#this is 6k words I’m not kidding

[mcrdvcks]

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

[gothgoblinbabe]

Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You

Chapter (2/2):

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: I finally finished part 2 and this bitch is long as hell , I’m so sorry but I got real into it and I hope it’s as well received as the first part (thank u btw you guys are so sweet)

Warnings: smut, like really nasty gross freaky shit so minors dni, friends to lovers, swearing, unprotected sex (pls don’t do that), praise kink kind of, sub!Logan a lil’ bit and he absolutely has a pain kink, and the one bed trope yesssiirrrr

Word count: 6K (I told you she’s long asf)

Tags: @annagraceevanss

pt 1

text divider credit

You followed close behind Logan as you made your way to your shared room. When he unlocked the door and you both stepped in, you dropped your bags to one side of the bed and took a second to look around the room.

“It’s not too bad in here. Surprisingly clean,” you commented, moving some of the bedding around to check for any critters.

“Yeah. How’s your bug check going?” Logan joked, putting down his bag. 

“All clear, looks fine to me,” you said, tucking the sheets back in and fixing the duvet.

You both got settled in silence for a minute before Logan spoke again, pulling articles of clothing out of his bag.

“I’m gonna take a shower, you wanna go first?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to answer the question and not dwell on the idea that he’d be naked in the next room.

“Uh, it’s - that’s fine, you can go first,” you managed to stutter out, dropping your head to your hands when he slid into the bathroom and closed the door. He had to know something was up by now with how strange you felt you acted around him, always blushing and hiding your face and giggling like a little kid.

You heard the squeak of the shower knob and the running water beating against the tiles, only making your wandering thoughts worse. There had to be something in here to do other than think about your friend naked. 

Friend, right?

You huffed and stood from your spot sitting on the bed, picking up your bag from the floor and setting it where you had just been. You rifled through until you found sweatpants, underwear, socks, and…no shirt, because you’d forgotten to pack one. 

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, looking down at the one you were wearing now. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wear it to bed - it was just a cotton t-shirt - but you’d been wearing it all day and didn’t particularly want to sweat in it all night either.

You waited patiently for Logan to finish in the bathroom after that, sitting up against the headboard with a book in hand. You’d been so immersed in the pages in front of you and the unfamiliar but peaceful silence that you nearly jumped at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Logan stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, his still-wet hair dripping onto his shoulders and back. You knew he was very muscular, that had always been obvious, but this was the first time you’d actually seen him like that and you’d already pulled your book up to cover the quickly reddening lower half of your face. 

He’d caught you looking almost immediately, your eyes scanning all the way from his broad shoulders to the start of the white towel around him. You were really terrible at being subtle at this point. 

“What, like what you see, princess?” He teased, amused to see your eyes grow wide for a split second before you feigned annoyance.

“Yeah, right, you wish,” you rolled your eyes, pretending now to be completely invested in your book even though you weren’t able to read a single word since he’d walked out of the bathroom.

“Sometimes,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, his back turned to you as he picked up his clothes.

You looked up for a moment, narrowing your eyes.

“Huh?”

“Hm?”

“Did you say something?”

He thought for a second, considering whether or not this was a moment to be truthful.

“Nope.”

So, no, it wasn’t.

With that, he made his way back into the bathroom to change and was out again in minutes.

“It’s all yours,” he gestured to the bathroom, settling himself down onto one side of the bed and locking his hands behind his head. He was wearing his normal white beater and a pair of gray sweatpants with the academy’s logo printed on it somewhere.  Jesus, you practically had to shut your eyes completely to look away from him. You’d never physically been that close before and it nearly drove you insane. 

“Mhm,” you finally hummed in response, much too overwhelmed with that fact that he was so close and smelled so good. 

You grabbed your clothes and went in, pulling the shower curtain back and turning the knob on the wall. You undressed, cleaned yourself up in the shower and stepped out, shivering from the contrast of the warm water and the cool air. You began to dress and remembered a critical detail.

Still don’t have a shirt.

You picked up your towel and tucked it around your chest, covering your bare upper half. You opened the bathroom door just a creak, enough to lean yourself out.

“Hey, Logan.”

He’d been staring at the ceiling in thought but he looked to you when you spoke, clearing his throat when he saw your bare shoulders. Your skin looked so soft and he could almost imagine what it felt like, warm up against him.

“Yeah?” He finally responded.

“Would you maybe have a shirt I could borrow for the night? I thought I packed one, but I didn't.”

“Yeah, probably,” he answered without a second thought, moving to look through his bag once again. He tossed a flannel button down in your direction and you caught it with one hand, the other holding the towel around you. When you slipped back behind the door once again, you pulled the garment over your shoulders and buttoned it, leaving you in that and a pair of pajama shorts that you could barely see peeking from the bottom hem of the shirt. You brought the collar of the shirt up to your nose, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and body wash. God, this was torture.

When you’d left the bathroom, Logan’s eyes were glued to the way the shirt fell so loosely on your smaller frame, the rolled up sleeves still long enough to reach your wrist. He caught himself smiling while he watched you move around the room to look for something.

“What?” you finally spoke, able to feel his eyes on the back of your head.

“Nothin’,” he said lowly, “just…you look cute in that. I didn’t think it would be so big on you that you're swimmin’ in it.”

You could hear the slight chuckle he’d let out after and your face felt warm. You turned away from your bag to face him, hands now full with skincare products.

“The hell do you do with all that?” Logan changed the subject, much to your relief.

“It’s my skin care routine.”

“Routine?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you just use, like, soap or something?”

The look on your face was one of horror and you returned to the bathroom and laid out all of your products. You saw Logan appear in the doorway from your view in the mirror, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What, you wanna watch?”

You didn’t mean it in any other way but he couldn’t help how much he liked the way you asked that, always teasing.

“I don’t know, you gonna put on a show?”

The back and forth between you two was fun, maybe sometimes a little mean but it had never been so flirty  before. 

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, silence settling between you again as he watched your every move from the doorway. He had an expression you found almost unreadable, his lower lip tucked between his teeth and his eyes looking almost tired. After the moment in the truck, you’d told yourself you would never dig in his mind again, at least for the remainder of the trip. 

Still, curiosity was a monster that overtook the best of you sometimes. 

You could see the visual of you, again, only this time it was from his perspective in the doorway. 

He was thinking of you, but it couldn’t mean much of anything. Of course he’s thinking of you, you’re right in front of him. 

It didn’t mean much of anything at all until you could see his imagination start to work itself up, able to see his hands slip underneath that flannel and grip your hips as he crowded you from behind. 

You were so glad at that moment that you were scrubbing cleanser into your face with your eyes closed, unable to look Logan in the eyes while he was thinking about dragging his hands up your bare sides.

You pulled yourself out of that and focused back onto the task at hand, rinsing and drying your face. When you finally did open your eyes again, he was stood closer to the counter, inspecting all the labels on the little containers and bottles. You did your best not to look at him, afraid your face would be far too telling.

“What the hell is this gooey shit?” 

You watched Logan open a jar and dip a finger in, cringing at the consistency. You sighed and grabbed it from his hands, setting it back down on the counter. Well, you had wanted to avoid looking at him, but he made that as hard as possible. 

“It’s a face mask.”

He picked the jar back up again, taking a whiff of the contents. His eyebrows furrowed and he did it again, as if trying to place the scent.

“It smells like strawberries.”

“Mhm, it’s a strawberry face mask.”

You gently took it from his hands once more, this time with the intention of actually using it.

“So, you, like, leave it on or what? Rinse it?” He questioned, leaning with his back against the counter as he watched you spread the mask onto your face.

“I leave it on for fifteen minutes-ish and then rinse it,” you responded, screwing the lid back onto the container. Logan’s eyes followed the movement and stayed focused on the jar.

“Do you want some?” You smiled a little, aware of his curiosity, “I can put a lil’ bit on you. Avoiding the beard, of course.”

He shrugged in his sincere attempt to seem nonchalant, but he felt warm inside at the thought of your small hands smearing that stupid pink stuff all on his face. Really, it was just an excuse to get you to (rather innocently) touch him. 

You unscrewed the cap again, looking up at him. He realized the reason for your hesitation and leaned himself down a little so you could reach his face with ease.

“Thank you,” you giggled, stomach turning a bit at how close his face was now. You started to apply the mask, his eyes focused on yours almost the entire time. Every time you’d move your hand, still, his eyes were focused on the shadow of your eyelashes or the color of your lips. It felt oddly intimate, having him lean down just for you to touch his face. 

“Do I have something on my face?” You asked, referring to his gaze.

“Well, yeah, actually.”

That made the both of you laugh, pink faces mirroring each others love-sick smiles.  

“Alright, done,” you declared, finally setting the jar down for good. 

At that, you both got a look at yourselves in the mirror and burst back into laughter. Something about your laugh was contagious, and having found the same about him, it was hard to stop once you’d start.

“Oh, I should’ve given you a headband so your hair doesn’t get in it,” You remembered when you’d finally caught your breath, “hold on.”

In less than a couple seconds you disappeared from the bathroom and came back, a headband in your grip, though Logan couldn’t actually see what it looked like. He let you slip it on his head anyway, his smile dropping to a feigned scowl when he got a look in the mirror at the cat ears that stuck up from either side.

“You don’t like it, kitty?”

You were laughing and he shook his head, taking another look at his reflection, “the things I do for you, girl…”

He kept the thing on anyway, following you to crash on the bed and watch some tv while you waited to rinse your faces. You flipped through a couple of channels and settled on some drama series just to kill time. 

While you did that, Logan couldn’t rip his eyes from you every few minutes; the way the shirt fit, your bare legs, the fact that he could see now from where he sat that you weren’t wearing a bra under his shirt. It was almost too much and he found himself gnawing at his lip again. 

When you’d rinsed your faces and gotten ready for bed, the time came for you both to decide how the sleeping arrangement was gonna work. 

“So, maybe, like, a pillow wall?”

Your raised your eyebrows at Logan’s suggestion, the both of you stood facing the end of the bed. 

“What, you think I’m gonna spoon you in your sleep?”

“I mean, with me in the same bed? I don’t think you could help yourself, bub,” he teased, feigning confidence to disguise the fact that it was probably him who would be the one to end up spooning you. 

“Yeah, I’m just dying to rip your clothes off,” you said sarcastically, shaking your head and deciding to just tuck yourself in on a side and call it a night. You sighed into the mattress when you landed on it, terribly aware of how much you now really were dying to indeed rip his clothes off.

He followed suit, laying next to you and clicking the flimsy lamp on the bedside table so that you were both in the dark. You were both turned from each other, backs almost touching with how close you had to lay. You watched the tree branches from outside cast shadows on the wall in the moonlight, too lost in thought to close your eyes.

Just because Logan was thinking about you in ways that friends don’t really think about each other doesn’t mean he likes you in that way, you’d told yourself. It was not the same as an outright confession - you’d been poking around where you shouldn’t have -  but it still stood at the front of your mind, nonetheless.

You pulled the comforter up to your chin, tucking it around you as much as you could. It was cold in the room, something you both only noticed the longer you’d been there. You didn’t even realize you were shivering until you heard Logan’s voice say your name softly.

“You cold?”

He was already turning himself towards you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Very. Is the heat broken?”

He stood up and shuffled to the knob on the wall for the temperature. Fiddling with it for a second in the low light, he sighed and situated himself back into bed.

“I think it is. It’s the highest it can go and it’s freezing in here.”

You turned your face into your pillow and groaned.

“Put on some extra clothes,” he offered his suggestion, pulling the blanket up over himself as well. 

“I don’t have any, that’s why I had to borrow yours,” you reminded him, turning back to finally look at him again.

He knew it wasn’t a smart idea that had crossed his mind but Logan spoke anyway.

“C’mere,” he lifted his arms under the blanket and made room for you in front of him.

You looked at him, then the spot he wanted you to lay, and back to him again.

“Oh, so you’re the one dying to rip my clothes off, I see,” you teased and he shook his head.

“Princess, you can take it or leave it, but you know you’ll freeze,” he pointed out, a cocky smile now adorning his face.

Princess. That was new. 

You studied him intently for a second before eventually giving in, situating yourself to be the little spoon as he wrapped his arms around your middle and held your back to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against you, the inhale and exhale of his lungs, the way his skin was so damn warm even in a freezing cold room. 

“That better?”

His voice was inches from your ear and you couldn’t help the shiver it sent down your spine, something you prayed he would believe was from the cold. You nodded, hesitantly resting your hands and arms over his. You would’ve hated to admit it, but it was so nice to just be held again. 

“Can I ask you something? And I mean, you can tell me to fuck off,” Logan spoke lowly, afraid he was trying to tip toe around land mines.

You remained quiet but nodded for him to continue, absentmindedly tracing little shapes with your fingers onto his arm.

“What happened with that Danny kid?”

You were surpised to hear his name at all, nevermind in Logan’s dismissive tone. Even the way he called him ‘kid’ seemed mildly condescending to your ex-boyfriend , acting like even saying his name was an annoyance. 

“Well, I can give you the short and sweet version,” you began your response, turning your head a little to look back at him. Christ, he had definitely never been this close.

“Shoot,” he responded, loosening his grip on you a bit so he could lean back and look at you when you spoke, really look at you. There were many things to like about Logan, but his ability to give you his undivided attention as you spoke was among your favorite things about him. You hadn’t caught on, of course, that he only really did that with you.

You sighed, drawing in a long breath and trying your best to spit out the story. It wasn’t a fresh wound but every time you tried to come clean about it was like salt being rubbed in.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, you know,” he spoke again honestly, noticing how quickly your demeanor changed.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you began gnawing at your lower lip, “He…we went out one night with everybody, probably only a couple weeks before you came back here. It was fun, except for the moments where our waitress would come by.”

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head. It was almost funny now. 

Logan waited patiently for you to continue, already suspecting what you were about to tell him.

“Every time she came to the table, he wouldn’t even look at me, like I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it but Ororo told me she saw him slip a piece of paper into her apron, I guess it must have been his number.”

He could hear your voice begin to break and he held you a little tighter, reaching a hand to stroke your hair.

“He’s a dick,” he added, scowling. 

“Yeah, but oh, man, does it get worse. I’m trying to call him one night when he hasn’t come back, basically blowing up his phone to be sure he’s alive, right?”

He nodded, already mesmerized with the way you told stories, no matter what about.

“About the fourth or fifth time I call, it’s finally picked up, except Danny isn’t on the other end. I recognized the waitress’s voice. I knew then, you know, what had happened but I just didn’t want to believe it, so I asked what the hell she was doing with him. I shouldn’t have asked that. She did not hold back on dirty details.”

You tried your best to joke around but your voice still felt small, shrunken by the humiliation of having your heart ripped out of you. Love was fucking embarrassing at just about every stage, but especially if it didn’t work out like you’d hoped. It could make even the wisest man an absolute fool.

“I could smash that kid’s face, you know. I’m just sayin’.”

You broke into a giggle when Logan spoke, “I know. What, you’re gonna start some fight over me? You only hate him because I hate him.”

“Nah,” he began, arms still around you and his voice almost mumbled into your hair, “I hate him ‘cause he’s annoying as shit, but mostly because of what he did to you.”

“You know,” you started, wiping away a tear that had fallen on your cheek but still keeping a joking tone, “you’re probably the nicest boyfriend I’ve ever had and you’re not even my boyfriend.”

When he didn’t respond after a second, you turned your body a bit to look at him. His arm was propped up to support his head and he was staring down at you, looking lost in thought. You both stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like minutes rather than seconds.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, looking to the wall behind him, “that was - I probably made that weird.”

You chuckled nervously but he kept his relaxed expression, smiling slightly when he heard your laugh.

“No, you didn’t,” he said lowly, moving the hand he had around you to push some of your hair from your face.

Your heart was beating as fast as it possibly could and there was no way he could have missed it. 

“If I’m the nicest, you must’ve dated some shit guys,” he added with a smirk, making you laugh. 

“That is true,” you admitted, “but I mean it. You’re a sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” he responded almost immediately, shaking his head.

“You are,” you insisted, “you’re a big softie.”

“Only for you.”

You waited for him to break into a laugh, tell you he was sarcastic, but he only kept his eyes to yours with what looked like an almost adoring gaze.

“For me?” 

Your voice came out almost as a whisper.

“Uh-huh. I’d do anything for you, you know.”

He only broke his eyes from yours to admire your features in the light from the moon. His voice practically made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Your stomach was twisting and tying itself into knots already but when he moved his hand to cup your cheek, you could’ve melted right into his touch.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Logan’s words came out almost in an exhale, like a sigh of relief. Your mouth fell open a little in surprise and you raised your eyebrows.

“Me?”

“Who else would I be talking to right now, princess?”

You laughed a little, unable to stop your wide smile when he lovingly stroked his thumb across your cheek.

“I think you’re handsome.”

It came out quick and you bit your bottom lip to stop your smile, your face probably blushed like a rose.

You’d never seen Logan smile so wide.

“Really?”

“How come you sound so surprised? You’ve probably been told that millions of times in your life,” you said honestly.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but I always wanted to hear it from you.”

“Why?”

You were still nervous as all hell. This was going somewhere, you just weren’t sure exactly where.

Your noses were maybe inches apart, so close that you could feel his breath on your face.

“I like you. I think about you…a lot.”

The things you’d seen Logan imagining flashed in your mind, feeding a fueling fire in the pit of your stomach. 

You couldn’t let anything else happen if you weren’t honest.

“Do you…do you remember way earlier this morning, i was driving and you were lookin’ at me and I kept asking why?”

He nodded and furrowed his eyebrows a bit.

“And then, earlier in the bathroom, when I was washing my face…” you continued, taking a deep breath, “I really shouldn’t have, but I - I kind of got in your head a bit, just because I was curious -“

“You read my mind?”

You expected a furious tone, for him to roll over and never be nearly as close to you again, but none of that was happening. Instead, that stupid smug smile was still on his face. 

“Yeah. Look, Logan, I’m really sorry -“

“What’d you see? ‘Cause if it was nothing interesting, I don’t think you’d be telling me.”

You swallowed hard. 

“Well…do you remember what you were thinking about?”

You watched him take a second to think back, gears turning. His eyes widened when he seemed to remember exactly where it was he’d let his mind wander to when he was staring at you. A smile crept onto his face and he tucked his lower lip beneath his teeth.

“Maybe. Do you wanna remind me?” he muttered.

His touch on you felt hotter than ever, like it could burn. 

“Was it something like this?” He spoke again before you could answer, moving his hand just under the hem of your shirt - his shirt, really - to ghost his fingers over your hip.

You inhaled sharply at the warm touch of his hand.

“L-Logan,” you stuttered as his hand finally did grip you, not hard, but enough to make your lower stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hm? What, pretty girl?”

He knew every button of yours to push at this point. He seemed determined to make you just as desperate for him as he was for you.

His hand snaked up further to your waist, then around your back to bring you even closer to him.

You were still speechless, hesitantly moving your arms to wrap around his neck.

That was all he needed to finally press his lips to yours, tangling his hands in your hair to push you even further into him. It was sweet and soft, two words not often used to describe anything with Logan. He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough of you, still - like you’d disappear the second it was over.

“Wanted you since I first saw you, you know that?” He finally broke the kiss to whisper against your lips.

“Me too,” you replied honestly, “I was just scared after all that shit I had to go through. I didn’t want to have to do it all over again.”

“You won’t,” he said quickly, sweetly kissing your forehead and cheek, “I’d never do any of that to you. Any guy who could is a damn moron.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the both of you lost in the color of each other's eyes.

“I want to treat you right, princess, like you deserve,” he spoke again, moving a strand of hair from your face.

You swallowed hard. He didn’t just want your body, he wanted you.

“Yeah?” was all you could mutter out, your own heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, “you need someone who can take care of you like he couldn’t. I think you want me to, with the way your heart is beating like crazy.”

He had such a smug smile on his face and yours was blushed with mild embarrassment. You totally forgot he was able to pick up things like that with his heightened senses. 

“Well, how are you gonna take care of me?”,there was a teasing tone in your voice, one that was already making him half-hard in his gray sweatpants. Maybe it should’ve been embarrassing, but it didn’t take much from you at all for him to feel that way. 

“I wanna make you feel good,” he exhaled, combing his fingers through your hair,  “can I do that, baby?”

The nicknames he was using weren’t any help to extinguish the growing feeling in your lower stomach.

You nodded, breathing fast. 

“Please, Logan - “ you begged, using your arms around his neck to pull him down even closer to you and reconnect your lips.

“Like it when you beg,” he muttered in between kissing you again, “like it when you say my name like that.”

With one arm around your back to hold you close, his other arm slowly inched up the hem of your shirt, up your stomach and right to the soft flesh of the bottom of your breast.

He was going to ask if it was alright to move any further, but before he could even break away to ask, your hand was over his, nudging it further up until he had a handful of you. You moaned into the kiss, giving perfect access to Logan to slip his tongue between your lips. His toying and pinching of your nipples was enough to have you already soaked through your panties and probably your pajamas shorts, too.

“Someone’s a little eager, huh?” He muttered into your jaw as he dragged his kisses down your neck.

You only hummed in response, too lost in the feeling of him licking and sucking at your neck to think of a retort. 

Both his hands came around to the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off, sweetheart?”

You nodded, immediately sitting up to let him lift the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor.

“Fuck,” he choked out at the sight of your bare chest, wasting no time as he came down to suck and lick the newly exposed skin.

“Thought about this all the time,” he mumbled against your skin, “you’re more perfect than I imagined.”

You were still blushing at his praise, sinking into the feeling of him in all your senses. The sound of his voice, the way his lips tasted, how his hands dragged along your skin in a way that covered you in goosebumps - it was better than any kind of day dream you’d had about him.

“ You - ah”, you tried to speak, cut off by the feeling of Logan gripping your thighs to gently spread them apart, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against the place you wanted them the most.

He planted kisses from your chest all the way down to the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you know with his arms hooked around your thighs.

Understanding exactly why he was there, you combed your fingers through his hair on either side of his head.

“”Eat me out,” you demanded boldly, confidence only growing when you saw Logan’s surprised eyes and mischievous smile, “please.”

“Oh, so Princess likes giving orders, huh?” He replied, absolutely spurred on by the way you took control for a second. He liked pulling moans out of you but the idea of you using him for your pleasure was undeniably hot and he’d let you if you asked him.

Logan hooked his fingers through your shorts and panties, catching a glimpse at the wet spot of fabric between your legs.

“Christ, you want me that bad? You’re soaked, honey,” he cooed, his hot breath fanning your lower stomach. 

“Wanted you that bad for a while, “ you panted, “jus’ want you - only you.”

“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” he was smiling with his lower lip tucked beneath his teeth, finally using his grip on your shorts and panties to pull them down and throw them somewhere in one quick motion.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped at the feeling of your wet heat being exposed, so warm that the air almost felt cold. 

“Fuck,” Logan groaned, gaping at the soaked mess between your thighs,”I’ve been dreaming about the way your pussy tastes for weeks.”

His filthy words had you arching your back and pushing your hips towards him, desperate for some kind of relief. You finally felt him plant a wet, soft kiss onto your lips, using his thumbs to open them up and lick from your hole to your clit.

That had you moaning his name, chest heaving as he continued to flick his tongue and keep you on his face with the hold he had on your thighs.

He was lapping up every part of you he could get, burying his nose into your pussy when he slid his tongue to the entrance of your body.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your grip in his hair tightening, “Fuck, fuck -“

He hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations through you that only made you squirm even more against his face.

You almost whined when he pulled his tongue out of you, changing into a loud moan when two of his fingers replaced his tongue. He continued sucking and licking at your sensitive bundle of nerves, pumping his fingers in and out of you. Every time he pushed them into you again, he curled his fingers to meet the spot within you that had you tugging his hair even harder. He growled when you did that, animalistic and desperate to make you fall apart for him. 

“That feel good, Princess? Fuck - “ he mumbled against your pussy between working his mouth on you, “taste so fucking good.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes from his face, watching the way his head bobbed and his nose pushed into you. His hair was a mess that you pushed back to look into his eyes. There was something that turned you on about his gaze unwavering from yours while he continued to fuck you with his fingers like you’ve never felt before. He increased the speed of his movements, his eyes never leaving your face. You were unable to control the noises he pulled out of you, chanting his name like a prayer as you felt your climax building in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m - I’m -“, you tried to warn him.

“I know, baby. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. Come on, sweetheart, give it to me,” he groaned, desperate to have you cum into his mouth and on his face.

Within seconds of hearing his filthy encouragement, the tension in your stomach released and you squeezed your eyes shut, seeing stars as he continued to work you through your orgasm. 

Starting to come down, you became sensitive and attempted to push Logan’s head away, only for him to latch his lips onto you again. 

“I - ah, Logan, ‘s too - too much,” you gasped.

“One more, sweetheart. Think you got it in you?” His chin, mouth and tip of his nose were wet and shiny with your release. He ate you like a fucking animal, in the best way possible.

A choked noise came from your throat, your eyes trained on him with your eyebrows raised. You’d never had someone even attempt to make you finish more than once.

You nodded vigorously, Logan immediately burying his face back into your sensitive pussy. It was probably seconds before the familiar euphoria hit you again, moaning and gasping his name.

“Fuck, please let me do that all the time,” he huffed, licking his lips to savor the taste of you.

You nodded, sitting up and reaching for his beater to pull him up to you. He did as you wanted, kneeling between your legs and tugging the garment over his head and tossing it. You marveled at the sculpt of his body, running your hands up his arms, his chest, and down his abs. 

“You sure you want this, pretty girl?” 

He asked to be sure you were comfortable, of course, but you knew the double meaning of his question. Things wouldn’t be the same after this, they never could be again. 

“I need you,” you whimpered, kissing down along his jaw.

He sighed softly, reluctantly moving off the bed momentarily to strip himself of his sweatpants and boxers.

Your mouth fell open a little at the sight of him, bigger than you’ve ever seen and already leaking from the tip.

“Shit, you’re huge,” you nervously chuckled, gnawing on your lip.

He smiled, crawling on the bed again to hover over you.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he cooed, kissing down your neck again, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’ll go slow. You tell me to stop if it hurts, okay?”

You could’ve cried at the sweet tone of his voice if the position you were in wasn’t so vulgar. You nodded in agreement and watched him line himself up with your entrance, tentatively pushing the head of his cock into you. He sighed into your neck, grunting when you hooked your legs around his waist to push him further into you.

“Does that hurt?” He asked, coming up to look at your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and eyebrows furrowed, your mouth open to let out small gasps and whimpers, “a little, but it’s good.”

That made his hips twitch and push further, stretching you out with a fulfilling sting.

“Ah - “ you choked out a noise as he filled you completely, bottoming out. You watched his eyes fluttered close and his nostrils flared like he was trying to hold back in fear of hurting you.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, your fingers finding a place in his hair again, “you fill me so good.”

“Never could’ve guessed you had such a filthy mouth, princess,” he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I never would’ve guessed you wanted my filthy mouth,” you retorted, your teasing smile wiped off your face when his pace suddenly quickened. 

“I wanted that, wanted your pussy - “ he grunted, “you feel so much better than my fucking hand.”

That made you chuckle a bit, stopping when he lightly bit the soft skin on your neck.

“God, Logan,” you moaned, raking your fingernails down his back.

He groaned loudly at the feeling, his eyes really rolling back into his head.

“Mm, never would’ve guessed you had a thing for pain either, by the way,” you murmured into his ear.

“I’d let you do just about anything to me,” he confessed, his hot breath in your ear.

You tugged his hair again, admiring the way his face contorted in pleasure every time you did.

“You like that?” You bit your lip, smiling up at him.

His face became serious, eyes never leaving yours from above you as he pounded his hips into yours. 

“Don’t go talking to me like, ‘s gonna make me finish way too early,” he huffed, looking down to watch the way he pulled back and disappeared into you.

“Really?” You thought for a moment, lowering your voice and keeping your eyes on his, “Come on, baby. Cum in me. You wanna see it drip out of me? Make a fucking mess - “ 

Your taunting was cut off when Logan leaned back on his knees, pulling your hips up with him so they were angled to meet him on his lap. He wasted no time pounding into you, filling the room with sounds of your grunting and moaning and the slap of skin on skin.

“You want it that bad? You’re gonna get it, sweetheart,” he groaned animalistically, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

You tilted your head back, nearly drooling at the way he drilled into you at a new angle.

“ ‘m gonna cum,“ you warned again, “Logan-“

“Come on, babe, I wanna feel it - wanna feel you cum on me,” he panted, gritting his teeth in an attempt to keep himself at the devastating pace.

In a couple more strokes, he had you nearly screaming his name, legs shaking around him as you felt the euphoric feeling wash over you. The feeling of you pulsing and clenching around him was enough to send Logan over the edge, leaning forward so he could kiss you as he spilled ropes of his cum inside of you.

You both laid still for a moment, catching your breath.

“That was…,” you paused, thinking of the right word to describe what had happened, “the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Logan moved his face from the crook of your neck, a wide smile on his face. His hair was a mess and his skin was sticky with sweat.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he sighed, gently moving to pull out of you.

“Wait - “ you gripped his shoulder gently, keeping him in place, “can you…can you stay. Inside me, I mean.”

He raised his eyebrows, obliging your request and peppering kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

“Whatever you want, princess. I don’t think I mind stayin’ anyway.”

You giggled sweetly, trying your best to fix his hair. A thought popped into your mind, one you hadn’t even considered before you and Logan had gotten in bed.

“Is this - like, a one time thing? Because - “

“God, no,” he shook his head, admiring your features, “I mean, unless you wanted it to be, I guess, but -

You mirrored his actions, “No, no - I want you. Definitely sure that I want you.”

He planted a kiss to your forehead, running his fingers through your hair, “can I tell you somethin’, beautiful?”

“Anything, of course.”

“There was another room with two beds.”

text divider credit

A/N: I hope that wasn't god awful bc I'm not great at smut writing but anyway hope u enjoyed <3 my requests are open so if there's anything you have an idea for lmk!

[cowboybeepboop]

Sugar

"I'm not finished proving my point, sugar."

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 6k

Summary: You’ve spent months avoiding the advances from Jake, finally deciding to give in to his desire and your own.

a/n: I just remembered how much I loved Glen in TGM and now I’m obsessed with writing for him 😍😭. I always take requests so send any you have my way. Hope you enjoy <3

Maverick took a liking to you the second he met you, as one of the aircraft maintenance technicians assigned to work with the fighter jets, he shows you and your coworkers immense respect. He always makes a point of telling his team that the technicians are the reason they are able to complete their missions.

Pete brings his group of rowdy aviators into your work space. You're spinning in your chair, your jumpsuit tied around your waist as you got too warm with the summer air. He chuckles lightly when he sees you, he was pretty amused by the sight. Seeing you with your jumpsuit tied around your waist as you spun around in your chair, you looked pretty cute, in a little sister sort of way.

“Hey Kid." his eyes lock onto yours as he steps closer.

“Oh,” you stand up awkwardly, adjusting your tank top. “Hi sir, what brings you here?”

"We were just briefing with the other aviators. Thought I'd bring them by to see the people who keep us flyin'." he smiles softly at you, causing you to relax slightly.

“Well, it’s a great pleasure to meet you all.” your face brightens as you address the rest of the pilots. “My name is Y/N,” your lips curve into a dazzling smile. The other pilots nod and greet you politely, but they're all distracted, unable to keep their eyes off of you. They all look you up and down, admiring your beauty. They didn't expect to see a woman working with aircraft maintenance, but here you were, clearly skilled at your job, if Mav is wanting to introduce them to you specifically.

One of them in particular was checking you out a lot more than the rest, staring at you through his aviators as he looked you up and down. The dirty blond haired man was definitely taking a liking to you more than the others as he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

Maverick notices the way the Hangman is looking at you, and he doesn't like it. He can sense the man's desire from a mile away, and it makes him wary.

“Well, if anyone has any questions I’d be glad to answer them.” you slip your arms back into the sleeves of your uniform, taking a seat at your desk once again, eyes flicking over the paperwork in front of you.

As you looked up, Hangman's eyes met yours, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He couldn't help but be impressed by your dedication to your work.

Hangman pushed himself off the wall and sauntered closer to your desk, stopping right in front of you. "Hey there, sugar."

You give him a gentle smile as you're used to the flirting of the aviators. “Hey, do you have a question for me?”

"Oh, I think I've got a few questions." Hangman grins, his eyes looking you up and down slowly, taking in every inch of you. He leans forward, bracing one arm on your desk to get a better view.

He cocks an eyebrow, “But I might just get distracted by you before I ask them.”

“Is that so?” you gaze up at him with amusement.

"Yeah, you're just a little too distracting." he grins, a cocky look on his face.

His gaze drifts down to your exposed arms and lingers a moment, taking in your skin, before his eyes snap back up to your face. He smirks, "You know, a girl like you working in a place like this? Gotta say, it's a nice change of pace."

You stand up, leaning toward him as you smile. “You're a sweet talker blondie, but trust me. I’m not interested.” your voice is full of venom as your grin widens.

“I’m not a fan of aviators who are quite obviously making up for what they lack,” your eyes flick to his lap, “by keeping a cocky attitude towards any woman their eyes land upon.” you pat his shoulder softly as you turn on your heel, walking toward Mav.

Hangman stands there, stunned. He's not used to being told no, especially in such a blunt manner. His face hardens at the jab at his.. anatomy, and his smirk twists into a scowl.

Maverick stands nearby, watching how you handle the situation with interest. He's trying to keep his expression neutral, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

He knows Hangman's reputation, and he's glad that you were able to put him in his place. "Well done, Kid." he pats your back affectionately.

__________

A couple months have gone by since you met Hangman, you purposely try to avoid him, knowing that he's your exact type (an unnaturally attractive man who *knows* it). But it seems like the more you avoided him the more he sought you out. He always seemed to be lurking at the end of the work day, trying to get your attention, doing anything he could to be by your side.

Your coworkers press you, practically begging you to come with them to the bar. You agree to go with them to The Hard Deck, slightly annoyed at your choice in clothes as you're wearing a cropped t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, it’s going to catch some unsavory attention.

Your eyes land on Maverick as you enter the bar, your eyes brightening as you walk up to him, slipping into the seat next to him. “Good evening Sir.” you smile over at him.

Mav looks up from the book he was reading when you sit down beside him. He smiles warmly when he sees you. "Hey Kid. It's good to see you." He sets down his book, his eyes scanning over your outfit. He notices that your choice of clothing is a bit too revealing for his liking, and he can't help but feel a pang of worry.

"Have you been working hard today?" He asks, trying to keep the conversation nonchalant.

“You know it, I’m always working hard.” you order a beer before turning your attention back to the older man. Maverick raises an eyebrow as you order a beer, he takes a sip from his own drink, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You work too hard, you know that?" He says with a slight chastising tone. "You should take some time for yourself, relax a little." you laugh in response.

“It’s funny to hear you say that,” you take a drink of your beer, fumbling with the bottle. He watches you as you take a drink, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was used to seeing you in your coveralls, dirty from working on the planes all day, but now, with your shorts and cropped top, you looked like a completely different person.

"What can I say, kid," he says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. "I'm just concerned about you, that's all. You're young, you should be enjoying yourself, not working all the time."

“Yeah, you're right.” your lips purse, “but it takes hard work to prove your value as an employee.”

Mav leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he gazes at you with a mix of admiration and concern. He can see the determination in your eyes, the desire to prove yourself in a field dominated by men.

"I understand that," he says quietly. "But you also have to take care of yourself. You're no good to anyone if you burn yourself out." you grin over at him, taking notice of your coworkers calling you over to the pool table.

Mav watches as your coworkers call you over to the pool table. He can see the excitement in your eyes, the way your lips curve into a smile.

"Go on," he says, gesturing towards your friends. "Have some fun. Just don't get too drunk, alright?" He adds, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yes Sir,” you leave your seat grabbing your beer as you walk over to them. You immediately notice the eyes of Hangman on your body.

Hangman's eyes hungrily roved over your exposed skin, his gaze lingering on your thighs and the small bit of midriff that was visible. You could almost feel the heat of his gaze as you approached the pool table.

He leaned against the wall, a lazy smirk on his face as you joined your friends. As you took your place near the table, he pushed off the wall and sauntered over to you.

"Looking good, sugar." he drawled, his eyes flickering over your exposed body.

“Ah, Hangman? Is that right?” you glance over to him, your arms crossing over your waist.

"That's right, sweetheart." Hangman smirks, his eyes flickering down to your crossed arms, clearly noticing the way you're trying to hide yourself from him.

He steps closer to you, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils as he leans in. "Now, don't cover yourself up on my account. I like what I see." he purrs, his eyes traveling down your body again, his gaze lingering on your thighs.

“You're not gonna drop the act are you?” you sigh out, eyes narrowing as his cocky grin.

"This isn't an act, doll." Hangman's tone dropped lower, a hint of a challenge in his voice. He stepped even closer, his chest almost touching yours. "I mean every word I'm saying."

He reaches out, gently gripping your hip, his thumb brushing against the exposed skin at the edge of your shorts. "You're a sight for sore eyes, sugar." his touch sends shivers down your spine, desire pooling in your stomach,

You press your hand against his chest, pushing him into a seat roughly. “Your sweet talking won’t work on me, pretty boy.” Hangman grunts as he falls into the chair, slightly surprised by the forcefulness of your shove. He leans back, his eyes flickering over your form, taking in the way your body moves in your tight shorts.

"Oh, so you do have some fire in you." He grins, clearly unfazed by your aggression. "But I don’t think I’m going to give up that easily, sweetheart." his attraction for you seemingly grows at your assertiveness.

“Well, the same can be said for me.” your tone is cold as you move away from him, taking your place with your fellow technicians once again. Hangman's eyes never leave your form as you walk away, his gaze fixated on the way your hips sway in your tight shorts.

He can't help but admire your attitude, the way you refuse to give in to him so easily. It's a challenge, one that he's surprisingly enjoying. Hangman stays seated for a moment, watching as you join your friends over at the pool table. He takes a deep breath, his mind still focused on you and the way your body moved. There was something about you that made him want to push your buttons even more.

The night drags on and you find yourself calling it quits pretty early, you've never been attracted to the long nights spent in a rowdy bar. “Hey guys, I’m gonna head out.” you walk out the door after saying goodbye to your crew.

Hangman, who had been watching you all night from the bar, quickly sets down his drink and moves to follow you. He follows at a distance, wanting to catch you alone without the watchful eyes of your friends.

Just as you're a few steps away from the bar, he calls out to you. "Hey, Y/N, wait up." you ignore him and pick up your pace, heading toward the beach.

Hangman increases his pace in response, determined to catch up to you. Despite your attempts to get away, he manages to catch up fairly easily, his long legs carrying him closer to you.

He reaches out and grabs your arm to stop you, his grip firm but not forceful. "Hey, hold up a sec."

You turn to face him with an irritated expression, “What is it now?”

Hangman grins at the irritation in your voice, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. He keeps a grip on your arm, holding you in place.

"Now, that's no way to talk to me, sugar." His eyes rake over your body, taking his time to appreciate your form in the darkness. "I was hoping we could have a little chat."

“About what?” you wriggle out of his grasp, moving further into the sand. Hangman follows you into the sand, his confident stride matching your quick steps. He keeps his eyes trained on you, a sly smile on his lips.

"Oh, there's a lot I'd like to talk about." He steps closer to you, his presence feeling oddly dominant as the beach becomes quieter. "But right now, I wanna know why you're so opposed to my attention."

“What’s wrong?” your arms cross under your chest as you drop into the sand, breathing in the refreshing breeze. “Not used to someone being so.. Put off by you?”

Hangman chuckles, your question clearly amuses him. He plops down in the sand beside you, sitting close enough that his thigh brushes against yours, your eyes focus on his clothed leg against your bare one.

"You could say that." He turns to face you, his eyes roaming over your body for a moment before meeting your gaze. "Most girls are putty in my hands. But you, you're different." your eyes roll at his response.

“That, there is exactly why I’m so opposed to you,” you lean back on your palms, “Your cocky attitude can't always get you what you want.” Hangman's smirk widens at your eye roll, clearly enjoying the banter between you two. He leans back in the sand as well, mirroring your position.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, sugar. My cocky attitude has gotten me a lot of things." He glances over at you, his eyes roaming over your figure once again. "But you..." He pauses, his voice dropping lower. "You're the first one who's actually resisted me."

You lean back into the sand, body relaxing into the ground. “You're such an ass,”

Hangman grins at your response, clearly enjoying your sharp tongue. He turns onto his side, resting his head in his hand as he gazes down at you.

"I won't deny that." He lifts his free hand, reaching out to playfully tug on a strand of your hair.

“So, if I gave into you,” you brush his hand away, “would you leave me alone?” eyes focusing on the night sky above you.

Hangman raises an eyebrow at your question, his cocky smile never faltering. He props himself up on an elbow, shifting closer to you in the sand.

"Now, why would I want to leave you alone if you gave in to me?" His eyes roam over your figure, a hunger in his gaze. "I'd want you all to myself."

You laugh sweetly, “You really don't strike me as the type to stick around, Hangman.”

Hangman grins at your comment, clearly finding your dismissal more amusing than irritating. He scoots closer again, his breath warm against your neck as he leans in.

"The name's Jake." His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he whispers his name, his tone suddenly lower, more intimate.

“Well, Jake.” you sit up, moving away from his body. “I think you should find a new girl to chase.”

Jake's smile falters slightly as you move away from him, disappointment flickering in his eyes. But he quickly recovers, his cocky demeanor returning.

He sits up as well, he gazes at you, his eyes roaming over your defensive form. "And why would I do that?” he asks, his voice almost a grumble.

“Because,” you study his expression, “I told you before, I’m not interested.” Jake's eyes narrow as you reiterate your lack of interest. Your stubbornness is both frustrating and strangely intriguing.

He leans closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "Are you sure about that, sugar?" His voice has a hint of challenge in it. "You don't feel even a little bit interested?"

You move to your knees swiftly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. As you pull away, you smile sweetly, “Now I’m 100% sure.”

Jake's eyes widen at the unexpected kiss, his cocky veneer slipping momentarily. He's completely taken aback by your boldness and the sweetness of your smile.

He just stares at you for a moment, clearly caught off guard. His confidence slowly returns, and a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh yeah?" he purrs, shifting closer to you again. "One little kiss, and you're already 100%, huh?"

“One kiss is all I needed,” you push his shoulder gently, adding distance back between your bodies. “I didn't even feel a thing.” you gulp as the lie spills from your lips, there was no way you would give him the pleasure of knowing he had sent shivers down your body.

Jake's smirk falters again, his ego clearly bruised by your words. He can't understand how you're unaffected by the kiss, especially when it had the complete opposite effect on him. He stays silent for a moment, his mind working to come up with a response.

"One kiss wasn't enough," he finally says, his tone a mix of irritation and determination. "No, I think you need another one just to be sure." his hands grasp your hips as he pulls you closer.

“Aw, come on Jake.” you don't resist his touch, “You don't want to come to terms with the fact that you might just be off your game?”

Jake's eyes darken at your words, clearly not appreciating your teasing. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours, his grip on your hips tight.

"My game is never off, especially with pretty girls like you." He leans in, his mouth just millimeters from yours. "In fact, I think I'll prove it by making you feel something."

“And how do you plan to do that, pretty boy?” you tease him further.

Jake's grip on your hips tightens as you call him "pretty boy," and you can see a flicker of irritation flash across his face. He's clearly not used to being undermined like this, especially by someone he finds *this* attractive.

With a swift movement, he flips you onto your back, pinning you down into the sand. He hovers over you, his body pressing against yours.

"Like this," he says, his voice low and gruff. "I'll make you feel something alright." his lips capture yours in a hungry kiss full of desire.

You let out a muffled noise, obviously caught off guard by his action. Jake takes full advantage of your surprise, his tongue slipping past your lips, and explores your mouth with ravenous desire. His body presses against you, his weight pressing you into the sand, and his hands begin to roam over your body, mapping out your curves.

You press your hands against his chest, pushing him away with a flustered expression. Jake pulls back, his breath heavy and ragged, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and triumph.

He gazes down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and slightly messy hair. "See, sugar?" he grins. "I told you I'd make you feel something."

“You.. didn't.” you protest, “all you did was catch me off guard.” Jake chuckles at your reply, his eyes flickering over your form again, taking in the way your body looks beneath him.

"So, you're telling me that right now, you're not feeling anything right now?" His hand slides down your side, resting on your hip. "Not a single thing?"

“Not a single thing.” you parrot, breathlessly. Jake grins at your response, clearly not believing you.

His hand that was on your hip slowly moves up to your stomach, his thumb tracing slow, teasing circles on your bare skin. “Is that right, sugar?” he drawled. “Nothing at all?”

You suck in a deep breath as his calloused thumb, giving you goosebumps. “Mhm, nothin’.” you murmur. Jake's smirk deepens as he watches your reaction to his touch. He notices your goosebumps and the way you sucked in a breath, he clearly knows he's getting to you.

His hand moves from your stomach up to your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt. His fingertips graze against your bare skin. You gasp at his touch, your breathing becoming ragged as his hand explores you.

Jake lets out a soft, guttural sound as he feels the effect he's having on you. His hand continues to move, his fingers lightly trailing over your skin, tracing the lines of your body. His eyes never leave your face, taking in every reaction.

"Still not feeling anything, sugar?" he teases, his voice a low, rumbling growl. Your eyes squeeze shut as your expression contorts with pleasure, you lean forward pressing your flushed face into his neck.

Jake lets out a soft laugh as you bury your face into his neck, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. His hand continues to explore your upper body, his touch sending small waves of pleasure through you.

He turns his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers. "You're losing, sugar."

“You've made your point,” your voice is a shaky whisper as you pull his hand away from your body, still focused on resisting him.

Jake lets out a low rumble, clearly not happy that you've pulled his hand away. He gazes down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and determination.

He moves his body even closer, his weight pressing you into the sand. His hand grasps your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His voice is low and gruff as he speaks. "I'm not finished proving my point, sugar."

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you raise your head to look up at him, “Please don't screw me over,” you want him just as much as he wants you, but you're not looking for a simple one night stand.

Jake’s gaze meets yours, his eyes searching yours for a moment before a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I won't," he says, his voice firm, his grip on your waist tight. "I’m done messing around, sugar. I want you for real."

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips hovering over his. Jake's arms wrap tighter around your waist, pressing you closer to his body. His gaze drops to your lips, his eyes darkening with desire.

"I won't hurt you, sugar." you connect your lips with his in a passionate kiss. Jake kisses you back with equal passion, his arms tightening around you, pulling you flush against him. His lips move hungrily against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you.

He pulls you closer, his hands roaming over your body, his touch claiming you as his. You moan against his lips as his hands squeeze your ass, pulling you closer to him. Jake smirks into the

kiss at your moan. He tightens his grip on your ass, pulling you closer, so close that you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

He deepens the kiss, his mouth devouring yours, and his hands continue to roam over your curves, claiming every inch of you. You reluctantly pull away from his kisses, Jake grunts in protest as you pull away from him, his lips still seeking your skin. He nips playfully at your neck before leaning back to look at you.

“Jake, we should go somewhere a little more private.” you murmur softly as you stand, he follows you up.

"Yeah, somewhere more private," he agrees, his voice a low, gruff rumble. He slides his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. "I know a place."

“Lead the way,” your teeth capture your bottom lip as you look up at him. Jake grins at your words and the way your teeth graze your bottom lip. He squeezes your hand, his eyes darkened with hunger as he gazes down at you.

"Come with me," he murmurs, his voice edged with a hint of excitement. He begins walking, pulling you behind him, leading the way to a more private area.

“Where are we going?” you question while following close behind him. Jake looks back at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face.

"You'll see, sugar," he replies, his voice full of mystery. He continues to lead you through the base, eventually stopping in front of a door that leads to a small storage room. Jake looks around to make sure no one is watching before pulling you into the room with him.

Jake laughs softly at the surprised gasp that escapes your lips as your body collides with his. He locks the door behind him, sealing you both in the small storage room. His arms slide around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his eyes darkened with desire.

"Looks like we're all alone now," he purrs, his voice a low rumble. "Just how I like it." your hands slide up his shirt, fingers brushing over his strong abs.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” you whisper softly. Jake shudders slightly as your fingers roam over his abs, his muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Your words only further excite him, and he gazes down at you with darkened eyes. "Can you do that, Y/N? Keep quiet for me?" he teases, his grip on your waist tightening. You pull his shirt off, pressing soft kisses to his muscles.

“Can you stay quiet?” you mutter against his skin, sucking a soft mark into his collarbone.

Jake lets out a low, ragged moan as you pull off his shirt and press your lips to his skin, his eyes momentarily closing as he succumbs to your touch.

Your words send a shiver down his spine, and a cocky grin spreads across his face. "Is that a challenge, sugar?" he murmurs, his fingers grasping your hips tightly.

“Of course,” you suck another mark into his skin, your hands traveling down his stomach before landing on his erection. Jake's body tightens as your mouth moves against his skin, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He shivers beneath your touch, his hands flexing against your hips.

When your hands move lower, he gasps softly, his eyes closing as his length stiffens against your touch. "Careful," he grits out, his voice strained. He moves, pressing your back against the wall, trapping you in his arms.

Jake's need for you is palpable as he desperately pulls away your clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The cropped shirt is first to go, revealing your lacy bra. His fingers make quick work of the clasp, freeing your breasts to his eager gaze.

The look on his face is pure desire as he takes in your bare skin, his breath coming in short, ragged pants. His rough, calloused hands skim over your curves, sending waves of heat through your body as he pushes down your shorts and panties. The sand from the beach clings to your skin, but it's your own heat that you feel more intensely.

His eyes are dark with passion as he takes in the sight of you, fully exposed and vulnerable before him. The anticipation is almost unbearable as he trails kisses along your collarbone, down your chest, and over the sensitive peaks of your breasts. Each touch feels like a brand, claiming you as his own.

With trembling hands, you reach down to Jake's belt, pulling it open with a quiet jingle of the buckle. His eyes never leave yours as you unbutton his pants, sliding them down his hips, along with his boxers. His erection springs free, and he groans as your fingertips graze over it. You wrap your hand around him, feeling the heat and hardness of his desire.

The room seems to shrink around you as your breaths mingle, the tension between you thick with passion. Jake's hands glide over your bare skin, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch. He steps closer, aligning his body with yours, his length pressing against your stomach as he nips at your earlobe. "Are you sure about this, sugar?" he whispers, his voice strained with need.

“Yes, please.” You moan out your own desire clouding any remaining doubt. He lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist, and you guide him to your entrance, the anticipation making your body tremble. With one swift, powerful thrust, he fills you, eliciting a soft cry from your lips.

The sensation is overwhelming, his thickness stretching and filling you in a way that no one else ever has.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him as he begins to move, his hips driving into yours with a passion that matches the rhythm of his racing heart beat. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you bite down on your lip to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out.

Your eyes lock onto his, and in that moment, you realize that this isn't just about the chase anymore. There's something deeper, something raw and real connecting the two of you. And as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment, you know that no matter what happens after tonight, you've found something worth fighting for.

With the door to the storage room firmly locked behind you, Jake's passionate onslaught leaves you gasping for air. You muffle your moans by biting onto his shoulder as he thrusts into you with a newfound speed, his movements becoming more urgent and powerful with each passing second. His teeth graze the soft skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he marks you as his.

The sound of your bodies slapping together echoes softly in the confined space, mixing with the muffled sounds of the base outside. His muscles tense and release beneath your grip, his grunts of pleasure becoming more pronounced. The sand clinging to your skin is a stark reminder of where you are, but all you can focus on is the fire burning between your legs.

The scent of sex fills the air, and you can feel the heat of his desire for you, his need to claim you completely. His hands move to your hips, guiding your movements, urging you to meet his every thrust. The friction builds, a delicious pressure coiling in your stomach, and you know you won't be able to keep quiet much longer.

His eyes bore into yours, a silent question that you answer with a nod, giving him the go-ahead to unleash his full passion on you. And as the first wave of your climax hits, you let out a soft, needy cry that's quickly swallowed by his mouth, his own release not far behind.

Your bodies shudder together, clinging tightly as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. For a brief second, you forget where you are, lost in the pleasure of his touch, the feel of him deep inside you.

Jake's body trembles as he comes down from his high, his heart still racing. He holds you close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands continue to roam over your skin, his touch gentler now, a possessive yet loving caress.

His eyes are still darkened with desire, but there's a new tenderness in his gaze. He looks down at you, his lips finding yours in a slow and gentle kiss. Your fingers trace his muscles as you pull away for a breath, chest rapidly rising and falling. You reach for your discarded clothes, beginning to dress again.

Jake watches you as you begin to dress again, a faint frown of disappointment on his face. He leans against the wall, his eyes never leaving your body as you pull on your clothes.

“Can’t you just stay like that?” he teases, his voice gruff. You kiss his lips sweetly while buttoning your shorts.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You smirk softly as he gazes down at you with pure desire.

Jake grins at your response, his arms encircling your waist once again. He can't help himself, the sight of you dressing is somehow unbearably seductive.

"You know damn well I would," he rumbles, his thumbs caressing the exposed skin of your waist.

His fingers move to pull at your shirt as he tries to undress you again. You playfully smack his hands away, “Won’t your coworkers be looking for you soon?” Your voice is a soft warning.

Jake frowns in disappointment as you swat his hands away from your shirt, a small huff of frustration leaving his lips. He knows you're right, and he knows that he needs to get back to work. But his body still aches for you, the taste of you still on his tongue.

"You're ruining my fun, Y/N," he pouts, his hands moving down to grab your hips instead. Jake's lips find your neck again, his mouth and tongue caressing the sensitive skin as he kisses and nips at your flesh. His body presses closer to yours, his hands pulling you flush against him.

He groans softly, his frustration at being interrupted clear in the sound. "Seriously, sugar. Can't I just stay here with you?" he murmurs, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Mm, pretty boy,” you groan out the nickname you gave him, “I wish we could stay here, but if anyone needs in.. and finds the door locked,”

Jake growls softly in protest, his teeth gently biting your neck at your use of the nickname "pretty boy." He knows you're right, but he still doesn't want to leave.

"I hate when you're logical," he complains, his hands running down to grip your hips, pulling you closer to him. His lips find your ear, his voice a low, possessive murmur.

But his body aches for you, and he doesn't want to let you go. His mouth is still against your neck as his hands wander your body.

“We really should leave Jake..” you murmur softly while leaning into his intoxicating touch.

Jake lets out a deep, shaky sigh as you lean into his touch. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, committing your scent to memory. He knows you're right, but he doesn't want to admit it.

"I know, sugar," he mutters, his voice raspy and filled with reluctance. "But I'm not ready to let you go yet." His arms move around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

Before you can protest again, the familiar voices of his fellow pilots ring out from outside the door. “Hey, do you know where Hangman went?” Coyote questions the man he’s with.

“Nah no idea, last I saw he was following Y/N out of the bar.” Fanboy replies, their voices getting fainter as they pass by the door.

Jake freezes as he hears the voices of his fellow pilots outside the door. His body tenses against yours as he recognizes Coyote and Fanboy's voices. He lets out a low curse, his eyes darting to the door in alarm.

For a moment, he contemplates ignoring them and staying in the storage room with you but he knows that's not an option. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with reluctance as he mutters a curse. "They're looking for me..."

“Don’t make them search for too long,” you reply with a soft smile, your arms dropping from his warm body.

Jake's body immediately misses the feel of your touch as your arms drop from his body. He watches you with thinly veiled longing, his fingers itching to pull you back against him.

He sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping in resignation. He knows he has to go, but he doesn't want to leave you. He reaches out and gently cups your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"Give me your number," he mutters, his voice thick with authority. You hand him your phone for him to put his contact information in, he presses a gentle kiss to your head before begrudgingly leaving you alone in the storage room.

[theealbatross]

marry me (s.s.)

Plot | The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

Tags | miscommunication, mentions of murder and poisonings, fluff, implied smut, dangerous idiots in love, fluff, 6k-ish words

A/N: sorry this took so long i went on a vacation! One of the funniest line about Ominis locking the two of them up was written by @/shinzhon in our discord server!

Series Masterlist - the rest of the chapters here

“Seriously Sebastian, how many times has it been this month?”

“It’s not my fault this time, I swear!”

“So, you slipped and somehow ended up in the Restricted Section? Is there some secret passage I hadn’t known about? Care to share to the class?” Ominis pinned him with a look and despite knowing his friend was blind Sebastian still raised his hands in surrender. Ominis sighed, there was no point really. When he had agreed to be friends with the troublesome boy in their first year he had signed up for this. It’s his fault for not seeing the mischievousness in those innocent brown eyes.

“I’m surprised,” Ominis continued as he started the trek back to their common room, the painful small talks he had with the headmaster in order to prevent anything getting sent to Solomon already fading as he got further away from the office. He could only imagine the absolute hell the old man would’ve sent their way if he had heard of his rendezvous in the Restricted Section. “It just isn’t like you.”

Sebastian scoffed, “To be in the Restricted Section? Where have you been the past year?”

“No, you idiot,” he hissed. “It isn’t like you to be caught.”

The falter in Sebastian’s steps had him raising an eyebrow, neck snapping back in accusation. “I’ve been caught once,” Sebastian reminded him quickly of the time Scribner first put the anti-Alohamora charm in the doors of the Restricted Section.

"I'm not finished," He’s hiding something. “It isn’t like you to be caught twice.”

He stopped on his track at the sound of Sebastian’s wince. “Okay, don’t be mad –”

“Oh no.”

“The new fifth-year needed some help to get in the restricted section because – well, I actually can’t tell you, she made me swear – and it’s bigger than the both of us and it was going so well! But Peeves caught just as we were about to –”

“Honestly, Sebastian, enough!”

He didn’t need to hear any of this.

Sebastian was right. Whatever great big mess that new kid was in the middle of was bigger than the both of them. And he has had more than enough on his plate trying to keep his friend out of trouble without the additional presence of another mysterious adrenaline junkie being thrown in the mix – one who was worryingly a magnet for big trouble. It was no wonder Sebastian was transfixed; he was looking at the damn mirror.

“Whatever fascination you have with that girl ends now,” It doesn’t escape him how much he sounded like a father getting in-between two lovers. He would’ve laughed in incredulity at the current situation he had found himself in if he wasn’t so bloody frustrated. “You get in enough trouble on your own, she doesn’t need to be sucking you up in her own problems.”

Sebastian makes a sound that doesn’t sound like a ‘yes, Ominis’ and the blond’s blood vessels nearly pop. He cannot believe this.

“Come on, it wasn’t like that. Honestly, she was brilliant! You should’ve been there; she took to the Disillusionment spell so quick that if we hadn’t let out guard down, we –”

“Oh, Merlin’s Beard, why don’t you marry the damn girl and the both of you leave me out of your tomfooleries!”

That would be ideal, he thinks. In a perfect world, he’s going to lock the two of them in a room and eat the key. There he would have no daily nuisances, won’t have to worry about sneaky Slytherins and the explosion of troubles they bring with them, and won’t need to suffer through Headmaster Black’s presence to get them out of it. A thankless job that brought nothing but headaches.

It was only when he was out of his blissful reverie that he realized his headache had stopped walking behind him seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

No.

“Sebastian … “

The other boy audibly flinched, his breath now irregular, and Ominis will bet all the galleons in the Gaunt’s vault that if he could see his old friend’s face would be as red as a Gryffindor’s arse right now.

He could almost cry, his palms producing embarrassing cold sweats at the absolute worst-case scenario unfolding in front of his unseeing eyes. “Please – I am begging you – not this one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh no, no, no.

Suddenly, the prospect of Sebastian and this troublemaker getting together was not that idyllic. In quick successions, all possible worst-case scenario popped in Ominis head. Sebastian was bad enough, if he had someone who was equally as reckless and rash as him it would be something out of his worst nightmare.

Ominis is a good person. This can’t be happening to him.

“Sebastian, listen to me –”

With only a breeze as his answer Sebastian skipped right past Ominis and up the grand staircase. Ominis could feel the heat of his face. “No time to talk. Got somewhere to be –”

“Sebastian, no!”

Why must it keep happening to him?

Sebastian was pretty sure the house in Feldcroft has not heard Anne’s laughter in a long, long time. Yet, here you were, huddled together with his sister, whispering giggle-worthy stories about him no doubt by the way your gaze kept fluttering back to him, and lifting the dreadful ooze that has monopolized the small space since his sister’s illness.

“Nice girl,” He had nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized his uncle had been sitting on the spare bed hidden by a curtain.

“Y-Yeah,” Merlin’s beard you even got his unpleasant uncle’s favor in such a short time – a miracle worker, truly. “She’s … quite something.”

Talking to him has always been awkward.

Even before Anne had gotten sick, he found it difficult to converse with the man who looked too much but was simultaneously nothing like his gentle, kind father. And maybe it was also the childish insistence that if he had let the man into his heart, he would betray his parents – his father – that he just couldn’t let him in. It would feel too much like replacing him so he just opted in letting Solomon linger at the precipice of his life and the man was more than happy to do so.

After all, if Solomon was nothing like his father, Sebastian was everything that reminded Solomon of his dead brother. And those were holes none of them could fill for each other.

“You know, your mother was the same,” Sebastian’s eyebrows raised, never hearing Solomon talk about her till now. “When she was a 7th year I was just starting in Hogwarts and let me tell you, I had little hope for that brother of mine of ever getting her attention.”

His uncle continued to stare at you like he was seeing a ghost – the good kind – not the kind he sees when he looks at him. “She was brilliant, loved by even the firmest professors. And was always willing to hold out a helping hand, even to lost first years whose ass of a brother left to go fend for himself in the confusing moving stairs of Hogwarts.”

Even Sebastian let out a chuckle at that ridiculous image. Sometimes he forgets that even his old uncle had once been a child. The thought is uncomfortable, especially looking at the man he is now. “I always told him he was out of his mind for courting your mother but did my crazy brother listen? Absolutely not.”

Where was he going with this?

Sebastian returned his eyes back to you.

Brilliant, admirable, courageous you.

With your bright smile that feeds his ego by always shining brighter with him. The recklessness that never fails to infuriate and impress on his last nerves. The kindness you innately had in you that makes him want to wrap you up in the finest silk then lock you up in an impenetrable room so nobody else may ever touch it – so nobody else may have you.

That would be best, he thinks.

“It would seem even that insanity he had passed on to you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths so all his blood doesn’t go to his face, unable to look at the older man. “It’s not like that,” he cleared his throat, now unable to look at you. “We’re … friends.”

“A good … companionship is built upon friendship,” Sebastian’s head whipped to this uncle as if to say ‘how would you know?’ but his uncle just grunted, shrugging before standing up to busy himself in the kitchen, calling you out to assist and telling Anne to take her medicine.

A good companionship. He knows it’s a bit too early but the thought of it wasn’t as horrifying as he thought it would be. The budding interest he had in his new friend was pushed and shoved into the deepest nook of his brain – he had more pressing things to tend to, one that was more important than discerning why he could recognize the sound of her laughter in the middle of dinner in the Great Hall.

But if he really thinks about it, takes a moment to breathe and considers it … it would be nice. She’s had research interest but with her grades and skill being a renowned curse-breaker or even an auror isn’t out of the question. If he works hard, he knows he’d be able to keep up and support her and Anne – maybe even set up an apartment in the city, they can just visit his sister when they have the chance.

Of course,he will try to encourage her to settle back down in Feldcroft if Anne still lives here but Irondale is quite beautiful too, a good place to practice flying when they have a family, let his children experience a true childhood surrounded by peace and quiet – two kids would be nice. Twins run in the family so maybe he could convince her for another one if their first pair are of the same gender. He would really like a daughter who looks just like --

 “I like her.”

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian jumped when he realized his twin sister was now right in front of him while he was deep in his embarrassing delusions. (When did the members of his family become so sneaky?) She grinned at him as if she knew exactly what had him so distracted. To avoid her piercing stare, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he guided her in the little nook of her bedroom where all the vials full of her medicines were stored.

“I knew you would. ‘s why I brought her here.”

“Oh?” Anne nonchalantly drank a disgusting-looking fluid in one gulp. “So, it wasn’t cause you wanted to monopolize her and get ahead of your competition back at Hogwarts?”

Sebastian gawked, his entire body heating up from the accusation. “What – no, it’s not – I thought she would cheer you up!”

He quickly took a quick peek at the corner, relieved that you were too busy charming his uncle off to hear such absurd allegations against him. He wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression of him at all. After all, for how wondrous those visions are, he puts your friendship on a pedestal above anything else.

He thinks he’ll be more than content to be just your friend. Maybe.

“How gracious of you, brother,” Anne smirked, in this light it was almost like the old Anne.

Sebastian smirked at her, masking indifference, “I try.”

He should’ve known. Anne would be the one who might just see through all of him, even the things he likes to keep from his head. Even his most impossible dreams of cozy cottages and soft days.

“Sebastian!” The twins straightened up at your voice, both felt like they had been caught red-handed as you cheerfully rounded the corner. “Oh, was I interrupting –”

“No, not at all!” Anne pushed Sebastian firmly, making him stumble and catch himself just as he was about to crash into you. The proximity forces him to stare as your eyes crinkled when you smiled. He stops breathing.

You’ll look dazzling in white; he thinks.

“Your uncle told me your neighbor had some mint in their garden, said you could help me find it? It would go well with the juice.”

Sebastian’s eyes fell to your lips as you spoke before physically ripping his eyes out to look at your eyes, nodding, as his brain tried to keep up between his imagination and the reality of your face in front of his.  You grinned, already walking towards the door. He lets out a breath, the faint traces of your perfume that he gave you wafting an enchanting trail that kept his gaze on your retreating back.

“Get on with it,” Anne pushed him again and this time he gave her his deadliest glare as he followed after you. “You can’t hide her in Feldcroft forever.”

“Zip it.”

Solomon stood next to Anne as they stared at the two sweethearts in their own worlds as they made an adventure out of the small trip. Anne couldn’t help but giggle when Sebastian tripped because he was too busy looking at you instead of the road.

“Are men always this stubborn and stupid?”

“No,” Solomon grumbled, heart aching fondly when in a blink he could almost see a different mirage of figures that were both familiar and strangers at the same time. “He’s just his father’s son.”

“It’s over.”

Sebastian turned his head, straying his eyes away from the night sky framed by the room’s glass ceiling to look at you.  “It’s over.”

The two of you lay down on the floor of the room of requirement, sneaking away from the graduation party to spend the last moments of your life as a student in Hogwarts together. It wasn’t intentional, you had sneaked out for a proper goodbye to the sentient room and thanked it for everything it had provided for you but, like always, Sebastian had gotten ahold of your sneaking form before you could take two steps away from his side.

Sebastian can see that the inevitability of it all is making you emotional, a Hogwarts-shaped hole already forming in the crevices of your heart. The thought of no longer having this haven to escape the world's cruel realities makes him sigh.

“I’m terrified,” your whispered confession surprised him.

His gallant darling? Scared?

“What for?”

You smiled at him sheepishly. “It feels stupid but … I’m scared of things changing. I feel like that little girl again – 15 years old and alone in this great, big world I was thrust into.” Sebastian noticed a shudder crawl over your body. “And this time I won’t have a cheeky Slytherin lad to show me around.”

Sebastian frowned, unsure if he was more disappointed at you for thinking you would lose him that easily or at himself for not nailing that the two of you were tethered forevermore in that bright head of yours.

Instead, he took your shaking hands that you tried to hide and held on to it tight.

You smiled up at him. “Promise to stay in touch?”

He could almost scoff at such an understatement of a request. Do you know I’m never letting you go?

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” he grinned, hoping to charm the rest of your remnant fears away. “I expect weekly letters while I’m away from training.”

You scrunched your nose, which he thinks is just adorable “What? So you can brag to your fellow trainees you have a lovesick lady waiting for you at home?”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling and heart racing, “Maybe I should keep a photo of you plastered on my wall then, really commit to the part. A pretty face like you on my walls should make me the envy of my entire group.”

Her laugh came out nervous, her grip on his hands tightened. She’s still scared.

If only he had been sorted in Gryffindor maybe then he would’ve been daring enough to say something. To fall to his knees in this room and let his forehead kiss the ground and beg you to stay with him, run away with him, marry him. To let him spend the rest of his lowly life making sure you will never be lonely again.

But the fates were cruel and for all his pretense of confidence, the gods’ honest truth is he is a coward. A coward with no prospects.

If he wants your hand he needs to prepare, to follow the plan he had mapped out since the night he had realized he would very much like to spend the rest of his life with you or die trying. He might not be worth anything for now but he’ll make himself enough.  He just needs to hold on … just two more years – it’s all he asks.

Just two years for him to establish himself, to become someone, to earn the right to ask you. He knows it will be hard, you’ll be engrossed in your own research and won’t be able to see him as he trains to be an auror. And there was always a risk of you meeting someone else but he’s already made Poppy swear to report everything to him while she accompanies you in your travels, a contingency plan for any hurdle that may put a wrench in his plans.

If all of this fails then so be it, but he won’t lose you from a lack of planning or trying.

“Why are you looking at me like that?

He didn’t realize he was staring at you while his thoughts ran wild. The dark of your eyes reflected the ceilings you had charmed with the sky of the Forbidden Forest. The dim hue of the room made you look ethereal, like a forest fairy sent to lead him to a beautiful doom. He’d follow you anywhere.

Is it too soon to tell you I love you?

Is it too late?

“Have I ever told you that you’re the only one I need?” Sebastian suddenly whispered, vulnerable.

It’s the closest thing he’ll allow himself to say for now, placating the intensity of his need to be close to you by properly laying on his side and pressing a firm hand on your cheeks as you followed his lead, your own loosely dangling on his waist.

“Don’t you think Ominis will be quite offended by that?” you teased, your fingers tracing patterns on his spine.

He couldn’t help but match your grin, “He’ll live.”

“Sebastian,” your words quiet but he moved his hand at the back of your head to pull you in closer, muffling your following words on his chest. “Promise me nothing will change?”

Sebastian’s hold on you tensed, pressing the gentlest kiss at the top of your head to silence his protests.

No, he wants to scream. Everything has to change.

He’ll change everything for you.

“I promise,” he lies.

He’s no Gryffindor, after all.

[ 5 years later ]

“I almost fucking killed you!”

You rolled your eyes, which was a bad idea considering the curse that malfunctioned in Gringott’s brought upon a gaggle of Inferis along with a mutated one that grew about ten feet tall. Before it could lunge straight at your head, Sebastian – Merlin’s beard, he was still as handsome as the day you had left Hogwarts – pulled you into him before casting a Protego followed by a Confringo, blasting the undead’s arm away.

Still his favorite after all these years.

“What? You become a bigshot Auror and forget my face?!”

With an Incendio, the rest of the Inferis were now weakened enough that Sebastian was able to finish them all in one go (bloody hell!). Giving you time to gather yourself and lash out a heavy burst of ancient magic to take care of the giant Inferi once and for all.

You wobbled from the effort but firm hands and a chest caught you. When you looked up you were greeted by a cantankerous Sebastian covered in dust and dirt.

“As if I could see your face in those ridiculous glasses you’re wearing. Is that a lizard’s eye?”

You pulled on the offending thing, turning and standing on your tiptoes to put it on him, then he could see that it helps with seeing the traps laid out around the vault. “Satisfied your inquiries, Mr. Auror?”

He pushed the glasses to the top of his head, still looking down at you with a suspicious glare. Damn him and damn the entire male race for their inability to stop growing their limbs. “I should have you arrested. Illegally breaking into Gringots? What were you thinking?”

“Please, any curse-breaker you sent this way would’ve been eaten by that curse, I barely got out with my life if not for my ancient magic.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows twitched in the familiar way when he wasn’t particularly fond of you – which usually only happens when you throw yourself in danger … like today. Old habits die hard.

“I –”

“Save it,” he raised a palm. You sucked your lips into a thin line comically – it has been half a decade since you last saw him after all, you’re not entirely quite sure If this Sebastian in front of you would hesitate in throwing his prodigal best friend into the cold stone walls of a ministry ordained prison. “You owe me.”

Before he could, you fired off a blast of ancient magic behind him, crushing the lone Inferi that was bidding its time under a rock. You smirked. “Are we even now?”

“Not even fucking close,” His face was blank, unamused. Sebastian’s patience has never been the longest but this is one of the few times his ire was aimed at you, the novelty of it would make you blush if you weren’t so guilty. “Where have you been?”

This time it was your smile that fell, eyes dropping with it in shame. Straight to it, huh.

“Sebastian … I left a lett –“

“A letter! You call that a letter?!” He guffawed, turning his back on you and started pacing just at the ledge that led to a very, very, long fall to the bottom of Gringotts. Your fingers twitched to reach out for him but you had a feeling he wasn’t particularly interested in getting mothered right now as he spiraled out the words you’re sure he had surely been holding the past years. “My dearest friend, one who fights trolls for practice and is the most wanted woman of all dark wizards in the country disappears without a trace even when I spent an entire year searching for her –”

He looked for you?

“—but oh no! All is well Sebastian, she left you a bloody note!”

You felt like a reprimanded toddler but maybe (just maybe) you deserved it. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

Something in your words snapped the last of Sebastian’s nerve. The gall of you – to stand here like it was nothing. The days he had spent tracking you, dreading the moment he would be greeted by your corpse.

How dare you leave? How dare you leave him? Of all the people in this world you were the one who was supposed to stay on his side.

‘I’ll be back. I promise. I just need time’

He marched to where you were standing, cupping both of your shoulders so you can look at him. “I will be given an explanation.”

Instead, your eyes fell on his left hand. He followed your line of sight, the gold band around his finger making all your cruelest nightmares come true.

How did it come to this? You scoured your memories of your entire friendship – how had the two of you come from being unable to keep a single secret from each other to strangers that have too many unspoken grievances in between them?

Was this inevitable?

Finally, you gathered your strength. He did deserve the truth from you of all people. And you could truly never keep a secret from Sebastian even now – which is also why you left. The shame, the unjustified anger, the hurt in your chest when you looked at him – you couldn’t handle it.

“I … I heard from Leander.”

His frown deepened. What does Leander have anything to do with this?

“I was going to visit you on the last weekend of your training. Then Leander caught me in town and he said … he said that after you had finished your auror training you were planning to propose, that you were already looking for a ring.”

He is going to kill that orange blabbermouth fuc –

“I couldn’t – surely, you couldn’t be that daft. I … I loved you, Sebastian! And I know I’m your friend and I should’ve been there for you. And I really am – I am happy for you,” you took his hand, your gentle touch shakily running through the gold band around his ring finger as you tried to hold back the tears. It felt like it was mocking you, like it could burn a mark on your skin. “If anyone deserves to build a family it would be you. I just … in that moment I couldn’t be happy for you. I needed to remove myself from the situation and I couldn’t say goodbye – you wouldn’t have let me! I panicked and I was hurt and … I really am sorry. I’m so sorry, Sebastian.”

As humiliating as it was to say all the hurt that you were carrying with you as you traveled the world to escape your love for him it did make you feel lighter. Were you a coward? Maybe so. But you will not shame your past self for what she did out of hurt and fear. It was painful but necessary.

It wasn’t until Sebastian was cupping your face and wiping your cheeks with his thumb that you realized you had been crying.

“Darling, who did you think the ring was for?”

You blinked, “What?”

You could tell he was trying to lengthen his patience with you, clearly as he was the more emotionally stable one at the moment even though it looked like he was at the precipice of choking you. "Have I ever told you that I was courting anyone?”

The conversation was taking a turn you weren't expecting. “N-No, but Leander and Everett used to keep teasing you about the Ministry girls that was always at your tail so I just assumed …”

He raised his eyebrows, holding onto your cheeks tighter so you had to look at him. For the first time in your entire friendship, you couldn’t read him at all. “I assumed you became interested in one of them.”

He sighed, “No, sweetheart. I did not become interested in any of them.”

You frowned, still feeling the cold ring on your cheek. “Then who did you marry?”

“I’m … not married.” This time it was him who seemed to blush, actually breaking eye contact to chuckle. When he looked back at you it was like you were getting a peek of the boyish Sebastian you once knew. “I would have been if the beautiful witch I had been chasing did not disappear on me right when I was about to propose.”

His words sunk into you like molasses, the wrinkle in between your eyebrows disappearing as your eyes widened in realization. Surely, he doesn’t mean –

“I just wore it since I would’ve been wearing it either way if someone had said yes. And it’s a more effective way to ward off any hopefuls. A little white lie to cover up my bruised heart and spare their egos”

“Wait, wait –“you tried to push him away but one of his arms just wrapped around your back, pushing your chest to his. He wasn’t going to let you get away this time, if he has to cast a binding spell on you without your knowledge then so be it.

The past five years had been torture enough.

“I guess it’s what I deserved. Letting the love of my life wait around just because my pride wanted me to earn the right to ask for her hand. The Hero of Hogwarts, the brightest witch of our age – surely, I couldn’t just ask her, could I?”

The abundance of information threatened to drown your head in. Pieces of the grand puzzle that never seemed to fit right clicking and clacking in your head as you slowly pieced together the blanks in the history of your relationship because you didn’t bother to ask and he didn’t bother to say anything.

He means you right? He was going to propose to you? The bloody ring you’ve been having nightmares about was for you?!

But he had never … I mean sure you flirted here and there but it was nothing … official. No words were ever shared, no announcements, nor formality.

It was all very … murky and ambiguous.

“Hey, back to me, darling,” he gently pressed his thumb that was still holding on to your cheek. “I swear even when we’re together it’s like you’re still running away.” As if suddenly lost in thought himself he murmured, “Should I charm a chain on you, after all?”

You blinked and the dark glint in his eyes that you had only seen in his darkest moments in your fifth year disappeared, now replaced with a small cheeky smile.

“Sebastian, the ring was it – surely it wasn’t –”

“For you?” He was so close now that you could count all the freckles in his face, his lips running through your cheeks, even pressing a kiss on your temple. “Then riddle me this, my love – if not for you then who else would it be for? Hmm? Who else would I be begging to be my wife if not my most treasured friend? The one person who stood beside me through it all?”

Another kiss on your cheeks. “The only light in my life?”

The underside of your jaw. “The beautiful witch who had rudely stolen my heart when we were children then had the nerve to run away with it just as I was able to gather all the courage I had to ask for hers in return?”

He moved both of his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling and pulling and pulling as if he wanted to meld the two of you together. “Who else but you? There was and would’ve been nobody else but you.”

A shadow of a kiss at the edge of your lips. “You’re the only woman I have ever loved.”

Your heart threatens to explode.

“And you’re the only one I will ever love,” he whispered, but the quiet of the caves of Gringotts made his voice echo inside your overheating skull.

You had been aware of Sebastian’s charms when you were younger but now that he was using his pretty face and raspy voice at its full extent while professing his love for you in the murky caves of Gringotts and pieces of Inferi corpses scattered on the ground – you could almost feel your brain malfunctioning.

“I had resigned myself to a life of isolation if you had never come back,” he declared. “But you did. Why?”

He was not going to accept anything less than the truth. The intensity behind his eyes, the grip he has around you was so firm you were almost hanging off the ground. The unbearable weight of your guilt for almost driving this man to insanity even if it had not been your intention had you letting go of your defenses.

“Because I missed you,” you admitted, eyes looking straight at him to finally bare your soul. “And I couldn’t find anything the world could offer that could compare to you. Even if we just remained friends I –”

His chuckle cut you off.

“We could never just be friends,” he whispered, you couldn’t agree more. “We were never just friends. Darling, I’m not a religious man but if soulmates are real then yours and mine have always been tied to each other. And if whatever god is up there was cruel enough not to have done that then I would’ve knotted it myself.”

You giggle through your tears – you had played out so many fantasies of Sebastian’s confessions and yet now that you were living your wildest dreams it felt like your heart was trying to escape your chest.

“If you hadn’t come back, it would’ve done nothing short of killing me, you have to know that,” a ragged breath escapes him as if the mere memory of your escape were enough to cause him physical pain. “Because I love you and I have always loved you even back when I didn’t know what love is. Even when love was a mere flutter in my chest every time I looked at you. Even when I was a fool in a path to destruction I … I have always, always loved you.”

You nodded, almost gasping at the intensity of his words. “I love you too, Sebastian. So much. I would’ve always come back. I couldn’t – I would’ve honestly poisoned your wife if you had married another.”

A laugh exploded out of his mouth at your sudden proclamation, echoing through the eerie corners of the caves. “And I had more than enough daydreams of torturing any lovers you might’ve taken in your travels.” The sickly-sweet tone that contrasted such horrid words had you giggling.

“Think we should stick to each other then?” You roped an arm around his neck, letting him carry your dead weight. “Spare some poor suckers from poisons and murders.”

He grinned, leaning in closer and closer, “You always had been the one with bright ideas.”

You smiled just as he finally pressed his lips into yours. Even your wildest dream couldn’t compare to this. Sebastian’s greedy grip on your waist, his familiar scent, his taste – him. It wasn’t perfect – a bit too rough, too needy yet somehow never enough – it was better, a perfect amalgamation of your entire relationship.

“Marry me,” he commanded in between kisses, too desperate to separate from you for more than a second. “Tell me you’ll have me.”

“You’re mine,” You gasp when he suddenly turned you around and pressed you on the jagged wall of the cave. “Always been mine.”

You’ve never not been mine.

Suddenly, Sebastian ended your kisses, a whine slipping out of your throat which he placated with a quick peck before he haphazardly pulled a necklace of some kind around his neck, snapping it to let the pendant fall into his palms.

Only it wasn’t a pendant. It was a ring. The ring.

“Oh my, Sebastian,” your vision blurs with tears as he gently takes your shaking hand, slipping the beautiful jewelry on your ring finger where it shall sit forever. “It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to marry you.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to your temple as you continued to admire the ring on your finger.

“You keep buttering me up like this and I’ll have to kidnap the first priest I see when we get out of here.”

“I wouldn’t object to that, we’ve never been one for propriety.”

“I can’t believe we had our first kiss in Gringott’s of all places,” he muttered, the vibration of his voice tickling your chest as he buries his face in it.

“That wasn’t my first kiss.”

That had his head snapping, eyes murderous at your words. "What?”

“It wasn’t yours either.”

“Huh.”

You nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact as he tries to scour through his memories.

“Remember our fight in the Room of Requirement? About the Triwizards game?”

He winced. “I’d rather not remember that.”

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You settled back, knowing him well enough to know his mind was rapidly working through his memories to figure out the cryptic declaration you had confessed.

It had been frustrating when you had remembered such important event days after it happened. All it had taken was a faint whiff of Sebastian’s shampoo in your pillow in the room of requirement before you were shooting up in your bed at the memories trickling in your brain as you tried to figure out if it had been one of your more apparent daydreams only to scream when you had realized it had happened and the two of you completely forgot about it.

You had become wary of Sebastian then, staring and studying his face at any hint that he also had the luck of remembering such bold confessions from you. You aren’t sure if you were more relieved or disappointed when he showed no inkling of gaining the curse of such knowledge like you.

But at your sudden engagement to him, you believe you have suffered enough of such vexations alone. You are to be married after all which means the two of you shall share every burden from now on -- even the most embarrassing and frustrating ones.

Sebastian’s muscles locked, pushing himself up to cage you in bed as his frantic eyes widened.

You grin. He remembers.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes way.”

He slumps back down in your chest, groaning. “Are you sure you're okay with marrying a bloody idiot?”

Your body shakes with laughter. “Lucky for you, idiots are just my type.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Cherubim.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Implied trauma, Gojo and Geto are both weird + manipulative. Word count: 6k.

-Index-

March 18th, 2006. 

2:26 p.m.

-

Gojo Satoru has found himself embroiled in his greatest turmoil yet. 

Assassination attempts? That’s nothing, he’s waved those off since he was a kid. Jujutsu politics? The higher-ups can yap until they’re blue in the face; they’re all bark, no bite. Curses? Similarly inconsequential. No matter how much power they hold, they're reduced to speckled splatters the instant they cross his path. 

For most, experiencing one of these dilemmas would prove too overwhelming, much less all three. He isn’t like most, though. He’s strong. Incomprehensibly strong. He can weather any storm, shift the tides of any battle in his favor. Has this gone to his head? Absolutely. He can handle ‘too much.’ It��s ‘not enough’ that’s proving to be an issue. 

This is why he’s detailing his recent woes to an uninterested Ieri Shoko, who made the mistake of reading in the dormitory’s common area. 

The scene is as follows:

Satoru’s along the length of the couch, his long, lanky limbs dangling wherever they can. He lays his head against the armrest, snowy hair succumbing to gravity in an avalanche that frames his face. He uses his ability to keep his sunglasses from meeting the same fate. Behind the dark frames, his eyes narrow into a piercing stare. If the ceiling were sentient, it would’ve fled by now. Such is the potency of his miserable mood. 

Parallel to him sits Shoko, the fat of her cheek squished upward from resting on her fist for so long. Books, candy wrappers, and notes from last year’s curriculum yet to be thrown away litter the table’s surface. Suguru’s could put a calligraphist to shame, even if they were written in a Badtz-Maru pencil you won from a gachapon. Your notes stand out as well. They’re bright shades of your favorite colors, organized according to a system of your own devising. Occasionally, the handwriting shifts, taking on Suguru or Shoko’s likeness for trickier kanji. You doodle hearts of gratitude around the yomigana they include for good measure. 

(You complained that his handwriting was ‘indecipherable’ when he tried doing the same. Out of spite, he gave you the cold shoulder… for three minutes. He withers and wilts without your attention). 

He sighs and concludes his monologue. 

“So, that just about sums everything up. Well? What’s the prognosis, Doc?” 

“You’re in desperate need of more friends,” Shoko replies. Satoru lets out an unsatisfied grunt. “And you miss [First].” 

Satoru perks up at your mention, finally giving that poor ceiling a much-needed reprieve. He shuffles around until he’s facing Shoko. 

“But she just headed out yesterday.” 

“I know.” 

“That’d make me really weird and clingy, right?” 

“Glad you’re catching on.” 

While Satoru contemplates the previously unconsidered possibility of him being ‘really weird and clingy,’ Shoko reopens her manga. She’s of the mistaken belief that the issue has resolved itself. Unfortunately for her, the problem extends beyond Satoru’s insatiable hunger for you. The problem is Satoru himself. Until he’s running amuck elsewhere, there’ll be no solace. 

She commends herself for her patience. 

In typical Satoru fashion, he continues testing it. 

“When was the last time you updated your passport?” 

“I’m not flying to her home country with you,” Shoko shuts down what he thought was a brilliant plan. “It’s just two weeks. Wait it out.” 

“What if we fly first class?” 

“Gojo.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s still too soon to meet her parents. It’s gotta happen eventually though, right?” 

Shoko doesn’t dignify this with a response. 

Satoru sinks into the cushions. Could there be anything worse than boredom? He has no missions lined up, you and Suguru are visiting family, and the first-years haven’t arrived yet. Pestering Utahime has lost its charm too. He could return home before the school year starts, but he’d rather have his fingers chopped off one by one than suffer that torture. 

“Hey, Shoko.” 

“Mm.” 

“Why aren’t you back home? I thought you got along with your parents.” 

“They’re both busy. I wouldn’t see them much.” 

Satoru doesn’t press the matter. 

It does intrigue him though — the relationship sorcerers have with their non-sorcerer families. Or, to be more specific, yours and Suguru’s familial dynamics intrigue him. Satoru can’t (and doesn’t bother trying) to care for the going-ons of anyone outside his small circle. This is more the hubris of a teenager who has been told he’s special his entire life than anything malicious. To Satoru, the world’s population might as well be stuck at three. 

Regardless, it’s an improvement.

Before meeting Suguru, those in his life consisted almost exclusively of suckups or stuckups. If he was unlucky, it’d be both, rolled into one terrible package. This was his reality. Jujutsu was his reality. He was the first to possess the Limitless and the Six Eyes in generations. The Gojo clan wouldn’t waste such an extraordinary opportunity. He was their pride and joy, personality aside. 

He was born to be the strongest. 

He can’t imagine any other life for himself. 

Then there’s you. 

He could see you leading a normal life. You wouldn’t be top of the class or a varsity athlete, but you’d be well-liked. Boys would nervously ask you out on dates and buy you roses with money they got from mowing lawns. You’d be the first one your friends would call when they experienced heartache. Maybe you’d go to college or land an entry-level job. Some co-worker with a decent sense of humor would win you over. Then you’d get married, rent a property, have a few kids… 

Satoru’s stomach twists. He grimaces, shifting his thoughts elsewhere. Namely, the question that’s bothered him for a while. 

Why did you become a jujutsu sorcerer? 

It was intentional. You chose to leave behind your home, your family. You knew the risks. How the body can break and ache in ways previously unrecorded. And what do you get in return for this thankless crusade? Sleepless nights where you tremble like a leaf beside Shoko? A nimbleness at dressing wounds that could only have come from years of practice? 

You’re open about everything until you aren’t. Fear, mortality, loss — when confronted by these unsightly truths, you retreat to someplace he can’t follow. 

Satoru can’t make sense of it. Neither can Suguru. Shoko says they shouldn’t press the matter. He wants to, though. He needs to know how you break. How else can he ensure that you never will? 

He thinks back to that humid August day. The binding vow eviscerated your insides, shards from fractured bones dug into your organs. Until that point in his life, Satoru prided himself on his immunity to fear. The pathogen never lasted long in his system. After all, fear is born from a lack of control. From having something to lose. If he couldn’t lose, what was there to be afraid of? 

It’s a question he’s been avoiding. 

(“If she dies,” he told Suguru, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “They die too.”)

His mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy. He’ll drink that tea you’re fond of later to satiate his thirst. He wonders if you share its taste.

“What’re you reading, anyway?” he asks, hoping to take his mind elsewhere.

“Fruits Basket.” 

He laughs, incredulous. 

“Seriously? Didn’t take you for a shoujo type.” 

“I borrowed it from [First]. We’re doing a book exchange over break.” 

A book exchange… three words Satoru never thought would pique his curiosity. However, anything about you demands his undying attention. Even if it’s shoujo manga. Girls who read that genre do it to project onto the heroine, right? So the love interest must have appealed to you. What tropes do you like? Do you want a shy, sensitive soul who blushes and stutters in your presence? A misunderstood bad boy who’s only soft around you? The responsible student council president? 

Oh, he’ll have so much material to tease you with when you return. He can’t wait. 

“How do I enter this exclusive book club?” Satoru demands. 

“You don’t. I don’t trust your taste,” Shoko replies, much to his chagrin. “You can still read it, though. She has all of the volumes in her room.” 

… Your room? 

He grins from ear to ear.

Should he respect your privacy? Probably. Is he going to? Of course not. He never has, there’s no point in starting now. 

This trip of yours might yet redeem itself. 

-

Along the outskirts of Jujutsu High, Geto Suguru spots an odd woman. 

She’s wearing a baggy graphic tee, low-rise jeans, and gaudy bracelets on both arms. Her black hair is tossed up, thick strands sticking in every direction. Even from this distance, he can discern the silver glint of piercings that dot her ear like constellations. The stranger stands slouched, both her hands shoved into her pockets. For her to have gotten this far, she can’t be a civilian. Those unfamiliar with jujutsu can’t find this place. 

He stays still for a spell — watching and waiting. From this distance, she shouldn’t be able to sense his presence. It’s one of the few areas he excels at over Satoru. Satoru’s cursed energy is bright, blindingly so, a thunderous clap that can be heard for miles. Suguru prefers to keep his muted. It coils around his limbs like a serpent, never straying far. This is why you had no difficulty picking out Satoru’s stupefying presence on your first day, whereas he had to make himself known to you. 

Suguru’s lips quirk up. 

He was fated to meet you. 

“Hey! Kiddo!” A deep, somewhat raspy voice exclaims. He blinks rapidly, temporarily thrown off. “This ain’t an art gallery. What’s with the staring?” 

She noticed him? How? 

When the stranger starts slinking his way, he regains his composure. 

“I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,” Suguru’s cadence flows smoother than a river. 

“Hah! ‘Uncomfortable?’ That’s a way of putting it,” she pokes the space beneath her emerald eyes twice. “Even now, I can feel ya picking me apart. Shit’s creepy.” 

His smile tightens. “I’ll be more mindful of my conduct in the future, then.” 

She waves him off. Her golden bracelets clink together as she does so, the sound grating his ears. 

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one. And I should know. Schemers excel at picking out their brothers in arms,” she juts her head up, giving the impression that she’s the one looking down on him, despite the slight height difference. 

“Anyhow, by the looks of it, you must be Sugu-kun.” 

… Did she just call him Sugu-kun? 

“What? Too soon* to be calling you that? Heh, heh…” 

Suguru’s smile tightens. “You can refer to me however you like, so long as I can return the favor.” 

She guffaws.

“Maaan, Goldie sure was gracious in her description of you,” the woman gives him a lopsided grin. “Name’s Akane. There — is the playing field leveled now?” 

“Ishimoto Akane?”

He doesn’t miss the way she winces as her surname is spoken aloud, rather pointedly at that. 

“Ah. S’pose I had that coming.” 

Suguru decides against prolonging her torment. He’s in a generous mood, it isn’t every day he has a chance to learn more about you. This is an opportunity he’ll take full advantage of. 

“And I presume 'Goldie' is [First]?” 

He makes a mental note to figure out the wordplay for your nickname later. 

“Full marks.”

Suguru hums, a sound indicating that he’s drifting deep into thought. 

You don’t mention your mentor often. When you do, it’s normally in the form of endearing (if not mildly concerning) anecdotes.

“She told me that natto is bits of caramel held together by melted marshmallows, like a Rice Krispy Treat. It… it was not like a Rice Krispy Treat…” 

“... For my twelfth birthday, she got me Pokemon Ruby. I remember crying because Roxeanne’s Nosepass took out my Torchic. My cursed energy spiked and the party had to end early…” 

“... Out of curiosity, I drank her stash of Georgia canned coffee. My heart rate was almost high enough to warrant a trip to the ER…” 

Getting anything else relating to her out of you was like trying to wring water from a rock. Suguru didn’t miss the wistful melancholy underpinning your stories. You recalled them with a far-off expression as if mourning that those days of whimsy were over. Initially, he considered it a consequence of growing up. Childhood idols rarely remain highly esteemed as the years pass and maturity accrues. 

His intuition argued that he should examine the issue closer.

(“I met her, y’know,” Satoru mentioned whilst he spun in a rolling chair ‘commandeered’ from Yaga. “Akane. Our girl’s mentor. Former mentor? Whatever the case is.” 

Suguru sat his pencil aside, any investment in his studies gone.

“When?” 

“Last March.” 

Suguru sighed. “And you didn’t bring this up earlier because…?” 

There’s a twinkle in his companion’s sunglasses-covered eyes.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Satoru shrugged. 

Liar, Suguru thought, unamused by Satoru’s faux nonchalance. He must’ve had his reasons for neglecting to mention it for so long. Suguru figured your impending trip home had something to do with Satoru’s ‘miraculously’ cured amnesia. 

“What? Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

The provocation failed to irk him. Instead, Suguru refocused the conversation.“Tell me your impression of her.”

Satoru stilled, threw his feet atop Suguru’s desk, and placed his hands on his neck. “About what you’d expect from a disgraced daughter of an influential clan. Bad-tempered, tattooed, pierced up… hah! Bet her old man would go into cardiac arrest if he saw her.” 

“Satoru,” he implored. 

“Fine, fine. So impatient,” The white-haired sorcerer complained. “I misread her. She got all mopey after she fessed up about Cursed Technique: Null. I wrote it off as envy. The student exceeding the master, or whatever.” 

Satoru remained silent for a moment. “Post Kaizu, though, I assume the feeling actually gnawing at her… ” 

Kaizu. 

Panicked phone calls. Satoru’s agitated exclamations. His horrified silence. Your breathing faded, theirs accelerated. You looked so small. So human. He scarcely believed the limp girl cradled in his arms just executed such a devastating maneuver. Your cursed energy had exceeded any output he’d felt from you before. It was too much, your body wasn’t ready to endure a spike like that. 

Suguru had never felt so distant from the title ‘strongest.’

At some point later on, in a hospital waiting room, Suguru posed a question. 

Satoru heard him yet offered no response.

“Who taught her how to do that?”

“... was guilt.”)

“You didn’t visit her.” 

Akane blinks. 

“Hah?” 

“You didn’t visit her,” Suguru repeats, his tone firmer. “[First]. Your student.” 

She exhales shakily. Suguru thinks she looks tired. 

“If you have something to say, just come out with it already.” 

He was prepared to wear her down for hours — this willing cooperation saves him time. Although, it doesn’t make navigating the volatile minefield that lies ahead any easier. He knows how to rein Satoru in when he’s going too far. He can fluster you without giving too much of himself away. After rescuing someone from a curse, he knows the exact pitch, timbre, and tempo necessary to pierce through their abject horror. He’s a virtuoso at playing people, a conductor hidden amidst the audience. 

Deceit. Misdirection. Coercion. 

His repertoire is expansive and ever-growing. 

From what he can see — what he can feel — the prodigal daughter before him boasts a similar discography. She returns his unflinching eye contact as if issuing a challenge. Daring him to use dubious methods that might work on anyone else. This obstinate resolve reminds him of you. Once you’ve determined your course, even he struggles to change the route.

He abandons all pretense. 

“You didn’t want her here,” he theorizes. Akane’s face reveals nothing. “You knew something like that was bound to happen.” 

Sorcerers aren’t only at war with curses. No, there’s an inner battle that must be fought as well. The recognition that the next assignment could be your last. And if it is, you won’t be commemorated by the masses; to them, you don’t exist. Your sacrifice will be known to a select few who mourn you, or  a few who don’t. Everything could go right. Everything could go wrong. Engaging in that high risk for such a low reward goes against one’s self-preservation instincts.

How each sorcerer handles this fight is unique to them. 

As for your strategy — you refuse to acknowledge this conflict exists. 

Paradoxically enough, that functions as your self-preservation. 

Akane smiles thinly. She’s almost his reflection, in that regard.

“Full marks.” 

-

Suguru idly observes as Satoru paces back and forth, his troubled figure illuminated by a row of vending machines. 

A nearby street lamp flickers. It’s late, but the local convenience stores glow with artificial light, tempting customers to come inside. Some are weary salarymen grabbing ready-made meals, others are middle schoolers clinking their change together, praying they can afford a sugary treat. The latest group cheers, indicating their triumph. 

The duo receives odd looks — thanks to their school uniforms, no doubt — not that they pay the judgment any mind. No one troubles them. Not even a wandering policeman, who, under normal circumstances, would scold minors out by themselves at night. 

Suguru theorizes that Satoru’s ominous aura is what subconsciously repels them. 

Earlier today, Suguru bid farewell to his parents and boarded a train for Tokyo. As nice as it was to spend time with his family, he’d been looking forward to reuniting with you and Satoru. He amassed quite the phone bill thanks to your frequent correspondence. Nonetheless, he carried the minor debt with pride; it’s a sign you often thought about him. He planned for Satoru to assume the debt by dangling the pictures you sent his way as ransom. 

His encounter with Ishimoto Akane grounded his soaring mood. This was made worse when he entered the dormitory, only to find a tight-lipped Shoko and agitated Satoru. 

Shoko remarked that unlike the two of them, she’d be handling things with ‘tact,’ and retired for the evening, not wanting to catch their ‘stupidity contagion.’ 

It’d been hours since then. That time stretch brought them closer to revealing the complete picture, but a few pieces remained missing or incomplete. 

The frenetic sorcerer stills and rummages around in his pocket.

Suguru takes the opportunity to break the silence. “I—” 

He cuts himself off as Satoru whips out a familiar-looking chapstick. The cutesy design befitting your aesthetic stands out like a sore thumb in Satoru’s large, calloused hands. 

“... Where did you get that?” 

“[First]’s room,” is Satoru’s response, spoken nonchalantly whilst applying it to his lips. “Why?” 

Suguru snorts. Sometimes Satoru’s ungodly strength blinds him to the fact that he’s still a teenage boy. 

“Won’t she notice it’s missing?” 

“I replaced it.” 

“Ah.”

“She has plenty more in the drawer beneath her vanity if you want one.” 

Suguru knows the exact spot Satoru’s referring to. They both helped you assemble it (Satoru got bored fifteen minutes in and fell asleep on your bed but still claims credit). 

After noting this suggestion, he asks, “Have you calmed down?” 

Satoru barks out a ‘hah!’ as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Me? Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?” 

Suguru massages his temples, sensing the looming headache that awaits him. “Satoru…” 

“We could follow her residuals, you know,” Satoru suggests. He tips his sunglasses down, revealing eyes that gleam with predatory intent. “With the Six Eyes, it’d be a walk in the park.” 

“And then what?” 

“Oh, you know, chat about the weather, latest political scandals, that sort of thing.” 

“You can’t strong-arm yourself through everything in life, Satoru,” Suguru chastises. 

Satoru opens and closes his lips. He folds his arms, scrunches his eyebrows together, and rapidly taps his foot. The shift puts Suguru at ease. Satoru adopts this countenance on the rare occurrence he’s faced with a formidable threat. The serious, almost somber visage speaks to his ironclad resolve. Suguru may have told his companion that he can’t strong-arm himself through everything, but that’s a half-truth; the Gojo clan’s pride can do whatever he pleases. 

It’s consideration of the aftermath that Suguru wishes to instill in his companion. Tempering the arrogance of a God is no easy feat. 

“... She isn’t going anywhere,” Satoru declares, as if any other outcome was blasphemous. 

“She isn’t,” Suguru agrees. Then, he lowers his voice, adding, “We can’t disregard what Ishimoto-san is getting at, though.” 

“Simple — all our girl needs is a good ol’ fashioned intervention.” 

“An ‘intervention,’” Suguru deadpans. “Didn’t you already try that?” 

Satoru smiles in a way Suguru can only describe as dopey, reminiscing on the night you got ‘mad at him for wanting you to be mad at him.’ That’s how Suguru interpreted the detailed account Satoru gave the next morning, anyway. 

(“I wish she would’ve cried, just a little bit; it would’ve made her look extra cute,” Satoru cooed, to which Suguru shot him an exasperated look. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. You’d make her cry just so you could wipe her tears away.”)

Suguru shakes his head. “Here’s what I think — the self-sacrifice in and of itself isn’t the problem. Well, the main problem. There has to be a reason, something personal… identifying that takes priority.” 

A gust rips through the narrow street, howling as it terrorizes store signs and doors with weak hinges. The two strongest sorcerers remain oblivious to the drift. What occupies their mind is greater than any force of nature, insignificant or otherwise. They have the means to challenge natural phenomena itself. And they would, should they deem it an obstacle to their goals. This single-minded determination is what elevates them beyond the rest. 

“I guess the old man has a soft spot for us after all,” Satoru says, referring to Yaga, Suguru guesses.

Breathlessly, he chuckles. “Maybe.” 

Studying Satoru from his peripherals, he silently mulls over the far likelier reality—  

—that Yaga understands Satoru’s potential for saving this world is matched only by his capacity to condemn it. 

-

From a young age, Ieri Shoko found irony everywhere she looked.

It’s prevalent in the medical field she wishes to pursue. When stabbed, it’s better to leave the knife in than immediately pull it out. For an immune system to better defend itself from a virus, it must first be exposed to it in trace amounts. If an appendage becomes too infected, removing that piece of the body is better than keeping it whole. It was you who pointed out this theme extends into the world of jujutsu. 

“You’d think fighting to survive a curse instead of defeating it would be an okay alternative, right?” You had said. “But really… that just means someone else gets to foot the bill. All ‘cause you cheaped out.” 

She regrets not asking you to elaborate. At the time, the observation felt so personal, so intimately interwoven with who you are, that she thought it best to leave it alone. 

Watching you now, lounging on the swing beside her, she’s determined not to repeat her previous mistake. 

“Tired?” 

“Well, yeah,” you laugh. It sounds off. “I wasn’t meant for long flights. It takes everything out of me, y’know?” 

Shoko unsuccessfully digs around her pocket for a lighter. The search ceases when she recalls its inopportune location — left behind in her dorm room in the rush to be the one who reaches you first. Not sure what else to do with her hands, she folds them onto her lap. Meanwhile, you pick at a stray thread on your jeans. 

“I didn’t mean from traveling,” she clarifies. 

“Hm?” 

“How many curses did you exorcise back home?” 

Your fingers go still.

“I dunno… a few?” You shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “If I happen across them, I’m not gonna just let them run amuck. That’d be irresponsible.” 

Your nonchalance comes across as forced. You may be keeping your words lighthearted, but she can tell you’ve dialed up your senses, monitoring her closely. It reminds her of a cornered mouse. It’s then that any lingering doubt over her choices leading up to this moment dispels. Resolve strengthened, she swears to make as much progress as she possible before those two catch on. She felt a bit bad lying about your flight’s time, but felt the situation justified the call. 

“It feels different when they’re close to home, doesn’t it?” 

Shoko’s eyes scan over the lively park before them. There’s a group of children playing with one another, some scouring the grass for bugs and others playing tag. Their guardians watch from a distance, chatting amongst themselves, likely discussing the upcoming poor weather or latest neighborhood scandals. Young couples walk hand in hand along the pathways, cheeks flushed from the joy of experiencing their first love. 

“Encountering a curse is draining. Fighting them, even more so. But when they’re on a street you walk every day, or a few blocks over from your house, you can’t help but start thinking. ‘What if I hadn’t come this way? Would it have hurt people I know? People I love and care about?’”

Her eyes find yours. “‘What if it killed them?’”

You look like you’re going to be sick. 

She ignores how your expression contorts her stomach and continues. “Sorcerers are in the minority, it’s true. So… fighting to survive isn’t selfish. It’s strategic.”

In the distance, the rough silhouette of two individuals grows clearer. The spotlight she commandeered grows fainter with their every step. In what remains of the fading limelight, she considers you. The CC cream that conceals the worst of your exhaustion, how your pupils dilate from high caffeine intake, then your fingers. The keys that when steepled just so, open the future for others at the cost of permanently locking yours. 

She reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. 

“Remember — we won’t be much help to anyone if we’re six feet under. So let’s aim to stay above ground.” 

-

The evening sun sinks into the horizon, demanding acknowledgment in its final moments by dousing all in a fiery hue. 

Your uniform absorbs the brunt of this last stand. The dark fabric devours the waning sunlight, heating you from head to toe. It didn’t fully occur to you that you were back when you walked through the torii gates lining the mountainous path. Nor when you unpacked in your dorm, stuffing your passport away until your next break, where it’ll serve you faithfully again. 

Instead, it was the simple act of putting your uniform on again that made home seem far, far away. 

You’d gotten used to your clothes smelling like your mother’s preferred detergent. It’s a brand you couldn’t find in Japan, sold exclusively in your home country. You wondered what meal your parents were having when you straightened out your collar. If your neighbor ever fixed that rumble their old sedan huffed out as you slipped into your tights. Whether your grandpa knew you’d landed safely when you brushed lint off your skirt. 

The campus atmosphere is serene. Tengen’s barrier is a bulwark against curses, insulating you from any potential threats. Without this assurance, some part of you was always on the defensive, anticipating anything when you slept in your childhood bedroom. It siphoned away your vitality, just like Shoko pointed out. 

You sniffle and kick a rock aside. 

How does it always end up like this?

First Akane, now Shoko, you hug yourself. I just want to protect others. What’s so wrong with that? If I don’t, then who will?

You pause abruptly. 

When Akane began mentoring you, the world as you knew it changed. Suddenly, you were given knowledge no one else was privy to, for they lacked the tools to comprehend it. You’d seen those ‘creatures’, but it was Akane that explained their malevolent nature. What they could do, the pain they inflicted, how defenseless the population at large was against them. 

The shadow that this monstrous threat cast could never be outshone by light. The best you could do was create safe pockets the size of pins in the darkness. That was the extent of your hope, the most bitter pill you’ve ever swallowed.

The lingering specter of Shoko’s reassuring touch prickles along your hand. 

It’s easy to forget you’re not alone anymore after fighting by yourself for so long. 

-

Eventually, you happen upon a clearing near the school’s main grounds. 

The steep inclines surround a sizable outdoor track. This area is known colloquially as the school’s training grounds. You prefer to train in a more secluded, wooded area, but not everyone shares your enthusiasm for subtlety. Namely, the two prodigies who have turned the field into a colosseum that’d rival the battles of ancient Rome. 

You take a seat on the grassy hill and watch what unfolds. 

Your eyes can scarcely follow the blows Suguru and Satoru exchange. Their sparring sessions are unreal — blurring the very fabric of reality. Somehow, they manage all this without using cursed energy. The spectacle you’re witnessing is simply hand-to-hand combat. It’s like watching a film with skipping frames. In a matter of seconds, they can travel a hundred meters and return to their original position. Your brain struggles to process the stimuli your senses are feeding it. 

They were already strong when you met them. But now? The nomenclature doesn’t exist to properly classify them. 

And in the future… 

There’s no telling what highs they’ll reach or the ceilings they’ll shatter. 

Their light is the most dazzling you’ve ever seen.

Within a few minutes, they conclude their training session. Satoru instantly beelines toward you, whereas Suguru cycles through stretches. There’s not even a single drop of sweat on Satoru’s body as he plops to your right. He’s wearing his signature sunglasses, despite the night's looming shadow. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep or something?” Satoru asks. “It’s past your bedtime.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder. He yelps out an exaggerated ‘ouch!’ rubbing the area to soothe the nonexistent wound. 

Suguru approaches at a far more leisurely pace, sending a wave that you return in kind. 

Satoru, not one to be forgotten, yells out, “Be careful, Suguru! She’s violent!” 

“Only against those who deserve it,” Suguru replies.

Fondness blossoms inside your chest as you laugh. You’d forgotten how simple life feels around them. It’s as if when the three of you are together, you’re swallowed by a pocket dimension, isolated from everyone and everything. Permanently inhabiting this utopia is a temptation. 

Satoru places his hands behind his head and lays onto the ground. “Here I am, potentially out of commission forever, without a single ounce of sympathy to show for it.” 

“We could always settle in court,” you offer. 

Suguru stands before you, hands on his hips. “Or he could finally figure out how to use reverse cursed technique.” 

At this, Satoru shoots back up, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Last I recall, you gave yourself a headache giving it a go. At least I’m not that bad.” 

“Hurdles are necessary to improve. Without any, how do you know you’re truly making progress?” 

Satoru gives him a grossed-out look. “All this philosophizing is gonna turn your hair gray before you hit twenty.” 

“That’s rich, coming from the guy whose hair is already white,” You point out. “What’s that say about you?” 

Suguru muffles his laughter behind his hand. 

Satoru’s quick to overcome his incredulity. “It says that I’m going to spoil the next volume of Inuyasha. Sesshomaru—” 

You cover your ears and sprint off. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, can’t hear you…!” 

He chases after you, periodically shouting the names of the main characters right when you think he’s finished. You do your best to block out his voice, running like your life depends on it. He’s hot on your heels, cackling at your expense. After a stretch of silence, you uncover your ears, hesitantly turning around to check if he’s finished his torture. 

You meet Satoru’s gaze. His lips are parted, his eyebrows slightly raised. Your reflection in his dark lenses appears equally perplexed. He straightens his sunglasses and regards you with an unreadable expression. 

“... You’ve gotten faster.” 

The comment is so quiet, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, waving you off. “You shoujo-loving types sure take this stuff seriously. It’s almost cultish.” 

“I don’t wanna hear that from the guy who references Digimon like it’s some sorta scripture!” 

“Honda Tohru is a lame heroine.” 

You audibly gasp. “Wh— you take that back!” 

And so it’s your turn to chase Satoru, who, for reasons unknown, is oddly knowledgeable regarding Fruits Basket. 

-

“Could you guys be honest with me about something?” 

“All depends.” 

“Of course.” 

Satoru and Suguru’s responses come out simultaneously, the contents offering little reassurance. You’re not sure what you expected. Nonetheless, you press past the gnawing discomfort, your conversation with Shoko a fresh memory. 

“Did Akane stop by while I was gone?” 

You scrutinize their countenances for involuntary reactions that might betray their inner thoughts. You begin with Satoru, who was in the middle of cleaning his sunglasses when you posed the question. His eyes, which normally brim with mischief, have an eerie calmness about them; like sheets of ice that were once choppy waters. He smiles softly and slips his lenses back into place, undoubtedly aware of the intent behind your stare. 

Then there’s Suguru. He hums, as if finding your inquiry unexpected and not an inevitable point of contention. He’s a more challenging puzzle to decipher than Satoru. With the latter, you can roughly gauge the greater picture, blurry and incomplete as it may be. Suguru, on the other hand, hasn’t given you enough pieces to attempt a solution. 

Satoru continues mulling over your question while Suguru responds, “Is that what’s been worrying you lately?” 

So they picked up on it too, you think. 

Frowning, you shift in your seat. Blades of grass tickle your thighs and you push your skirt down. 

“Er… not that, specifically,” you admit. You feel like you’re surrounded by walls that know just how far to close in to give the impression you might be crushed. “I just… I’ve been thinking. About why I’m here— what I’ll go on to do. And, well…” 

Much to their surprise, you stand, squeeze your eyes shut, and bow ninety degrees. 

“For so long, I’ve carried this burden. The truth is, when I first learned about Null, I was relieved. I’d always have something to rely on in the worst-case scenario. But at the same time… that meant not using it could also be a mistake. You have no idea how much that scared me.” 

You curl your hands up into fists. “I don’t want to think that way anymore. I see it now — have for a while, actually — strength I couldn’t even imagine before. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m in your care. If it’s alright, I want to rely on others, starting with you two.” 

Your heart pounds wildly in the silence that follows. 

Maybe this is selfish too, you think. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. 

You hear Suguru speak your name. It isn’t until he repeats it, his tone kind yet firm, that you straighten yourself and face him. 

Satoru stands further back, scratching his neck. Much to your confusion, a red flush has risen to his cheeks, extending up to his ears. Suguru corrects your staring by taking your face in his hands and redirecting your attention to him. Warmth envelops you. Your faces are inches apart, but somehow, the distance feels nonexistent, like he’s peering into your mind unhindered. 

“Surely, you can dream bigger than that,” Suguru chastises.

“... Eh?” 

“Do you think so little of us?” Satoru grumbles. It almost sounds like he’s pouting. Was he not listening to anything you just said? The sincerity behind your every word? Why are they both acting like you insulted them? 

“Eh?!” 

“I’m glad you’ve come to this realization, but… you don’t have to rely on anyone else. Just us,” Suguru takes a step back, though he keeps one hand cupping your cheek. You feel lightheaded. “After all…” 

“... We’re the strongest.” 

notes:

*this pun actually works decently in english ?? but akane is making a reference to how suguru sounds phonetically similar to すぐ, or sugu, which means 'soon.'

[written-in-flowers]

Recording in Session: Han x Male!Reader

Pairing: Han Jisung x Male!Reader | Side pairings: Lee Know x Han, Chan x Male!Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff | AU: idolverse, ninth member au

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Considering Chan's strict "No-Studio-Sex' rule, Han takes you somewhere that doesn't have such restrictive, authoritarian rules.

Tags: polyamory, open relationship, idol!reader, sub!han, dom!reader, dom/sub undertones, studio sex, dry humping, light spanking, sloppy blowjobs, rough blowjobs, throat fucking, face fucking, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, facials, cum swallowing, han loves cum and isn't afraid to show it

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Taglist: @james-is-here @onementally-unstabel-kid @omg-lexiloveyou @drinkingrumandcocacola @diverseinterests @kenaicantcommunicate @galaxy4489 (let me know below if you want to be tagged!

Here's What You Missed on Newbie!

Next on Newbie!

****

“Where are you guys going after?”

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t picked a place. You?”

“He wants to go to this sushi place near his dorm. He said he knows I’ve been craving it, and now he is too.” 

You both sat next to one another on the couch. Han scrolled away on his phone, likely researching the sushi restaurant, while you looked for places on yours. Recording days usually took a while, so you knew you’d have a long wait ahead of you for Chan. You guessed you could look up places until your turn in the booth came. The idea of being alone with Chan was satisfying enough, but you supposed you needed some shared activity or experience. Nothing too romantic, since you’re only friends, but nothing boring. 

“So, how’s it going?” Han asked, the music through the speakers covering his voice from Chan. 

“How’s what going?” you replied, finding an interesting barbeque restaurant. 

“You and, you know,” he nodded over to Chan at the desk, going over a line with Felix in the booth. 

“It’s fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I figured since you’ve been with us six months now,” he began, “I thought you guys might’ve finally stopped messing around and confronted your feelings for each other.”

“There are no ‘feelings’,” you said, though not very convincingly. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Friends who go on dates every other week and see each other all the time.”

“It’s not a ‘date’. We just like hanging out together.”

“Alone? In romantic settings?”

“They’re not romantic,” You thought about the seaside bar you’d both gone to a while back. It’d been so lovely, and it was open late. Also, it was not too far away, so you wouldn’t have trouble getting there. 

“So, you’re telling me that you don’t think lunch picnics under a tree by the river isn’t romantic?”

“It can be platonic. Not everything needs to be romantic.”

“That’s how things started between Minho-hyung and I,” he said, “And here we are: Dating for three years and living together now. Then again, we were made for each other, so it was going to work out anyway.”  He gave a sly smile, “If you and Chan don’t become a thing, you can be our third. I would love having more than Dom.”

“Pfft, I’m hardly Dom material,” you scoffed. 

“The way you railed Hyunjin and Jeongin says otherwise,” he snickered. “They say your dick is life-changing.”

You laughed recalling Hyunjin’s words, and said, “They’re exaggerating. I’m not some kind of sex god.”

“Who’s a sex god?” Minho walked into the room, confused by the last words he’d heard. 

“You,” Jisung grinned playfully, puckering his lips for Minho to kiss them. “I told YN-hyung that if he wanted he could be our third.”

“Aren’t all the members technically our third? And fourth? And fifth? And sixth and seventh?” he asked, amused as he gave Jisung a second kiss before taking the seat beside him on the couch. 

“Yeah, but YN-hyung would be special,” Han said with a wink at you. 

“I don’t know,” Minho said with jealous eyes, “I don’t think I can compete with the anaconda he’s got in his pants.”

“It’s not that big,” you defended once again, earning laughs from the couple. 

“I’d still like to ride it one day,” Han leaned closer to you, keeping his voice low under the music. “Jeongin said he’s only ever gotten pounded like that by Chan-hyung.” He put his hand on your thigh, “I want to get wrecked by you next.” 

“Jisung-ah, we’re in the studio,” Minho warned, looking at Felix in the booth and listening to his last lines. 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’ve been a tease this entire week,” he replied, holding Jisung by the chin. “Don’t make me put you on the horse again.”

“The horse?”

“It’s a sex machine I put him on when he’s misbehaved,” Minho shrugged casually. “I sit him there and edge him with it. I sometimes whip or spank him while he’s on it, but I usually don’t.” He pouted at Jisung, “And you don’t want me to put you on that again, do you? How many times did I edge you before not letting you cum at all?”

“Four.”

“If you keep pushing the no-studio-sex boundary,” he said, forehead pressed to Jisung’s, “I’ll make it six.” 

You saw Jisung gulp before Minho kissed him. “Maybe YN-yah can help me sometime,” he suggested, seeing you watch them. “He can be a Dom when he wants to be one.”

“I’m not a real Dom.” 

“No, you’re not, are you?” Minho asked, a flirty glint in his eyes. He glanced over to where Chan sat, then said loudly, “You’re a good boy who needs a daddy to take care of you.”

“YNie, you’re next,” Chan said, not acknowledging what Minho said. 

“Hyung,” Jisung called to Felix when he stepped out of the booth, “Is YN-hyung a Dom or a Sub?-”

“-Why is this important?-”

“-He strikes me as more of a Switch, honestly,” Felix said, pushing back hair from his face. “I like guys who can do both,” he winked at you. 

“-You said I’m next, hyung?” You stood up from your seat and went right to the booth. “Can we go line-by-line, if that’s okay?” 

“Sure,” Chan said, also wanting to move from the topic. 

You set the microphone to your height, and pushed the conversation away. You learned during your time with Stray Kids that Chan took the ‘no studio sex’ rule very seriously. He didn’t mind it in individual studios, but when it came to recording together, it was prohibited. He wanted everyone focused on recording well, not getting into each other’s pants. Of course, the members care about producing a good album as much as him, so they mostly flirted if anything. You also believed part of it was the possibility someone in the company not privy to the “secret” would walk in on it. You understood why, and followed it to avoid ending up on the receiving end of a Leader Scolding. You didn’t want Chan upset with you or believing you really couldn’t control yourself. 

Though, Han regularly tested this restraint. 

“-Mouth hung open, don’t know where to look,” you sang into the microphone gently, getting into the music playing in your headphones. 

“Go a bit deeper,” Chan said, his voice coming through when the music stopped. “It sounds too light.”

“Okay,” you nodded. The music started again, and you sang in a slightly deeper tone, “Mouth hung open, don’t know where to look.”

“Not bad, not bad,” Chan praised, “Let’s do one more.” 

“Mouth hung open, don’t know where to look.” 

“Okay, yes, let’s go with that one,” he declared, and you agreed. “Let’s give the next line a listen.”

“Okay,” you said. Han’s voice came through as the song started, and you looked at your notes as you sang right after, “We act the way we think, the way we feel.”

“Nice,” Chan said as you stopped. “Let’s keep that one and go again.” 

Chan’s praise always made you feel good. Since working with the group, you felt your skills had improved much more. Chan said you were always good, but you disagreed. You worked on your lines with Chan, with Han and Minho giving their opinions from time to time. It felt productive. It felt good being a part of something, truly part of it and not looking from the outside. You rarely recorded with the previous groups since you hardly had any lines in your own songs. So, being there with the members felt exciting each time. Also, yes, Chan being the one who praised you made you warm inside. 

“Great!” Chan said on the last line, “Really great.”

“Thanks,” you said with a small bow, smiling wide at the success and relieved to be done so quickly. 

You picked up your song notes, then walked out of the booth. Minho stood up from the couch, patting your back as he passed you into the booth next. Han sat on the couch on his phone. You guessed the couple had plans like you and Chan, and wanted to be done as soon as possible. You took Minho’s seat, sinking into the plush leather couch as Minho’s warm ups from the speakers. Usually, there’d be another producer present, but today appeared to be a special case. You took up your phone, starting to scroll for a new place to try when a message came in. 

“You’re such a good singer, hyung,” Han’s message read, the rapper curling up on the couch and leaning against you. 

Considering he texted it rather than say it out loud, something sensual was sure to follow. “Thanks. I try,” you texted back, heat in your cheeks. 

“Maybe being a good singer means your moans sound good too.” 

“How did I know you’d say something like that? Lol” you laughed to yourself, shaking your head. 

“Because I’ve been teasing you all week.” 

He wasn’t lying. Han Jisung had been teasing you all week. Ever since you returned from Milan, when everyone saw you with Hyunjin, you’d received more photos and videos than before. It started with small flirty glances and blushing smiles in the practice room. In the studio, he’d lay his head on your lap or find excuses to cuddle close to you so your bodies touched. During photo or video shoots, he’d make sure you saw glimpses of his petite, lean body as he dressed. In the car on your way to an important event, he’d sit beside you instead of Minho and touch your thigh. Never too brazen. Never too obvious. Despite his lust for you, Han managed to keep it under the radar better than other members. 

“Minho-hyung really doesn’t mind?” you texted back, giving a glance to the man in the recording booth. 

“Not when it’s the other members,” he said. “He’s the one who helped me take those pictures I sent you. Did you like them? 😉” 

“Of course,” you shuddered remembering the photos of Han tied up and gagged on his bed. He’d been sweaty, hickies on his neck, teary eyed with cum on his stomach. “You knew I would.” 

“You know you can do that to me whenever you like,” his free hand gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. 

“Chan-hyung is right there!” you replied, nodding over to Chan, who was too focused on helping Minho to notice. “Studio sex isn’t allowed. He’ll get super pissed.” 

“He’s busy,” he responded. “It’s not like I’m blowing you 😜” 

‘But you’d like to be, I’m sure 😜”

“Duh! Have you seen how much you cum? I want all of it.” 

You gulped when his hand went further up your thigh. “Every drop,” he added. “All of it in my mouth and down my throat.” 

You’d decided long ago that rappers had a great disadvantage in dirty talking. 

“Remember the last video I sent?” 

“How can I forget? You looked so pretty riding that tentacle toy and cumming all over yourself.”

“I was thinking about you using my throat like a toy, just fucking it however you want until you cum.”

“Jisung-ah.”

You withheld a gasp when his hand found your crotch. He stopped texting you, and focused on your soft cock. Your eyes glanced over to Chan and Minho, who still somehow had not noticed you two on the couch. A part of you knew Chan would be disappointed in you, but Han’s hand felt so warm and his fingers knew exactly where to go. Through your gray shorts, he put enough pressure so you felt his fingers on him. You gripped your phone tightly, seeing his hand slowly slide up and down your length. When his hand dipped to your balls, you shifted to rest them fully in his palm. Your eyes met Jisung’s, and he smirked mischievously, cheeks puffing slightly around his cheekbones. He knew what he was doing to you, and it drove you insane. 

“I know you two aren’t doing what I think you’re doing,” Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts. You two immediately pulled apart. “You know the rules,” he said, as he wrote down notes for the next verse. 

“We have no idea what you’re talking about, hyung,” Han said innocently, removing his hand from your lap. “YN-hyung and I are only talking about the new song.”

“If you two want to fuck so bad,” he said, “Go do it somewhere else.”

“What’s going on?” Minho asked from inside the booth. “Am I done?”

“Your boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself in the studio,” Chan answered, pressing the speaker button to talk. 

“Hannie-yah,” Minho’s voice came laced with a warning, “You know better.”

“But, we’re both bored waiting on you two,” you said, trying to help Jisung out of trouble. “We weren’t going to go farther than touching, we swear.”

“Yeah, only until you guys finished for the day,” said Han. 

“You both know we have seven other members to record,” Chan said, “And Changbin hasn’t shown up yet and neither has anyone else. We’d have to play what we’ve done so far, and see if there are any changes to be made tomorrow. You both know that. I’ve told you more than once that studio sex isn’t allowed.”

“We can go to my studio then,” Han said to you, brown eyes heavy with lust. “There’s no stupid sex rule there.”

“It’s not a stupid rule. We would get almost nothing done when all of you are so fucking horny all the time,” Chan said, sounding agitated. 

“Hyung, don’t be so tough on them,” Minho said. “Jisung hasn’t been fucked properly in a while, so he’s all needy and stuff. YNie would be doing me a favor,” he then chuckled. “I think that whole alpha-omega thing is real, because he’s like a dog in heat sometimes.”

“Am not!” argued Jisung. 

“So, I shouldn’t tell everyone here how I woke up to you humping my leg?” 

You stifled a giggle. “I wasn’t humping your leg,” Han said, arms crossed, “I was just snuggling and got hard.” 

“Tell that to my pants,” Minho snorted. 

“As much as I’d love to watch you two go at it like rabbits,” Chan interrupted the conversation, “It’s work time.” 

You and Han shared a glance, then you both stood from the couch. Han walked into the recording booth where he cornered Minho, while you walked over to Chan. 

“You can always take a break,” you suggested, your lingering arousal stirring in you. “You work so much, hyung. You deserve a long, relaxing break.”

Chan snickered, clicking around on the screen to replay Minho’s recording. “Tempting, but not today, YNie. You’ll have to settle for another one of our bottoms again.” 

“But, hyung,” you slid your hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of him through his black shirt, “I haven’t been topped in a long time.” His shoulders flexed against your rolling thumbs, and you worked out the small knots you found. You bent down to his ear, “Please? Just this one time?” You started towards his neck, then to his back. The low groan he gave sent shivers to the arousal inside you. “Minho can have Jisung, and you could have me. I’ve been dying to be pounded by you.”

Chan then turned his chair around, and pulled you to him by the waist. He remained dangerously close to your crotch, looking up at you from your hips. You hoped he might at least kiss you. With how his eyes scanned over your face to your lips, and back to your eyes, you thought he might finally do it. He brought you closer, inches away from him before he said:

“I said not today, YN-yah,” he said, gently. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“A virtue I’m slowly losing my grip on,” you replied, bending down to his level. “I’ll get you someday, Leader-nim.” 

Chan stuck his tongue into his cheek to repress a smile at the name. “Sooner than you think if you keep calling me that,” he said, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’d love to hear you moan it for me.”

“Oh, Leader-nim,” you said, faking one for him. “Leader-nim, that feels so good. Don’t stop,” you put your lips to his ear, “Leader, make me yours. Pound my ass until I can’t walk straight. Use my throat like a fleshlight and make me choke on your huge cock.”

He bit his tongue as you teased him. “Damn,” he sighed, “It’s a shame I’m working right now. I’d love to do to you what you’ve been doing to all the bottoms around here.”

He turned his chair around, and you grunted with your arms crossed. You turned to see Han receiving the same gentle rejection, a kiss promising more much later. He came back to you, sliding his arms around your middle. “Looks like we’ll have to settle for each other,” he pouted, head on your shoulder. “Since our boyfriends have no interest in fucking us themselves.”

“I’m recording, Jisung!”

“He used to love me,” he continued as if he didn’t hear Minho, playfulness in his tone. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I’ll put you on the horse, I swear. Keep it up.” 

“I don’t mind taking his place,” you said, turning in his arms and embracing him. Your hands went down his back to cup his ass, “I think I’d like waking up to you leaking all over my leg.” 

“I’m right here, you know,” Minho said as Chan laughed. 

“You can wake up to all kinds of things with me,” Han said, tracing your Adam's apple to the base of your throat. “A good fuck is a great way to start your morning,” he leaned closer to you, nose gently nuzzling yours. “And with a dick like yours just inches away from me?” he reached down to your bulge again, smiling when you gasped, “I don’t think I’d be able to control myself around you.”

“You already can’t now,” you laughed, tracing his jawline to his lips. “You jumped on me the second you got up close to me.”

“I really was trying to hold back. It’s just…I was rewatching Hyunjin’s video and I couldn't stop picturing you doing all of that to me too,” he said. “I had no idea you could do that.” His hand traced the outline of your dick through your pants, shifting when you began massaging his ass. 

“You two are such sluts,” Chan laughed. “Go to Han’s studio and do that there. This is work time.” 

“Would you like us to film it for you, hyung?” you asked, holding Jisung close and both of you looking at him. “We can watch it together later.”

He hesitated, paused over his work before saying, “If it comes to mind…”

You and Jisung giggled before leaving the studio. The exhilaration built back up following Han down the hallway to his personal studio. Your eyes raked up and down his body. He wore a longer shirt that hid his petite waist and lean figure from you. His pants were a big baggier, so you knew they’d be easier to slip off. The suppression you’d kept on yourself slowly unwound before you reached Han’s studio; it threatened to break through and pounce on him once you passed the threshold into quietness. 

“You have no idea,” Han brought you to him by the hand, a familiar lustful glint in his eyes, “How long I’ve been wanting this.”

“I think I have some idea,” you replied, hands sliding around his waist to his ass. You suddenly hated his pants and wanted them off. The thick material kept you from feeling the perky cheeks underneath. “The stuff you send me is a clear indication of that in my opinion,” you chuckled. 

“That’s only a fraction of it,” he said, leaning closer. “Trust me.”

He pressed his hands to your torso, their touch soft against your muscles and slid upwards. You cupped his cheek and brought him in for a kiss. It started with light smacks of your lips, the occasional flick of the bottom before being caught in between both. The teasing brushes of his tongue ignited something in you; your hands went down to his backside again, trying to feel for the curves you’d seen bouncing on toys for days now. His own hands went up your abdomen, tracing small patterns before reaching your chest. The brief touch of his cotton shirt to your bare stomach sparked you. Your kiss getting deeper, your hunger for him became more obvious. The strain in your shorts grew and pressed into the fabric, a small bump starting to form again. When you brought him closer, Jisung’s bulge pushed against yours and you both moaned. You held him more securely once his hips started grinding on you.

“Come here, baby.”

You sat down on the sofa nearby and he straddled your lap right away. Your hands on his thighs, you growled at the obstacle his pants became. Jisung, arms around your neck, brought you back in for another kiss as he continued rocking his hips. You caressed his thighs up and down, the tension in them flexing underneath the denim material. His cock pushing into yours, the heavy material weighing on your thin one, you couldn’t help humping him back. The faint scent of cologne stayed on his skin, becoming more obvious when you kissed down his neck. His body, lithe and slender, fit perfectly in your arms and responded to your touches right away. Minho was a lucky man. You’d be spent too if you had Jisung in your bed all the time. 

His grinding became more hurried when you reached underneath his shirt to the hardening nipples. You groaned listening to him whine at a particularly hard pinch, not out of pain but pleasure. When he bunched his jeans up to tighten around his groin, his bulge instantly became more apparent on his thigh. Thankfully, once you unbuckled and unzipped him, your hands fit perfectly inside.

“Hyung…” he breathed once your hands grabbed his ass over his boxers. You squeezed and pulled them apart to push some fabric between the two cheeks. The thin, smooth material made it easier to feel his tight hole. “Oh god…”

“Keep grinding,” you said, guiding him along your length.

He continued kissing you, tugging on your lower lip with a soft lick right afterwards. He pushed his narrow hips to yours in slow circles, the movement keeping you both together longer. His soft moans joined yours, the two of you unable to stop once you started. Someone could walk in right then, and you’d keep going. His body became addicting. The hardness of his body in your arms tempted you into feeling more than his ass. All the restraint you carried rushed through floodgates, and you wanted nothing more than to bend Han over the sofa arm, pants at his knees. The air shifted when you rolled Han into his back, and started sliding off his pants and shoes with them. Desire burned in his innocent eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing his growing erection.

“No, no,” you said, gently pushing his hand away, “That’s my job.”

You rested between his thighs, laying on top of him as you went back to grinding. Hands above his head, Han surrendered himself over to you. You kissed up his body from hips to chest as you lifted his shirt to just above his nipples. His body twitched at the pleasure you were giving him; he couldn’t stop gyrating his hips to your throbbing cock. The constant friction between the two of you drove you wild. Every so often, you reached between you to rub him with your hand which made him squirm. He felt so good. You couldn’t get enough of him. You never could get enough of any of them. No matter which member you had, you always found yourself craving more and more. Han’s angelic moans, high and needy, became a song you could never forget. His hard nipples in your mouth became a focus point to his pleasure; you couldn’t stop yourself from nibbling and sucking them. You groaned into the wrinkled skin, your dick jerking in your shorts and boxers. When you knelt up, you held your boner down to keep grinding on the outline pressing into Jisung’s boxers.

“You look so pretty like this,” you groaned, taking in his long body lying beneath you. Arms still above his head, he’d crossed his wrists as if tied together and gripped the cushion at the end. “All needy and horny,” you slid yourself up and down his length before giving his tip a gentle rub. “I jerked off to those videos of you tied up and toys inside you so many times. I kept picturing it being me making you cum like that.”

“Me too,” he whined. “Too bad I don’t keep any here,” he grinned through another moan, “Then you could use it on me as much as you want.”

“But, my dick is just as good,” you said, trembling somewhat as you dragged your balls over his cock and back down. The smooth motion stirred the pot between you. A small black spot showed where his tip was, and that’s what you focused on. “Don’t you think so?”

“Hyung…”

“Yes?”

“Let me suck your dick, please,” he begged through a quiet voice. “I want you in my mouth…in my throat. I’ve been-been dying to suck you dry. Please…”

The mere act of him begging to blow you had you tugging your pants down. Excitement lit inside Han’s eyes as he positioned himself on the floor in front of you. The sight of him below, round brown eyes gazing up at you pleadingly and lips already parting, could not have been a prettier sight. He pulled your pants down to your ankles, running his hands up your thighs to the center of your boxers. Your thighs clenched at the light fingers grazing your inner sides, and you sighed when they slipped under the leg holes. Jisung pressed his lips right to your cock, brushing over the fabric and nuzzling the hardened shaft. Shaky breaths escaped you every time he reached the sensitive side of your tip and hum softly around it. His fingers continued massaging you, thumbs pressing to the perineum and your balls every so often. When he heard you moan particularly loud at this, he kept on doing it. He kissed down to them for a moment, giving a soft moan before coming back up. You gripped the cushion underneath you as you watched the younger member fondle and worship your dick. Once he found a wet pot, Jisung flicked his tongue over it. 

Then, he carefully pulled down the front of your underwear. You whined at the fabric sliding against your cock, springing it upwards towards Jisung’s face. The longing became clear on his face, but he didn’t dare put you in his mouth yet. Tongue poking out over his bottom lip, soft breaths ghosted over your tip as he began rubbing you in his hand. His smooth fingers grazed over the squishy head in each stroke, creating more tightness in your belly, and your body was on fire. The fact he kept himself positioned just under you, staring at your dick as he worked you, had you reeling for more. 

“Your dick is perfect,” he said, swallowing the saliva building in his mouth. “It’s big where it counts.”

“It’s not…not like that.”

“It is to me,” he replied with a laugh, smiling when you shuddered at a soft kiss. “It’s perfect for sucking just like Minho and Chan’s cocks.”

One hand holding the base, he used the other to languidly stroke you. You wriggled in your seat at the firm squeeze he gave both ends, and dug your nails further into the sofa. It was over when he started whirling the tip of his tongue on the tip’s edge in time with his strokes.

“You like that?” he teased, continuing to do it a bit faster.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you said between gritted teeth, the pleasure tight in your groin. “Keep going like that…There’s a good boy.”

Being called a ‘good boy’ struck a chord in Jisung and he slid you over his outstretched tongue. It went in so easily. You groaned at the light sensation of his tongue on the sensitive skin, rubbing the veins and thick head. Once he latched his mouth to your shaft, the both of you moaned together. You slipped a hand into his hair, dyed a grayish white and much longer, and simply held it as he went further. He held onto your thighs as his face planted into your lap, nose brushing your pubic bone and chin right underneath your dick. The pressure from his throat and his hollow cheeks tempted you into going further. You could sit there enjoying his mouth forever. The obscene slurping he did when he pulled you from his throat couldn’t have sounded better. He did not even withdraw completely. He kept you in his mouth despite the drool coming from the sides of his mouth. Whenever he did, he still kept the very tip in his mouth to spit over before going back down. Soft cries hummed around it, muffled by your thickness as you continued gradually sliding in and out of his mouth. He didn’t protest when you fastened your grip on his hair and held him in place. Your hips pushed upwards into his face, reaching his throat each time.

"Look up at me,” you said, angling him further down to see him teary eyed and messy. You took yourself out to tap your wet cock on his cheeks and mouth, the other not hesitating to lick at you whenever you hit him. “Greedy,” you smiled, pushing into his mouth.

He brought your thighs onto his shoulders and angled himself further downwards. You locked your legs behind his back and started using them to bring him closer. Unable to get out of your grasp, Jisung could only kneel there and take your cock in his mouth. His sucking lips became a toy to use. Tears filled the corners of his eyes each time you forced him to the hilt, holding him there several seconds as he choked and sputtered around you. Like before, you barely let him off you. You gave him a minute to breathe before pushing him back in with your legs, locking him in place with your thighs.

“You love this, don’t you?” you asked in heavy breaths, hand curling in his soft hair. You chuckled softly when he nodded in confirmation, sucking you even harder as an answer. “Good to know I have a good place to dump all my cum,” you shoved your dick fully to his throat again, “Because that’s just what you are, huh? A mindless cum dump for everyone to use, right?” He moaned again in agreement, shaking his head with you in his mouth and vibrating it with another moan. “I’d pump my load in your throat every night if I could.”

“Please…” he said, voice muffled by the inch he breathed again, lips connected by several strings of fluids. “Use my mouth whenever you want.”

“Does that go for your tight ass too?” you asked, smacking his face with your wet cock again. “Seeing you put all those dildos in your ass makes it so tempting.”

“Yes,” he said before letting you push back into his mouth. “Fuck my ass,” he muttered as you started fucking his mouth again. “Please, fuck my ass. I want you deep in me.” 

“Bend over the couch then,” you said, “And show me that pretty hole of yours.”

Getting onto the couch, Jisung yanked down his pants and boxers to his knees like you’d imagined. He arched his back and spread his cheeks apart, his hole clenching for something to grab. He sucked in a breath through his teeth when your tongue slid over it. Small licks around the entrance caused small whimpers and grinding into your face. You gave each cheeks a sharp smack and a hard squeeze as you rolled your tongue further and flicked it around. His entrance lubed, you wasted no time in sliding one finger inside, moaning at the walls swallowing you and the back starting to arch to meet it. You kept him still with one hand while your finger gently worked him open. Adding a second, you scissored the hole as you plunged knuckle deep. Jisung shook and held onto the sofa arm, face buried in the plush suede.

“Your dick…” Jisung said through a strained whine. “Please, hyung, can I have your dick now?”

“But, this is so much fun,” you sneered, adding a third finger that made him writhe. “Your hole is so tight and I love seeing how you react when I go deep like this,” you emphasized it by pushing all three fingers to his core and watching him moan into the arm. “I’ve grown to love teasing all our pretty bottoms,” you continued fingering him, pulling out to put your fingers in sideways and palm facing downwards. “You each sound so sweet when you’re under me.”

“That’s because you’re amazing,” he said with a breathy laugh, meeting your hand halfway. “I want you to ruin me like you did with Hyunjin and Innie.”

“Oh yeah?” You finally removed your fingers, leaving Han empty and wanting for a few seconds, “You want me to fuck you stupid too?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, if that’s what little Hannie wants,” you kissed the edge of his ear, “Then hyung should be nice and give it to you, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said hurriedly, feeling your tip resting on him.

You chuckled at his eagerness, loving the effect you appeared to be having on him. Chan would probably advise caution by now, since you could be discovered any second. But, how could you care about that when Han’s ass hugged you so tightly? The bumpy walls milked you in every stroke, and it became harder to maintain control over yourself. Having him massaging your length, his high-pitched moans mingling with the sounds of skin slapping skin, made your mouth water. You forced yourself to focus on Jisung: running your hands up and down his back, grabbing his hair to pull his head back or smacking his tight ass in hard slaps. The small bits of pain seemed to make Jisung moan louder, and become more desperate. So, you dragged your nails on his skin, not too hard but enough for him to feel it; you spanked his ass until it was a light pink color.

Jisung became more desperate when you pulled him to your chest and reached around his waist. He really was hard. You could barely squeeze it at times, working it with only your index and thumb. Jisung became a moaning, mindless mess as you pleasured him. Every time your hand reached the base, your dick went fully inside him. This drove the already sensitive Jisung even further into bliss. Precum spilled from the tip, and you used it to lube him up. The slick sounds matched your snapping hips, working alongside the moans escaping both of you.

“Minho-hyung is so lucky,” you said in his ear, jerking and fucking him harder. “Getting to-to fuck you like this every day.”

“You-You can too!”

“Oh yeah? I can?”

“Yes, yes! However you want! Wherever!”

You put this to the test. After a bit of time on the couch, you manhandled him onto the floor where you ripped off his pants and lifted his legs into the air. Han clawed at the floor, at the bottom of the couch and his chair nearby as overwhelming pleasure took over. Sensing his orgasm, you didn’t deny it from him. You pumped his dripping cock as you kept going, watching in awe as he quivered and whined in his climax. Thick, hot droplets leaked from the head, mixing together as you continued stroking him, and went over your fingers. He used the end of his shirt to muffle the loud, suffocating cries your cock produced. As he settled down, chest rising and falling in every breath, you didn’t stop. Like with Hyunjin, a hard orgasm was of no significance. You’d finish when you both felt like it.

“Fuck me here, hyung!”

“Fuck me over there, hyung, please!”

Anyone who watched might wonder who’d ended up in charge. Han pointed wearily to places in his studio where he wanted you to bend him over: his desk, his chair, the other side of the couch, and even over his producing equipment. You couldn’t say no. He’d become as equally addicting as Hyunjin. By the time you both finished over the record deck, he was pumping out smoke. Watching him wearily bounce onto your hips, you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

“Get down there,” you ordered quickly, starting to jerk yourself quickly, “Get the fuck down there and open that mouth.” 

The sight of his mouth open, tongue sticking out close to your thick head, finally brought you over the edge. It hit you hard, making every nerve in you vibrate and stiffen as it pushed through you. Everything felt hot, your breath being constricted from the blast. Your cum shot right into his mouth, coating his tongue and splattering his mouth when you missed. Whenever he thought he’d miss a drop, Jisung licked the line leading to the hole and sucked it out for you. Your dick suddenly became sensitive to his hand and mouth, and your body became weak from the exertion. Jisung continued licking you from top to bottom, sucking whatever beads remained until he was sure he’d gotten it all. 

“That was amazing,” he breathed, finally laying down on your chest on the couch. Your body felt like jelly. You might’ve just gone through a super deep tissue massage, making you light headed and floating. “So much better than I thought it’d be.”

“Thanks,” you breathed, catching your breath. “I didn’t think I could-could do that again.”

“I didn’t think I could either,” he replied, snuggling close to you. He reached around for tissues he kept underneath the couch for emergencies, and you started cleaning each other off. “I’ve only ever done this with Minho.” 

“You two must have something really special then.”

You saw him smile fondly at the thought. “We do,” he said. “He keeps me grounded when I start floating away. I never feel anxious or worried around him. He makes me happy.” 

“That’s good.”

“Like how Chan makes you happy.”

Not this again. “What Chan and I have is the same as everyone else.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, “Tell that to the shadow at the door.”

“Huh?”

You could just barely see him, but instinct told you it was Chan. By the profile and muscled chest sticking out slightly, you recognized him. If you didn’t feel so drained, you’d go to him. He’s likely rock hard, if not already spent from listening at the door. But, you felt too content with Jisung in your arms to do anything about it. He’ll likely text you about it later, or bring it up the next time you’re alone. 

“He really likes you,” Han said, pulling up his boxers. “I can tell from how he looks at you.”

“He looks at all of us that way.”

“No, with you it’s more flirty and loving than fond,” he came back and cuddled against your chest, wrapped in your legs. “Minho looks at me that way sometimes, when he thinks I’m not looking. He’ll be watching me doing something, and when I look up, he turns his head. Chan does that with you.”

“It’s just sex, that’s all. We’re just horny for each other.”

No, it wasn’t that. It was far from that. Bahng Christoper Chan made you more seen than anyone else. He never left you behind or made you feel insignificant. When you were together, your connection flowed so freely and easily. It wasn’t awkward with him. Yes, your sexual tension will eventually boil over, but you hoped it was more than that for him. 

“Keep telling yourself that, cutie,” Jisung said, kissing your cheek softly. “Ugh, I’m starving now.” He grabbed his phone, “I’m going to see if they’ll bring us something. You know, to repair the emotional damage they caused with their rejection.”

“Of course. It’s only right.” 

Right when Jisung called Chan, a phone rang from behind the door. Then, the shadow disappeared. 

****

A/N: Ooof, YN is just blowing through these men, isnt he?? haha get it?? sorry...Please reblog and like!

[mountttmase]

Not Your Fault

Note - i hope you’re all excited to meet the final bubba 🩷 a few guesses for the name were right but no one guessed the exact spelling 😂 I hope you love them as much as I do though and hopefully I’ll be able to write about them a bit more as we learn about their personality 😌 hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated 😘

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 6k

Warnings - fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst

Putting the kids to bed with Mason was never an easy task. Mason putting the kids to bed on his own was a recipe for disaster but right now there wasn't much the pair of you could do.

You could hear Mason trying to wrangle your two babies as you sat with your third in the nursery. Ollie trying his hardest to help Mason tame Tilly as she ran riot and you knew Mason was about to explode. You wondered if you should get up to help but Ryley was feeding peacefully in your arms and you didn’t want to disturb him.

‘Welcome to the mad house baby’ you whispered, stroking your finger along his perfect nose all the way down to the end before awkwardly reaching down to kiss his head. ‘You’ll get used to Tills, she’s just excited about you being here’

And she really was.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d get pregnant so quickly after agreeing to try again and after your first two pregnancies you thought you knew your body well enough now to know when something had changed. Clearly that wasn’t the case though and it was actually Mason who figured it out first that were pregnant with a little help from Nala.

The kids were at school and Mason came home to find you cuddled up with Nala on the sofa. Her head and paws on your tummy as you scratched her head but as soon as he tried to cuddle you, Nala wasn’t having it. Growling at him when he tried to put his arms around you and pushing him away with her nose.

‘What’s crawled up her arse and died’ Mason laughed. Trying to snake his hands around your middle but Nala would fight him off every time until he gave up and grabbed your boob instead.

‘Mason? Do you mind’

‘Take it up with her, she’s hogging you’ he huffed but you just let it slide. You knew Mason needed to be holding something and if it was your boob then you’d just have to get on with it as he wouldn’t move off. You didn’t think anything of it though, you just knew Nala was protective and after you’d been cuddling for a while she was feeling territorial.

It was two days later that Mason caught you crying in the utility room. Half buried under all of the kids washing and the look of concern on his face just made you cry even harder. You’d been trying to get ontop of the cleaning all day and it the point you just felt overwhelmed.

‘Hey, what’s wrong sweetheart?’ He asked as he helped you up but you didn’t really have an answer for him. Trying to quieten your sobs but you could feel your bottom lip still wobbling as he looked at you softly.

‘Sorry Mase, I don’t even know why I’m crying’ you laughed as he wiped your eyes for you. ‘I’m just a bit emotional at the moment’ you told him and by the small sigh you knew he had something he wanted to say so you raised your eyebrow at him in hopes he’d speak.

‘Baby, you don’t think you might be…’

‘Drowning in washing?’ You laughed but the soft look on his face made you be quiet. He looked genuinely concerned but there was also something behind his eyes you couldn’t quite place.

‘No you wally… pregnant’

Pregnant? You didn’t think so at all. Apart from feeling more emotional than usual you didn’t have any other symptoms that you could think of and you wondered if Mason was just getting ahead of himself.

‘No I don’t think so Mase, I’d know if I was’ you told him but you watched his face soften as he cupped your jaw.

‘Well I know you too, and I think you are’ he teased. ‘You’re all emotional, you’re eating everything in sight and Nala suddenly won’t let me go near you’ he listed off and you blushed at the fact he’d clearly caught you snacking more than usual. ‘Maybe we should check? Just to rule it out’

‘I mean we can but it’ll just be a waste’ you laughed ‘We only started trying a month ago, Mase. I doubt it would have happened that quickly’

‘Don’t doubt my powers of fertility’ he laughed and even though you wanted to smile you were trying your hardest to keep a straight face.

‘You’re insane’ you huffed, grabbing his hand and taking him upstairs to your en-suite. You’d made sure to stock up on tests since you were now trying and you instructed him to wait on the bed while you took it.

‘There you go’ you smiled, walking out of the bathroom and handing him the capped test that was still loading. ‘What do you fancy for dinner? I’ll go get it started’ you told him as you made your way to the door but he grabbed your wrist to hold you in place, looking back at you like you’d lost your mind.

‘You’re not gonna wait?’

‘There's no point, it’ll be negative babe. Now what do you want?’ You told him, shrugging your shoulders as you really believe deep down that you had nothing to worry about as there was no way you were pregnant already.

‘You pick’ he told you quietly, and with a kiss to his forehead you made your way back downstairs and into the kitchen.

Mason was gone for a while, almost to the point where you were about to go and find him but he suddenly appeared in the doorway with his eyes full of tears and a soft smile on his face. You knew he would be upset that it was negative, knowing he wanted a third baby more than anything but you figured at least if he was smiling then he hadn’t taken it too hard.

You didn’t have a chance to say anything though, Mason coming straight over to you so he could cup your face and press gentle kisses over your cheeks which made you blush and your knees weak but you loved his gentle side and you let him shower with you affection.

Before you could reassure him everything would be fine and you had all the time in the world to try for baby number three, he pulled back to look at you and you were frozen in place as you knew what that look in his eye meant.

‘You’re pregnant baby’

‘What?’

‘You’re pregnant’ he laughed, kissing your cheeks again as you froze in his hold. Letting him continue to kiss your face and it’s like his words hadn’t hit you yet until he rested his forehead on top of yours.

‘You're lying’ you whispered, your bottom lip wobbling as your eyes started to burn but he just laughed at you. Reaching into his pocket to pull out the test so he could show you and there it was in black and white. The words pregnant staring you back in the face until you looked up into Masons happy ones. ‘We’re having a baby’

You burst into tears instantly as you fell into Mason's chest. Him holding you close to his body as he rocked you from side to side, letting you know it was okay and that he’d keep you safe, the both of you safe, and when you eventually pulled back he kissed your tears away.

‘I didn’t think it would be this quick, sorry it’s just a bit of a shock’ you laughed, trying to wrap your head around it as your stared back at the word pregnant.

‘It’s alright, baby. Are you feeling okay?’

‘I think so’ you laughed. Letting him grip the back of your thighs so he could place you on the counter and look him in the eye. ‘I just can’t believe it, like I don’t even know what to think’

‘Well It’s still early love, how about we keep it to ourselves for a little while and tell the kids when we’re certain everything’s okay’ he reassured you and you felt yourself relax at how calm and in control he was about everything. ‘We can tell the rest of the world after that when you’re ready but for now it’s just us yeah? You, me and Nala’ he joked before pulling you in for a well needed hug.

So you kept it to yourselves. Telling the kids after your 12 week scan and as soon as Tilly found out you were pregnant she’d barely left your side and was seemingly very quizzical about what was happening. You knew she wanted to come out and ask fully how it had happened but she kept it inside until one night when it was just the three of you.

Ollie was at a friend's house for dinner and after all of you had eaten, you were cuddled up on the sofa with Mason, Tilly nestled in between you. Her head on Mason's chest as you watched whatever was on the tv but soon enough Tilly was ready for a biology lesson.

‘Daddy, how did the baby get in mummy’s belly?’ she asked, her head tilting up to look at him but as soon as you looked up you could see the panic written all over his face.

‘Yeah, how did it happen, Mase?’ You teased wanting to know how he’d worm his way out of this one but you could see he was hating every second of this. Sending you a what the fuck face before looking back down at Tilly who was waiting patiently for him to explain.

‘Okay, so you know how you write a letter to Santa at Christmas?’ He started, Tilly nodding excitedly and you could see the cogs turning in his brain, wondering where the hell he was going with this but let him carry on. ‘Well, when two people who love each other very much want a baby, they write a letter to the stork and then you have to bury it in the garden so they can come and pick it up’

You could see Tilly wasn’t buying it, looking back at him in confusion and you yourself were waiting for what he had to say next.

‘But how?’

‘How what?’

‘His did they get into mummy’s belly’ he asked more firmly this time as Mason was quite clearly skirting around it but knowing Tilly she would ask and ask until she got her answer.

‘Well um… well then the stork, it comes back and uh… and it leaves a seed which is the baby… and uh, that goes in Mummy’s tummy’ he nodded, stuttering the whole way through as he was panicking but you were loving how flustered he was. Trying to hold in a laugh as you covered your mouth with your hand.

‘But how does the seed get in there?’ She persisted, watching Mason now try to hide a smile before his eyes flashed to yours and you knew he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

‘She swallows it’

‘Okay that’s enough for today’ you interrupted, pulling Tilly onto your lap ‘you need to go and pick Ollie up’ you told Mason with a slightly dissatisfied look on your face and he quickly kissed your forehead la with a smile before getting up. ‘Come on missy, let’s get you in the bath, yeah?’

‘Okay mummy,’ she smiled. Reaching over to give Mason a kiss on the cheek before making her way up the stairs and you promised her you’d be right up in a minute.

‘Right I won’t be long’ Mason laughed as he got up, reaching down to help pull you up with him but he must have caught the unimpressed look from you as he began to laugh at your expression. ‘What?’

‘You know what’ you laughed. ‘Maybe If I had swallowed we wouldn’t be in this state would we’

‘I love it when you talk dirty’ Mason laughed. Pulling you into him with his hand on your bum and he squeezed it as he kissed you heavily. ‘I’ll see you soon, maybe when the kids are in bed we can try-‘

‘Mason I swear to god’ you laughed, pulling away and tapping his chest before making a beeline for the stairs but the sound of his giggles as he made his way out the door made you giggle along too.

Things took a turn at the gender reveal though. The four of you not doing anything extravagant but you knew you wanted the kids involved so after you scan you gave your bestie Sid an envelope with the gender inside so she could organise a cake and the next day you were all sat around the kitchen island with wine glasses in hand ready to sink them into the cake and you couldn’t be more excited.

Mason and Ollie didn’t care what the gender was, as did you, but Tilly was gunning for a baby sister. Having already picked out some toys for her to have and she constantly referred to the baby as she. You knew there would be a meltdown if she didn’t get her way but you were trying to distract her as best you could.

‘Okay, are we ready?’ you laughed, popping your hand on Tilly’s glass to help her push down into the cake and after the count of three you shut your eyes and pushed down on both until you hit the board.

It was Tilly crying no that made you realise what had happened. Looking round to see everyone’s glass filled with the blue frosting from the inside of the cake but Tilly’s wails wouldn’t let you enjoy your time just yet.

Mason was trying his hardest to contain his laughter and when you pulled Tilly into a hug to console her, he wrapped his arms around the pair of you whilst Ollie just grabbed a fork and began to dig into his cake.

‘Tilly baby, it’s okay’ you tried to reassure her, holding your laughs in as best you could but she just cried harder.

‘I don’t like boys’ she sobbed into your neck as she held you tight and as much as Mason looked like he was about to lose it, he peeled Tilly away from you and began to talk to her quietly. Eventually taking her out into the garden where you could see him swaying her from side to side as he spoke into the side of her head and eventually she was nodding her head and wiping her eyes

You joined Ollie though, accepting the fork he passed you so you could dig in too while you spoke about the new baby boy on the way and Ollie was very quick to reassure you how excited he was and how much he wanted to help out.

‘Okay, I think we’re on board now’ Mason announced as he walked back in with Tilly on his hip. A smile on her face but her eyes were still red and watery so Mason sat her on the side so you could feed her some cake.

‘Tilly, my new book came today. Shall I read to you for a bit?’ Ollie asked, your heart melting at the way he wanted to cheer her up as Ollie reading to her was their thing. Whenever Tilly was on mad one or overwhelmed he’d often take her over to their little corner to calm down and your heart felt full as she toddled off with her hand in his.

‘So, another boy huh?’ Mason smiled as he came over to you. Resting his hands on your waist as you rested yours on his chest and you were thankful for a little bit of alone time with him.

‘Looks like it. And after two clones of you I’m hoping this one looks a little bit like me’ you told him before he kissed your forehead with a giggle.

‘Are you happy?’

‘Of course, as long as he's healthy I couldn’t care what they are,’ you told him softly and he nodded his head in agreement. ‘What did you say to Tilly?’

‘Told her it’s another boy to boss around. And that if she’s the only girl then she’ll always be my only princess’

‘What about me?’ you pouted, watching Mason roll his eyes but he was leaning down to kiss you just after.

You’d picked a few names out, but just like you’d done with Tilly you wanted to see him before you named him and once you had, the name Ryley seemed to fit him like a glove. Whilst you could tell he was Mason's boy you were constantly told how much he looked like you and it made your heart swell whenever you looked at him.

Tilly also came around as soon as she saw him. Almost bursting into tears at the way her little face softened at the sight of her new brother before she was looking up at you for permission to say hello to him and Ollie was just as perfect as ever with him.

A new baby meant a whole new routine though and lately it meant Ryleys feed came at bed time so Mason had to put the others to bed on his own. Usually he’d love this but clearly the novelty has worn off for Tilly and she was making it as difficult for him as possible.

Soon enough the noise died down. Mason telling Tilly that Ryley won’t want to stay with us if she’s too loud and she finally took the hint and got into bed. Letting Mason read her a very quick story before he went and said goodnight to Ollie with the house falling silent once more.

You felt Mason pop his head into the nursery soon after, his eyes and facial expression soft as he took you in but he couldn’t hide the deep blush on his cheeks. Eyes flicking down to your exposed chest as you fed Ryley and you could see he was debating whether or not he should come in but you nodded your head to motion for him to come over. Watching him carefully make his way over to the pair of you and when he was close enough you lifted your head in hopes he’d lean down and kiss you. Revealing in the feeling of his lips brushing against yours softly and you hummed in delight just before he pulled away.

‘You two alright in here?’ He asked quietly, crouching down so he could kiss Ryley’s head. Your heart fluttering at the adoring way he looked down at him before his gaze was locked on yours.

‘We’re okay. Are you okay?’ You laughed, referring to the nightmare he seemed to have just had with the others and you smiled as he rolled his eyes playfully.

‘Oh you heard that yeah?’ He laughed. ‘Unless you put Tilly to bed she’s a right pain in the arse’ he teased. ‘I love her but my god she’s a handful sometimes’

‘They don’t call her Tilly the tiny terror for nothing’ you winked. ‘You done good though sweet cheeks’

‘Thanks’ he laughed, rolling his eyes again. ‘I’m gonna go sort myself out but I’ll see you in our room in a bit, yeah? Take your time’

‘Okay’ you whispered and with one last heavy kiss to your lips he was making his way out.

You sat Ryley up not too long after so you could wind him. Knowing Mason hadn’t really got to see him all that much today and he’d be itching for a cuddle soon so you made your way back across the hall to your bedroom for some time for just the three of you.

You didn’t questione why the door to your bedroom was shut even though maybe you should have. He never usually shut it as it was harder for you to open with just one hand whilst carrying Ryley and you always kept it open just in case one of the kids needed you but you just shifted Ryley on your chest so he was over your left shoulder and pushed the door open.

You should have known there was a reason why he shut it. Walking around to be met with the sound of his loud breathing and when you rounded the corner and into his view you were shocked by the sight in front of you.

There he was laid on the bed, T-shirt riding high on his perfect body as his boxers had been shuffled down his thighs ever so slightly to free himself and even from the split second view you knew what he was doing as his hand moved up and down. A shocked gasp falling from your lips before you turned and you heard mason fumbling behind you.

‘Shit! Oh god, oh god no’

‘Mase, it’s okay’ you told him, slightly chuckling as you turned back around to face him but the look on his face made your heart drop.

His cheeks were redder than you’d ever seen them, a humiliated look plastered across his face no matter how much he tried to hide it and he looked on the brink of tears.

‘Masey, no don’t get upset it’s alright’

‘I need the bathroom-’

‘No wait’ you called, popping Ryley into his crib as quickly as you could before rushing over to him to stop him from hiding away in the en-suite for the rest of the night and thankfully you caught him before he was able to shut the door. ‘Come here baby, come and talk to me’

‘No I-‘

‘Mase, come on’ you interrupted, pulling him back to bed so you could sit on the edge with him in hopes he’d look at you. He was determined to keep looking down though so in the end you just held him tight and spoke into his hair. ‘It’s okay, you don’t need to be embarrassed or anything. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before’

‘I thought I had more time’ he told you. Holding you tighter but you hated how down he sounded.

‘Look at me’ you whispered, letting him take his own time to gather himself before looking up at you shyly. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s perfectly normal’

‘I know I just… it’s still embarrassing’ he laughed. ‘I feel like a teenager who’s just been caught. I just thought you’d be a bit longer with the little man and I’d have time. I haven’t wanted to ask for… you know. I wanted to wait until you’re ready and-‘

‘Who said I’m not ready’ you smiled. ‘I gave birth 8 weeks ago now so that’s two weeks over’

‘I know’ he smiled. I’m just worried that’s all’

‘Worried about what?’

‘I don’t wanna hurt you’ he whispered and your heart broke at his sad face. ‘Remember what happened after Tilly?’ He asked and you nodded solemnly.

It had been six weeks since Tilly had been born and you knew Mason was chomping at the bit to have you. You were too big and uncomfortable towards the end of your pregnancy so it had been months since you’d last been intimate and it was almost as if Mason was counting down the days.

Your night didn’t go as planned though. Unbenounced to you, you still weren’t fully ready and even though Mason had been gentle with you and you’d tried to push through it, it hurt too much and you’d ended up bursting into tears.

Mason felt awful, almost in tears himself as he tried to comfort you but you knew he was blaming himself when he shouldn’t be. In the end you took his face in your hands so you could pepper his cheeks with kisses but your heart was breaking as he repeatedly told you how sorry he was.

‘Masey it’s not your fault’ you told him quietly, but he wasn’t having any of it. Hiding his head into your neck for the rest of the night until the pair of you eventually fell asleep.

He was quiet with you but extra soft for a few days until you could talk it out and let him know it wasn’t his fault. You just had to wait an extra few weeks and everything would go back to normal.

You could see it in his eyes now that he was frightened so you pulled him closer and cupped his jaw so you could look at each other properly.

‘Tilly had a massive head baby’ you laughed. ‘She was a right pain to get out but I don’t feel like I did with Tilly. Ryley was a breeze compared to her and I’m all healed up now. There’s nothing to be afraid of’

‘Yeah?’ He smiled. His body relaxing in your arms as you reassured him everything was okay and the small smile on his lips made you feel a lot better.

‘Yeah, of course. In fact… what do you say we pop Ryley in his nursery for a bit so we can have some time for just us’

‘Wait, what?’ He whispered, his face looking slightly shocked but in all honestly your been craving some alone time with Mason yourself. ‘Are you sure?’

‘100%, Just give me a sec and I’ll be back’ you told him. Slightly untangling yourself from him so you could pick up Ryley and take him over to his nursery. You never left him in here at night but he had his naps in here all the time so you made sure the baby cam was set up properly before dropping a kiss on his head. ‘I’ll be back for you soon, little one. Just keep sleeping for me’ you whispered. Taking one last look before making your way back to Mason.

He was sitting on the bed facing the door when you got back and a sudden wave of anxiety rolled over you as soon as you shut the door. Your body had changed so much since he’d last seen it and you knew you were covered in stretch marks and still sagging in certain places so when he pulled you in between his legs you tried not to look him in the eye.

‘Baby? Everything alright?’ He asked, fingers delicately tracing the backs of your thighs and you just nodded and you pulled him into a hug.

‘I’m okay, just nervous’ you laughed awkwardly. ‘It’s been a while’

‘I know, love. We can go as slowly as you want to though, yeah?’

‘I know’ you smiled, kissing his forehead gently but he could still read your mind and sense how apprehensive you were.

‘And I don’t care what you think your body looks like now. You know that don’t you? I love you and I just wanna make you feel good’

‘I know, Mase’ you smiled, eyes filling at his sweet words. He’d said the same after both your other babies had been born but the words still hit you deep. You didn’t look like you used you, three babies would have an effect on anyone but Mason never cared. He took you as you were and only cared about looking after you, telling you you’d given him everything he’d ever wanted and he’d make sure he looked after you in whatever way you needed.

His hands were trailing all over your bare legs, touching wherever he could as his lips pressed kisses to your chest and you couldn’t help but giggle as he finally got to touch all the places he’d missed for the last few months.

‘What’s so funny?’ He smiled, pinching your bum gently as you steadied yourself but his cheeky smile was melting you.

‘We’ve been together for so many years now, had three kids together and you’re still as horny as ever’ you chuckled, wanting him to know how ridiculous you found him but deep down you knew you were just as bad.

‘That’s what happens when you’ve got the most beautiful wife in the world’ he told you. ‘You know I’ll never not want you. Even when we’re grey and wrinkly I’ll still think you’re hot as fuck’

‘If you’re trying to get me in the mood, talking about old people probably won’t help’ you told him, kneeling onto the mattress and his light laugh made you smile.

‘Noted’ he winked, shuffling back and inviting you to lay with him and once you were next to him he laid you back gently and kissed you with as much passion as he could muster.

He kissed you until you felt dizzy, your hands gripping at him where you could and when when you moaned into his mouth he rolled ontop on you so he could look directly down at you.

‘What do you want baby? You want my fingers?’

‘Mhmmm’

‘Yeah? You don’t sound so sure’ he teased but before you could protest he was talking again. ‘I think I know what you really want’

‘What’s that?’

‘You want my mouth, don’t you?’ He whispered lowly into you ear. The sound making you shiver and a gasp to fall from your lip at the sound of his dirty words. ‘Thought so’ he chuckled and before you knew it he was kissing down your neck as he grabbed the hem of your shirt.

You knew it was just Mason and he loved you no matter what, so you let him remove all your clothes as he placed kisses to your exposed skin. Pushing any nervous thoughts out of your head so on you could enjoy the feel of him again.

As soon as his lips touched where they needed to you felt yourself melt. Feeling like you were floating on clouds as he reminded you what you’d been missing out on for months as you tried your hardest to keep your moans at bay and not wake anyone. He made it difficult though. Getting back into the rhythm of things like he’d never been away and soon enough your fingers were getting tangled in his hair as he pushed you over the finish line.

‘Stop biting your lip, I wanna do that’ he laughed, as he made his way back up to your face. Kissing you so you could taste yourself and you let out quiet moan as he gently sunk his teeth into your bottom lip.

‘I’m trying to be quiet’ you laughed, lips against his as you spoke before he stole another kiss from you. Knowing he was ready and raring to go.

‘What do you want now baby?’

‘I want you. All of you,’ you told him. Watching a slight nervousness flicker through him and you wanted to reassure him straight away. Gripping the back of his neck so you could tug him back down for a kiss and as he got into it you began to undress him until you were both naked and needy for each other.

You knew he was watching you the whole time as he pushed his way inside of you. Your face contorting in pleasure as he took his time before bending down to press gentle kisses over your face.

‘Is that okay?’ He whispered, moving his hips slowly so you could adjust to him but you were already seeing stars after not feeling him for so long and all you could muster was a nod. ‘Yeah?’ Breathed, a sense of relief laced through his voice and you nodded as you tried to reassure him further.

‘Yes masey, keep doing that’ you moaned, louder than you’d intended to but it all felt so intense and you knew mason was feeling it too.

‘Should I slow down?’

‘No, just like that’ you sighed. Reaching up to grab his shoulders so you had something to steady yourself but also because you wanted to feel his skin under yours.

‘You wonder why I still can’t keep my hands off of you?’ He moaned, pulling up so he could hold you at your waist and take a bit more control. ‘Fucking look at you, you’re unreal’

‘Mase-‘

‘I know gorgeous. I’m with you, just let go for me’ he told you and you did exactly as he said. Letting him coax you through it until you were spent and he was flopping down gently next to you.

Sometimes you felt like this was your favourite bit. Laying skin to skin with your man as he gently stroked your back and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into him more as you made every second count. You’d missed these moments with him and from the way he was holding you close you knew he’d missed it too.

‘You okay?’ He whispered after a while. Feeling your eyes growing heavier as he lulled you to sleep but you looked up at him with a soft smile as he kissed your nose.

‘I’m perfect’

‘I didn’t hurt you at all did I?’ He questioned quietly but you shook your head so he knew you were fine straight away.

‘I promise you, I’m absolutely fine’ you told him. Pecking his lips softly before sighing. ‘I’m so comfy but I need to go and get Ryley. I don’t like leaving him in there alone for too long’

‘Stay there, okay? I’ll go get little man’ he reassured you. Kissing your head gently before untangling himself from you so he could get dressed and grab your boy.

You got dressed too whilst he was gone and you were just pulling your top over your head as he walked back in with Ryley cuddled into his chest. Your heart thumping at the way they were together and no matter when or where, watching Mason with a tiny human always made your knees weak.

‘Come on boys, mumma needs a cuddle’ you laughed. Jumping up onto the bed and letting Mason pass you Ryley before he laid next to you. His head on your chest as Ryley laid on the other side and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking down at Mason and seeing how happy he was to have some time with Ryley. ‘You okay, Mase?’

‘I’m better than okay’ he smiled, reaching up to give you a quick peck before nuzzling back down into your neck. ‘Thank you for everything, I never thought I could be this happy’

You didn’t have the words for him. Your eyes filling with tears as you kissed his temple but inside you were agreeing with him wholeheartedly. You too never thought you could ever be this happy but as you thought about where you were right now and who you were with, you knew right now your life and your family were complete.

Thank you so much for reading 🩷 I really hoped you enjoyed it and I’d love if you could leave me some feedback if you fancy it 😘

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Four

Summary: You and Spencer talk again, and again, and again...

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: insecurities, discussions of past issues, mildly suggestive content, they kiss y'all!!!

Word count: 6k

a/n: i think next part will have smut........

main masterlist prologue part one part two part three

Spencer let out a deep sigh, leaning back into the couch as his frustration bubbled over. “I tried, Derek. I really tried. It was going so well, but then I had to open my big mouth and ask her to try again.”

Derek gave him a look full of pity, his brow furrowed as he shook his head slightly. “Reid…”

“I know, man. I messed up—again,” Spencer interrupted, running a hand through his hair with more aggression than necessary. “But it just felt so… right, being with her again. I thought she felt it too.”

“Listen, kid,” Derek said, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe she did feel it, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to jump into anything right this second. How many times do I have to tell you to have patience? I feel like a damn broken record over here.” Derek chuckled, shaking his head.

Spencer let out a light laugh in return, his shoulders relaxing slightly under Derek’s grip. “You’re right. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

Derek’s eyes lit up with mock surprise as he straightened up, placing his hand over his chest. “What? Dr. Reid saying I’m right? Can I get that in writing?” He reached into his pocket dramatically and pulled out his phone, holding it up. “Actually, here—just say that one more time for me. I’ll record it for posterity.”

Spencer grinned despite himself, rolling his eyes and pushing Derek’s phone away with a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

Derek smirked, dropping the phone back into his pocket. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s not every day you admit I’m right. Gotta savor it.”

Spencer shook his head, a small smile still lingering on his face as the tension in his chest began to ease. For a moment, he felt like he could breathe again, even if the ache in his heart for you still lingered.

“What are you two hooligans getting up to over here?” JJ asked with a grin as she walked into the bullpen, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

“Spencer just said I’m ‘always right,’” Derek announced proudly, puffing out his chest like he’d just won an award.

JJ froze mid-sip, her eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief. “No way!” she exclaimed, her tone dripping with mock shock as she quickly set her coffee down and made a beeline for Spencer. 

Before Spencer could react, JJ placed a dramatic hand on his forehead, tilting her head as if checking for a fever. “Are you feeling okay, genius? Should I call the medics?”

“Stop it!” Spencer laughed, batting her hand away while glaring at Derek, who was practically doubled over with laughter. “Ha ha, very funny.”

JJ stepped back, grinning mischievously. “I mean, I just needed to make sure. You admitting someone else is right—let alone Derek—is like a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

“Exactly!” Derek chimed in, still chuckling as he crossed his arms smugly. “It’s like the universe is finally aligning.”

Spencer sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” JJ teased, nudging him playfully. “But seriously, what brought on this historic moment? Did Derek hypnotize you or something?”

Spencer shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “He just… gave me some advice. And, for once, it wasn’t completely terrible.”

“For once?” Derek scoffed, his tone mock-offended as he placed a hand over his heart. “Boy, I’m out here changing your life, and this is the thanks I get?”

JJ laughed, leaning against the desk. “Careful, Spencer. If Derek keeps this up, he might start charging you for all this wisdom.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Noted. I’ll be sure to consult my budget for his ‘life coaching’ fees.”

JJ and Derek shared a laugh, their banter lightening the mood as Spencer allowed himself to feel a little less burdened, if only for a moment.

—

After leaving the coffee shop, your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You couldn’t stop replaying the moment Spencer had asked if you could try again. His eyes, so full of hope and longing, lingered in your thoughts like an unresolved melody. Part of you wanted to say yes, to leap into his arms and believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. But the rational part of you—the one that had been hurt and left behind before—refused to let you dive in headfirst without caution.

You found yourself texting Austin as you paced your living room, your thoughts too jumbled to keep to yourself.

Hey, you free to chat?

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed with their reply.  

Always. Call me in 5.

True to their word, Austin answered the call, their cheerful tone a comforting balm to your frazzled nerves. “Alright, spill. What’s got you all worked up?”

You sighed, sinking into your couch as you tucked your legs beneath you. “It’s Spencer. We had coffee last weekend, and it was... great, actually. We laughed, we talked. But then, of course, he asked if we could ‘try again.’” The words spilled out in a rush, your voice tinged with exasperation and something you didn’t want to name—hope.

“Oh boy,” Austin said knowingly. “What did you say?”

“I told him no. Or, well, I said I didn’t know, but basically no. I just—it’s too soon. We’ve barely started being friends again, and I don’t even know if I trust him like that yet.”

“Fair,” Austin said, their tone thoughtful. “But... how did it feel? Him asking, I mean.”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you searched for the right words. “It felt... complicated. Part of me wanted to say yes, but the other part of me—ugh, I don’t know. It’s just too much, too fast. I need time to figure out what I even want.”

“Sounds like you’re in self-protection mode,” Austin observed. “Which, honestly, is fair given the history. But let me ask you this—do you want to give him another chance? Not now, necessarily, but eventually?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “I think... I think I might. But only if he can prove he’s really changed. I can’t go through that kind of heartbreak again.”

“Totally valid,” Austin said, their voice full of understanding. “You don’t owe him anything right now. Take your time, figure out what you need to heal and what you want moving forward. And if he’s serious about making things right, he’ll wait.”

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you, their words settling into the cracks of your fractured confidence. “Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course, babe,” they replied warmly. “Now, let’s distract you for a bit. Have you seen that absolutely heinous lamp I found at the thrift store? Hold on, I’ll send you a picture…”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and for a while, you let yourself laugh and breathe. But as the call ended and you were left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you, for Spencer, and for the feelings you weren’t quite sure you were ready to face yet.

If you’re serious about me, about us, prove it.

—

If you’re serious about me, about us, prove it.

Spencer spent the next 24 hours meticulously planning. He wanted everything to be perfect—not just to impress you, but to show you how serious he was about making things right. His mind raced as he pieced together every detail, ensuring the date would reflect the effort and thought you deserved. By the time he hit "send" on his message with the time and location, his heart was pounding, but he felt a flicker of hope. 

When the text pinged on your phone, your stomach dropped.  

7 PM. Meet me at the library on  Street. I'll see you there.  

You stared at the screen, anxiety coursing through you. Was this a mistake? Could you really trust him again? The nerves were relentless, but you knew if you didn’t at least try, you’d always wonder what might have been.  

So, after pacing your apartment for far too long and going through several outfit changes, you pulled yourself together, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.  

—

When you arrived at the library, the sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the cobblestone pathway leading to the entrance. The building stood tall and majestic, its arched windows glowing warmly from the lights within. You hesitated on the steps, your heart pounding. This was more than just a date; this was a test of trust, a chance to see if Spencer truly meant what he said.

You spotted him immediately as you stepped inside, standing by a row of bookshelves with his back to you. He was dressed in his signature blazer and sweater combo, his hair slightly messy as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself—he hadn’t changed much, yet there was something different in his posture, a quiet determination that hadn’t been there before.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, your voice cutting through the hushed ambiance of the library.

Spencer turned, and for a brief moment, his expression was unreadable, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were there. Then his face broke into a warm smile, his relief evident.

“You came,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with gratitude.

“I almost didn’t,” you admitted, stepping closer. “But… curiosity got the better of me.”

He chuckled nervously, gesturing toward a small table tucked away in a cozy corner. “I thought we could sit and talk here. It’s quiet, and, well… it seemed like the right place.”

You followed him to the table, noticing the small details he’d prepared: two cups of tea steaming gently, a plate of cookies, and a single red rose in a narrow vase. It was simple, but it was undeniably Spencer—thoughtful, understated, and sincere.

As you sat down, Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly as he worked to steady himself. His gaze flickered to yours, vulnerable but hopeful. “I know there’s no more textbooks or lesson plans…” he began softly, his voice carrying a nostalgic warmth, “…but I was hoping we could try to rekindle where we started.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting you harder than you’d anticipated. He wasn’t just referencing the past; he was inviting you to rediscover the foundation of what once brought you together. The shared laughter over obscure facts, the countless nights studying side by side, the unspoken connection you’d both felt but never fully acknowledged back then. 

You were so touched that for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. Your throat tightened as you blinked back the sudden sting of emotion. He had this way of saying exactly what you needed to hear without even realizing it.

“You mean… back to when I was too scared to borrow a pen from you because I thought you’d think I was incompetent?” you teased lightly, hoping to diffuse the weight of the moment just enough to steady yourself.

Spencer smiled shyly, his lips curving in that familiar way that always softened your heart. “Well, if we’re being honest, I was just as scared of you. I thought you’d figure out how socially inept I was and decide I wasn’t worth the effort.”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping as you leaned forward slightly. “Spencer, you were the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Like I had someone who understood me. I never would’ve walked away from that, then or now.”

His gaze held yours, a flicker of something deep and unspoken passing between you. “I feel the same way,” he said, his voice quieter now. “That’s why I couldn’t let go—not then, and not now.”

You felt your heart stir, the walls you’d carefully built beginning to crack under the weight of his words. Still, you reminded yourself to tread carefully. 

“I think,” you said softly, your voice steady but tentative, “that we can try. We can take small steps, see where it takes us. But Spencer, if we’re going to do this, I need to know that it’s different this time.”

“It will be,” he promised, his tone resolute yet gentle. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a spark of cautious optimism. Maybe this was the beginning of something new—something built on the ashes of what once was, but stronger this time.

Spencer chuckled as he stirred his tea. “Do you remember that time we stayed up all night trying to understand quantum entanglement for fun? And by ‘we,’ I mean you made me explain it while you pretended to care.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. I was deeply invested—right up until the part where you used an equation to explain how two particles could communicate faster than the speed of light. Then I was just trying not to fall asleep.”

Spencer smirked, leaning back slightly. “Well, it only took you, what, three cups of coffee to start comparing quantum physics to a long-distance relationship?”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning dramatically. “Don’t remind me! I’m pretty sure I tried to convince you that the particles were ‘soulmates,’ and you looked at me like I had three heads.”

“I didn’t look at you like that,” Spencer protested, though his grin gave him away. “Okay, maybe a little. But to be fair, your analogy wasn’t that bad. Misguided, but not bad.”

“You mean, not scientifically sound,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly.

“Exactly,” he said, his voice warm. “But it was endearing.”

The word "endearing" hung in the air for a moment, softening the space between you both.

As the conversation continued to flow, Spencer found himself more relaxed, his shoulders no longer as tense as they were when you first arrived. He tilted his head, watching you laugh at one of his stories. “You know, I always admired how easily you could talk to people. Even back then, you just… lit up a room.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, his compliment catching you off guard. “Spencer Reid, was that a flirtatious compliment? Because it kind of sounds like one.”

He blinked, momentarily caught. “Uh… well, I suppose it could be interpreted that way. Was it… bad?”

You grinned, leaning in slightly. “No, it wasn’t bad. I just didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Oh, I definitely have it in me,” he said, surprising you with his quick response. His eyes sparkled with a confidence you weren’t quite used to seeing in him.

Your smile widened. “Alright, Dr. Reid, prove it.”

Spencer’s lips twitched as he leaned forward ever so slightly. “Well, for starters, I already remembered your tea preference. And I’m fairly certain I remember the exact way you used to look at me when you were trying to figure out how to ask me something without sounding like you didn’t know the answer.”

Your breath hitched, his unexpected boldness leaving you momentarily speechless. “Oh?” you managed, tilting your head playfully. “And how exactly did I look at you?”

His voice softened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Like I was the only person in the room who could give you what you needed.”

That stopped you cold, your teasing grin slipping into something more vulnerable. You couldn’t help but let the warmth of his words wash over you, though you quickly rallied, determined not to let him win so easily.

“Well,” you said, your voice dropping just a fraction, “what if I told you I’m still looking at you like that?”

Spencer’s breath caught, and for a moment, he was entirely still, his confidence melting into stunned awe. “I’d say…” He cleared his throat, clearly working to keep his composure. “I’d say you just took my breath away.”

You bit your lip, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Good. That’s only fair, considering you’ve been doing that to me since I got here.”

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, his cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Uh, well–hmm.”

“Cat got your tongue, doctor?” you teased with a grin, leaning back in your chair as you sipped your coffee.

That seemed to snap him out of his flustered daze, his brows furrowing in that familiar, overthinking way you remembered so well. “You know,” he started, tilting his head slightly, “I’ve always hated that phrase. It doesn’t make any logical sense. Cats don’t take people’s tongues. There’s no historical precedent for it, no documented cases where someone lost the ability to speak due to a feline intervention.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, nearly spilling your coffee in the process. “Oh my god, Spencer! It’s just a figure of speech!”

“I know,” he continued, undeterred, clearly warming up to his own tangent. “But it’s such an absurd one. Where did it even come from? Why a cat? Why not something more plausible, like—like a dog grabbing someone’s shoe or a bird stealing someone’s sandwich?”

“A bird stealing a sandwich isn’t the same as losing your words!” you argued, still laughing. “You’re overthinking it!”

“I’m not overthinking it,” Spencer replied earnestly, though the hint of a smile betrayed his enjoyment of your reaction. “I just think if we’re going to use metaphors, they should at least have some basis in reality. Cats are more likely to steal food or hide in cardboard boxes than… well, than abscond with someone’s ability to speak.”

By this point, your laughter was uncontrollable. “Spencer! You’re ridiculous!”

He smiled fully then, his confidence peeking through again as he leaned forward slightly. “Ridiculous? Or charming?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze warm and intent.

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “Okay, fine. Charming. But seriously, only you could turn a harmless phrase into a dissertation-worthy debate.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, his grin widening.

“It was,” you admitted softly, and for a moment, the air between you shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more tender. Spencer’s eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart skip.

“Good,” he said quietly, his voice low but sure. “Because I don’t want to be anything less than that to you.”

Your laughter faded as the weight of his words sank in, leaving you momentarily speechless. And, ironically, you thought to yourself, maybe the cat really did have your tongue this time.

The dim glow of the library's remaining lights cast long shadows on the floor as you and Spencer slowly made your way to the exit. Neither of you wanted the night to end, but the steady flick of lights turning off above you left no choice. You carried the remnants of your evening—books, notes, and tea cups—in a comfortable silence, the atmosphere thick with unspoken thoughts.

When you reached the door, you turned to him, your voice soft but sincere. “Thank you, Spencer.” 

He stopped in his tracks, his honey-brown eyes locking onto yours. “Thank you for coming,” he replied, his voice low and warm, almost reverent. 

You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until his hand gently rose, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your forehead. The tenderness of the gesture sent your heart into overdrive. Spencer was standing so close now, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips with a longing so palpable it made your breath hitch.

For a moment, it felt like time froze. You couldn’t look away from him, the vulnerability in his expression unraveling something deep inside you. It was the way he looked at you—like you hung the stars and the moon—that left you utterly speechless. And as he began to lean in, his intent clear, your heart pounded in your chest.

But instinct kicked in, and at the last second, you turned your cheek.

His lips landed softly on your cheek instead of your lips, and the subtle sound of the unintended kiss echoed louder in his head than it had any right to. His stomach twisted, shrinking into a knot of regret and self-recrimination. 

Oh no, he thought. I moved too fast again. 

Spencer froze, his hand lingering awkwardly in the space between you as he pulled back. His face flushed a deep crimson as he searched your expression for any sign of reassurance, an explanation, anything that might ease the growing panic. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Spencer, it’s okay,” you interrupted softly, stepping back to create a little space. “It’s not that I didn’t want to—” You paused, trying to gather your words carefully, feeling your own wave of guilt for how you’d reacted. “I just… I’m not ready yet.”

His shoulders sagged slightly in relief, though his disappointment was still evident. “No, you’re right,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have— I wasn’t trying to push you. I’m sorry, really.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Spencer, tonight was wonderful. And I’m not saying never. I just need time.”

He nodded, trying to mask the sting with a faint smile of his own. “Of course. I understand. I’m just glad you came.”

“I’m glad I came too,” you said softly, squeezing his arm before letting your hand drop. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. But in his heart, he was already replaying the moment over and over, wondering if he’d ever have the chance to try again—this time without messing it up.

—

You and Spencer had shared a few more dates over the following weeks. He’d been nothing but patient, and you finally allowed him the smallest kiss one evening, a tentative brush of lips that sent your heart racing. 

But despite that, you couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at the edges of your mind. Taking things further felt like crossing a bridge you weren’t sure would hold. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God, you wanted him—more than anything. But the shadow of your past loomed too large, and the fear of being hurt again kept you from diving in completely.

Spencer noticed your hesitations, however. He hadn’t pushed, respecting your pace as he always had, but he couldn’t help the creeping doubt that began to settle in his mind. Finally, after yet another evening where your touches lingered but never went further, he decided he needed to ask.

“Y/N…” he began cautiously, his voice soft but weighted with something you couldn’t quite place. 

You looked up from where you were kneading pizza dough at your counter, flour dusting your fingers. “Yeah?” you asked, a touch of curiosity in your tone as you met his gaze.

He set the bowl of cheese down on the counter, stepping closer until he was leaning beside you. His eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in a long time. “Are you…” He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

The question made you freeze, your hands stilling mid-motion. “What?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief as you turned to face him fully. “Why would you ask that?”

Spencer hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the counter as he searched for the right words. His eyes darted away for a moment before meeting yours again, their vulnerability cutting through the playful ease that had been building between you. “I just… I don’t want to assume, but things have been, uh… slower than I expected.” He paused, then added softly, “And I don’t want to push you if you’re not feeling the same way I am.”

You blinked at him, shocked by his admission. “Spencer, of course I’m attracted to you,” you said, your voice laced with both surprise and urgency. “Why would you even think otherwise?”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, but his brows remained furrowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I overanalyze everything. You’re just—well, you’re so hard to read sometimes, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You sighed, guilt creeping in as you set the dough aside and wiped your hands on a towel. Turning to face him fully, you leaned against the counter. “It’s not about you,” you confessed, your voice soft but firm. “It’s me. I’m scared, Spencer.”

“Scared?” he echoed, stepping closer, his worry etched across his features. “Of what?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But when you looked into his eyes, so full of understanding and patience, you felt your resolve strengthen. “I’m scared of what happens if we try again and it doesn’t work,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve already been through the heartbreak once. I don’t know if I could survive it a second time.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand resting gently on yours. “Y/N,” he began, his voice steady and calm. “I can’t promise that things will be perfect. I know I’ve made mistakes—big ones—and I can’t erase those. But I’ve learned from them. And I know one thing for sure: I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped wanting to be better for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest as his words settled over you like a warm blanket. “I want to believe that,” you said quietly. “I really do.”

“Then let me show you,” Spencer said earnestly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere this time. I’ll wait as long as you need. But please don’t think for a second that I don’t want you, because I do. More than anything.”

Your lips parted, trembling as you took in the sincerity in his eyes. His vulnerability was so raw, so honest, it almost undid you. But there was something you’d held onto for too long, something you needed him to know. It sat heavy on your chest, and if you didn’t say it now, you knew you never would.

“But Spencer, there’s more—” you began, your voice shaky yet resolute.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” he interrupted gently, his hand still resting over yours. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“No, Spencer, I need to tell you—” you pressed, your voice firming as you tried again.

“Don’t worry, I underst—” he started again, his soothing tone cutting you off before you could finish.

“I was a virgin!” The words burst out of you like a dam breaking, your voice slightly louder than intended.

Spencer’s face fell, his eyes widening in shock. “What?” he whispered, his tone disbelieving.

“You took my virginity that day,” you confessed, your gaze dropping to the floor as your cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and relief at finally letting the truth out. “I never told you because I didn’t think it mattered, but it did. It mattered a lot to me.”

The silence between you was deafening. Spencer’s mind raced as he tried to process what you’d just said. His eyes softened as he realized the gravity of your words, the weight of what that moment had meant to you. 

“Y/N,” he finally said, his voice breaking slightly as he took a small step closer to you. “I had no idea. You… you should have told me.”

“I wanted to,” you said, meeting his gaze at last, tears brimming in your eyes. “But I didn’t know how. And then you left, and it just felt… too late. Like it didn’t matter anymore.”

Spencer’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should. “It mattered,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “It matters so much, Y/N. I—I don’t even know what to say. I hurt you so deeply, and I didn’t even know the full extent of it.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not just about the virginity, Spencer. It’s about trust. You were the first person I gave all of myself to, and when you left… I felt like I had made the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he finally closed the space between you. His hands hovered uncertainly at your sides before settling gently on your arms. “I can’t take back what I did, but I swear, Y/N, if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You let out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. “Spencer, I don’t need you to fix the past. I just… I need to know that if we move forward, you won’t run again. That you won’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” he said firmly, his gaze locking with yours, his hands gripping your arms just a little tighter. “I swear to you, Y/N, I will never leave you again. Not ever.”

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe him. And it terrified you. But as he looked at you, his eyes filled with nothing but honesty and love, a small part of you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could trust him again.

“You can start proving yourself now,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with a challenge that sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine.

His pulse spiked instantly, a heady mixture of arousal and excitement coursing through him. His hands, still lightly resting on your arms, tightened their grip just slightly as he leaned in closer. “Oh yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely concealing the thrill your words sent through him.

“Mhm,” you nodded, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips as you tilted your head, your noses brushing together in the faintest, most intimate touch. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and you couldn’t deny the way your body reacted to his proximity—the magnetic pull, the undeniable yearning.

Spencer’s eyes darted between yours and your lips, his restraint hanging by a thread. “And how exactly do I prove myself?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper, his forehead leaning against yours.

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands sliding up his chest slowly, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips. “I think you’ll figure it out,” you teased, your lips brushing his just enough to make him lose his breath.

He groaned softly, his hands sliding down your arms to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. “You’re not playing fair,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours, the anticipation thick enough to steal the air between you.

“Neither are you,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly, your words edged with a mix of playfulness and vulnerability.

That was all the permission Spencer needed. He closed the final inch of space, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and desperate, a culmination of years of longing and regret. His hands gripped your waist with newfound confidence as he poured every unspoken apology, every ounce of devotion, into the kiss.

Your arms wound around his neck as you melted into him, your body pressing against his as if trying to close the gap that had existed between you for far too long. The kiss deepened, becoming slower, more deliberate, as though the two of you were savoring every second, every sensation.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling, Spencer rested his forehead against yours again, his eyes half-lidded and filled with a warmth that made your knees weak. “Was that a good start?” he asked softly, his lips quirking into a small, hopeful smile.

You laughed lightly, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s a start,” you replied, your own smile tugging at your lips. “But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Spencer whispered, his voice filled with a promise that made your heart flutter.

After that electrifying kiss, things between you and Spencer shifted. The tension that had been lingering, unspoken and unresolved, now had an outlet. But with it came a new layer of complexity—one that neither of you could ignore.

The next day, as you stood in your kitchen sipping on a cup of tea, your phone buzzed with a text from Spencer.

Good morning. I know it’s early, but I couldn’t wait to say how much I enjoyed last night. I hope you’re feeling as good about everything as I am.

You smiled at the screen, your cheeks warming at his earnestness. It was such a Spencer thing to send—so sincere, so thoughtful. But as your fingers hovered over the keys to respond, the familiar knot of fear twisted in your stomach again. You wanted this, wanted him, but the "what ifs" were still a constant hum in the back of your mind.

Good morning. I did too. Thank you for last night—it was perfect.

Perfect feels like a stretch… I spilled water all over the table, remember?

Perfectly imperfect, then.

For the rest of the day, you found yourself smiling every time your phone buzzed with another message from him. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of exchanging texts, each one brimming with a mix of humor, sweetness, and just the faintest hint of something deeper.

But even with the growing ease, there was still an unspoken question hanging between you. One that Spencer finally decided to ask during your next date.

The following weekend, he invited you over to his apartment for dinner. “I want to cook for you,” he had said, and despite your initial protests about him going to so much trouble, you couldn’t help but be touched by the gesture.

When you arrived, his apartment was warm and inviting, the smell of something delicious wafting through the air. Spencer greeted you at the door with a shy smile, dressed casually in a soft sweater and jeans that somehow made him even more endearing.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

“You cooked?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you took in the neatly set table and the kitchen that looked remarkably tidy for someone who had been preparing a meal.

“I did,” he replied, his smile growing as he led you toward the dining area. “And, for the record, I didn’t burn anything.”

Dinner was lovely—Spencer had gone all out, serving a perfectly cooked pasta dish that had you questioning if he’d secretly taken cooking classes in his spare time. The two of you chatted and laughed, slipping effortlessly into the kind of banter that had once defined your relationship.

But as the evening wound down, Spencer’s demeanor grew more serious. He cleared his throat, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of his napkin.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “I need to ask… Are we moving forward? Or are we standing still?”

You froze slightly, your fork pausing halfway to your mouth. His question wasn’t unexpected, but it still caught you off guard. You set your fork down and looked at him, taking a moment to collect your thoughts.

“I…” You hesitated, your eyes searching his, feeling the weight of his question. “I think we’re moving…”

“Forward, I hope,” Spencer interjected with an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

You couldn’t help but quip back, “Technically, anyone is moving forward in time.”

“Y/N,” Spencer said, laughing fully this time, the sound warm and familiar. “You sound like me now. But… I’m being serious.”

You sobered slightly at his words, your playful smile softening into something more tender. “I know you are,” you said quietly. “And I’m trying to be, too. I think we are moving forward, Spencer. Slowly, but… yes, forward.”

Spencer’s eyes brightened with a mixture of relief and hope, and he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “That’s all I could ever ask for,” he said earnestly. “I’ll take slow. I’ll take whatever you’re ready to give, as long as we’re moving together.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[alisonwritesimagines]

When the Bat Smiles ~Batman Imagine~

Requested by anonymous:

“happy 6k! was wondering if I could please request bruce wayne with “You smiled! I saw it! You can't deny it!” for fem!reader? tysm! :)”

Summary: You get the pleasure in seeing Batman smile for once.

Author’s Note: I'm sorry this came out late. I went to Texas to visit my family before I had a chance to publish this. I also apologize for this being short. I wanted to branch out from Batmom!reader.

Reader’s Pronouns: They/Them

Warnings: mentions of unaliving

Do not repost this anywhere!

Batman is never really the kind of man who smiles. No matter how hard anyone has tried. Sure he would smile as Bruce Wayne. But as Batman? No one has ever seen a genuine smile from him.

“Hey Batman,” you greeted as you landed on a rooftop.

“Hi Hearts.”

You were known as the Queen/King of Hearts in Gotham. Though you didn’t feel like a hero, you were deemed an anti hero as you could rip the hearts out of people and command them at will until you put their heart back into their bodies.

You did not kill many people unless you had deemed necessary. And even if you didn't crush their hearts to kill them, you continued to follow your given anti hero name by cutting your enemies necks or as the storybook queen had said, "off with their heads."

“Saw some of your children running around. Red Hood even asked me for help,” you tell him.

“They like to talk about you,” Batman points out.

You got to know Batman ever since you had received your powers and became an anti-hero. After proving to him that you weren't a villain, he had deemed you acceptable to keep around.

“Glad to know about that. I’d hate for the Batman to come after me because his kids didn’t like me,” you joked.

“You need to give me a better reason to come after you,” Batman tells you.

“Like say I get Joker before you?” You asked.

“Perhaps.”

"You can say the word and I'll do it. Never liked him anyway. He keeps creating more chaos and hiring more people who shouldn't be working for him," you say as you leaned against the wall to look down at the city.

"He'll be mine to deal with," Batman tells you.

"Alright. Alright. He's all yours."

"Plan on staying out late tonight?" Batman asked you.

"No. I was hoping to just relax after I get some work done and binge watch Bluey."

"Bluey?"

"It's an Australian kids show. Say what you want, it's a good wholesome show," you tell him. Batman smiled softly but you noticed it quickly.

"Did you just smile?" You asked him in shock.

"No," Batman said, quickly going back to his emotionless state.

“You smiled! I saw it! You can't deny it!” You cheered happily.

“Are you going to tell the world now that Batman smiled?” He asked, looking over at you.

“And ruin the fact that I saw Batman smiled? Nah. I’ll keep that secret to myself,” you winked at him.

“Care to patrol Gotham with me?” Batman asked you.

“Are you asking me for help?” You asked surprised.

“More of I’m asking you to keep me company,” Batman tells you.

“Sure. After all, it’s nice to know that I’m warming up to you,” you smiled at him.

“You’re getting there,” Batman said.

"If you want, you can join me in binge watching Bluey," you tell him.

"I'll think about that offer. For now, let's go," Batman said before shooting his grappling hook somewhere and jumping off.

"I think I have a chance with him now," you smile softly before following behind.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 12: Aphrodite, Goddess Of Love] [Series Finale]

A/N: Surprise!!! A new chapter from Maggie?? On a Thursday?? I was just too excited to wait! Please enjoy the final installment of 1968 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6k

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The sun is rising, and all the guests have dissipated like morning stars. You and Aegon are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchenette of your suite, cool grey morning light slanting into the silence, confetti on the floor, broken glass, crumbs from the catered appetizers—gyros, hummus, pita, mini spanakopitas, baklava—stomped into the carpet, spots that are soggy with spilled champagne. The Plaza might have to replace it. Outside, rain falls in a mist. Your makeup is smudged; your hair is falling out of its clips and pins. Aemond is waiting, standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair slicked back, blue suit, prosthetic eye filling the void in his skull. You know what happens next, but you can’t bring yourself to rise, to speak, to set it into motion. You stare down at the lines in the palm of your uninjured hand and think of the ropes of a sailboat, the invisible strings of gravity that enchain the universe.

Aegon swipes at his eyes: bloodshot, vacant, continuously streaming tears. “I’m gonna go back to Yuma.” 

You look up at him, startled. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Aemond agrees from the wall.

Aegon begs you in a hoarse whisper, eyes dark and glistening like the Atlantic at night: “Come with me.”

Your hands shaking, your voice splintering. “I can’t, Aegon. I can’t.”

He drums his knuckles on the table, gets up from his chair, rushes to you before Aemond can stop him. He’s holding you, his lips to your forehead, the salt of his tears on your cheeks and your lips, like the ocean is bleeding out of him, like he’ll drown you. “I’m sorry,” he says, breath catching in his throat, his pores hemorrhaging smoke, horror, rum, ruin. 

Once you pushed Aegon away, hated him, stained him with your husband’s blood. Now your fingernails hook like claws into his army jacket and cling there, frantic and childlike. “Not yet, please, Aegon, don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to, I’m sorry.”

“Aegon, no–”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing, he’s trembling, he’s gone. The doorway is empty like an unfinished sentence, like a myth no one remembers. The silence floods back into the rain-grey November air. The room is cold like a mausoleum. You touch your own face: tears Aegon left there, muscles and nerves dead beneath your skin, disbelief you sink through like the sea, waiting to hit the floor deep with the silt of rocks and wreckage and bones.

He’s gone? He’s really gone?

Aemond stalks over to the table, smirking, radiant, his hands in the pockets of his suit; he takes his time, he savors it. He’s never been higher. He was right all along. He can’t be killed, he is destined to be the president. It is God’s will. “Get ready,” Aemond says. “I have a victory speech to make.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He heads west on Route 70, billboards and drive-thrus, toll booths and reflective green mile markers, the kids fighting over who gets to pick the radio station from the back of the Dodge A-100 that Otto had hastily procured, handing over the keys as Aegon rolled his suitcase out of the Plaza Hotel. That first night they stop in Wheeling, Ohio, and the kids have startlingly little resistance to this upheaval. They can’t find much to complain about. A road trip with Dad and only Dad, no journalists badgering them for photos or quotes, no orders barked from Otto or Aemond, no exacting campaign itinerary, no scripted propriety, Mountain Dew spills on the carpet, Pizza Hut boxes on cheap springy motel mattresses.

“What do you think about all this?” Aegon asks Orion when the younger ones have dozed off: Cosmo and Thaddeus on one bed, Violeta in another, Spiro lounging across the threadbare sofa with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring resting open on his chest.

Orion shrugs, that adolescent aversion to vulnerability, like the whole world is out to shake you down for evidence of the defections you’re so convinced define you. “It’s cool, I guess. It’s like an adventure. And we’ll get to see you a lot more.”

“Yeah you will,” Aegon promises. He feels sick: no booze, no pills, the grease of pepperoni churning in his belly. “And I’m never gonna be the way I was before.”

The bathroom is tiny and spartan, white porcelain, black specks of mildew. When he’s done showering, Aegon wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. In Ancient Greece, a shaved head was the mark of a slave; it was meant to strip the man of his past, to make him brand new. He remembers Aemond saying this one afternoon as they were all out sailing at Asteria, Aegon sprawled on his back and drinking rum from the bottle as beams of sunlight refracted through the glass, Aemond leafing through one of his history books, Helaena throwing bits of pita to the seagulls, Daeron peering through his telescope for glimpses of dolphins, sharks, bobbing treasure from shipwrecks, imagined enemy vessels. Aegon thinks as he studies his reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights—crinkles by his eyes, skin ravaged by years of careless sunburn—that he wouldn’t mind not having a past. He opens his shaving kit and takes out the straight razor he never uses, shears off his tangled, windswept locks of blonde hair, smiles when the kids laugh and call him Yul Brynner the next morning over breakfast at the diner beside the motel, blueberry pancakes and toast wet with egg yolks. He’s not brand new; it’s impossible to be. But he’s getting closer.

The Fort Yuma Indian Reservation has grown during the Kennedy and Johnson years. The tribe now enjoys a steady income from numerous projects, including the leasing of farmland, a convenience store, a casino and resort, and an RV park. The school has been rebuilt—bigger, more modern, air conditioning, hallelujah—since Aegon was first exiled here twenty years ago, but several of the employees have familiar faces, and the current principal was once an English teacher assigned to be his mentor, a different lifetime, an ancient myth.

“You look good,” Artie says as he descends the concrete front steps on an afternoon in mid-November, 75 degrees, bright cerulean sky, no clouds. He takes Aegon’s outstretched hand and shakes it. “Kind of fat, but good. You still play guitar?”

“I do, yeah. I have one in the back of my van right now.”

Artie glances at the giggling, waving children behind the glass windows. “Jesus Pleasus, how many kids you got?”

Aegon chuckles. “Five, I think.”

“Five! Well, they’re welcome to attend here, if you want them to be where you are.”

“That’s a very generous offer. They’ve never gone to a real school before. They had private tutors in New Jersey.”

“What a great way to raise jackasses, if you ask me.” Artie gives him a stern look over, wrinkled brow, narrowed brown eyes. “You sober?”

“No pills, no drinking, occasional weed.”

“Goddamn, that’s a lot better than I expected.”

“Hey Artie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you happen to need a math teacher?”

Artie studies him thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re always looking for qualified math and science people. They leave the quickest, those aerospace and electronics companies over in California pay too much. Why? You know someone?”

“I used to,” Aegon says, then motions for his kids to get out of the van. Artie lets them eat ice cream in the cafeteria while Aegon signs his contract.

He’s in Yuma for three weeks before he meets a girl. Her name is Rachel, and she’s a dream that walked out of the Summer Of Love: hair down to her waist, boots to her knees, handknit vests, chipped nail polish and teasing smiles, a taste for sun and smoking. At night they sit under the stars behind Aegon’s bungalow out in the desert, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs with the kids, Aegon strumming his guitar, Rachel playing her harmonica, a few homely adopted mutts loping around instead of purebred Alopekis. She likes him, this boyish sunbeam of a man who always seems just a little lost, a little sad. She might even love him.

And yet there are ghosts, beasts, threads the fates have not yet severed. One night in January after the kids have gone to sleep, Aegon is flipping through television channels as Rachel returns to the couch with a bowl full of Jiffy Pop, plops down onto the cushions, curls up against him. Aegon stumbles upon CBS Evening News, a clip from the inauguration, and his words vanish mid-sentence, his eyes—an opaque, stormy, melancholic sort of blue—growing wide. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t move at all.

“What?” Rachel asks. On the screen is a clip of President Targaryen being sworn in, his wife at his side and cradling the Bible in her hands. She’s wearing Oscar de la Renta—a powder blue wool coat that matches her husband’s tie—and a stately new hairstyle that is very distinctly inspired by Jackie Kennedy. Her smile is serene and dignified, if perhaps a bit remote. She could be a marble statue in a garden or a museum. It must be a lot of pressure for her, Rachel thinks. To live up to being the partner of a man that remarkable. “Aegon? Baby, are you okay?”

After a long time Aegon says, very softly, like it’s only to himself: “He made her cut her hair.”

Rachel stares mystified at the television and then turns back to Aegon. “What happened with her?” Something must have. He looks staggered, he looks haunted, he looks like someone Medusa turned to stone. Rachel knows about who Aegon is, of course, everyone does; but he never wants to talk about it. When people mention his family, Aegon smiles politely and then changes the subject. When they ask about his sister-in-law, he says he needs a cigarette and walks out of the room. She sent him a beautiful, shimmering gold acoustic Gibson guitar for Christmas; the first lady’s name was on the return address. To Rachel’s knowledge, Aegon never thanked her.

Aegon shakes his head, and Rachel can’t tell if that means the story is too long or too short, unrealized potential, loose kaleidoscopic strands of stardust, infinitesimal moments that wouldn’t have meaning to anyone else. “Nothing.” Then he resumes switching channels: I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, the Newlywed Game.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents fly north for the inauguration, so proud, so effusive, interviewed by every major news network. Business is booming at the Spongeorama Sponge Factory back in Tarpon Springs. They are seated between Alicent and Ludwika’s mother Elzbieta, newly arrived from Poland. LBJ and Lady Bird are cordial but uncharacteristically understated, retreating back to their home state of Texas like kicked dogs. All the defeated adversaries of the campaign trail attend to show their support, to wordlessly plead for a long-awaited national reconciliation. George Wallace won’t meet your eyes. Richard Nixon whispers through your hair as he clasps your scarred hand: “Aemond could never have done this without you.”

Jackie Kennedy’s chosen cause as first lady was the restoration of the White House, Lady Bird’s was environmental protection. You want to visit schools and help teach math to little kids, but Aemond decides it would be more politically expedient for you to be seen tending to wounded veterans of Vietnam; so you spend many of your days in hospitals, inhaling charred flesh and Lysol and dying flowers and blood. The Japanese ambassador bows lower to you than he does to Aemond. The prime minister of France tries (unsuccessfully) to flirt with you. Athenagoras I of Constantinople, the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church, brings you a komboskini he has blessed. Reprieves come in slivers like a disappearing moon: lunches with Fosco–carpaccio, caprese, bolognese, polenta–and drinks with Ludwika, always something with rum, something that tastes like Aegon. You dream of incubators and arterial spray, stitches and scars and crimson bandages, the flash of blades, the thunder of bullets; but the would-be assassins go to prison and no one else ever tries. You are Persephone in the Underworld. You are Io in the wilderness.

You are just beginning to panic about what you’ll do when your tiny pink birth control pills run out when Fosco shows up to one of your lunches with a paper bag full of familiar circular packets. “I have been informed that I am to be your dealer,” he says, grinning. “I will be back with more in six months. I told the doctor they were for my mistress. I don’t even have a mistress! Isn’t this exciting? I am like a secret agent. I am the Italian James Bond. The name’s Viviani, Fosco Viviani.”

“Aegon asked you to do this?”

“Well, he did not ask, exactly. I do not think I was allowed to say no.”

You hide the paper bag in the Louis Vuitton purse Ludwika bought you, so thankful you don’t have words for it, missing Aegon like Orpheus missed Eurydice, searching through the shade-haunted grey haze of the Underworld for her.

“It was odd,” Fosco says quietly, delicately. “He did not want to know anything about you. He asked if you needed anything else that I was aware of, I said no, and then he hung up when I started to tell him about Christmas dinner.”

You remember Aegon’s words, ghosts from where Long Beach Island meets the Atlantic Ocean: Mimi wasn’t as strong as you. Maybe what Aegon didn’t say is that he isn’t either. You imagine the fates snipping threads, the memoryless oblivion offered by the River Lethe, moons becoming greater and lesser. He has to try to forget you. You have to let him.

On Valentine’s Day weekend, Daeron comes home. He and John McCain are the last two men freed from the prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. When he steps off the plane, Daeron is carrying with him, of all things, a single white rat in a wire cage. The first question he asks, after being engulfed in embraces from Alicent, Criston, and Fosco, is: “Where’s Aegon?” And he knows from the stilted, piecemeal explanations he receives that something has happened. You take Daeron to breakfast the next morning, and you don’t tell him everything, but you tell him enough. He spends a month recuperating at Asteria, then follows Zephyr, the god of the west wind, across the country to Arizona.

Aegon didn’t send you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t respond to the guitar you gifted him with Ludwika’s assistance. But on July 13th, a green envelope arrives in your mail basket with no return address. You open it to find a greeting card with an exuberant cow on the front. Inside, the original message—You’re mooooooving on up in the world! Happy retirement!—has been crossed out with black ink. You laugh, your first real laugh in weeks, and then read what Aegon has written in his chaotic, scribbling penmanship:

I thought this was blank :)

Hope you’re doing okay. You look great on tv.

Then there is an expanse of open white space, like a weighty hesitation. There’s no signature, but there is one final note like a postscript.

Thank you for the guitar, but please don’t send anything else. It fucks me up, you know?

Yes, you do know. Aegon never calls you, but Cosmo does. Once or twice a week he dials your private line at the White House–Aegon must have asked Fosco for it–and tells you all about his new life in Yuma, his school, his friends, the dogs, the desert. Aegon’s met someone named Rachel; Cosmo mentions her intermittently yet with unmistakable fondness: “Rachel makes the best s’mores,” “Rachel told me about seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock,” “Rachel took us to pick pumpkins for Halloween.” You’re glad Cosmo calls, and you’re glad he’s happy; but afterwards you always feel so indescribably, irredeemably sad.

You sneak your pills and avoid Aemond as much as you can, something that becomes easier as he spends long hours reviewing briefs in the Oval Office, preparing speeches, meeting foreign dignitaries, strategizing with his cabinet, and scheming against his conservative foes across the nation, a faction soon led by California governor Ronald Reagan. You stand perfectly still as designers alter Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and Givenchy to fit you like woolen armor. You strike up a chaste, harmless flirtation with a Secret Service agent from Atlanta named Nathaniel, not because he reminds you of Aegon—Nate is 6’4, 250 pounds, and a former Navy SEAL—but because he listens, because he is kind. He gives you riveting summaries of films and books that are considered too scandalous for you to be seen enjoying. He makes fun of your matronly skirt suits. He takes you to get lemon-lime Mr. Mistys at Dairy Queen. He massages your scarred hand with rose oil.

In May of 1969, Aemond voices support for university students across the nation protesting in favor of increased Black faculty and Africana Studies courses. In July, the Apollo 11 mission lands the first men on the moon, effectively ending the Space Race with an American victory. In September, Lieutenant William Calley receives a sentence of life in prison for his role in the My Lai Massacre the previous year. In November, the Rolling Stones release a new album entitled Let It Bleed. Ludwika gives you the record for Christmas along with an array of perfumes and lipsticks, all extravagantly packaged in a pink Gucci gift box. Your favorite song is Gimme Shelter. You listen to it at dusk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, your chair facing west, taking slow drags off Lucky Strike cigarettes that Nate buys for you, embers glowing as the sun disappears.

“What’s out there?” Nate asks you one night with a slinky half-grin, and then when you don’t immediately answer: “You’re always looking that way. What are you looking for?”

You don’t know what to tell him. Nothing. Everything. Something that almost happened. And slowly, under a lavender twilight peppered with the remote glimmers of constellations—stars that cannot be changed, disasters predestined since before you were born—Nate’s smile dies, and he never asks again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three time zones away, Aegon’s hair grows out and he gets his ears re-pierced, tiny gold hoops that make him think of wedding rings. Rachel pretends she doesn’t want to get married. Aegon doesn’t offer. Once in a while after the kids have gone to bed, he climbs into the hammock in the backyard and smokes a joint, staring absently into the east as the new Rolling Stones album spins on the record player. Aegon’s favorite song is You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Rachel stands at the telescope they set up for the kids—Cosmo’s idea—and stargazes, making her way down a checklist of visible celestial objects.

One night Aegon asks as she’s squinting through the eyepiece: “Where’s Jupiter?”

Rachel glances over at him, then points up at the indigo sky. “It’s that one, the really bright spot near Perseus. Why?”

Aegon shrugs, exhaling smoke. “No reason,” he says; but he’s still looking at Jupiter, wounded, stoned wonder floating on the surface of his watery eyes.

Daeron settles down in Yuma and buys a ranch. He does some work at the VA Hospital a few hours away in Tucson, some white water rafting on the Colorado River, some hiking in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, a whole lot of roughhousing with his niece and nephews. John McCain, now a war hero and national celebrity, is always calling to see if Daeron has decided to run for office yet. A few times a year, they receive visitors from the East Coast: Alicent, Criston, Ludwika, Helaena, Fosco, and their three children. The president and first lady are not mentioned unless by accident. The kids adore their grandmother, and she loves them back, although Alicent never learns to appreciate Tessarion the rat and refuses to hold her. In 1970, Helaena and Fosco have one last baby, a daughter they name Marina after Mimi. Life goes on, but the ghosts remain.

On a chilly evening in January of 1972, Aegon is flipping through television channels when he lands on an NBC segment about First Lady Targaryen touring the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s so fucked up,” Aegon murmurs as she calmly soothes the suffering of mutilated men, and his voice is dark with scorching, clandestine fury. He gestures to the screen with the remote control. “She hates hospitals. He makes her do things that hurt her. He does it just to prove he can.”

Rachel says as she stands in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, a question she has finally worked up the courage to ask: “No one is ever going to be able to compare to her, right?”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it again. And something washes over him like waves of the ocean, sun on sand, poison in the blood and the lungs, myths that carve themselves into your bones so deep you can see the red of the marrow underneath. He replies truthfully, his eyes still on the screen: “Right.”

Rachel packs her bags. Aegon gets up to help her. He feels it’s the least he can do.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Aemond return to Asteria for summer vacations, the seaside Targaryen compound is full of ghosts. You catch glimpses of Mimi stumbling up staircases, Cosmo trotting after you as you turn corners, Aegon smoking a joint under the statue of Zeus in Helaena’s garden. You open cabinets and bottles of his pills fall out. You see Sunfyre bobbing abandoned in the boathouse. The basement is just as Aegon left it. Sometimes you go down there and stand on the green shag carpet in the hushed, cool, damp emptiness, not knowing what you’re waiting for, staring at the wall until someone comes to look for you.

“What’s in these?” Nate asks one afternoon, snatching a notebook off the shelf. “Oh wow, look!” He shows you messy sketches in black ink, cartoon versions of the stories of Greek gods and goddesses, myths reimagined. “Who do you think drew them?”

“Maybe Daeron,” you reply, but it wasn’t him. You’d know Aegon’s handwriting anywhere. Nate leafs through a bunch of the notebooks, booming laughter—he especially enjoys that Poseidon has been characterized as a sexually insatiable dolphin—and reading his favorite parts out loud to you. One notebook is only half-full; the last few pages are covered with drawings of tiny cows, telephones with long spiral cords, the moon in all its phases. You tear these out to keep.

On each July 13th, there is a card with no return address waiting in your mail basket at the White House, always featuring a jovial cow, always making you smile. You entrust Nate with the task of hiding the notebook pages and greeting cards away somewhere safe, an arrangement he honors like an oath.

Every so often, when you feel lethal bitterness kindling, you are struck by the inspiration to find Aemond’s Ouija board. It must be here in the White House someplace, but you can’t figure out where. You search the bedrooms, rummage through closets, climb into the oak cabinets beneath bathroom sinks; you scrabble around like a rodent under the cover of darkness while Aemond is away on state visits and campaign rallies for fellow Democrats. Maybe he makes secret stops in Tacoma or Seattle. If he does, you don’t care. You’d rather Aemond be there than here.

In the spring of 1972, you find the Ouija board in a drawer of the Resolute desk, where Aemond conducts official business in the Oval Office. “Oh, that is insane,” you say to yourself as you slide it out. You mean to burn it in your bedroom fireplace, then think again. On the back of the board, the inscription has faded, as if traced by Aemond’s fingertips again and again.

If I destroy this, what will he do to Aegon and his children? What will he do to me?

You place the Ouija board back where you found it, slide the drawer shut, and crawl into bed, besieged by dreams of smoke and rum and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch.

Aemond’s national approval rating hovers between 55-70%—far about the historical average, although he never stops pining for an heir and proper first family to maximize his allure—until May of 1972, when the tide begins to turn. The treaty formally ending U.S. involvement in the war was signed back in early 1969, but the hasty troop withdrawal left capitalist South Vietnam vulnerable, and now it is being invaded by the communists backed by China and Russia. The Fall of Saigon is immortalized in the evening news, printed on the covers of newspapers; people who once collaborated with the Americans are shot dead in the streets. Refugees flee west to Laos and Cambodia and Thailand, east on makeshift rafts into the ocean. The few that Aemond manages to hurriedly admit into the U.S. inspire racism and xenophobia from suburbanites. Many of the hippies have grown up, had children, gotten jobs, settled down with credit cards and mortgages. Protestors march with signs out on Pennsylvania Avenue: America abandons her allies! Our global reputation is in peril! Will the communists invade here next? What did my son die for?

“They wanted me to end it,” Aemond marvels as he gazes out the White House windows. “They begged for me to end it, and now look at them. Ungrateful imbecile bastards.”

And you give him a rare piece of advice that he listens to: “You should call LBJ.”

On his ranch fifty miles outside of Austin, Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson is dying of heart failure. Still, he smokes more or less constantly, and refuses to adhere to the diet Lady Bird fretfully lectures their chefs about. He has grown his grey hair long and sits for as many interviews as he can, desperate to salvage his legacy and remind people of the things he did right: civil rights legislation, the War On Poverty, rising from a poor farming family to the Oval Office. He knows exactly what it feels like to be hated for having no good options. He says gruffly through the phone: “The Vietnam War needed to end, Aemond. It had to happen. But someone has to pay for it, too. That’s your job now. Take the fall, and the country survives. Plenty of people still love you. And I’m proud of you, son. I know it ain’t easy, believe me. But I’m real proud.”

Still, Aemond fights. He can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever known.

He campaigns at a murderous pace, and you have to follow him across the nation. Perhaps intentionally, there are no campaign stops in Arizona. Aemond does very well, but Ronald Reagan does better; he’s quick and he’s cutting, but he’s also funny, and grandfatherly, and warm, and God knows the American people could use some of that after the past decade. He characterizes Aemond’s policy regarding Vietnam as “peace without honor.” He calls Aemond short-sighted about a dozen times, a jab his supporters guffaw at. He says the United States has surrendered its rightful place as the leader of the free world. His wife Nancy—his second wife—is vehemently opposed to recreational drugs and other supposed moral crimes including abortion and premarital sex. You hate her, and she hates you right back, though in a perfectly pleasant, ever-smiling, mid-century housewife sort of way. Reagan’s disciples call you a whore. Aemond gets the newspapers still loyal to him to publish scathing denials. You aren’t exactly sure why he does this; no comment at all would almost certainly be wiser politically, as Otto advises. But Aemond does it anyway, with deep trenches of violent determination knit into his scarred brow.

The 1972 presidential election is held on Tuesday, November 7th. It is not until the early hours of the morning on Wednesday the 8th that Aemond learns he has narrowly lost. It couldn’t possibly be construed as your fault; he wins Florida by a greater margin than he had in 1968. As the sun rises in a bright, cloudless sky, Aemond’s entourage clears out of the Lincoln Sitting Room, leaving the two of you alone with the droning television. Aemond is sipping an Old Fashioned on one end of the couch. You light yourself a Lucky Strike cigarette on the other. For once, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Aemond muses after a while. “Ronald Reagan is divorced.”

Your heart is racing; you aren’t sure what he’s offering. You’re petrified to say the wrong thing and change his mind. “Yeah, he is.”

Aemond nods, twirling his Old Fashioned so the ice cubes clink against the misty glass, not looking at you. “I think I’ll marry Alys and adopt the boy.”

And that’s how you learn that what Aegon said in the doorway of a hospital room four and half years ago was true, no impassioned declarations, no gratitude, only grudges that have grown quiet and cold and dormant. At last, Aemond is done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Otto, glowering spitefully, getaway car procurement extraordinaire, hands you the keys to a green Chevy Nova. On the front steps of the White House, you say goodbye to a palpably heartbroken Nate. He gives you the notebook pages and greetings cards. You give him a kiss on the cheek, a parting stain of red lipstick. But instead of blood, the color makes you think of cherry-flavored Mr. Mistys, the Lucky Strike logo, roses, sunburn, firelight, the rust-hued earth of the desert. You duck into the Nova and start driving.

The East Coast unfolds into the Midwest and then turns jagged as you hit the Rocky Mountains. At a gas station in Albuquerque, New Mexico, you toss your remaining birth control pills—still squirreled away in a box of hollowed-out tampons—into a trash bin. At a McDonald’s in Asher, Arizona, just forty minutes outside of Yuma, you stop to get a large Coca-Cola and touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror: black eyeliner, gold shadow, both as heavy as you want them to be. You stroll back to your Nova under a radiant November sky that feels like summer, smiling to yourself. The hem of your roomy, floral skirt billows around your brown leather boots in the desert wind. Your earrings are small, glinting gold hoops. Your white tank top is simple and hand-crocheted, found at a yard sale in Amarillo, Texas; but your sunglasses are Bugatti, a gift from Ludwika.

You park outside the only school on the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and go inside to the front office. The secretary says distractedly: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Then she does a double take. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, do I…do I know you from somewhere…?”

“You might,” you say, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. It’s only shoulder-length now, but growing, and wild from the wind. “I was hoping to find Mr. Targaryen, does he still work here?”

“He sure does, but he doesn’t like anyone calling him that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Just Aegon then. Which classroom is…?”

But before you can finish your question, and before she can answer, you hear echoing through the labyrinthian hallways the start of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, not just an acoustic guitar but bass and drums too.

“I see the bad moon a-risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

The secretary laughs, keeping rhythm with taps of her pencil on her desk. “I guess you can find him on your own, can’t ya?”

Yes, you can. You follow the music through long empty corridors, wondering where all the students are. You drag your fingertips—black polish, chipped around the edges—along grooves in the cinder block walls that have been painted over with vibrant murals. The song is getting louder, and now you hear other noises too, an ocean of energetic voices and squealing chairs.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowin’

I know the end is comin’ soon

I fear rivers over flowin’

I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!”

You step into the cafeteria, raucous with students swapping pudding cups and bags of chips. Many of them are watching the stage, clapping along, playing their own imaginary guitars. Aegon is there strumming the sparkling gold guitar you sent him for Christmas back in 1968. He hasn’t seen you yet; he’s grinning at the kids up on the stage with him—his fellow bandmates, his fledgling rockstars—and leaning back from the mic to give them pointers. But Cosmo has. He flies out of his seat and crashes into you, now nearly ten years old, long blonde hair, a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

“You’re back!” he bellows over the music as you hug him. Teachers chatting amongst themselves by the wall give you curious glances.

“Yeah, kiddo. I am.”

“For a visit?”

“Maybe for a little longer than that.”

“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up and down.

You look back to Aegon, and now his eyes catch on yours: instantaneous recognition, disbelief, amazement. He’s just like you remember him; he’s just like he is in your dreams. You raise an eyebrow and wave tentatively. His own words surface in your skull like swimming up through cool, sunlit water: What are we gonna do about it? And Aegon smiles, the god of light, music, healing, truth.

Now his tiny bandmates are yelling at him, irate. He’s still plucking at his guitar on autopilot, but he’s missed his cue to sing the last verse. He shakes off his astonishment and continues, beaming, watching you.

“Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

Well don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Cosmo sprints back to his lunch to stop a friend from seizing his unguarded Ding Dongs.

“Don’t come around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Aegon gives his guitar a final few strums as the cafeteria erupts into cheers and applause. His bandmates bow to their audience as Aegon takes off his guitar, leaps down from the stage, runs to you as children twist in their seats to stare. He’s wearing khaki shorts, tan moccasins, a half-unbuttoned white shirt that actually fits him, dog tags with Daeron’s name on them. He’s so afraid to ask the question; he’s terrified you won’t say the right answer. “Io…what the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug, casual, teasing. “Didn’t like where I was. Thought I’d try someplace new.”

He touches your face to make sure you’re real, marveling at you, his voice going hushed. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“Don’t worry. Your life’s only half over.”

Aegon laughs, eyes shining. “I’m really, really looking forward to the rest of it.”

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you; you can hear a quiet, kind melody that fills the universe, the sound of all the chains of gravity breaking and moons drifting free from their planets.

[hihello-pinky]

Sight (6)

Suna Rintarou x F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintaro had to learn this the hard way.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, explicit smut (unprotected, rough sex) -> lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 6k+

Finally, an update! Thank you for staying with this fic despite my very slow updates. There might be 2-3 parts left before the end; depends on your answer to my question at the end of this chapter! haha (wink, wink)

Kindly reblog, like, and/or leave a comment if you loved this chapter and let me know what you think! xoxo

part one ༘⋆ part two ༘⋆ part three ༘⋆ part four ༘⋆ part five

kofi for tips 💌 ~~

˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚ - - - ˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

Twenty-five days.

Suna Rintarou swears he isn’t keeping track, but his stupid brain screams the number at him. It’s been twenty-five days of torture - his mind plagued with thoughts of wanting to kiss you.

Kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you.

He’s had the urge in the past but all of those times were out of the haze of sexual intimacy. His current dilemma, which began 25 days ago, is something else.

It had been a mundane Saturday morning. The kids were already up and engrossed in the TV show they both loved so much. Suna was in the kitchen, trying to be of help as you prepared breakfast.

The menu for that day was sunny side-ups paired with hotdogs. You were trying to show him how to perfectly crack eggs open when he moved to stand beside you to look closer. Your hand slipped, spoon cracking against the egg and he laughed. You moved to chastise him and in turn, the egg white from the cracked shell plopped against him.

With widened eyes, you gasped and then, backed with a barely contained giggle, apologized to him. The sound of your laughter was sweet and the way your eyes turned into little crescents tugged at Suna’s heart.

At that moment, he badly wanted to kiss you - to feel your laughter through your lips.

Now, he finds himself at the balcony of your bedroom, eyes turned towards the moonless sky with a lollipop in his mouth. Through the open door, he can hear the faint sound of the shower and he groans, urging his mind to not stray towards other thoughts.

He feels foolish with these emotions that you’re bringing out of him. Granted, they’re not unfamiliar, but it’s been several years since he’s had these feelings. And truth be told, Suna never thought he’d feel this way again: wanting to love someone.

He knows what he’s feeling for you is more than just platonic. But Suna is also pretty sure that he isn’t in love with you.

Yet.

“Rin?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Would you mind closing the door? The breeze is coming through.” He sees that you’re now done with your shower, robe wrapped around your body with a towel in your hand.

He bites off the remaining lollipop and chucks the stick at the small bin by the balcony. Shortly after, he joins you in the room but not before making sure the door is securely locked behind him.

The smell of your green-apple hair conditioner hits him almost immediately. It’s a scent he has ignored for years but now that he’s free from his pride to admire every little thing about you, he basks in the scent. He then makes his way to the vanity. “Do you need help drying your hair off?”

Your curious eyes meet his through the mirror and after a few slow blinks, you nod. He takes over the towel and you open a drawer to bring out the dryer.

For a few moments, your eyes watch him work with the towel, gently squeezing clumps of your hair for the last drops of water possible. Then, before passing the hair-blower to him, you say, “You’re gonna end up with cavities given all the candies and lollipops you’ve been having.”

“They’re working, though,” he replies. “I haven’t smoked in over a month.”

You smile at him. “I’m so proud of you.” And then, as if deciding on what to say next, you add, “I wish there is another alternative so you won’t have to take too much sweets.”

Maybe it’s the proud look on your face. Maybe it’s the way your lips pucker out in a cute pout. Or maybe, he’s just so tired of counting the days.

Finally, Suna says, “What about a kiss?”

The way your eyes immediately widen is almost comical. “W-what?”

Suna only laughs as he takes the hair dryer from you, the brief skin contact making you blush. He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

“Huh?” you try to turn around so you’re face to face but he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay still.”

“But…”

“Y/N. Let’s dry your hair first, okay?”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Drying one’s hair is supposed to take around five to ten minutes only, but after Rintarou’s question, it feels like it’s taking an hour. It’s not helping that he’s standing so close to you, hands gently drying your hair, warmth radiating from his body.

Once finished, you immediately turn on the seat. “Rin.”

“Y/N.”

The question comes to the tip of your tongue but never leaves your mouth. You bite your lip instead and avoid eye contact. “N-nevermind.”

As you try to stand, Rintarou stops you. “You’re cute when you blush, did you know that?”

You don’t answer, knowing full well that his remark only made your already flushing cheeks redden even more.

Suna sighs before cupping your cheek tenderly, urging you to look at him. Once your eyes meet his, he rubs a gentle circle on your skin. “I want to kiss you.”

It feels like your heart is beating a hundred miles per minute. Did you hear him correctly? He wants to kiss you? Suna Rintarou, the man who never kissed you in the five years you’ve been married? Suna Rintarou, the man who didn’t bother to kiss you on your wedding day?

I want to kiss you.

A lot of things have changed in the past months but still, Suna manages to surprise you. You feel like a teenager navigating romance for the first time again.

Another gentle rub on your cheek brings you back to the present, where Suna is saying he wants to kiss you. “Well? Are you going to allow me to kiss you, Y/N?”

Your only response is a meek nod to which Suna shakes his head. “I want you to say it. Tell me that you want me to kiss you.”

He never once breaks eye contact as he says those words. The urge to look away is so strong, for you feel like the longer you stare into Suna’s eyes, all the emotions inside of you will break out. Burst into a bubble that would consume you. It’s going to be cool, but suffocating.

Instead, your eyes remain on him, trying to decipher if there’s any ill-intentions in them.

You only see sincerity… and pained longing. As if every minute you’re not asking him to kiss you is bringing him immense pain.

But kissing him… it’s going to be a big step in your relationship. Granted, the two of you have been sleeping with each other again. But kissing is an entire thing different from sex. You’ve never kissed during sex before. Kissing him now would mean…

Rin doesn’t speak with words, but the way his thumb grazes your cheek once more tells you that he’s waiting. Finally, you decide to pocket the fears you have about kissing him. “Kiss me, Rin.”

He exhales in relief as he leans down and the distance between your lips get smaller and smaller and smaller and you get the sweet taste of his strawberry lollipop from earlier.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Goodbye, 25 days. Suna thinks to himself that night, as you lay sleeping beside him.

It’s just a kiss, but he can’t stop himself from feeling warm at the memory of your lips against his.

It’s just a kiss, but he feels like he’s on top of the world.

It’s just a kiss, but when he finally falls asleep that night, a stupid smile is on his face.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

In the following days, Suna learns that he has found a new addiction.

Waking up in the morning? A kiss on your lips.

Thanking you after finishing a meal? A kiss on your lips.

Saying goodbye before leaving for work? A kiss on your lips.

Seeing you after arriving at home? A kiss on your lips.

It’s not just even the feeling of your lips against his that makes him addicted to it - he’s also enamored by your reaction every time you kiss.

The way your breath hitches a little as your lips meet, and the soft sigh you let out once you part almost always bring a flood of warmth to his chest.

“Are you going out today or staying home for work?” Since you’ve been getting better, you have started to resume working again.

If it were up to Suna, he wouldn’t want you to work at all. Your current job is not demanding at all, minimal reports needed. He remembers helping you get it five years ago, when you had opened up to him about the missed opportunity after your graduation. Still, he knows you enjoy what little you do at work, so he can’t ask you to leave it.

“I’ll stay in today,” he hears your response. “I’ll visit the office on Friday.”

He makes a mental note to himself. “Okay.” And then, “Do we have any plans this weekend?”

He adjusts the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt as he hears you hum in contemplation. “Ah! Hajime invited us for Kenta’s birthday party this coming Saturday, right?”

Of course. Suna remembers the conversation two weeks before. He remembers trying to tame the jealousy brewing deep within him as the older man talked to you. He knows he has nothing to be jealous about. You’re just naturally sweet and friendly while Iwaizumi apparently started seeing someone.

“I almost forgot,” he confesses as he approaches you to where you’re lounging at the sofa. You’re currently waiting for your laptop to finish installing its update before you start work. “Do we have a gift already?”

“I actually ordered something but it’s stuck in one of the sorting hubs. If it doesn’t arrive by Friday, maybe we can drop by the mall or something?”

“Okay. I’ll go now, then. See you later.” He crosses the short distance between you, hand already cupping your face as he kisses you goodbye.

And if Suna is smiling while driving on the way to work, thinking about your goodbye kiss, then no one has to know.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Express delivery, as is turns out, do not always live up to its name. It’s now Friday and the package carrying your gift for Kenta has made no movement from the sorting hub. You’re at your table at work, waiting for Rin to pick you up after you texted him that you would need to drop by the mall first.

The children are at their grandparents since this morning and you’ll be picking them up when you and Rin go to their house for breakfast tomorrow. You look at the picture on your phone. Rintarou is splayed on the bed with the twins all over him. It’s from last weekend, when your kids had come to wake the two of you up.

Your heart is instantly flooded with warmth and joy. You didn’t think it’s going to be possible, but years later, here you are with a happy family despite of the circumstances. You couldn’t ask for more.

The notification on your phone alerts you that Rin is almost at your office building. You bid goodbye to your colleagues. As the door to the elevator begins to close, you see a woman rushing towards it. Luckily, you’re able to press the ‘hold door’ button immediately.

“Thank you,” the woman sighs in relief as she shoots you a grateful, sweet smile. She’s an unfamiliar face, which is not a surprise to you since you rarely visit the office and interact with people outside of your core department.

“No problem,” you reply while mirroring her smile, before turning your gaze ahead.

You’re about to settle on that elevator silence between strangers when the woman speaks. “For a building with over 30 floors, you’d think they have more than three working elevators.”

You hum in agreement. “The ‘under construction’ signs at the other two elevators have been there forever, right?”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know.” She lets out a small laugh. “I’ve only been here for two weeks. I’m in a contractual project, actually.”

The elevator doors open and you two walk out, still conversing. “Ah, may I ask what project?”

“Hitomi-chan’s passion project,” the woman replies with a smile. “I’m in-charge of photography.”

You feel foolish only noticing the camera bag slung on her left shoulder. “I see. You must be very good, then. Hitomi knows to pick partners well.”

A sweet laughter spills from her again, her cheeks blushing a little. “You’re too kind…”

“Y/N,” you reply, as you both approach the exit.

The woman extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Serin.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Serin.”

A security staff of the building approaches the two of you. “Your husband’s car just pulled up at the parking area, Mrs. Suna.”

Serin’s grasp on your handshake falters a little. “Oh, you need to go?”

“Yes. See you around the office, Serin.”

She gives you one last smile before waving goodbye. “See you around!”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re only supposed to buy a gift for Kenta but two hours at the mall later, you and Suna are pushing one big cart of shopping carts each. You don’t talk as you navigate the parking space, but the exchange of smiles and grins speaks a lot.

“Why did we buy so much?” You ask as you watch Rin load the bags into the car. “We’re such impulsive buyers, oh god.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad splurging sometimes. We all deserve to spoil ourselves once in a while.”

“Is that why you bought a large fox plushie?” Your voice is laced with teasing. “I didn’t know you’re into stuffed toys.”

Suna loads the last bags before closing the door. “I bought that for you, though.” He takes your hand and leads you to the front passenger seat, opening its door. “And don’t act as if you weren’t looking at it with heart eyes when I showed it to you.”

You make yourself comfortable in the seat. “Sure.”

Suna scoffs playfully before shaking his head as he swats your hand away and puts the belt on you himself. “Okay, you’re never allowed to hold it ever, then.”

You fake gasp. “Really? Then that makes me sad.”

He leans in and kisses against the pout on your lips. “You’re so cute, Y/N,” he says once he pulls away.

“And you’re so silly, Rin.” This time, you’re the one who leans in and pecks his lips. As you’re about to pull away, you feel Suna’s hand on your head before he tries to deepen the kiss.

A small whine leaves your lips and gets swallowed by Suna immediately before he finally pulls away.

“Rin…”

You’re breathing heavily and he’s in no better situation. His eyes have darkened and the way he looks at you makes you squirm on the seat. You avert your gaze. “L-let’s go home.”

It takes him a beat to answer. “Yeah. Okay, sure.” He pulls back, squeezes your upper thigh, and then closes the door for you. You’re still not looking at him when he gets in the driver’s seat and maneuvers the car outside of the parking lot.

Once you’re on the road, one of his hands lets go of the wheel and reaches for you blindly before landing on your thigh. It stays there for a whole minute before you remove it. You lace your fingers together and place it on your lap instead.

Suna hums in contentment as he continues to drive, but not before squeezing your hand. You don’t even notice that he’s driving at the fastest allowable speed limit.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You’re glad that your children are at your in-laws’ house as you hear the incessant and loud creaking sound of the bed, paired with the headboard’s rhythmic slamming against the wall. Rintarou is groaning against your lips as his hips are working overtime in thrusting against yours.

“Fuck,” he whispers before capturing your lips in another frenzied kiss. “You feel so damn good, shit.” He’s heavily breathing and making lots of noise than usual.

You would have called him out for it if you were doing any better. “Ah, Rin, ah… right there.” Your words are cut off as he kisses you again.

Tonight’s sex feels different. It’s not only because it’s the first time you two are kissing during the deed. Right now, it feels as if Rintarou wants to tell you something through his actions.

His unforgiving thrusts continue, the onslaught of pleasure throughout your body unending. You already know you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to be less rough. He’s hitting all the right spots and all the sounds that you’re both making are only adding heat to the room.

“It feels like your pussy wants to swallow me whole.” He pulls back slightly so he can see the probably messed up and fucked out expression on your face. “I love the way it pulls me in. Fuck, you’re so tight. Feels so fucking good!”

His words bring you to an unexpected orgasm and you whine with volume. It doesn’t deter him as he continues his hips’ movements. His lips are quick to silence you as he begins to move inside of you faster.

You should probably feel embarrassed with the sloppy, wet noises that your bodies are creating but it just feels so good. Your head is empty and all your mind can do is chant his name repeatedly.

Rintarou. Rin. Rintarou. Rin. Rin. Rintarou. So good.

“Louder,” his word snaps you out of your daze. It’s when you realize that you’re now moaning his name out loud. Ironically, you feel flustered and look away from him.

His hand starts roaming around your body and settles on your left breast before he pinches on the nipple. “Look at me, I want to see you come.”

He guides your face towards him and you two meet eye-to-eye. The room feels too hot but you ignore it, trapped in your bubble of intimacy with your husband. You’re stuck with letting out little whimpers and small exclaims of “ah, ah, ah”s as Rintarou continues to move inside you.

Unlike his earlier kisses, he plants a sweet peck on the side of your lips before pulling back. “Do you feel good? Are you okay?” His voice is now soft, a stark contrast to his rough thrusts.

You can only nod before a gasp of pleasure leaves you again.

He chuckles against your lips before aiming a single hard thrust, forcing a louder moan out of you. “Am I making you feel good, Y/N?”

You nod repeatedly, hands gripping him harder. The dig of your fingers on his skin makes him groan sexily. “Fuck, answer me. Do I feel good inside you, wife?” Another well-aimed thrust.

“Y-yes, yes!” you finally let out. A sniffle. “It’s so good. More please, Rin. I need more.”

Rintarou doesn’t deny you and quickens his pace, giving you what you want.

And everything feels right. This is what things should have been. The both of you giving and taking. The both of you feeling good and taken care of. You and Rintarou. Rintarou and you. Under a happy spell.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

The last time you were at a party setting with Hajime, things didn’t end well. However, you feel like today is a good one. For starters, you don’t have the underlying pressure of making sure everything goes smoothly. And to make things better, your husband has not left your side ever since your family arrived at the venue.

Risa and Ryuu are happily playing with all the other kids while you’re at the parents’ table, making small talk with the other guests. An older couple - Hajime’s relatives, you think - comments on how you and Rin look good together.

You thank them, turning to your husband’s shoulder to hide your blush. Instead, you see him smirk teasingly, an arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

The party goes well. Food, games, gift-giving…

Hajime finally sits next to you with a small sigh, the two of you barely exchanging more than a few words within the past hour. “This is tiring but very rewarding.” He’s staring at the direction of his son. “All for Kenta’s happiness.”

As if feeling his father’s eyes on him, the boy turns to your direction and waves, a toothy grin on his face.

“You know, in his earlier years, I only felt resentment towards his mother.” Hajime’s voice is tender. He rarely talks about the mother of his son, her being a touchy subject. “But now, all I feel is gratefulness and pity. I’m thankful because without her, I wouldn’t have Kenta. I pity her, because she’s missing out so much on how wonderful and amazing my son is.”

You can’t say you truly understand what he’s feeling. Still, you acknowledge to yourself that your children do seem to be merrier ever since Rintarou joined the three of you, bonding all the time. “Did she ever try to reach out?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No. And my attempts to talk to her were all futile.” The sad look on his face passes quickly. “You know, Y/N, I never considered dating again. Not until Kenta’s much older. But I’m glad I took the leap recently. She already adores Kenta and he likes her a lot, too.”

You perk up at the mention of his new lover. “I’m glad to hear that. Speaking of, I thought she was coming today?”

“She said she’ll catch up because something came up with the project she’s working on.” Just then, a notification pings on Hajime’s phone. “And now we’ve summoned her. I’ll go meet her at the door.”

You watch as your friend eagerly makes his way through the crowd. It’s then that you decide to go on a powder room break to freshen up. On the way, you bump into your husband who’s returning from the restroom. He tucks a hair behind your ear. “You good?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Yes.” It’s crazy, really, how a simple gesture from Rintarou makes your heart flood with happiness.

He mirrors your smile, a bit of mischief laced in it. Rin leans closer to you and asks, “You’re not too sore anymore?”

Blood rushes to your face and you swat at him. “Please, don’t.”

Through his arms around your side, you feel his body shake in laughter. “Okay, okay. Don’t be a blushing mess. We’re in public, Y/N.” He pulls you closer to him and plants a quick kiss on your temple. “Let’s behave from now on.”

You murmur chastising words as events from last night come back to you.

Suna had just forced you to finish drinking a glass of water, mumbling something about you needing to re-hydrate. You’re already washed up, dressed in a pair of fluffy cotton pajamas.

“Good girl,” he murmured before placing the empty glass on the bedside table. He then propped himself up against the headboard, making sure the blankets are covering you.

The praise made you smile like a shy young girl and Rin opened his arm. You didn’t allow yourself a moment of hesitation, immediately going towards his warmth. He squeezed the side of your waist as you snuggled against him.

The post-sex bliss was still surrounding you both. “What are you thinking?”

The sound of his heartbeat was calming, and you didn’t realize it had been slowly lulling you to sleep until Rin repeated his question. It’s been happening a lot lately - him initiating conversation, wanting the two of you to build good communication.

Maybe it’s the domesticity of snuggling in bed with your husband, or the way his hand had traveled upwards to where it’s rubbing softly against your back. You weren’t exactly sure what spurred you to answer candidly. “I’m thinking that I really like you, Rin. A lot. But I guess you already knew that.”

He hummed in confirmation. You weren’t expecting anything back, you knew it’s only been a few months. But much like he’s been doing, Rintarou surprises you. “I’m thinking I’m starting to care about you. A lot. Though it may take me a lot more moments of introspection for me to truly know what I feel. But, really, Y/N, I care about you and I want you to know it, in case I haven’t been clear.”

The hesitation in his voice almost made you melt. He didn’t need to say it, to be honest. You’ve noticed it in all the ways he had been changing in the past several weeks. Trying to quit smoking, spending more time with you and your kids. Opening more communication between you two.

Still, the verbal affirmation is welcomed.

“Thank you, Rin,” you murmured sleepily against him. “For all your efforts.”

You vaguely heard him whisper the words back to you before you drifted off to sleep.

You pull back from hiding your face against your husband’s body and crane your head back. He inspects your face briefly before saying, “All good, you no longer look like a ripe tomato.”

You fake glare at him and remember where you two are. You look around and see Hajime introducing someone to his guests. Beside you, Rintarou pulls out his phone after it pings. He begins typing his reply with one hand, the other reaching for yours.

One of the things you have learned about your husband in the past months is that he can be clingy. You grasp his hand and intertwine your fingers together.

As Hajime approaches you with his new guest, your eyes widen. “Serin?”

Two distinct sounds reach your ear.

Serin’s gasp.

And the sound of a phone crashing on the floor.

Rintarou lets go of your hand as he bends down to pick his phone up.

“Y/N? What a lovely surprise. You’re friends with Hajime?” Serin is quick to give you a hug. “Such a small world!”

You smile at her and then your at friend. “This is… wow.” You turn to Rintarou who’s now back on his feet. You reach for his hand back but he puts both his hands inside his pockets.

The look on his face tells you that his phone must have experienced serious damage.

“Serin, this is my husband, Rintarou. Rin, I met Serin at work yesterday, I didn’t know she’s the girlfriend that Hajime has been talking about. This is a nice coincidence! Don’t you think so?”

The woman blinks slowly before she smiles slightly at your husband. “Nice to meet you.”

To your surprise, Rintarou ignores her extended hand. Instead, he gives her a curt nod before promptly excusing himself outside.

You mask your concern and turn apologetically to Serin and Hajime. “Um, I’m sorry about that. Maybe he’s upset about his phone.”

Serin purses her lips in a small pout. “No worries, Y/N. Let’s talk again later, I want to go to the birthday boy now.” She shoots you a dazzling smile before dragging Hajime by the hand towards Kenta’s direction.

You sigh. As much as you’re delighted that Hajime’s girlfriend is the same nice woman you met yesterday, you can’t help but worry about Rintarou.

After a quick glance at your kids who are engrossed playing with their friends, you follow your husband outside.

Rintarou is restlessly pacing back and forth and though you’re not that physically close, you can see his brows knotted in worry.

“Rin?” He pauses at your voice and looks at you with slightly wide eyes. He doesn’t offer any words.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks a few times. “Yeah.” And then, “Just needed space to breathe.”

There’s a moment of hesitation - as if he wants to say more but decides against it. He resumes his pacing and you quietly slip back inside.

The rest of the party goes relatively well and you’re glad that you’re able to spend time and converse with the other parents from the playground. Moreover, the happy giggles and wide smiles of your children filled your heart with love.

Soon enough, Rin’s earlier actions get pushed to the back of your mind.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

It wasn’t particularly a long day but as soon as you got Risa and Ryuu to fall asleep, your body starts demanding you to rest.

You barely make it through showering. Once you’re done for the night, you move to settle on your shared bed with Rintarou to see him all quiet. He’s sitting on the bed, leg impatiently tapping on the floor.

“Rin, what’s the matter?”

He looks up, your eyes meeting briefly before he turns away. “Nothing.”

In the past, you would have let it go, afraid that you’d push the wrong buttons to set him off against you. But now, given how things have changed between the two of you, you want to talk.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left Kenta’s party. Is something bothering you?”

It takes Rintarou a very long time to respond. When he does, it makes you think you may have misheard him.

“Sorry? What did you say?” You ask, your voice gentle despite the tremors and dread building inside you.

His response comes again, louder and clearer this time. “You.”

“Rin?”

He looks you in the eye this time as he stands up. It’s only then that you noticed he hasn’t changed out of his clothes yet. “You. The one that’s bothering me.”

You shake your head as you begin to step closer to him. “I don’t understand.”

Rintarou scoffs. “Of course you don’t.” He swats away the hand that tries to touch him and it leaves you freeze in surprise.

He then makes his way towards the balcony. And you’re still standing there, left alone in the room, dumbfounded and confused.

Oddly enough, this feels like a deja vu.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

At the beginning of your forced marriage to Suna, you knew there was a slim chance that you two would get along. He hated you, and deep down, though you never voiced it out loud, you also resented him for taking advantage of you and getting you pregnant.

But now, looking back at the past few months, you think that your relationship might actually work. He’s no longer treating you horribly. In fact, he’d been extremely nice, getting involved in preparing for your kids’ arrival, being supportive and caring, and overall acting friendly.

For this night, you decided to cook him a simple dinner. He had texted you earlier in the day that he’d drop by Osamu’s newly-opened restaurant to give his congratulations. You had told him it’s okay if he wanted to celebrate with his friends but Rintarou insisted that he’d much rather spend the evening with you.

You knew not to get your hopes up, that he’s just being a responsible father and husband. Still, your traitorous heart beat wildly at his last message, looking forward to seeing him come home.

Four hours later, however, the dinner you prepared is cold and you’re seated alone at the living room couch. Waiting for Rintarou who never came home at the time he promised.

Your eyes were drooping, drowsiness almost winning the long battle you’ve been having against it. Finally, the door opened and Rintarou came in.

He looked utterly wasted.

You stood up in the fastest way possible for a heavily-pregnant person. “Rin, what happened? You weren’t answering my texts and calls. I was so worried.”

He looked up from tossing his shoes to the side. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed, probably from drinking. “Fuck off.”

The words surprised you, the venom in them strong enough to make you take a step back. You were able to regain your stance nonetheless and moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Huh? Are you okay, Rin?”

“Don’t call me that.” He glared at you before swatting your hand away. “You ruined everything. Everything.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “What? Rin, I’m confused. What happened?”

He didn’t answer you and instead began walking towards the stairs. You were hurt and confused but you didn’t want the night to end with him ignoring you.

Being pregnant, it took you longer to arrive at your now shared room. When you opened the door, you saw that it was already a mess. Broken things everywhere, confirming your suspicions from the sounds you heard on the way to the room.

“Rintarou, stop!” You tried to tell him but he whipped so fast to face you that your feet froze on the spot. “Leave me the fuck alone! You ruined my life, my everything!”

You remained unmoving, fists clenched at the sides. “I don’t understand. Can you calm down, please?”

He grabbed an ornamental vase that you had placed on the dresser and threw it on the floor.

You stared at the flowers from your garden. Lying, broken, and mangled. “Rin, I’m getting scared. Please, let’s talk about what’s wrong?”

“You,” he finally responded. “You’re the most wrong thing in my life.”

His words felt like dagger to your heart. You couldn’t understand what was happening. Things have been going well…

“I hate your existence in my life. I hate this. I hate that I had to marry you. I hate that you’re pregnant. I hate-”

“Please don’t say that,” you begged, tears flowing down your face. “Don’t.”

Rintarou laughed emptily. It pained you to see how angry and sad he looked like. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To talk about what’s wrong? It’s you. So here’s what’s going to happen: since you’re adamant about keeping the babies, then fine, go ahead.

“But I want you to know that this marriage will only be words on a paper. Do not expect anything from me. I will never be your husband. I will never be your friend. You will never mean anything to me. I will never love you. Understood?”

You could barely see him through the stream of your tears. You wished this was just a bad dream and that you’d wake up soon.

“Answer me!” Rintarou yelled. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

He kicked at the broken vase by his foot. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

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The memory claws at your heart and you clutch at your chest. It seems like everything from the past is repeating but this time, the pain is multiplied ten-fold.

You can’t help but ask yourself as you stare at the fox plushie on your hands.

What really happened?

Can you really not be happy with Rintarou?

You lift a hand to wipe at your eyes. The other loses its grip on the toy and it drops onto the floor. You wipe your tears one more time before leaning over the bed to reach for it. It bounces against your strained grip, going further out of your reach.

It seems like the fox plush is mocking you.

You tiredly go down the bed to pick it up. However, once it’s back in your hands, you decide to just lean your back against the bed’s side instead of climbing back onto the bed.

You haven’t felt this tired in a long time. Not even during your recent fight with Rintarou months ago.

You close your eyes to fight off the tears that have resurfaced, tears that never really stopped forming in your eyes. To your dismay, you’re unable to ward them off, so you’re left crying, tears escaping your closed eyes.

And as you succumb to the darkness brought by your closed lids, you wish for the pain to be gone the moment you open your eyes.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Outside, Suna shuts the balcony door behind him before he leans against the railing. He can hear the faint sounds of your crying but wills himself to ignore them.

Instead, he stares ahead at nothing, hoping something can drown out your sounds of sorrow. He curses under his breath until he reaches into his pocket, hand clenching tightly on the item.

Not long after, with the backdrop of the dark sky devoid of moon and any stars, the tip of a lit cigarette burns bright like a blaze.

to be continued.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

I hope you liked this update hehehe. Question! Do we resolve things quickly or go down the hard path (and curse Suna along the way?) LET ME KNOW!

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added or if you changed your user): @warrior-of-justice @alisa--things @wolffmaiden @kurookinnie @simp-nerd-16  @alex-is-100 @k4g3hika @harukaaaaa172993 @themoonreflectsthesun  @lvjycrow @cantbedenied @sweetlikerockcandy @sirimiripetrichor @yamiakari-chi  @noideawhothatis @nervouscoffeetaco @lovemyfamily4ever-blog nervouscoffeetaco  kamukayakmonyet  yuqixidle ieathairs  cantbedenied  gariben  beomeomgyu  esmeisdrunk-blog  123j456l  iluv-ace  semitje @justablogforreblogs @alienvarmint @itohsi @tamimemo @mshope16 @jeonsfizz @syndyj @susuarin @ssc7514 @tkooooop @lialoveskaisersomuch @dilucsleftshoelace @bakingcuriosity @appepel @arusio

[corroded-hellfire]

Love Comes Walking In - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie didn’t want to go to prom, until he wanted to go with Chrissy. You wanted to go to prom, but not if Eddie is going to go with Chrissy. But above everything, you want Eddie to be happy.

Note: this whole thing mostly came about because I wanted to write the one scene with Dustin. You’ll know the one.

Words: 6k

Eddie teasing you was nothing new. His lighthearted jabs about your skirt making you look preppy or having sleepy eye boogers first thing in the morning roll off your back, occasionally even making you laugh along. But when he teases you about wanting to go to prom, that gets under your skin. 

Wanting one special night to wear a pretty gown with glowing makeup and neatly styled hair didn’t sound stupid to you. To your best friend, it seemed like torture. The whole school year Eddie would rag on you about buying into the whole conformist commercialism that you thought of as a rite of passage. That makes it even worse when he suddenly changes his tune just a week before the dance. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeff complains. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m ridiculous,” he argues.

“You changed your mind because of a girl!” Gareth shouts. 

Jabbing your green beans with your plastic fork, you stay silent as the boys bicker back and forth. Part of you was also afraid to open your mouth, unsure of what would come out.

“You say that like I’d go to prom with any girl,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not saying I’m going, I’m saying I would go with Chrissy.”

The fork is clutched so hard in your hand that you think it’s going to snap in half. 

“What’s wrong with wanting to go with anyone?” Jeff asks.

Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him and wrinkles his face up in distaste, not bothering to give a verbal response. 

“Hypocrite,” you mumble under your breath.

“I am not.” Eddie stares at you and your head jerks up in surprise that he heard you. 

“Yes, you are,” you say. “You’ve made fun of me all year for wanting to go and now because you have a crush, it’s different? Bullshit.”

“I changed my mind,” Eddie reiterates. 

“Fine,” you say with a huff. It’s not worth arguing with him over. 

“Maybe you should apologize,” Dustin suggests softly.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Come on, you have been on her ass about it all year,” Dustin says. 

“Thanks, Dustin,” you say. “But it’s fine.”

Eddie opens his mouth, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. Chair legs scraping against the floor, you push your seat back and stand up from the table. The guys all watch as you leave, dumping your tray in the trash before stalking out of the cafeteria. 

Arguments with Eddie rarely happened. They’re so rare that neither of you know how to react when you next see each other. Are you still fighting? Has it been long enough where you both can pretend like nothing ever happened? There’s no chance to talk to one another in your shared algebra class the next day, so it wasn’t until lunch that you really came face to face. Eddie’s at the table before you, and you plop down in your usual seat next to him. 

“We cool?” Eddie asks as you’re in the middle of lifting a forkful of mac and cheese to your open mouth. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, eyeing him over your full fork. “I guess.” 

“Good.” He slouches down in his seat, as if he can relax now that he knows you’re on good terms. “Oh shit, here I got you something.” Eddie reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar. “Band kids are selling candy, so I bought your favorite for you. Hide it before Henderson gets here or he’ll steal it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a grin. This was exactly the reason why your feelings for Eddie would never go away. Just when he pisses you off to the point where you swear you’re never going to sit with him at lunch again, he turns around and does something sweet and thoughtful without expecting anything in return. 

“Breaking news, losers,” Gareth says as he drops his tray on the table. “I have a prom date.”

“Well shit, I guess hell has frozen over,” Mike says as he and Dustin join the rest of you. 

“You’re not a senior,” Jeff points out.

“No, but my date is.” Gareth’s smirk is enough to earn an eye roll from both you and Eddie. 

“Who’s that desperate?” 

Gareth throws a French fry at you - which you dodge - before he answers. 

“Calling Kel desperate?” 

“What?” you almost screech. “How are you going with one of the sweetest girls at school?”

“I’m super cool,” he says, making the rest of you bust out in laughter. 

“But seriously,” Jeff says.

“You’re all assholes,” Gareth says before digging into his food. “At least I have a date.” 

Eddie goes to reply, but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say, so you scoop up your backpack and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once you step out of the cafeteria, you roll out your neck and shoulders, trying not to think of Eddie back in there talking about prom with the guys. You push the girl’s bathroom door open and breathe a sigh of relief when you’re the only one in there. Dropping your bag on the floor between your feet, you lean forward on one of the sinks and look at yourself in the mirror. A few deep breaths later, you feel your body relax. It’s short lived, however, when the door squeaks open on old hinges and two cheerleaders step in. 

You feel bad for the guttural reaction you have to seeing Chrissy’s blonde ponytail swinging behind you in the mirror. She is a complete sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the jealous green-eyed monster rears its ugly head and your fingers dig into the cool porcelain. 

“It really sucks,” the other cheerleader says to Chrissy. You know you’ve seen her around, but you don’t know her name. Both cheerleaders park at the sinks next to you to touch up their makeup. Chrissy throws you a bright smile and a friendly wave before taking her lip gloss out and turning back towards her friend. 

“I know,” Chrissy says. “I knew we were going to break up, but I was hoping for it to be after prom. How am I supposed to find a new date in a week?”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that,” her friend assures her.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says with a sigh. “Everyone probably has their dates by now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your pulse is raging in your ears and sweat is starting to make your hands slip against the sink. The internal debate rages inside of you. Do you let your jealousy get in the way of something that will make Eddie happy? It would throw away any shot you had of going to prom with Eddie yourself - but you know that was a long shot anyway. 

Still undecided, you take a step back from the sink, and your backpack falls over. You bend down to pick it up and the Three Musketeer bar falls out. It feels like your gaze should melt the chocolate that’s laying before you. Damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness at buying you the stupid candy. You toss it back in your bag, wincing as you prepare self-destruction. 

“Hey, Chrissy,” you say.

She turns to you with a smile, putting the top back on her lip gloss.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say as you slide your backpack on. You can’t manage to look her in the eyes as you speak. “But I know someone who doesn’t have a date yet.”

“You do?” She perks up in interest and the souring of your stomach almost keeps you from going further. 

“Yeah.” It sounds painful coming out of your mouth and you hope neither cheerleader notices. “Um, Eddie? Eddie Munson.”

“Really?” her friend asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts a hip out. You’re two seconds away from smacking the snotty look off her face when Chrissy speaks up.

“Eddie is great,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder at her friend before looking back at you. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Think he’ll say yes if I ask him?”

“I do.” Those two words were almost the hardest to get out. It was killing you how much of an understatement it was. 

“Okay!” The eagerness in her voice makes you want to cry. There’s no way you’ll be able to face Eddie back in there. 

“You can, um, ask him now if you want,” you say with a shrug. With a deep breath, you head towards the bathroom door. You stop halfway out the door and turn back around. “Oh, if Eddie asks,” you say, doubting he would because he’d be too consumed by the fact that his dreams were coming true, “can you just tell him I wasn’t feeling well and left?”

“No problem.” Her brow furrows in concern and she takes a step towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve told in a while. “Cramps.” You put your hand to your lower abdomen and Chrissy gives you a sympathetic nod.

“Feel better!”

Without answering her, you walk out of the bathroom and down the hall, to the school exit. As soon as you slide into your car, the tears start. They start pouring so heavily and your hands shake so badly that you can’t put your key in the ignition. Momentarily giving up, you drop the keys in your lap and drop your head down to the steering wheel. 

Giving yourself enough time to get the worst of it out, you pull back and use your sleeves to wipe down your face. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to center yourself. After a few breaths in and out, in and out, you’re able to get the keys in the ignition on the first try. You pull your car out of the parking lot and head towards your house. The conversation you had with Chrissy keeps going through your head and you can’t keep from picturing the euphoric look that will be on Eddie’s face when she asks him. The saving grace you’re holding on to is the fact that Chrissy immediately defended Eddie to her friend. There aren’t many people in the school who would do that. 

Luckily, no one is home when you get to your house and you’re able to go inside and sulk in peace in your bed. More tears leak out as you hug your pillow to your chest. You must end up falling asleep because the persistent ringing of your doorbell jolts you awake sometime later. Heart racing from the adrenaline, you pull yourself out of bed and drag yourself to the front door. 

Eddie’s standing on the other side and it’s the first time his smile has ever broken your heart. 

“You are the best!” He swoops into your house and wraps you up in his arms. “Oh shit, sorry. I forgot, Chrissy said you’re having some girl pains.”

Right. 

“They’re better now that I’ve rested,” you say. “And you don’t have to thank me. Just doing what a good friend would do, right?”

“The best friend in the world!” He takes your head in his hands and presses a loud smacking kiss to your forehead. His happiness is infectious and despite your foul mood, a small smile curls on your mouth. 

“Now,” he says, taking both of his hands in yours. “We have to find a date for you.”

“Oh.” Your face drops and you shake your head. “I’m not going to go.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would still be thinking about how you wanted to attend prom. The idea of his own perfect date should’ve been occupying his whole brain, but damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness. 

“What?” Eddie immediately frowns and it tugs at your heart. It tempts you to tell him you’ll go, but the mental image of Eddie dressed up and dancing with a flawless-as-usual Chrissy makes you bite your tongue. 

“You were right before,” you tell him. “It’s dumb and there’s shitty music. Plus, the dresses are way too expensive.” The dress you planned on wearing was already in your closet, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie dips his head down to meet your eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you questioningly. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. 

“I’m going to miss you there,” he says, and you almost slip up and laugh out loud at his statement. 

“Oh please, you’ll be having way too much fun to notice I’m not there.” 

“Like that could happen,” Eddie says with a skeptical look. 

You don’t bother arguing with him, even though you know he’s wrong. 

On your way to the cafeteria the next day, you can’t bring yourself to walk in. You know if you do then you’re just going to be hearing about plans for prom and you don’t trust yourself not to break down in tears in front of everyone. There was no way you could avoid the guys entirely until prom, but you couldn’t face them today. Eddie doesn’t want to be with you. He wants to be with Chrissy. And you have to make yourself seem okay with that somehow. Just not today. 

There’s a vending machine on the way to the gym, so you pick up a bag of crackers and a bottle of coke. The gymnasium is empty, so you take a seat on the bottom row of bleachers and start to eat your sad little lunch. It’s easy to let your mind wander, so you try to redirect it away from where it wants to go. Usual calming fantasies revolve around Eddie in some way, but that’s out of the question right now. 

Your mind can’t stray far from Eddie though, so you let your mind divulge in a little dark fantasy as you eat. What would happen if you just ran away? What would happen if you just threw some clothes in a bag and bolted? You would never actually do it, but imagining Eddie being sad over you leaving brings you a sick sort of comfort. Because he would miss you. You know he loves you, it’s just not in the same way that you wish. 

As you crumble up your wrapper in your hand, the gym door opens and a familiar hat over tousled curls walks in. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, as he walks your way with his hands in his pockets. Sneakers squeak across the shiny floor and come to a sudden halt as he stops in front of you. 

Dustin dips his chin down and raises his eyes to look at you. He takes one hand out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

“Yes?” you ask, looking between his eyes and his hand. 

“I know what you did for Eddie,” he says. “We all know. Except for him, he’s an idiot. But it really was a nice thing to do. I never could’ve done it.”

“Thanks,” you say skeptically, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“He told us you said you don’t want to go to prom. I know that’s bullshit. So,” he says, bringing his hand back and extending it to you again, “I am asking you if I may take you to the prom.”

Your eyes immediately well with tears as you look up at the boy in front of you. Dustin was always one of the sweetest people you knew, but this was taking it to a whole other level. 

“Oh, Dustin,” you say. You take his hand and tug his arm until he’s sitting on the bleacher next to you. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve gotten in my entire life. But I can’t go to prom.”

Dustin sighs and nods his head.

“Can’t see them together?” he asks.

“Correct.”

He wraps his arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“So, everyone knows, huh?” you ask. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stare at Eddie a lot.”

The laughter that bubbles out of you is so unexpected that you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. 

“I know,” you admit. “I do.”

“And you look at him differently than you look at anyone else,” he says. 

“Like he’s an idiot?” you ask and Dustin chuckles. 

“No, I think we all look at him that way.”

You sigh and pick your head up from Dustin’s shoulder. You pat his arm and give him a grateful smile.

“Dustin Henderson, you are the best. And if I were going to go to the prom with anybody at all, it would be you.” 

“Well, when I go to my senior prom, I hope I go with someone half as awesome as you.”

That makes the tears spill over and you hastily wipe them off your cheeks. 

“God, I love you.” You throw your arms around his neck and give him the tightest hug you’ve given anyone in a while. He chuckles as he hugs you back.

“Who doesn’t?”

The night of prom comes, and you stand in your kitchen, alone in the house and in your comfiest sweats, making cookie dough. Screw warnings of not eating raw eggs, you were making this dough to eat, not cook. The last few days at school you went back to eat lunch with the guys but used a fake sore throat as an excuse for staying quiet and distant. You really only needed to fool Eddie though, since the other guys knew what was really going on with you. 

You take the bowl of cookie dough into the living room and set it down as you flip through the VHS tapes you’d rented earlier in the day. Steve had known about you not going to prom because, of course he did, Dustin tells him everything. You assured him it wasn’t a big deal, just wanting to get out with your movies. 

Settling on The Outsiders because you could stare at Rob Lowe all day, you pop the tape in and settle on the couch with your favorite blankets and your bowl of cookie dough. You can only eat about a quarter of the dough before your stomach has had enough. It sits on the table in front of you as you watch the rest of the movie. It’s not even eleven by the time the movie’s over but you don’t feel up to sitting through another one. You take the bowl of cookie dough back into the kitchen and stick it in the refrigerator. Thoughts of what’s happening at the prom have been trying to jam their way into your brain all night, but without the movie to distract you, those thoughts finally break in. Is there a slow song playing right now? Are Eddie’s hands on her hips or is one wrapped around her back while the other holds her hand? Is he having a good time? Are they playing any music that he likes? What did he end up wearing? You know you’ll end up seeing pictures but you’re not looking forward to seeing how pristine Chrissy is all dolled up when she’s naturally so beautiful on her own. Right now, you can imagine she’s wearing a garbage bag and her hair is all rolled up in curlers and her makeup looks like a clown’s. But once you see pictures, that illusion you’ve clung to will burst like a bubble in your heart. 

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to try and stop the impending tears from falling. A few deep breaths and you get it under control. This heartbreak shit sucks. 

Before heading up to your room, you grab a water bottle from the fridge and your blanket off the couch. On your nightstand is a small radio and you click it on so you won’t be alone in silence with just your thoughts for company. The sheets feel cold and crisp as you slide into them. Putting your blanket back on top of you, you curl up on your side and nuzzle your face into your pillow. The light’s still on in your room, but you didn’t feel like getting up to turn it off.

The dial on your radio must’ve gotten knocked at some point - which happened often as you fumbled with things on your nightstand constantly - because smooth jazz starts playing and you huff a laugh into your pillow. You weren’t moving to fix that, either. When your parents come home, if you’ve already fallen asleep, your mom will turn both the radio and light off for you. 

But the jazz is actually more soothing the longer it plays. It calms your frayed nerves and helps you start to doze off, body finally giving in to the exhaustion you’ve been feeling from all the stress lately. 

In your half-asleep state, you hear your parents come home. They’re not exactly quiet walking around downstairs, but they also probably didn’t expect you to be sleeping this early. The thudding of your mom’s heels coming up the stairs echoes in the quiet hallway, drifting into you even over the radio. The footsteps keep coming towards your room and you’re looking forward to the sweet darkness you’ve craved when your mom gets to your room. But the lights don’t turn off. Instead, the bed dips next to you and you feel someone lay down beside you. 

She means well, you know, because she knew that you were bummed to miss prom, even if she didn’t know why. But the last thing you wanted right now was to have her try and talk to you about how you’re feeling. You know you’ll lose it and end up crying yet again. She stays quiet beside you though and you’re thankful for it. 

“I know you’re not asleep.”

The deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open. Eddie’s laying down on his side, facing you, head propped up on his arm. He’s smiling at you. It’s the first thing you notice before your eyes travel down, taking in the suit he’s wearing. Partially a suit, anyway. He’s wearing nice black slacks, which you didn’t even know he owned, with a maroon button up shirt. No jacket, but you’re not sure if he had one on earlier or not. He’s still your Eddie though, because he has his pick necklace on and his many rings adorning his fingers. 

“Look at you.” Your voice sounds a bit froggy between almost being asleep and all the crying you’ve done. “Not a stitch of denim in sight.”

Eddie chuckles. It sounds so nice. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Came by to see my best girl,” he says. Maybe he still says it out of habit, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be losing that title shortly. 

“But prom,” you say, whinier than you intended to. 

“It’s over,” he says.

You frown and crane your neck to see the clock on your dresser. The neon green tells you that it’s just after one in the morning. You must’ve dozed longer than you thought.

“How was it?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer. 

“Pretty much how I expected it to be.”

“Oh yeah?” The fake smile on your face is starting to feel second nature, and you hate it. “Everything you’d hoped?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. He shakes his head and twirls the ring on one of his middle fingers with his thumb. “I was right the first time. Shitty music. Horrible punch - which Principal Higgins was guarding like he was trying to keep the Huns from invading China. People at our school can’t dance for shit, myself included. And to top it all off, my favorite person wasn’t there.”

Your brow scrunches together and you sit up in bed.

“She stood you up?” 

“What?” Eddie asks. When he realizes what you mean, he closes his eyes and smiles. “No, you dork. I meant you. You weren’t there.”

“Me?” you ask. The skepticism in your voice cuts right to Eddie’s heart. He frowns and scoots forward on the bed so he can rest his hand on your hip. 

“Yes, you. You’re doubting that you’re my favorite person?”

“Well, kind of,” you say quietly. 

“Why?” he asks, and his frown makes your heart plummet into your stomach. 

“It’s just, you were so excited to go with Chrissy.”

“I was,” he admits. “But just because I had a crush on a girl doesn’t mean that you’re not still my number one.”

Had. The one word sticks in your mind and you know there are other things you should say, better things, but the question is burning your tongue so it has to come out.

“Had a crush?” you ask. 

Eddie nods and rubs his thumb over your hip bone.

“Turns out a lot of crushes can go away quickly if you actually spend time with the person.”

“Did she say something? Do something?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply. “She’s great. There was just nothing to talk about after the first twenty minutes or so. She knows nothing about my interests, and I know nothing about hers.”

“Just didn’t click?” you ask.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, mouth pursed in thought. “This is a horrible analogy, but it’s what came to mind. It’s like when a present is sitting there in front of you, and it’s wrapped beautifully. Ribbons and bows and all that jazz. You just stare at it and want it, imagining what kind of fun thing could be inside. Then, you finally get it, you can hold it in your hands. You open it and it’s a new shirt. It’s nice, but not what you were expecting. You don’t dislike the shirt, it’s just not the present you wanted.” 

“Look at you with the metaphors,” you say with a smirk. “Senior English three times and you’re a full-on scholar now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and playfully squeezes the skin at your hip.

“I was being serious,” he says.

“I know. And I get it. You kissed a frog who didn’t turn into a princess.”

“And you thought I had an odd way of putting it,” Eddie says with a laugh. “But I didn’t even kiss her before I knew there was nothing there. Once the excitement wore off it was pretty boring, actually.” 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted,” you tell him honestly. 

“I’ve always known the prom itself would suck. Just thought it might be fun with the right date. And it might’ve been, but I didn’t have that.” He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “I should’ve brought you.”

The tears are coming but you force them to hold their position. It’s hard not to yell at him that that’s what you’ve wanted all along. But there’s no point. Any begging or pleading before the prom wouldn’t have gotten him to agree to take you. So, instead of living in the ‘if you realized this sooner I could have gotten to go to my prom’, you let it go by and just appreciate the fact that he wishes he had gone with you instead of Chrissy. 

“But I’ve had an idea,” Eddie says as he pushes himself off your bed. 

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” he says as he walks over to your closet. “First things first, I’ve got to see what we’re working with here.” 

“Why?” You scoot down to the foot of the bed to see what he’s doing more clearly. He’s going through your clothes, inspecting every piece, and deeming them unfit for whatever scheme he’s cooked up in his brain. 

“You’ll see. Wait. Are you kidding me?” He reaches into the back of your closet and pulls out the gold dress that you had bought for prom. “You told me you didn’t get a dress!”

“How do you know I haven’t had that dress for a while?” But your blush won’t let you get away with the lie.

“Well for starters, the tag is still on it.” He brandishes it to you and you huff.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, I had a dress. But I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t think you’d end up riling through my closet anyway.” 

“Put it on,” he says, tossing its hanger into your lap.

“I’m sorry, what?” The dress tries to slide from your lap to the floor, so you pull it up and lay it down on the bed next to you.”

“Put it on,” he says slower this time, as if that should clear up everything. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to dance with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’d dance with you in your sweats, but I thought you might want to get all dolled up like me.” He smirks and runs his hands down the buttons of his maroon shirt. 

“You want to dance with me?” Maybe you’re still asleep and this is all a dream. 

“Yeah.” Again, he says it as if it’s something you do every day. His casual tone is making you think you’re the one who’s not making sense. 

“Okay,” you say as you stand. “I guess I’ll go change.”

“This is your room,” Eddie says, heading to the door. “Change here, I’ll wait out here.” He walks into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him. 

You slip the sweatpants down your legs and tug the sweatshirt off over your head. The single strapless bra you own is at the bottom of the drawer and you have to dig your way down to find it. The gold dress has a halter neckline so there’s no way you could wear a regular bra underneath. You squeeze the bra on, and even change your panties from blue ones with butterflies on it, to one of the few lace ones you own. 

The dress unzips easily and glides down your body as you get situated. You can’t zip it yourself, but Eddie can do that for you. Most of the makeup you own is in the bathroom, but you can make do with the little bit sitting over on your dresser. Looking in the mirror, you do a soft layer of makeup and then inspect your hair. It strikes you as funny when you see yourself in a golden dress with makeup on, but total bedhead up on top. You yank the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head to toss your hair around. It looks better but not great. Your eyes land on a silver hair clip dotted with pearls and you reach up to tuck some of your hair back and secure it with the pin. There. The look is done. 

When you open your bedroom door you expect Eddie to be waiting there but you don’t see him. You stick your head into the hall and look both ways but see no metal head. 

“Eddie?” you call.

“Coming!”

He jogs out of your dad’s office a few doors down, carrying a few sheets of paper. Eddie comes to a halt as he takes in your appearance. Heat blooms in your face as you watch Eddie scan every last detail of this ensemble. 

“You look gorgeous,” he says. It’s enough to make you pass out, but you somehow stay standing firm.

“Thank you,” you say. “You look very handsome. Did I tell you that when you first got here?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Just a remark about me not wearing any denim.”

“Which is truly a miracle. But you do look handsome. Very handsome.”

He smiles and takes steps towards you, paper still in his hands.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“I’m not very good at origami, but I did my best to turn this sheet of paper into a corsage.”

Your heart leaps at his words and it’s another battle of wills with your tears when Eddie slips his improvised flower on your wrist. Some tears win the battle, and they trail down your face. Luckily, you were smart enough to apply waterproof makeup. 

“Eddie, this is…” you trail off, not having the words to express how you’re feeling. 

“You wanted prom, so I’m giving you prom.” He takes both of your hands in his and guides you back into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Can you zip me up?” you ask. He nods and you turn around. His hands against your back sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps break out over your arms. You hear him chuckle and he trails the tips of his fingers over your shoulders as you turn back around.

“What’s with the smooth jazz?” Eddie can’t help but laugh at the saxophone solo coming in over the speakers. 

“I hit the dial again.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” He bends down and turns the dial to find a good station. The static goes in and out, some songs coming through in pieces, or sounding like they’re underwater. It finally lands on a clear station and Eddie grins in triumph. “Perfect. Love Comes Walking In.”

“You know I love Van Halen.”

Eddie stands up straight and takes the few steps over to you. He bows in classic dramatic Eddie fashion, and he comes back up with a frown on his face.

“You’re not wearing heels. Or shoes at all.”

“Eddie, I would’ve kicked them off the moment I got there anyway,” you tell him with a laugh. “Barefoot is fine.”

“Just checking. Want this to be an authentic impromptu prom for you.”

You giggle and Eddie reaches his hand out to you. You take it and he instantly pulls you in and holds you against his body. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t feel or hear your heart beating so fast it’s like someone is dribbling a basketball beneath your ribs. His right hand takes your left and he twines your fingers together. His other hand snakes around your waist until it settles warmly on your back. You place your other hand on his shoulder and smile up at him.

“This is already better than actual prom,” he says. “Good music. Perfect date.”

Red rises to your cheeks and you duck your head shyly. 

The pair of you sway to the beat of the song, bodies moving along with the rhythm. Eddie spins you and it makes you let out a giddy peal of laughter. He pulls you back into him and you wrap both arms around his neck. He places his hands firmly on your waist as you start to sway again. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“You brought all the best parts of prom to me. I didn’t have to suffer through the shitty parts. I’ve got my dress, my music, my favorite person. It’s perfect, Eddie.” 

“I’ll dance like this with you anytime,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”

The way he’s looking at you stirs some butterflies up that have been dormant until this point. He’s never looked at you this way and you’re not sure what it is. You know every Eddie facial expression and what they mean, but this one is new. His face is soft, and his eyes are wide, as usual. The brown irises are twinkling and there’s the barest smile on the left side of his mouth. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask. 

“You,” he says. No further explanation, which leads your mind to grasping for answers as usual. 

“What about me?”

“Just…you.”

“Okay, I take back what I said about being a scholar now. You’ve lost the ability to words,” you say and wrinkle up your nose playfully at him. He catches you by surprise, though, when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the very tip of your nose. 

The blush you had before was nothing to the one now gracing your features. Eddie chuckles when he sees it and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want to have another prom tomorrow?” he asks.

“What’s that entail? Dancing with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good music?”

“Of course.”

“Can I wear comfy clothes?”

“I’ll be wearing mine.”

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to consider it. “Can we get food too?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say with a smirk.

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie, I’d have this kind of prom with you every single day.”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

[eideticmemory]

DARLING & DANDELION | SPENCER REID

Spencer is a lot of things to you. Your baby daddy, your lover, your best friend, and a massive pain in your ass.

Word Count: 6k.

Warning/Includes: Dad!Spencer, smut, angst, hurt/comfort.

You haven’t even caught your breath yet and you go, “We can’t do this anymore.”

And Spencer’s, whose chest is still heaving up and down, goes, “Wh…what?”

“We can’t do this anymore,” you wipe sweat from your forehead. “It’s tacky.”

Spencer props himself up his elbow and turns his body to face you, “Tacky? What do you mean?”

“Don’t do that. You know what I mean.”

“It’s…I mean…we…it’s healthy.”

“Tuh!” you laugh. “That’s your professional opinion, doctor?”

“Yes. Yes, sex is good for the body and the mind.”

“What if…” you prop yourself up on your elbows, “It’s with your ex, who you can never work it out with, who you have a kid with, on an occasional and convenient basis?”

“From personal experience, it’s the best sex you can ever have,” he finishes his sentence with a devilish smile and you roll your eyes, poke your tongue out at him.

You shake your head, “I have to go. You have to go,” you get out of bed.

Spencer’s eyes scan over your naked body and he asks, “Why? Where are you going?”

“Gotta pick up Dandelion from my mom’s,” you tell him as you button your jeans.

“Can I come?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? I haven’t seen Dandy in a week.”

“It’s not about you seeing Dandy. It’s about my mom seeing you.”

“What? She loves me.”

“Duh, more than she loves me, but you know how she likes to pry. She’s gonna think we’re back together.”

“Ah! No, not that we’re back together,” he mocks. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, darling.”

“Well, it’s not a good thing. Put some clothes on.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“Oh, you wish.”

“Can I come?”

“You came about five minutes ago, mister. It’s time for you to go.”

He fakes a laugh, “You’re so clever. Can I come?”

“Are you going to keep asking?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine, just, put some fucking clothes on.”

“You’re so easy to wear down,” he giggles, and he hops up, gets himself dressed. You go to leave the room and he calls out to you, “Hey.”

He steps in front of you, takes a good look, and runs his hand over your hair, “I think it would be a good thing…”

You feel this lump in your throat, jammed in the center of your voice box, blocking any air, any words. You tear your eyes away from him and clear your throat, “God, I hate your haircut.”

He chuckles to himself as you maneuver around him and he follows you out to your car.

You ring your mom’s doorbell and say, “Need you to act normal, please.”

“Oh, so, not like we just came from having sex?”

“Exactly.”

You feel him squeeze your ass and you jump, swat at his arm, “Hey!”

“I’m just getting it all out now.”

And as you roll your eyes, the door opens and your mom greets you with nothing but an, “Oh!”

“Hey, mom,” you wave as you step inside.

“Hey, mom,” Spencer mimics and gives her a big hug.

“Well, this is a surprise, huh?”

“Wrapped up with a case early, darling said I could tag along.”

You round the corner into the living room and see Dandelion sitting in front of the TV, legs crisscrossed underneath her. You lean against the wall and just watch her for a moment. You scan over her features, your eyes landing on the tip of her nose that pokes out just like her dad’s. You clear your throat and she does a double take when she sees you.

“Mommy!” she shouts, and she hops up at lightning speed, rushing towards you as fast as her little feet will carry her.

You drop to your knees and let her crash into you, engulf her in your arms, hold her really tight. You pepper her face with kisses, saying, “Hi, baby, hi, baby!”

“Did you have a good day at work?” she asks you.

“Yes, baby. How was your day with Mimi?”

“We got ice cream.”

“No way!”

“Yes!”

“What kind of ice cream?”

“Chocolate,” she giggles.

“Ooh, that’s your favorite. Did you eat all of it?”

“Yes.”

“Every single bite?”

“Yes!”

“Where did it all go, huh?” You start to tickle her tummy and she falls over in laughter. “Here? Here?”

Her giggles are so loud and contagious that you smile so wide, it hurts your face. “Guess what? I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, you,” you tickle her face. “Look,” you stand her up. “Look who’s here.”

On queue, Spencer pops his head around the corner and Dandelion’s eyes light up. She jumps up and down, screaming, “Daddy!”

“Dandy!” Spencer exclaims, and he scoops her up in his arms.

You stand up as he walks her into the living room, pecking soft kisses all over her face, twirling her around, “Oh, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You watch the two of them, Spencer sat on the couch with Dandelion in his lap, his arms around her protectively. And as you settle into the peace of it all, something - someone - pinches you very hard and they won’t let go.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” you wince, as your mom drags you into the kitchen.

“What the hell is Spencer doing here?” she whispers.

She stands in front of you with her arms crossed and you suddenly feel like a little girl. You cut your eyes over to Spencer and Dandy very briefly and stutter, “He…told you. They finished the case early and he asked if he could come see Dandy.”

“Mmhmm…” she nods.

“Mom, please,” you groan.

“Don’t mom, please me. What is going on?”

“Nothing is going on. I…we…he wanted to come see Dandy, so I let him come see Dandy. Coparenting 101, I don’t understand why you’re so suspicious.”

“What…what is this…” she reaches in and pulls down the collar of your shirt to reveal your neck. “Is…is that a hickey? Oh, [y/n], c’mon. What are you? 15?”

“No, no, I…burnt myself with a flat iron.”

She sighs, “I hope you know what you’re doing here, kid.”

“I’m not doing anything. Nothing is happening. I…”

“Shush,” she tells you and you turn around as Spencer enters the kitchen.

“Darling?” he calls.

“Hm?” you reply.

“Could I, uh, could Dandy come home with me? I’ll be off tomorrow and I can watch her while you’re at work and you could pick her up after?”

You and your mom exchange a glance and you cross your arms defensively, “Sure,” you nod at him. “Sure, if Dandy’s okay with that.”

“Thank you!” he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and your mom raises her eyebrows at you.

Spencer runs back into the living room, chanting, “Daddy and Dandy day! Daddy and Dandy day! Daddy and Dandy day!” and Dandelion bursts into laughter, repeating him, going, “Daddy and Dandy day! Daddy and Dandy day!”

“Does he know nothing is happening?” your mom asks you.

“Spencer’s a smart boy, mom. Don’t worry about him.”

“And yet,” she sucks her teeth. “He’s a complete dumbass when it comes to you.”

Spencer asks if you can drive them to the park. There, JJ meets you with Henry. Dandy and him are close in age. In fact, Spencer had just returned from seeing Henry in the hospital when you told him you were pregnant. It was not your best timing, considering his familial trauma and all, but it had to be done. This puts Henry at 4 and Dandy running in close second at 6 months behind. JJ takes a seat next to you on the bench, watching Spencer run around with the kids. There are the casual aspects of conversation. The how are yous and how’s work and anecdotes about the kids and then she asks, “So, what’s going on between you two?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “Is there a sign on my face today or something?”

“Sore subject?” she grins.

“No. Nothing sore about it. Nothing’s going on…” you look at her from the corner of your eye, then turn your head, “Why? Why, did he say something to you?”

“No.”

A beat passes.

“You seem disappointed by that,” she adds.

“Oh, no. Don’t do that. Do not profile me. You know I hate it when you guys do that.”

She laughs, “Well, I lied. He talks about you all the time.”

You bite down on your lip and look away.

A beat passes.

JJ says, “You seem pleased by that.”

You drive Spencer and Dandelion to his apartment and she runs in like she owns the place.

“Okay, so,” you hold out her backpack for him. “She’s got a change of clothes in here, some hair clips, some ties, oh, uh, how much of her body wash and shampoo do you have left? Because I don’t think I put any in here…”

When you look up and he’s giving you a blank stare, you go, “What?”

“You’re not gonna come in?”

“It’ll just confuse her.”

Spencer wants to argue. He wants to sweet talk you and coax you inside, but coparenting 101, “No, yeah, you’re right.”

He watches you kiss Dandelion goodbye and when she runs back inside, he says, “Call you at bedtime?”

“Yes. Please.”

He has that look in his eye like he wants to kiss you, you know it well. So you leave before he can get a chance.

When you’re laying in bed that night, Spencer calls you on FaceTime and he sets you up on the nightstand so you can see them both. Dandelion laying in bed and Spencer kneeling beside her.

“Hi, mommy!” They say in unison.

“Hi,” you giggle.

“We were just about to pick Dandy’s story for the night,” Spencer tells you. “Dandy?”

She tilts her head.

“What story do you want tonight, baby?”

“Ummm…” she hums, giggling, “The story about my name.”

“Ohhh, that’s a good story,” Spencer grins.

“That is a good story,” you smile.

Spencer holds Dandelion’s hands in his and starts, in this sweet, soft voice, “Once upon a time…there was a mommy and a daddy. And they loved each other sooo much that they were gonna have a…”

“Baby!” she finishes for him and he chuckles.

“That’s right, they were gonna have a baby! And the mommy and daddy were sooo excited about their baby, they just couldn’t wait. But when the time came for the baby to come…”

“She didn’t wanna come out!” Dandy laughs.

“No, no, no, the baby didn’t wanna come out. She wanted to stay warm and cozy in the mommy’s belly. So, the mommy and daddy tried everything to get their baby to come out, but nothing worked! Until one day, they went for a walk at the park. And the mommy was so big that she walked like this…” Spencer mimics your trademark waddle and the two of you laugh at him, you rolling your eyes at the screen. “And they walked and walked and walked and nothing was working. Until, this big, big gust of wind came by…”

He flails his arms, going, “Whoooooosh!” and Dandelion mimics him.

“It was so big, it almost knocked the mommy and daddy over. And when the wind stopped, this tiny, small dandelion floated out of the sky and landed right on the mommy’s belly…and then…”

“Pop!” they say in sync.

“The baby was ready to come out! So the daddy took the mommy to the hospital and out came the most beautiful baby the world has ever, ever seen. The mommy and daddy were so happy and they loved her so much. But they still had to pick a name for her. So after they thought and thought and thought, they named her…”

“Diana Dandelion Reid,” she smiles.

“That’s right,” Spencer nods. “But we just call you Dandy.”

Dandelion smiles as Spencer places a kiss on her nose. “Goodnight, baby. Say good night to mommy,” he grabs his phone and holds it up to her.

“Goodnight, mommy,” she tells you and your heart just melts.

“Goodnight, baby,” you whisper. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She nods and rolls over as Spencer turns out the lamp, leaving her to sleep. Once he’s out of the room, he closes the door and gives you a soft smile.

“Thanks for joining us, darling.”

You smile, nod, “It’s a good story.”

“The best.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”

While you’re at work the next day, Spencer sends you a picture of the two of them out on the lake.

S: Pedal boats today!

You giggle to yourself.

Y: Omg so fun!! I thought you were afraid of open water?

S: I was terrified but she begged and begged and begged! What was I supposed to do???

Y: 😂😂😂

You pick up Dandelion after work and she is distraught.

“I don’t want daddy to go!” she cries and you see Spencer’s heart break. You can hear it.

“He’ll be back, baby, he always come back,” you whisper, rubbing her back.

“No-oo-oo!” she cries and reaches up for Spencer who scoops her into his arms before she can ball her hands into a fist.

“Hey, hey, hey, Dandy, look at me,” he cooes. He wipes the tears from her eyes, “You and mommy are going to call me everyday, huh? And you’ll tell me all about your fun day with Mimi and we’ll do your story before bed and I promise you, I will be back before you know it. Okay?”

She sniffles, gives him a sad nod.

“Okay, give me a hug,” he says and they squeeze each other real tight. “You, too, mommy,” he holds his other arm open for you and you hesitate, but only for a moment, and then you step in and wrap your arms around both of them.

“Mmm,” he hums happily, gives you both a kiss on the cheek, “My girls. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Dandelion lets Spencer hand her over to you and he waves until you guys are out of the door and all the way down the stairs. Then he exhales all the air in his chest and he cries. But only for a little bit.

He’s gone for a little over two weeks. The day he comes back, he doesn’t really give you any notice, he just texts: Back in town. What are you up to?

And you, still at work, reply: Nothin. Workin.

S: Lunch?

You meet him at a restaurant down the street and when you walk in, he gets so excited that he stands up to wave and knocks all the silverware off the table. Your hand flies to your mouth as it all falls to the floor in a loud sequence of clangs and booms and you watch him scramble to pick it all up. People are staring and as you make the decision to walk over to him, it’s like you’re saying to everyone: yep, he’s mine!

“Hi, darling,” he huffs, his face bright red.

“Hi,” you laugh.

He takes you in a warm embrace and you hold the back of his head in your hand.

“Oh, I missed you,” he says.

“We missed you, too.”

He’s not supposed to, but like he always has, he tells you all about the case they were working on. Full of twists and turns and gorey details that make you sick to your stomach but, somehow, you can still eat. He asks about Dandy and that leads you into the dreaded preschool conversation and you both shut it down instantly.

“How did she get so big?” he asks.

“We just…kept feeding her,” you laugh and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Time needs to slow down. Seriously. It’s happening too fast.”

“I know. I know, I know, but we’ve got so much more to look forward to, y’know? First day of school and science fairs and graduations…”

“Ah-ah! No, no, none of that. She’s gonna be little forever.”

“You’re in denial, doctor.”

“Well, duh.”

“Here’s the check, you guys,” the waiter interrupts. “No rush, though. Take your time.”

“Thanks,” you say in unison.

“He only brought one check?” you question.

Spencer raises his eyebrows at you.

“And he gave it to you? How caveman of him.”

“Now, now, darling, stand down. Let me pay for your food.”

“I mean, of course I’m going to let you pay for it. I just don’t like the assumption.”

“What assumption?” he smirks.

“I…you really like driving me insane, don’t you?”

He cackles and nods, “Yeah, actually. Kinda my job.”

You laugh and lean into him a bit. The booth you two are in has you sandwiched shoulder to shoulder, and sure, there is plenty of room for there to be distance between you two, but you don’t want there to be. You look at his neck and reach in. As your fingertip touches his skin, you can feel his pulse kick up. You pull the chain from underneath his shirt and let the dandelion pendant fall to his chest.

“Where’s yours?” he asks and his fingertips trail over your collarbone, grabbing onto your matching necklace.

You release his chain, but he won’t let go off yours and he’s giving you that look and you just shake your head, “I should really get back to work.”

When you get to his place, the two of you burst through the door, bodies mangled and tangled together, lips mushed into each other’s faces. Spencer’s got his arms wrapped tight around your waist and your hands have gotten lost in his hair. As he pushes you backwards, you trip over a barbie doll and nearly fall over but he catches you.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

“Mhm,” you nod, and you whip your bodies around, push him onto the couch. He lands with a deep, “oof!” and watches you crawl into his lap. His eyelids drop, feeling the warmth of your hand on his face and your lips on his neck. He grips onto your waist, bunches your dress up in his hands and you work to unbutton his shirt.

You breathe into each other’s mouths, out of breath and grinding against one another on a constant, rhythmic loop.

“Mm,” you moan as he licks down your neck. “Do you have a condom?”

“Mm,” he ponders, “Condom, condom, condom…yes!” And he throws you off of him, leaving you laying on your back while he runs into his room. You slide your panties off and he returns with the packet in hand and falls right on top of you.

His body perched between your legs, you undo his pants and take his jaw in your hands, put your tongue in his mouth. He puts the condom on and holds onto the couch as he pushes all the way into you. You both gasp and Spencer crashes on top of you, catching you in a messy kiss. You pull your legs back for him and he starts pounding into you with this rhythm that you love and he knows that you love. He peppers soft kisses all over your face and grunts into your ear, grips onto your jaw so he can look you in the eye. He thrusts into you so quickly and with so much force that the couch is rattling around on the floor and your head is getting knocked off the edge of the couch. But he’s got you.

Your moans bounce off the walls and your mouth is wide open as you scream, “Fuck!”

As Spencer leans into kiss you, the both of you lose your balance and go sliding off the couch.

“Oh, shit!” you gasp, and try to hold on, but it’s too late and you guys fall on the floor, Spencer groaning as he breaks your fall.

“Oh, my god,” you whisper, leaning down to comfort him. “Oh, my god, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, just…just do that thing with your hips that I like,” he huffs.

You readjust, “This?” you pant as you start to grind your hips on his cock.

“Oh, yeah,” he moans, his eyes falling shut and his head rolling back. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You lean back, resting your hands on his knees and bounce on him, your mouth falling open. He paws at your breasts and pulls at the fabric of your dress. He knows you’re about to come because he knows you, and he knows your body and he can feel you tightening around him, your hips increasing in speed. Your voice starts to get real whiny and you pound your palms into his chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper and all he can do is watch, and hold himself back until you get there.

He takes your nipple into his mouth and you tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against him until your whole body tenses up and trembles. You come with his face in your chest and your eyes rolling so far back in your head that you go blind. It only takes a few more motions of your hips for him to follow behind you and he holds onto you for dear life, muffling his groans against your skin.

You both fall onto the floor, still holding each other, trying to catch your breath. Spencer grips onto your hair and kisses you passionately, repeatedly, and casually says, “Love you.”

You can’t stop the visceral reaction you have. You just sit up and stare at him, your eyes big and wide. “I…” you stutter, give him a friendly pat on the face, “Love you…I have to go.”

He watches, dazed and confused, as you hop off of him and fix your dress, “You’re making me feel cheap here, darling.”

You laugh, awkwardly, “No, no, I just, I’m so late for work. I have to get back,” you trip over your panties as you pull them up your legs and swear, “Shit!”

Spencer fixes his pants and stands up, striding over to you, “I freaked you out…”

“What? No. You didn’t freak me out.”

“Because, I can say I don’t love you if it’ll fix it.”

“I’m not freaked out.”

“I don’t love you, I…hate you actually.”

“I’m just late for work,” you try to slide out the door but he reaches out for you.

“Wait, wait,” he calls. “I thought I could maybe see Dandy today?”

“Uh, yeah, she’s at my mom’s just, go whenever,” you shrug. “I have to go. Bye.”

“Darling?” he calls, but you close the door on him.

Your body shivers and you march down the hallway, down the stairs and back on your way to work. When your shift ends, you head over to your mom’s and she opens the door with a bright smile, “Hello, my love!”

“Hi,” you groan as you step inside.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just, rough day. Need to see my Dandy…” you round the corner and see Spencer playing with her in the living room, so you push yourself back, your mom along with you.

“What the hell is he doing here?” you whisper.

“He’s been here for a few hours. He said he told you?”

“He…I mean…yeah, he did. Why is he still here?”

“I don’t know, [y/n], maybe to be an active, caring father? Crucify the boy, why don’t you?”

Your heart is pounding out of your chest and you tug on your hair with a rush of anxiety.

“[y/n]…” your mom says. “What is going on?”

You sigh and lean against the wall, “I don’t know what I’m doing…you were right, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And she steps in, grabs your shoulders, takes a deep breath. You follow her. In and out, in and out.

“Well, then,” she nods. “You better figure it the fuck out, baby.”

“I know. I know, I know.”

“Mommy?” Your heads turn to the sound of the tiny voice and Dandelion looks up at you with wide, innocent eyes and every bit of tightness in your chest just dissipates.

“Hi, honey,” you coo and you instantly lean down to pick her up. “Oh, hi, you. Hi, my baby.”

Spencer follows her out there and waves, casually, “Hi, mommy.”

“Hi,” you nod to him.

“Me and daddy made a castle,” Dandelion tells you. “Come look!”

“Oh, yes, show me, show me!”

You follow her into the living room, leaving Spencer with your mom. She purses her lips at him and then promptly walks by him, giving his shoulder a harsh slap.

“Ow!” he exclaims. “What did I do?”

Spencer takes Dandelion home for the night. It’s a Friday so he plans to have her all weekend and most of next week which is fine with you. It’ll give you time to rest and reflect and figure it the fuck out. Spencer takes the hint. For once, he takes the hint and he only texts you sporadic updates.

So, when he calls you on Monday at four in the morning, you think he wants to have a talk. One of those conversations that you guys can never seem to have in the light of day.

“Hello?” you grumble.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry I woke you up. Can you, um, can you come over?”

You sit up, “Why? Is Dandy okay?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. She’s asleep. I, uh…there’s a case…”

You sigh. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re already up to get dressed.

“Darling…”

“I’ll be there in ten,” and you hang up.

He sees your car pull in from the street and he has the door open for you when you get upstairs. He has his go-bag packed and he looks apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’ll make it up to you. Both of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “I’ve got it. You can go.”

“Darling, you know I can’t…I…I didn’t ask to be called in.”

“No, well, duh. This is just one of those things, right?” you shrug. “One of those things I could never stand and I still can’t stand. I’m used to it. It’s fine. I’ll explain to Dandy.”

“This isn’t about the case…”

“Can you…please?”

“This is about the other day. When we…when I…”

“I’m not upset. Don’t project on me. I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay, that was convincing.”

“Why do you always have to do this?” you snap, keeping your voice down. “Without fail. You always do this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you always have to ruin a good thing? You always, always just have to suck the fun out of everything.”

He scoffs, goes to speak, and pauses, “Did it ever occur to you that…that it wasn’t fun for me, [y/n]?”

Oh, he’s serious. He used your real name.

“That I didn’t enjoy being yanked around and used like some toy?”

“I…oh, come on! Is your eidetic memory broken or something? You initiated it, remember? And if you did that just in hopes of us getting back together, that’s not fair. That’s so unfair.”

“I just wanted to be close to you. And, yeah, maybe that wasn’t fair. But I just…I’m having a hard time believing that it doesn’t work. That we don’t work, hey,” he grabs your shoulders, makes you stop shaking your head and look at him, “Maybe for all the hurt we’ve caused each other and all the baggage, maybe it’s just meant to work. We are meant to work, okay? Because I love you. I am so in love with you. I don’t know how to not be in love with you, look,” he puts your hand to his chest, “Feel how fast my heart is beating? It does not every time I’m around you. I can’t help it.”

“Please, stop.”

“And you’re telling me you don’t feel the same way?” he puts his hand to your ribs and your heart is pounding against his palm. “I don’t believe you.”

It takes you a moment before you can pry his hand away. You remove your hand from his chest, hold his hands in yours, and give him this sad, sad look.

You can see his shoulders fall in defeat, this heavy breath of air coming straight from his chest. He steps away and grabs his go-bag, stands up straight, “It’s a local case so I shouldn’t be gone too long. Kiss Dandy for me?”

You nod, but you can’t look at him. You let him place a kiss on your forehead and then he leaves. You lock the door behind him.

You crawl into bed with Dandelion and you stir for most of the night.

By the time you fall asleep, she wakes up twenty minutes later.

And so, life just kinda goes on. Spencer calls to talk to Dandy just before you go into work so you tell him to call your mom and he does. That’s the last you hear from him for the next couple of days until he calls you while you’re at work.

“Hello?” you answer.

“[y/n]?”

You pause for a moment, “JJ?” and then the realization hits you and you hop up from your desk, running out of the building.

There’s some words like “bomb” and “concussion” and “pavement” but they all blur together and you yell, “Just tell me what hospital!”

You can’t even remember where you parked your car. Everything is muffled and you rush around the crowded hospital in a frenzy. You can’t hear anything. Hell, you can barely see anything. Just Derek, holding an ice pack to his head, pointing you towards a room so you go.

When you see Spencer lying there, a big bandage wrapped around the circumference of his head and a doctor tracking his vitals, you can barely bring yourself to step in the room.

The doctor glances at you, then returns to his clipboard, “Are you his wife?”

You step in, slowly, bring yourself to Spencer’s side, “I’m, uh, the closest thing he’s got to one.”

He tells you there’s some swelling around Spencer’s brain, but it’s been drained. He can’t provide you with an exact estimate of when Spencer will wake up. If he ever wakes up. And as this man is talking to you in this stern, stoic voice, you just look at Spencer. You trace the structure of his face and put your hand on his chest. The doctor leaves and you still can’t pull yourself away from him.

“You did this on purpose,” you whisper, caressing his face. “You did this on purpose to make me feel bad, didn’t you? Because…because I was awful to you…I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry.”

You lay your head on his chest and cry, “Just don’t die. I can’t do this by myself, you hear me? Please, don’t, die.”

Spencer wouldn’t wake up for another four whole days. You sleep in the chair beside his bed until a nice nurse brings you a cot. Dandelion stays at your mom’s house and JJ offers, repeatedly, to give you a a chance to leave. Shower, eat, see your kid. But you’re so worried that if you leave, Spencer will die. So you fall asleep every night to the sound of his heartbeat on the monitor and if it ever should stop, you would know. On day four, you pop your head up from a few hours sleep and he’s watching you. His eyes are hooded and grey, but they are open, you can tell. You hop up and rush over to him, gently setting your hands on his body.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Hi! Hi! Hi, Spencer,” you sob. “Oh, my god.”

He stares at you for a moment, then his eyes scan the room. He looks back at you, “Who…” his voice breaks, “Are you?”

Your eyes go wide and you let out this defeated sound. You don’t even know where to begin. You don’t know how to respond or what to do or how to feel. You think you’re gonna crumble to your knees. And then he smiles.

“I’m just messing with you, darling.”

“Ugh!” you shout and you start slamming your palms into his chest. “That’s not funny!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” he laughs. “Okay, okay, okay, I’m injured here!”

You take his face in your hands and give him a long kiss. You can hear his heart rate go up on the monitor.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he mumbles, as you hug him. “I’m…I’m sorry for everything.”

“No, stop that. Not important. Ridiculously unimportant, okay? Don’t even think about it.”

He nods and breathes you in, “You…stink. When was the last time you showered?”

“That would be…like, the day you were blown up.”

“Ah. When was that?”

“Four days ago.”

“Holy shit.”

You giggle, “Did you just say a bad word, doctor l?”

“Fuck, cut me some slack! I slept through hump day.”

You press your nose against his and laugh and the world feels okay again.

Spencer has to stay in the hospital for another week before you can bring him home. Dandelion is back in her own bed and she just thinks Spencer has gone on a long, long trip. She’s at your mom’s when you get Spencer to his apartment and he begs to see her. Even when his head is still killing him, he begs to see her.

“Tomorrow,” you say as you tuck him into bed. “You’ve still got that scary raccoon look going on. Don’t wanna freak her out.”

“Tomorrow? You promise?”

“I promised the both of you. Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He curls up and notices you crawl in bed beside him, “Darling, you don’t have to sleep here.”

“Shhhh,” you whisper, run your hand through his hair, “Go to sleep.”

The next day, he is more like himself. Maybe it’s the adrenaline he gets from the prospect of seeing his daughter, maybe it’s waking up next to you in the morning, but either way, he looks like himself and he talks like himself and he can’t wait to go to the park.

Your mom meets you there with Dandelion and she trips over her feet running to Spencer. She crashes into him and nearly knocks him over, and you can tell it hurts him, but he takes it and kisses her face.

“Where were you, daddy?”

“Oh, on a long, long trip, baby. But I’m back now.”

“I missed you!”

“Oh, Dandy,” he squeezes her tight. “You have no idea.”

He plays for as long as he can. He climbs the playset and runs around playing tag and hide and seek until his breath nearly gives out. He runs over to the bench you and your mom are sat on and huffs, “Can someone else push her on the swing before I pass out?”

The two of you laugh and your mom says, “I’ll go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer takes her spot beside you and his head falls into your lap. “Phew! Tell you what, a coma seriously bends you out of shape.”

“Well, you weren’t all that much in shape before the coma.”

“Ugh,” he groans. “You sound like the fitness personnel at the academy. What does in shape even mean?”

You cackle and he puts his arm over your shoulder. The two of you watch Dandy on the swing. Up and down, up and down, higher and higher, until her laughter is echoing around the park.

“You know…” you start. “Maybe it wouldn’t be…the worst thing in the world…”

Spencer doesn’t even have to ask what you’re talking about, he just looks at you and smiles, “Really?”

You give him a sly shrug.

He looks away from you, trying to keep himself from smiling so hard that his face rips in half. “I…I’m sorry - it’s because I got blown up, isn’t it?”

“Just shut up,” you laugh.

“You can tell me the truth, I won’t be mad.”

“You know what? I take it back, you get on my nerves. Oof!” you exclaim as he suddenly takes you into a tight hug. And for the first time in a long time, you feel a calm, serene peace.

“Yeah, well,” he says, “Sorry, too late.”

[cherriegyuu]

asellus australis | jww | part 1

pairing: wonwoo x f!reader genre: fluff, romance, idiots to lovers word count: 6k summary: Wonwoo couldn’t possibly be the only person living in Sydney who didn’t know how to swim, so he reluctantly says yes to the lessons his friends signed him up for. When he learns that you are his instructor, he figures learning how to swim as an adult isn’t all that embarrassing after all warnings: fear of water, mentions of drowning a/n: this is part of the @svthub 2024 world tour collab. please head there to check out other fics under this collab. if you enjoyed reading, please reblog and leave a comment, it really does mean the world to me and i would love to know your thoughts. thank you! 💕

It was the kids' laughter that brought your mind out of its newest daydream. It was hard to keep yourself focused on what was happening right in front of you rather than on what had already happened. It was a new feeling and so completely out of character for you. 

A couple of weeks had gone by since you attended a certain party, one you didn’t want to go to. You were too tired from the week and there was a little hint of emotional exhaustion to put yourself through a situation where everything would eventually turn out to be too much. 

It had been so easy to find a quiet place further in at the back, away from all the people and their noisiness. There was only so much music and chatter you could block out just by standing away though.

You sipped your drink, something sweet and fruity Kira had gotten you before drifting off to wherever she wanted to go. It was somewhat frustrating to have gone there because of her and having her pull away from you the second you got there. But at the same time, you understood why she did it. Whoever her new crush was, he was at the party, which meant that she saw an opportunity. Kira was never one to be at a party by herself, and unfortunately, Nina had a better excuse to not be there than “I’m tired”, so you had to be the one to tag along. Though it wasn’t entirely too bad, it was a little boring. 

And then he showed up. 

You had never seen him before, which considering that you didn’t know a single person at the party wasn’t surprising at all. You knew Kira and maybe a couple of others in passing. You made a mental note to ask her how she found out at that party. 

There was no way for you to look away from him. It was like there was this spotlight on him, just on him, making everyone else around pale. 

Somehow he had ended up by your side, claiming to also be running away from his friends and the noise. 

“This isn’t really my scene,” he said “I don’t even know how they managed to drag me out here, to be honest”

You blushed a little when he looked at you, a smile wide on his face. It was enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m Wonwoo”, his hand stretched out while his left one adjusted the glasses in his nose. 

“Hi”

You let your hand be wrapped by his. You had never felt quite that shy before while meeting someone. Usually, you were the talkative one. 

“I wasn’t supposed to come out tonight” you admitted “but I’m kind of glad I did”

Was that possibly crossing a line? You weren’t sure, it probably was but early that morning you read that you should be more open to relationships in whichever format they came from, the reason why you didn’t even try to stop Kira from dragging to the party. 

A long time had gone by since you felt anything similar while talking to someone — especially since using the word talking seemed to be a little much considering you had barely exchanged a few words. Wonwoo had your undivided attention from the moment he walked in. 

Wonwoo simply smiled at you again and looked up at the sky. The sun had long set and in its place the most beautiful full moon lit up the sky, accompanied by the countless shining stars. 

“There’s so many stars tonight,” you said and almost kicked yourself for it. 

It was probably the worst way you could have started a conversation with a guy. You half expected him to answer you at all, a nod or a hm, at best. 

“Did you know,” his words were almost shy, his delicious low voice dropping even lower, almost as if he was telling you a secret “that the stars have colors?”

His voice was so quiet while he spoke, his eyes still focused on the sky above. Wonwoo clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white while he put way too much strength into something that needed none.

“Really?” you looked up for a second before turning your full attention back to his profile “I thought it was just some sort of optical illusion”

He turned to you then, his full attention on you as you waited for him to speak again. It was an odd feeling, for him to have someone interested in whatever he was saying.

“Yeah, there’s a few. Blue, white, yellow, orange, and red” he made a fist between the two of you, raising a finger every time he said a different color “The color depends on the temperature and life cycle”

Maybe you didn’t mean to, or perhaps you did, but you leaned your body a little to the left, your knee touching his.

“I had no idea”

He looked at you, slightly surprised that you were suddenly so close to him but smiled at you all the same.

“You can’t see the colors when you look at the sky?” his eyebrows were slightly raised, lips in a mix of a pout and a smile. 

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth in hopes that it could make you stop from inching forward and pressing them against his. If you were in his place you’d probably run away screaming “crazy” at the top of your lungs”

“I mean, I can, I just didn't think the star had actual colors. I guess I just always assumed it was all silver”

Wonwoo laughed, his nose wrinkling in the most adorable way possible. 

You were talking with him for a couple of hours, the most casual kind of conversation and it was probably the most fun you had in a long time at one of those parties. Not that you didn’t have fun. Nina and Kira were always fun to be around and it was something you always said yes to, being around them. But with Wonwoo it was just a different kind of fun. Usually, when guys approach you at parties the conversations always remain the same, and it was always made to make them look larger than life. 

Wonwoo however seemed to be much more interested in talking about the sky and the moon and the stars — “did you know that the moon moves away further from the earth every year? — and while you were aware that some of it was just to prove himself as smart, you found it cute and at times, even endearing. 

He seemed somewhat passionate about what he was talking about to the point where you could just stand there and look at him without ever getting bored. His voice, low when he had first sat by your side, had gone up a few notes, maybe partially because of the music around you, but you had a feeling that it was because he was just getting excited about what he was talking about. 

“I never saw you before at one of these,” you said

Wonwoo took a long sip of his drink, you weren’t sure of what it was but it wasn’t the cheap beer that was in your cup. 

“I don’t come to these often, my friends” he pointed at where the rest of the people were and you had no real way of finding out who his friends were “finally managed to drag me out. I would have stayed at the office if they didn’t”

It was a redo of the conversation you had before but you didn’t mind in the least, not when you could feel his warm breath at the top of your cheeks as he leaned down to talk to you. Slightly, you turn your head to him and for a moment you thought about just typing your head up slightly, just enough to reach his lips. 

“What do you do for a living?”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, his eyes moving from your eyes to your lips. He did that maybe a couple of times before he finally, finally, leaned in. And it was like little bells of you started to play inside your head. It was perfect for all of two seconds, his lips pressed over yours, soft and warm, his hand at the back of your neck pulling your face closer to his before someone screamed your name at the top of their lungs. 

He pulled away from you immediately and you honestly wanted to cry. The kiss had only lasted a brief second but you didn’t want it to end.

Kira was suddenly by your side, a look of complete desperation in her eyes. 

“We have to go… Nina…”

Before she even finished her sentence you were already up. You looked at Wonwoo quickly, hoping that he could see how sorry you were when you ran out. 

Looking back you wished you could have remembered to ask for his number before you left, or for him to ask for yours. But all of it had happened way too quickly that it had never crossed.

Ever since that night had been stuck in your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about Wonwoo or the kiss. It was like your mind was in this infinite looping playing that one moment.

“The new guy is here,” Jinah said, Laughing a little.

You looked where she was pointing and couldn't help the low laugh that escaped your lips. Three guys were walking towards you. Maybe walking was a bit too strong a word, one of them was being pushed by the other two.

“We're already here,” the shorter one said, exasperated “You just have to go there and learn”

“You know, this is a terrible idea” the one who was being pushed said.

It was as if you had been transported back to that day at the party. It was precisely the voice you wanted to hear but had no real way of hearing.

“Wonwoo?”

Your voice was one that Wonwoo didn't expect to hear any time soon, or maybe ever again. After that day when he left the party in a hurry, without giving the slightest explanation, Wonwoo was sure he would never see you again. Sydney was far from a small town and he wasn't the biggest party-goer who had ever set foot on this earth, he knew that the chances of running into you again were slim to none.

But somehow, you were right there in front of him.

He had thought many times about what he would say if he saw you again if he was that lucky. Everything that had gone through his head had seemed wrong and now that you were in a place where he could see you, nothing came to mind. It was as if he had momentarily forgotten all the words he had learned throughout his life. That all the years he had spent trapped in an educational institution hadn't taught him anything.

Ever since that night, Wonwoo couldn't stop thinking about you. It didn’t matter what he did, however, he tried to think of other things or other people and focus on work. You were always there, in the back of his mind. He had never done anything quite like that before. 

That wasn’t to say that he had never had a girlfriend. He had, a few of them throughout his life but it never happened quite that fast and it was never quite life-altering. Sure, he had met a girl once at one of the many events he attended as part of his job and she had stayed in his mind for a couple of hours, but never days like it happened with you. 

And when he started to babble about the moon and the stars, because he had gotten nervous, you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, you gave him your full attention, seemingly inserted in what he was saying. But then suddenly you were gone and he didn’t even have the chance to ask for your number or anything that he could use to find you again. 

Wonwoo had been certain that you would, somehow, be the one who got away and yet there you were, in shorts and a black swimsuit with the logo he saw outside. 

He hated the word destiny, but maybe there was some of it sprinkled in seeing you again. 

“Hi!” 

Wonwoo’s voice came out a little louder than usual, making his friends turn to him with furrowed eyebrows. Soonyoung looked utterly confused while Jihoon just did his best to suppress the laugh that was bubbling inside his chest. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you said, smiling brightly at him. 

Wonwoo was completely caught off guard when you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulder. It only lasted a second and it wasn’t enough for him to react and hug you back. 

Your cheeks had a light pink on them as you stepped back. He smiled once he noticed that your hand was balled into fists. 

“Sorry, my mom is a hugger so I just sort of hug people sometimes” you were quick to explain, waving your hands in front of yourself. 

You closed your eyes tightly, your cheeks getting even redder. Wonwoo thought that you looked cute that night at the party, but this version in front of him was much cuter. He pressed his lips together, trying not to smile too big. 

“Do I get a hug too?”

Soonyoung took a step forward, arms wide open, smile so big that Wonwoo wasn’t even sure his friend could see anything at all. Thankfully Jihoon was quick enough to pull him back and angry enough to hit him in the back of the head. 

“No…”  

You took another step back and raised your index finger at him. Your reaction alone was enough to pull an honest laugh out of Wonwoo. You seemed horrified by the idea which made him think that your earlier allegation of being a hugger was probably a lie. 

“How dense are you?” Jihoon whispered and shouted at Soonyoung. 

You lightly shook your head, maybe trying to shake off any sort of dizziness, before smiling again. 

“Which one of you is the one taking lessons?”

In the queue, Wonwoo felt two sets of hands at his back, pushing him forward. Both of his friends were holding back giggles. 

He had hated the idea of taking swimming lessons as an adult. His friends were irreducible in his learning though so he eventually just caved and did as they wanted. However, all of the cells in his body that were against it dissolved the second he saw you. Now, learning didn’t seem all that bad or all that weird. 

“Great! I need you to follow me to the back if that’s okay?” you pointed over your shoulder with your thumb “You need to fill out a form before we can get started”

Wonwoo nodded and followed you. He was naive enough to look back at his friends once and he was glad that you didn’t do the same. Jihoon was giving him a thumbs up, a weird-looking smile on his face, while Soonyoung would be screaming if he could, if not for the hand covering his mouth. 

He loved his friends, he really did, they were one of the reasons why Wonwoo even had any kind of social life, and they were there for him whenever he needed them, even if he just wanted to complain about something — Soonyoung was especially good at hating someone he had never met before just because Wonwoo complained once about said, person. 

In silence, he followed you to the back, eyes focused on your back. He had to force his eyes to stay on the back of your neck and not on the way your hips swayed deliciously from side to side while you walked. 

You sat down on one of the tables and smiled sweetly at the receptionist who handed you a sheet and a pen. You slid the paper across to Wonwoo, followed by the pen.  

“While you fill that out, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions”

Wonwoo was never that great at multitasking, so he was sure that he would either write his information down or he would talk with you. If he did do two things at once, most likely both of them would be half-assed. 

“Why are you taking swimming lessons?”

He paused writing and looked at you. It made sense that that was your first question, he would just like it if it wasn’t on the list. 

“I don’t know how to swim, so my friends thought that it was good a idea to sign me up for lessons”

You smiled and nodded at him, not a hint of judgment in your eyes. It was new. When he told people that he didn’t know how to swim people usually looked at him like he had four sets of arms, it was almost like the look one got when one heard that they could ride a bike. 

“Can you float on your back?”

He simply shook his head and kept writing his information down. It didn’t go unnoticed to Wonwoo how you pursed your lips together and tilted your head to the side. 

“Do you feel comfortable in the water at all?” you asked, slightly confused. 

Wonwoo set down the paper and pen, now fully looking at you. He wanted to avoid the conversation, yes, but he knew if there was one place he had to be honest, it was there, with you. 

“I’m not the biggest fan of water,” he said, voice low matching how his eyes were kept on the table the entire time. 

When Wonwoo was a kid, while on a trip to the beach with his parents, he was playing in the water when a wave forcefully took him away. He had tried to scream for help but instead of pushing his voice out, all he did was pull water into his lungs. According to his parents, the moment didn’t last for more than a few seconds but it was enough for him to never want to do anything with the water again.

It wasn’t a problem to be at a pool, like the one he was in, as long as his feet could touch the floor and he had enough space between where the water ended and his head. But he had never been to the beach again. Not that his friends hadn’t tried to convince him to go to the beach, just to feel the sand between his toes, they never even mentioned the idea of getting in the water. But Wonwoo refused every single time. 

Why would he go to a place that only brought him bad memories when he could simply pretend that synch place didn’t even exist in the first place? Of course, living in Sydney posed as a minor problem to that plan, but it had never stopped him before. 

And yet, somehow, he found himself in front of you, asking for swimming lessons. The fact that it was you made him somehow calmer if such a thing was even possible. 

“Can you get into the water or is that something we need to work on?” Wonwoo looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed “Some people come here and they have a rough time getting into the water, so it’s something we have to work slowly on. Is that the case with you?”

“Oh, no” he shook his head “I can get into the water just fine”

You smiled at him while you looked at his information. Wonwoo felt his insides twist a little when your smile slowly dropped. 

“Is everything okay?”

Your eyes left the paper for a second and you smiled again.

“Everything is fine” you put the paper on the table again, now fully ignoring it “Should we get started?”

“He is a cancer!” you wailed, dropping your head on the back of the couch. 

Of course, it made absolute sense that the most dreamy and perfect guy you had ever met, was a cancer. Of course! 

“What is she on about?” Kira asked, making a weird face. 

Nina simply sighed and nudged you, placing the wine glass into your hands

“It’s the guy from the party,” you said, sipping the wine “He came in today to take lessons and I saw his birthday. He’s a cancer”

Both of them nodded as if understanding what you were saying, but you knew that they couldn’t care less about it. Between the three of you, you were the only one who cared about star signs. You were always one to simply look into it once and let it go. It usually gives you a way to understand someone better. And while it could just be some harmless fun, you know yourself well enough to know that something you let get a little too much into your head. 

And you see, Wonwoo is a cancer, which in itself it’s not a real issue. Cancer men are known to be caring, loyal, and protective, all of which are great treats when you are in a relationship with someone, their groundedness is highly incompatible with Sagittarius women. They usually enjoy their time at home and are more on the introverted side. 

“Are you going to treat that as a problem?”

Nina had her eyebrow raised so high you were sure that if she pushed up a little more she’d be able to touch her hairline. 

“We are incompatible!” you cried, drinking the rest of the wine.

Both of your friends looked at you, knowing that the conversation would probably lead you to drink a little more than you needed, which in return would cause them problems. Truth be told you weren’t the best drinker out of the three of you. You were the worst of your group, to the point you avoided drinking out, but in the comfort of your home — or this case, Kira’s home — all bets were in and you could be as much of a bad drinking as you wanted to be. 

“You can’t let sun signs, moon signs, whatever it’s called, rule your relationship, babe,” Kira said, her voice sounding a lot like the one she usually used on the kids she teaches.

Kira was a kindergarten teacher, a real hero if you knew what one of those looked like

“Remember how you were over the moon after the party? You couldn’t stop talking about him and we all know that if you can’t stop talking, it also means that he was constantly in your mind as well”

Her tone was almost mocking you. The thing is your friends knew you, sometimes, better than you knew yourself.

“Do you remember Ben? He was a cancer” you said trying to prove a point, but knowing fully well that it meant nothing at all. Wonwoo and Ben couldn’t possibly be more different, even just at first glance. 

“Ben stole money from your wallet, used your card to his heart’s content, and then fled, making you pay for everything he ever bought. I’m sure Wonwoo is nothing like that”

You narrowed your eyes at her. She was defending Wonwoo a little too much. You knew Kira’s thoughts on your zodiac obsession and she was always quick to shut it down, but this time around, the way she was defending a man she had maybe seen for 5 seconds was a little suspicious.

“I agree with Kira,” Nina said, eyes still on her phone “Ben was a dick but Wonwoo might not be one. You said he was sweet at the party. Sorry I sort of ruined it for you that night”

Your friend smiled at you, her eyes a little sad. Nina had been the reason why Kira pulled you out of the party that night. She had been traveling for work and was in a car accident on the road on her way back to Sydney. She was fine, with no life-threatening wounds, but she was very nervous, understandably so. She was still insecure about being on the road again, but you were sure that she just needed a little more time. 

“It’s fine” You wrapped her shoulders with your arms, pulling her closer to you “No boy in the world is more important than you”

Your mind went back to the party and the way you felt that night, how you’d have stayed there the entire night with him unless you were pulled away — which eventually happened. Wonwoo talked about the moon and stars and you were that if he ever told you that he was the one responsible for hanging them up in the sky you would have probably believed him. 

“You’re so corny sometimes” She pushed you with her shoulder but made no real attempt to move away from you.

“You love me, so…”

“I guess the swimming lessons are much more interesting now, right?” Soonyoung teased Wonwoo.

Wonwoo simply rolled his eyes and kept his focus on the computer in front of him, making Jihoon snort by his side, which in return only made Soonyoung wine as he sat on the couch in the back of the room. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would probably already be home at such an hour but there were things that he needed to do if he wanted to have a truly off weekend. One when he could just focus on the lessons he was bound to have on Saturday. 

He was never one to anxiously wait for things, especially when those things had a lot to do with the water and yet there he found himself, wishing that Saturday morning came just a little faster than it usually did. 

For him, Saturdays mostly meant trying to come up with reasons as to why he wouldn’t be able to go somewhere with his friends. That was mostly Soonyoung, to be fair. His friend enjoyed being out and about, going to new places, and having new experiences. From time to time Wonwoo did too, but he liked his time alone time a little too much when it was just him and his stars. 

“It pains me to say this” Jihoon said with a sigh, almost as if he didn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth “I agree with him. It looks a lot of fun now”

Jihoon and Soonyoung were a weird duo, that was for sure. They spent half of the time bickering like old men who have nothing else to do and the other half they were either in agreement or just pretending that the other didntdidn'tt. Somehow, it worked.

“I mean” Jihoon continued “She’s the girl from the party”

Wonwoo turned around in his chair, giving Jihoon a look with eyes wide. There was a reason why he didn’t mention you to Soonyoung, and it was quite simple: he would never hear the end of it and Soonyoung would, at the very least, contact every single person he knew at the party and ask if they knew you. His friend would stop until he found you and though seeing you again was something that he wanted, Wonwoo didn’t want to come across as someone who was desperate and maybe a little bit of a stalker. 

“What girl?”

He let his body slide down on the chair and closed his eyes. Wonwoo would never hear the end of it now with Soonyoung. 

“The party we managed to drag him to a couple of weeks ago? He met a girl there and she had to leave before he managed to ask for her number”

Another thing about the Soonyoung and Jihoon duo is that they like to gossip like teenagers. It’s the very stereotypical image of highschoolers whispering to each other in the hallways, except for the fact that they gossip about Wonwoo right in front of his face and there is nothing that he can do to just make them stop, and they haven’t been to a high school hallway in years. 

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“Probably because you were too busy with whatever it is that makes you disappear at parties?”

The two of them exchanged a look and Wonwoo knew that they were talking without ever saying a single word. 

“So” Soonyoung turned to him again “you went to a party and talked to this girl”

“Kissed her, actually,” Jihoon said

Soonyoung’s body almost vibrated at the news and he was clapping his hands, making sounds that no human should ever be able to make. 

What is the closest emergency exit from here? Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder. 

“This is the greatest day of my life” he laughed hysterically “You went to a party, something that on its own is already very out of character to you, you kissed a girl and now she’s your hot swimming instructor?”

He turned to Jihoon for approval, who simply nodded. 

“You should ask her out, she looked interested earlier  at the pool”

The image of you looking over his information and your smile slowly dropping came across Wonwoo’s mind and he couldn’t help but think that Soonyoung was wrong. Whatever it was that you say written there, which Wonwoo couldn’t possibly even phantom what it was considering that it was his most basic information, was enough to make you rethink something. 

“And she listed to you nerding out and still wanted to kiss you”

His mind drifted back to the night of the party. Wonwoo was certain that if you had stayed for a little longer he would have probably gotten your number and asked you out on the very next day and with some luck you would have said yes and who knew where it would go from there. 

“Oh, this just keeps getting better” Soonyoung clapped his hands.

“Again, this is very painful to say but I agree with Soonyoung, you should ask her out”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. Jihoon talked a big game about not agreeing with Soonyoung but he always did. They were always in the same frequency of decisions and Wonwoo was usually the one who had a different opinion. 

“And maybe, who knows, she might have thought about you as much as you thought about her these past few weeks?”

Soonyoung grabbed Jihoon’s arm, his eyes wide with uncontrolled excitement.

There was something different about the way Jihoon said it as if he was in some sort of secret that Wonwoo had no idea about. Of course that was the entire purpose of a secret but it felt different. 

“If I promise to think about it, will you” Wonwoo pointed at Soonyoung “stop this weird, whatever it is?”

Surprisingly enough, the pool was mostly empty during the weekends, hence why they usually closed at noon on Saturdays. Parents usually sent their kids during the afternoons and most adults preferred either early mornings or after hours so the weekends were usually pretty low and you’d rather be anywhere else than at work but Saturdays started to look so much better once Wonwoo’s name was written on the board, right under yours. 

After the initial minor breakdown

You sat down on the edge of the pool, your feet on the water while you waited for him. With each passing second you grew more anxious, your heart beating rapidly inside your chest in anticipation of what would happen. 

A part of you expected it to be just a regular class, with normal small talk. The other part, this one much more hopeful and highly unrealistic, hoped that you could pick up where you left off the night of the party. But the truth was that you had no idea what was about to happen. You were certain that there was a secret third option that you couldn’t see or even think of. 

You turned around when there was the distant sound of a door closing and a few seconds later Wonwoo walked in, in black swim shorts and a black t-shirt, a towel on his shoulder. He smiled at you while pushing his glasses back. 

For a moment it was like you were back at the party that night and he was all that you could see again. There wasn’t anything or anyone else there but even then the space seemed to disappear.

“Hi,” he offered once he stopped next to you. 

“Hey”

You got up and walked to the other side, removing your shorts and folding them over the side of a chair. Wonwoo followed suit, dropping his towel on the chair and then taking off his glasses and shirt. It took everything in you to keep quiet and not just fully ogle him. You almost had to hit your face to make yourself remember how to breathe properly again. 

"You ready?" you said without turning to him. 

The only answer Wonwoo had to give was a small ruff, in exchange for making you chuckle. Though it was funny, it was not the ideal. 

“Listen,” you turned to him, hands on your hips “If you’re uncomfortable we can reschedule or maybe not even do this at all”

Wonwoo looked at you, his eyes going a little soft as he sat down on the edge of the pool, mimicking your early stance. His eyes were focused on the water in front of him, unblinking. 

“I’m tall enough that my head will stay above water, right?” 

“Yes, you’re good until halfway”

He nodded his head, eyes until in the water. If the situation was any different you’d have cracked a joke or anything else that could somehow lighten up the mood but there was no room for that. 

“Let’s just get this over with”

Most of the hour you spent with Wonwoo in the pool was silent. It was mostly you talking and him listening, trying — and failing — to follow your instructions. You tried to crack the occasional small talk, but he was having none of it. You couldn’t help but wonder if his lack of enthusiasm, or interest, was because he was still uncomfortable or if it was because of how you had acted when he first came by to sign up for lessons. 

It took you a few hours, and three glasses of wine, to realize that you had made a face when you saw his birthday written. And it wasn’t a nice face, you were sure you scowled at the paper. Maybe it was that moment you ruined it all between you and Wonwoo. Or maybe, he was just really unhappy. 

“Are you okay?” you asked him once again, hand on his shoulder. 

You were honestly so worried about him that it was hard to ogle him. 

“Yeah, I’m just not a big fan of water, that’s all”

This time you put both of your hands on his shoulder, turning his body fully to you.  God, he is too handsome. Forget the whole “too worried to ogle” thing. His chest, his very naked chest, was right in front of your eyes. You were only human, a human that had dreamed of the man in front of her a few too many times and none of them had been pg-13. It was fine to appreciate someone’s beauty. 

“Listen to me, you don’t need to do this, okay?”

“This is Sidney,” he said as if that was enough explanation.

The only possible reaction was to roll your eyes at him. 

“Who gives a fuck where we are in the globe? Do you go to the beach? The pool? Boats? Loves to be on airplanes who happen to fly across oceans?” when his answer to all of your questions was no you shook his shoulders a little bit “Then you have no reason to learn how to swim. Right now you’re just torturing yourself”

Wonwoo sighed and nodded, but he still looked sort of weird, if you were one to tell considering how little you knew him. You raised your eyebrows at him, hoping that it was enough to get him to talk. 

“It’s just…” he seemed to struggle to get the words out “I want to see you again”

This time you didn’t even try to suppress your smile or the butterflies in your stomach.

“You could ask for my number and ask me on a date, you know?”

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[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it. 

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add. 

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it. 

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic. 

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob. 

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself. 

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions. 

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts. 

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse. 

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride. 

If only it was that easy to fool himself. 

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?” 

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest. 

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it. 

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings. 

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t. 

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation. 

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party. 

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere. 

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway. 

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here. 

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I  should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence. 

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation. 

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him. 

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt. 

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back. 

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

--

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