’s wrist before Romano even has the chance to stand, to run, because of course he’d run, and Spain can’t bear the weight of solitude right now, anyway.

“You wrote a song for me.”

Romano splutters, snarls. “It is not– I didn’t fucking write it for you!”

Spain could kiss him, wants to, wants to. “I can’t believe you wrote a song for me!”

“Are you even listening to me? I just said I didn’t–”

He’s red, so red, every shade the most beautiful color Spain has ever seen, and he can’t find it within himself to temper the need to touch, to be close and closer still, to kiss, fingers following the curve of ocean-misted waves caught on dark eyelashes, tangling in knots around his knuckles.

“My song,” he insists, lips light as they brush the warm of Romano’s mouth.

“Not what I sai–”

Spain swallows the words he knows are only half-hearted, can feel the truth in the press of the guitar into his sternum, in the hand fisted in his shirt, in the lips humming against his.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[hyprfixate]

a genetic disposition (to loving you) :: [BC x Reader]

read on AO3

summary: seeing chan at the genetic clinic when he told you he was too busy to hang out was one thing. noticing he was now significantly taller than he was a couple weeks ago was another.

learning he's been diagnosed with the werewolf disorder is something different entirely.

pairing: bang chan x reader

tropes: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, modern werewolf au, no transformations tho, chronically ill reader, reader has EDS (ehlers danlos syndrome), some angst, slight miscommunication trope

smut warning: masturbation (m), handjobs, blink-and-you-miss-it subby chan, voyeurism, pussy eating (x2), no actual ABO dynamics but that's not stopping Chan from calling himself Alpha, dirty talk, lots of begging, standing/wall sex, cumming inside AND cumming outside.

content warning: talks about being in pain, self deprecating talk, anxiety spirals, very brief internalized ableism, panic attack

word count: 21.6k

author's note: if you saw the three different attempts to post this, no you didn't. enjoy! <3

Chan was acting weird.

To be fair, he always acts weird. Weird might actually be his default. But this was a different type of weird– a weird that involved canceling plans last minute and making up flimsy excuses about why. 

Today, he was supposed to accompany you to your doctor's appointment. A simple, low stakes kind of hangout. You looked at your phone with a sigh.

Channie: sorry, can we do a raincheck for our hangout? not to sound like a fuckboy but something came up

Channie: i really am sorry babygirl. i'll make it up to you i promise. please tell me how it goes okay?

You let out a small huff of air. You would love to be annoyed, mad even, but at the end of the day, this is Chan, your best friend since elementary school. The guy who held you through heartbreaks and stressful semesters. The guy who memorized your ridiculously complicated Dunkin order. The guy who dropped everything to stay with you at the hospital a few months ago when things got really bad.

The guy you're secretly in love with.

Okay, maybe that was a minor and insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things. Either way, you can't be mad at Chan. 

You: don't worry channie. i'll be okay. I hope your stuff goes well ok? 

Channie: love u, good luck with your appointment, it's gonna be ok

Right. Your appointment.

You'd been having some increasingly bothersome and worrying symptoms for the better part of 2 years now. It started with a noticeable dull ache in your knees that wouldn't go away, reaching a peak now where there's not a single day you wake up pain free. The doctors were just as stumped as you were, and as sort of a last ditch effort, they sent you to a geneticist in the expensive part of the city. Thank goodness for adequate health insurance.

You were a bit nervous, which is why you asked Chan to come with you, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You've been to specialists before. 

Still, disappointment rises in your chest as you finish pulling your hair away from your face and securing it with a scrunchie before grabbing your essentials and heading out the door. You're more disappointed about the fact that he's not coming instead of what he's not coming to. You're getting a little weary and tired of the excuses and him bailing on plans. 

But then you think about the way his voice sounds when he calls you babygirl, and everything seems right again.

The trip to the geneticist office is long, and by the time you arrive, you feel the exhaustion in every joint. For such a high caliber place, it's decorated just as sterile and modern as you were expecting, with white walls and white furniture. When you go to check in, the receptionist hands you a tablet with various forms pulled up and points you to the waiting room.

You settle into one of the white waiting room chairs, balancing the iPad on your lap as you begin working through the forms. The questions start simple enough - name, date of birth, insurance information. Then they get more involved, diving into your medical history.

Have you experienced any of the following symptoms in the last six months?

The list that follows is daunting - joint pain (obviously), muscle weakness (sometimes), unexplained fatigue (who doesn't have that?), difficulty concentrating (depends on the day). You find yourself checking more boxes than you'd like.

Your mind drifts to Chan again. You wonder what was so important that he had to cancel. Usually, he at least gives you a concrete excuse, even if it's something silly like having to wash his hair or visit his parents. Today's vague "something came up" feels different. Worrying.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull out your phone.

You: this intake paperwork feels like the ending of a medication commercial

You: i’m surprised they haven't asked me if i or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothelioma

The message stays on delivered for a while, longer than you expect. You give up on staring at your phone and turn your attention back to the paperwork.

After a ridiculous amount of questions and an even more ridiculous amount of signatures, you finish the preliminary stuff, heading back to the receptionist desk to hand her the iPad. She gives you a polite nod and smile and lets you know the nurse will be out in a second, so you can wait in the small chair by the double doors.

You're lost in thought, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when you hear the gentle sound of your name called. The sound makes you look up, tucking your phone away and grabbing your bag. A nurse stands by the double doors, clipboard in hand, wearing deep purple scrubs and a smile that somehow makes the sterile environment feel a little more human.

You push yourself up from the chair, joints starting their songs of protest after sitting still for so long. The nurse offers pleasantries that you respond to with your usual politeness. As you're walking towards the open door, you hear a beep and the whirr of an electronic lock unlocking. The closed side of the door swings open and–

There's Chan.

You both freeze mid-step, eyes wide and locked on each other like this is the first time you're seeing each other in years. It feels like it, but you did just see him last weekend at a mutual friend's birthday party. It was a fun night, but he was acting strange and dodgy then, too.

something came up.

You squint at him, not sure whether confusion or anger is winning the war in you right now. He opens his mouth once, twice– words are failing. The most he can do is let out a shaky, “Babygirl…”

You take that moment to really look at him. His hair is in its natural curly state, but significantly more messy than usual, wisps falling over and around themselves. His eyes are red and bagged heavily, and his shoulders seem like they're scrunching in on themselves. He hasn't looked like this since that night in the hospital with you.

Something is definitely wrong. 

The nurse clears her throat, and you remember you're being waited on. You motion wordlessly towards the nurse and he gives you a shaky nod.  

“I'll, um. I'll text you,” he mumbles weakly, holding the door open for you as you walk past. When you do, you can't help but look up at him, like way, way up. More than you usually do. You almost pause again– are your bone problems making you shrink, or is he somehow taller? Why does he look like that?

It's you who nods shakily this time, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away so you don't bump into a wall. It takes concentrated effort not to look back at him while you walk down the hallway, but somehow you manage.

The nurse brings you to an exam room and tells you to sit tight while she gets the vitals cart. You obey, still dazed and confused and maybe even a little hurt if you allow yourself to really feel it. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later, and you don't even have to guess who it is.

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

Channie: i just.. i need some time before i can

Channie: im such a fucking idiot. i'm so sorry babygirl. please. 

There are a million and one responses in your head, each with varying levels of confusion or annoyance. But, among the haze, the image of his exhaustion floats back to you, and you find yourself folding.

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok. 

You: whatever it is, we'll figure it out, yeah?

You: i do wish you told me but. it's okay. I can wait for an explanation.

Channie: you're so amazing. i don't deserve you. 

Channie: i'll call you when you get out ok? i love u

The nurse comes back with the vitals cart and begins prepping materials before you can respond properly, so you send back a heart and slip your phone into your pocket. When the blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, you wonder if the nurse will notice how fast your heart is beating – though you're not sure if it's from anxiety or the way Chan's voice cracked when he called you babygirl.

Maybe both.

To his credit, Chan truly does make it up to you, in the form of an extended weekend away at his parents’ cabin upstate. The invitation, or request rather, comes a couple days after the geneticist incident while you're in bed feeling anxious over your test results.

Channie: picking u up thursday night, we're going to my parents’ cabin till monday

Channie: had plans?

If anyone else were to text you like that, you'd balk at their audacity. But because it's Chan, there's a growing heat in your face when you simply reply:

You: no plans. promise you won't bail?

He sends you a picture of his already packed duffel bag and backpack sitting by his door, then another picture of him and his laptop that's clearly pulled up to Google Maps. His eyebrow is raised, sinfully plump lips pulled into a smirk as he points at the screen.

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

You giggle, feeling the perpetual knot of nerves in your chest loosen. A weekend away with Chan sounds like the perfect thing. It'll be a way to get your mind off the maybes and anxieties from your appointment, and a way to spend time with your best friend. 

A win-win.

You spend the next few days packing and gathering supplies for a weekend at the cabin, which isn't as simple a task as it sounds. Chan is adamant that you worry about nothing except getting your stuff together, so he won't tell you what he has planned or what to pack. After losing many back and forth arguments, you toss a little bit of everything in your small suitcase, leaving your backpack for entertainment and snack purposes.

Thursday creeps up slowly, then all at once. Unfortunately, you wake up to deep pain in almost all of your joints– even your fingers seem to be screaming with every movement. Getting ready takes longer than you want, but you push through, and it isn't long before you're sitting on your living room couch, waiting for Chan to let you know to come out. It was a wonder what large amounts of Ibuprofen could do.

You hear the familiar puttering of his engine before his text even comes through, the soft ding of your phone cutting through your apartment.

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags 

A warm flutter runs through your chest at his thoughtfulness. You're not sure you'll ever really get used to it. 

You push yourself up from the couch, breath hitching when the movement causes a dull ache to radiate down the length of your legs. You pause, gripping the arm of the couch and squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.

It's fine, you reason with yourself. It's not that bad. You're fine.

You're thankful that you had the foresight to pack a suitcase instead of a duffle, at least this way you'll have something to bear your weight on while you walk.

Your jacket is slipped over one shoulder when you hear the buzz from your doorbell. Chan's smiling face greets you when you open the door, looking both insanely handsome and–

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest, which is somewhat concealed by the oversized sweater he's wearing. You want to scold him for such a light outer layer in the bitter late autumn, but your words get stuck in your throat as you find yourself tilting your head up further than usual to look at him.

And then you give yourself the pleasure of really looking at him.

His hair is its usual wispy, beautiful mess. He cards his fingers through it as he looks at you, smiling as though about to say something, when suddenly his smile drops, his eyebrows furrowed as he stands up straight.

“You're in pain.”

It’s not a question.  He's providing the information to you as fact. You blink in surprise.

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

"I can–” He cuts himself off, looking uncertain for a moment before shaking his head. "I just know you, babygirl. You're not putting much weight on your left leg, anyway."

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

You finish shrugging on your jacket. “Um, maybe six out of ten. But I took medicine, I should be– Are you sweating?”

It's a stupid question, because he is, and you don't need a verbal response to confirm it. Sweat is beating at his temples and dampening his hair. Something flickers across his face, but then his expression is back to normal again. 

You watch him flip through a million different responses in his mind, but before he settles on one, he spots your bags next to the door and goes to grab them, slinging your backpack over his shoulder with profound ease. He's moving so fast and he's so jittery that you barely get a second to process everything.

“Chan,” you finally say when he whizzes past you again to put your remote back in the organizer. He pauses, back stiffening like he's a little kid again about to be scolded. He turns to you slowly. “Are you okay?”

You watch him take a deep, shuddering breath, his entire body seeming to expand and contract. The unnatural stiffness in his body seems like he's forcing himself to stay still, and you see his finger drumming patterns on his thigh.

You repeat his name, softer this time. “What's wrong?”

He shakes his head a bit too fast. “No, nothing, I–” He runs his fingers through his hair, pausing to grip the roots to ground himself to this moment. It works for a second. “I'm… okay. I can explain everything later babygirl, I just… I really just want to focus on spending time with you.”

There's a raw edge to his voice that makes your chest tighten. You study his face, taking in the exhaustion, the sheen from sweat, the way his eyes won't meet yours. Every instinct screams that something is wrong, but…

“Okay,” you relent with a sigh. It should be embarrassing how easily you fold for him. It should maybe even be studied. “But you promise that you'll explain?”

He deflates, eyes brightening with relief. “I promise. Chris-Cross my heart.” He punctuates his sentence by putting his hand over his chest.

You can't help the smile that takes over your face at that– the reference to the silly rhyme you'd made up when you were kids based on his English name. A bit of the anxiety in your chest loosens. “Now let's go before the traffic gets unbearable.”

You grab your keys and headphones, giving your apartment one last glance over before following Chan out of the door. By the time you finish locking up, he's already halfway to the elevator, his abnormally long legs quickening his pace. As you try to catch up with him, you can't help but notice his stature– how his shoulders seem broad under his sweater, how he just seems… more.

The elevator ride to the parking garage under your apartment building is quiet, but not uncomfortably. Chan is humming something under his breath, his increasingly restless fingers tapping out the rhythm on his leg. Despite all of it, you feel relaxed. No matter what's going on, this is still your Chan, your person. 

He tosses your bags into his trunk with an ease that perks your entire body to attention. When you go to pull open the passenger door, he beats you to it, adding a dramatic flourish as he holds it open for you.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

In the passenger's seat is a small pink box with a label from your favorite bakery, alongside a nice variety of drinks in the cupholder. He's got a pair of fluffy slippers on the mat by your feet, too, and you can see on the dashboard he's turned the seat warmers on.

“Chan,” you breathe. Your heart is doing strange things in your chest, and you're either feeling extremely touched or about to pass out. “You didn't have to–”

“I wanted to.” You turn to look at him, and he's looking away, scratching the hair at the base of his neck. “Felt like an ass, you know, being so distant and weird. Needed to make it up to you.”

It's entirely unfair that he can just… say those things to you. He's your best friend, so of course he's affectionate– that's just how he's been since you met in third grade. What started with bringing extra GoGurts and tying your shoes when you broke your wrist has just now turned into spoiling you with cabin vacations and things you mention offhandedly that you like. 

No biggie.

He nudges you in the car playfully, making some lighthearted joke about him getting too soft on you. You can barely hear him over the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears, choosing instead to follow his movements in the rear view mirror. You watch as he pauses by the trunk, carding a hand through his hair and taking a big breath, before eventually making his way over to the driver's seat. He tosses his phone to you, effectively putting you on music duty, and then you're on the road in a matter of minutes.

Time with Chan is always easy. You talk about any and everything for the first hour of the drive, including his job, your lack thereof, and your appointment, and he listens to every detail carefully. 

“So, they think it's a collagen issue?”

You nod, wiggling your feet in your new slippers as you shift your position. “They aren't entirely sure, but they're looking at collagen based connective tissue disorders, like Ehlers Danlos and Lupus. They think that could explain the other issues too.”

He looks contemplative as he peers around you to the mirror by your door, trying to merge into the next lane. “Are you scared?”

You shrug, body moving with the car. “Its.. complicated. On the one hand, it would be scary to receive a life changing diagnosis. On the other hand–”

“You're just happy to have answers.”

You nod again, taking a sip of the caramel latte he bought for you and wincing as you shift again. Long drives are always hard, but paired with the changes in the pressure as the two of you drive further into the mountains, your joints feel like they might disintegrate.

“Scale of one to ten?”

You blink. Chan hadn't taken his eyes off the road, so how could he have seen you shifting? You open your mouth, prepared to lie, but he glances at you with a single eyebrow raised. You sigh.

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

You put the latte back in the cup holder, using your hands to bear your weight as you try to find a comfy position to sit in. 

“What do you need, babygirl?”

You fight the shiver his voice sends down your spine. “Nothing. Well– I don't know. Maybe a nap? Is that okay?”

“‘Course it is. Here.”

With sinfully dexterous fingers, he reaches across your lap to recline your seat for you. You let him, body going still as his strong forearm helps ease you back with the chair. When you're comfortable, he reaches behind him to the floor of the backseat, fishing around until he produces–

“Is that your couch blanket?”

His answering grin is soft. “The one you've been threatening to steal? Yeah. Maybe.”

He drapes it over you skillfully, with you having to do very minimal adjusting. The familiar, homey smell of his apartment– warmth and something else very distinctly Chan – floods your senses and wraps you in the warmest hug. It feels like coming home.

You adjust yourself again, sleep wanting to come now that you're cozy, but the dull ache in your legs doesn't want to let go. Without warning, Chan's free hand slips under the blanket and finds the knee of the leg that hurts with amazing accuracy. His hand feels blazing hot through the fabric of your sweats as he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. 

“This okay, yeah?” he asks, his low voice a soothing sound to your ears. Words are caught in your throat, so you can only nod, but you don't miss how the pain starts to dissolve by his touch. You also try very hard not to think about how big his hand is on your knee.

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

The combination of his gentle touch, the music, and the smell of his blanket is making your eyelids heavy. As you finally drift off, a contented smile pulls at your mouth because no matter what, this is where you're meant to be. 

This is home.

Chan wakes you up about half an hour before you're expected to arrive. However, paired with delays, the pitch blackness of the mountains, and the general unrestrainedness of Murphy's Law, you were only now getting to the cabin at just past 1am. 

The cabin is beautiful, as always. It's nestled amidst a thick grove of evergreen trees, and its tall, warm wood exterior seems inviting even at the ungodly hour you two arrive. As he swings the car onto the gravel driveway, the headlights illuminate it, like it’s a secret just for the two of you.

“Cabin sweet cabin,” he murmurs as he kills the engine. He picks his phone up from the cup holder and gives it a few flicks, then suddenly the porch lights come on. You give a little stretch in your seat, your joints feeling pleasantly loose and mostly pain free– the nap worked wonders. 

The two of you pile out of the car, the fresh mountain air filling your nostrils. It smells like pine needles and freshwater, with an undercurrent of something wild and electric, like the air before a storm.

“Is it supposed to rain?”

Chan barely hears you, his antsyness now back full force. He's got both of your backpacks and his duffle bag slung over his shoulders, and he goes to grab your suitcase, but you appear by his side and pull it away from him. He blinks down at you, seeming surprised to see you there.

You tilt your head to the side. He still looks sweaty, and from where you're standing, it still seems like he's radiating an insane amount of heat. His breaths are labored, and you find yourself reaching over to rub your thumb over his hand. However, once your hands connect, he jumps and pulls away like you've shocked him.

At your hurt face, he tries to backtrack. “Static,” he supplies weakly. You say nothing, and the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Come on, let's get you out of the cold.”

You try not to jump to conclusions. At the end of the day, if something is really bothering him, if something is really wrong, Chan will tell you. He has always been the brooding type, but there is but so long he can keep things from you.

Still, no matter how much you try to take things at his pace, you keep seeing his face at the clinic: the deep bags under his eyes, the messy hair. The last time you looked into those eyes and saw that same pain, you were in a hospital bed hooked up to more monitors than you could count.

Chan had been brooding then too, refusing to leave your side, asking the doctors all the right questions, keeping your parents up to date when they had to go back home. You remember one night in particular, when you were chalk full of pain meds and falling asleep under the whirr of an oxygen mask, he'd stood at your bedside and rubbed his thumb over your forehead to soothe you. You couldn't speak, too exhausted and in pain to move in any capacity, but you didn't need to. He spoke to you the entire time about everything and nothing, switching his  murmuring to quiet comforts when you started to cry. Just before sleep took you under, you met his eyes– his exhausted, red rimmed eyes– and he gave you the softest, most tender look.

“We'll get through it, babygirl,” he had murmured. “You're gonna be okay. You'll come home.”

You did come home, of course, but that's when things became different. Chan was distant, constantly canceling plans, avoiding you.

You shake the memory from your head as you watch him fiddle with his keys in the lock. This weekend was meant to be about the two of you having fun. You could worry about everything else later.

Chan flicks on the overhead light in the living room area and the room floods with warmth. Everything looks just as familiar and homey as you recall.

Before you can take a good breath, he's got your bags and suitcase and is bounding up the stairs with them like they weigh nothing. You choose to busy yourself with getting comfortable, peeling off your coat and hanging it on the nearby hook.

You're tugging your hair back into a ponytail when he comes back down, and when you look up and spot him the scrunchie flies across the room.

He's taken off his hoodie, leaving him in a fitted white tee that does nothing to hide just how different his body looks. It's no secret that Chan works out, but he fills out this shirt like it was painted on him. You quickly pull your spare scrunchie from the other wrist to tie up your hair, trying not to dwell.

"Do you want me to put these in the kitchen?" you call out, holding up the bag of road trip leftovers.

"Yeah, just–" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Just throw them on the counter. I'll organize everything later."

You pad into the kitchen, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. Everything is exactly as you remember it – the mismatched mugs in the cabinet, the worn wooden spoons in the ceramic holder, the string lights Chan installed last summer that give everything a soft glow. If you close your eyes, you could almost pretend nothing has changed.

Almost.

You find, unsurprisingly, that the cabinets and fridge are stocked full. Chan's parents likely came out to pack up some groceries when he told them you'd be coming. You find yourself leaning against an open cabinet, staring into space, your mind a million miles away.

"You okay, babygirl?”

You jump slightly – you hadn't heard him come up behind you. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, running his hands through his hair again, that restless energy still evident in every movement.

"Yeah, just..." you gesture vaguely around you. "Memories, you know?"

His expression softens, and for a moment he looks exactly like your Chan again. "Yeah, I know."

The moment stretches between you, comfortable and familiar, until your stomach decides to break it with an embarrassingly loud growl. Chan's laugh is startled but genuine.

"I don't remember that.” He jokes. “Hungry?"

You feel your cheeks heat. "Yeah, I think so.”

He starts rolling his sleeves up. “I could probably make some eggs and toast, if–.”

“It's one in the morning,” you scold him gently. “Nobody is cooking.”

He gives you a pout, which is comical considering his current stature, but you still feel a tug in your chest. “But–”

You shake your head, turning away from him so you don't relent. “No buts. We have tons of snacks. Help me find something.”

At your request, the two of you rummage through the drawers and cupboards. Everything either requires too much effort or won't agree with your stomach at this ridiculous hour. You're ready to call it quits and sleep for dinner when a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“Oh, can I have one of your protein bars? You always buy the good kind.”

His smile is soft, dimples catching the light in a way that makes his entire face seem like a dream. “Of course. They're in my backpack, next to the couch.”

You slide your way to his bag with an excited pep in your step. Chan, being who he is, always buys the amazingly expensive protein bars that manage not to taste like chalky disappointment. They're surprisingly filling, and you know they'll settle your stomach without causing a stomach ache.

You find his bag quickly in the low light of the room, squatting down to rifle through it. With your hand in the front pocket, you dig around until your fingers find something that feels like the protein bar box. In your hungry haze, you yank it out without thinking.

It is not the protein bar box.

Instead, it's a thick packet of paper. You go to put it back when the letter head of the genetic clinic you visited catches your eye, along with the words “After-Visit Summary”.

Maybe if your heart wasn't thrumming in your ears, you would've heard his panicked footsteps coming after you. But the only thing in your ears is the erratic beating of your heart, one that only gets worse when you turn the packet over and read the small words on the margin:

You were seen today for: Hormonal Changes. The following issues were addressed: Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome (Werewolf Gene).

You hear your name through the roaring in your ears. It's a soft, tentative sound that cracks around the edges. You turn, slowly, to see Chan almost right behind you, his face drained of all color and his eyes blown wide.

“Chan,” you breathe. You turn a bit more towards him, the packet still gripped in your hand. “What–”

"I can explain," he says quickly, desperately. His hands are shaking. "I was going to tell you, I swear, I just– I needed time to–”

He trails off, looking around the room as though looking for someone to help him.

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

You came across this condition when you were researching the clinic, as they mentioned that they were the only place in the area that had the facilities to test for it. It was, as the paper put it, the werewolf gene. People with the condition experienced heightened senses of smell, increased strength, sensory sensitivities– they were werewolves, just without the whole full moon transformation thing.

To say the condition was rare was an understatement. Both parents had to be carriers for the trait, and even then it only occurred in 25% of those births.

And Chan happened to be one of them.

Everything clicks into place now. The sudden growth spurt, the feverishly hot skin, how he knows when you're in pain without you saying a word.

“This is why you were at the clinic,” you say softly. It's not a question.

He nods jerkily, still looking like he might bolt at any second. You stand up to take a step toward him and he actually backs away.

“Don't,” he breathes. “I'm… I don't want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” You almost laugh. “Chan, you're not going to hurt me. How could you think that?”

“No, you don't understand,” he cards his hands through his hair, pausing to tug on the roots. “I can't… I don't know how to control myself yet. I'm different now, I'm–”

“Still Chan.”

The sound he makes is painful. “You can't say that,” he breathes. His hands drop to his sides again. “You don't know what it's like.”

“So tell me," you urge. You move as though you're about to take another step towards him, and your heart drops at how his entire body flinches. “Chan. Chris. Christopher. Look at me please.”

The use of his full name does something to him, and you watch as he settles, eyes drifting over to you slowly. His gaze is intense, and in the dim light of the living room, you feel akin to a deer staring down a wolf, no pun intended. 

It does not frighten you the way it should.

“Talk to me, please,” you beg. “You're my best friend. I'm here for you, always.”

“I can smell when you're in pain,” he grits out. It's not what you're expecting to hear. He clenches a hand into a fist, then lets it go. “You usually smell sweet, like caramel and linen. But then your scent gets an undercurrent of something harsh, like burnt sugar and metal, and I… I feel like–”

He lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he cuts himself off. “I can't control my strength. I've broken so much shit around the apartment. Don't wanna touch you. Don't wanna break you.”

“You won't hurt me.” You take the opportunity to get closer, but he must smell the closing distance because his eyes fly open. You're in front of him before he can move. “Do you know why?”

Chan's breaths are ragged and labored. “Why?”

“Because you're still my Chan. Still the guy who's been taking care of me since elementary school. Still the person I trust most in the world."

His breath hitches. "How can you say that? How can you just... accept this?"

You can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Chan, I'm literally at the same genetic clinic getting tested for a collagen disorder. Did you think I wouldn't understand what it's like to have your body change in ways you can't control?"

That seems to catch him off guard. He turns away, a frown tugging at his lips. "That's... that's different.”

“Is it though?” You pretend to be thoughtful. “Last I checked, it's like both of our bodies are changing in ways we don't understand. Like we both have to navigate a new normal.”

"That's exactly why I–" he cuts himself off, running both hands through his hair. "I can't risk hurting you. Not when you're already..."

"Already what?" You challenge, taking one final step. You're close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly. "Already broken?”

His face twists up like you've punched him in the stomach. “No! God, no. When you're already going through so much.”

“A lot of what I'm going through is a waiting game, Chan– waiting for test results, waiting for appointments at specialists. You don't have to keep things from me because of that.”

You poke him in his side, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, this? Finding out you're a werewolf–”

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

“-- This is the kind of stuff that keeps me grounded. Having other things to think about. Having you around.”

You watch the tension slowly bleed from his shoulders, almost as though he's deflating. There's obviously more he isn't telling you– you can see it in the way his eyes still can't seem to meet yours– but you don't push it. He's already said so much.

“So,” you start. You rock back and forth on your feet. “Can I make werewolf puns now?”

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

He groans at that, a smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “You're the worst. I'm gonna leave you here and go home.”

But he's laughing anyway, his usual giggle that makes everything seem like it'll be alright. You beam at him. and your body lights aflame when he smiles back down at you softly. The two of you hold eye contact for a second, and you watch something untraceable flash in his eyes. Before you can even process it, he's looking away again and clearing his throat.

Another silence falls between you, but this one is different. Chan is fidgeting again, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that restless way you've noticed all evening. He's looking everywhere but at you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"What is it?" you ask softly.

He opens his mouth once. Twice. Three times– words seem to be failing him again. You raise an eyebrow and he sighs, a sheepish smile on his big stupidly handsome face.

"Can we..." he starts, then stops. Starts again. "Would it be okay if we... like we used to..."

You wait patiently as he struggles with the words. His ears are turning red again.

"Can we share my bed?" he finally gets out in a rush. "Like– like when we were kids? Just for tonight. I just... I haven't been sleeping well since everything started and I… um…”

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

Share… a bed. With Chan. Taller, wider, more muscular Chan. Chan whose body heat seeps through every layer of clothing. Chan whose one hand can cover your knee easily. 

From the way your body reacts, your knee jerk reaction is to say no. He's already going through enough, and Lord knows what types of degenerate scent you'd be giving off if you spent an entire night with him.

But when you open your mouth to decline, you notice how he's standing, with his shoulders curved inward, trying to make himself smaller. His big brown eyes are pleading, almost desperate, and you think about how scared he was earlier, how convinced he was that you'd reject him once you knew the truth.

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

The smile on his face is nervous, like he expects you to change your mind any second. “Yeah?”

You nod, ignoring the way your brain tries to supply you with images of everything you want to have happen. "Yeah. Just... let me get changed first?"

He nods quickly, that restless energy back but different now – excited rather than anxious. "Yeah! Yes. Your stuff is in your room, yeah? I'll be in mine when you're ready."

He's bounding up the stairs before you can say anything. You take the moment alone to take a deep breath. You can do this. It's just Chan. Just your best friend.

When you reach your room, you duck into the attached bathroom to change quickly, opting for the full top and bottom PJ set rather than the oversized hoodie you were originally going to wear. You stare at your reflection, willing yourself to calm down and look normal.

Sharing a bed with Chan is not a new concept. When you'd first gotten close in grade school, the two of you tended to hop from house to house, sleeping wherever without a care in the world. The habit continued as you grew up– in college during study sessions, during movie marathons on school breaks, that one time a few months ago when you'd gotten terribly drunk at your friend Jeongin's birthday party. It had never been anything more than two friends seeking each other's comfort.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, face flushed and breathing ragged. You force yourself to calm down– if Chan could smell when you were in pain, he could probably smell the indecency coming off of you in waves. 

Everything is fine.

When you reach the doorway of the master bedroom, Chan is already in bed scrolling on his phone. You watch his nostrils flare for a second, eyes fluttering shut as he puts his phone on the night stand.

The king sized bed looks both too big and too small.

When he opens his eyes, he looks surprised to see you. and you watch red start to tint his neck. “Um. Hey,” he breathes.

You hover in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you. "Hey."

Chan shifts, pulling back the covers on what has always been 'your' side of the bed “Um. Do you want... I mean, we usually..." He trails off, looking everywhere but directly at you.

You take the initiative and move towards the bed, sliding down under the covers until they reach just under your chin. Chan shuffles next to you, scooting this way and that, flipping like a hot dog on a stick. You both settle on your back eventually, staring up at the ceiling.

“This is weird,” he says after a few minutes of strained silence.

“Not weird,” you supply. “Just… different.”

“Different…,” he murmurs. “Different because I'm different?”

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

He's sliding out from under the covers before you can finish. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– this was dumb to ask.” You ignore the way your heart drops. “I'll go sleep in the other room. Or on the couch. Or–”

You grab at his wrist before he can go anywhere. He doesn't jerk away this time, but his entire body goes rigid. You rub your thumb along the pulse point on his wrist.

“You don't have to leave,” you say slowly. “It’s not weird because you're different. It's weird because we're both over thinking it.”

He lets out a little breath. “We are, aren't we?”

"Yeah." You squeeze his wrist once before letting go. He settles back down into the bed, still looking a bit uncomfortable, but not ready to run anymore. 

You smile at him before holding open the cocoon you made in the blanket. "Come here, you big baby."

"I resent that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.

It takes some maneuvering to find a comfortable position. Chan is hesitant at first, careful not to crowd you, but eventually you manage to guide him until his head is tucked under your chin, his arm draped carefully over your middle. His body curls around yours despite the size difference, like he's trying to make himself smaller again. When he finally settles, it feels like every part of him is contoured to fit you perfectly.

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

The silence that settles around you is comfortable now, broken only by your breathing beginning to sync up. His body weight is grounding, and the heat he's radiating feels like the world's best heating pad. 

You're just beginning to doze off when Chan makes a low, displeased grunt in the back of his throat. You can feel his eyebrows scrunch together where he's pressed against your collarbone.

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

He shifts in your hold, maneuvering you until his other hand can slide under your body to wrap around you. “Your hip hurts. Or it's about to start.”

Sleepiness has made you a pliant, barely conscious little thing. You're about to ask how he can tell when his big, warm hand presses against your hip, heat radiating through the fabric until it settles deep into your bones. You can't help but let out a little whimper from the immediate relief it gives you.

Chan makes another sound in his throat, grip increasing on you almost infinitesimally. 

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

The warmth and relaxation is muddling your brain. “S'good, Channie.”

He makes a more pleased sound and nuzzles closer. Sleep takes you quickly after that, and all you can think about as you finally succumb is how lucky you are to have him here with you. You'd love to say as much, but you're too tired to open your mouth, so you give him the tiniest of squeezes, hoping he understands.

From the way his arm tightens around you, you think he does.

Things seem less charged in the morning.

You wake up to sunlight glittering through the curtains and the other side of the bed empty. The sheets are still warm, but given what you've come to learn about Chan and his temperature, he could've left the bed anywhere from three seconds to four hours ago.

You stretch a little bit as you try to wake up fully, heading to the other bedroom to freshen up for the day. It seems like an okay day pain-wise. You're at a steady three out of ten everywhere except your hands, but you brush it off. With the way you sleep, your hands take longer to catch up to the lower pain levels in the rest of your body. It's just a matter of time. 

Still, you run them under warm water in the bathroom, hoping to loosen them up.

When you finally emerge, you follow the mouthwatering scent of cooking down the stairs and into the kitchen. After a nonexistent dinner, you're starved, and you could really go for some food right now.

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

Chan stands at the stove, spatula in hand and preparing to flip what looks like an omelette. All around him on the counters are various other breakfast foods: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, fruit–

“When did you have time to make a sourdough starter?”

He startles slightly, turning to face you with a sheepish smile. “Ah… good morning, babygirl. I may have.. gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit?” You slide into a seat at the edge of the kitchen island in the one spot where there's no food. “If you were planning to invite the woodland creatures you could've given me a heads up, I'd be decent.”

The responding huff makes you smile. “I cannot communicate with animals. Weirdo.” Chan grins. He folds the omelette in half and flips it over. “I just… I got hungry.”

You sneak a piece of bacon off of a nearby plate and snort. “‘Hungry’ seems like a gross understatement. Is this a side effect?”

Chan's ears turn pink as he plates the omelette. "Yeah, actually. My metabolism is... different now. Food tastes different too– more intense." He starts moving dishes to the kitchen island, careful not to overcrowd your space. "Everything is more intense, really."

"Like what?"

He hums thoughtfully as he settles into the chair next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. "Smells are the biggest thing. Like, I can smell everything. The coffee brewing, the bacon grease in the air, the rain that's coming later–"

"It's going to rain?"

"Yeah, probably this afternoon." He passes you a fork and a plate you never noticed him constructing. "I can smell it in the air. What’s the word? Petrichor, but... before the rain actually falls? If that makes sense.”

You hum around a fork full of eggs, cracking the fingers on your free hand. “That sounds like it can get miserable. Is everything just… enhanced all the time?”

He takes a bite out of a chunk of toast, making a so-so motion with his hand. “It's enhanced all the time, but the way it is right now, the intensity, that’s only sometimes. Only during–”

He cuts himself off, swallowing his bite of toast with more power than necessary. 

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

There's a lull in the conversation that you try not to read into. It doesn't take much effort anyway, because you notice that eating is taking more effort than it was a few minutes ago. Your grip on the fork is weird, and you can't seem to close your fingers all the way around it.

That's fine, you think to yourself. You switch hands. Everything is fine.

You try not to let the revelation sour your mood. Chan mentioned it was going to rain, and while your doctors didn't know why you were in pain, they knew what kinds of things made it worse, and the air pressure changes from rain was one of them. This was just something you had to learn to deal with now.

Resentment for your condition rises in your chest with the little bit you've eaten, and you take a sip of apple juice to swallow it down. It's not fair. People your age were doing things like mountain climbing, running marathons, just living. And here you were, struggling to feed yourself and hold a fork.

It's fine.

A hand on your shoulder pierces through the dense clouds shrouding your mind, and you feel yourself startle a little. Chan is facing you, leaning his impossibly tall torso down to look you right in your eyes. His gaze is intense, gold flecks in his eyes swimming around as he stares.

“What hurts,” he breathes. The sound of his voice is light as a feather, floating through the air before coming to rest gently on your lips. 

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

You think about saying your number, but upon remembering how nice and easy conversation was this morning, you decide to lie. “Four.”

The look in Chan’s eyes grows more intense, and you swallow around nothing. He levels you with a very unimpressed look, eyebrows creasing and his plushy, pink lips frowning. He only says two words, but they send a ripple through your body anyway:

“Try again.”

Fuck. You're giving yourself whiplash. Jumping from frustration to stark arousal was an Olympics level move your brain wasn't prepared for. There's a different kind of haze clouding your mind now.

“It's a seven,” you breathe. 

He's up on his feet before you can fully compose yourself, long legs taking him up the stairs and bringing him back down in a matter of seconds. When he sits down again, he's holding your decorative medication pouch and a mini water bottle from your backpack.

You gulp at the way the veins in his arm bulge.

“Which bottle is it?”

You come back to yourself, licking your incredibly dry lips before you respond. It takes a blink or two before you can orient yourself in the present. “Um, red bottle. The tall one.”

He places the bottle and water in front of you in a gentle way that contrasts the energy in the room. You fumble with the child proofing for a second before he plucks the bottle from you, undoing the lid with one hand.

Wow. Fuck.

"Thanks," you mumble, accepting the pills he tips into your palm. His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck as you swallow them, and you try not to shiver at the contact.

“Do you need a nap while the pills work?”

You pout, finally coming back to your good senses. “We're supposed to have a movie marathon today.”

“I didn't realize the TV had a flight to catch?”

You glare at him, albeit thankful for the teasing sarcasm to loosen the tension. “You're not funny.”

Chan's lips pull into a smirk and he gives a little shrug. “I think I am.”

You roll your eyes at him as he stands, coming over to you and easing you out of your seat. He gives a little ‘tsk’ at your faux attitude, but his hands are back on your shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. When you finally do lay down, he's already throwing his signature couch blanket over you, tucking it around you securely.

“Comfy?”

You are, but you've also realized he's tricked you into a nap, so you do the adult thing and mock him before sticking your tongue out at him.

“Wow,” he murmurs. He slides down the couch and onto the floor. “I haven't seen that routine since 4th grade.”

You watch as he adjusts his legs a few times, his head resting against the armrest right by your fingers. It’s unspoken, but you know that he'll stay until he's sure you're asleep. 

"You don't have to sit on the floor," you murmur. "There's plenty of room up here."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm good here.”

You watch his side profile for a minute, basking in all of his Chan-ness. He settles in a bit more and lets his eyes flutter closed. When he does, he leans his head back a little more, and you watch the delicate bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. 

“Chan?” Your mouth is moving before you know it. 

“Hm?”

“Were you scared? When you… got the diagnosis?”

His eyes open at that, and he turns his head so he can look at you. The intensity from earlier is gone, replaced by that familiar warmth that only he has.

There's a beat of silence where all Chan does is stare, almost as if seeing you for the first time. It passes, though, and then he goes back to his previous position, eyes closed again as he speaks. “No,” he says finally. “I wasn't scared. The only thing I thought about was you.”

“Me?”

He nods against the couch. “They kept talking about what it meant and all of that, and all I could think about was how on earth I was going to tell you.”

You reach a hand over and start rubbing at his scalp in the familiar way you've always done. “And yet,” you tease gently. “I had to accidentally find the papers.”

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, leaning into your hand. “That wasn't the plan,” he murmurs. “Was supposed to tell you properly.”

You stay quiet, continuing to play with his hair. The quiet domesticity is comforting, and you find your eyes fluttering closed too. 

You move your fingers through his hair in nonsensical patterns and shapes, occasionally letting your nails graze his scalp. His breathing evens out eventually--he's not sleeping, no, just content and peaceful. You're a different story, though, and medication induced drowsiness starts flowing its way through your body.

Your movements grow slower and uncoordinated, hand drifting lower, and lower, until eventually your fingers trail to the nape of his neck. When you drag your nails across the sensitive skin there, Chan makes a sound that shoots straight through you and straight to your core– something between a pleased hum and a growl that vibrates through his entire body.

Both of you freeze. Your heart starts doing gymnastics in your chest while the sound echoes in your ears, making your body grow hot. Beneath you, Chan is rigid, like every muscle has been pulled taut.

The room is entirely still for a second. Then, he clears his throat a little, shifting himself so you have better access. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Keep going. Feels nice.”

You force your fingers to move again, continuing their exploration and tracing the curls on Chan's head. 

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

The moment passes like a summer storm– intense and fleeting– and soon Chan is relaxed again, practically melting under your touch. You're actively fighting sleep now but you're realizing it's a losing battle. Your movements become slower, less deliberate, until your hand is simply resting in his hair.

"Sleep, babygirl," he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed. "I got you.”

So you do.

When you wake up a bit later, you find yourself, sadly, alone.

In place of Chan's thick curls is the cold rectangular slab that is your cell phone. You squint at it sleepily, not remembering bringing it down with you for breakfast or having it on the couch. You flick through the unlock process, and when your phone opens, it's on the notes app.

Hi babygirl. If you're reading this, I went to the store. We don't have any vegetables. I'll try to be quick. - Channie

You wipe sleep from your eyes as you sit up, trying to orient yourself in your surroundings. You hear the steady whooshing of the rain outside and carefully flex all of your joints. You're content to find that you're at a steady three out of ten everywhere.

You settle back into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket around you tighter. It's not scary to be by yourself, especially not in the cabin,  but Chan's presence is definitely missed. You decide to fill the silence with television, something low stakes and stupid that you can listen to while you scroll on your phone.

However, the microscopic roku remote has decided to go missing, and after digging through the couch cushions twice, you sit back with a huff. You suppose your phone will do for now.

You open YouTube with the intent to watch one of your favorite Let's Play videos, but as you scroll through your homepage, something catches your eye. The title makes you pause:

Q&A: Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome (aka The Werewolf Gene)

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

The video was posted a little over a month ago and has a substantial amount of views and comments. The creator themselves has well over 100k subscribers. It looks perfectly legit. Before you can overcomplicate it and talk yourself out of it, you press play.

“Hi everyone!” The guy on the video has a soft, smiling face, accented by round, thin-rimmed glasses. “Welcome or welcome back to my channel. If you're new here, I'm Seungmin, and I have GLS, which stands for Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Or, to put it simply, I have the werewolf gene.”

You are immediately invested.

“I set up a question box on Instagram a couple days ago, and you guys really went to town.” Seungmin chuckles. “So I'll answer a few of those in this video.”

The first few questions are simple enough– what made him suspect he had it, the diagnostic process, how his family reacted. He answers every question thoughtfully and thoroughly in a way that makes you learn more than you thought you needed to.

You're writing down the fact that people with GLS tend to need more red meat than dark meat in their diet when he starts reading out the next question. 

“@jutdae asks, ‘how does the enhanced sense thing not drive you crazy?’” Seungmin lets out a little laugh. “So, the sense thing is kind of tricky for non-GLS people to understand. On a regular day, it might be enhanced, but maybe only 50% better than most people. The real issue is when rut or heat cycles start.”

You drop your phone, cursing when it slips right into the couch cushions.

“During a rut–” Seungmin's muffled voice continues as you fish around for your phone. “-- it's probably around 150% better. And our body temperature will skyrocket, like a constant fever type. The extra sensory input can cause a lot of restless energy too, so we're always feeling like we want to crawl out of our skin. Thankfully ruts, or heats for AFAB people, only happen once every three months, for about a week.”

You finally find your phone, heart pounding as you fumble to hold it still. The boy on your screen adjusts his glasses before continuing, entirely unaware how he's just flipped your life on its head.

“Well, that's for people who've presented for a while. When you first present with symptoms, you can get your rut every month. And that's… an entirely different type of intense. I surely don't miss that.”

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

You don't need to Google what a rut cycle is. You already know. It's the one aspect of GLS everyone is familiar with.

You scan through the events of the last 36 hours with unfathomable speed. It's all there. Every single symptom mentioned in this video. 

Extremely heightened senses. Restless energy. Fever-hot skin. 

Chan.

Chan hasn't been able to sit still. Chan's skin is hot to the touch. Chan keeps telling you when your pain is about to start because he can smell it. Chan brought you to an isolated cabin in the mountains.

Chan is in rut. Chan's diagnosis was only finalized less than a week ago. Ergo, this is his first rut.

The sound of a car door slamming makes you jump so hard that your phone flies away from the couch and skitters onto the floor.

Shit.

You scramble to grab it, swiping out of the video before Seungmin finishes answering what you're certain are other life changing questions. You can't hear anything he's saying, laser focused on the sound of Chan's impending footsteps and the sound of rustling grocery bags.

“Babygirl,” Chan's voice vibrates from the entryway. “I'm back. You awake?”

“Yeah,” you call, forcing yourself to sound steady. You clear your throat. “Yes, I'm up.”

You hear him put the bags down and toe off his sneakers, socked feet padding into the room where you are, undoubtedly, staring like a ghost came through the door and robbed you of your possessions. You fight to fix your expression into something normal, but all of that goes out the window when he steps into the threshold.

He's soaked. The rain has soaked through his shirt, making it cling to his chest and highlight every cut of his muscle. His curls are wild, some of them plastered to his forehead while others seem to be competing for the best pose. There's water dripping down his neck an–

You find a spot on the wall to look at instead. 

“Sorry I took so long.” He brushes his hair off of his face. “The store closest was closed, had to run way into town.”

“It's fine,” you squeak. He looks at you, eyebrows furred. “I was fine, just watched some YouTube. I wasn't up for long.”

He tilts his head, studying you with his nearly impossibly dark eyes. His lips push up, almost like he's pouting, but you watch as confusion takes over his gaze. He squints, and you burrow yourself further into the couch. If his smell is heightened, then he probably–

“You okay?”

You nod too enthusiastically. “Yes, of course. Why?”

He opens his mouth to say something, moves his body as though he'll take a step towards you, but he stops. You hold eye contact for a second, feeling small and exposed among his gaze. But then he nods almost imperceptibly, turning to grab his wet sweater from the entrance. 

“I'm gonna get changed and make us some lunch. Sandwiches?”

You nod.

“Good. Find us something to watch, yeah?”

As soon as he's gone up the stairs, you collapse back onto the couch, pressing your hands against your burning cheeks.

Okay. Okay.

You're probably– definitely – making this weird. Maybe you've read too many werewolf romance novels. Chan is going through something a lot more tangible than turning into a wolf and scampering off into the moonlight, and here you are, being a degenerate as usual. He brought you here because you're his best friend. Because he needs support.

The rut thing… is just a coincidence. Or maybe not even a big deal, or something he wants you to worry about. Yes. That's it. 

Distantly, you hear the shower turn on, and everything from your neck to the crown of your head lights aflame.

The remote chooses that moment to reappear, launching itself from the couch blanket and onto the floor. You snatch it up quickly, flicking on the TV and navigating to Netflix. You need something light. Something stupid. Something to fizzle out the charged energy in the atmosphere.

He'll handle himself… however that may be. You repeat this to yourself as you scroll through the comedy section, eyes blurring at the words in front of you. It's none of your business, anyway. You have one job right now, and that's finding something to watch.

You settle on a cooking show when you hear him coming down the stairs again. You focus on the TV, your mantra echoing around your skull as though you have no brain.

Everything is fine. You're fine. He's fine. 

“Worst Cooks in America?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. He's standing behind the couch, now wearing dry clothes– a zip up sweatshirt and loose sweats. You notice, entirely by accident, that there's no shirt under the sweater. Just plain, exposed skin.

Great. 

You hum out a noncommittal answer, just as he turns and heads to the kitchen, mentioning as he goes that he's using roast beef.  You listen to the sound of the fridge opening and the hum of the toaster as he plugs it in, no doubt solely to put your bread to toast, the same way you've eaten a sandwich since you were eight years old.

You can do this. You can act normal. You're an adult, and you have been for a few years. Things don’t have to be weird just because you now know that your best friend is a delicate, walking bundle of hormones. Chan clearly trusts you enough to have you here, and you're not going to mess that up by being a disaster about it.

You hear him humming in the kitchen, puttering about through the cabinets, the clink of plates on the counter. It's so normal, so Chan, that it almost makes you forget about everything else.

You shake your head, hoping to physically dislodge the memories of the noise he made when you were scratching his neck– the deep, rumbling groan that ran through your sleep-riddled body until stopping to wake you up where you're most sensitive. It was just a noise, you make noises all the time.

When he appears in the doorway with the two plates, all smiles and soft around the edges, you take a deep breath before returning the smile. 

You can do this. You can sit down next to Chan and watch the show and be normal. Everything is fine.

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

The realization comes later in the night when the darkness from the storm bleeds into the darkness of late evening. It's nearing 10pm, and you and Chan are still seated on the couch together, now on opposing sides, still watching the same cooking show.

Or pretending to.

Chan seemed to be getting worse as the evening progressed. When he first came in from outside, he seemed calmer, less tense, but now he was sitting rigid, wound up like a toy no one would release. He was sweating an almost ridiculous amount, and the zip from his hoodie was pulled down to the middle of his stomach, exposing all the skin underneath.

His breaths were coming in short pants now. He had a steady grip on the fabric of his sweats, and you were almost certain that he'd tear a hole in them with the way he was grabbing them.

You weren't sure what to do.

You had tried nudging him with your foot gently a while ago, but when your skin made contact, he made another low sound in his throat that shot right up your leg and into your core. You pulled your foot away quickly, apologizing, making sure to press your knees together so the scent of arousal wouldn't reach him. 

And that was before he had started panting like… well, a dog. Now you weren't sure you'd be able to reach him through the fog of his own mind even if you screamed right in his face.

You're about to try saying something, anything as the episode that was playing ends, but he shoots up off the couch before you can think of words to say. He's pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, visibly shaking with the effort of breathing normally.

“Chan,” you start.

He holds up a hand. “I'm– I'm okay,” he breathes. 

He's not. 

“The rain, I think,” he grits out. “Too loud. Too much. You're okay, though?”

Of course Chan would find the time to check on you while going through his own crisis. You sit up a little on the couch, staring at him even though he has his eyes covered. The words are coming out of your mouth before you can even think about what you're saying: “Do I smell okay?”

He grunts. You suddenly understand why cavepeople had so many kids. 

“Smell fine,” he breathes. He slides his hands down his face, fixing his gaze away from you. “You do, I mean. You smell good.”

It dawns on you then that maybe the newly awakened wolf-like part of his consciousness is reacting to your smell because you're a girl, and he's in a rut. Maybe you should leave the room, give him some space?

You're trying to find a way to ask if that's what he needs without giving away what you know, but he fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie again, wanting to tug it down some more. He stops, takes a deep breath, and then drops his hand.

“I think I need a second,” he says. His hands are twitching at his side. “Need my room. Need the quiet, yeah?”

You nod. That's fine. It's for the best anyway, right?  “That's okay. You can come back when you're ready.”

He nods, still not looking at you. There's a moment where he seems to hesitate, but whatever internal war he's having ends quickly, and he basically runs up the stairs. Just before you hear his door close, you hear the sound of his hoodie zipping down all the way.

Heat floods your face as you turn back to the show.

After a while of still failing to really pay attention, you pull your phone out from under the blanket. Despite the pure, unfiltered desire thrumming through your veins, you still want to help Chan. It's bothering you how bothered he is, how helpless he seems. There has to be something you can do for him.

You type, How to help a werewolf in a rut into your search bar, and after realizing very quickly that that's actually the title of an erotica series, you change your search to something more medical sounding.

It takes trial and error, but GLS and Rut Cycles Help seems to give you the best results.

You find a forum on a website dedicated to rare genetic disorders. It’s the one link that seems to have real information, ironically nestled between a fanfiction website and Twitter. 

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

Non-GLS Roommate Here: Any way I can help with heats?

Not in that way, they write. But my roommate just presented with this disorder and she's absolutely miserable, and I feel so bad. I'm not trying to fuck her, but is there anything I can do to help?? Meds? Chocolate?? Leaving her alone??

There are only a handful of responses, mostly people lol-ing about how non-lycanthropes always think a heat cycle is like a period. One answer sticks out to you:

if it's her first heat, she's probably running a pretty high temp. make her some cold drinks to bring the temperature down and the hormones may follow. that used to work for me. ideally, try to convince her to take a cold shower, but her instincts might be telling her not to. it's a delicate game lol. don't press the shower thing if you don't want her to bite. like, literally. AFAB lycanthropes have a thing for biting idk

It makes sense now why Chan looked better when he came in from the rain. It was, essentially, the cold shower that he needed. You wonder briefly if you could convince him to go back out, but you decide against it. It's dark now, and you don't need him getting hurt.

So, instead, you peel yourself away from the couch and head into the kitchen. There's tons of juice cartons already in the fridge, but you bypass them, instead grabbing the bag of lemons and the carton of blueberries. 

The first time you made lemonade for Chan, the two of you were in fifth grade. You wanted to save money for the new and extremely expensive ride-on jeep that you saw in the store, and the only thing you could think to do was sell lemonade. You forced Chan (who had no interest in the car but wanted to help anyway) to sit down and taste batch after batch of your lemonade.

After he threatened to tell your parents you were trying to poison him, you made one last batch of the lemonade, and on a whim, dumped some blueberry syrup into it. He grumbled as he took the cup, but he couldn't hide his satisfied smile.

“That's the one,” he grinned. 

You never did save the money for the car, but you kept the lemonade recipe anyway. There was nothing your blueberry lemonade couldn't fix.

And you were prepared to add rut fevers to that list.

You dump a ton of ice in Chan's reusable water bottle before pouring the lemonade over it, putting the top on and swirling it around. You take a sip first, nodding in contentment when it nearly freezes the back of your throat.

With your phone in your back pocket and the lemonade in hand, you make your way up the stairs, pausing in front of Chan's bedroom door. A feeling of nervousness washes over you, but you beat it down with a stick. You're just delivering some lemonade. You'll be fine.

“Channie,” your voice is tentative as you knock. “You okay? I brought you a surprise.”

You listen carefully. You can't hear anything on the other side of the door. You don't wanna bang or yell, knowing his ears are probably sensitive already. You knock gently again, really straining your ears to hear.

He must be asleep, you think. You'll just leave the cup on the nightstand for him to find when he wakes up. You turn the doorknob and push open the door and–

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

He can't see you, no, because his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back against the headboard of his bed. His face and ears are red, and his lips are extra plump. You wonder why until he bites down on his bottom lip, hard.

You let your eyes trail down. He's touching himself.

Oh.

One of his hands is wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously like it's just not enough. The other hand is white knuckling the pillow you slept on last night, bringing it up to his face so he can no doubt inhale whatever leftover scent is on it. 

He has no idea that you're in the room. The pillow is already carrying your scent, so there's no intrusion to his senses. You should look away. You should go, you should…

You can't look away.

His hips are thrusting upwards to meet his hand now, his entire body writhing on the bed like he's trying to find the perfect spot. With his sweater open, you can see the contraction of his ab muscles as he moves, all the hard contours of his body chasing his pleasure. You watch as he twists his wrist, thumb sliding across the slit of his cock and smearing precum down the shaft. 

You hear him make a sound, almost like he's grunting, and then he's mumbling something under his breath. It's low, too low for you to really hear it, but when he speaks again, you definitely understand.

"Babygirl," he groans. He squeezes his cock at the base before stroking it again. "F-fuck, babygirl."

It's then that you squeak, slamming a hand over your mouth almost immediately. His eyes fly open and he shoots up, face panicked, but he doesn't stop moving his hand.

"I'm-- I'm sorry," you manage. "I came to-- I just-- Oh my God."

Chan's eyes are wild as he looks at you. His chest is heaving and his curls are sticking up all over the place. He looks pained and conflicted, likely warring within himself about whether he should stop or not. From the way his ears turn a deep shade of red, you can tell he thinks that he should.

He doesn't, though. He's still jacking himself off, faster and faster, even as he gives you a devastatingly desperate look.

"Fuck," he grunts. "I'm sorry. I can't-- you just smell so fucking good and I–” He pants, looking at you with eyes that can barely stay open. “I can't stop. Babygirl, make me stop."

Your brain is malfunctioning, but the part of it that can still process information has taken notice of what he's saying. You were right earlier. It's your smell. Your smell is driving him crazy because you're a fertile, childbearing aged female. It's not poorly contained last or a bad decision on his part.

It's biology. It's what that primal part of his brain needs.

Your body goes hot as you think of your next words.

"You..." you swallow around nothing. You're wearing socks, but the cold from the floor seems to seep into your feet. "You don't– um. Do you… need help?”

His pupils blow.

"I don't… I don't want to hurt you," he whines, chest heaving as his fist pumps faster. "You shouldn't."

"But I want to help," you breathe. You take a step closer to the bed, legs shaking from the sheer intensity of how fast your arousal hits. "What if I want to help?"

He stops then, staring at you with the same intensity he had last night. You feel stripped, exposed, but you don't feel unsafe.

You take another step closer.

"Chan," you whisper. You're at the foot of the bed now. "What if I want to?"

He makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat.

"I won't… touch you if you don't want me to." You take another step to the side of the bed, feeling somewhat bold under his gaze. "But I'll... I'll let you touch me, if you need. Whatever you want. Just... just tell me what to do."

You're only a couple steps away now. Chan is practically shaking with the effort it takes not to move, to wait for your permission. It's then that you realize he's waiting for you to make the first move, and all of the power shifts to you.

You're standing right next to him now, the two of you locked in an intensely heated gaze. He reaches for you silently with the hand not fisted around his cock, moving slowly like you'll dissolve if he's too eager. When you nod, his hand slides down the length of your arm, fingers interlacing.

Then–

"Please," he whispers. His voice cracks on the lone syllable. "Please, babygirl. I need you.”

He brings the hand he's holding over to his already throbbing cock, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive skin on his tip. His head rolls back again and his hips buck up. You try not to shiver.

"I just... I just need this," he breathes. "Please. I won't touch you, I'll be good."

Maybe it's the desperation in his voice. Maybe it's the way his eyes look so innocent, absolutely contrasting what he's begging you to do. Whatever it is, you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips, throat feeling incredibly dry as you stare down at him.

You wrap your fingers around his cock tentatively, not missing the way his body seems to come alive at your touch, and start moving up and down. He's already so hard, his entire shaft coated in his precum so you can slide up and down with ease. The sounds he's making are going straight to your core, and you can feel the way your underwear is sticking to you.

"Tight," he grunts. "Tighter, please."

You tighten your grip, speeding up a little bit. You feel him thrusting upwards to meet your hand, his hand squeezing yours like he needs the support to ground himself. You let your thumb brush over his tip, using his precum as lube to give him even more friction.

He cries out, back arching. "Yes," he chokes out. "Fuck, babygirl, do that again.”

You do, swiping your thumb across the slit and spreading more precum over him. It makes everything slicker and wetter, and the way you're able to move faster now has him moaning nonsensical little things.

His hips are bucking up harder now, and you watch as his abs tense and release, the hand not holding yours going up to tug on his hair. Your body feels like a loaded stick of dynamite, and you're so careful to keep your hips still, knowing how badly you want friction.

"M’close," he breathes. "Fuck, babygirl. You feel so good."

You pump faster, giving him the extra tightness and friction that he needs. You watch as the hand in his hair drops to his stomach, nails digging into his abs.

You wonder how long he was in here like this, pained and desperate. You try not to think about him moaning your name in the empty room, fucking up into his fist as he thinks about you, chasing your scent on his pillow.

Just because of the rut, your brain supplies. Because it would be absurd to think otherwise.

You glance up at his face. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted as he pants and grunts and makes other sounds in the air. The look on his face is enough to make you clench around nothing. You've only been hot and bothered for the last 5 minutes and you already feel desperate to cum, so you can't imagine what he's going through.

You let your other hand reach up to cup his face.

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

He opens his eyes slowly, pupils completely blown as he meets your gaze. You see sweat sliding down the side of his face, and you wonder if it's from his fever or his pleasure.

"You're okay, babyboy," you whisper. His cock jumps in your hand at that. "You can cum, you know. You don't have to hold back."

"Wanna--wanna be good," he grunts. You feel him start to thrust faster. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You're doing so good, Channie. You're not hurting me."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you drop your hand from his cheek and slide it down the column of his throat, letting your nails scratch across his skin. His reaction is immediate, body spasming as he groans.

"Shit," he cries. "Yes, right– right there, Oh my God."

"Yeah?" You scrape your nails across the base of his throat again, making sure to be a bit rougher this time.

He nods quickly, the grip on your hand tightening. You take your other hand off of him, drinking up the sound of his whine before you slide it underneath his hoodie, feeling his chest up. You scrape your nails over his pecs, making him jolt a little.

"C'mon, Channie," you coo. "You're okay. I want you to cum for me."

He lets out a strangled sound, hips bucking up into your fist even faster now. His head falls back again and you see the muscles in his neck strain.

"Please," he chokes out. "I need-- I need--"

You slide your hand from his chest back up to his neck, finding the spot from earlier that made him make that deliciously memorable noise. When you drag your nails across it, his hips stutter in their rhythm, and that's the only warning you have before his entire body is convulsing with pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," he grunts. "Babygirl, fuck–”

His cock pulses in your hand as he cums, releasing all over himself and your fingers. You stroke him through it, gently moving your hand up and down until he's spent.

Then, there's silence.

You're not sure what you expect. Maybe for him to turn over and go to sleep, or for him to act bashful and apologetic, letting you know it won't happen again.

You certainly aren't expecting for him to grip your hips and lift you up onto the bed. Or for him to gently push you down on your back. Or for the desperation in his face to be replaced with something harder, something more in control and dominating as he says, “Please let me eat your pussy, babygirl.”

You almost choke.

You feel like you should protest. Tell him he doesn't have to, that this is already more than you thought you would ever get. But then he's sliding his hands up under your shirt, and the only thing your mouth can form is a moan.

He's never seen you naked, always a respectable gentleman, but there's no hesitation or uncertainty in the way his hands move around your body. He's not tentative and gentle like you expected; he's touching and pinching and running his nails along your skin like he's done this before, like he knows all your spots. He reaches your chest, where you have no bra, and rubs his thumb across your already hardened nipple. Your back arches and your legs fall open for him with a groan, letting him slot himself in the now empty spot.

He pulls his hand away, moving up to your face and cupping your jaw so you can look at him. He's looking down at you with dark eyes.

"Please?”

He's asking, you know, but there's nothing gentle in the way he's looking at you. You nod as best as you can, and he brings his hand down from your jaw to your chin, fingers sliding over your lips. You feel him nudge his thumb against your bottom lip, and you take the hint.

You open your mouth for him, letting him slide his thumb inside and rub it across your tongue. He's looking down at you intensely as you swirl your tongue around his finger, and when you suck on it a little, he lets out a grunt.

"Fuck," he breathes. He pulls his thumb away, watching as a string of saliva connects it to your lips. "You're gonna let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You nod again, but he gives a little humorless chuckle, head tilting at you.

"Use your words babygirl."

"Yes." Your voice is quiet. "Yes, I want you to.”

He stares at you for another moment. You watch his eyes dart across your face, your body, before settling on your lips again. He leans down then, hovering just above you as he licks his own lips.

"Gonna kiss you now," he murmurs. "That okay?"

You fear you look stupid, the way you're just staring up at him, jaw slacked and eyes going in and out of focus. You nod anyway, trying to act normal.

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

He doesn't waste any more time after that. He leans down the rest of the way, pressing his lips against yours. It's slow at first, a sweet little thing that makes you feel warm and safe. You sigh into it, eyes fluttering closed.

But then he licks a stripe across your bottom lip, and you let out a pathetic little whimper, lips falling open just enough for him to slot his tongue in your mouth. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. It's desperate, burning, hot and filthy. He's licking into your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lips. You try to press your thighs together again, but his strong, muscular slab of body is between them, forcing them open.

His hands slide down your sides and settle on your hips. Your shorts do nothing as a barrier, and you feel every modicum of heat in his hands. He slips those warm hands into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, sliding them down your body antagonizingly slowly.

He sits back on his knees then, pulling them both all the way off before tossing them to the side. Then he leans forward again, pressing wet kisses to the skin right below your belly button.

"Chan," you breathe.

"S'okay baby," he mumbles against your skin. You feel a new wave of wetness flow through you. How could your usual nickname be even hotter with half of it missing?

Then he's moving his mouth down, down, down, and you feel him pressing his nose to your slit.

"Oh god," you whine.

"I know," he murmurs. You feel his tongue press against your clit, and your entire body spasms. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your legs and squeezing your thighs to hold them open. "I know babygirl.”

He licks you again, making you groan out loud. You can't help but bring one hand up to his curls, weaving your fingers through them and tugging on them like you've always wanted to. He responds by moaning, the vibrations shooting straight to your core.

You feel his tongue dip lower, spreading your wetness around. He dips it into your entrance, tongue fucking you at such a languid pace you feel like you'll fall apart. You hear him groan against your cunt again, and his hands tighten on your thighs.

"So wet, baby," he murmurs. "Taste so good.”

He presses his tongue to your clit again, and you pull on his hair harder. He grunts, and you feel him rutting up against the bed, his cock hard again, chasing some form of relief. 

"Please baby," he mumbles against you. "Want you to cum for me. Please."

You know yourself, know what gets you going and what really makes you cum, so you want to tell him that it's going to take more than this, that you're not there yet, but you don't get a chance to before he's sliding a finger inside of you, curling it up and finding your spot with such accuracy your vision goes white.

You feel him suck on your clit then, swirling his tongue around it as he slides another finger inside of you. You tug on his hair again, not even realizing that you're grinding up against his face.

You feel yourself getting closer, chasing the release you've been desperate for since he pulled you onto the bed. His fingers curl inside of you again, pressing that spot and making you scream out his name.

"Yeah?" Chan groans against you, voice hoarse and desperate. "Like that? S'okay baby, let go."

"Chan," you choke. You're so, so close. "Chris. Chris.”

He moans at that, speeding up his fingers and moving his tongue even faster.  He's rocking himself up against the mattress with more urgency now, panting and moaning with his mouth pressed to your cunt.

"C'mon babygirl," he mumbles. "Need you to cum. C'mon, please. Need it."

He presses his fingers into that spot again, and you're gone. You arch up off of the bed as you cum, his name ripping itself from your throat as he fucks you through it. You feel your cunt pulsing around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. He keeps licking, his moans sending vibrations straight up your spine until you're over sensitive, tugging on his hair for him to back away. He does, but not before pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thigh.

He sits up then, his hair sticking up all over the place from where you've been pulling on it. He's sweaty and breathing hard, his lips swollen and red from where you were kissing him. You feel his eyes roam over your body, and you know that if you look down, you'll see how your skin is flushed from your ears down to your chest.

He's still sporting a semi, but his focus isn't on that anymore. He gathers you up in his hands, pulling you with him to the top of the bed and settling you with him on the pillows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you to rest your head on his chest.

"Sleep," he says into your hair. You notice how his body temperature has dropped-- he doesn't feel like an inferno anymore.

You're too tired to do anything but whine gently at the way he's holding you, too relaxed and spent to say anything. You feel sleep pulling at your eyes as he fixes your shirt over you carefully.

"Ah, shit," he murmurs. "Gotta clean you up. Then I'll come right back, yeah?”

You nod, trying to fight off sleep just a little longer. He presses a kiss to your hair before sliding out of the bed, going to the bathroom and coming back with a warm washcloth. You feel him wipe you down gently, and you mumble out something that might've been a thank you.

He takes the washcloth back to the bathroom, coming back to join you in bed. He pulls you back on top of him, settling the blankets over the two of you.

You're asleep before he can even kiss your forehead again.

When you wake up in the morning, you do your usual pause to see what does and doesn't hurt. You're mostly pain free, you realize sleepily, except for a dull ache in your hips and knees and a pleasant soreness in your–

Oh shit.

Everything slams back into you at once. The lemonade, Chan, him begging for you in more ways than one. It feels like you've been doused in cold water and tossed off of a bridge.

You go to sit up, but when you make an attempt to move, you feel an impossibly heavy weight around your midsection. Said weight snores a bit, and you realize that it's Chan's arm draped across you.

He's sleeping soundly next to you, hair still ruffled and unruly from where you were pulling it, lips still slightly swollen and red. The blankets are pulled up to his chin, hiding his body from view.

Your face burns as you try to really remember everything that happened last night, either to orient yourself through the brain fog or torture yourself. You're not entirely sure. Chan was... he was in rut, you knew that much. And you offered to help. Then he ate you out and gave you what was probably the most intense orgasm of your life, and then you fell asleep.

Typical stuff. Of course.

The memories are still there, but the reality of the situation has you panicking. His eyes are still closed, so you don't have to deal with the embarrassment of him catching you staring, but you're frozen anyway.

You're immediately hit with the overwhelming realization that you just made a mistake. There's no way you can possibly continue to keep your feelings for Chan a secret after this, no way that you can pretend you don't know what his amazingly deft fingers feel like inside of you. How would you ever be able to look him in the face again?

A vibrating sound pulls you from your spiral. For a second, you wonder if it's coming from Chan, but you recognize that, no matter what genetic issue he has, a person cannot vibrate. 

The sound is actually coming from just off the side of the bed, where your shorts and panties lay discarded. You reach over and pluck your phone from the back pocket, turning it over to see an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

You're about to send it to voicemail when your heart sinks like lead along with recognition in your chest. It's the genetic clinic.

You're untangling yourself from Chan's arms in record speed, shirking your shorts on and stepping into the hallway. He doesn't stir, thankfully, but you still close the door gently behind you anyway.

"Hello?" You breathe.

The nurse on the other side of the line greets you enthusiastically, and after confirming you are the intended recipient of the phone call, she asks you to hold while she transfers you to the doctor. You wait anxiously for a minute or two, pacing your way to the kitchen island and picking at the skin around your fingers while you listen to the generic hold music.

"Good morning," the doctor says as she comes on the line. She, too, sounds far too chipper. "I apologize for the wait, I was in the middle of rounds when your nurse flagged me down."

"That's okay," you say. Pleasantries feel superficial right now.

"Right, so. We did get some of your preliminary genetic results back," she says. You can hear pages being turned on the other side of the line. "I wanted to let you know that, unfortunately--"

The floor falls from under your feet.

"-- You did test positive for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Classical type."

You can't really hear anything else she's saying. Something about coming back in, maybe. About starting physical therapy. Taking care of yourself. You feel sick, like you might pass out. Or throw up. 

You manage to push through the rest of the conversation, your voice sounding far away even to your own ears. She lets you know that she's sending follow-up information to your email, says that it's important to have support at such a time like this, and you make a very non committal grunt of acknowledgement before ending the phone call. Your phone chatters on the island, the sound echoing in the empty space.

You can't even form a concept of a thought before your chest feels tight, like there's a rubber band stretching across your ribs and pulling taut. You skin suddenly feels like there are a million and one tiny sets of feet thrumming underneath it. It's too hot. Your shirt is choking you. It's all suddenly too much at once: last night with Chan, the diagnosis, the way you're feeling an ache building in your back.

You need to move. You need to get out.

You're up the stairs before you can really process it, standing in front of your suitcase and rifling through it with speed. You find a pair of sweats and what you’re almost certain is Chan's old hoodie, but you toss them on quickly anyway.

The air is crisp when it hits your face a few moments later. It's exactly what you need. The path around the cabin is familiar– you've walked it countless times during family trips and weekend getaways. You know exactly where to step to avoid the mud, which trees mark the loop back to the house.

You walk until your legs burn, until the tears on your face dry in the cold air. Your mind races with everything and nothing at once.

Classical EDS. Your PCP was right about it being a connective tissue disorder. EDS explains the tummy aches, the racing heart, the migraines, and most obviously, the joint pain. There's no cure. Just management. Just a lifetime of being careful, of physical therapy, of putting in insane amounts of effort to make sure your joints don't fucking disintegrate.

You find this to be the most manageable of all the issues at the moment. 

But Chan…

God, Chan. What were you thinking? He was in rut, vulnerable and needing comfort, and you just... what? Offered yourself up like some kind of heathen? Let him touch you in ways you've only dreamed about, knowing full well it would change everything?

This feels like the biggest issue to you, you realize when you pause on a tree stump. Because if you lose Chan, from something you initiated, you will lose everything else. He is the center of your universe, and everything revolves around him. You can't lose him, especially not over your own stupidity.

You think about going back. Talking to him. Maybe trying to convince him that you're fine, that he doesn't have to worry about you. That you don't like him like that, and you were just being a good friend and helping.

But then you remember his face when he came, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moaned out your name. The way his fingers felt inside of you. How good he smelled.

You'll never be able to forget any of it now, you realize. And it will tear you apart if you lose him because of it.

You realize you've been walking much longer than intended when you catch a glimpse of the position of the sun. The morning chill has given way to a warmer temperature, though your face still feels numb from the wind. Your joints are definitely making themselves known now.

You suppose you may as well head back, even if you don't have any idea what you’re going to do when you have to face Chan. You can't stay out and freeze.

As you round the final bend that leads back to the cabin, you see him.

Chan is standing on the front porch, shirtless despite the cold, his hands visibly shaking at his sides. He's looking in the opposite direction, but you see when your scent hits him, because he whips around and his eyes lock onto you immediately. There's a look on his face that makes your chest ache– he looks terrified, like he's been coming apart at the seams.

You both freeze in your spots, an echo of that moment at the clinic. The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You notice then that his eyes are red, not the same red tint you now recognize from his rut, no. This is the red tint from that day he had to drive you to the hospital.

He's been crying.

“Where–” his voice is labored. “Babygirl. Where have you been?”

"I just..." you gesture vaguely at the path behind you. "I needed some air."

He takes a step forward, then seems to think better of it, stopping himself in his tracks. "You weren't... you were gone when I woke up. Your phone was on the counter, I couldn't... I didn't know where…”

He makes a pained noise in his chest, and then you see his entire face crumble. He pulls one of his arms up to his face, covering his eyes as you hear him start to cry.

Your heart breaks in two.

You rush to him as quickly as your protesting legs will allow, taking the stairs two at a time until you're in front of him. You reach up to gently pull his arm down, but he jerks away, a wounded noise escaping from his mouth.

"No," he cries. "You shouldn't–  don't touch me. I'm sorry.”

“Chris,” you breathe, hoping to cut through his emotional fog. “Chris, please, look at me.”

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“What did I do wrong?” His voice cracks around the words. “Last night, I couldn't… control myself. And you were so good to me and then– you were gone.”

"Chan, no." You reach for him again, and this time he lets you pull his arm down. His face is streaked with tears, those big brown eyes red and swollen. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He shakes his head violently, words tumbling out around hiccups. "Then why did you leave? Why didn't you wake me up? I woke up and you were gone and I couldn't– your scent was gone and I couldn't–"

A sob cuts him off. You grab his hand and tug him towards the door. "Let's go inside. Please? It's freezing out here.”

He lets you tug him inside, at least just until you can close the door. You try to bring him over to the couch, but he's stubborn, keeping his feet planted where they are. He won't look at you, keeping his gaze downcast no matter how much you tug on his arm. You let go after a tense moment, sighing and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Chan. The clinic called,” you say softly. “Thats why I left. My results came back.”

His head snaps up at that, understanding settling over his face. “You… did you test positive for–”

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

He looks like he'll cry all over again, reaching his hand out to you before pulling it back to his side. He squeezes his hands in and out of fists a few times before he shakes his head, tilting his head back until he's staring up at the ceiling.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. “Last night… I shouldn't have–”

“Stop, please,” you cut him off, voice hoarse in the quiet. You've run out of energy. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“No, I did everything wrong. I thought I could handle it, thought it wouldn't be too much. Everyone told me it was a bad idea but I didn't want to listen, thought I could control myself.”

You feel bile rising in your throat. “What?”

He shakes his head again. “I shouldn't have said yes.”

He murmurs it, but the cabin is dead silent, so there's no way you don't hear it. There's no way you can misinterpret what he means either. Last night. He shouldn't have said yes when you asked if he needed help.

You take a step back, and you watch his face crumble a bit more. “Right.” Your voice sounds hollow. “It's fine. It was a mistake anyway."

"A mistake?" Now he looks confused through his tears. "No, that's not–"

"It's okay, Chan." You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face in half. You need to end this conversation now so you can go cry in your bed. "We can just forget it happened. You were in rut, I was... available. It's fine."

"Available." He deadpans. His gaze loses some of the previous softness. "Is that what you think? That I just... used you because you were there?”

You find yourself backing away towards the stairs, already mentally checked out. “Isn't it? You said it yourself last night, it was just my scent.”

His face flashes through so many emotions, you're not sure how you would begin parsing through them. He settles on something that looks like a mix of thinly veiled disgust and anger. He fixes his posture until he's back up to his full height now, brown eyes ablaze.

You decide to turn away from him fully at that moment. Whatever this is, this half argument you're having, it can wait until you've taken a good nap. You prepare to climb the stairs, keeping one hand on the railing and one foot on a stair.

That's about as far as you make it before you feel the unmistakable heat of Chan behind you. You stifle back the gasp that threatens to spill when he presses himself right up against your back, head dipped down so he's right by your ear.

“Ask me why,” he breathes. 

You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your ear, and your entire body lights up in record time. You've forgotten how to speak, maybe.

So, you eloquently stutter out a simple, "What?"

He slides a hand around you, reaching from the base of your back all the way to your stomach, pulling you closer to him. “Babygirl. I said, ask me why.”

You swallow thickly. His voice is still hoarse and low from the crying, and it sends a shiver up your spine that rocks your body so hard, you think you would fall if not for the strong arm around you.

"Why," you breathe. The word has no conviction in it. You're getting dizzy.

He leans even closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your outer ear. "Because," he murmurs. "Yes, your scent smells so fucking good. So sweet and warm. But I don't want you because you smell good, baby. I want you because you smell like you're mine.”

You whimper involuntarily at that, and you feel him inhale sharply. His other hand reaches up to hold your chin, tilting your head up towards him. You're looking at each other now, his eyes blown wide and his pupils blown so black, there's barely any brown left.

"Do you understand me, babygirl?" He's breathing hard against you. "Even under the harsh scent of your pain, or the saccharine scent of when you're happy, something in you always smells like you belong to me. Do you know why?"

Your knees feel weak. Not from pain, but because of whatever is happening right now. You let out a pathetic mewl in Chan's hold and watch his nostrils flare. 

"Because you are mine. My mate. You hear me, baby? Mine.”

Then he's tilting your head to the side and kissing down the column of your throat, nipping just hard enough to send electricity through your body. You whine, unable to stop the way your body arches into his touch. 

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest, pulling away just long enough to look you in your eyes again. "Wasn't using you," he huffs, saying the word use like it leaves a nasty flavor in his mouth. "I needed you, needed your scent around me to make it better. I couldn't control myself, baby."

He spins you around so that you're facing him now, hands still wrapped around your waist. You think he's about to kiss you, but you see a wave of clarity and seriousness push everything else to the side.

“They asked me at the clinic,” he starts, shuffling with you in his arms until you're back in the living room with him. “If something happened to a family member, or if I had a girlfriend who was hurt.”

You're hanging on to every word, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I told them no to both, but I told them about the hospital, about how you called me crying cause you were in so much pain, and you just kept passing out on me. I told them about how scared I was that if I left the hospital, I would come back and you wouldn't be there. You'd be gone. It was ripping me apart.”

You reach up to touch his face without thinking, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He leans into the touch like he can't help himself.

“I presented because I wanted to protect you down to my very DNA. I was going so crazy about you that my body needed a way to protect me– protect you.”

“Chan,” you breathe.

“They said my inner wolf, that primal part of me, recognized it as my mate being in pain, and I was powerless to stop it. It's you, babygirl. It's always been you.”

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy. 

You think about how you'd tried to touch him during the drive up, how he'd pulled his hands away like he was in pain. You supposed maybe he was. Going through his first rut, stuck in an enclosed space with his mate, unable to do anything about it.

You can't imagine the amount of restraint it probably took him to remain normal. The sheer thought of it alone has you blinking back up at him, looking right in his eyes.

With the eye contact, you feel his body swell microscopically, like he's flaxing every muscle so he can look bigger, more threatening, but he is neither of those things to you.

To you he is just Chan.

You're rising up on your toes before you even know what's happening, hand sliding up Chan's neck to pull him down towards you and catching his lips in a hot, burning kiss. 

The hand around your waist tighten's its grip, slotting you even further against his body.

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

You feel his growing bulge press against you, and you hum into the kiss. 

It feels like perfection.

"M'Sorry," he slurs against your mouth. He makes no effort to pull away. "Still in rut. Sensitive."

You say nothing, sliding your free hand down his chest, over his stomach until you reach what you're looking for. You rest your hand over it softly, not grabbing or pressing, but he responds like you do, grunting and rutting up against your hand as he starts panting.

"Babygirl," he groans. "Baby, please."

You start moving your hand in earnest now, cupping his bulge through his sweats as he grinds up against you. His eyes flutter closed and he pulls away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours.

"God, I wanna fuck you so bad," he grunts. "Wanna be inside. Wanna cum inside you so deep you'll never forget who you belong to. Make myself your alpha."

It's insane how your body reacts to that. You feel your clit jump in your underwear. The Alpha/Omega thing wasn't real-- or at least wasn't based on any science with the condition, but the way Chan speaks, the way his grunts sound so close to your ear, you believe it could be.

"You're gonna let me, right?" He whines. "Please? I'll make you feel so good. Been so good for me already baby. Just wanna make you cum on my cock."

Your moan gets caught in your throat when he slides a hand down your body to grip the swell of your ass. Between that and feeling him, rock solid against you, your entire body comes back to life with desperate, almost delirious need.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Channie, please. Want you. Please."

His chest vibrates with a growl and he wastes no time pushing you back until you're laying against the couch. He kneels over you, large hand reaching down and palming himself through his sweats.

He notices what you're wearing at that moment. He reaches his free hand down, gripping the material of your– his – hoodie. It's entirely too big for you, even when you're standing, but laying back like this, the material absolutely dwarfs you. 

He must like the sight of it, because you watch him grip himself tight.

"Fuck, babygirl. You don't know what you do to me. Wearing my clothes? Are you even wearing anything under that?"

Feeling bold, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater up, just enough so that he can see the expanse of skin right under it. When he looks back at your face, you give him an innocent expression, eyes wide and blinking.

He doesn't even bother taking anything off, just pulls his cock out of his sweats and starts stroking himself again. You feel your mouth go dry just from the sight of it– hard and flushed red, precum dripping from the tip. You grip the material of his sweater tighter.

“Gonna be good, baby?" he breathes. "Wanna get off like this."

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. He looks fucking delicious above you, cock in hand as he strokes himself faster now, moaning at the way you look underneath him.

"Gonna make myself cum on your stomach," he grunts. "Mark you. Then I'll fuck you until you're screaming, so everyone knows who you belong to.”

You feel your cunt throbbing in your underwear. You cant help the way you whine out his name, the way you squeeze your thighs together to try to get some relief. He looks like he's going to explode just from hearing you say his name like that.

He leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch by your head, effectively caging you in. You can feel how his muscles flex under your hands as you touch him, sliding your palms up and down his chest. You find your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way he moves up and down.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he breathes. "Fucked my fist so many times wishing it was you.”

You wrap your arms around him, one hand going up to that special spot at the base of his neck. As you graze your nails against it, he turns his face, pressing his nose into the pulse point on your wrist, inhaling you and your smell.

He starts moaning louder, breath fanning across your arm as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You're so turned on from it, you feel like you might actually cum without a hand to your body.

"Babygirl," he grunts. "Baby, fuck. I'm close."

You pull him down to you, pressing his face right into your neck. You can feel how his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back, the arm by your head straining with how tightly he's gripping the couch.

"Gonna let your alpha cum on your stomach, baby? Mark you?”

You nod quickly. You feel him lean in even more, brushing his lips against the soft part of your throat where he no doubt can feel your erratic pulse. You right into his ear, and then he's groaning out your name and nipping at your throat hard, all teeth and tongue and need as he spills all over you.

He makes sure to press his body flush against you while he rides out his orgasm, so that his cum splatters all over your stomach. He grinds up against you with his hips, making sure his cock slides along the fabric of his sweater. You watch him get lost in it, eyes screwed shut as he mouths at your throat, panting and moaning through his high.

Then he stills, just a bit. He pulls away from your neck, his pupils still completely blown as he looks down at you.

You're not sure what he sees when he does. You know sweat is starting to stick to your skin, plastering little bits of your hair to your face. Despite not being touched yet, you feel absolutely cock drunk if only on the sight of Chan alone.

You can't tell if that's what he sees, but whatever it is, it makes his still-hard cock jump against where it rests on your stomach. He's pushing himself up to sit on his knees before you even remember your own name.

He slides down the couch until his face is level with your hips. He pulls the waistband of your sweats down just enough for your cunt to be exposed, and then he's leaning forward, dragging his tongue along your slit.

"Fuck," you cry, body jolting. "Chan."

He doesn't respond verbally, just hums and pulls back enough to stare at your dripping cunt. You find your hips bucking up when he lets his mouth water just enough to drool right on you.

He dives back down to your cunt and pushes his tongue inside of you. You feel him moan against you as he licks you, slow and deliberate. You can hear how wet you are, and you feel yourself throb around his tongue when you hear it.

"I kept noticing your scent change," he says against your clit. He gives it a few kitten licks before diving down and flattening his tongue on you, licking and slurping you from end to end. "Sometimes, I would look at you, or touch you, and you smelled like citrus. Couldn't figure out why."

He takes those absurdly plump lips and suctions them around your clit, one strong arm coming to hold you down when you arch up off the bed.  "Thats just your scent when you're aroused," he continues, nudging his nose against your clit. "Smells so fucking good."

You're certain you might be delirious at this point. The way Chan eats you out feels so much better than anything else you've ever felt, and his tongue has you hurdling to the crest of your orgasm faster than you can believe.

"Oh. Ohh," you whimper. "Channie, m'so close."

"That's my good girl," he murmurs. His lips are still right against your clit. "You're so perfect baby. Let me make you feel good. Want you to cum for me."

He slides his tongue back inside of you, and you feel a hand come up to play with your clit. You're so dangling off the edge, so ready to jump with the right push. You just need a little more, but then you feel a finger slide inside of you and crook up.

You're gone. You cum with a shout of Chan's name, arching up off of the couch as your body shakes from the intensity of it all. He licks you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine and wiggle around from the sensitivity.

He sits back on his knees again, watching you pant on the couch as you try to collect yourself. You look over at him when you catch your breath, and you see him licking his fingers clean.

He leans over you again, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down. You don't bother asking first, just slot his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. It's absolutely wet and filthy, the flavor of yourself bursting over your tongue when he swipes into your mouth. You suck on his tongue, hard, and he groans into your mouth, hands sliding up under the sweater to touch your bare skin.

"Gonna fuck you good now," he grunts against your lips. You whine and press your body into his. "Okay, baby? Do you think you're ready for me?"

"Yes, Chris," you sigh. He pulls away from the kiss gently to stare at you. Despite the haze of his rut, you can see a hesitancy in his eyes, like there's something he wants but he's not saying. It takes all of two seconds for you to connect the dots.

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

That seems to be the magic word, because he's lifting you up into his arms and standing up from the couch immediately. In a split second, you're pressed up against the wall next to the TV. You're very thankful for the layer between your bare skin and the freezing cold wall.

He wraps your legs around his waist, and suddenly you can feel the heat of his erection right on you. He presses his cock between your folds, holding you tight while he ruts up into you. 

You're so wet that the head catches against your entrance every so often, making both of you moan into each others mouths.

"Thank you, baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically soft at a moment like this. "'m so grateful. So--" He lets out a pant, eyes rolling back as he lets his head drop back too. "Fuck."

You know Chan well enough to know what he's trying to say. He's thanking you for accepting him, for coming back to him, for letting him be vulnerable.

How could you not? He was so distressed by your wellbeing that a distant part of his DNA woke up to protect you. He ignored his doctor's orders to take you on this trip because he knew you needed it. He was content to suffer through his first rut in silence if it meant just taking care of you.

How could you not love all that he is?

You learn forward and nip him right as his pulse point, and his whole body jerks. You know werewolf lore, know that a bite there means a forever. You don't have the same genetic syndrome, but God do you want to be in his arms forever. You don't even feel like you need to question it.

His eyes, heavily lidded, find their way to your face. "You know what that bite means, right baby?" His voice is hoarse, and even when he clears his throat at your responding nod, it doesn't get better. "You wanna mark me there, babygirl? Make me yours?”

You nod, sliding your mouth up his throat until your lips are pressed right against his ear. You slide your tongue over his lobe and tug on it. "Please alpha. Wanna show everyone who you belong to."

He snakes a hand up your back until he finds your hair, fingers tangling in the roots as he grips, pulling your head back. "I mark you first," he grits out. "Let alpha take care of you."

You can't help the way you go pliant, letting your head fall to one side just enough to expose your neck to him. You watch his eyes and make your expression as wanting as possible.

He groans at that, finally pulling you away from the wall just enough so that he can line himself up. He pushes his tip right into you, and you press your forehead against his, the mixed sounds of your breathing being the only thing filling the atmosphere.

"I love you," he sighs. Your heart squeezes in your chest. "Gonna take such good care of you always, yeah?"

"I love you more, Chan," is your breathy reply.

"I'll give you everything," he sighs. "Everything you want. I just need you to come on my cock first, yeah? The alpha's got you. I got you."

Then he's pushing in slowly, and you both sigh as he bottoms out. You cling to him, pressing your face into his neck as he fucks you slowly into the wall.

He keeps it slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your forehead and hair, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how you were made just for him. You're already feeling the pressure building up in your stomach again, barely paying attention to what he's saying. 

"Gonna breed this tight little pussy," he murmurs at some point. You do hear that, and you clench hard around him, making him groan.

"Oh fuck," he gasps. "You want my seed, huh? Want me to fuck my seed in you, angel?"

Your walls around him again, swallowing him up. You know you can't get pregnant-- birth control and all of that-- but the idea of him filling you up has your body begging for more. You dig your nails into the skin of his back and you feel him throb inside of you. He makes a sound between a grunt and a moan, slamming his hips into yours, cock sliding into you deeper than before.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, m'so close already. Think you can you cum with me angel? Hm?"

You nod, clinging to his shoulders as you bounce up and down on his cock. It feels so good, too good, and you're already so close yourself.

"Chris," you whine. "I'm– fuck, I'm close."

"I know, babygirl," He sounds so wrecked. "I'm right behind you. You can cum for me baby. Cum for your alpha. Want you to cum on me, please."

He presses a kiss to your neck, right over your pulse point, and that's all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge. You cry out his name, letting him fuck you through it while your cunt pulsates around him. You feel him twitch in you, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips as he slams into you one last time, spilling all his cum inside of you.

He bites you then.

Its not painful, not really, because he doesn't break skin. His teeth aren't sharp enough for that. The bite is more performative than anything, but it sends a shockwave through your body.

 It's a strange feeling, almost like your blood is simmering under your skin, but you're so lost in the bliss of your orgasm that you don't even care. It feels right, anyhow. Like the final missing piece to a puzzle you've been spending a lifetime constructing.

He stays there for a second, sucking a bruise into your neck. His hands are shaking, but he's holding you tight enough that you don't even worry about falling.

Then, he licks the spot on your neck where he bit, soothing whatever pain he might've caused. He pulls away from you just enough to press a kiss to your lips, still holding you up with his cock in you.

"I love you," he whispers. "My mate. Mine."

You reach a hand up to touch his neck, and he tilts his head to the side, giving away to the instincts thrumming under his skin. You take your fingers and trace them along the column of his throat, stopping just under his Adam's apple. 

You don't say anything at first, just lean forward and press your lips against the same spot. Your bite is more restrained, more gentle. He hisses out a strangled sound, and you would assume it was pain if you didn't feel his cock pulse in you.

When you pull away, you look at him, a small smile on both of your incredibly fucked out faces. You lean forward and press a little kiss to his lips.

"I love you too," is your quiet reply. "My mate."

As promised, he's so gentle with you afterwards, cleaning you up and giving you your medication when he scents your hips are about to ache. The entire ordeal is so familiar, so cozy, you wonder how you could've ever let yourself believe that Chan didn't love you too.

Hours later, when you're cuddled together on the couch, dozing off in his lap, you hear him whispering something against your hair. Your mind is so muddled with sleep you can barely make out the words he's saying.

You string together something about mates, something about how he'll protect you, how you're his everything, how he loves you so much.

It doesn't really matter though. You know already, because he's yours, and you're his.

His everything.

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 | Javier Peña x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Javier needed a vacation, badly.

author's note | for writing through the seasons, hosted by @guiltyasdave (happy birthday bby!!) & @sizzlingcloudmentality. such a beautiful challenge and i really enjoyed writing something a little lighter for javi. and a big thank you to @kedsandtubesocks & @hauntedhowlett for helping me plan this out.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, post narcos s3, old partners, holding grudges, enemies to lovers, javi in shorts, drinking, less than subtle flirting, shower sex, unprotected piv and creampies, some feelings at the end <3

word count — 7k

Being forced out of Colombia had been a blessing in disguise, really.

With an asshat like Javier Peña as the attaché and taking that power to clean house, you had been an innocent casualty among the masses. There were about twenty of you, some lower staff, some agents - like you, but it was all the push you needed to switch gears.

The passion you initially started with had waned slowly, desensitized to every drug bust and dead body; young, old. It was draining, debilitating on some days. Taking a job at the inn had rejuvenated you and washed away the heavy weight of the DEA and all the baggage that came with it.

As for Javier, he spent weeks searching for a proper place to use as his getaway, constant whispers and recommendations from friends about a small island off the coast of Hawaii - discreet, quiet, a place where he didn’t have to be known. He wanted to exist away from home; the occasional spotlight—he wanted to disappear.

It was perfect, walking up the lone inn on the tiny island with a deep, relieving breath and his bag slung over his shoulder, approaching the desk with his natural swagged, the gentle sway of his hips in those figure hugging jeans, fit perfectly to his muscled thighs and a peach colored button-up to match.

Not beach attire, but easily clocked. Your face is buried in the laptop you swing around to the front desk, a faint clearing of a throat coming a few inches away and up, catching a glimpse of the watch, then the plush lips pushed out under a thick mustache, yellow-tinted glasses that hid those pensive fucking eyes.

You both realize it at the same moment.

What the fuck are you doing here?

It’s said in unison, laptop snapped shut as you take in his cliche attire.

In the year since you’ve been let go, he hasn't changed a bit.

“I’ve got a room booked for the weekend,” Javier continues despite your pinched expression, the strong wave of bitterness returning as you glare at him, staring up at the clock that read a quarter ‘til five, only fifteen minutes left on your shift before your next break.

Maybe if you waited him out you could send him on his way, knowing very well there wasn’t any other possible booking on the island and he would have to find a flight back home.

Fuck him. God, fuck him.

As good as you had it now, it didn’t lessen the sting of a career you had worked so hard for, crumbling to nothing with a flick of pen and someone's shitty opinion, crossing your name off like it meant nothing, like you hadn’t done enough grunt work for him to even earn a simple thank you.

You existed around him, not with him.

Even now, he’s staring at you like he’s waiting for you to spin on his axis, tap your fingers delicately against the work computer and handing over his room key with a smile. Practiced, forced.

He could find somewhere else, surely.

He doesn’t realize he let the thought slip audibly until you’re replying with an amused tone, “No, you can’t,” It was cocky, but oozing a venom that Javier knew to steer clear of, “we’re the only place on the island.”

Silently you type in his name, knowing that despite your immediate distaste that returns like a natural, learned behavior—you had a job to do.

But, it doesn’t stop your mouse from hovering over the cancel button for a moment too long, watching his expression turn from smug to pitiful.

It was a glaring dichotomy, personalities swapped, watching a once confident man shrink in shame as he scratches his cheek and looks away, your fingers typing quietly at the keyboard before you eventually disappear without a word, fetching the room key.

It was a pricier suite, unsurprising. Room 213. You swing the key ring around your finger and double-check the information, seeing that he had paid ahead of time and handled all the necessary additions over the phone with a different employee.

“This what you do now?” He asks - it was a question of genuine curiosity, but it comes out judgmental, at least, it reads that way. He takes the key from your extended finger and ignores the obvious tension that was weaving around you both like a tangled mess.

“It’s surprising how hard it is to get back onto a job at the embassy when the head attaché fires you without proper reasoning—overstaffing, was it? Budget cuts?” You tilt your head slightly, staring him down with a polite smile as you slide the paper receipt across the counter, “I guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“Hey, that’s—”

“I don’t care, Javier,” You reply honestly, interjecting before he has the chance to spit out an excuse, whatever it may be, “Yes—this is what I do now.”

So much for anonymity, he thinks.

Just like that, his entire vacation had soured.

And for you, it was the only sliver of peace you had here.

Gone. Vanished.

You watch his walk of quiet shame as he glances over his shoulder briefly before boarding the elevator, his jaw tense and tight as you lock eyes, doors closing slowly before you release a breath you didn’t realize you were still holding.

Fuck.

It was time to take your fifteen.

–

You liked Fridays because it meant relaxation—and drinks, beachside and under the soft, soothing tune of whatever was playing through the bar speakers, the crash of waves on the shore and a misty spray that kissed your skin, sipping silently at your drink as your finger circles the wet ring on the surface of the table.

The sun was setting by now, a few hours since you hated spoken or seen Javier Peña.

It was hitting you now, realizing you never quite processed how hard the lay off had been to process, how blindsided you had been, or how little appreciation was shown in the aftermath.

Right—it only mattered if your name meant something, if it was attached.

You were like mice, rats—taught and trained, scattering to find evidence and intel, return and filter it through your superiors and still somehow manage to not get murdered or discovered in the process and all the while, expected to complete your paperwork on time. 

You were used to people taking the credit from you, but with Javier, it was different.

He had a way of making you feel special; always calling you by name, never letting you feel inferior when he needed something, making sure to comment on your appearance in a respectful manner, greet you like you’ve been friends for ages, a mere effort to keep up with his title.

But, you had built a strange kinship over long late night stake-outs, shared nonsensical details about your life - like how you despised the taste of liquor but toughed it out for the sweet aftertaste, enjoyed drinks for the aesthetics rather than the feeling.

Javier was a messy eater, too. Not careless, but rather ravaging. He’d tear into his fruit like an animal finding the first spec of food in a week, juices covering his fingers and oblivious to the obscene sounds he’d make as he chewed, sucked, and licked. It was irritating, but inherently him. He didn’t like music much either, opting for silence instead. It drove you insane on particularly long nights.

It didn’t matter that you had shared nights in each other’s apartments, grueling over dead-ends and lackluster information, sharing meals that would end with both of you falling asleep in heaps, never mentioning them as you woke.

Neither of you had ever crossed that line, too vehemently aware of his title.

Both professional and rumored.

So, when he was the one who signed off after you were ordered out of the office, badge and gun returned by end of day, you didn’t know how to react.

And it was only as he resurfaced now, a year later, that you find all of those bottled up feelings and resentments boiling at the surface.

“Osita,” You hear him greet with an estranged fondness, hating the way it rolls off his tongue like it was normal, “you’ve changed.”

You sip on your drink with disregard, hearing the silent squeak as he takes his seat a couple seats away and orders a plain tequila - nothing fancy, just liquor and a glass.

“Actually, make that a double,” He adds, tapping his wallet idly against the surface of the table as he waits, offering a reserved thank you as the two glasses are slid in front of him.

You pointedly turn away, hoping the fleeing sun and shifting color of the sky; a soft oceanic blue into tangerine skies and the flock of seagulls circling overhead. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to block out Javier, who when he needs or wants something, is going to get it.

And currently, it was your attention.

“You know that was never my decision,” He deflects, “I’m fed a list and if I don’t sign it I look like I’m not willing to do my job, if I could have suggested they take you off—”

“You should have,” You bite, “if you felt so passionately about it, but as all things go in Peña’s world–if it doesn’t hurt you, then who cares, correct?”

You had only ever known Javier as the serious figurehead above you, not the one of tales told by co-workers, how mischievous he used to be, how daring. Los Pepes had really done a number on him apparently.

“I’m trying to apologize, alright?” He offers weakly - and Jesus, when had he downed the first glass of tequila in the time you had started talking to him? He quickly throws back the second glass and pushes them aside, “I came here because I heard it was a good place to disappear, that I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing my name—and you just happened to be here, I’m not trying to invade, but I’m sure we can just…exist around each other for a weekend.”

When it came down to it, you knew there wasn’t much Javier could have done—sure, a word or two would have been nice in your defense, given how closely you two had worked together toward the end of your career in Colombia, but even then it assumedly wouldn’t have done any good.

You received a good pension and are living nicely now, making enough money to live comfortably somewhat off the grid—you could hold a grudge, it was easy. But, you don’t.

“Yeah,” You offer lamely, “apology accepted, can you leave me alone now?”

“I retired,” Javier slips as he shifts in his seat, “thought you should know.”

This motherfucker—he knew how to reel you in; hook, line, sinker.

“You? Retired?” You scoff, “Who roped you into that? Is someone blackmailing you?”

Javier makes a face of incredulous disbelief, “Blackmail—the fuck? No. I got tired of all of it, all the work we’re doing and half of the government is under the cartel’s dominion. From one extreme to another and there was no change in sight, it was pointless.”

He wasn’t wrong; you constantly put your life on the line for a cause, fruitless and impossible to change, it was like chasing your own tail half the time.

As you finish up your drink you order a beer politely, the bartender offering a flirty smile that Javier catches with a keen eye, but he files it away for another time. The subtle buzz of alcohol was already filtering through your head as you sip from the beer slid into your hand and Javier makes a motion with his finger, ordering a third drink.

“I see you haven’t changed,” You comment slyly.

“You either,” He remarks, eyes shifting toward the bartender.

As much as Javier had his indulgences, so had you.

It was unspoken how you both hid the trauma and stress under alcohol and sex, just never with each other, but this - Javier was reading it completely wrong.

“Oh, gross,” You grimace in disgust, “He’s a friend and I’m almost certain I am not his type.”

As the words leave your mouth, your friend approaches Javier with a third drink, mirroring his earlier actions with you but adding a subtle once-over with his eyes, admiring Javier’s toned physique and tanned skin, years of chasing after cartel members keeping him fit.

Though, his posture is slacking, slumped in his seat as he works on the third glass of tequila, still dressed in his earlier attire and it almost transports you back to the nights spent in his car, a glass of liquor tucked between his legs and his phone and binoculars resting on his thighs.

“Please tell me you brought more than just…that,” You inquired, eyes pointedly dragging over his figure in a less subtle manner, “like—actual vacation clothes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Javier defends, a confident smirk gracing his face as his hands spread over his knees and curls, gulping down the last sip of alcohol, “it’s fine—ladies love it.”

“Sure, if you’d like to stay stuck in the eighties for the rest of your life,” You jest, “I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shorts, actually…I don’t think I’ve ever seen how you dress outside of work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to know,” He teases, watching as you wobbled to your feet and grabbed your wallet and room key, “wait—you’re leaving already?”

“Yes,” You answer blatantly, “I don’t need you pestering me the rest of the night when I could spend it alone, in my room, like I do every night.”

“That eager to run off, huh?” Javier retorts, “God, you must really hate me.”

“Since when do you care what I think about you?” You ask him, genuinely curious. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and you show up here and expect me to fall to my knees and worship you like I did back in Colombia? You’re not my boss anymore and we’re not chasing after drug lords. Go fuck yourself, Javi.”

Truthfully, Javier Peña was only a shell of what he used to be. 

He’s softened, far less rigid than he used to carry himself. Working with his father had led him to live a quieter life, enjoy being around his family, and come to the realization that what didn’t want to be stopped, couldn’t be. He’s let things go, moved on, but for some reason—with you, he’s finding it difficult. 

He grabs your wrist as you intend to walk past, standing from his seat and turning to you as your body shifts toward his, like being transported back to the work office with the buzz of noise and voices around you, blaming the alcohol in your system for the way your eyes linger on his face, blinking as you take a stumbling step back.

“At least let me walk you back to the inn,” He suggests.

“Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“No,” He answers quickly, fully aware of how easily you could, “I’m just—let me, alright?”

“Fine,” You relent after a long pause, “whatever, but—don’t talk. Your voice is annoying.”

“Oh? Is it?” He responds with a chuckle, quickly realizing that you had no intention to wait for him as you’re already fleeing by the time he turns around to grab his wallet, jogging to catch up with you.

“Keep up, Peña.” You mock him, a subtle grin on your face as you hear his rushing footsteps in the sand, “You’ve really let yourself go, huh?”

Javier scoffs in amusement at your words, but doesn’t answer.

For once, he listens and keeps his mouth shut.

–

You take the scenic route, unusual for you, but with Javier at your side you try to remind yourself to be a decent tour guide—he was here for a vacation after all. There were a few locally owned shops that you suggested for breakfast and souvenirs, home-grown and made with love.

He takes them into consideration, noticing how much lighter you sound as you talk, the alcohol taking your body hostage, aware of how little you needed to consume before you were spilling unnecessary information and giggling yourself into tears. But, in the current moment, it was a quaint relaxation that washed over.

The sun had set now, both of you traveling in the dark as you approached the inn. Javier shared very little about how life has been for him back home, more interested in hearing your stories about crazy guests and cute, older retired couples who needed a week away from the city.

“When I first got here I would spend all of my time in the water, or near it,” You admit, fishing for your keys without much luck, reaching your room on the first level of the inn, “it’s so nice here, Javi—I mean, you think about all the stuff we endured back in Colombia and you wonder how the fuck we survived and suddenly you’re relaxing on the beach like none of it ever mattered.”

“It’s hard to let that shit go,” Javier admits, “still…wakes me up at night, you know?”

You knew well, nodding solemnly as you fumble to find the correct key, swaying on your feet before Javier decides to put you out of your misery and step in, gently prying the keys from your hand as he sifts through to find one similar to his own before he hands it back, shaking your head in amusement as you laugh quietly.

“Still terrible at handling your liquor,” Javier comments, hands hovering around you as you stumble forward, ready to catch you if you fall, luckily you stay on your feet, “wait—do you like, live here? At the inn?”

“For a stretch of time, yeah,” You answer as you step into your room, immediately toeing off your shoes and turning on your heels, hand gripping the doorknob as you face him and rest the knob against your hip, staring him down from a couple inches away, the threshold forcing the distance, “I have a place further in town when we close down for a couple months—you worried about me, Peña?”

He can’t explain why his stomach clenches at the words, an instinct to agree swirling in his gut.

He’s thought about you since your departure, but as he moved back home and forced himself to let go of that part of his life, things had started to fray around the edges of his mind, slowly disappearing.

His non-answer is telling, analyzing your features like you’ve seen him down a hundred times. Usually it was for signs of deception or misleading information, constantly on edge of a possible mole or betrayal. He never fully trusted anyone, but he knows he never sensed that with you.

“I’m a big girl,” You assure him, “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” He replies, his right hand curling around his belt, thumb rubbing against the mix of denim and the leather band, his left hand rubbing over his mustache and chin, “so—I guess I’ll see you ‘round, then? If I don’t, I can’t say I’m upset—I got to see your face again.”

“Cute,” You smile genuinely, head tilting against the doorframe, “All’s forgiven, I guess. I think I’m starting to realize how much of that shit was out of your control.”

“You were a good partner,” He says lowly, a grit to his voice that makes your insides quiver, “If I had a say, you would’ve stuck around.”

His brown eyes were a dangerous weapon, his face softening into that boyish charm he liked to use on you when he needed something inconsequential; a coffee, something he’d forgotten at his desk, or when he needed you to pick up the snacks before a stakeout.

You were definitely going to regret your next words.

“A few friends of mine are having a bonfire tomorrow,” You tell him, “It’s small—but I think you’d enjoy it. Plus, Elio would murder me if I didn’t extend the invitation.”

“Elio?” 

“You know,” You tease him, mocking the less than subtle grin and eye drag of your friend back at the bar that makes Javier chuckle, “that Elio. The Peña charm works down here in Hawaii too, I guess. He usually cuts people off after two drinks.”

“It’s about all you can handle,” Javier retorts, your relaxed, drunkish grin growing as you shove weakly at his chest, his hand winding around your wrist with ease, less urgent this time.

Your eyes drag to the touch, lingering for a moment as Javier’s thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, the rhythmic thrum of your pulse under the surface as your mouth salivates.

You hadn’t felt that touch in months, a gesture that shouldn’t hold so much weight, but brings you back to the constant idiotic decisions you would make with no regard for your safety. 

As reckless as you knew Javier to be prior to Escobar’s death, he had changed somewhere between then and when he met you, his touch was the only thing that grounded you in many high stress situations and instances when you felt impulsive - impatient.

But, this touch—it’s different.

“I’m not inviting you in, Javi,” You tell him steadily, eyes still locked on your wrist as his are on your face, “I do still have some respect for you—us, whatever that was before.”

“Sleep well, chiquita,” He says after a beat, turning your wrist in his hand as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and departs for the elevator, leaving you in a drunken haze.

You almost change your mind, opening your mouth to beg him to stay.

The words never come out.

–

You never told him the exact details of where the bonfire was happening, but as he peeks out of his window the following night - forcing himself to spend the entire day away from you rather than sniffing around for you like a lost, helpless puppy - the fire was enough of a tell.

And you knew you wouldn’t need to tell him, either.

Elio is smirking as he glances over your shoulder, the soft tuft of sand shifting behind you as you peer up, finding a shockingly dressed-down version of Javier sans his tinted sunglasses that were almost a trademark to his look, sitting perfectly on his aquiline nose.

“So, you do have legs,” You tease, catching a glimpse of his uncovered shins as he takes a seat beside you on the towel laid over the sand, greeting your friends politely and shaking hands as they approach him, nodding as one of them shoves a beer into his hand.

 “Thank you—” He only processes your words after his first sip, brow furrowing in confusion, “hold up, what the hell does that mean?”

“I’d almost believe you were some type of robot if I hadn’t,” You joke lightly, the teasing falling completely flat as Javier glances down at his legs and bare feet, “sorry–bad…bad joke, it was something people used to say around the office. You never took a break, people thought you were some kind of machine or something.”

“You have not changed,” Javier reminisces, shaking his head with a chuckle to match.

It was your turn to share in the confusion, waving goodbye to a few friends who were wandering off for the night, shooting him a similar expression.

“Fumbling over your words, bad jokes, terrible conversation—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javi,” You shove his shoulder and he chuckles louder, “I can still kick your ass,”

“I don’t doubt it,” He agrees, sharing a brief exchange of eyes that makes your face heat and you’re internally willing the feeling of adoration away.

Not him, not now.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask in an effort to change the subject, “Only about twelve hours left, right?”

“And I’m sure you’ve got your countdown going,” Javier remarks, “It’s been good—needed it more than I realized, it’s so fuckin’ quiet out here.”

As your mouth opens, you catch sight of your friend who had been particularly interested in speaking to Javier—or more specially, Javier Peña. “Oh, right,” You interject, introducing him to your coworker turned friend, “he had a few questions about Escobar, figured you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

Javier didn’t necessarily mind, but he knows you’re doing it to irritate him.

As his attention turns away from you, you turn toward Elio who was relaxing nearby, talking amongst a few of his own friends but still vehemently aware of your presence, “If you two don’t just fuck each other already,” He remarks with a flippant, dismissive smile, “—missed opportunity, seriously.”

“Mind your business,” You retorted with no bite.

He shrugs in a matter-of-fact way before disappearing as Javier turns to you again, distraction gone as you meet him with a smile, “I’m gonna walk the beach for a bit.”

“Is that an invitation?” Javier inquires, casually you reach for his hand and tug him along.

The silence that grows as you walk alongside each other vaguely resembles the comfort that those late nights would bring, the gentle ambience of crashing waves that wash over your feet and the low roar of a boat engine as it passes by.

“They’re still trading,” Javier beings offhandedly, “—right in my fuckin’ Pop’s backyard.”

“Boats?” You surmise, never having sniffed out that type of activity on the island, relatively clean from the cartel’s reach. “There’s too many hands in the mix, you know? You were never going to stop that on your own.”

“Tried,” Javier retorts grimly, “Just ended up chasing my own damn tail in the end.”

Eventually, you find a spot closer to the inn - an incline in the sand that you both move to sit and perch, far enough away from the shore that you don't have to worry about getting wet.

“You made the right choice,” You assure him, “I think some of that resentment was only aimed at you, not necessarily my job. I’m happier here, but you—I just—”

Javier’s eyebrows raise in encouragement for you to finish, unsettlingly quiet.

“I think I was starstruck for a time, seeking your approval,” You admit, “but then I realized that we don’t mesh. We work well, but outside of that…I couldn’t match up with the others.”

It was a kinder way of saying that you didn’t like the locker room talk that happened often among his colleagues, often on the outskirts as you listen to them dig into the nitty gritty details that were never work appropriate, bragging and talking over one another. Javier was usually subdued, but he did occasionally make comments that reminded you exactly why you swore of men like him or them.

“You know what I appreciate about you,” Javier begins after a dragging silence, your eyes locking on him curiously, “You didn’t need the approval to do a good job, you just did it.”

It was easy with you.

Regardless of how badly you did want the recognition.

“A thank you would have been nice.”

Javier cracks a weak smile, swiping a few grains of sand from your knee before he squeezes your leg and offers a genuine, “Thank you.”

It was better than nothing, you suppose.

“Also, serious question,” Javier interjects quickly, “What did you mean by mesh?” 

You turn to him with a bigger grin, raising your finger to press against the center of his chest, between his unbuttoned neckline, “You - are not my type. At all.”

Javier guffaws at that, genuine disbelief, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Good thing I don’t have one.”

“C’mon—not even once?” Javier presses, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

You almost considered letting him inside of your room the first night he arrived, some half-assed excuse about respect that Javier knows you could care less about, more-so setting a boundary for yourself, reminding you that this wasn’t something you should allow yourself to have.

Javier was enough of a gentleman to respect that and throughout the entirety of your partnership, had never attempted to make things weird, despite how he may feel.

You were beautiful and he could tell you that to your face, a striking personality and witty humor to match—and he’s never prided himself on respecting the rule about workplace relationships, having dabbled in enough bad behavior with interns and receptionists that filtered through. 

You scared him—not in a bad way. But, Javier’s never been quite so intimidated. 

“Let me change your mind,” Javier says jokingly.

There’s a brief flicker as he says it, a blip of miscommunication before you realize his tone and you pray Javier moves on—of course, he doesn’t.

“Let me,” He tries again, his voice softer as you find your bodies gravitating toward each other, his hand nudging your chin up like he’s done it before, a practiced motion before your lips are pressing together gently, a small noise behind Javier’s closed lips as you return the gesture tentatively, “I’ll give you a reason to change it, chiquita.”

“Javi,” You plead, not asking for more or less, but rather begging for an excuse; a reason to deny him or a thousand ways this could go badly for the both of you, “we shouldn’t—”

His hand slides down your cheek to your neck, guiding your chin up to allow room for his mouth at your neck, placing wet and open-mouthed kisses against your skin as your fingers wrap around his wrist, a sigh pushing out of your throat as you relax under his touch.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to—”

“Don’t,” You interject quickly, sounding breathless, “don’t say that—just…stop talking.”

Javier chuckles, nosing his way up the side of your face before his eyes peek open, locking with your own as his right hand drifts down your neck to your waist and squeezes, pulling you in with a cocky grin, “Tell me to stop touching you, then.”

“You haven’t changed,” You retorted fondly, the tiniest trace of venom in your tone.

The lack of acknowledgement to his direct command makes his grin grow stronger.

The exchange of lips gains an edge of intensity as your hands reach for him almost on instinct, his right leg slotting between yours where they were spread, a hand wrapping around your thigh as he moves over you, back pressing against the sand while your own hand moves along the back of his neck and through his hair at the nape.

You sigh into his mouth, lips parting as his tongue traces teasingly and slides along your own, silently pushing at the loose fabric of your shirt as it moves up your abdomen, the gentle breezing hitting your skin and you make a small noise, your own fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, fingers fanning out over the tanned, freckled skin of his shoulder.

“Forget the bed,” Javier huffs against your lips, “let’s do it right here.”

You giggle at his insistence and shake your head, nose rubbing against his with the motion as you part, hand against his chest to force some distance as he sits back with a flushed expression, similar to how he’d look after a foot chase but his eyes darkened with pleasure.

“You can’t be serious?” You inquire, a boyish shrug of his shoulders as his teeth peek through his smile, hearing the faint chatter of friends a distance away, both of you perfectly hidden from view. Still, you weren’t that reckless.

“Still have that whole respect thing for us going on?” Javier teases, eyes flicking briefly toward the darkened inn, most of the patrons already tucked in for the night. 

You roll your eyes with an obvious fondness as you shove him away, moving to your feet as you brush the sand away, casually holding out your hand as he mirrors your actions, “Not tonight.”

You were almost positive you would regret it later, but for now, you acted on the impulsivity.

–

Javier was as eager as you expect, on you the moment your door clicks shut, holding you close as you stumble backward into the bathroom and flick on the light, equally trading touches as he strips you naked without a word, down to your underwear before you can push him away for long enough to turn on the water.

He strips as you adjust the temperature, “Be honest, was it because I was your boss?”

You give him a look of irritation that is quickly quelled by his touch, wet hand fumbling to grip his shoulder as he strips you down to nothing, stepping quietly out of your panties as he drags them down your thigh, tilting your head down as he stays kneeled for a moment.

“Not even close,” You remark, feeling the emphasis of his intention with every press of his lips; one at your shin, knee, two on each thigh before he presses one gentle kiss at your mound, his bottom lip catching against your skin as he slowly moves to stand again.

Javier strips himself the rest of the way as you step inside of the hot shower, closing your eyes as you wet your hair under the gentle spray, his lips attaching to your throat as he climbs inside and shuts the curtain, hands pressed against the curves of your body, cradling you.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, your skin tingling everywhere Javier touches. His hands roam your body with a reverence that makes your breath catch. 

"Then why?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky.

You turn in his arms, pressing your body flush against his. Water cascades over both of you as you look up into his dark eyes, clouded with desire.

"Because I knew if we did, it would only make things worse,” You admit, “Sex always complicates things, I like how he worked together without it.”

“Well,” He chuckles, both hands spreading out over your back and down to your ass, gasping at the way he squeezes so greedily, teeth digging into your skin gently, “we’re not partners anymore.”

“No,” You breathe out in a shaky attempt at grounding yourself, his hardened cock nudging at your stomach, “we’re not.”

Javier’s hand slides lower, wrapping around the back of your knee as he guides you back against the cold tile wall in the tight space, gasping at the cool to touch surface and the hand that hikes your leg up, Javier’s foot raising to rest along the edge of the tub.

The hand not occupying your knee slides teasingly between your folds, releasing a shaky sigh as you tilt your head back, the water soaking Javier as it hits his back, dripping down his hair and along his nose, carefully examining the subtle changes in your expression as his fingers graze your clit before he slips his middle finger inside of you, hooking the digit in a way that has you squeezing your hands as they reach for his shoulder.

“Tell me you want this,” He growls, an inflection in his voice you’ve heard before but have never felt aimed at you. It makes your head spin, suddenly dizzy.

Instinctively still, you know what to say.

“I do. I want this. Want you, Javi.”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, all the pent-up desire from months of working together finally unleashed. You reach for his cock, taking a moment to admire him. It shouldn’t strike you how endowed he is, thick and resting just at his belly button, a couple inches more than you’ve ever encountered before and cut, a protruding vein running along the side of his cock from his shaft to just underneath the head of his cock, running your thumb along the ridge and over the weeping slit, suddenly dying for a taste as your mouth watered.

Javier was too impatient, though.

There’s a exchange of unspoken communication, a simple and subtle head nod as Javier fists his cock, rubbing the head between your folds before he pushes inside of you, a palm flat against his chest as you hiss at the faint sting, a stretch you weren't accustomed to and the nails that dig into his skin shouldn’t turn him on like they do, but he leans into it, shallow thrusts inside of your cunt until he’s fully sheathed and your fingernails are biting into his skin, tiny rivulets of blood washed away by the water overhead.

Javier’s movements are slow and deliberate, using the leverage of your unsteady position as you stretch onto your toes of the foot still pressed against the floor of the shower, the other leg held tight at his hip as he fucked into, careless of the water splashing to the floor where the curtain was set askew by his knee pressing into the fabric.

"God, you feel so good," he groans against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so perfect. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“H—how - fuck - how often have you thought about this?” You ask, licking away the droplet of water from your lips as Javier smiles, the kind that only carried mischief, as he noses at your neck.

“Every damn day,” Javier admits, lips dragging along your ear as he fucks you with a newfound furiosity, “—mierda, she’s squeezin’ me so tight—all the time. At the office, those late nights in the car. Thought about—fuck, jus’ bending you over the trunk and fucking you there.”

His hips snap into you with force, driving you back against the tile wall. A gasp rips from your throat, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, scrambling as you slipped but Javier is already there, steadying as he adjust his position to lock your legs at hips, suspended in his hold as his cock brushed deep inside of you, eyes rolling back.

“All you needed was some attention,” Javier surmises, “someone to tell you how good of a job you were doing, right?”

It would have been nice during your tenure, but now, it feels taunting. 

“You’re good,” Javier tells you, “so fuckin’ good—”

“Oh, god,” You moan, hands tangling into his wet hair as his lips find your neck again, the faintest scratch of stubble against your skin, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives his hips into you relentlessly, “Jav—Javi, please—”

“That’s it, baby,” He groans, a soft release of breath, “let me hear you.”

The deep, coiling heat in your belly twists as he presses you tight against the wall, releasing your leg haphazardly to drag his thumb over your clit, the franticness of his movement matching his desperate need for release as he moves his finger in quick, hurried circles over your clit.

Your soft cries are muffled by his cheek as you press your mouth against him, drawn so close that it was near suffocating, “S’right there, Javi—I’m close,”

His groan is deep, hips stuttering with your words, “Where?”

Your eyes connect for a stretch of time - another unspoken acknowledgement as you tug at his hair, walls squeezing tight around his cock and nod, his jaw clenching as his orgasm approaches and he brings you with him.

It’s a sensation that makes your body go taut, his hips slowing as he pushes his seed deep inside of you, moaning brokenly into your shoulder as he eventually pulls out and lowers you back on steady ground.

"Fuck," Javier mutters, breathing heavily as he pushes away from you and notices your sated expression, a subtle smile pulling at your features. There's a softness in his face you've never seen before, a vulnerability.

You continue the shower in a comfortable silence as you both settle, like a well-oiled machine with how easily you both move around each other and with, watching as Javier quietly pushes the damp washcloth between your legs and cleans up the mess he’s made.

As you dress, he’s more subdued. Solemn. Brooding.

This was the Javier you remembered so well.

He’s waiting for the words, fingers working slowly at the buttons of his shirt before you fingers wrap around his wrist, dressed in a thin satin slip you had pulled from your drawers, sticking to your wet skin in all the places Javier’s touched, the remnants of his touch still stuck on your mind.

“Stay,” You insist—watching as he succumbed so easily to your touch, shirt half-buttoned and hanging from his frame, “if you want.”

Nobody ever asks him to stay, always on the other end, begging for a moment longer.

For me, your eyes plead.

For the night, he knows.

But, the words strike deep.

“You’re gonna make it impossible to leave,” Javier comments, smiling at the giggle you let out.

“Good,” You tease him, dragging out the syllable, “more of an excuse to come back.”

Not for his own selfish reasoning.

For you, Javier tells himself.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Rescue Me (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: you vowed to rescue Bucky. No matter what it took.

Warnings: imprisonment, angst, gun shot wounds

WC: 1k

A/N: i have a few more MCU fics to post after this one in the next few days/weeks. I do not plan on writing for MCU anymore after February 2025.

Read on ao3!

--

The night was thick with tension as you stood outside the HYDRA facility. The cold wind nipped at your skin, but your heart raced with a heat that had nothing to do with the chill. The Avengers didn’t understand. They hadn’t been there—hadn’t seen Bucky for what he truly was. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He wasn’t their weapon.

Bucky was yours.

You had known him long before the Avengers ever did, back before HYDRA had twisted him into a killer, before they stole the man he once was. You’d met him when he was still a soldier, still human. And when he disappeared, when the world lost track of him, you never stopped looking for him.

The Avengers had their reasons for wanting to leave this to the professionals. Steve, especially, had been vocal about it—his voice tight with frustration as he tried to explain that Bucky was too dangerous. “We’re not sure what we’ll find in there, Y/N,” he’d warned you. “HYDRA’s still got control over him. We can’t risk you getting in the middle of this.”

But you knew better. You knew Bucky’s heart, his soul. He wasn’t lost. Not yet.

The facility in front of you was dark and ominous, every inch of it covered in secrets and pain, snow and icicles. It was no place for anyone, especially someone like Bucky. But you were certain. If anyone could bring him back, it was you.

The last thing you remembered was slipping inside the compound, heart pounding as you carefully avoided the guards, your movements swift and practiced. You’d been through this before. But you’d underestimated one thing—the quiet, steel-eyed agents who’d already been waiting for someone like you.

The sting of a needle in your neck was the last thing you felt before the world went black.

--

You woke in a cold, dimly lit cell, the air thick with the smell of metal and stale water. Your wrists were shackled to the wall, your head pounding from the sedative. You couldn’t believe you had been caught. You had to get out of here.

But as your mind began to clear, something else hit you: Bucky. Where was he?

You strained against your restraints, trying to focus through the haze of confusion. You couldn’t afford to panic. The team would be looking for you, but you weren’t sure if they even knew you’d come here, let alone gotten caught. They wouldn’t come for you—not without confirmation that you were in danger. But you knew that Bucky was still here. You could feel it in your bones.

And that was when you heard it—the low sound of chains scraping against the floor.

You froze.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the oppressive silence.

There was a grunt, followed by a low, rasping voice. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Bucky stepped into the dim light of the cell across from you. His face was gaunt, his eyes wide and wild with a mixture of exhaustion and something far darker. The metal arm that once belonged to him seemed to weigh him down, the chains wrapped around his body like the remnants of his former self.

“Bucky…” you breathed, struggling against your restraints, not caring about the pain in your arms as you reached out for him. “I’m not leaving without you.”

He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something almost like despair. “I’m a weapon, Y/N. You shouldn’t be here.”

You swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. “I’m here because I know you, Bucky. I’m not leaving without you, no matter what they’ve done to you.”

He stepped closer, his gaze flickering between you and the bars separating you. “They won’t stop coming for you, if you stay.” His voice was low, gravelly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. “I’ve done things. Terrible things. You don’t deserve this.”

“You’re not that man anymore,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You’re not him. And I’m not leaving you here to rot. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

For a moment, the silence was deafening. Then, with a sharp jerk of his arm, Bucky broke his chains. The sound of metal snapping echoed through the empty halls. His eyes were wild, filled with a glimmer of hope.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice almost lost.

“You don’t have to deserve me,” you said, pulling yourself toward him with everything you had left. “You never have to deserve me.”

Before he could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the hall. The guards were coming.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky said, his voice tight. He rushed to the cell door and quickly picked the lock, setting you free. “Let’s move.”

You followed him through the halls, your heart pounding in your chest. The further you went, the more the compound seemed to come alive with danger. But you weren’t worried. You had Bucky by your side, and together, you could escape.

But then, just as you thought you were in the clear, a gunshot rang out, and Bucky pushed you into the shadows.

“No!” you gasped, looking at him. His body jerked, and he winced in pain, but he didn’t fall. He didn’t stop.

“We need to go,” he gritted, pulling you deeper into the shadows. “Now.”

It wasn’t until you were nearly to the exit that the Avengers arrived. Steve’s face went pale when he saw you, but there was no time for questions. The team surrounded you both, offering protection as they fought off the remaining HYDRA agents.

“I told you I was going to get him,” you said to Steve, your voice a mix of relief and frustration.

Steve nodded, his expression softening. “I never doubted you for a second.”

But there was still work to be done. Bucky wasn’t out of the woods yet. The battle was only beginning. But for now, he was free. And so were you.

--

Please allow this to be a kind reminder that reblogs feed the author <3

[calebrity]

june seems too late

caleb (xia yizhou) x female reader (mc)

for your graduation, caleb takes two weeks off to visit. things don’t go like they should.

▻ cw. noncon elements, pseudo-cest, light smut/nsfw, dark themes, caleb is a yandere what’s new, lots of pining and unrequited love, characters are 18+

▻ notes. hey yall so caleb’s mullet is actually killing me in catch-22. anyways heed the warnings & do enjoy 🤍 you can read this on ao3 (username caked) if you prefer that :3 homeboy is actually insane but i love him he’s precious . 10k words slowburn buckle up. im planning to post lotssss of caleb, raf, and sylus stuff so keep an eye peeled!! :P

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 (๑´ `๑)���

June comes at a breakneck speed.

Before they step out the door, she’s fussing all over the wrinkle in her robe and worrying that the cap will sit weirdly on her head.

In the car, on the way there, she doesn’t voice any more of her fears lest they intensify, but Caleb spots them all as if they’re written on her face. She fidgets and does not notice the way he looks at her.

Probably for the better, he thinks.

When they part, he gives her a pat on the shoulder (as opposed to rustling her meticulously-styled hair) and tells her not to worry. She’ll do great. This is a big day for her; he pleasantly remembers his own ceremony and urges that hers will be just as smooth.

It seems good enough for her. She’s dragged off by her friend, skipping hand-in-hand, and her nervous giggles ring in his head in a building full of noisy people. It might as well be a little pin dropping in a quiet room.

Sometimes Caleb almost forgets just how much stock that girl- his precious little meimei- puts into him and his words. It stirs something tender in his heart, and then he recalls his true feelings and it twists. Twists like a knife or the bitter truth.

There’s only a couple years between them, and yet during her graduation, Caleb can’t help but feel a sense of pride tug in his chest alongside something deeply bittersweet.

She’ll for sure be spreading her wings now. She’ll for sure be leavin’ him behind.

And he’ll have to say yes to it, that it’s fine with him. Pretend like he doesn’t care. He’s got a natural talent at dissimulating his intriciate, troublesome feelings, but it doesn’t mean he enjoys it. No, sometimes he just wishes she’d… see him. See him for what he truly is and not run in the other direction screaming, who are you and what did you do to my gege?

But that’s selfish, isn’t it? He huffs with a small, wry smile.

While waiting for the event to commence, Gran eagerly watches the stage, and Caleb lowers his head.

She’ll be spreading her wings for real, an inner voice murmurs again, rubbing it in his face. And then she’ll fly away. Never come back to you. Leave our nest to make a new one.

That, oh, that thought— Caleb’s not a generally angry person, but that has choler flaring in his chest... Imagining somebody standing by her side that isn’t him fills him with a darkness he cannot label. But he’s trying to be good, a good older brother. He’s been… trying for so long, and…

Even if he knows deep down that if he doesn’t do something, she’ll fly away—

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Gran says beside him. She tucks her hand in the crook of his strong arm and he returns half the dimpled smile on her face.

Her words cannot be truer. His little sister is breathtaking; it’s the kind of beauty that will bring a man to his knees and plant soft longing in his heart. Evidently, though, it’s not the kind of beauty to bring a dog to heel…: she’s like a bowl of kibble and something rotten in him salivates at the smell of it.

It’s funny, you know, how much of a hypocrite he is. He gives her the saddest puppy eyes to get what he wants but there’s a big mean dog hiding in his heart. Barking and wanting.

Caleb curses himself. On the outside, he hums fondly. “Always. Hm… To be able to say I’m her big brother feels like an accomplishment in itself. I’m real proud’a her.”

Gran’s not looking at him; all eyes in the auditorium, including his, are leveled towards the stage and the spotlight raining over students shuffling in gowns. Caleb is thankful for that. Caleb has had a distinct self awareness since middle school, and he knows better than to let the love in his eyes- the kind that’s not entirely brotherly- reveal itself to any onlookers.

He’s kept on his toes by all the secrets he walks with. He’s kept on his toes by her.

“I can’t believe this day has come,” the elderly woman beside him (not tied to him by any biological means, but he loves her regardless) holds a tissue to her eyes and fights a teary smile. Caleb, utterly entranced by the familiar figure slowly inching closer to the podium and administrator, gives a noncomittal hum to show he’s heard, but his heart is knocking at the sight of his little sister. He can’t stop it. He can’t even slow it.

“Ah, my sweet girl…” (And why her sorrow-tinged, doting words echo some of the ones he keeps to himself, Caleb stopped caring.)

Gran, still not glancing at her adopted boy (albeit, there is close to nothing about Caleb that now resembles a boy), takes his large hand in her wrinkled one. Her free one dabs away an elusive tear.

“It’ll be even harder to see once she moves out and all. I’m sure she’ll want to keep exploring the world. I just… I just hope she visits more than you do, dear,” her voice warbles with sadness, but she’s only teasing him out of love.

A breathy, uneven laugh escapes his pursed lips. Caleb swallows thickly, “Yep. But that’s natural, wantin’ to find new opportunities and such... She’s really coming outta her shell, isn’t she? And… she’d better visit,” he says playfully, “The dinner table would feel awfully quiet without her during the holidays, huh?”

He’s not conscious of half the things he’s saying, operating under autopilot: robotically, he speaks in the voice of a teasing, somewhat protective older brother and nobody bats an eye to it.

On the inside, his feelings experience endless turbulence.

But he’d miss her if she left, that’s for certain. Words could never do him justice. He’s never exactly deserved that, though, has he?

He smiles to himself. Pathetic.

He told a nosey friend, once, that he had lost his marbles long ago. He’d said it with a smile- a genuine one, too- and as if it was no big deal. Because Caleb reconciled with his sin nature long ago.

He’s so proud of his meimei. So caught up by her.

Wants to marry her. Wants to blow all his pilot earnings on a big glittering ring for her precious little finger, wants to make all those childhood games, the ones where he played the dad and she the mom, come to life. Oh, if he’s being perfectly honest, he wants to—

“Caleb, honey, are you coming?”

A papery hand gives his bicep a gentle squeeze beneath his button-up. He’s pulled from his reveries and he blinks, noting the crowd as it begins to thin out and the stage that meimei has stepped off of. “She’ll be waiting for us, I’m sure. And nervous,” she explains with a light laugh, “but I think she’s very excited, too.”

(So excited to start your new life apart from me, huh, sis?)

The lower half of his face reshapes into a small smile as he looks down at Gran and nods with reassurance. He’s so good at providing consolation to others but somehow consistently fails to do so during his lone moments of self-reflection.

“I’d promised her I’d treat her to some ice cream at that new stall that just opened up,” he chuckles, and this time it does harbor some real mirth there, his eyes lighting, “I honestly think she was more excited for a special dessert than her own graduation.”

Gran laughs at that, too.

Then, he’s led away. Led to her and happy as a child.

After the ceremony ends, his very real fears of her suddenly leaving are put to rest for a moment when she leaps into his arms- just as she did when they were younger- and locks him in a hug.

He’ll always be a willing prisoner, in that regard. A slave to her affections and the strange sickness that rears its head in the pit of his stomach even when he tries his best to drown it.

She’s his lifering. The one thing keeping him afloat.

He looks over his shoulder, back at the shore. There’s a striking realization that he’s been dragged so far from it… And then he looks back out to sea.

Sometimes, Caleb thinks he’s closer to the point where the waves converge on the endless horizon than he is to dry land. And that’s fine with him. Because Meimei is holding his hand, doggy-paddling beside him.

He knows he shouldn’t try to drag her under. But sometimes, that’s all he fucking wants. For her to feel this way, too.

What a selfish gege.

✷✷✷

Caleb’s frame is hugged by an intense, golden light. Windchimes tinkle in the breeze and bring a nexus of soothing sounds.

The air is balmy. Unsmistakably summer.

You kick a pebble from your shoe and look over to Caleb with a small smile, his long legs keeping an even pace with you despite your slower one and all the dillydallying. The sun flares off one side of his head and it’s so bright you have to squint.

“It’s nearly time for dinner, you know,” even as he reminds you, he can’t fight off the grin playing at his own lips. It’s not exactly like he wants to truncate this moment with you, but hunger is creeping up on you both just as sundown is, and this brisk walk is urging it out. Your belly has voiced as much. After his laugh had died down, Caleb showed his concern but sighed when you brushed it off.

“It’s fine,” you tell him again. “I’m not fully dependent on snacks, you know,” and a dirty voice in the back of his head, a very dark corner, accuses, then what do you depend on? “We won’t starve if we eat one hour later... I mean, how hungry are you?” You poke.

(A lot. So much, Meimei.)

A casual smile curls his lips. Everything about him is so outwardly relaxed when he’s with you; it’d take some intense scrutiny to pick up on the little tells of restlessness he constantly shoehorns down inside him.

Anything to protect you though, right? Even if that means from himself.

He replies with thought, “Ehh… I guess walking a little farther wouldn’t hurt,” he shrugs with one shoulder, a teasing edge to his voice because those old habits die hard.

“Just don’t tell me to carry you if your feet start to hurt, pipsqueak.”

“Hah. As if! You know, I’ve been training a lot. Those hunter exams might even be harder than the Aviation’s.” Your light banter is rewarded with a small, incredulous laugh and a playful raise of his brow. Right now, he looks so boyish, youth lighting his face even as you pass under the tinsel-like leaves of a shady willow tree. “I’m serious, Caleb! My body’s probably more endurant than yours now.”

A challenge is brewing, and the signs are obvious. The anticipating glint in his eye, the slight posturing in his steps and the downright valorous grin you pin at him— all are suggestive of an upcoming game. He just has to throw his own hat over the wall to officially mark its start.

Of course, he does just that.

“Oh, really now?” He smiles and his eyes crinkle with amusement. He gives his head a tilt. “Are you trying to provoke me, sis? ‘Cause I’ll have you know that these muscles aren’t just for show...”

With a pout, you give his arm, thick and fully exposed under the frayed fabric of his tank, a harmless shove. Caleb’s heart has an anomalistic skip and his bicep tingles. It takes a considerable amount of effort to not snatch your little wrist up and force you to do it again.

“Oh, c’mon, you may be all big and strong now, but all that muscle will just slow you down.” (You’re getting him all sorts of riled up today, aren’t you? It’s good to know you look at him, that you acknowledge the man he’s become.)

“Do you wanna test that theory? We could do a race,” he suggests simply, a fluctuation of excitement in his voice betraying itself. “Because I’m ready to go right now.”

You huff, competitive as ever. “Oh, we’ll see about that!”

You roll your cropped sleeves an inch over your shoulders (as if to replicate his sleeveless tee) and Caleb watches with humor as they unfurl immediately. You dart your head around and land on a streetlamp at the end of the quiet, cobbled path.

”There,” you point, “that light over there will be the finish line. You have to touch it before the other person does or you lose. You’ll be a rotten egg.”

“You’re so childish.”

“You’re racing too, y’know.”

“Alright, alright,” he easily surrenders, lifting his palms up. Truthfully, he has no intentions of backing out now, try as he might to pretend he’s not equally invested in this as you. He sets his feet behind a crack in the paved stone, right beside yours, and nonchalantly prepares himself for liftoff. “But when I win—“

“Your toe’s in front of the line, Gege! Don’t think I didn’t see it!”

“—Don’t go cryin’ to Gran like old times and ignore me for the rest of the day, okay?”

A fleeting pink colors your cheeks, flowering across your face like a bruise at the mention. “Geez,” you deflect bashfully, “You’re so caught up in the past, Caleb.”

The accusation isn’t unwarranted. Your older brother has this strange penchant to keep all your childhood traits like a bag of tokens in his back pocket, forever ready to pull one out on a whim.

His gaze lowers for a moment at your innocuous teasing, and you watch with a mix of confusion and guilt as an offhand sadness weighs in his expression.

You open your mouth, about to find something to remedy the ever so slight shift in the air, but he lifts his head and his eyes are cheerful. Sunny and bottomless.

He looks at you infinitely. It’s as startling as it is endearing.

Your brow relaxes when you give him a once-over and sense no lingering sorrow there, or any evidence that it even appeared to begin with. Maybe it’s just the heat getting to you.

“Well,” he smiles, teasing to a fault. “You ready, or… do you plan on chickenin’ out? I’ll let you if you admit defeat right now. Otherwise, don’t be a sore loser.”

You wave him off and level your eyes forward. “Psssh, sore loser….” Thrill beats in your ears with a rushing current of blood. You plant your hands to the gritty cobblestone and lean forward.

“The moment you agreed,” your little grin sparks back to life, “you lost, Gege.”

Oh, and he is just the rotten egg, isn’t he? The perverted dud and the lying, selfish asshole.

The wormy apple.

✷✷✷

There’s just some things in life you can never quite wipe from your memory.

Here’s one: The first time Caleb was called a sister-fucker.

He remembers that day and how condemning it felt. Like he’d been made the object of some irrevocable curse. It was unwarranted, it was: some stupid playground bullies were mouthing off after he rushed to your rescue for the umpteenth time, and the word flew like a witch would on a broom. Caleb was not prepared for that stab in his little heart.

That was in middle school, and he was angry. Ashamed, too. All sorts of clashing feelings, really. Those little brats said the f-word in front of you, his innocent little meimei, and to make matters worse, Caleb was not sure if the majority of his anger should lie with their accusation or his inability to determine whether it was grounded or not.

He was hardly fourteen, then, and you were twelve. He never laid his hands on you that way. No, never thought about it. He hardly had the capacity to, at that time.

At that time.

But that moment stayed with him,… and that dirty, dirty epithet was one that remained around the block until one day something peaked in him- that shame climbing to its point- and he beat it from their mouths.

It never did end up getting back around to you. For a number of reasons, Caleb is glad for that. Just to name a couple: It saved him from the flaming red ears, and the awkward chat the bird-and-the-bees topic surely would have been.

When it got around to Gran, though…

‘Caleb, dear, is there…’ The elderly woman, for all her experience in fostering children, was not exactly sure how to broach the subject- which was oddly risqué, and downright horrifying it if were to be true- with her young boy.

But she didn’t think it was true: sure, the two were exceptionally close, she trailed him like a lost puppy and he had some underlying impulse to anchor himself beside her at any given time, but they laughed and played and Caleb was always the archetype of a- sometimes cheeky, sometimes clingy- older brother.

Their behavior was considered very normal for their circumstances, she’d thought. They seemed inseparable upon the first meet. With their close bond came the occasional spat and meaningless argument, but that only served as more proof of their strictly sibling dynamic, too.

Gran thought about it for only a moment before finding her peace, and shortly after her words.

‘Why are those boys saying such things? What did you do to make them have it out for you?’ She was gentle but firm with him. Caleb was not afraid of her; just maybe the awful, creeping feeling in his gut that told him he was in the wrong after all.

‘N-Nothin’, Gran… They got upset because I wouldn’t let them pick on Meimei… Don’t worry though, I covered her ears so she wouldn’t hear them.’

But it’s not like he ever imagined actually laying his hands on you— L-Let alone fucking. Even as a boy, he had the sound-enough subconscious to shut away those fleeting, invasive thoughts and put some space between you two when he was feeling… extra confused.

Caleb’s twenty-one now, though. And you’re nineteen and things are different. Those tender, innocent feelings of love from your shared youths- the one-sided romance of your bond- has by now fully realized itself. It’s bled out into ruby-red fingers of desire like watercolor on a page, and they grasp Caleb tight. Refuse to let go. He’s not a boy anymore. And he’s not particularly kind anymore, either. His softness is a luxury that only you’re entitled to but every touch feels like a beatdown because of it.

Yeah he might be overbearing sometimes but you’re just as abrasive. You cut him in ways you could never know.

But Caleb’s not a sister-fucker. He’s not.

And he’s not all the shame associated with that title and the big fat cluster of intricate emotions like guilt, loneliness, and terrible, terrible longing… H-He’s not.

No— He hasn’t even fucked you yet.

✷✷✷

Two weeks. Caleb is allotted two weeks off from his responsibilities at the Aerospace Academy to spend the start of summer with you.

Late June marks your graduation and the beginning of an exciting break the both of you had been planning for months to share. Between a taxing schedule and study papers that pile up if he so much as thinks about holding off on them, Caleb is a bit pressed for free time. He’d been counting down the days until he arrived back in Linkon.

Now that it’s finally here- your mini summer ‘vacation’, as you’d called it- he won’t take any of it for granted.

He’s savored every little moment with you since childhood- no stranger to the sentimental. But as you emerge from your bedroom with a cute bikini with a white frilly skirt that hardly covers your ass, Caleb decides this memory needs to be given a little extra care.

You flutter past him and down the hall, sheepishly nodding for him to follow, and he realizes he’s been staring a little too long without saying anything. He plasters on a nonchalant grin and sticks his hands in the pockets of his swim trousers. “Okay, sis…” He compliments in his tone.

“You, uh… you ready to go now?” He asks, propping himself against the kitchen arch to watch you pour yourself some water. He reminds that there’s juice in the fridge and you quickly forego the tap. He chuckles at that.

You try to hide a shy smile from him, too much energy in your heels to not sway as you move around the kitchen. There’s a small ball of nerves in your belly and you can’t help but feel a bit naked in your two-piece. You bought it because you’d thought it was adorable, but truthfully you feel a bit out of place- under scrutiny, maybe- as you uncap the fruit juice.

“I’m ready,” you announce casually. “But did you see my bathing suit?”

“W-What about it? Yeah, it… looks nice.” He answers a bit breathlessly.

You look over your shoulder before picking up your glass and marching over. His gaze flutters when you do, like he’s bracing himself for something. In stature, he’s nothing like the round-faced kid you grew up with, standing over six feet tall with lean muscle to hug his broad frame, but right now, he looks almost boyish with anticipation.

On the way to him, you stuff down that inexplicable kernel of unease. You pretend your pulse isn’t fastening, too.

A quasi reaction of fight-or-flight stirs in your chest. For the life of you you don’t know why. Maybe you don’t wanna know.

You smile. Gege, solid arms folded over his muscled chest, regards you with a strange look. It disappears under a veneer of brotherly charm— gone like a feverish hot flash of something unreal.

You stop a few inches in front of him. “See?” You chirp, piking your shoulder up for him to observe. “The red polka dots are actually apples. Since you like them so much.”

After a pause- one that seems to stretch infinitely but is actually only brief- you watch Caleb’s cheeks turn to rubies. Heat flares at his ears.

He sets his jaw and lets out a small scoff, eyes flitting everywhere. “W-What are you sayin’, pipsqueak? You got it… just for me?”

“Ugh, no, Caleb!” You giggle with a hint of disbelief. “I just thought it was cute but wanted to show you.”

With an annoyed pout, you spin away from him and head for the island. On top of it, a cooler sits, its lid open. You nurse from your icy drink as you wedge a variety of cold beverages and the sandwiches he made at the bottom.

“Yeah, yeah,” he recollects himself and joins you at the counter, coming to your aid without prompting. “Well, I think it’s cute too. But don’tcha think it’s a little… showy? I’ll be sweating bullets the whole time we’re at the beach.”

You laugh under your breath, only half paying attention. Certainly not to the intense glint in his eye as he watches your profile, anyway. “Why? And you won’t be sweating if we’re in the water.”

“I don’t want any guys gettin’ the wrong idea,” he lilts, but there’s a notable tinge of seriousness there. “Thinkin’ my pipsqueak isn’t off limits.”

A soft pink warms your cheeks this time. “It’s fine, Caleb,” you murmur, dutifully ignoring his gaze- which you are now exceedingly aware of. “Everyone’ll be minding their own business- they’ll hardly be looking at me.”

Wryly, Caleb closes the cooler and raises his brow.

“Doubt it.”

He seems as if he has a lot more to say, but apparently holds off on it.

When you return home, it’s close to five and Gran has finished her errands. She sits in the living room on the lovechair, holding a cushion on her lap as she watches the news.

You hardly have time to greet her on the way down the hall: you bump shoulders and race with Caleb for the bathroom shower. Maybe he’s going a little easy on you (per usual), but you’re too tunneled in on reaching it in time to scold him for it.

“Ladies first!” You say with victory, grinning through the crack in the door as it groans with pressure, halfway open. Caleb crams his elbow in it to show he won’t give up so easily. You’re met with his bunched brow, his sun-dried, messy hair and a grudging smile he can’t quite fight off.

“Be a good gege and wait your turn!” You tell him.

The title weakens him. His hand falters and you manage to shut the door. The lock clicks softly.

“Alright, alright,” his voice sounds muted from the other side. His footsteps, retreating down the hallway after a belated few seconds, emit defeat.

Maybe some frustration, too.

Either that, or his feet have just gotten heavy.

“But if you use up all the hot water,” he warns, “I won’t let you help me with dinner. Just remember that. And let’s be real, I know you’re hungry.”

Well, he has you beat there. Maybe he knows you just as well as you do him.

It’s an endearing thought, actually; as the warm water pours, you slough away the sticky layer of sea salt and the sand glued to it with a smile. Once these two weeks are over, you’ll go right back to your normal life: your brother will return to the clouds and you’ll have to pretend, between a steady stream of pining texts and phonecalls meant to check in on you, that you don’t miss your gege. Even if sometimes, all you want is to leap back into time and hold his hand, cower behind his shoulder to escape the daunting fear of growing up.

You have responsibilities now. Dreams you’re meant to follow. You’ll train to be a hunter and then officially enroll into their program. Caleb will become a bonafide pilot within a couple months, achieving his lifelong dream, and might leave you in his proverbial contrails.

It’ll be just you and Gran, until you pack your boxes for an apartment downtown closer to your future workplace. Family will become a distant memory, a fading speck on the horizon or a phantom pain that tugs at your heart.

But… maybe that’s just what growing up means. Letting go of everything behind you. Caleb would certainly be able to relate with the sentiment that- other than each other and Gran- there was little to hold onto in the first place.

But… You’re not so sure about all of it. Maybe you’ll have to ask your gege for advice around the dinner table. You have no clue what will happen a month or year down the line, and to be perfectly honest that terrifies you, but for now—

You’ll make the most of this break with him and Gran all together.

✷✷✷

Half of it flies by in a blur.

Movie nights with buttery popcorn and long strolls by Bloomshore turn into fuzzy lines as soon as you look back at them. Once-quiet suppers with just you and Gran are revived with the cheerful presence of your brother, and the cabinets are filled with new snacks the two of you buy on impulse to test out.

You chase him around your cozy, childhood home demanding he deletes those awful pics of you- and the woman who took you both in as children calls from the couch for him to stop terrorizing you already.

He always swears it’s in good fun, but submits to your whining. Not without a flick to your forehead, though. It never hurts, but you make sure to stick your tongue in his face.

Evenings are spent on the floor by the coffee table.

Caleb busts out an old, wooden box from the closet and speaks in a wistful tone as you pass nostalgic photos and yellowed notes between each other. You’re about to poke at him for being so sentimental, but you spot a little mist in his eyes, so you refrain.

There’s six days left, tonight.

Neither of you remind the other of this ticking clock of sorts, but sometimes it will get quiet after a bout of laughter and you think you can feel it in the blanketing tension— the wordless countdown to zero.

X amount of days until I leave for Skyhaven. And, X amount of days until Caleb leaves us again.

You can hear it snicking like a stopwatch- and not the one Caleb wears.

A fan on the floor cools the balmy evening, but just a little.

You lie on your belly- utterly stuffed from another delicious meal- on his bed while he assembles a model. It’s some aircraft that you can’t hope to remember the name of, but he’s always gravitated towards that kind of thing, in more ways than one.

You kick your feet and moan with boredom when his eyes take on a very concentrated look and he hunches over the figure in his hands. He pokes his tongue out the corner of his mouth, he’s so engrossed.

Many minutes seem to pass. “Are you almost done, Caleb? We were ‘sposed to watch a movie tonight.”

Without glancing up, he chuckles lightly. “Be patient, pipsqueak. You know, it’ll go faster if you help me out here,” he suggests, nodding towards a few wayward pieces on the edge of the mattress. He scoops them up before they call fall off.

”Or are ya just gonna watch me do all the work?” He looks up to you and smiles. It’s soft. Smitten, almost.

You huff. “Fine. Okay, I’ll help.”

“Knew ya wouldn’t leave me hangin’.”

Seemingly pleased, his purple eyes stare for a moment longer before lowering. They remind you of the nebula sometimes: all bottomless and resplendent, and sometimes they get a little starry if you catch them for too long.

You’ve seen them darken like black holes before, though; some deep chasm taking over whenever his protectiveness flares up or he asks you, with his hand held tightly in yours, who made you cry. Then, he’s a force to be reckoned with, devoid of warmth and sharp-edged.

“Caleb, can I… ask you something?”

Caleb glances up immediately. Noting the sobriety of your expression and the lack of playfulness in your tone, he gives a quick nod. He lowers the half-constructed model- the one his hands absolutely dwarf- as if it’s no longer important.

“Of course,” he says. He gives his head a little reassuring tilt. “If there’s anything you’re curious about, you can tell me.”

You let out a small sigh. “Will you visit again? Visit more, I mean?”

He blinks and appears contemplative for a few seconds. Yet, you get the strange feeling that it’s less him trying to formulate an answer and more like he’s trying to figure out just what prompted your asking in the first place.

“Sure, whenever I get time,” he answers with a simple shrug. “You know I wish I could be here all the time, sis… For you and Gran,” but mostly you, he doesn’t clarify, “but the Academy is no joke. I need to work hard if I want to get in.”

His endless scores of A’s and A-pluses reflect his convictions. It’s really only one subject he can’t find it in him to master: Those damned, annoying mental wellness checks. (He thinks that all those less than reputable scores— they don’t reflect him, they reflect you.)

He smiles. “Then, I’ll be able to really support us.”

“Yeah…” You sigh softly after a beat. “But, like… what if you stop visiting? You’ll find a girlfriend and then never come to see me and Gran again,” you mask your very real concerns with a weak laugh.

Caleb’s brow gives a little twitch.

His expression falls, then, like swirling grey clouds that nudge aside white fluffy ones. Something in your chest seizing, you understand it’s disgust that rewrites his pleasant visage.

You just… don’t know why.

“Why would I get a girlfriend?”

You stare on with confusion. For a moment, you feel stunned because you’ve never seen him make that face before.

It takes an extra second or two to lasso in your rationale and laugh. “Well, you’re like twenty-something now. Isn’t that just what happens? You’ll find a girlfriend and I guess I’ll find a boyfriend. I mean, I bet Gran will be happy too if one of us brings home some babies—“

A derisive scoff cuts you off. “Babies?” He throws back, peering up at you through long lashes. He takes on the perfect Kubrick stare.

The scathing sound of his voice and the shadowy look in his eyes is more than enough to zip your lips. “Don’t you think we’re a little too young for that? Besides, we don’t have to do anything right now… If we want to stay single, that’s perfectly fine.”

A few moments of uninterrupted silence pass and leave you with no choice but to reflect on your actions. You inwardly ask yourself if you did something wrong. It certainly feels that way.

You give your throat an inaudible clear. “I was just teasing, Caleb, geez,” you brush off his intense stare by looking down.

The aircraft model looks big and unbreakable in your grasp, a far cry from how it appears when held in his. You distract yourself from the startled beating of your heart by rotating it in your hand.

“Y-You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

You don’t meet his eye when saying that, not when he’s regarding you like you’re little more than prey or tomorrow’s dinner. No, you don’t dare to.

Gege is reliable by nature. But you suppose he can exhibit his fair amount of ‘intimidating’ when need be.

You feel an unseen weight lift off your shoulders (when they became cowed, you don’t know) when Caleb heaves a sigh.

He’s apologetic, “Sorry, sis. You’re right. Talking about it just… freaks me out a little. I mean, I barely have the time to even think about it, let alone prepare.” He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for your input.

When you look back up at him, it’s as if nothing ever happened. As if he never changed.

His eyes beam like indigo gems, sunny and unaffected. He leans forward to pat your head and it takes a strangely high amount of effort to not flinch under the weight of his palm.

If he notices, his mild expression doesn’t betray any signs.

“Why, what’s up?” He quirks a playful brow. “You’re not… Seeing someone, are you?” Caleb questions with a light laugh, hands moving to fold over the plastic plane in his hands, though his gaze remains level on you. Glued there like he physically cannot take it off until you provide him with an answer.

“Did my pipsqueak fall in love with some boy while I was gone?”

A harsh gust of wind escapes you at that. A laugh, you realize, or what’s supposed to be a laugh. You resume inserting pieces into place, adamant on building the miniature aircraft.

Your cheeks feel toasty. He’s managed to make you feel startled, ashamed, and bashful all within the span of a minute or two. It’s as impressive as it is whiplash-inducing.

Your gege is watching you very carefully as you lower your chin and purse your lips. “No…” you say sheepishly. “If I did, I’d be spending the summer with him instead of you,” you tease.

That proclamation rings loud in Caleb’s ears like a gunshot bang.

She’ll spread her wings, and fly away.

He should be joyous that there is still an absence of that ‘special someone’ in your life, that he indeed is the one spending the prelude to summer with you.

But all he feels is a lump of dread forming in his belly.

It fattens and makes it hard to breathe. She’ll spread her wings and fly away. Leave you in her dust and all the memories. All the love.

”Yeah? Well, consider me lucky then.”

Something in his chest plummets. Too rapid to catch it. Too monstrous to hope to.

He lets it sink. Feels himself going with it. It’s getting so hard to hold out, Meimei. But don’t look at him with those eyes of wide startle. It’s still the Caleb you loved from your childhood, your beloved Gege.

Just with a whole lotta love that you couldn’t even begin to fucking fathom.

…Six days. Six days left.

He’s been granted a final, measly six days to change your mind and convince you that he’s still got a place in your life, in your heart. That it’s reserved only for him.

An uncanny smile warps Caleb’s lips.

“I’ll always visit,” he assures. “And don’t worry, sis… Once I get a girlfriend, you’ll definitely be the first one to know, okay?” He chuckles, a pleasant sound.

A pretty smile smooths out the remnant lines of uncertainty in your face. “Okay. And… I can visit you in Skyhaven, too?”

Delirious excitement blips across purple eyes, his grin too bright.

“Sure,” he cheerfully agrees. “Even better.”

✷✷✷

White dots his vision like a light leak seconds before you barge in.

That tight knot, the one that had been wrapping his stomach in threads of want and frustration and need, begins to unfurl at full pelt, and Caleb quivers as it happens.

Those academy girls could never quite compete with his pumping fist or the swirling thoughts in his head he gets himself off to. But he supposes they served their purposes where they could— in those moments of foolish thinking where he thought they could heal him and needed to at least make an attempt. To clear his conscious, if nothing else.

(Spoiler alert, a humored voice in his head says dryly. They didn’t. And of course they didn’t. They were never his precious little Meimei. That’s no one’s fault but his own for believing he could get ‘better.’

No. ‘Better’ is you. It always has been.)

He’s learned from all that, though. Played all those games- and people- ‘til they tuckered him out.

Relief bowls through him. That’s just what he needs, isn’t it? A little help. He’s never considered these short-lived sessions of fucking his fist a way to summon pleasure, no- although that is very much present when he does- but rather as a kind of damage control.

He’s too pent up and needy. He needs to take the edge off, somehow, lest some of that frustration teems over when he’s talking to you and he messes up. Messes up in a way he can’t fix.

After all, he’s entitled to his own self-soothing mechanisms, isn’t he?

Or… what, is he just meant to deny himself of that, too?

Caleb bites down on a deep moan and shakes.

Pleasure courses through his veins and builds to a high peak, certainly not one he can hope to climb down from in the short time it takes you to run down the hall and into his bedroom.

“Caleb, guess what—“

And, you know, it’s already embarrassing as is, being interrupted in a personal moment and caught in such a compromising position, but what makes it worser is when it’s your own little sister who walks in to find you with your cock in your hand.

What makes it… mortifying?

When she hears you saying her name during it.

When she gasps, her eyes losing their initial glitter as they flit down, his cock gives a shameless throb and Caleb can’t decipher if the lurch in his belly is from disgust or newfound arousal.

Either way, he realizes his nakedness and scrambles to fold the sheets over it.

(Bit too late for that though, huh?)

With labored breaths, he makes a sound akin to a whimper, voice thin and pained, and lets his jaw hang dumbly.

You seem to cotton on to reality once more, because you finally take a step back- a shaky, belated one- and begin to retreat into the sunlit hallway.

Evening casts a cherry-orange glow on the white walls that flickers when you backstep into one of the beams filtering from the window. It makes you look fiery and almost hellish. But he’s a sinner. A sinner by nature and so you’re inviting.

(And he came to terms with his sin nature long ago. Sometimes it just feels like he’s waiting on you.)

His love— so deep and fervent, spread in the pit of his being like apple seeds, tearing him apart from the core— brings endless guilt, maybe, but not regret. No, nothing is regrettable about you. And he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry, Meimei, that he’s a monstrous liar and he desperately wishes it wasn’t like this, that you could see him separate from a brother, but—

He can’t stop. He can’t stop.

And there’s a certain instant… where he’s had to pause and really look at himself and ask if he truly wants to.

What he feels for you is suffocating. Like an eldritch river beast snatching his ankle and dragging him down hopeless, louring depths. But he pictures your face in perfect peace and wears your locket close to his heart. He loves you endlessly. Would do it all for you.

Just… Maybe pretending he doesn’t feel what he feels for you isn’t apart of that equation.

He senses your departure with a stab of inexplicable panic. “Meimei,” he quickly stammers, reaching out with his free hand.

His other hand, the one with wet, dripping knuckles, sticky with his own seed, darts to hide behind him, placing a proverbial cloth over his sin.

He has half the brain that already wants to mitigate this situation as it plays out in front of him in real-time, and he’s all but praying a ‘clean-up’ of sorts is viable here...

The scale doesn’t quite seem to be tipping in his favor though and honest to God, he’s not surprised. He deserves it if anything, for being such a selfish, awful big brother. Oh, doesn’t he know.

You look horrified, and you are. It feels as if you’ve been splashed with cold water. Your chest warms like a hearth and tightens, but your limbs frost over. Icy-hot shock keeps you moored in the threshold of his bedroom door with wide, fluttering eyes.

“Wait, don’t go, i-it’s not—“

A feeble lie. Wholly unconvincing.

You’re naive to a fault, that’s been true since you were kids, and too kindhearted for your own good, but this is not a matter wherein you can feign ignorance... It’s not one where you’re running into his arms, either.

No, you look… afraid as you back away from him. Like his arms come dead last on the list of places you want to be.

Paired with the mute horror is abashment. A vivid pink glazes your cheekbones and Caleb, guiltily, thinks you look very pretty (albeit, he can’t remember there ever being a time where he didn’t think that).

You recollect just enough of your composure to pick up your jelly legs and maneuver them out.

The door clicks shut and the sound is too soft to warrant the tempest gusting through his chest. His heart thrums at racehorse speeds.

He said your name, Meimei (or more accurately, moaned it), and you heard it. He came, and you saw that, too- fountaining over the backs of his fingers like white water rapids. You… saw it all. Saw him.

A niggling feeling stirs inside him. Filthy and blinding but brief. It passes like a car in the night, there and then gone.

A voice purrs to life in the back of his head, one of greed and frustration. One of miserable longing. He listens to it for a moment, and it brings him catharsis.

The loneliness constantly enveloping him like fog at a mountain’s foot seems to thin out, but just a little... It allows some wiggle room for a warped sense of accomplishment to settle.

Because you saw him.

(And isn’t that all he ever wanted?)

Slowly, Caleb licks his dry lips and hazily notes the twitch of his cock against his wet abdomen. It’s flushed an angry red as it crawls back to life, but Caleb tucks it under the waistband of his boxers and contemplates his next move.

You’ll be in disarray, in shock, in a boiling pot of disgust and the likely, self-sabotaging questions of, is this somehow my fault? Maybe he’ll even capitalize off them— screwed-up, pathetic gege he is.

But you saw him and there’s just no denying it and now there’s no hiding place for him either. Not anymore.

This truth… you can both navigate it together.

There’s a pulsating mix of terror, guilt, and scorching excitement that takes the breath from his lungs as he lies back down. Relief moves in a thin undercurrent in his blood, reassuring him that it’ll be okay. Somehow, it will.

Little devils perch on either of Caleb’s shoulders. He feels a very odd sense of calm wash over him. You saw it. So…

Do you accept it?

He thinks you might just have to. For your gege’s sake, if nothing else. Because Meimei, this has been killing him for far too long.

Relieve him, why don’t you?

✷✷✷

His vacation of sorts is coming to a close.

Caleb blinks, and a few days scurry underfoot like mice— too quick to stop or comprehend. He steps on the tail ends of them, but they escape anyway.

You’ve been avoiding him.

Stowing yourself away in your bedroom and locking the door just in case he tries to come in; you don’t exactly expect him to come barging in like you did, especially not after what you’d seen, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

You’re not afraid of your gege, you’re not. You never have been. But these past few days have felt nothing short of hellish.

You tell Gran you’re not feeling well when she asks why you’ve been skipping family dinners. She leaves a water bottle by the door with a tiny orange pill on top and believes you.

Sure, you told your tall tale or two growing up, and Caleb always had your back when you needed to cover up a small wrongdoing, but this is… different. To pretend that nothing is happening right now- or that it’s all fine- would be more than just a white lie.

Something is wrong with your Gege. Terribly.

You… don’t know what to do.

You love him. And you hate him, hate him in a way you never could when he used to steal your snacks as a child or conveniently forget to unlock the attic hatch.

These battling feelings only serve to complicate the situation further; your stomach is a war-ground of guilt, sorrow, and a disgust that viciously razes your wellbeing to the dirt.

How could you do this, Caleb? You think to yourself, curled up on your side, nuzzling into a heap of pillows. You’re under the illusion that this was an overnight thing. That he up and decided just a couple days ago to do the unthinkable- the reprehensible- and vocalize your name in the act. You don’t why he did it. What he was thinking. But whatever the reason could be, perhaps you don’t want to know.

Your own Gege….

Anger beats in your chest. Fear, too- making your belly toss with sickness. Now the future is more blurry than ever, and the one person you always leaned on for counsel has all but spat in your face. That’s what it feels like, at least. Like betrayal.

Hours drag by and you fall victim to endless swarms of butterflies, but not the good kind. The anxious kind. They fly in droves and absolutely piece you apart.

Guilt lances at your heart as you curse him in your head, and you hate that despite it all, you still feel the undercurrents of love for him.

For the entirety of your childhood, he was your shield. Your best friend, your protector, and the one person in the whole entire world you could always count on- perhaps more than Gran- to be there for you. Your teasing but well-meaning older brother. Now, you realize just how strong that sentiment is, because it stubbornly remains. Even now as you clench your teeth and hold back tears.

It’s buried under layers of hurt, though. A feeling of betrayal that pierces bone-deep and spreads all over.

He’s sick. Depraved. A voice in a dark cranny of your brain whispers, bitter and scared. But these new, scathing adjectives you assign your gege are just as surprising as they are uncertain, because no matter how many times you mentally call him a sick monster, your heart sings a weak song against it.

No. No, he’s not a monster. He’s your Gege.

Maybe you can fix this, somehow.

Maybe… Maybe it was a misunderstanding after all! Some rotten delusion you experienced fueled by the summer heat and the humid haze of late June. Even if it wasn’t- maybe you’d just be content to pretend it was. You’ll seal your little pinky with his and he’ll make a vow to never bring it up again; you’ll accept a lie, even, if he says it never happened to begin with.

You’ll do it. You’ll pretend. The two of you will go back to normal and he’ll leave for Skyhaven and you’ll eventually send in your final admission to the Hunter’s Association. You’ll be accepted in and you’ll forget him. Forget him until he pays his one or two occasional visits during the holidays. By that time, though, you’ll already have gotten your new place and it’ll serve as an excuse to never have to fucking see him again—

You don’t want to see him again.

A little sob escapes you.

You feel sick to your stomach. Nausea churns in your gut like milkfat in a butterbell. You shut your eyes desperately to bat away a flurry of intrusive, bitter thoughts, but it hardly works.

How could he do this to the both of you—?

Could you confide in Gran about this? If you told her, would she find help for Caleb or spank him like old times-? or would she start looking at you with cold, repulsed eyes as if it was your fault?

Is… Is it your fault?

A sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

For how gentle they are, you really shouldn’t flinch so hard.

Your breath hitches. Your fingers curl around your blankets and tighten.

“Y/n,” the voice on the other side of the door is honeyed and low. You note the sadness in it and immediately wish you didn’t as a throbbing sweeps through your chest. “It’s…. It’s me. It’s Caleb,” he sighs out. “W-Will you… let me in?”

Your response is quick. “No,” you say dully, feigning meanness. “I don’t feel well.”

“What’s hurting?” He seamlessly chirps in a light voice, concerned. You’re just thankful he hasn’t tried for the knob yet, despite knowing you’d locked it anyway. “You still have your meds out here… I guess Gran left them for you, huh? Do you want me to bring them to you—“

“Just- go away, Caleb,” you manage to say his name, but it’s in a gritted, forced breath. Something in your heart does a 180 degree twist as the title leaves your mouth. A salty tear rolls in and wets your tongue.

You take a shaky breath in and try to mask your sorrow. That’s near impossible.

“L-Leave me alone.”

A pause.

For a second, you’re almost dumb enough to believe he’s turned around and left.

A palm, large and worried, presses to your bedroom door. “Are you crying? Meimei- let me in, please,” comes his fretting voice. “I need to see you.”

Meimei. The title, once wrapped with affection and warmth, sends a cold chill down your spine. You ought to open that door just to give him a black eye and a wake-up slap to reality. He needs that— and desperately.

A wave of anger, frothy and hot, rides over that feeling of disgust- but just for a moment.

You sit up in bed and sneer at the locked door, “I need you to leave. Go, Caleb! I don’t wanna see you anymore, don’t you get it?!”

It’s a strange thing, how you’re currently blind to his expression but you can clearly imagine it regardless: anguish bunching his brow as his whole face falls. You’ve seen that face before, and now you’re seeing it in your head. It’s paired with a very real, pained sound he makes.

You hate the guilt that hits you, barreling through you at the sound of his strained voice. Growing up, there was always a reason why he called you a cry baby, why Gran told you to guard your heart. Because it’s fucking weak. Prone to your gege.

He leans his full weight against the door. Fists planted there as he hangs his head.

“Don’t say that!” he forces out. “You don’t mean it. Let me come in. I’ll explain to you what happened— a-anything you wanna know. Just…” He pauses for a moment, exasperated.

“I only have three days left to see you. Don’t leave me like this.”

Three days…

You force your eyelids shut. Your nostrils flare.

“Please,” he says, and drives the final nail in the coffin home. Your, coffin.

You’re about to get up from your bed, plastering on a cool face as you prepare to untwist your limbs from your blankets. You drag one leg up from your sheets before a mental image- one you never want to acknowledge as real- stops you in place.

(Meimei, he moans. Meimei meimei meimei, nmmph—)

You stoop your head and cry harder.

“Dammit, sis,” his voice warbles opposite the door. “Let me in, you’re not okay- don’t cry, don’t cry,” he hushes, but you cut off his tender, admittedly effective tries at consolation with a sharp shout.

“Tell me,” you grit. “Tell me you didn’t mean it! That all of it was just some- some- I don’t know! Just tell me it won’t happen again,” you whimper, “That it never did.”

“Please, Gege.”

His reply comes quick. After a loud, shuddering breath that rattles the last of your wellbeing and oozes confidence.

“No,” he says lowly, assured. “It did. It did happen, sis. It’s been happening. You just… didn’t know.”

Revulsion lands a punch to your gut. Direct and vomit-inducing.

“N-No—“

“I’m sorry,” he interjects sadly. A very deep convinction bleeds into his words a second later, though, strengthening them. “I never meant to hurt you. But I don’t regret the way I feel. I love you, Y/n. I love you more than you could ever know. So… let me in. C’mon- Let your Gege see you just one more time, or will you send me back to Skyhaven without so much as a goodbye?”

Furious, you shout for as loud as your frightened throat will allow.

“NO! Leave, Caleb! I don’t wanna see—“

The door makes a sound. It echoes around the four walls of your cozy bedroom and you watch in mute horror as the knob, with the tiny slat lock and all, begins to turn.

Without using his hands, Caleb pushes the door open with his Evol.

He takes a proper moment before stepping in- almost as if preparing himself- something flashing across his face before withering away. You think it takes some piece of him with it.

But when he does take that first stride in, you get the cold, unshakable feeling that he is no longer your Gege, not anymore.

Some monster in him has been fully realized: it’s sloughed its skin- the sweet, doting face of your older brother- like a snake and embraced its scales. It can only crawl on its belly and it only crawls towards you.

(And now, all there’s left to do is place that apple in your hand—)

“It’s gonna be okay, sis. I’m right here. Gran doesn’t have to know. And if she finds out- it doesn’t matter. I’ll take you someplace else. Fly you far away, if I had to—“

“C-Caleb, stop,” as he nears your bedside, you demand your legs to move but they won’t- anchored in place like bags of sand. Tears path down your cheeks and put a chink in his armor; his brooding face faltering.

You know, just between the two of you, growing up, he was always a bit soft, too.

“It’ll be just the two of us and no one’ll lay a hand on you, I pinky promise. I’ll be a pilot within a month and get you anything you could ever dream of,” his quivering lips curl into a smile- a genuine, manic one- as he takes your smaller hand in his own and kisses the back of it.

You try to tug it away to no avail. You suppose he was right, a handful of days ago, saying his muscles weren’t just for decoration. If he wants to overpower you, he can, and that’s a terrifying thought you don’t want to believe in but it’s looking like you might have to grow out of this blind trust you always held for him. It’s looking like there’s no better time to start that than now.

Your lungs heave, “Caleb, what are you—?”

“Remember, when we were younger? you’d called me selfish once or twice,” he chuckles, a light sound. “And you were right, Meimei. I am selfish. But you should take a page from my book sometime, too. I’ll let you, ya know. Just say the word, and—“

Panic taking control of you, you regain feeling in your bones and launch a foot at him.

It’s seized, instantly. Suspended in midair— floating unnaturally without so much as a touch or grab. He’s holding it up, keeping you pinned beneath him, with his gravity manipulation skill and you realize with another sob that you cannot escape your Gege, not in heart and not in body, not ever.

His eyes trail to yours after a thick moment, indigo irises dancing with darkness, impatience, and the smallest beat of hurt. As if this pains him more than you.

What an asshole. A lying, selfish— manipulative asshole.

The sweet, kindhearted boy Gran raised to be your brother—

“Are you… tryin’ to hit me?” he laughs, lifting a deceptively flippant brow. “Hm, that’s alright. I can tell what you’re thinking, Meimei, that you don’t recognize me at all right now, right..?”

His fingers, long and slim, do close around your floating leg, then. They draw your calf to his face and he peppers a chaste kiss to it. It lingers and makes you feel sick— butterflies erupting in your stomach at the way he looks up at you, lashes framing a reverent look that borders on delusional.

Mortification settles when you realize they’re not just the anxious kind, those butterflies: Your body seems to be just as traitorous as the brunette hunched over you.

“But it’s me, Caleb. Your own gege,” you wonder if it’s a scoff, the little breath he looses, or something else, but he appears almost disappointed with himself for a fraction of a second—

Gone.

“So let me take care of you. If you don’t let me now… you’ll just be delaying the inevitable. Might as well just… rip the bandaid off, right? It’ll be okay, just have a little faith in me. I- I can’t keep pretending anymore. But it doesn’t have to end with you crying,” he reasons with furrowed brows, hands descending to pin yours to the bed and entwine your fingers with his. He hovers over you and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, sighing with deep content. It’s a mockery of a lovers’ embrace.

But to Caleb, it’s the real thing.

“I want us to be happy. Just let go, Meimei. Let go and let me take care of you. I… always have, haven’t I?” He murmurs, lips planting a kiss- the first of many- to the thumping column of your throat.

(—All there’s left to do is place that apple in your hand, and watch you take the bite.)

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 2] Lunch

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Attempted Murder, Murder, Smut, Eventual Fluff and Romance

*I completely forgot that i was cross posting, forgive me!! For all of those that asked, there's no edits! It's the same as AO3!

The interview goes well– at least you think it goes well, and then you wait for the reporter and photographer to go back home. There isn’t much to talk about since your father isn’t exactly the happiest about the man you’re engaged to, and he doesn’t want to let Naobito have a piece of his mind. You say your awkward farewells before leaving the house.

Your father doesn’t shut up once he gets into the car, he rants the whole way home and you tune him out. You just can’t wait to see your daughter. Every now and then you catch a bit of what he’s saying.

“That motherfucker really fucking screwed me over. We had agreed on that other nephew of his not on that piece of shit, good-for-nothing man.” It is around the fifth time your father says those similar words, and your stepmother is annoyed.

“What the fuck did you expect? Your daughter literally has a creature that most men don’t want to deal with! Suck it up!” She raises her voice.

“Who doesn’t want to deal with Misaki? She’s an angel brought from heaven!” Your father claims, the soft spot his heart has for your daughter is very visible. But he will still choose his wife over his granddaughter, the same way he chose his wife over his daughter.

“Angel brought from heaven.” Your stepmother scoffs. She’s grateful that the Zenins will soon take you off her hands. “Naobito informed me that the wedding is set to be in a month or so. The wedding planning has begun.”

“In a month? Did he not think to inform me, considering I am the bride.” You speak up, causing a laugh to come from her. You don’t find the humor in it.

“Inform you? He told me which is more than enough. I told you the news, so it isn’t coming up to you as unexpected.” She replies. You open your mouth to speak but she interrupts you, “This isn’t a marriage that’s made of love. If you fall in love with him, then good for you but at the moment it’s not about that. It’s to clean their image and to get you and your daughter off our hands. The wedding is not going to be to your liking but to theirs.”

“You don’t have to say it like that.” Your father tells her, but you can agree with her on something.

“She’s right. That’s the only reason you’re doing it, or else why are you marrying me off to a complete stranger?” You say.

“Because it’s what’s best for you and Misaki. You saw what happened with Misaki’s father, didn’t you? He left even though you have a daughter together. He claimed he loved you, didn’t he? But you still came back to my door with your daughter because you couldn’t pay the bills.” He begins and you want to interrupt him, but you let him ramble on as you roll your eyes at his every word. “My point is, I think marrying for love is pointless unless you both have money. I’m setting up your daughter to have a successful life, even if it costs your happiness. Love didn’t bring you anything good anyways.”

“I-” You try to think of a way to defend yourself, but it’s not worth it in the end. You mutter it though, “I was just unlucky.”

“As I was saying…” Your stepmother continues talking, “The wedding will be as they envision it. The only thing that will be adjusted to you will be your gown size, which will be in fact next week.”

“How big is this wedding supposed to be? A month isn’t a lot of time to organize a big wedding.” You ask, wondering how many eyes will be on you in a month.

“Really big. Every person imaginable will be there.” She answers. “As to wedding preparations, you don’t have to worry because you’re not doing it. The Zenins have hired people that are more than capable and work fast.”

You just stay quiet and close your eyes. Maybe this is all a dream– More like a nightmare. Maybe when you open your eyes back up you’ll go back to when you were five, when life was good. When you could go running back to your mother and give her a hug and she’d fill your face with kisses until you begged her to stop.

But you open your eyes back up, and the only thing you see is your father’s house, which looks as horrid as ever with the lack of color. You remember once upon a time that the outside was filled with a mix of beautiful colors, now it's colorless. The flowers that your mom once planted are gone; they have been for a long time.

You’re the first to get out of the car, and walk to the front door. You knock since you have no keys. Soon enough the door opens and you see the babysitter that your father hired. She lives in the neighborhood and is roughly sixteen years old.

“Hello, Utahime.” You greet her and she greets you back. “Did she behave?”

“She was a sweetheart.” She answers. You walk into the home, and as the little girl notices she drops her doll and runs to your side.

“Mommy!” She yells as she runs to your side. You kneel down to receive the hug that she so warmly welcomes you with. You kiss her cheek. She’s quick to ask, “How was lunch?”

“It was- good!” You tell her. She’s too young to know or even understand what’s going on. She made a fuss before you left and you assured her that you’d be back soon, that you were only having lunch with friends. “Nothing too interesting, how about you, baby? How did you like your time with Utahime?”

“It was good!” She replies. Your father and stepmother walk through the door and your daughter rushes to greet your father. She receives the same treatment you do from your stepmother, so she rightfully doesn’t like the woman. You get off the ground, and go upstairs to get Utahime’s money.

You quickly go back downstairs with the money and give it to Utahime. She thanks you and gets her stuff. She says her goodbyes before walking out the door.

Once the door closes, your stepmother opens her mouth. She looks down at Misaki. “You’ll be having a dad soon.”

“What?” Your daughter asks, blinking at the very much older woman, very confused. “What does that mean?”

You glare at the woman. Maybe you’re looking more forward to this wedding day than you first thought. You’ll even prepare a speech of all the things you want to tell her.

“Is daddy coming back?” Your daughter questions, hope in her voice which makes you want to break down crying. It hurts to crush her illusion.

“No, Misaki, you’re getting a new daddy.” Your stepmother responds. Your daughter’s hopes are not the same, but she’s not crushed. She doesn’t remember her father that much so she’s not scared of someone replacing him.

“Misaki, do you want to watch a movie with me?” You ask, switching the topic. She nods and walks to your side.

“Wake up, you two.” You hear a not so nice voice that slowly causes you to open your eyes. You look at the woman you despise more than anything in this world, and your day is already ruined. You know it’s not going to be a good day.

You caress your daughter’s cheek since she’s always hard to wake up in the morning. She groans but she eventually opens her eyes. The woman still stands in your room. It’s a rare sight to have her wake you up.

“What?” You ask, wondering what she wants. She never needs anything from you which is why you never spoke. She has people to cook or clean for her since your father is more than blessed to have the money for. Otherwise, you would be the one to be doing those chores. She wouldn’t be with him in the first place if he had no money.

You’re not the same little girl that she could torment so there’s no point in being in your room, more or less speaking with you.

“You have lunch with Toji today. Misaki is coming with, and there’s a couple of hidden paparazzi’s so make sure to look decent.” She informs you. You sigh as you get up from bed. “Be ready in two hours.”

You get up from bed and let the child rest for a couple more minutes while you begin the process of getting yourself ready. You first take a shower, and when you come back out you see your daughter still sleeping.

You wake her up again, and she gets up looking around confused. You want to smile. She’s your literal clone, she just has a couple miniscule features that are like her dad’s.

“We’re going out to lunch, baby.” You inform her. You walk back to the bathroom to fill the bathtub up with water for your daughter. You walk back to the room, and she’s still really tired. She wants to lay back down but you try to get her excited to go out. “We can get ice cream after lunch.”

“Really?” She asks, practically sold. She’s now fully awake and she gets out of the bed. She walks out of the room and into the bathroom. You walk in as well, while she does her business you shut off the faucet that is ruining water.

“Are we going to meet my new daddy?” She asks, which catches you off guard. You’re not sure how to respond.

“I-” You begin, but can’t find the right words. “He’s not your new daddy, honey, but we will be seeing him a lot more, soon.”

“Okay!” She responds as she gets up to wash her hands. You want to chuckle, thinking about how easy that was.

You get to the restaurant, and your father and stepmother decide to sit a couple of tables over. You sigh watching them be led by the hostess to their seat. You don’t get too much time to stare at them, soon enough you’re being led to the table your future husband is sitting at. 

You notice the infant that is sitting in a high chair, right next to his dad. There’s a genuine smile on Toji’s face as he feeds the baby some of the baby food. The baby isn’t too pleased with the food, you notice as his nose scrunches up, and half the food is practically down his chin.

The smile on Toji’s face disappears as he sees you and the little girl that is holding on to your hand. You make your daughter sit down before sitting down next to her. You and Toji exchange looks, his being nastier than yours. But he remembers there’s supposedly people around that are watching.

“This is my daughter, Misaki.” You introduce the little girl who is shy when meeting new people. She warms up easily, but Toji just has an intimidating look.

“Hi!” She surprisingly says, waving at the man. He’s not the kindest, but he has some manners. He reminds himself that your daughter is not you.

“Hi, I’m Toji.” He waves back. Toji then goes back to paying attention to Megumi. He tries to give the baby more food but he just flat out refuses to open his mouth. Toji sighs and puts the food back into the food. He looks back at you two, looking more at your daughter so his dislike towards you doesn’t seem as evident. “This is my son, Megumi.”

“Megumi’s a cute name. One of my baby dolls is named Megumi.” She is quick to inform him. She warmed up fast. He raises his eyebrow and continues the conversation with the child.

"Really? That's nice." Toji says. The waitress comes up to the table and you order your drinks. You watch the baby and can’t help but help but smile at the baby's adorable face.

“He’s so cute.” You comment and Toji hums in agreement. 

Toji taps his fingers on the table, everything a bit too awkward. He just doesn’t understand why he feels this way. Annoyed. You haven’t really done anything, and you seem like a decent enough human being but he feels frustrated and mad when he just so happens to look at you.

He just needed you to refuse that proposal, and make the Zenins clean up Toji’s image some other way. But getting married again so quickly– It is an easy plan, he admits, but he prefers a harder one because he learned that matrimony is a sacred thing.

He doesn’t want to get married again. More or less, with someone he’s not in love with. Since he’s not getting what he wants because of you, the negative feelings take over.

“How old are you?” His eyes are on your daughter. She puts five fingers up, a smile on her face as she tells him verbally.

“Five!” She tells him.

“Are you in school?” He continues questioning, wanting to know more about his future stepdaughter because the wedding is going to happen whether he likes it or not. Unless something happens.

He fights back a smirk as an idea comes to mind. The Zenins can’t throw him in the streets if something were to just happen to you.

“Mommy put me in preschool. I’ll be starting kindergarten soon!” She excitedly responds.

The waitress comes back with your drinks. Misaki and Toji continue to chat while you watch baby Megumi, who took a liking to the spoon. He wasn’t slapping it on the high chair, something your daughter would’ve done at his age, but he inspects it. He puts his little chubby fingers on it.

And as you hear your daughter speak with Toji, and watch as the adorable baby inspects his spoon, you think that things won’t be so bad.

[milksuu]

Sorry, Mom. I'm The New Cleaning Lady For Heartsteel

Pairings: various!Heartsteel x f!reader

Status: on-going (Cross posted on AO3)

Content/Warnings: 18+ content, explicit themes, suggestive language

Summary: Identity theft was a crime—that was obvious. But when it meant paying off the bills for basically existing and your mother’s hospital expenses, committing a felony didn’t seem like a bad thing. It was like that one quote, from that one band, with that one hit song: “Two sides to a story but they never tell me side.”

Or…something like that. Wait, what was their name again? Heartsteel? Sounds like a dating sim game.

[Reader takes the identity of her mother, who had been hired to be the new cleaning lady for an up and coming boy band named ‘Heartsteel’. Obviously, there’s no way they would ever find out. But that was a joke. Because they’re definitely finding out: one by one.]

“You…brought your own cleaning supplies?”

“You always need to be prepared, young man,” you replied, adjusting your duck-yellow cleaning gloves. They squeeked and flopped comically around your hand and fingers. 

“Ma’am, you do understand today is solely the house tour.” The man folded his arms neatly against his chest, white brow raised. “In order to rely on you fully, you’ll need to be familiar with the estate first. I thought we discussed this beforehand. That and…we have cleaning supplies to provide you with here.”

You paused at the grand modern entrance. You lifted your bucket full of sponges, brushes, and cleaning spray from the dollar store. 'Buy-one-get-one' on all cleaning supplies was the grand deal of the day. How could you pass a penny-pinching bargain? Swallowing your shame, you settled the cheap items on the pristine granite floors. 

“Oh, is that so? Must’ve slipped my mind. Age will do that to you.” You forced a chuckle, adjusting your sterile mask across your youthful face. “That and, I have such a passion for cleaning. I can't help myself. I see the inside of a house, and I just have to clean it. I’m sure you could understand that.”

“I don’t believe I could,” your employer said dryly. “Anyway, if you will, follow me.”

You nodded and shuffled along accordingly. As you stared into the back of his immaculately pressed business attire, a new-found horror struck through you: you had no clue what your employer’s name was. Frantically, you scavenged your pockets. From it, you pulled out a business card, holding it so close to your face you smelled the tinge of clean cologne.

YONE

RIOT RECORDS

DJ / PRODUCER

 EMAIL: yone123@riotstudios.com

TELEPHONE:  XXX-XXX-XXXX

“The bottom floor consists of all of the amenities; gym, entertainment area, recording studio and so on.” Yone stated as he stepped into the open-kitchen plan. When he regarded you again, you awkwardly plunged the card back into your pants pocket. “The boys have their own scheduled chores every week. They’re expected to do it without you having to help them. I’m trying to keep them humble, but easier said than done. Refer to the chore calendar on the fridge. And try not to interfere with it too much.”

“Okay—who switched my protein powder with flour?” Behind an opened cabinet, a heavy-muscled stacked man growled. “Guys. Seriously. This stuff’s expensive. Where’d it go?” When he poured the contents out into the trash can, he plucked out a note from the bottom of the canister. The small print read:

‘Protein powder tastes like dog food.’’

The weight of realization punched him square between the eyes. He threw open the pantry, where dog kibble was stored in a tub at the bottom marked ‘Ernest’. Sett pulled open the container, and sure enough, found his  protein powder and scooper. There was no mistaking his favorite smell of cinnamon crunch isolate, now mixed with the scent of dry-bacon kibble. Another note pasted the inside lid:

‘Woof–Woof ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ’

“A–phe–li–os,” the name gritted between his canines. His ears flattened against his untamed hair, and crumpled the note to dust in his palm. “Oh–Ho. Mess with me all you want; but never mess with my gains. I’m gonna’ prank him back so hard tonight, he’s gonna’ be begging me to stop.” 

“Sett,” Yone coughed, grabbing the Vistayan's attention. “We have a guest today. Our new cleaning lady.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” Sett wiped his powdered hand against his sleeveless shirt. He reached and took your rubber glove with a squelch. “Hey, how’s it goin’, Ma’am. The name’s Sett.” 

You swallowed hard, hoping your glove would remain securely covering your hand. You feared if he pulled back, he would reveal a hand that wasn't so wrinkled for someone supposedly in their late-fifties. And that was according to your mother’s age printed on her driver’s license. Thankfully, you could tell he restrained himself to a delicate shake.

“Would talk more but gotta hit the gym. Nice meetin’ yah though,'' Sett started away, and called back over his shoulder. “Mom, can you take care of Phel for me? I dunno' where he hid the dog food for Ernest.”

Yone exhaled a silent sigh, and part of you felt pity for your employer. He seemed like a parent with a tag-team of overbearing children running around the house. Being a single parent was difficult; you knew this first hand from your own up-bringing. It made you grateful for your mother’s patience and attention. It was the reason you were here in the first place. 

“Let’s continue with the tour upstairs,” Yone said, motioning you to a loft-style staircase. “The second floor consists of all the bedrooms and laundry room. At the end of the hall is my room. As it stands, it’s completely off limits to everyone, including yourself.” He turned a sharp chin in your direction, “Am I understood?”

You gulped and pressed your shoulders straight. “Of course.”

“Mommy, help me!” A bed of green hair bounced to Yone’s side, tugging at his tailored suit. “Kayn’s bullying me again. But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You’re such a crappy liar.” The presumed assailant, Kayn, stomped out of the hallway bathroom. Magenta hair stuck to his furrowing brows. With just a towel wrapped around his steaming waist, his abdominal muscles tensed, pointing aggressively at his target. “I was trying to shower in peace, until bubblegum pop princess over here came barging in trying to take selfies of himself. Did you know people usually shower naked? I’d like my junk not to be posted on social media, unless I’m the one doing it. For cash.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re always going over your shower limit. News flash: we each only get fifteen-minutes. But you’re always breaking the rules! You know I take my selfies at the same time, at the same place, every single day. So how about you do us all a favor, and get some better time management?”

Kayn raised a vein popping fist into the air. “How about I get you a better face instead?"

Ezreal cried fake sparkling tears, cowering further behind their producer.

“Enough. The both of you,” Yone tightened around his words like a leash, restraining the quarreling pair. “For once, I’d like for you two to at least pretend you get along in front of others.” 

The two whined and grumbled under their breaths till they fell to a silent agreement. But the peace treaty wasn’t upheld for long. You saw a zap of yellow from the corner of your eye. The image was so fast, you thought you must’ve imagined it—Nope. You definitely saw something. Kayn’s towel knot popped loose. And it wasn’t caused by an event of divine intervention.

The towel billowed towards the ground. And the world felt as if it was turning in slow motion, like one of those car chase movies with excessive explosions. Except, the only explosion here would be your very own heart.

Sure, you took an anatomy class here and there. In high school, you remembered the penis joke’s and games, and they never flustered you. Heck, not even when your friends set your desktop screen to a .gif of dicks spinning in circles—you found that hilarious. And when anatomy classes began in college, they were all very clinical, rudimentary, and otherwise a snooze fest. 

But seeing one in real life when you’ve never had a boyfriend or a one night stand, was truly groundbreaking. Earth shattering, even.

Penis (en)counter: 1

While you were stuck in your prison of naïve embarrassment, Ezreal laughed and pulled out his cell phone, camera light shuttering a mile a minute. 

“You little shi—!” Time sped forward again. With fast reflexes of his own, Kayn whipped the towel and knot back in place. “That’s it. You’re dead.” 

“Uh–Oh. Time to run again,” Ezreal quipped, zooming off down the stairs.

With all bark and full bite, Kayn vanished like a cloud of smoke in pursuit. You coughed against the smog, while Yone merely swatted his hand back and forth, dissipating the gray wisps.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” he commented. “They share the same room, but have vastly different personalities. I arranged most of them together, thinking it’d help them understand each other on a deeper level. And ultimately, help them perform better together in the studio and on stage. My efforts are…yet to be determined.”

“That’s alright. Can’t be easy for young men their age to share anything. Especially with them being full of energy, testosterone, and other things. O-Oh, to be young once more…ah-ha…” you laughed nervously. Oh, God. What the heck were you saying? Honestly, you had to give pardon to yourself. You were still trying to recover from seeing your first penis up close and personal.

The image would be forever burned in your mind.

You were pulled from your self-conscious thoughts. Down the hall, a pair of shadowed eyes peeked through a sliver of door and frame. When your gaze locked together, the other pair of eyes shifted shyly from side to side. As if a poltergeist existed within the room, the visage faded back into the uncanny crack of darkness. The door creaked closed, with an audible click and lock.

Yone pursued straight to the door, and you stood a few paces back. If there was any chance that a ghost was inside living rent-free, you wouldn't be the first it possessed. You weren't a certified Ghostbuster.

But you also weren't a certified Dustbuster, either. No one will know, know one will know, you chanted the comforting hymn. 

“Aphelios. Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the computer light flashing,” Yone stated, rattling the door knob. “Where’s the kibble for the dog? Sett told me you have it somewhere.”

There was a beat in the air. From behind the door, you heard feet pacing back and forth, and the sounds of finger taps against a phone screen. Yone’s phone pinged with an alert. He pulled it out, and opened his text messages.

‘I can’t open the door all the way. I set the bucket of dog food to fall on Sett’s head when he comes in. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ’

“For the love of…no more pranks today." Yone pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "But I doubt you could even manage that. Whatever trap you’ve ensembled, take it down—now. And put the dog’s food back in the pantry. Unless you want to donate a cut of your earnings every month to Ernest’s pet store bill.”

Another pause, followed by begrudging phone taps. 

‘Fine, m O T h E r…(¬_¬")’

“That might take him a few. Depending how intricate the set up was. I would be surprised if the only thing involved in this scheme was just the dog food.” Yone motioned you back down the stairs. “Last thing to see is the outdoor space.”

Continuing with the tour, you passed through the lower floor, stepping down a hallway decorated with awards and magazine clippings. From commercial modeling gigs to sold out venues, your eyes glistened at the polished look the group was slowly cultivating. Which you had to admit, completely contradicted their personal lives.

When you reached a sliding glass door that stretched from floor to ceiling, you stepped out onto a landscaped deck. Lush modern garden trims, a shaded outdoor lounge, and smooth sandstone pavement decorated the space. At the backend, an infinity pool rested in pristine stillness. 

At the head of the pool, a person of sculpted bronze physique posed in swimwear on a lounge chair. When you approached along with your chaperone, he picked up his tropical drink, and tilted it in a cheering gesture.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mama gracing me with his presence. And look's like someone else is with him, too.” The man basking in the sun's rays and oil slicked, shucked his sunglasses onto his dread locks. “Let me guess. This must be the new cleaning lady you hired to pick up after our mess.”

“To a certain degree,” Yone replied. “But not all of the mess, K’Sante. Out of everyone, you should know better.”

“I only joke, Mama.” He grinned smoothly, taking a sip of his frozen alcoholic refresher. “Say, have you seen Sett? I told him to come join me for a tan by the pool. If he wants his muscles to truly pop, he needs to use some oil and not be allergic to the sun. The man is whiter than the sky is bright today.”

As he laughed to himself, Ernest left his chew toy at the far side of the pool, and came to sniff your shoes. With a smile, you slipped a very small piece of your long sleeve up, allowing him to sniff at your skin. The dog lapped his tongue around his slobbering chops, barking delightedly and pawing for you to pet him. You were more than happy to oblige.

These gloves came in handy after all, you thought pleasantly as globs of saliva fell in heaps over your fingers.

“What’s this? Ernest taking a liking to the cleaning lady already,” K’Sante mused at the sight. “Barely warmed up to us when we first met. We won’t mention the illegal trespassing but, call me impressed.” 

With a wink, he flicked his sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose. “That or he has a ‘ting for older women. Can’t say I blame ‘em. An experienced woman has a certain power that’ll make any grown man cry. And from my own experience, it is never for mercy.”

Oh, boy. You couldn’t imagine your mother being interested in the cougar life-style. Not that you would approve of it. And you were certain your father would descend from the heavens and deliver the backhand of God to any young man who dared otherwise.

Before Yone could address the unsavory statement, Ezreal burst through the backyard sliding doors. Still possessed with laughter, he hopped and skipped over pool chairs and tables. The merriment stopped short when Kayn caught up to the cheeky idol, snatching his wrist which held the phone. From the staggering halt, the phone slipped from Ezreal’s hold, somersaulting towards the pool. 

“M-My phone!” Ezreal paled at the thought of losing thousands of stored photos of himself—Oh, and the blackmail photos he was going to use against Kayn, too. 

Yanking his wrist free, Ezreal pursued the device. But Ernest’s rubber hotdog toy squealed beneath him, forcing him off balance. Kayn latched an arm around Ezreal's slim waist, and pressed him safely against his bare chest.

He huffed against Ezreal's ear. “You can’t swim, you idiot. Remember? Just let it go.” 

Ernest barked at the surmounting commotion. Being the valiant guard dog with the perfect pedigree, he bounded on his thick paws to catch Kayn by the towel, with all the intent to keep them both from falling in. What a good boy! Unfortunately for Kayn, Ernest bit a bit more than he could chew.

Kayn’s voice bass boosted ten-octaves lower. “MY DAMN ASS!”

W-Whose voice was that? Was that even the same person? The thought rattled through you.

A chunk of Kayn's soft meat condensed in the jaws of a furry devil. A shock travelled up the nerves of his spine, into the the muscle fibers of his arm, shoving Ezreal forward. Ezreal flailed his hands in the air, desperate to find some semblance of balance—with no luck, at all. Fumbling on his tip-toes, Ezreal plummeted into the pool with a splash. Kayn stumbled from the after-shock of his spirit being bitten straight through his buttcheeks. His feet met the cursed rubber squeaker, sending him following suit into the pool. Except, the towel had its own plans. It decided to stay behind and not get involved.

Penis (en)counter: 2

“I heard some commotion, fellas. What’s goin’ on?” Sett stepped out from the sliding doors. He caught witness of Ezreal’s face treading water, gasping for bouts of air. Sett’s muscles popped at the sight, barreling towards the scene. “Don’t worry, Ez. I’m coming for yah, buddy!”

Sett launched himself into the air, preparing the most athletic Olympic dive ever conceived.

Kayn inhaled sharply as he broke through the water's surface tension. Recuperating his breaths, he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Looking down at the waters crystal reflection, an odd shadow grew in size around him. And according to the forecast earlier; there was no chance in Hell of clouds or rain. Lifting his nose to the darkening sky, he blanched in sheer horror. A body, massive enough to eclipse the sun, hurled down like a meteor descending to Earth.

What day was it today, Doomsday? He must've forgot; Kayn never bothered to look at calendar's, anyway.  

Back to the painful mistress that was his life; a weak, painful moan escaped him. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t the cool death I deserve—”

Those were Kayn’s final words. A wave rivaling a tsunami consumed him, a random pizza chair float, and the immediate surrounding pool area. Standing in the designated splash zone, pool water soaked your soles, leached into your socks, and dampened your pants to the knees. From K’Sante’s spot, a shot of chlorine or two spiked his drink. He snatched his sunglasses off and shouted the words; “This was the last bit of banana daiquiri mix, you aboas! Now I have to go down to the liquor store and hope they sell it frozen already.”

Yone, with all the grace anyone could hope to be blessed with, merely side-stepped away. A single speck landed on his polished shoes. He narrowed his steely eyes, flicking away the insignificant drop.

You caught something flashing on the second floor of the estate. Looking up, you shielded your eyes from the glaring sun. From one of the windows, you spotted someone holding up a sign. You assumed it was Aphelios. The poster read:

‘4/10 Ezreal. 6/10 Kayn. 10/10 Sett.’

With a dramatic burst through the water, Sett hurled Ezreal over his massive shoulder, and walked out of the pool. Placing Ezreal onto his soaking back, he coughed and gagged against the awful taste of treated water.

He smiled at his new-found savior. “Thanks, Sett. I’m fine, but what about Kayn…”

The group shifted their attention over the silent, lapping water. After a bubble or two, the sight of Kayn’s bare bottom surfaced to the top. Floating like a wet and rounded land-mass, with the additional landmark of a pink dog-bite. 

“Kayn! Hang in there, pal!” Sett launched himself once more into the water, creating another wave of soaking magnitude.

Although the drink had already been spoiled, K’Sante reflexively covered the top of his daiquiri glass. “For God’s sake, Sett. Take your time. It’s not like you’re saving the life of an innocent man.”

As chaos continued to ensue around the gang, Yone placed himself at your side. With a shake of his head, he crossed his arms, and sent a ghost of a smile your way.

“Welcome to Heartsteel,” he said. “Your first day starts tomorrow.” 

Looks like your identity was safe…for now, at least.

an: thanks for reading! the rest of the this story will most likely just be on my AO3. You can find me @ milksuu. comments and suggestions always welcomed. &lt;3

[lachesismoonmist]

JK Drabbles - One Shots

Here's a collection of One-Shot stories involving JK. JK as husband, JK as boyfriend, JK as lover.

Some of them are scenes I wrote which didn't make it into my eventual stories, but were such fun to write I wanted to share them.

Each story is saved as an individual chapter.

Enjoy!

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader

Also posted on AO3

Masterlist for JK Drabbles - One Shots

#1 - Welcome Home #2 - Be My Slave #3 - Wait #4 - Days Without Incident

-------------------

Chapter 1: Welcome Home - JK as husband

It’s 3am.  Once leaving the hustle and bustle of the airport, everything is quiet.  The streets are deserted.  Jungkook had gone away for work. Three whole weeks.  He misses you like crazy.  It is coming up to your first wedding anniversary.  He’s planned an entire weekend away at the coast.  The beach there is beautiful.  He managed to book one of the quaint, little cottages dotting the hills just above the beach.  The views from the cottage windows are awesome, offering views of the sunset.  He isn’t sure how much time you’d spend admiring the view though. His plan is to spend a lot of time in bed. You under him. You on top of him. You pressed against a wall.  You bent over sofa.  Or whatever other surface in the house he can fuck you on.  And he plans to fuck you on Every. Single. One.

He is supposed to have flown home the next evening, but he managed to get a seat on an earlier red-eye flight.  He couldn’t bear to spend another day and night without you. The house is dark as he quietly puts his luggage and bags on the floor near the entrance to the apartment.  He shrugs off his jacket, draping it on the sofa. He doesn’t need to turn on any lights as the full moon is shining in from the full-length windows in the living room.  He steps quietly through the house to the bedroom door.

He stands there in the doorway for a while after quietly turning the doorknob and easing the door open.  You are sleeping soundly.  You’ve rolled over onto your right, facing the window. The moonlight is streaming in, bathing you in an ethereal glow. 

Your quilt is a messy lump near your feet.  You move a lot in your sleep.  He admires the long lines of your legs, then his breath hitches. Your nightie has run up.  He can see the lower half of the perfect globes of your ass.  They look so fuckable.  His blood is now rushing to his cock. 

But he restrains himself from pouncing on you and devouring you.  He takes a shower to wash off the dirt from his travels.  He wants to make sure he smells all nice and fresh for you. He doesn’t worry about you waking up when the water is running.  You sleep like the dead.

He towels dry his hair as best as he can.  He lies down on the bed behind you, his chest to your back.  He pushes his nose into your hair at your neck, inhaling deeply. He’s missed you so much.  His arms feel so empty at night without you to hold as he drifts off to sleep.  His cock missed being buried in your warm, wet pussy.

Warm, wet pussy is within reach now. His cock is rock hard.  He ghosts his hand down your arm, over your hip.  He pulls the nightie up, exposing your whole ass.

He reaches down to grab one butt cheek, slowly squeezing.  He rubs his cock against your ass.  He presses kisses to your back.  He pulls your hair to one side, exposing your shoulder and neck.  He presses his lips to your skin. Behind your ear. Down the graceful column of your neck. Along your shoulder.  He slowly pushes the strap of your nightie off your shoulder, his lips following the path of his fingers.

He's now exposed one breast.  He covers it with his big hand and squeezes.  Your breasts are the perfect size.  Full and round. Big enough to fill his big hands.  Succulent rosy pink nipples.  He rubs his palm on you, feeling your nipples start to harden.  His cock is throbbing now, the tip leaking precum. 

You start to stir. “Mmmmm…..” you mumble.  He continues squeezing your breast.  He kisses his way back up your neck and gently bites your earlobe.

“What are you doing home, Kook?  Thought you’re flying home tomorrow,” you mumble sleepily.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.  Managed to get on an earlier fight.” He continues kissing your neck, sucking and nipping the skin gently, leaving little red marks. He loves leaving his marks on your skin.

“Miss you so much, baby. Did you miss me?” he says in a low voice.  You nod.

He pinches your nipple before rolling it with his fingers.  “Aah,”  you huff out.  He reaches over and gropes your other breast through your nightie.  Thumb running over the nipple.  He scrapes that spot at the juncture of your shoulder and neck with his teeth.  “Aah!” you cry out, your body bucking.  He smiles against your skin. He knows that’s your most sensitive spot.  He knows he can make you scream by biting down on it as you come.

Hi hand moves back down your body, pulling your nightie up some more.  He exposes the smooth v between your legs.  He touches your hip, trailing over the curve of it, his fingers moving slowly to where you need him the most.

He pushes his long fingers in between your thighs, sliding up and down your slit.   His palm rubbing against your mound.  “You want me to touch you, Baby?  Does your pussy need to be touched?” he says in a low voice in your ear.

“Yes, yes, Kook. Touch me,” you gasp. You roll towards him slightly.  You lift one knee up, opening yourself up to him.

He slips and slides a few more times, then slips a finger into your core.  The sound you make can only be described as obscene.

“Hmm… so wet baby,” he says approvingly. He pumps his long finger into you.  He continues pressing wet, open kisses on your neck and shoulders.  He snakes his other arm under your body, pulling your body flush against his, your back to his front. He holds you in place, his arm pressing down on your clavicle.  His hard cock rubs against your ass.

He adds another finger to stroke your walls.  Your hips start rolling. He presses his thumb on your needy clit, rubbing in time with his strokes. 

The tattooed arm around your chest is like a band of steel. His tattooed hand moves to cup a breast. Squeezing, rubbing, kneading, pinching, rolling.  Your arch your back, moaning sweetly.  “That’s it Baby,” he eggs you on.  “Let me hear you,”

His fingers sliding  in and out of your pussy are relentless. He knows just how hard to press, how fast to stroke.  You start to tense up, your whines becoming more needy, your breath coming out in pants.   Your body arches more, but he imprisons you with his strong arm.

“Gonna cum, goonna….  Kook!”  He scrapes hit teeth against that sensitive spot on your neck again as you cry out.   The wet evidence of how good he made you feel coating his fingers and palm.  Your body is shuddering through the aftershocks of your orgasm, but your husband is not letting you go so easily.

“Come on, Baby, give me one more.  Let me hear you make those pretty sounds again.”

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow down. He continues to fuck his fingers into you and rub your swollen clit. You whine, clit still throbbing from your first orgasm. He continues pinching your nipple. Tugging it. Rolling it.  He pumps his fingers faster.   He knows you are close. He bites the soft flesh at your shoulder. 

“Kooook!  Oh my god, Koook!” you cry out, your body arching.

“That’s it, Baby, soak my fingers with your juices. See how your greedy pussy is sucking in my fingers.”  He removes his fingers from your hole, sliding them up to your throbbing clit, caressing it slowly.

“Too much, too much,” you whine as you try to move away, to give your body time to recover. But his grip on you doesn’t allow you to move.   You try to twist your body, but his tattooed arm is like a vise. His fingers slow down. The pressure eases up.  You slowly come down from your high, body shuddering.

He puts his fingers into his mouth.  “Hmm, tasty.” He sucks his fingers, licking your juices off his digits.

You reach behind you to grip his hard, leaking cock. You use your thumb to spread the pre-cum on his tip. Your finger dips into the slit, rubbing.  You grip his girth and give it a few gentle pumps. 

The first time you’d seen his cock, your eyes looked like saucers, your mouth open.   “So big” you’d said admiringly.  The skin was velvety smooth.  You’d wrapped on hand around it, barely able to grip all the way around.  The first time you’d taken him in your mouth, you’d gagged as you tried to take all of him in.  But you pushed on till your lips touched the base of his cock.  He’d almost blown his load at the sight of your pink lips around his cock. You looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes big and shiny. 

“Want your cock, Kook.  Haven’t had your cock in three weeks.  Want you to fill me up,” you say breathily.  The few times you had phone sex while he was away were good, but there was nothing like the real thing.  Nothing like feeling his big, fat cock fill you up. His body pressed against yours.  Two bodies and hearts intertwined.

He rolls you over so that he’s on top.  His hips settle between yours.  “Want me stuff this pussy full of cock?  Hmm?” He rubs his shaft against your wet slit, nudging your clit with the tip. He rips your nightie off all the way.  You nod vigorously.

“Look at you, so beautiful. I missed having you under me.” He uses one had to push your legs open wider. “Not going to be able to hold back, Baby.”  He reaches down to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You look him in the eye.  “Don’t hold back, Kook.”

So he doesn’t. Jungkook lets out an animalistic growl and drives forward, making you cry out.   He buries himself balls deep in one smooth stroke.  Pull out to the tip, slide in till his hips grinds against yours. Pull out, slide in. Pull out, slide in.  Every stroke makes you shudder in pleasure.  His hips slap against yours as he fucks into you. Hard.   He bends down to take a nipple into his mouth, making you arch your back as you keen.

He’s so close. It’s been weeks.  Nothing feels like being buried inside you.   Nothing comes close to the bliss when he feels your walls wrapped around his cock. The way your breasts bounce when he bottoms out, grinding his pelvic bone against you, stimulating your clit.

You cry out his name as you tumble over.  The way his name rolls of your lips in a fervent cry makes him peak too.  “Y/N!  Fuck!”  He continues to pump into you, slowing down as you both catch your breath. He rolls you onto your sides.

“I love you, Kook,” you whisper, looking into his eyes, pushing his soft hair off his face.

“I love you, wifey.  That is the best ‘welcome home’ a man can get,” he says, grinning.

You smile evilly.  You push on him to roll him over, with you on top.  His cock is hard again.  You get up, kneeling over him. You line yourself up with him then sink down on his cock without warning. He hisses as he feels your warm walls envelope him again. 

“Let me welcome you home again, hubby.”

[oakparchment]

No Nut November with Itzy

Male Reader x Yuna, MR x Lia, MR x Chaeryeong, MR x Ryujin, MR x Yeji

Length: 1,479 words

Tags: cumplay, edging, blue balls, creampie, facials, NNN, cum slut

Summary: How each member of Itzy handles you going through NNN (No Nut November).

AO3

A/N: For a NNN post this story has a lot of cum.

---------------------------------------

Yuna is a cum slut. Neither of you have any chance of surviving NNN.

After just the first day or so she’s already begging for it: “I’ve been a good girl, don’t you think I deserve to be fucked by your cock? Don’t you think I deserve to be painted with your cum?”All whilst looking at you with the wildest fuck me eyes and pushing her clothed tits into you.

Your will was simply not strong enough to resist Yuna when she gets like this, and so you give her what you both want. You nut on her, in her, sometimes both in the same day. Yuna turns No Nut November into something more like Never stop Nutting November. Her day isn't finished unless she gets at least one load, and you're more than happy to give it to her.

Oh well, maybe she'll be less cum hungry this time next year?

Fail.

Lia is very subservient to you during November and goes along with your whims. If you persevere throughout the weeks then she’ll support you along the whole way, doing her best to distract you whenever you get horny. When she feels you getting hard against her ass at night, she’ll turn over and make conversation instead. Or if she can sense you’re about to boil over, she’ll make plans for you both to keep yourselves busy.

But if you instead completely give in, then in a moments notice she’s either on her knees with her tongue out, or bent over with her lips spread apart, ready to use her own body purely to give you pleasure and to extract your cum.

Even when you’re tracking well throughout the month, it’s not like you can completely keep your hands off each other. She likes to suckle on your sensitive balls, massaging them in her mouth whilst you run your fingers through her hair and scalp. 

Schrodinger's Cat. Whether you succeed or fail is completely up to you.

When you present the idea to her, Chaeryeong goes along with it initially but quickly gets impatient and horny. When you’re home she’ll try to hide the fact that she's fucking wet to help you push through, but when you’re out she’ll send you nudes. Scandalous pictures of herself bent over in front of the mirror, her ass wide on display. Or an upwards angle that shows both her dripping wet pussy and her best ‘fuck me’ face. The messages under it read "Can't wait until this month is over so you can be inside me again" or “I've been a good girl and haven’t touched myself yet, can you tell?”

It’s obvious. She wants to break your will down so that you can pound her creamy little pussy and fill her up with cum. Chaeryeong tortures herself along with you, choosing to participate in NNN together, refusing to cum unless you both do. You reply back with videos of your 

You last a week, maybe even two if you're lucky, but you can only tease each other for so long before you find yourself racing through the door, bending her over before you even reach the bedroom. Fucking her on the floor like wild animals in heat. Her body quivers, milking your cock as you dump a massive load inside her. Chaeryeong's pussy is a creamy mess, yours and her cum oozing out of her hole.

Fail.

Ryujin's favourite month of the year is November. Apart from little teases here and there, she doesn’t touch you at all. The most you get is ‘accidental’ grazes of her hand on your hard-on as she walks past. Or when she stretches in bed at night and for one fleeting moment she grinds her ass into your bulge. If you try to initiate anything, or touch yourself, dommy Ryujin comes out. She’ll clutch your balls a bit too hard, or slap you just to let you know who’s in control.

Ryujin will make you watch as she rides on her thick dildo, saying things like “I know you wish I was bouncing up and down on your cock instead. You want to feel my pussy walls suffocating that pathetic throbbing cock, hmm?” From start to end, you have to watch Ryujin fuck herself whilst she humiliates you, and you’re not allowed to do anything about it. “This dildo probably feels better than you anyway, I’m glad I don’t have to feel you inside of me.” You are both well aware this is a blatant lie, but for the course of the month you grit your teeth and go along with it.

On the last day of November you’re so sensitive that even just playing with your balls sends shocks throughout your body, which Ryujin is acutely aware of. Without ever giving attention to your cock, she sucks and plays with your balls for what feels like an hour straight. You’re so touch deprived and tender that this alone eventually makes you cum. That’s right. Ryujin went through all of that just to make you lose NNN on the last day without even touching your cock. She’s a fucking cunt and she knows it.

Fail.

Yeji edges you, using you like a sex toy to get herself off without ever letting you finish. She'll suck you off or fuck you as usual, but anytime you get even remotely close to cumming she’ll stop. If you’re in Yeji’s mouth then she’ll release you from her warmth with a loud pop and then sit on your face. If you’re pounding away at her pussy then she’ll pull you out and finish herself off with a vibrator. You can’t do anything but watch as she squirts all over you.

Your balls ache. Badly. And the further into the month you go, the shorter your edging sessions last before you’re about to nut and she switches to getting herself off. Numerous times you get so damn close to spilling over, but she knows just how to ride the edge. The last week is torturous, and it makes going about the rest of your life difficult.

At midnight of December 1st, the month rolls over (a moment that you have been waiting for since the first night she edged you). Yeji is fast asleep but not even the world ending could stop you now. With your pulsing cock in hand, you pull her silk pajama shorts to the side and thrust balls deep. Yeji’s gentle breathing turns into high pitched moans, announcing that she's awake. You fuck her pussy hard and fast. This was never going to last more than a minute or two, you’re only after one thing here; to ravage her until you came. Now it was her turn to be nothing but a slutty little sex toy.

As much as you appreciate her, this past month of torture has also built up a small amount of resentment towards her that could not be ignored. It was something that you know will wash away as soon as you finally release this load. Wanting to punish her a little, you pull out and switch holes, fucking into her tight ass instead. Yeji groans deeply, but you slap her face and spit in her mouth in response. Given that she wore no panties and her ass was prepped, she clearly knew something like this would happen. How can she be such a good yet bad girl at the same time? After another handful of thrusts, your inevitable peak arrives. A blinding orgasm follows. The only reason you don’t black out is through sheer will of not wanting to let this nut go to waste after waiting 30 days. You pump a couple loads into her ass, then pull out and thrust back into her pussy. After sufficiently painting her guts white, you find your cock still spurting, so you jerk yourself off onto her abs, her tits, her face, and finally depositing the last few drops onto her stretched out tongue. You step back and admire your masterpiece. An entire month of your built up edging load lays inside and on Yeji, who looks up at the ceiling, panting with a wide smile and fucked out exprssion on her face. Her double creampie starts to drip out of both her holes. A trail of your cum spans from her stomach to her perky tits, and of course she also has what appears to be a full load of a facial despite all the cum throughout the rest of her body. She is a cum dumpster, through and through.

Would you go through all that again next November? Almost certainly not. But in this moment would you say it was worth it? Yeji licks up the cum around her lips whilst fingering your cum deeper into her, chasing her own nut.

Absolutely it was.

NNN with Yeji. Success.

A/N: If you're one of the people who chooses to participate in NNN, I hope this smut didn't make you cum. But then again if you're doing the challenge then should you really be browsing porn?

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #1 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: You lost your job, got cheated on by your boyfriend, and had to give up your home—all in the span of a few weeks. Life hasn’t been kind lately, and just when it feels like you’ve hit rock bottom, your mom suggests an unexpected solution: move in with Seokjin, her friend’s son, who you vaguely remember as your annoying childhood rival. You haven't talked to him in like 15 YEARS. But begrudgingly, you agree, hoping for this to be a temporary fix, only to find yourself in a more complicated situation when you discover Seokjin has some dirty little secrets. As you attempt to rebuild your life under his roof, tensions rise, boundaries blur, and you’re forced to confront not only your messy circumstances but also your growing fascination with the man you thought you once knew. note: i actually didn't plan to drop something so soon post me starting my new job, but i had this mostly done but had to edit it up a bit. i've been debating to write a roommate au but couldn't decide which member, until i read @daegudrama's moon over flowers fic where jin is a "content creator" ;) also that jin dating simulator game that released yesterday was a perfect combo to add this with warnings: mild language, roommate! seokjin, stressed out reader, fluff, emotional vulnerability, jin being jin, jin's college frat buddy! namjoon cameo, drinking, implied sexual fantasizing, implied adult content live streaming (camwork), very descriptive solo mast*rbation, voyeurism, dirty talk drop date: November 28th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 7.9k crossposted on ao3 here -> chapter 2

–

This is the state of affairs of your life at the moment. 1. Your boyfriend cheated on you. 2. You lost your job (not your fault) 3. Andddd now you have nowhere to live.

Well… it’s not that you don’t have a place to live, but you don’t want to crawl back to your parents' home after making a very big declaration when you were 18 that you would not be coming back to live there. 

Now in your mid 20s (that are slowly creeping into your late 20s), you regret being that loud mouth girl that didn’t understand a damn thing at that age.

You should’ve been smarter about your decisions, starting with your taste in men. You should’ve listened to your friends warnings about Mingi. 

You’re on the phone listening to your mom scolding you over your stupidity and lack of preparedness. You roll your eyes as you continue packing your items into boxes. She suggests you coming home, just as you figured she’d do, but you tell her that you feel bad about coming back at your big old age. “Then why don’t you live with Sunghee’s son?”

Who the fuck is Sunghee? “Who?”

“You don’t remember? The mother of the Korean boy you went to school with in elementary school?” You have no clue who she’s talking about. This is something that happened like 15 to 20 years ago. You can’t believe she remembers something so obscure. “I still don’t have a clue.”

“Agh, i’ll go search through some of your old elementary school photos and send you the photo of him later.” You hear some shuffling on her end, probably guessing she decided to get up and go look at your old photographs in the living room shelves.” But I recently saw his mom at a coffee shop! And she told me her son was living in the same city as you and was looking for a roommate. I mentioned that you were in some situation where you might need to move soon and she gave me her and her son’s contact info.”

“I see.”

“Oh wait, hold on, I found it.”

You hear her snap a photo and within a few seconds, you see the notification on your phone peep behind the call. You click on it and when you open the message, the memories of long ago have finally clicked.

“SEOKJIN?! That weird Korean kid?!”

“Weird kid?! You were friends with him, weren’t you?”

You scoff, “Barely, I mean, he and I were always at each other's necks because he always tried to one-up me in any way that he could.” Recalling those annoying memories from that era was making you get upset all over again. If it wasn’t him completing the times table tests at a faster speed than you, it was him showing off the Pokemon cards that you didn’t have. If it wasn’t that, it was him showing off his level and ranking in Maple Story. That damn nerd.

It’s been years, but the thought of it still urks you.

She sighs, “Well, if you’re willing to look past that at your big old age, this is probably the best option you have.”

Could you do that? Maybe. But knowing how he was back then, he’s probably grown to become some loser virgin shut-in with no life. Maybe he’s a tech bro, which would make this even worse now.

“I think about it, but this is probably the last resort option I’d even consider––”

Your mom cuts you off with a sharp sigh. "Fine, suit yourself. But you don’t have many options, do you? Just call him. He might have changed!"

You don’t answer her right away because the idea of calling Seokjin still doesn’t sit well with you. You’re stubborn, yes, but the universe has also served you a big slice of humble pie lately. It’s probably time to stop holding on to petty grudges from a childhood you barely even remember.

"Okay, okay, I’ll think about it," you mumble reluctantly.

The call ends after a few more half-hearted lectures from your mom about responsibility, and you toss your phone onto the bed, glaring at the contact info she forwarded. You can’t help but click on Seokjin’s number. There’s a photo of him attached to the contact, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him at all.

He’s…hot.

You blink. This cannot be the same kid you argued with over best MapleStory boss (Seokjin opting for Pink Bean, while you said Guardian Angel Slime). The Seokjin in this picture has flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, and full lips curled in a smirk that screams confidence. His hair is styled perfectly, and his outfit—a crisp button-up and a fitted blazer—makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

"No way," you mutter under your breath.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself typing his name into Instagram. It doesn’t take long to find his profile because he has mutual followers and a blue checkmark.

Huh? Why a blue checkmark?

…he has 200,000 followers?

Scrolling through his posts, you see screenshots of video games, clips of intense gameplay, and the occasional selfie with gaming equipment in the background. His captions are filled with gaming slang and memes you barely understand, but the sheer number of likes and comments on every post is undeniable.

One clip catches your eye—a short highlight from a League of Legends game where he pulls off an impressive play, and the comments are flooded with people hyping him up. “JinGod strikes again,” one comment reads. Another says, “Of course he’s the best mid-laner NA. Who else?”

Curious, you dive deeper and discover he has a Twitch account. 

Oh! So he’s a streamer?!

Not just any streamer, either—he’s big enough to have sponsors and a massive following. His Twitch bio is straightforward:

Seokjin | Variety Streamer | Big laughs, bigger Ws | 1 PM KST

His stream schedule includes games like Elden Ring, Valorant, League of Legends, and even Getting Over It. There’s a link to his YouTube channel with clips of him absolutely demolishing opponents, mixed with funny moments of him raging at frustrating games.

You stare at your phone, trying to reconcile this version of Seokjin with the kid you used to fight over the last Uncrustables sandwich at lunch. This Seokjin is smooth, funny, and clearly thriving in a world you know nothing about. The comment section on his posts doesn’t help—it’s filled with people thirsting over his voice and his “handsome gamer vibes.”

“Great,” you mutter. “He grew up to be a famous nerd.”

You hate to admit it, but you’re impressed. And irritated. 

Of course, Seokjin grew up to be that guy.

You put your phone down and stare at the pile of boxes scattered across your room. It’s not like you have a ton of other options, and if you’re being honest with yourself, the idea of moving in with Seokjin suddenly feels a lot less horrifying. Maybe he’s not the same insufferable kid you remember.

Or maybe he is, and this will be your worst nightmare.

Before you can chicken out, you force yourself to pick up your phone and dial the number your mom sent you. It rings twice before a deep, smooth voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi. Is this…Seokjin Kim?” you ask awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of how unprepared you are for this conversation.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“It’s, um, [Y/N]. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“[Y/N]?” he interrupts, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “The same [Y/N] who used to cry every time I beat her at anything in elementary school? Of course I remember.”

There it is! The Seokjin you cared about so deeply.

 “I did not cry!” You roll your eyes, grip on the phone tightening. 

He laughs, a low, rich sound that’s somehow both infuriating and…nice. “Sure, you didn’t. So, what’s up? Why are you calling me after, what, fifteen…twenty years? Where did you even get my num–”

You take a deep breath, already regretting this. 

“My mom said your mom said you’re looking for a roommate.”

There’s a pause, and then he says, “...I am. Why?"

"I need a place..."

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you think he’s going to hang up.

“Ah, well why do you need a roommate?” he asks finally, his tone careful, almost guarded. “I thought someone like you would have, I don’t know, a penthouse or something by now with the amazing corporate job my mom told me you have.”

Now this is going to suck to explain to him that whatever decent apartment you had earning a 72,000 salary at your old job is… nonexistent.

You blink at the assumption and quickly fumble for a response. “Haha, not quite. Most places are too expensive in this economy and I’m, uh, downsizing.”

“Downsizing?” he repeats, skepticism dripping from the word. “Why?”

“Because I want to focus on… minimalism.”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically hear him trying to decide whether to believe you. 

Oh this was a terrible decision to make. Now he must think you’re a fool!

You glance around your room at the boxes piled with all the clutter you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away and wince. Minimalism is definitely not your thing.

“Minimalism,” he echoes, his tone still doubtful. “Right. Well, I do have an extra room, but I’m not sure you’ll like it here.”

Your grip tightens on the phone. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Let’s just say I stay up late…,” he replies vaguely. 

He must be referring to his streaming career that he isn’t telling you about right now. Wonder if he’s embarrassed by it.

“And I don’t really have time to deal with a high-maintenance roommate.”

The audacity! You did not ask to be attacked right now.

The jab makes your jaw tighten. “I’m not high-maintenance!”

“You sure? Last time I checked, you were the type to lose it over someone messing with your stuff.”

“That was elementary school! I’ve grown up since then.”

“Hmm,” he says, the sound light but still noncommittal. “We’ll see. Come check the place out tomorrow. Noon okay?”

You pause, thrown by his sudden shift. So he’s actually down with you as a roommate? Let’s not get high hopes up now. And if that doesn’t work, you know what? That’s okay.  You will find a way… you hope.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates before adding, “And bring references.”

“References?!”

“You can never be too careful,” he replies smoothly, but there’s a faint edge in his voice that you can’t quite place.

“Fine,” you snap, already planning to forge something if necessary.

“Great. See you then.”

The call ends before you can say anything else, leaving you staring at your phone. Something about the conversation feels… off. You can’t tell if it’s his hesitance, the cryptic mention of odd hours, or the subtle curiosity in his tone when he asked about your situation.

Or maybe it could be that it’s been around 15 years since you last talked to him so this entire situation feels like a fever dream.

Whatever it is, you’ll find out tomorrow. One way or another.

The next day arrives quicker than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a massive gated complex that looks like it was ripped straight out of a luxury lifestyle magazine. The building towers above you, a blend of sleek modern design and Mediterranean touches. Creamy stucco walls, wrought-iron accents, and lush greenery climbing up the sides of the buildings make it feel more like an exclusive resort than an apartment complex.

The entrance is lined with tall palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, and the scent of freshly mowed grass mingles with the faint floral fragrance from meticulously arranged garden beds. A stone fountain, its water cascading in perfect tiers, sits in the middle of a circular driveway where luxury cars are parked like they belong in an auto show.

You glance down at your outfit, a simple pair of light wash boyfriend jeans and a blue collared sweater, suddenly feeling underdressed.

“He’s living here?” you mutter under your breath, squinting at the address Seokjin sent you last night again to make sure you’re in the right place.

As you shift awkwardly with your bag slung over your shoulder, the wrought-iron gates buzz, and Seokjin steps through.

If the apartment complex wasn’t enough of a surprise, he certainly is.

Gone is the awkward kid from elementary school, and in his place is a man who seems perfectly at home in his expensive surroundings. Dressed casually in a fitted white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and a pair of ripped jeans that look way too good on him, Seokjin walks toward you with an easy confidence. His dark hair is styled effortlessly, and even from a distance, you can see the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“[Y/N],” he calls out, his voice smooth and unmistakably amused.

You shift your bag again, suddenly hyper-aware of how you must look standing there in front of the grand gates. “Seokjin,” you reply, your voice coming out a little more clipped than you intended.

As he approaches, he looks you over, his smirk growing wider. “You’re on time. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe because I’d be the last person you’d want to ask for help.”

“Desperate times,” you shoot back, ignoring the way his eyes glint in amusement.

Seokjin chuckles and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on, let’s see if you can survive the tour first.”

He leads you through the gates, where a polished path lined with greenery opens into the main courtyard. The sound of water trickling from another fountain fills the air, and you catch glimpses of the complex’s amenities—an infinity pool that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel, cabanas with flowing white curtains, and a fitness center with floor-to-ceiling glass walls showcasing state-of-the-art equipment.

“This place is ridiculous,” you say under your breath, craning your neck to take it all in.

Seokjin glances back, his smirk still in place. “You’re not wrong. But wait until you see the inside.”

As you step into the lobby, you’re greeted by marble floors that gleam under the warm glow of chandeliers. The air smells faintly of citrus and something luxurious you can’t quite place, and the concierge greets Seokjin with a polite nod as he leads you to the elevator.

“You’re really living the dream here,” you say, unable to hide the note of disbelief in your voice.

He shrugs, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “With the jobs I have. it has its perks.”

The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you catch a glimpse of the hallway—plush carpeting, modern art lining the walls, and soft lighting that makes everything feel impossibly serene.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping out and turning to look at you.

You hesitate for just a second before following him. “As I’ll ever be.”

Seokjin leads you down the hallway, his footsteps silent on the plush carpeting. You’re still processing how this guy, the same kid who used to shove his Pokémon cards in your face, is living in a place so fancy it makes your last apartment look like a broom closet.

“This is my place,” he says, stopping in front of a sleek black door with a digital keypad instead of a regular lock.

He types in the code, the lock clicks open, and he pushes the door wide to reveal his apartment.

Your first thought is that it’s huge.

The open-concept living room stretches out before you, its floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with natural light. The view outside is stunning—a panoramic sweep of the suburban city skyline and the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Inside, the place is immaculate, every piece of furniture modern and deliberately chosen. The couch is a neutral gray sectional big enough to seat a small crowd, and there’s a massive TV mounted on the wall, flanked by minimalist shelves filled with what looks like expensive collectibles and gaming gear.

The kitchen is just as impressive, with marble countertops, a matching backsplash, and stainless steel appliances that gleam under the recessed lighting. A sleek island with barstools separates the kitchen from the living room, and you can’t help but wonder if this is where Seokjin spends his time making whatever expensive coffee you saw on his Instagram feed.

“Well?” he says, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers near the door. “Don’t just stand there gawking.”

You snap your mouth shut and step in, slipping out of your shoes and placing them neatly next to his. The polished hardwood floors feel cool under your socks, and you hesitate, unsure where to stand.

“It’s… nice,” you say finally, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Seokjin chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got? Most people would be drooling right now.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he says, his grin widening. He crosses the room and gestures for you to follow. “Come on, let me show you where you’d be staying.”

He gestures toward the main living area, leading you down a short hallway on the left side of the apartment. “Your room would be down this hall,” he says, motioning for you to follow.

You step into the guest room as he opens the door. It’s spacious, with a queen-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens and a tall, minimalist dresser tucked against one wall. A sleek desk sits by a large window, which offers a view of the glittering cityscape and the ocean beyond. The soft gray walls and warm lighting make the room feel both modern and inviting.

“There’s an en-suite bathroom,” Seokjin says, pushing open another door to reveal a compact but luxurious bathroom with marble finishes and a rainfall shower.

“This is… nice,” you admit, turning to glance at him.

“Only the best,” he replies with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Your hall is completely separate from mine. My room’s on the right side of the apartment, so you won’t have to worry about me invading your space.”

He nods toward the opposite end of the living room, where another hallway extends. “My room’s down there on your left. I have a bathroom in front of it too. Oh. and you’d also have the laundry room and a storage closet near your side.”

You glance back at the main living area, noting the layout. His section of the apartment seems just as private, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved that you won’t be tripping over each other.

“It’s set up pretty well for roommates,” you say carefully, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Glad you think so,” he replies, leaning casually against the doorframe. “This room used to belong to a friend of mine. He was here for an internship a little over a year ago, but he didn’t stay long. Left everything the way it is in case other friends needed a place to crash.”

“That makes sense,” you say, looking around the room again. “So why are you looking for a roommate now?”

Seokjin hesitates for just a second, his eyes flickering toward the window. 

“Well, it would help with a couple of expenses,” 

Your brow furrows. Expenses? You glance around the luxury apartment, mentally tallying the rent for a place like this. With what you know about Seokjin’s successful streaming career—and the office job your mom mentioned—he’s probably doing more than fine financially. But you decide not to press him on it.

Instead, you nod. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“And…” He trails off, his expression softening. Oh, so he is going to explain. “I don’t know, as I’m getting closer to thirty, I guess it might be nice to have someone around. Keeps things from feeling too…quiet.”

The honesty in his voice surprises you, and for a brief moment, you see a different side of him. One that’s not teasing or smug, but… a little lonely, maybe.

You nod again, this time more slowly. “Fair enough. This does happen as we age.”

Seokjin straightens, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it came. “Anyway,” he says, his tone shifting back to its usual playful edge. “We can talk about me more later.”

He gestures for you to follow him back toward the living room.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk first?” he continues, his smirk fading slightly as his expression turns unreadable. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page before I let you move in.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

You follow him to the couch, your curiosity about his reasons for taking on a roommate still lingering in the back of your mind. 

As you settle onto the couch, Seokjin sits across from you in a sleek armchair, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. It’s like he’s studying you, trying to piece together the situation without asking directly.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “I already know you lost your job.”

You freeze. The words hang in the air, and your stomach sinks.

 “How do you know that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “My mom told me earlier today. She’s the one who convinced me to even think about this arrangement.”

Heat floods your cheeks, embarrassment prickling at your skin. Of course. Your mom couldn’t just leave you well enough alone so she told his mom.

 “Oh,”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, likely noticing your discomfort. “Things happen, you know? Besides, knowing you, you probably have some savings tucked away to cover rent, right?”

His words hit harder than he probably intended. Sure, you’ve got a little money saved, but it’s dwindling fast. The thought of handing over any of it feels like admitting defeat, a glaring reminder that you’re not where you thought you’d be at this point in your life.

As Seokjin keeps talking, his tone casual and reassuring, his words blur into the background. You’re trapped in your own thoughts, spiraling.

How did it come to this? 

Broke, jobless, and now sitting here asking for a place to live like some helpless kid. You remember being so confident, so sure of yourself when you left home. You went through grueling years of studying finance in college and graduating. Now you’re here, facing the reality that you’re nowhere near where you thought you’d be.

It’s just so pathetic.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear slips down your cheek and lands on your hand.

Seokjin stops mid-sentence. “Hey,” he says softly, his voice cutting through your haze. “Are you… crying?”

You wipe at your face quickly, but it’s no use—the tears are falling faster now, and you’re too overwhelmed to stop them. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, mortified. “I don’t even know why—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts, his voice gentle in a way you didn’t expect. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you carefully. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head, still swiping at your cheeks. “This is so stupid. I just… I hate being in this position. It’s not where I thought I’d be, and it’s just…” You trail off, your voice breaking.

For a moment, Seokjin doesn’t say anything. Then, he reaches for a tissue box on the coffee table and holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says simply.

You take a tissue and dab at your face, trying to pull yourself together.

“I get it,” he says after a pause, his tone softer now. “Life doesn’t always go how we plan. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Really?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. But you’re not alone, okay? And if you need a place to figure things out, I’m offering you one. No strings, no judgment. But knowing how you’d feel bad for not paying back, just pitch in for some groceries or takeout every once in awhile.”

His words hit you harder than the tears, and you feel a small spark of hope for the first time in a while. Maybe, just maybe, this could work out.

You take a deep breath, the tissue in your hand crumpled from how tightly you’ve been gripping it. “Thanks, Seokjin,” you say, your voice shaky but genuine.

He gives you a small smile, his usual teasing edge softened. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just don’t leave your dirty dishes in the sink, and we’ll be fine.”

A faint laugh escapes you, surprising even yourself. “I think I can manage that.”

He stands up, stretching his arms overhead before motioning toward the hallway. “If you need help with your stuff, just let me know.”

You nod, feeling a little more grounded. “I will.”

The next morning, you’re standing outside your old apartment building, the last of your boxes stacked neatly by the curb. Before leaving the day before, you did ask Jin if he could help you move some of your stuff, and he somehow kindly agreed.

You’ve barely had time to double-check everything when you hear the rumble of a truck pulling up. Turning toward the sound, you see a sleek gray Ford truck roll to a stop in front of you.

Seokjin hops out of the driver’s seat, dressed casually in a lavender hoodie and dark wash jeans, looking every bit the picture of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. On the passenger side, another guy climbs out, taller and broader than Jin, with dimples flashing in a warm smile.

Woah, he’s kind of cute.

“Morning,” Seokjin calls, striding toward you. He gestures to the other man. “This is Namjoon. He’s here to help out with the heavier things.”

“Hi [Y/N],” Namjoon says, his voice deep but friendly as he extends a hand. “Jin told me you needed an extra set of hands, so here I am.”

You shake his hand, still a little taken aback. “Thanks. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.”

“He’s an old college buddy,” Seokjin explains, leaning against the side of the truck. “We were in the same professional fraternity back in the day. That’s how we met.”

Namjoon chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, Jin somehow convinced me to join since we were floormates. Said it would look good on my resume. Ended up being one of the best decisions I made, though. The networking was great, and we had a lot of fun.”

“Too much fun,” Seokjin adds with a smirk. “I think we spent half our time organizing events and the other half trying to keep Namjoon from breaking stuff.”

Namjoon groans, his dimples deepening as he laughs. “Okay, that was one time—and it wasn’t even my fault!”

You find yourself smiling at their bickering and brief memory despite the stress of the day. Their banter feels easy and natural, a dynamic that’s comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s nice to hear Jin had a pretty cool college experience.

“Well,” Namjoon says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started. The sooner we load this up, the sooner we can get everything settled.”

Between the three of you, the boxes are loaded into the truck in no time. Namjoon lifts the heavier ones like they’re nothing, while Seokjin teases him about showing off. You carry the smaller items, grateful for their help and relieved that the process is moving quickly.

Once the last box is secured in the truck bed, Seokjin glances over at you. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “Yeah. I’ll follow behind you guys with my car.”

As your car and his truck pulls away from your old apartment, you find yourself feeling a little lighter. It’s still hard to believe this is your life right now, but it doesn’t feel quite as overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, this new chapter won’t be so bad after all.

The move-in process is exhausting but efficient. Seokjin and Namjoon take charge of the heavier boxes while you focus on the smaller ones. Your room starts to take shape, with your bed frame set up in one corner and your essentials arranged along the walls. The other boxes you don’t need immediately are stacked neatly in the living room, ready to be taken to your parents’ place for temporary storage later.

After two hours of hauling, unpacking, and arranging, the three of you are sweaty and starving.

“I think that’s everything,” Namjoon says, leaning against the couch and wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Pizza?” Seokjin asks, already pulling out his phone.

“Pizza,” you and Namjoon echo in unison.

“And chicken wings,” Namjoon adds with a grin. “We earned it.”

“And beer,” Seokjin finishes, smirking. “That sounds good to you?”

You nod happily.

Within half an hour, the smell of pepperoni, garlic, and fried chicken fills the apartment. The three of you gather around the coffee table in the living room, the TV playing 30 Rock quietly in the background. You sit cross-legged on the rug while Seokjin and Namjoon sprawl on the couch, all of you diving into the food like it’s the best meal you’ve ever had.

“So, Namjoon,” you start between bites of pizza, “what do you do now? Not breaking stuff as Jin mentioned, right?”

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that makes you smile. “Thankfully, no. I’m working in publishing now, managing creative projects. Still a little chaotic, but at least it’s not as physically dangerous.”

“Only mentally,” Seokjin teases, raising his beer.

“True,” Namjoon admits, clinking his bottle against Jin’s.

“What about you?” Namjoon asks, turning the attention to you. “What do you do?”

You hesitate, picking at the crust of your pizza. “I worked at a fashion company, but the company underwent some layoffs. So this is kind of…a transitional period for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s been a tough market, but with your focused attitude and experience, I’m sure you’ll find something new soon.”

“I hope so.”

After a few more slices and some casual conversation about work, gaming, and travel, the beers start to settle in. The atmosphere grows looser, and the conversation takes a turn into more, juicier topics.

“So,” Seokjin begins, leaning back against the armrest with a mischievous grin. “Getting into a more interesting topic…Relationships. What’s the story there?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “All of a sudden? Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

“It’s not a setup. We’re just curious. Plus easy topic to become closer.”

Namjoon chuckles, “Don’t bring me into this, Jin,” 

“Well…” You pause, debating how much to share. The buzz from the beer nudges you toward honesty. “Without going to deep into it, let’s just say my last relationship ended badly. Cheating, lies, the whole package.”

Seokjin winces. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” you admit, swirling your drink. “But honestly, it’s probably for the best. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without dealing with that kind of drama.”

Namjoon nods thoughtfully. “It’s hard to find someone who’s actually worth your time these days. Everyone’s either too focused on themselves or doesn’t know what they want.”

Seokjin chuckles, a slightly bitter edge to his tone. “Or they’re just not ready to commit, no matter how much they say they are.”

You glance at him, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. “Speaking from experience?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “I plead the fifth.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t press further. You decide not to either.

“What about you, Namjoon?” you ask, redirecting the spotlight. “Any tragic love stories to share?”

He grins, shaking his head. “Nothing tragic, thankfully. Just a lot of learning experiences. I’ve been too focused on work to really put myself out there lately.”

The conversation continues, flowing easily despite the heavy topic. As the night stretches on, you find yourself feeling unexpectedly comfortable. Seokjin and Namjoon’s company has been a comfortable change of pace from prior weeks of being alone and dealing with the aftermath of your ended relationship and job. Being all alone with your thoughts hasn’t been easy. Lost in a whirlpool of negative thoughts. And with your closest friends, Yunjin and Wendy, living miles away, even leaning on them hadn’t been an option.

But for the first time in a while, you could even say you feel happy to be around others.

The clock on the wall creeps past 11:00pm, and Namjoon glances at his phone with a small sigh. “I should probably get going before it gets too late.”

“Already?” Seokjin teases, though his tone is more playful than serious.

Namjoon chuckles. “Some of us have a really early morning commute tomorrow, Jin.” He stands, stretching his arms overhead before reaching for his jacket. 

“I do too, you know!”

“But hey, this was fun. I’ll definitely swing by again. I’ll see you for your monthly Marvel movie nights, right?”

Seokjin grins. “You know it. You can’t miss those!”

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Let me know when the next one is.”

You and Seokjin walk him to the elevator, chatting casually as you descend to the ground floor. Outside, the air is cooler, a light breeze stirring as Namjoon’s Uber pulls up to the curb.

“Thanks for helping out today,” you say, offering him a grateful smile. “I don’t think we could’ve done it without you.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies warmly. “And welcome to the apartment. I’m sure Jin’ll keep things interesting for you.”

Seokjin snorts. 

Namjoon smirks. “See you both soon!”

With a wave, Namjoon climbs into the car, and you watch as it drives off into the night.

You and Seokjin linger outside for a moment, the hum of the city quieting as the car disappears from view.

“Well,” Seokjin says after a beat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess it’s just us now.”

“Looks like it,” you reply, feeling a strange mix of ease and uncertainty.

Well you did just unload some emotional baggage about your shitty past relationship earlier. The alcohol running through your veins isn’t helping either.

“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the entrance. “Let’s get back inside. You’ve had a long day.”

You follow Jin back to the apartment, the soft hum of the elevator ride and the quiet hallways lulling you into a peaceful state. Once inside, the two of you automatically start tidying up the coffee table and living area, picking up empty beer bottles, wiping down surfaces, and folding the napkins that had been left scattered. It’s a quiet, easy rhythm, and before long, the space looks just as pristine as when you first arrived.

“I think we’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”

You nod, stifling a yawn. “Agreed. Thanks again, Jin… for everything.”

He shrugs, his expression light but genuine. “Don’t mention it. Get some rest, Roomie.”

You laugh, “Will do.”

With that, Jin heads down the hallway to the right, disappearing into his room. You make your way to the left, to your room, the soft padding of your steps on the hardwood floor the only sound.

Once inside, you close the door and lean against it for a moment, letting the day’s events settle in your mind. Your room is still sparse, with only the basics unpacked, but it feels cozy enough. The bed, made with fresh sheets, beckons invitingly, and your unpacked boxes wait patiently in the corner, reminding you there’s more work to be done tomorrow.

You slip into something comfortable, wash your face, and settle under the covers. The bed is surprisingly soft, the kind that you could sink into and never leave. But despite the exhaustion tugging at your body, sleep doesn’t come right away.

Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to Jin’s easy demeanor since you’ve started talking to him again. His kind words. His quick, charming smile and laughter. His height—tall enough that you had to tilt your head to look him in the eye. And those plump lips of his…

Huh? No, no wait a minute!

You blink at the ceiling, catching your thoughts veering dangerously south. What the hell is wrong with you? Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s the fact that kindness from a man feels so foreign after everything you’ve been through. Whatever it is, your brain is doing laps around something you absolutely should not be thinking about.

Gross. Stop it. You scrunch your face in frustration, trying to shake the image of Jin’s stupidly handsome face from your mind.

This is Seokjin, your childhood rival, the annoying kid who used to show off his stupid gaming collection and beat you at literally everything. That’s all he is. That’s all he’ll ever be.

He is just kindly letting you stay with him, but you know he’s going to be waiting for you to move out soon enough.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Sleep. That’s what you need. Just sleep.

With a groan, you roll over and pull the covers up to your chin, willing your thoughts to calm down. Eventually, you manage to quiet your mind, and your eyes drift shut. Slowly, the tension in your body melts away, and for the first time in what feels like ages, you fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

It’s the kind of sleep that cradles you, soothing the jagged edges of your worries. The stressors in your life—the layoff, the breakup, the uncertainty of your future—haven’t disappeared, but for once, they feel distant, safely tucked on the backburner. This new chapter isn’t perfect, but at least one major burden has been lifted, and that’s enough for now.

Until it isn’t.

The urge comes on suddenly, pulling you from the cocoon of rest. You blink groggily, your senses slowly catching up to reality as you register the weight pressing against your bladder. Turning your head to the side, you squint at the clock on your phone: 2:33 a.m.

You need to pee.

You groan softly. Of course. Why wouldn’t your body choose the middle of the night to interrupt what was probably the nicest sleep you’ve had in months? Throwing off the covers, you shuffle out of bed and head for the bathroom, still half-asleep and stumbling in your room as you walk inside the en-suite bathroom.

The cool tile under your feet jolts you a bit closer to full consciousness. The soft hum of the apartment at night feels oddly soothing, even as you fumble to turn on the light.

After finishing up and washing your hands, you pause for a moment, the dryness in your throat making itself known. Great. Now you’re thirsty too.

The memory of Jin mentioning the case of bottled water he keeps under the kitchen sink stops you. Sighing, you quietly slip out of your room, padding into the darkened apartment.

The space is eerily still, the shadows from the streetlights outside casting faint patterns across the floor of the living room. You make your way to the kitchen, carefully navigating around the furniture, not wanting to stub a toe or knock anything over.

Opening one of the cabinet beneath the sink, you find the water bottle case Jin mentioned. The plastic crinkles as you grab a bottle, and you wince, hoping the noise doesn’t carry too far. Closing the cabinet as quietly as you can, you straighten up and twist the cap open, taking a long, refreshing sip.

As you stand there, your gaze drifts toward the living room and the hallway that leads toward Jin’s room. You notice light seeping from below the doorway. Is he still up? Shouldn’t he be sleeping? He did mention something earlier about needing to head into the office in the morning.

Well… maybe he’s streaming? Jin has been kind of hesitant to talk openly about his side hustle, but after your harmless sleuthing on his Instagram the other day, it makes sense to have this type of scheduling. His posts, the tags, the casual mentions of late-night work—it all points to streaming. And why not? No shame in being a streamer. Plenty of people are wildly successful doing it. And he’s probably catering to overseas fans in Asia during these hours.

You shrug to yourself. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not your business. 

Deciding not to overthink it, you turn to head back to your room. But after a couple of steps in the living room, a faint noise catches your attention.

You freeze.

A voice… soft, low, and unmistakably a moan.

Your breath hitches as the sound cuts through the stillness, sending your thoughts racing. What was that…?

Haha… you must be overthinking things.

For a moment, you stand there, unsure whether to move or pretend you didn’t hear anything at all.

But now, from this angle, you notice something else. Jin’s door isn’t fully closed. It’s very, very slightly ajar.

The realization makes your pulse quicken. You’re not sure why—it’s not like you were planning to barge in or anything. But the faint glow spilling from the room and that sound… it feels like you’ve stumbled into something you weren’t meant to witness.

Your eyes dart to the gap in the doorway, then back to your water bottle. Just go to bed, you tell yourself. Whatever Jin is doing is none of your business. You’ve already overstepped enough by loitering here in the middle of the night.

But your feet don’t move.

Instead, you find yourself stepping a bit closer, trying to make sense of what’s going on. The soft glow of a screen flickers against the walls, accompanied by faint, muffled sounds—another low moan, followed by a voice, Jin’s voice, quiet but distinct.

He’s probably just streaming, you reason, though your mind betrays you, replaying the noise you just heard. That didn’t sound like any gaming commentary you’ve ever heard.

Your curiosity battles with your better judgment. This is weird. This is weird. Go back to bed, you scold yourself. Yet, you find yourself taking a hesitant step closer, your bare feet silent against the floor.

Peering at the slight crack in the door, you catch a glimpse of Jin sitting at his desk, his back to the door. He’s wearing a loose-fitting hoodie, the hood pulled halfway up, and his headphones cover his ears.

You hesitate for just a moment too long, your eyes flickering back to the gap in the door. Jin shifts slightly in his chair, and that’s when you see it—his hand moving slowly, deliberately, along the length of his member.

Oh my god…

Your breath catches in your throat as the realization slams into you. 

You catch yourself lingering, unable to look away despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to turn back. Jin’s hoodie hangs loosely over his broad shoulders, the fabric shifting slightly with his movements. His hand moves with deliberate intent, wrapping firmly around his length as he strokes himself in a slow, unhurried rhythm.

The motion is mesmerizing, almost practiced—his grip tightening subtly at the base before sliding upward, then loosening as his hand glides back down. His fingers flex with precision, coaxing soft, breathy moans from his lips, barely audible but enough to make your skin prickle.

He shifts in his chair, angling himself slightly toward the camera, his movements smooth and calculated. His legs are spread comfortably apart, the outline of his frame illuminated by the soft glow of the monitor. The confidence in his actions is undeniable, as if he’s done this countless times before, every motion intentional and deliberate for the audience he can’t see but knows is watching.

Your heart pounds harder when his strokes pick up pace briefly, then slow again, teasing, calculated. His chest rises and falls in measured breaths, and every now and then, a low groan escapes, richer and deeper than the softer sounds he’s been making.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Jin murmurs suddenly, his tone smooth and teasing, almost playful. You jump up slightly from the sudden spoken words. His strokes grow a fraction faster, his hand tightening briefly before loosening again. “Bet you’ve been waiting all day for this.”

The faint click of his mouse follows, likely scrolling through the flood of comments. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and he tilts his head as if he’s reading something amusing.

“Oh, you want me to go slower?” he says, his voice dropping a notch, rich and deliberate. His movements follow suit, his hand sliding torturously slow along his length, eliciting a low groan from deep in his chest. “Patience. You’ll get what you’re asking for. Just keep watching.”

He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly, his free hand brushing over his thigh. “Such a needy audience tonight,” he adds with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock indulgence. “But I guess I can’t blame you. You love it when I take my time, don’t you?”

Your breath catches as you hear the faintest hitch in his voice, a sign that even he isn’t immune to his own ministrations. “Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs, his strokes quickening again as his chest rises and falls in heavier breaths. “Keep telling me what you want. I can’t get enough of it.”

The chat on his screen is moving so quickly it’s impossible to follow, but he clearly can. His responses are measured, tailored, and completely immersed in the moment.

“You’re spoiling me tonight,” he says with a breathy laugh, likely reacting to a particularly generous tip or comment. His hand slows again, teasing, his thumb brushing over the tip of his length in a way that draws a soft, shuddering groan from his lips. “Guess I should return the favor, huh?”

His voice lowers further, almost a whisper, intimate in a way that makes your heart pound. “Let me know how much you’re enjoying this,” he says, his words melting into another low moan. “Because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Your pulse races as you watch him lean back slightly, adjusting his position to maintain his pace, his focus entirely on the screen and the comments it displays. The intimacy of the scene feels almost overwhelming, and it’s enough to snap you out of your trance.

You step back, your breath hitching as you force yourself to retreat. Whatever this is, you weren’t meant to see it! 

And yet the image is burned into your mind as you close your door, your thoughts swirling in a storm of confusion, embarrassment, and curiosity.

Oh my fucking god… 

The soft click of the mouse breaks you from your trance, and you realize you’ve been standing there far too long. Before Jin can notice anything amiss, you step away from his side of the apartment as quietly as possible,  your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

You retreat down the hall to your room, shutting the door behind you with trembling hands. Leaning against it, you try to catch your breath, your mind racing. Jin, your childhood rival and now your new roommate, is apparently living a double life you never could have anticipated.

Never mind.

This new life that you’re living, will not be easy at all.

-

-

-

a/n: happy thanksgiving!! this is another very short series i plan to make with around 3-5 chapters. i'll keep brainstorming and slowly writing this along with my a(myg)dala fic series... but this is very brainrot not too heavy focus on plot so i probably won't take long to continue it compared to the other series hehe!! thank you all for the support and for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[soaps-mohawk]

So...

I've been doing some thinking about a couple of things.

This blog has grown considerably, even from its start and I appreciate each and every one of you so much. Your support never ceases to amaze me and I owe all of you a lot for giving me something to focus on this year instead of spiraling into insanity.

But

Things have gotten a tad bit overwhelming recently between trying to run the blog and trying to write. I find myself either having to ignore the blog to get writing done, or sacrifice writing time and energy to spend time on the blog and keep up with all the replies/reblogs/asks etc. Definitely not complaining, you all never cease to amaze me.

But, I am just one person and my brain only has so much power right now. So, I'm planning to take some (more) time off each week right now while I focus on writing and planning since we're getting into some serious plot stuff soon. So I'm planning to be on the blog three days a week for a while: Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday. That gives me some time to get some writing done as well as some time to rest my brain.

Saturday and Sunday of course to post the chapter and respond to replies and reblogs so I don't get super behind. Monday I'll have some asks queued up as well as maybe a few reblogs. I'll still use the queue Tuesday and Wednesday for reblogs/asks with spoilers as usual. Thursday I'll be on the blog answering asks from Monday - Wednesday as well as things I get that day. I'll queue up a few things for Friday since that day gives me a little break between to prepare for the weekend and posting the chapter.

I'll probably add more days as time goes on. You can still send in asks on the days I'm gone, but just know I won't see them or respond to them until later in the week. I already get behind by a couple days on asks anyway so that's not much of a change.

Don't feel bad for sending them either, I love getting all these asks, I just tend to get behind on days I spend more time writing.

The second order of business

has to do with my taglist. Most of you probably haven't noticed (which I don't blame you lol) but my taglist has gotten very big. Very, very big. It's just over 230 people right now, and I'm sure there will be others asking to join. It's quite time consuming to do all of these tags for every chapter (especially since we can't tag in blocks anymore) so I've been doing some thinking into how I can make it easier for me, and for you.

I know there's at least one blog I've heard of, though I'm sure there's more, that have made side blogs that they have people follow and turn on notifications for and just make a post on that blog when they post a chapter or fic, etc. I've been considering doing that since the taglist is a lot of work and time.

I've also seen blogs that have side blogs that just post chapters/fics and nothing else. I know quite a few of you only follow for the fic, so if anyone is interested, I could put together a side blog like that as well that you can follow and get notifications from instead of having to follow this blog and having to go through the probably 100 posts that I make a day 😂 (at least it feels that way for me)

Having a separate blog for the taglist too would allow me to schedule posts so I can have them come out a bit earlier than I get up for those of you across the world who stay up to read and have to wait for me to post in the morning when I get up (or later like today because I slept in). Of course Ao3 will get posted later because I can't schedule posts there, but at least for Tumblr I can have things post earlier.

So let me know what you think about the taglist side blog and the possible just chapters/fics side blog. Feel free to send in asks (anonymously or not) with your opinion. I might not answer them all (not tonight because my brain is fried and honestly i'm not sure if this is even comprehensible English) but I will at least use them to make the decision (or make a post with all of them and answer it as just one).

[pkg4mumtown]

Medicine at Midnight

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: A night out with Hotch and his team leads to either the best or worst mistake you could have made.

Content Warnings: smut 18+, alcohol, GN!reader (no Y/N), friends with benefits, strong language, first person POV

A/N: My entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Friends with Benefits Challenge. It also happens to be the first CM fic I’ll be posting but certainly not the last! I’m currently working on a multi-chapter Hotch x Male!Reader fic, so stay tuned. I’ve also added the playlist I used for Hotch inspiration at the end of the post.

Also available on AO3

I barely managed to enter my apartment and drop my gear to the floor when the shrill ringtone of my cellphone broke the otherwise pleasant silence.

Fuck. Me.

I plead to whoever is listening that it’s not my section chief calling about a case. I ripped the cellphone from my pocket, too frustrated to even look at the caller ID as I snapped out my last name.

“Rough night?” came the deep, soothing voice on the other end.

Oh.

“Hey, Aaron,” I sighed and relaxed. “Sorry, I thought it was another case.”

“It’s okay. Are you busy?” He asked and I could hear the slightest hint of hope in his voice.

“Depends on what you’re going to ask me and...what I’ll get in return,” I stressed. “I just got home.”

“I can promise free drinks,” he chuckled, the vibrations buzzing through to my end of the phone. “The team is going out and Dave just went out of town.”

Hotch doesn't need to say more than that for me to understand what he’s asking. He wants a social buffer and for free drinks I’ll do just about anything for him.

~

His team had helped the DC Field Office with a case that I oversaw about six months back. The case had quickly spiraled out of control with multiple unsubs, and I begged my chief to let us call the BAU in for help. While they didn’t swoop in and solve the case in a matter of days, they certainly got it back to a manageable position. What would have taken months of work was quickly cut down to two weeks.

Since it was still relatively local, Hotch’s team would go home every night and come back bright and early. One of the first nights with them on the case, I waved them goodnight; standing like I would be leaving shortly after them. As they disappeared out of sight, I sat back down and stayed firmly planted at my desk. I was still flipping through files over the umpteenth coffee of the day when soft footsteps stopped in front of my desk.

“You’re still here?”

Hotchner.

“Yea, I’m just...” I gestured vaguely to the files. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for anymore. Just hoping I can find something.” I gave him a tight smile as he hovered by my desk. His bag was nowhere in sight, so it was clear he had no plans to leave either.

The grim smile on his face confirmed that he was doing exactly the same.

“I’m sure he's waiting for you at home,” he nodded to the picture on my desk as I went back to looking at the files in front of me.

“That’s my cousin,” I stated without having to look. “No one’s waiting for me, I promise you that. Plus, you don’t seem like you’re leaving either, so...”

“Got me there,” Hotch smirked, shifting his weight nervously as I paid half-attention to him. “I won’t snitch if you won’t? My son is with his aunt, so my apartment is a little depressing.”

At that confession, I looked back up at him as his expression turned crestfallen.

“Deal. You can pull up a chair, if you want.” I suggested, seeing that the floor was pretty much empty now and it seemed cruel to make him sit by himself wherever we were able to stuff his team on the cluttered floor.

This went on for the next two weeks that the BAU worked with us and each night the ice broke a little more. That extra hour or two after the team left progressed from talking about the case to talking about ourselves. It was surprisingly easy considering his personality on a case, but once his defenses came down, he was more relaxed and even threw in a smile that I began to notice was quite rare.

I began noticing his nearly imperceptible antics when he was stressed. His tight expression would feign focus but his white-knuckled grip on whatever was in his hand told a different story. I caught myself pressing a finger to his tight fist throughout the day, making him aware of what he was doing before removing my fingers as soon as his fist loosened. At some point, he stopped straining his hand muscles, but I’d feel his finger pressing firmly against one of mine whenever he was near me. It was usually brief, just enough to feel the ridges on each other’s fingers before his touch was gone.

After the case was over, I never expected to hear from him. Hotch’s number stayed saved in my phone from the case, but never once did I expect to see it flash across my screen while driving home one night. Drinks became a nearly weekly occurrence between the two of us—provided neither of us were on a case—and while nothing more ever happened, I couldn't tell what his endgame was. We chatted about the weeks we both had, family, sorrows—all of it—all the while our hands pressed against each other just to feel another person.

I chalked it up to anxiety for him and loneliness for myself.

~

Despite our nights out together, we never went out with his team, and I hadn't seen them since the case all those months ago. So, it was a little unnerving to accept his invitation. How would he explain us being on friendly terms now despite not knowing each other prior to the case? Would they even care? Does it even matter?

“Uh, sure. Where at? I just need to change,” I answered him.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty?” he asked, and I shouldn’t have been surprised at his need to drive by now.

Control freak.

“Okay.”

“See you soon.”

I changed into something more comfortable, but not too comfortable. I didn’t want to look like I wanted to stay home curled on my couch.

Even if that sounded heavenly right now. Hotch could come, too.

When Aaron sent a text to tell me he was here, I was out the door in a few seconds. The inside of his SUV lit up as I opened the door, revealing him dressed in a dark, long-sleeved sweater and jeans.

“Hey,” he greeted me as I climbed in.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

Once I was seated and buckled, I rested my arm on the center console next to his. His sleeves were pushed up to his forearms, his hair tickling my skin as he took off. At the first red light we hit, he adjusted the radio and brought his hand back down to land directly on mine.

He didn’t move it, and I didn’t want him to.

The air was thick with booze and sweat as we entered the bar. It was different from the one Hotch and I usually frequented, preferring something quieter and lower key than this one. It’s crowded, not surprising for a Friday night, but it sure did make it more difficult to locate his team. This time, I'm the one initiating contact, pressing two fingers into his palm as we approached where the team was tucked into a back corner booth. I removed my fingers before they noticed our approach.

“Hotch!” They all greeted him at varying levels of excitement with empty glasses already littering the table.

How long had they been here already?

Morgan had begun moving the team deeper in the booth to make room for us when I recognized a member of their team who I had only seen via a computer screen.

“Hey, nice to see you again,” I greeted everyone, having to raise my voice as the music battled with the overlapping conversations around us. “You must be Garcia,” I reached over and shook her hand as we slid in.

Her excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help myself from grinning as she spoke and reintroduced the team by first name. There were looks and eyebrows exchanged between the others as they likely wondered exactly what I’d feared, but none of them expressed their questions verbally.

“Drink?” I heard Hotch ask as a waiter came by and I nodded to him, knowing it’ll help my nerves.

I didn’t even need to tell him what drink to order at this point.

“Thanks,” I smiled and felt him shift closer to me until our legs were practically glued together.

It must have been my lucky day because the team kept the conversation topics relatively light as the night wore on. There were plenty of shots going around—Hotch only agreeing to have one with them in solidarity—coupled with food, a few spill mishaps, and raucous laughter. Hotch laughed and smiled with them but not nearly as loudly. He did surprisingly well anxiety-wise, so I wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted me here in the first place. I was having fun, though, and he’d insisted on paying for me, so I didn’t think too hard on it.

My hands were both above the table fidgeting with the condensation on my glass as we loudly discussed the current topic. Hotch tapped his fingers on his glass rhythmically with one hand while the other dropped below and landed on my leg. I jumped at the contact and hoped everyone was too inebriated to notice.

No dice.

Spencer's glassy eyes snapped to my movement briefly, JJ made eye contact across the table with Penelope, Emily stared me dead in the eyes, and Derek stared at Hotch. If I wasn't also in the same line of work, it might not have been so noticeable considering they hadn’t stopped the conversation.

Hotch played it off, slouching back against the booth and laughing at whatever Emily was recanting, looking a little more at ease with the touch.

Now, I notice the difference.

As nonchalantly as possible, he relaxed his arm, slipped his hand between my knees, and tucked his palm under my leg to cup where my hamstring met the bend in my leg. I could feel his warmth through my pants and the way his thumb obsessively traced the inner seam near my knee.

I almost thought they would ignore the way he was leaning noticeably closer, and I was sorely disappointed when Penelope spoke up after Emily finished.

Penelope's eyes were perceptive, and she leaned forward playfully while Derek leaned into her with his arm draped over her shoulder, “So, you two,” she began. Her eyes were twinkling with far too much mischief and now I believed every word from Hotch about how much trouble her and the man next to her got in to together, “You’re...?”

I grinned, laughing off her intrigue and kept my voice as steady as possible, “We’re friends.”

Derek in this state was even more blunt, teasing Hotch further with a smirk playing on his lips, “With benefits?”

Penelope gasped that he followed up with that line while the others hid giggles behind their drinks.

Hotch’s brow furrowed and he lifted his drink off the table as a flush rose up his neck to his cheeks. He took a sip while looking in my direction and I held his gaze. There’s a look I didn’t quite recognize there. “Without sex?” he finally said once he swallowed and set his glass down, “Then, what’s the benefit?”

The entire table erupted into laughter. Derek and Penelope were practically laughing on top of each other, Emily was laughing behind the hand clasped over her mouth with huge, surprised eyes, and Spencer was laughing into JJ's shoulder.

I was just as surprised as them and hadn’t broken eye contact with Aaron yet. His hand had reassuringly squeezed my leg as he smirked to let me know he was joking. With a challenging glint in my eyes, I finally responded as the laughter died down a bit. “My delightful company, asshole,” I shoved him with my shoulder. “And someone to talk to and...did I mention my winning personality?”

Hotch laughed, closing his eyes and leaned heavily back into me. He moved his hand from my leg to wrap his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side.

“Dick,” I murmured playfully through a fake frown.

Aaron just slid over a leftover shot as consolation.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, but the sudden mention of sex has me sweating underneath my clothes. Hotch’s heavy arm and sweater did nothing to help that. It wasn’t like I was unaware of his attractiveness; I was simply unsure of his intentions considering we had never spoke about our relationship. There were plenty of times I had to talk myself out of kissing him despite how easy it would have been, but the look in his eyes when he said that had me digging up all those thoughts again.

It wasn’t a terrible idea. We were both single, busy, and hung out enough as it was. I liked to think were both mature enough to handle something like that. I took another long swig of my drink with a deep frown that I didn’t realize was there.

“You okay?” he dropped his head to murmur close to my ear.

He snapped me out of my thoughts, and I gave him a reassuring grin, “Yea.”

The bar crowd grew thinner and thinner as time passed. Reid looked like he could fall asleep any second and JJ was the only barrier holding him up. The team soon rose, promising to take cabs home to reassure their boss that they were all responsible adults.

Derek gave Aaron one last sly smirk before following Penelope and the others. Hotch just shook his head at him with an amused sigh.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Aaron murmured once they were gone, his voice low now that the bar was much quieter than it was hours ago.

“Of course. It was fun,” I leaned my head on his shoulder.

Despite the absence of the others, he didn’t retract his arm, and my heart started pounding a little faster at the thought. His touch felt more intimate after all that and it made my thoughts race.

How much was I reading into this? How wrong was I? And did I want to do something about it?

“Ready to go? It’s almost midnight,” He asked.

I nodded, finishing my drink.

The drive back to my place was quiet and I fiddled with his hand the entire drive. Between that and my constant looking over at him, he definitely knew something was wrong.

“What’s on your mind?” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a quick glance but refocused his eyes back on the road immediately.

“Hmm?”

“You’re being weird. Is it what I said back there? Because I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he gave me his full attention once he pulled up in front of my building.

“No, no, you’re fine,” I squeezed his fingers. “Just a lot on my mind,” I sighed. I looked out at my apartment building next to us and pursed my lips.

Fuck it.

“You—uh—wanna come up?”

There was absolutely no other reason for me to ask that. He had to know why I was asking without me saying it outright.

Right?

My nerves were on fire and my mind raced with all the possibilities he could come back with. Silent, Hotch took a beat to think and reached for the keys in the ignition, “Sure.”

Oh.

I was hyper aware of Aaron’s presence as he followed me upstairs to my apartment door. My hands were practically shaking with anticipation as I fiddled with the keys. Once I was inside, I left the door open for him and heard him lock it behind me. The click cemented my determination on the matter.

“Make yourself at home,” I nodded toward the couch and started flipping lights on. “Want something to drink?”

“I still have to drive,” he declined, his eyes following me to the kitchen.

“You can always stay here,” I reached up into my cabinets for two glasses and poured a drink for myself and a scotch for Hotch.

“Is that so?” His voice rumbled behind me, much closer than he had been a few seconds ago.

When the hell did he sneak up on me?

I turned to face him, finding him far closer than I imagined. I passed him his drink, which he took a tall sip of, and I hurried to catch up.

That sip must have given him the courage he needed because he set the glass back on my counter and took another step forward. His hand found my waist with a light touch. It wasn’t hesitant by any means, but light enough to ask permission to continue. Unlike the nervous movements in his hands earlier, his hands were confident and intentional now.

“Is this okay?”

“—eah,” I struggled to say as my voice got caught in my throat.

Hotch took the glass from my hand and set it behind me, crowding what little space I had left. We were tense with anticipation as we both leaned in, giving each other enough time to back out. His nose brushed mine, then his lips, before he was fully pressed against me. His tongue flicked out making me gasp and open mine wider. My hands slid under his sweater, feeling his warm skin beneath my fingers. We stayed like that; exploring, consuming, devouring until there was a pause between us. The was air heavy with desire and our breathing.

As I caught my breath, I reached back and grabbed my glass, taking the opportunity to throw back the last of the liquid. Aaron did the same, keeping his eyes fixated on the way my lips wrapped around the glass. I left my glass on the counter and took his hand, tugging him toward my bedroom. I heard his glass clatter on the counter as he left it behind in a rush to follow me.

I threw him a look over my shoulder and tugged my top off, throwing it off to the side. Aaron didn’t need to be encouraged anymore further and ripped his hand out of mine to follow suit. Clothes and shoes were haphazardly discarded until there was nothing left between us. I barely had time to sift through my drawer for the essentials before he was grabbing me around the waist and tugging me onto the mattress. His mouth reconnected with mine, his fingers digging into the mattress as his hips ground down against mine.

“Fuck me, please,” I panted as soon as our mouths separated.

“Gladly.”

He blindly reached for the condom I tossed near him. Once he located it, his oversized fingers fumbled with the packaging. The task was eventually accomplished with minimal difficulty and only a couple giggles as he accidentally pinched himself. The laughter eased the butterflies in my stomach, and I hoped this wouldn’t fuck up whatever we had going for us prior to tonight.

Aaron quickly snatched the bottle of lube and coated his fingers generously. As his fingers pressed against my entrance, I whined in anticipation and wriggled my hips to get him moving. I watched his eyes flutter shut as he put more pressure, jaw dropping in concentration as he focused. As soon as his fingers breached, he couldn’t help himself.

I felt the wet heat of his mouth descend on me, his tongue swirling and lips sucking on my overly sensitive skin. I was torn between tilting my head back to enjoy the feeling and wanting to watch his mouth work. I finally decided to look down, my breath catching as I saw his eyes already trained on me through his lashes. His cheeks hollowed ever so slightly as he sucked making me reach to grab his hair for any sort of purchase. The noises that came from him were sinful and I eventually had to pull his head away once I felt myself ready.

“Need you, please,” I pulled him up to me, feeling him pull his fingers out gently.

We were both understandably impatient with the mix of alcohol and lust. He reached for a pillow with his clean hand and stuffed it under my hips for a better angle. With one last pass of lube over the condom, I felt the blunt press of him against me.

“I’ve got you,” his breath stuttered as he guided himself inside slowly.

My fingers dug into his shoulders as he bottomed out before moving down his back and urging him to go. I let out a moan of relief as his hips started moving, rocking into me slowly at first. Without warning, his mouth sealed over mine and swallowed the gasp I let out as he sharply thrusted, hitting exactly where I need him to.

“More,” I mumbled against his lips.

Aaron was efficient, even now, and repeated himself until I was a whining mess underneath him. He sat up, making enough space to slip his hand between us. I clenched involuntarily as his calloused fingers stroked me, bringing me that much closer to release.

“You feel so good,” he panted. “Squeeze me again.”

I do as he asked, squeezing around him each time he pulls out. The groans pulled from his chest only added fuel to the fire and I didn’t know how I ever survived without hearing them. My hands couldn’t stay still, moving from gripping his arms to running across his collarbone and chest.

“I’m gonna come, I—” I had cut myself off by bringing Hotch’s mouth back down to mine.  My muscles tightened as my release washed over me, fingers digging into whatever I can reach while I clenched around the cock still driving inside me.

Aaron removed his hand from between us, doubling down on his efforts to finish himself. His head tucked into my neck, giving me an even better opportunity to hear Aaron’s moans as he reached his orgasm. His hips stuttered as his release pulsed throughout his body, making him tremble in my arms. When he couldn’t handle the overstimulation anymore, he let himself slip out of me.

He let out a deep hum as we caught our breath, pressing one last kiss to my neck before pushing himself up to his feet. He cleaned himself with a grimace with me not far behind, eager to get the slick substance off my skin. I headed straight back to bed, flopping on the slightly sweaty sheets.

I’m too tired to fix that, I decided.

“I meant it, you can stay,” I mumbled in the dark as I heard his movement pause somewhere between the bed and the bathroom. “Don’t need you getting behind the wheel right now.”

“Mm, thanks,” his sleepy voice returned.

The bed dipped beside me and soon the length of his body was pressed against my back.

~

A sharp jolt pulled me out of my deep slumber. Through the haze I finally I heard the piercing ringtone of a phone. It’s not mine, I realized as I listen to it a second longer. The bed shifted next to me and frantic footsteps thudded across my floor as Aaron looked for his phone.

If he ended up with a case, it was going to massively suck for his hungover team.

“Hey, Jess,” he answered in a far less panicked tone than his feet originally suggested. “Uh, yea. Yea, one is good. Okay, see you then.”

He came back into the room with a more relaxed posture than when he left. He sat on the edge of the bed on the side I was still curled up on, watching him move with sleepy eyes.

“Just Jessica letting me know she’s dropping off Jack at my place at one,” he relayed.

A quick glance at the clock let me know it was only 10:00 AM, which wasn’t bad considering the night we had.

Aaron's hand found my ankle through the sheets, letting his hand glide up to my calf and back down. His face was contemplative though not as outwardly noticeable as the way I chewed the inside of my cheek.

He spoke first.

“That was,” he started, letting a smirk spread over his features, “fun.”

“It was. I…wouldn’t mind if it happened again.”

“Me either,” he punctuated with a squeeze of my calf.

There was a comfortable silence for a minute until he spoke up again, “I’m just—I'm not really looking to—.” He stopped and started again, “Since Haley died I—I’m just not...”

He didn’t have to explain to me the fact that his ex-wife slash high school sweetheart being murdered had done a number on his psyche. I didn’t blame him.

“I get it, Aaron. I’m not either. I’m way too busy and—I just don’t want to,” I replied. It wasn’t a total truth, but it also wasn’t a total lie. I was too busy but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.

For Aaron, though? I would take what he gave me.

He relaxed a little, his eyes a little sad and I wondered if he could see right through me.

I hope he didn’t.

“I should go,” he murmured, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek while the other side was pressed into my pillow.

When he pulled away, I turned my head to really look at him head on, not expecting him to come back down and kiss me again. This time on my lips, slowly and sensually; a far cry from the desperation last night.  When my eyes opened, he was already up and looking for his clothes.

“I’ll see you next weekend?” I rubbed my hands over my face, sitting up as he gets dressed.

He flashed me a look as if to say “obviously” and threw my discarded top at my face.

“Be careful,” I called after him.

“You, too,” he paused, patting his jeans to make sure all of his belongings were in order. When he was satisfied, he gave me a gentle smile and headed in the direction of my front door.

“Lock the door behind me!” he yelled back before opening the front door and shutting it behind him.

I rolled my eyes and flopped back over onto the bed on my side. I still smelled his scent on my sheets and wondered how I could have thought that this would be a good idea.

~

Ever get the feeling nothing else will do?

I could hear you singing

I can’t explain, I need

Medicine at midnight

But it ain’t no cure

Medicine at midnight howling

But it ain’t no cure

I may be sick but you know I’m yours

-Medicine at Midnight, Foo Fighters

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 7: Precautions

You and Joel deal with a growing threat as you prepare to take on a new role. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 6 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild violence. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.7k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Three Weeks Later 

“You remember your talking points, right?” Quinn asked, watching Ellie closely. “And all the rules?” 

“No,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve completely forgotten the four things you’ve told me because I’m fucking dumb.” 

“Hey,” you said, giving her a look. “C’mon, kid.” 

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Language. Yes, I know I can’t swear. I have to talk about how great Sissy is…” 

“You don’t have to,” you said, giving Quinn a look. “You should be honest.” 

“Then I’ll tell them all about how you make me do the stupidest homework and don’t let me stay up late and also don’t let me beat up people at school even when they deserve it,” Ellie said, smug. 

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “You can’t…” 

You cut her off before she got too far. 

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “Ellie, say whatever you think is best. However this interview goes, it’ll all blow over in a few weeks, anyway.” 

“Just try not to swear quite so much, kiddo,” Joel said, his arms crossed as he hovered between you and the front door, waiting for the reporters to arrive. “You and I both know you know better than that.” 

“But I like to fucking swear,” she smirked and Joel, you could tell, was trying not to smirk back. “But if Big Miller says so…” 

“Jesus,” Joel rolled his eyes. 

The doorbell rang and Quinn ground her teeth but went with Joel to answer the door all the same. 

This interview had been a last ditch effort on Quinn’s part. The media had latched on to the concept of Ellie’s existence and hadn’t eased up since the news broke. Photographers still showed up outside her school half the week, paparazzi camped outside the gym where you’d been training for Savage Starlight and would yell questions with Ellie’s name in them at you, there were several viral posts theorizing that you and Anna had secretly been lesbians and Ellie was your daughter together. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your breaking point. Quinn had the idea to offer up an interview to the biggest publications, one in your home where you posed for pictures and answered questions about Ellie, the adoption, Anna, the works. In exchange, they agreed to stop buying photos of you and Ellie as you went about your private lives in Austin. 

You hoped it worked. You didn’t want to have to uproot Ellie yet again. The whole reason you’d come to Austin to begin with was that Elise had retired here and you didn’t want to keep Ellie from the only blood relation she had left or ask Elise to move to whatever new place you decided to settle, especially if you’d just have to do this same song and dance again in six months to a year when the press found out where you were again. 

You were, at least, out of your brace now. It had been a close call on the interview date, Frank planning a few outfits for you - some designed to downplay the brace, others without worrying about it - just to be safe. But the fracture had healed well and quickly, not requiring a full cast or any extended time in the brace. You’d gotten permission to take it off at your follow up appointment a few days earlier and had been relishing your new-found freedom ever since. Your training for Savage Starlight was slated to pick up more now that you were healed but you were enjoying the small reprieve where you weren’t dealing with the brace and weren’t sore and exhausted every night. 

Once things calmed down with the paparazzi, though, you could handle it. You hoped, anyway. In part because, outside of all that, things had been going smoothly - even with your surly bodyguard. 

It was still a total mystery to you what he’d meant by keeping things “professional,” but things had definitely been that. Cool and distant, no more sitting next to each other by the pool late at night or sharing a drink now and then - things which seemed perfectly professional in your opinion but apparently weren’t for him. But, while he wasn’t wearing the watch you’d given him, he never snapped at you like he did the day you’d presented it to him, either. 

You took what you could get with him. It was a little disorienting, having someone treat you with such indifference - especially when he’d shown some basic, human care in the past. Not that you expected him to treat you the way everyone else did. You weren’t stupid, you knew that almost every person you interacted with every day treated you the way they did because you were famous and because you had a carefully crafted public persona that was only loosely tied to who you really were. They were either fans of someone who didn’t really exist but had your body and face and name or they wanted some proximity to your fame and all that came with it. Of course someone like Joel - who had to be around you all the time, whose job required him to move quickly regardless of your feelings - would treat you differently. But it still stung all the same. Anything short of the harshness he’d treated you with that day in your driveway felt like mercy and you were almost ashamed at how desperately you clung to that. 

“Hey,” you said to Ellie, reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Her eyes met yours. “I’m sorry about this. And you should know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can shut it down right now if you want.” 

She smiled a little tightly at you, giving your hand a small squeeze back. 

“I know,” she said. “But… this will make it all easier, right? They’ll leave us both alone and you won’t be as stressed?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you to do this because you’re worried about my stress level or…” 

“I know,” she cut you off, smirking a little. “But I’m also doing it for me. Fuck switching schools again, man.” 

 You laughed a little and rested your head against hers, taking a deep breath as you heard the distinctive sound of Quinn’s reporter wrangling voice from your entry way. 

“Well, now you’ll get an idea of what I do every day,” you said, lacing your fingers with hers. “See just how boring it is so you can tell all your friends at school that they don’t actually want to be movie stars when they grow up.” 

Ellie snorted. 

“Please,” she said. “I know you’re really off doing cool shit while wearing fancy clothes all the time. Definitely one big party, no work at all.” 

You laughed before getting up to go greet the reporter, slipping into the version of yourself that you shared with the press as you did.

The interview went surprisingly well. Quinn had handpicked the reporter so that wasn’t a surprise, a well known freelancer who didn’t ask anything too invasive. Ellie held her own, curbing her swearing (mostly, a few, more minor, curse words snuck in) and being her witty and charming self. The photographer posed the two of you together on your couch, by the pool with your guitars, by the kitchen island pretending to cook - even though you basically never did that yourself, anyway. 

Joel hovered the entire time. You could feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze sharp. He stayed at the back of the reporter and photographer the whole time they were in your house. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, his jaw set firm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, your hand going to rest gently on Joel’s back, when the photographer was focused on Ellie and the reporter was reviewing his notes. “You OK?” 

“Fine,” he grunted, glancing over at you. “Just tryin’ to do my job.” 

“It’s just a reporter,” you said, raising your brows and trying not to smile. “I don’t think they’re going to bite.” 

He just made a disgruntled sound and kept his eye on the visitors, his whole body still tense. 

He didn’t ease up until the reporter and photographer were gone and outside the gates of your property. 

“That was kinda fun!” Ellie said. “A lot of bullshit but not that awful.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

“Told you you don’t actually work,” she teased. You snorted and she turned her attention to Joel. “Hey Big Miller, wanna kill some zombies? I was playing a level the other night and getting my ass kicked, I could use another gun.” 

You glanced toward Joel, still worried that, at some point, he would decide he wanted to keep a professional distance from Ellie, too. She’d grown attached to your bodyguard over the last few months, not that she would ever admit it. She sought him out often to play video games or watch a movie. You could usually hear when she got home from school when he picked her up because she was still laughing at something he said when she walked in the door. 

It still surprised you, how the two of them had connected. You hadn’t expected a - presumably - single, childless man to have bonded with your brash teenaged niece so thoroughly. Had it been anyone else, it would have sent alarm bells ringing. You had plenty of reason to not trust the motivations of men, especially around teenaged girls, but there was something distinctly safe about Joel and his connection with Ellie. And she needed as many people to care for her as she could get. You didn’t want her to lose that because of some misplaced notion of propriety. 

“Been a minute since we went and messed up some undead,” he said, noticeably less tense now that the only people in the house were you, him, Ellie and Quinn. “Guess we should go show ‘em who’s boss.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said, punching the air. You didn’t scold her for her language choice, instead just smiling a little at the two of them as he settled into the couch and picked up the controller - the device looking oddly small in his large hands - before going to find Quinn in your office. 

“Ellie’s got some natural skill,” Quinn said, glancing up from the Emmy that functioned as a paperweight on your desk. “She’s smart, charismatic. Got a hell of a mouth on her.” 

“Tell me about it,” you snorted. “Aren’t you glad you usually only have to rein me in?” 

“Wrangling the two of you all the time would be a bit much,” she said. “I get the feeling you just feed off each other…” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “It used to be worse, back when I wasn’t actually responsible for her and we could just goof off and hang out. Drove her mom insane. I’m half surprised she wanted me to take her when…” 

You trailed off, a knot tugging at the back of your throat. 

“We won’t get any kind of prior article review,” Quinn said, sensing that you were ready to change the subject. “But I’m sure it’ll be positive. You gave them great shit to work with.” 

“Thanks,” you smiled, tightly. 

“So,” she said. “Ready for the fight choreo?” 

“Think so,” you nodded. “It’ll be weird, I think, but good. I hope good, anyway.” 

She hummed in agreement, nodding a little. 

“What?” You asked. “I feel like there’s something you’re not saying.” 

“Well, we have some timing updates and some new asks,” she said. 

“OK…” 

“They want you in LA a bit earlier than originally planned,” she said. “They’ve got the costume ready and they want to get you properly in it for a final screen test and fitting as well as for a few shots they can polish into a teaser trailer of sorts for the announcement at the con.” 

“Seriously?” You groaned. “When?” 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gaped. “Thursday is Thanksgiving!” 

“I know,” she said. “But they’re pretty set on this and it’s already a hell of a truncated timeline given your injury.” 

“Jesus,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Fine.” 

“They also want you to attend the premiere of Scarlet Sentinel after the announcement,” she continued.

“When the hell is that?” You asked. 

“The 11th,” she said. “Just a few more days, it’s not too bad.” 

“A few more days during the first Christmas after Ellie’s mom died,” you snapped.

“I know,” she said. 

“And they know what happened at the last fucking premiere, right?” You asked. “Because…” 

“They know,” she said. “But you and I both know with the timing of the convention and the announcement, your name is going to come up a lot on that red carpet. They figure, better to have you there to talk about it yourself than leave it to someone else.” 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m coming back on the 12th. This damn movie had better be worth it.” 

“Just think of all the little girls who will have a badass superhero to look up to because of you,” she smiled a little. “And remember that you’re the one who wanted me to chase this role for you.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know. I’m guessing I’ll have my grumpy shadow for this whole adventure?” 

“After what happened at the last premiere?” Quinn scoffed. “Absolutely.” 

You sighed, frustrated both at the situation and yourself. Part of you was glad that Joel was coming, his presence making you feel more protected than anyone else’s - including the guards who filled in when he was off. But you knew this trip was going to make both of you miserable. 

Another few weeks in Los Angeles with Joel. Perfect. Just perfect. 

***

Joel ground his teeth, his head on a swivel. 

Was there ever going to come a time that he wasn’t tense and frustrated when it came to you? 

He doubted it. 

There was something inherently frustrating about you. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was but it was absolutely there. 

Maybe it was that you were insufferably, disturbingly stubborn. Maybe it was that the whole fucking world seemed drawn to you. Maybe it was your ceaselessly annoying habit of underestimating any potential threat when it came to yourself. 

Maybe it was the fact that, in spite of his request for professionalism and his newfound practice of trying to shove some distance between the two of you, he was just as drawn to you now as ever. Even though you were a bad idea, even though you terrified him, he had to fight to keep himself away from you. 

He had to force himself to stay in his room when sitting at your house instead of seeking you out. He had to stop himself from thinking about you in ways he fucking knew he shouldn’t, stop himself from searching your name on Google when he was aching and desperate and couldn’t think of anything else. On the rare occasions he wasn’t near you - when he was taking Ellie to school or on his mandatory days off in between stints of protecting you - he’d see something that would remind him of you and have the strange urge to text you about it. As though he’d ever texted you about anything besides business, as though you were friends. As though he was anything at all to you. 

Now, he was stuck sitting outside where you were doing some kind of fucking training for that damn movie. Fuck if he knew what it was, all he knew was that he’d tried to talk you and the trainer - some musclebound jackass named Alan who looked like he knew more about making punching look good than making it effective - into moving the training to your house. Alan had vetoed that. 

“No,” he’d said, shaking his head as he took a look around the space that Joel had worked with you in for weeks. “No, this is way too small for what we need.” 

“The hell you mean it’s too small,” Joel snapped. “What are you doin’, throwing a goddamn party?” 

The guy looked at Joel for a moment. 

“You realize that this is a favor, right?” He said. “That I’m the most in demand fight choreographer in the goddamn business and I’m taking time away from other work to come here so I can train her because it’s supposedly safer here than LA? I’m not about to slim shit down any further than I already have, I’ve booked us time at a private gym in the city, she’ll be perfectly safe there since you’re apparently incapable of doing your damn job in California.” 

Joel fought the urge to swing on the fucker. 

“She gets hurt because you need a goddamn ballroom to teach her how to throw a more cinematic punch…” 

“That’ll be on you, won’t it?” He said. 

Joel couldn’t argue with him. He was right, the weight of that settling in the pit of his stomach. Your safety was on his head. 

That was a double edged sword. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe. He wasn’t comfortable with something like your life sitting squarely on his shoulders. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him with other clients but you were different. In so many things you were different. 

He’d been standing in this stupid fucking waiting room of this stupid fucking private gym for what felt like a small eternity. Nothing had happened, of course. Nothing had happened the two days before, either. That didn’t seem to make a damn difference, though. He was still tense, still watching for any threat, still frustrated that you were in an uncontrolled space and out of his sight. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Joel did a quick scan of the area - including the parking lot that he could see through the large windows - before checking it. It only ever vibrated for family, work or clients, it had to be something important. 

He was right. It was a text from Tommy. 

Been a change on the Siren case. Come to HQ with principal ASAP. 

“Shit,” Joel said quietly, going to text him back when he heard your voice - sharp and panicked and muffled by the door. 

His body reacted before his mind caught up. He reached the door before he fully realized what he was doing, damn near ripping the thing off its hinges and racing into the room where you were training. 

You were flat on your back in the middle of the room, mats on the floor to cushion any falls, and Alan was on top of you. He was straddling you, his knees astride your hips, his hands on your throat, holding you down. Your hands were on his chest, face twisted into a snarl as you shoved at him but the man was bigger than you, stronger than you and Joel had to stop him. 

He ran for you with a roar, tucking his shoulder and slamming into the other man, the mats on the ground cushioning their fall as they tumbled. 

“What the fuck!” Alan yelled as they came to a stop, Joel shoving the other man into the ground and pinning him. 

“Joel!” You yelled but he was focused on the man below him. 

“I don’t know what -“ Alan began but Joel cut him off with a punch, sharp against the man’s cheek, sending his head whipping around. 

“Joel!” You caught his elbow as he went to punch again and he let you pull him back, Alan groaning on the floor. You tugged Joel to his feet and he panted for breath, looking down at the man who’d been hurting you, the man who he wanted to hurt more. But, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere and Joel turned his attention to you. 

Your eyes were wide, your skin slick with sweat and your hand had gone from the crook of his arm to his side when he turned and the weight of your palm was heavy on him. But you were alive. He could breathe. 

“Joel…” you panted, almost like a question. His hand went to your cheek, your skin warm. He tilted your head gently, looking over your neck, trying to see any damage. 

“He hurt you?” He asked, voice rough. “You OK?” 

“What?” You asked, gaping at him. 

“Did he hurt you,” he said again. 

“No!” You shook yourself free of Joel’s hold on you. “No, he didn’t hurt me! It was fucking fight choreography!” 

You ducked around Joel and rushed toward Alan, kneeling beside him as he sat up, holding his face and adjusting his jaw. 

“Fuck,” Joel said quietly, wincing as he watched you gingerly examine the other man, the two of you talking low, your back to Joel the whole time. 

He should be more embarrassed about this and part of him was but he couldn’t help but just be relieved. You were safe. He didn’t need to see you hurting, didn’t need to live in that shock of fear that had all but swallowed him when he saw you on the ground, your life in the hands of another man. You were alive, you were safe. That was all that mattered, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about anything else. 

After a minute, Alan looked ready to get up and Joel approached him cautiously, your trainer’s eyes narrowing at him. 

“Sorry,” Joel said awkwardly, offering him his hand. “Didn’t know… Never had a job with an actress before…” 

“S’alright,” he said before taking Joel’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and he cracked his neck. “I’ve taken worse hits but damn, man, you hit like a fucking hammer.” 

Joel caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes off to the side and he smirked a little. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “Might be your job to make it look good, it’s my job to knock someone on their ass and keep ‘em there.” 

“You’re damn good at it,” he said before turning to you. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to say we call it early.” 

“Of course,” you said quickly. “Again, I’m so sorry, I…” 

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, laughing a little. “Does me good to take a hit now and then in my line of work. You should be more than prepped for the shots they want to get later this week but I’ll be in LA if you run into any issues. Now I’m going to head back to my hotel to ice my face and try to think of the best way to explain this to my wife when she picks me up from the airport.” 

“We need to go, anyway,” Joel said and you frowned. “Got a text from Tommy, told to bring you to HQ as soon as possible so that’s where we’re headed.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just run home first so I can change…” 

“No,” he cut you off. “We’re going straight there.” 

“But I’m disgusting!” You said, arms out at your sides as if to prove your point. “I’m not about to go to a meeting when I’m dripping sweat, that’s just…” 

“Don’t matter,” Joel said. 

“Is everything OK?” Alan asked, looking between the two of you. 

You answered before Joel got a chance to respond. 

“It’s fine,” you said, shooting Joel a look that almost dared him to talk. “He just loves to make my life difficult, it’s his favorite hobby, so he’s using this as an excuse.” 

Joel quirked his jaw but bit his tongue. 

“Come on, Siren,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

He watched as you stalked off to get your bag and water bottle, snatching them up with an almost comically angry look on your face as you did. He made you stay behind him while he surveyed the small parking lot before keeping you safely hidden from view from as much of the broader world as he could until he got you to the car. 

You reminded him of Ellie as he started the drive to the office, your arms crossed tight over your chest, staring straight ahead with your eyes narrowed. It would be intimidating if you were more… well, intimidating. On you it was almost comical, like watching a lion cub try and snarl at a threat. 

“That was mortifying,” you said eventually, your fingers digging into your upper arms so hard that Joel could see the indentations in your flesh. “Completely fucking embarrassing, I can’t believe…” 

“Can’t believe I did my job?” Joel asked. “Can’t believe I tried to keep you safe? Shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you at this point, Siren, been doin’ this for a few months now.” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped. “That was not you doing your fucking job, that was you losing your temper for who knows what reason and…” 

“That was me intervening when you were in danger,” Joel snapped back. “How the hell was I supposed to know that guy was supposed to be fuckin’ choking you out? And you, what? Expect me to just sit there and let it happen? Jesus.” 

“This is why I don’t need a fucking bodyguard,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Let alone one who doesn’t know the fucking industry. I fake die sometimes, too, Joel, you going to call 911? Plan my funeral?” 

Joel ignored you, clenching his jaw as he called Tommy. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said by way of greeting. 

“One minute out,” Joel said. 

“You’re gettin’ an escort in,” Tommy said. 

Joel frowned. 

“That serious?” 

“We’ll discuss it when you get here,” Tommy said. “Just… being cautious.” 

A team of four men met the car when Joel pulled up to the building where Tommy’s business was based. He passed the keys to one and fell into formation around you, immediately at your right as the four men surrounded you, blocking you from any view from passing or the random pedestrian. 

“This is such overkill,” you muttered. 

“Better over kill than you killed,” Joel glared at you as you rolled your eyes. 

But Joel did feel like he could relax a little now that the two of you were in the office. This was a controlled space, you weren’t at risk here. You might be pissed at him but he’d take that. If you were safe, alive? Pissed he could handle. 

Tommy seemed prepared for it, at least, not shaken by your sour attitude. 

“Joel,” Tommy nodded to him before looking to you. “Ma’am.” 

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I smell like a gym sock,” you said, clearly pissed but trying to control yourself. “Someone didn’t let me shower or change before coming here.” 

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Tommy said. “I got Quinn on the line, I’m gonna loop her into this conversation, too…” 

He switched on the speaker phone. 

“We’re all here now,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We OK to get started?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Lay things out.” 

You frowned and glanced at Joel, as if he’d have any better idea about what this was going to be about than you did. He just frowned, too. 

“This was sent to your address here in Austin,” Tommy said, dropping a printed image of a letter on the other side of his desk, closer to you and Joel. You stepped forward and picked it up, Joel looking over your shoulder at it. “Police have the original.” 

It was a note, like the ones before. 

I love your home. I can’t wait to share it with you. But why do you have other men spending the night? They won’t love you like I love you. Don’t you know that? Don’t you see? 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

Joel’s hand trembled as he took the copy from you, tracing the words over and over. 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

For a moment - just a moment - Joel had that vision of you again. The one that had come to his dreams more often than he cared to admit, the one where he couldn’t save you. 

There was someone out there who wanted you, wanted you so badly they were willing to kill to have you and what if he couldn’t stop them? What if they got to you when he was off for a few days, what if something happened when you were just out of reach? What if all he could do was stand there and watch you die? 

“Well someone’s getting ballsy, isn’t he?” You said wryly. 

“You don’t sound like you’re taking this seriously,” Quinn said, the sharpness in her tone apparent even through the crackle of the speaker phone. 

“Probably because I’m not,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your torso, your chin raised defiantly. “He’s just some weirdo. He knew where I lived in LA, too, and was too cowardly to show his fucking face, what difference does it make if he’s got my Austin address?”

“We’re going to tighten up security,” Tommy said, looking around you to Joel. 

“Tighten up?” You gaped at him before Joel had a chance to respond. “Tighten up how! Someone already follows me everywhere I go, is he supposed to, what, chase me into the bathroom when I take a piss now, too? This is insane! Quinn, tell them they’re insane!”

“It’s not insane,” Quinn said. “He’s escalating, there are valid concerns for your safety and we’re going to take the appropriate precautions. Maybe you should hear what those precautions are before you fly off the handle about it.” 

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes before you sighed. “Fine. Alright, what else am I going to have to fucking give up.” 

Joel’s jaw twitched but he remained silent, watching you closely as his brother started reviewing the changes. 

“Biggest one will be you’re never on the exterior of your home alone,” Tommy said. 

“I’m already never alone outside my house!” You gaped at him. 

“You’re never alone when you leave your property,” Tommy corrected. “But you’ve been able to go outside, swim, run, take a walk on your own as long as you stayed on your property. That will no longer be the case.” 

“Seriously?” You looked between Tommy and Joel, aghast. “I can’t step outside my own front door unsupervised? What am I, a toddler?” 

“We will also be stepping up who is on hand at your home,” Tommy said, ignoring your protests. “We’ll be doing more frequent perimeter checks and generally have a more active presence there. But that will be less obtrusive, you will still have just one body man when you leave the property for most outings.” 

“What about when I’m in LA?” You asked. 

“You ain’t serious,” Joel said before Tommy had a chance to answer. “You’re not still goin’ to fucking California, not after that letter.”

“Yes, I am,” you said. “I have to do some early shots in two days, the con is a week after that, followed by…” 

“And you can’t do any of it if you’re fuckin’ dead!” Joel snapped. “So you’re staying here, not goin’ to where that asshole is!” 

“No, she’s not,” Quinn said, a sense of finality in her voice. “She’s going to LA…” 

“You really willing to put her fucking life on the line for a goddamn movie?” Joel snapped, louder than he’d meant to but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “You’re gonna let her get hurt, get killed so you assholes can make a few bucks?” 

“She won’t be at risk if…” 

“Not at risk?” Joel cut Quinn off. “If she ain’t at risk then why am I here!” 

“She is actually in the fucking room if you assholes would fucking listen to her!” You yelled, Joel turning to face you, shocked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard you yell like that before. “I’m going to LA.” 

Joel went to protest but you wouldn’t let him. 

“No!” You snapped, rounding on him. “I’m going to LA! I’m going to LA, I’m going to do my fucking job and I’m going to go to the con and the goddamn movie premiere and then I’m going to come home and spend Christmas with my niece and you’re going to stay out of my fucking way!” 

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn said. 

“What?” You asked, still sounding pissed but not yelling now. 

“He won’t be out of your way,” Quinn said wryly. “Because he’s coming with you to everything.” 

“Well obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s been doing that.” 

“I mean,” Quinn continued. “He’s going to come with you to the premiere. As your date.” 

You and Joel both stood silently for a moment, dumbstruck. 

“What,” Joel said eventually. 

“You’re going to the premiere as her date,” Tommy said this time, looking between the two of you. “They decided they need you there,” he said, nodding to you. “And last one was enough of an opening that you got hurt but having you walk the red carpet with a bodyguard isn’t really an option. So, we keep Joel close - as your date - and he keeps you safe.” 

“No,” Joel shook his head. “No, the answer is she don’t go to the damn premiere, not sending me along with her like I’m some kind of goddamn undercover agent or some shit, this ain’t…” 

“Can’t I just go with Chris or Justice or something?” You asked and Joel tried to ignore how his stomach turned at the thought of you with either of those fucking guys on your arm. “We just tell them what’s going on and…” 

“Someone who isn’t trained ain’t gonna cut it,” Tommy shook his head. “It has to be Joel.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s what it takes? Fine.” 

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Joel muttered. “I don’t…” 

“Oh, come on Big Miller,” you said, your tone shifting to something more familiar, that dry, sarcastic edge to it he’d come to know well. “Didn’t you know? I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. There are men who would kill to be in your shoes.” 

“Yeah,” Joel muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

He didn’t press the subject when the two of you got back to your house that night, the new cadence of protection already kicking in, more guards obvious at the perimeter of your property. You didn’t wait for Joel to open the car door for you - something you’d become more willing to do as time had passed. Instead you just stormed off toward the house, Joel following quickly behind you. Before he had the chance to lecture you about it, you looked back over your shoulder to him. 

“I’m going in the pool,” you snapped. “Since you apparently have to fucking babysit me anytime I step foot out my goddamn door now.” 

He expected you to go get changed into a swimsuit but you didn’t. Instead you just stalked straight through the entry way, the living room, out the back of the house, stepping out of your shoes as went, walking straight to the water’s edge without pausing and jumping in fully clothed. 

Joel stood and watched, worried for a moment when you didn’t surface immediately. But then you screamed under the water, the sound muffled and distorted and sounding almost desperate. You went quiet and surfaced, immediately going to a ladder and pulling yourself up, more stalking toward the house than walking, eyes straight ahead like Joel wasn’t even there, leaving a trail of water on the floor in your wake as you went to your bedroom and closed the door. 

Joel tried to ignore the tug of concern in his chest. He picked up Ellie from school - the kid so excited about having a few days off for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother - and played a video game with her. You didn’t come out of your room. He kept hoping to hear some sign of you when he went to his own room, even as he was desperate for some distance, and he thought he heard you come out at one point. Just your quiet steps in bare feet and the cadence of talking just out of reach of where really hear it. 

He tried to let that soothe him. You clearly didn’t want anything to do with him - not that he blamed you, he had literally asked for this - but he couldn’t help but worry as he stared at his ceiling. You were upset but you’d left your room, talked to Ellie, hopefully eaten something. That was… it was fine. Good, even. He didn’t need to be a part of it or see it for himself and he’d done everything he could to make sure that here, within these walls, you were safe. 

That thought didn’t help him actually, really rest, though. He started to drift off and the image of you, pinned down with a man’s hands around your throat took over. But this time, he was always too far away to fix it. He’d run and run and run but it was like he was moving through Jell-o, not able to reach you but not able to look away. 

He jerked awake, his heart racing in his chest, and he sighed, wiping a layer of sweat away from his face. 

It was late now, quiet in the house. He debated it, for a moment, but not for long, getting up and going to the kitchen for a drink. But when he passed the hall with your room and office, he saw a soft glow around your office door. He frowned at that, going to the kitchen and grabbing two beers before going to that glowing door. He hesitated for a moment. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew better. He was the one who asked for a professional distance, he was the one who knew this couldn’t go anywhere good. But… you were right there, the comfort of knowing you were OK so close. 

He knocked. 

You were silent for a moment, long enough that he considered just going back to his room when you spoke. 

“Come in.” 

He did, finding you tucked into a corner of the couch that sat below the window, a tablet and papers spread on every surface around you. You seemed almost surprised to see him, your eyebrows rising as you looked at him through your lashes, not fully looking up from something that was sitting open on your lap. 

“I thought you might be Ellie,” you said. “Can I help you?”

He shrugged. 

“Saw the light,” he said, handing you the bottle, staying far enough away from you that he had to stretch to reach and you had to reach back to take it. “Thought you might… I dunno.” 

You nodded slowly, opening the beer and taking long pull. 

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting enough that the pages spread on the couch around you rustled. Joel just nodded, opening his own beer and taking a sip, too. He didn’t taste it much, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pajama pants as he walked slowly through your office, taking everything in. He was rarely in this room, he didn’t know it well. There was an Emmy on your desk and three more on a bookshelf. There were two Golden Globes, too, all in better shape than the Oscar was. He frowned at that. 

“How many of these damn things do you have?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder to you. 

“Emmys?” You asked. “Just the four. Three for Siren and then one for Family Tree. That was my first one, they gave me some meatier things once I was in my teens. Some ‘very special episode’ type bullshit. One where I had to decide whether or not to have sex with my high school boyfriend, that sort of thing. The television academy ate it up. Then there are the Globes - one for Siren, one for The District - and there’s a SAG in my office in LA. I think that’s it.”

“Lot of hardware,” Joel said, coming back to the sitting area of your office, taking the chair near your end of the couch, his fingers rapping against the glass of his beer bottle. 

“Yeah, well,” you laughed, a little cynically. “I keep telling Leo he needs to get me on Broadway so I can win a Tony. Then all I need is some bullshit way to win a Grammy and I can EGOT.” 

“EGOT?” Joel frowned. 

“Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony,” you said. “All the big ones.” 

“Shit,” he shook his head a little, taking another swig of beer. “Aim high, I guess. What are you workin’ on?” 

“Character research,” you said, holding up what was on your lap. It was a comic book, one from the series he’d seen Ellie reading. “I think I’ve just about figured her out but I’m trying to make sure I feel good with it before Friday. I’ve been reading up on how people react to certain traumas, trying to fold that in, see what seems right.” 

“Didn’t know playin’ a superhero needed so much research,” he said. 

“Playing anyone requires research,” you said. “People are complicated things.”

“Suppose so,” he said. “What…” 

“Why are you here, Joel,” you cut him off. 

He clenched his jaw for a moment. 

“I…” he took a deep breath. “Do you really have to go to LA.” 

“Are you serious?” You gaped at him.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not safe. Should stay here where we have shit more locked down and…” 

“And I have a movie to make!” You cut him off. “Do you really expect them to relocate production to fucking Texas because of me?” 

“Yes,” he said again. 

“Joel,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. 

“Ain’t you some huge star?” He pressed on, staring down at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumb. “Got all those damn trophies, everyone on the damn planet knows your name, just have all that shit come to you and…” 

“Joel,” you said, more gently this time, gentle enough that he frowned, looking over at you. You smiled a little. “That’s not how it works.” 

“Why not.” 

“Because,” you said. “Do you know what goes into making a movie? It’s not just some actors and camera men. There’s equipment we’re using that only exists in a few places on the planet and LA is one of those places. We start principal photography in January, do you know how much work has already been done so we’re ready to shoot? Do you know how many people’s livelihoods depend on this movie being made when we said we were making it where we planned to make it? And I mean actual people, not just rich assholes like me. The budget on this movie is $210 million and yeah, $35 million of that is coming to me but the vast majority of that money is going to support the hundreds of people who work on the movie who are just trying to pay their mortgage and put their kids through college. We move locations, shift filming dates now? Those people are suddenly out of work when it’s too late to get on any other projects. If you don’t think you’re up for it, talk to Tommy, have them send someone else…” 

“No,” he said sharply. 

You frowned. 

“Why not?” You asked. “Just…” 

Joel clenched his jaw, looking down at the beer bottle again. The corner of the label was shredded. 

“Don’t trust anyone else,” he said. “If you’re goin’ to LA, it’s with me. End of story.” 

You were quiet for a moment.

“Why do you care so much?” You asked eventually. 

“I… I don’t…” he bounced his leg, trying to find the words before finally looking over at you again. “I don’t want to watch you die.” 

You scoffed.

“I don’t think anyone would really hold it against you if I do,” you said wryly. “So don’t worry about it.” 

“That ain’t why I’m worried,” he said sharply before taking a deep breath and going back to the bottle, picking away at the label more and more. “I didn’t take this job to watch someone fuckin’ hunt you down.” 

You were quiet again. 

“Why did you hit Alan today.” 

He took a shaky breath.

“I thought he was hurtin’ you,” he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “And I.. I can’t…” 

He clenched his jaw, gripping the bottle so tight it hurt. 

“I need you to not get hurt,” he said. “Not gonna let you get yourself killed. And you… you just like to ignore what I tell you, you do reckless shit and it’s gonna…” 

“I’ll do what I’m told,” you cut him off, a keen kind of honesty in your voice, the shift noticeable enough that he looked over at you. Your eyes were oddly open, looking at him in much the same way you had the night you got hurt at the premiere, like all the artifice of your public persona had been stripped away and all that was left was yourself. “I don’t… I absolutely loathe just how much of my own life is out of my control and how all I am is just some thing all these other people move around to make money and the fact that I can’t even go outside right now without someone babysitting me… It struck a nerve. But… I’ll behave. I’ll do what you tell me to do. I won’t take any risks, I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I’ll obey when you tell me to do something. I’ll take it seriously.” 

He watched you for a moment.

“You’ll let me keep you safe?” He asked quietly. 

“I’ll let you keep me safe,” you said softly. “I promise. Just come with me to LA. You… you make me feel safe. I’ll do what you say, I’ll let you protect me. I promise.”  

“OK,” he nodded, looking at the label in pieces in his hands. “I’ll protect you.” 

He just prayed that would be enough. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this took me roughly 6 million years to update and I wish I had a good reason for that but, in all honesty, I just don't. I appreciate you spending your time with these characters, even after I've left you hanging.

Things are going to start ramping up next chapter! I really can't wait for what's coming, there's stuff I've been picturing since I first thought up this story that is just around the corner. I hope you enjoy it!

In the mean time, if you want to see what Thanksgiving Day was like for Siren and Joel, you can check out this (now officially canon) one shot I posted for the holiday.

Thanks again for being here! I love sharing this story with you all.

Love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter @phry-k @sunnytuliptime

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @cuips-not-cute! cuips_not_cute has six fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @cuips-not-cute:

he could be brave

blood is an aphrodisiac

honeyed affection

blinking red light

cyclical

"cuips is a master of taking the reader on an emotional roller coaster ride. The amount of times I've laughed and cried at the same time reading his fics have been too numerous to count. Especially the depth of the sex scenes and the character beats and growth they portray are gorgeous to read - and also very titillating. I love Steve and Eddie in every one of cuips stories, adore the little mannerisms they are given and the way they interact with each other and other characters. Besides the inspiring prose cuips can pull off a plot like few other people I've found so far - since blinking red light is still ongoing, I'll just point to cyclical for that. I'm very thankful to cuips for writing and posting these stories and for being a very active part of this lovely fandom." -- anonymous

Below the cut, @cuips-not-cute answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

i don’t even know. i was happily in the ofmd fandom when i watched season 4 almost three years ago now (oh god) and then the characters… they got me. i fear they’ll never leave.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

god, so many. they’re all kinda the same flavor though so i’ll list out what i’m always filtering for to find a new fic: bottom/sub eddie, creature/monster eddie, post s4, canon compliant, soft dom steve, sex pollen, spit kink, rimming (perhaps my FAVORITE ever thing to read), switch eddie/switch steve… the list goes on.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

probably also rimming. there’s just something so romantic about eating ass. and i really love to stick with post s4 canon compliant aus, too, i don’t think i’ve written an actual for real au yet, though i do have an idea for one after brl.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

i don’t know if i can pick!! my ao3 bookmarks host my many all-time faves, but if you wanna go by the fic i’ve reread the most it’s probably the affliction of the feeling. it’s so fucking good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

YES!!! i have never written omegaverse!!! which is crazy, ‘cause i like it a LOT. i have a post-s4 omegaverse au kicking around in my head currently, and i cannot wait to sink my teeth into all the messy biology and politics that come with the omegaverse.

What is your writing process like?

chaotic, in a word. usually, i’ll get a fic idea while i’m balls-deep in writing another fic so i’ll shove it to the side and let it simmer while i finish that first one, then i’ll spend a good long while planning it out in ridiculous detail, and THEN i’ll start actually drafting. i like to have a fully fleshed out outline and a couple chapters written and edited before i start posting, and once posting begins i tend to deviate quite a bit from my outline but it’s all good fun.

Do you have any writing quirks?

definitely. i don’t like pointing them out for fear of other folks seeing them in everything i do, but they’re there. one that i don’t mind so much is my absolute abuse of the word “little.” everything is “a little” of this, “a little” of that, but i try to cut my usage down significantly while i’m editing.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

i always TRY to keep a schedule but… yeah. it never works. i’m far too busy for one, but attempts are made. i’d like to one day write a fic in full before posting it, because i think it’d be a whole lot better if i let it sit for that long but lord, i sure do like getting ao3 comments on every chapter. they make the writing motivation go WAY up.

Which fic are you most proud of?

brl, definitely. that fucker is LONG and i’m barely halfway through it. i think i’ve done a lot of cool things with it and i’m going to do some more cool things and i’ve made a lot of really awesome friends in the process of writing it so it’s got some pretty insane sentimental value to me. it’s definitely going to be a fic i’ll miss writing once i finish it, but that’s what the epilogue series is for!!!

How did you get the idea for blinking red light?

from another fic!!! @racketghost is the author of one of my favorite things i’ve ever read, which is the good omens zach and miri au, closed set (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960/chapters/55862155 <- hyperlinked), wherein crowley has been lying about the existence of some angelic sex tapes to all of hell, and then he and aziraphale have to actually make the tapes. it’s awesome. it’s gorgeous. brl is one big giant love letter to this fic, because it means so fucking much to me and i think about it ALL the time. 

When writing honeyed affection, what was something you didn’t expect?

hmm, i don’t know? ha is, i think, a pretty easygoing fic with lots and lots of porn stuffed inside it, and that was all i intended it to be so i cannot think of anything i was surprised by!!

What inspired blood is an aphrodisiac?

i just wanted to write vampire eddie. it was july ‘22, kas theories were everywhere, i had to try it. these days i think i would change a LOT about it because my ideas and hcs surrounding the characters have evolved significantly, but i’ll write vampire eddie again and “fix” everything i no longer like about biaa.

What was your favorite part to write from he could be brave?

…the fisting. i genuinely think some of my best writing is in that scene, and while i feel the same way about this fic as i do biaa, the fisting scene will always hold a special place in my heart. i’m very, very excited to write the fisting chapter in brl because of this scene. fisting rules.

How do/did you feel writing cyclical?

i wrote cyclical during a very weird few months of my life, so writing it was sort of my way of dealing with all the insane shit going on around me, and i think it shows. in a good way, though, because cyclical is a timeloop fic so it needed to be a little angsty and insane. i’m stupidly proud of that fic. @ryeallytired actually BOUND it into a PHYSICAL BOOK and SENT IT TO ME and when i tell you that is the singular most precious object i own, i mean it.

What was the most difficult part of writing blinking red light?

PLOTTING THAT BITCH. GOD. i’m so happy to be actually WRITING it now, the planning was genuinely so brutal. my issue was that i was sticking too close to the plot of closed set (<3) which just… did not work for steddie. closed set’s premise centers around crowley lying about making sex tapes, yes, but he lied about them to PROTECT aziraphale, which is the messiest, kindest, riskiest fucking thing ever. and it’s awesome. in the early planning stages of brl, i was trying to put eddie in the crowley role of lying about having made sex tapes with steve, but it reallyyy didn’t work. there was an oc and i absolutely hated him, plus i didn’t like what that premise was doing to eddie’s character… ugh. it was a MESS. it took several rubber duck-ing conversations with my brilliant friend @lollaika and a rewatch of zach and miri to finally realize that it had to be STEVE who brings up the idea of sex tapes so that he could protect eddie, rather than eddie bringing it up to save his own hide (yikes).

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

oooh, lots. reallyyyy loved chapter 8 of cyclical with all of the pov shifts, that was super fun to write. i also really enjoyed writing the dry humping/sex tape convo in the first chapter of brl, and i’m stupidly excited to write chapters 12, 13, 15, and 17, because of specific scenes that will happen in each.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

i do!! after brl is completed i’ll have to choose from two story ideas (because i cannot have two wips at once or i’ll get SO stressed), one being a semi-realistic steddie cowboy au based off my own experiences with growing up on a farm and featuring messy, earnest cowboys and not-fully-human eddie, and the other being the omegaverse au i want to write, which will have a very fun mix of vampire eddie, dubcon bitching, and accidental mating bites!!!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

i cannot think of anything!! this was super fun :D

Thank you to our author, @cuips-not-cute, and our anonymous nominator! See more of cuips_not_cute's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!