#this might be nothing at all but i’ll tag in case

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

THIS SCENE IN THE MID-SEASON TRAILER OF UNHUSKED ALICE SURELY MEANS SHE’S ALIVE RIGHT!?

[ramonathinks]

matters of the heart — Nanami K.

summary: finding out your ex-boyfriend wrote a novel detailing your relationship isn’t how you expected this week to go and to make matters worse everyone on the internet now thinks your “character” is a total bitch. you decide to pay your ex a visit, but can you do that without succumbing to your natural urges? well, no!

tags: 18+(MDNI/blank blogs) slight porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), brief nipple sucking, daddy kink, creampie, i guess nanami is a bit toxic in this lol, nanami might also be a bit ooc in here

to the moaners: has this been sitting in the draft for about 3-4 months? yes! but happy birthday month, kento 😚. artwork by @/_3aem (twt); @ryomens-vixen (this was the fic I mentioned a while back) word count: 5.6k (yuck), I don't really like this

I’m going to kill him, that was the only thing on your mind once you closed out of the novel. Normally, your weekends were spent relaxing with a fruity bubble-gum colored cocktail but today was different. Shoko called your phone at exactly 9:26 am claiming it was time she divulged some news to you. At exactly 9: 28am, she sent you an online copy of a book titled, “Matters of the Heart” and told you it was nothing but a two or three hour read and then to call once you finished. 

The book had a slow start and it seemed pretty average, just any old love story. Lately, anything was getting published and it seemed that was the case here — wait, you paused your reading and sat up straight. No. Just no. Something just clicked for you which led you to completely start over from page one. 

The moment you finished, at exactly 1:01 pm, you grabbed a salmon colored low cut shirt and light washed jeans, slipped on your white shoes and hurried to get into your car. You didn’t need to call her phone because you were going to talk to her face to face; this situation warranted a real conversation. It was nothing but a 17 minute drive to Shoko’s house, so when you arrived at exactly 1:18 pm, her door was already open. “They’re bashing me, Shoko. Fucking bashing! How could he do this to me?” Were the first words that flew out of your mouth, holding your phone close to her face so that she could see the reviews. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone would know it’s you.” She yawned, handing you a cup of water – probably because of how crazy you looked – before she ushered you to a seat on the couch. A golden brown blanket was lazily thrown on the seat, which she hurried to move. You sat down and faced her with a look of what Shoko could only describe as pure sadness. She had seen you like this many times before, all because of one person. 

“You did.” You sniffled with an eye roll, you couldn’t help but feel uncertain. Reading this book only brought back more uncomfortable feelings towards the breakup and him. You thought that you were over him and the memories that the book produced made you question everything. One question remained which is: Why?

She giggled drily. “Hey, I read all his works. Pseudonym or not. He can’t hide from me. Plus, I know you both and everything that went on. I was there too, remember?” She mumbled the last part. “Maybe this was his way of coping?”

“It’s been years… and I heard he’s announced a sequel. Shoko, a SEQUEL! It’ll be released later this year.” You spoke in a shaking watery voice while she rubbed your back in an attempt of comfort. Your mind could only think of what the reactions would be to your character in the sequel… insecurities that you never knew were there flooded your mind.

“There was enough material for a sequel? I thought he covered everything…” Shoko rubbed her chin and looked deep in thought. You just stared at her, she couldn’t be serious. “Sorry, ignore me.” She shook her head ignoring your stare.

“Do I even confront him over this? A-and how would that make me look, like I still check on him right? I’ll look crazy and bitter… which apparently I am. Oh and I’m bitchy and a ‘total cunt’ as they’re putting online.” He didn’t know just how much you changed, he missed your growth. Rubbing your eyes, you ask:“Why did you tell me about this? What made you take so long… I just don’t understand.”

“Well, at first… I didn’t think you’d care.” Moving a strand of her nut-brown hair out of her face, she continued. “Then about a month ago, I decided it was right to tell you, just in case someone else pieced it together.”

“Gojo read it then, huh?” You mentally cringed at the thought. It was the only person you could think of who’d be so crude about it. He knew how damaging the breakup was for you but not as bad as Shoko knows. Now, you’re just grateful that she told you before he did.

“Yep, so I figured that I had to tell you before he did.” She clicked her tongue. “But let’s just calm down before you make any rash decisions on how to handle this.” 

“He wrote a fucking duality series about me, our relationship, our sex life and you want me to calm down? Are you listening to yourself? This is a serious matter. I am being called a bitch, a slut and more on Goodreads and multiple websites, reviews, etc. and he didn’t even have the audacity to give me a heads up. You had to call me.” You let out an unladylike snort.“Why couldn’t he stick to his mystery novels? Wasn’t he doing good at those?”

“Writer's block.” Shoko said in a singsong-like voice. “He hadn’t written a mystery book since you two broke up and then… he alerted his supporters he wanted to switch things up and then… that was that. Ladies loved it, a big hit. By the way, if you two were really fucking like that I need to se—”

“Shoko, now is not the time!” Your face felt hot all over, your mind racing. “I just can’t believe this.” You wrapped your arms around your body and squeezed, giving yourself one big squeeze. It was hard not to cry but you could feel it all in your throat. 

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think his intentions were to make you feel bad.” She hugged you to her chest, pressing a small kiss to the crown of your head. “I think he still loves you. I mean, isn’t this book proof? After all these years, he wrote about you.” 

“I’m sure he moved on by now.” You whispered, your eyes growing tired already and the day had barely started. “I just need to lay down. I need to rest.” Your mind seemed to finally grow calm and your breathing steady, a small hiccup now in your throat but with a gulp of water, you were better.

“Just stay here. I don’t trust you to be alone right now.” Shoko’s voice drowned out as sleep overtook you, you could only feel her warmth as she held you and honestly it was all you needed at this moment, Shoko always made you feel safe and you couldn’t thank her more than enough for that right now as you slept.

You were a light sleeper, it was always something that Nanami pointed out about you. He always said how he felt like he couldn’t leave the room while you slept even if it was to use the bathroom afraid to wake you. He knew how important sleep was to you and he’d risk having a bladder infection if you got all 8 hours that you required. Nanami was sweet and caring like that. 

You didn’t think you’d break up with him ever. He was the one for you and he always made that clear. He pampered you and even after the breakup – though you didn’t need it – he left you with a check for five thousand dollars, saying it was for his half of the lease for the next few months. 

The breakup was brutal for you. You almost quit working entirely. Shoko was the only person you’d confined into and the only friend you left to check in on you especially when you didn’t want to leave the house. She brought you groceries and helped you shower until you finally were able to get up again.

Though it was hard to believe, it was Nanami who broke up with you. You thought it was a joke, a cliche little joke. 

“Baby, I’m not joking.” His voice was quiet and husky, he spoke as if he was going to cry. “I just need some time to myself. I need to figure out if this is what I want. You don’t have to wait for me, you just keep on living your life and being happy. But… I think it’s time we let this go.” 

You didn’t cry in front of him. You didn’t cry when he packed his things up. You certainly didn’t cry when he shut the door, leaving his key on the table because you knew he was joking. He had to be. But when you called him and his number was disconnected and you were blocked on any form of social media… that was when you broke down and cried. 

It happened out of nowhere. You overanalyzed every aspect of your relationship for where you went wrong. You wrote down every conversation you could remember and dissected it word by word. You watched every video and picture you had of the two of you looking for a bit of regret or anything on his face. You read every text message, looking for malice. He said he needed time to figure out if he wanted this but he always made it clear that he did and even that he was looking forward to having kids together, you two had even gone ring shopping months ago. 

You didn’t sleep and when you did, it was only for 4 hours and sometimes barely that. Your heart had an ache in it and the tears wouldn’t stop. You could only think why wasn’t I enough?

When you opened your eyes Shoko was still holding you and a small smile grew on your lips. “Thank you Shoko.” You knew if you could count on anyone, it was always going to be her. She was the one who pieced you back together and made sure that life didn’t destroy you and you couldn’t help but to be grateful. 

“Of course. ‘M going to let you spend the night here, okay? Let’s get some takeout and watch your favorite movies, how’s that sound?” She knew the way to your aching heart like the back of her hand. 

“It sounds amazing!” You stretched your arms out wide, leaning off of her and sitting up. “Should we start with Uptown Girls or Legally Blonde?” 

It took two days before you confronted him. Shoko was adamant about not giving you his address and you were tempted to get it from her phone. But luckily, you wore her down, she was probably tired of you bringing him or his book in every conversation. So now you stood there, nerves washing over you in waves.

The mahogany colored door stared at you – mocked you – and you returned the glare before you knocked on it, hard. This was just a door and you were angry at the person behind said door, not the door itself. 

It was almost like he was waiting on you because the door unlocked and opened. He even stepped aside to let you in, quiet. His straw-colored hair was parted differently and he even looked taller or broader – you couldn’t completely tell – but he looked different… seemed different. The atmosphere around him made your stomach clench and it made you mad; why did it feel like only you suffered from the breakup? Here he was – strong and tall – and you were nothing or rather the same.

“You wrote a romance erotica novel about our relationship?” It was what you practiced saying before you got out of your car – making sure your voice didn’t tremble – this time, it didn’t. 

“Well, hello to you too. Even after three and a half years, you still like to get straight to the point.” He grinned, putting a hand on your back to guide you to a seat on his couch. “I must ask, what makes you think it’s about you?” He does a slight laugh and raises his brow.

“We have the same initials, almost the same name. Are you kidding me?” You retort, folding your arms across your chest. You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling in your chest that occurred when you heard his voice after so long, hearing him and seeing that damned smile… your nose scrunched up.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you kept up with me… with my books…” He muttered, glancing your way, a demure look in his amber eyes. “Should I be flattered?” Almost in an instant, he turned on a slight cockiness to himself, though his body language showed his nervousness – his thigh bouncing a bit and his fingers tapping on the couch handle. A light sense of relief filled your system knowing that you weren’t the only one being affected by this.

“I don’t.” You inhaled deeply. “Shoko told me about it and then, I checked it out.” Fiddling with your fingers and even picking at your nails, that was your tell all sign of nervousness and right now you were engaging in it more than ever before. 

“I wanted to tell you or rather, to ask you. I know you got the voicemails I sent last year…and then you kept dodging my calls.” He tells you, you could feel his eyes on you – or more so your fingers… the nasty habit that he had finally got you to stop all those years ago rushing right back in an instant.

“Writing a book to trash me and our relationship… to make you look like some sort of… ugh, like you’re so amazing and I’m just shit. Yeah, that certainly got my attention.” If you were coming off bitchy or rude right there, you couldn’t care less especially when there were worse things that you could’ve said or even could’ve done at this moment. You really wanted to slap him. 

“Is that all you got out of it?” He asks with his head low, almost as if he was admitting defeat or as if he couldn’t believe you came up with something so trivial. 

“Was there anything else to get?” You counter, shifting your body towards him. Maybe it was best that you sat down and actually listened to the author and his interpretations of his work.

“How about that I love you regardless of any flaws… how about I find your stubbornness and attitude sexy and how I knew this breakup would be good for you. I was holding you back. I mean, I heard you got promoted 3 times since we broke up… I just felt like I was changing you, hindering your growth. I needed to reflect on myself and this book helped that.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, yet another sign of his anxiousness. “Believe it or not, I still care about you. No matter what happened between us.”

“What happened? You mean when you decided to just leave? You could've told me everything you just told me and I would’ve understood better. We could’ve talked and came to a compromise. You don’t understand what you put me through after it.” You were close to tears but you straighten your posture and sniffled, it was best not to think about what happened before. “I just needed a bit of closure too, I guess that’s why I came. I just was caught off guard. You could’ve knocked on my door or something, forced me to answer… forced me to talk.”

He met your eye for the first time since you came over. “You wouldn’t have listened,” He huffs. “Didn’t I mention how stubborn you are? Plus, I meant what I said. I needed time to myself and I think we both did.”

“I guess…But Nanami, this book was too much. A letter would’ve been fine if you needed closure, don’t you think?” You see his lips quirk up a bit before he licks them, trying not to laugh it seems.

“My publisher got a hold of some of the documents where I was just going over things, writing here and there. She loved the idea… plus I’m in a contract for six books so I had to put something out soon, it had already been a year.” He told you, sitting his chin on top of his knuckles. “I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I was writing for fun… reminiscing about us and then later down the line, I realized I was writing because I wanted you to read it, I just didn’t exactly know how to get you to since you were very adamant on avoiding me, which is understandable. But regardless, I didn’t think it’d get on the bestseller list or for the reviews to get so harsh.” He admits, reaching for your hand before his hand froze in midair and he stopped himself, choosing instead to put it behind his head.

“Is there anyway you can stop the sequel from being published then… since you got my attention after all this time?” You asked, putting your most dazzling smile on, hoping to sway him. 

“I can talk to my publisher. Everything’s in print and materials are already done… but I’ll try to see if I can stop production.” His adam’s apple bobbles when he does a harsh swallow. “Are we… okay? Do you forgive me?”

The question made you pause. He always made it hard for you to not forgive him; it took one look or a smile and a small explanation and it made it easy to fall in love with him all over again, no matter what he did… it seems. But it made you ask yourself: Were you too easy? Did you really forgive him? It was thoughts like that swirling around the corners of your mind. You wanted to forgive him, he was just writing and telling a story… but it was your story, not just his. Using this for your attention when he could’ve written about anything else, he didn’t have to. Were you just ready to forgive him because you still loved him? 

You hadn’t realized how deep in thought you were until you felt the couch dip and even then, your mind was still spirling.“You don’t have to…” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, his body so close to yours that it was getting hard to breathe. He still smelled the same; citrus and woodsy and it was easy to get yourself sucked back in. 

“So you can write another book about my stubbornness?” You give a quiet giggle, scooting a bit away from him, seeing him frown from the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to fall back but he made it all so simple. It was easy and you were already falling back on him and you didn’t need that… Did you?

“Baby…” Your body buzzed and hummed, turning to him with wide eyes. “I’ll do anything I can to make this right. Anything for you to forgive me… If they can’t stop publication, what can I do to make us right?” He was doing more than a gaze, he was full on staring and from how close he was it was hard to avoid. 

“Nanami I–” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t really think of anything he could do but you could think of several unhealthy things you could do to ruin your progress on going over him. He had betrayed you and made you a laughing stock so why are you stuck thinking about forgiveness when you should be leaving.

“I never stopped loving you.” His fingers traced up and down your pants but his eyes stayed on yours. “I never thought about anyone but you… I never slept with anyone… it’s always been you. But, I understand what I put you through and I’ll apologize every second until you forgive me…” The blond man who you never saw shed a tear looked more than close to it. “But just please… forgive me.”

“I’m sorry, honest.” He tries again after being met with absolute silence. “Just… let me show you, okay?” His breath tickles your face for a second and when you look into his cocoa brown eyes, you feel everything you once felt again.

Memories of good times dulls out the odd feelings in the pit of your stomach – the confusion and pain – instead are replaced with joy. The trip to Malaysia where he rubbed sunscreen on your entire body and laid back to read a book and you watched as his eyes kept drifting to you while you played in the cerulean water; how you kept begging him to come in until he complied and how eventually in the early hours of the morning when you wanted another dip, he fucked you twice — once in the golden lush sand and another in the cool ocean water. 

His face is in your thighs and you couldn’t help but feel better, feeling his breath fanning so close to your pants covered pussy, your body felt scorching hot. He’s grumbling, “Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how sorry I am?” 

You must’ve nodded because he was already unbuttoning your pants and helping you lay back, pulling your shirt up just a bit to see your perky tits – he must’ve remembered how you never wore bras unless you felt it was necessary, which was mainly work or any important events. 

He blew a bit on your hardening nipples before he took one into his mouth – playing biting them with a smug look on his face before he began licking around your areolas and kissing around the swells of your breast. He doesn’t say anything but he looks deep in thought as he kisses down your body, his fingers scraping down your sides as he works your pants and your panties all the way down. Bringing his head up for a minute, he looks in your face. “I love you.” He says it simply, heavy emotions swirling in his brown eyes.

Removing your pants and underwear completely from your body, he spreads your thighs and looks over your body – a trimmed low pretty bush sits between your thighs and it makes him smile, he always loved seeing the curled hair on your delicate lower lips. He spreads your pussy, watching the skin stretch with a deep smile on his face. You could feel yourself … the wetness leaking down under your body and it made you cringe, but the way he was staring at you made the insecurities vanish. “All this for me?” He takes a tentative lick before he slurps, clutching your hips. “I know you like to run… but I need you to stay put, got it?” It was hard for you to listen to him, your head already fuzzy and the thoughts swirling around were only about him, nothing more. 

Then your body bucks up, “Wait–!” A broken moan escapes your mouth when he presses a soft wet kiss to your clit. Nanami had always been gentle and very careful whenever he ate you out; making sure his tongue was wet enough and that he wasn’t too rough. His tongue was wide enough to make your back arch, your body leaving the couch when it finally hit your clit and he gave you no time to recover before he peeled back the hood, sitting the tip of his tongue there and rapidly flicked at the bud. 

Hearing the lewd squelching noises coming from the mixture of your cunt and his mouth made you close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. He spits before he licks it up and down your aching slit, nudging his tongue inside only slightly, much to your dismay. You’re gasping every second when more of his tongue slips in and out of your pussy; sliding a bit more each time and it makes your thighs shake. When he finally slips his entire tongue inside of you, curling it just enough that you can feel it everywhere, your legs attempt to close up around his head. “Please– ‘m so… soo–oh…” His fingers join in on the fun and in small sloppy circles he rubs your clit, pressing down on the pearl while his tongue continues flicking inside of you. The split second that you open your eyes, his are already on yours and it was that moment, that made your body tense up and for you to cum. 

It happens fast, clear sticky wetness leaks out of you and Nanami still tries to get more of it on his tongue, catching anything that drips and sucking on your folds. “Always so fucking good…” He mutters, spreading you again and smearing more of your slick on his face by shaking his head between your thighs, so that he’s completely covered in you. 

When he moves his head, embarrassment comes over you, looking at his wet face… even his forehead was wet and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby but… I’ll be right back, stay wet for me.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, lying there on this now wet couch. You didn’t come over here for this and yet here you are… about to get fucked and really, it was no turning back now. You’d been on dates with men after Nanami but they never lasted past the second date and you certainly hadn’t had sex in a while, but he made you come apart like it was nothing.  

But then again, Nanami knew your body… so of course this was a walk in the park for him. It honestly annoyed you right now, you couldn’t even make yourself cum half the time especially these last few years and now, barely an hour here and he has you right where he wanted you… bare and practically back in love with him.

Nanami came back with a fresh face and unbuttoned pants that he was currently pulling down. You clenched around nothing, your mind thinking only of the perfect dick that was going to be coming out of those pants. You licked your lips, this would be the first dick you saw in years and it was his. 

His drooling cock slapped his stomach and you swallowed, your mouth felt unreasonably dry. The length of his cock always impressed you, standing tall at seven and a half inches, he shakes with laughter which snaps you out of your daze. “Now let me look at you.” His whispers and even though he already saw you, both years ago and right now, you can’t help but feel hot all over again. He’s staring – drawing his eyes down every inch of your body –  focusing on your breast before getting to the stare of the show yet again. He smirks, laying you back down, pressing his body against yours to kiss you. 

Your breath was caught in your throat, his tongue still tasted of you and his hands cups your jaw. He’s gentle, his tongue moving around your mouth messily before he stops, saliva breaking apart when he does so. His fingers make a ghostly featherlight touch on your clit that makes you jump, the head of his cock at your entrance. He holds out his hand, close to your mouth. “Spit.” Gathering up some, you spit in the palm of his hand and stroke it along his length, huffing at the sensation. 

He pushes in, taking his time to work himself inside of you, a strained expression on his face. Hips pulled back, he focuses more on just the tip of himself fucking you, watching your pussy stretch with just the tiniest bit of resistance. Inching himself inside, you watch his torso flex and he groans, obscene noises plop and plap around the apartment, his heavy cock pushing in and out of you, your toes curling. 

“Pussy still mines, right? Didn’t give it away, did you?” You’re struggling to talk - to fucking breathe - your eyes rolling back and your jaw slacked but you babble out a soft ‘no’ which makes him finally thrust in you harder, completely bottoming out. You feel him in your belly, feeling full and embarrassingly wide with him stretching you out, his balls sitting on the crest of your ass before he moves. 

He moves you a bit, your bodies flush to each other and he moves his hips in harsh circles, his pelvis so close to your clit. His hands on your calves, he pushes your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, your knees touching your ears makes you tighten up and he groans above you.

“Nanami I-” You call out, eyes closed with pleasure shaking through your core, wetness slapping between the both of you. 

“Nanami? No, call me what you used to call me.” His hips slowed down, a whine escaping your lips. His cock dragging inside of your walls, pulling out slowly, awaiting your response. 

“Please…don’t slow down, Ken—” before the word even left your lips, his hand slapped your cunt, leaving your legs shaking a bit and your eyes snapping open. Drops of tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle, reaching for him… you couldn’t help but feel so small in his presence.

“Say it.” Then, you knew what he meant. A name that now feels foreign in your brain and even when it leaves your mouth, it comes out in a strange rattled whimper.

“Oh, oh… daddy, ‘m sorry. Please, keep fucking me. It’s so goooood!” He’s grinning before the words leave your mouth.

“Still my good girl huh? Always so fucking good for daddy.” He licks up your neck and it makes you tremble, your tongue lolling out a bit and he moves to suckle on it. “Did you skip over all those sex scenes or did you rub this pussy out to them?” He asks, his fingers digging in the back of your thighs. 

You choked out, sobbing, “I did, daddy… But I-I don’t want to remember everything.” 

“You don’t remember all the words I used to describe this cunt? This pretty pussy? That changed his life… my life? That made him always crawl back? That made him so fucking hard? The pretty words I used to describe you? To describe how pretty she always looked when he fucked her? How his heart felt like it was going to explode when she looked at him too long because he loved her so damn much?” He’s groaning in your ear, thrusting into you, his depth reaching your g-spot, your pussy spasming and begging for his cum at every word he uttered. 

Pumping himself inside, you could see the white creaminess that was on his cock, most likely because of you, he was constantly fucking the cream inside of you, your nails digged into his arms and he moaned at the feeling. Your stomach tightens and you move to push him away, “I’m going to c–cum!” You felt him throbbing inside of you, signaling that he was close too. “Please, cum inside of me… I can’t take it.” You couldn’t stand it any longer, it’s been years and you needed him to fill you up. He stopped for a moment, changing positions so that you’ll be sitting on his lap, grabbing your hips and forcibly bouncing you on his dick, dangerously slow. 

Wetness gushes on him as his tip hits you from a new angle, seeing the outline of him in your tummy, he’s stretching you again with each nasty thrust. Each drag of his cock making you go crazy and the aching between your legs continue, your body shaking and both of you moaning loudly and over each other. 

Finally, your orgasm rattled and shook your entire body, your pussy sucking him in, milking him for all he’s worth and it makes his body shake and he releases inside of you, trying to stay quiet as his body jerks up, unable to stop himself from fucking you through both of your orgasms.

It’s quiet for a while, just heavy breathing with you laying on his chest. “I love you too…” Your voice is scratchy and your face tear stained. He doesn’t say anything, his cock still pulsing inside of you.

“I know. I love you too, never stopped.” 

“Did you at least read the acknowledgements or did you just dive right in?”

“I never read the acknowledgements for books, thought you would’ve remembered that.” You watch him get up, walking around the living room, looking for something. You were both still naked and the entire room smelled of sex. 

“I did remember that and when you barged in my door, I already knew that you still hadn’t changed when it came to that. Here, read this part right here.” He brings you over a copy and you run your fingers around the softback cover with a small smile on your face; this silly thing had brought you both back together and right now you could give less than a fuck about those reviews. 

Feeling the spine of the book, you open it and can practically smell the scent of an unopened new book. Turning the first few pages, you go to the one page acknowledgment and read it aloud: “She might not read this book. But if she does, by chance. I hope she knows that I still love her.” You wiped your eyes and smiled. “You’re an asshole, you know?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I know baby.” Kissing the top of your head, he gets up and grabs his phone from the kitchen counter and you follow him. “I think I have enough material to write a third book now.” He grabs his phone and starts typing, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. Attempting to grab his phone he chuckles and uses his height to his advantage by standing taller.

Standing on the tips of your toes you snort, “Don’t even joke about that!” But a smile takes over your face and he can’t help but smile too. 

[ticifics]

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

── james potter x f!reader

summary: "I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home" At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—" "I’ll do it." "And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?" "The job. I’ll take it."

tags n warnings: dad!james, neighbors, fluff, nanny!reader, police!james, muggle!au, no use of y/n, implication that the reader cooks well, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, sometime in the 90s wc: 4k

To be honest, James hadn’t thought about you more than necessary. He knew you lived in the apartment next door, a distant niece of Mrs. Jones, who had cared for her in her final moments—may she rest in peace. He knew you cooked well; sometimes, the aroma of whatever you were preparing spiraled through the air into his apartment, making his mouth water. He also knew you were kind, sweet, always offering smiles and waves to Henry, sometimes even treating the boy to small sweets.

And he knew you were beautiful. Very beautiful. Always dressed in delicate clothes—fluffy sweaters, long skirts, little things with pearl buttons and ruffles. You always left behind a sweet fragrance wherever you passed. If James had thought about it, just if, he might have wondered if, instead of sleeping in a bed, you spent the night resting in a field of flowers, like one of those nymphs from fairy tales. With the pale moonlight kissing your skin, covered by nothing but the finest petals, a serene expression on your face, lips slightly parted, dreaming of little wonders. But James didn’t think about that.

He also knew you were young. Not an absurd difference, no—he guessed you were in your mid-to-late twenties, maybe a little younger than when he had Henry.

You two occasionally exchanged small courtesies. Nods, closed-lip smiles, the occasional good morning. Once, in the building’s hallway, you called out for him to hold the elevator. Which James promptly did, watching you step into the metal box, nodding when you shyly thanked him. As you rode up together, he tried not to notice the stray lock of hair that had come loose, swaying lazily against your nape. He clenched his fists at his sides, exhaling only when he stepped into his own apartment, closing the door as if it were more than just something material—as if it were a shield keeping him safe from his own thoughts.

That was all he needed to know about you.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have problems of his own. Being a single father took up most of his time, and work was always kicking his ass, especially when a new case came up. The hours were irregular, there was always something to investigate, always. He couldn’t afford another distraction, even if he couldn’t help but steal a glance or two. The poor man wasn’t made of iron.

Stolen moments—that was all James could have.

A new homicide had occurred. They had found the mutilated body of a woman discarded in a dumpster—again. There was a killer on the loose in the city. Which meant more hours at the precinct, or in other words: James was screwed. Very screwed.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it never stopped being stressful. A new case demanded time, attention—dedication. It meant less time with Henry. It meant always having to find a babysitter whenever he got stuck at work. It meant coming home to find his son already asleep, even though James had promised to tell him a bedtime story.

James hated disappointing his son.

So when a free afternoon appeared, he didn’t hesitate to take Henry to the park, determined to burn off every ounce of energy a seven-year-old could have. It was a pleasant afternoon, worry-free, filled only with their laughter and the sweet taste of ice cream in an attempt to cool down after running around.

“We should do this more often,” Henry commented, still holding his father’s hand while waiting for the elevator doors to open. They had arrived at the building a few minutes earlier. The boy’s hair—the same mess of unruly strands as his father’s—looked even wilder after an afternoon outdoors. “I like when we can be together,” he added, his voice low.

James felt a tightness in his chest. His jaw tensed as he looked at his son, still so small. He wanted to offer more—but more than anything, he wanted more time. James’s parents had passed away years ago, and now, Henry’s whole family was just him. With the addition of his uncles—Sirius, Remus, and Peter, though the first preferred to be called godfather.

“I know,” James replied, squeezing his son’s hand, ignoring the ache in his chest as he continued, “I like it too, but dad—”

“Has to work,” Henry finished for him, tilting his head up with a sad smile that didn’t reach his green eyes. “I know, I just… I just wish we could spend more time together.”

A bullet would have hurt less. James swallowed the lump forming in his throat, blinking a few times as he searched for an answer.

“I’m sorry, love,” James sighed. “I wish that too. But dad has to work—someone has to pay for these glasses since a certain someone keeps breaking them almost every month.”

Henry giggled, adjusting the frame on his nose. “We also need to pay for chocolate,” he reminded him.

“Oh, yes, all the chocolate this little monster has been eating.” James smiled, ruffling his son’s hair—somehow managing to mess it up even more. With relief, he noticed the boy’s smile was real this time. “When I solve this case, I promise we’ll have more time together. We could go on a trip, what do you think?”

“A trip?”

“Yeah. Interested?”

“Yes!” Henry’s grin widened at the thought, practically bouncing with excitement, but then he paused, looking at his father with a seriousness far too heavy for someone so young. “Promise?”

James crouched until he was at eye level with his son, looking at him with the same intensity before lifting his hand, pinky finger raised. “I promise, champ.”

Henry lifted his hand too, just as serious, as if he were about to sign the most important contract of his life. Pinky promises were serious business. “It’s promised—you can’t go back on it.”

“Not even in my dreams.”

When the elevator doors finally opened, something caught Henry’s attention, and he quickly slipped into the hallway. James sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically, mumbling, “Little traitor,” as he adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder before stepping out.

A few steps later, he saw what had caught his son’s attention.

You.

Standing in front of your apartment door, though it was impossible to tell whether you were coming or going. Slightly bent forward as you spoke with Henry, your back turned to James. He stopped mid-step, feeling his mouth go dry as he watched you. As always, you were wrapped in one of those pretty outfits that made you look like one of those fine pastries displayed in a shop window.

Henry liked you. It was hard to imagine a child who wouldn’t. He had mentioned you a few times before, a dreamy smile on his face as he told his father that you had given him some cookies or let him pet Mrs. Jones’s cat. Or—much to James’s eternal embarrassment—about the time Henry, in all his innocent curiosity, had asked if you were already somebody’s mom.

Since Mrs. Jones had passed away almost four months ago, you had become the only resident of the apartment next door. And you were desperate. Very desperate.

Your life had been turned upside down ever since you moved in, taking care of your aunt during the final years of her life. It had become a full-time job, and now that she was gone, you still hadn’t been able to find another one.

Apparently, your experience as a caregiver wasn’t enough to get hired. No one seemed willing to employ a young woman who hadn’t finished college. The money your aunt had left was running out, and the bills kept piling up. The electricity bill was overdue, and you hadn’t had a hot shower in weeks.

Desperate didn’t even begin to describe your situation.

You had been standing in front of your apartment for a few minutes, fingers gripping the doorknob as you tried to steady your breathing, counting to ten as you inhaled and exhaled, fighting against the sting in your eyes. It had been another afternoon of handing out résumés, receiving looks of false sympathy as you listened to the same explanations. The staff was full, the position had already been filled, you didn’t meet the qualifications.

It was always the same bullshit.

You didn’t even notice anyone approaching until Henry stopped in front of you, his doe eyes watching you carefully.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you forced your voice to come out, rubbing your eyes roughly with the back of your hands in an attempt to wipe away the tears. A weak smile curled the corners of your mouth as you asked, “Were you at the park? You have some grass in your hair.”

You reached out, a familiar gesture, removing the strand of grass tangled in his dark hair. He didn’t pull away, and although his cheeks turned slightly pink, his dark eyebrows were still furrowed.

“Were you crying?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise at the question. Sometimes, you forgot just how observant he could be.

You looked away for a moment, clearing your throat to push back the tremor in your voice. “No. No, it was just something in my eye.”

“Uncle Remy says people say that when they don’t want to admit they were crying,” he argued. “He also always makes me hot chocolate when I’m sad. Would that make you happy?”

Warmth spread through your chest at his words, easing some of the weight on your shoulders. When another smile curved your lips, this time it was genuine. But before you could respond, his father approached.

“Henry.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, gently pulling him closer to his side. “What have I told you about wandering away from me like that? And you can’t just go around approaching people.”

You looked up at James, breath catching in your throat. He was a few years older and lived next door. And you weren’t blind. Ever since you had moved in, you sometimes found yourself looking at him for a second or two longer than what was socially acceptable. But who could blame you?

He was kind, polite, an attentive father. And tall, and it wasn’t like those clothes hid the muscles underneath. It was a natural reaction, that’s what you told yourself sometimes. It was just a sign that you were alive.

Before you could stop yourself, the words floated out of your mouth. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Potter. Henry is a sweetheart, he never bothers me.”

His gaze slowly shifted from his son to you. The way his brows furrowed was painfully similar to Henry’s. His eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. Your shoulders tensed involuntarily, wondering if that was the same look he had when he was investigating.

“That’s a very kind way of seeing things.”

You offered a small smile in response, watching as Henry squeezed his father’s hand. “Dad?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“She was crying.”

Your heart skipped a beat, embarrassment bubbling beneath your skin. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Dad, tell her she doesn’t have to cry.” James, surprised and speechless—possibly horrified—looked at his son, mouth slightly open. Henry, undeterred, simply continued, turning back to you. “My dad’s a police officer. He won’t let anything happen to you. So you don’t have to be sad. Right, Dad?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at James, your face burning. You wondered if it would be childish of you to wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Henry,” James began, his voice tense, maybe even embarrassed. “Why don’t you go inside? You need a bath.”

“But—”

“That wasn’t a request, kid.”

Henry let out an exaggerated sigh, but when James opened the apartment door, he walked inside without further complaints, though his lips were pursed in a pout and his steps were heavy against the floor.

You bit your lip, still unable to meet James’s gaze. The silence between you stretched—thick, heavy, louder than the noise of a traffic jam. You wanted to crawl back into your apartment and pretend the last few minutes had been nothing but a delusion of your exhausted mind.

He was the first to speak.

“Sorry about that.” You hesitantly looked up, watching as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Henry… sometimes he can be really—”

You waved your hands dismissively, forcing a smile. “He’s just a kid. These things happen. No need to apologize.”

For a moment, you simply looked at each other. What was your next move? Your keys still dangled, forgotten, between your fingers. You should have gone inside by now. And yet, your eyes remained locked on his.

If you were a little closer, you would be able to see the edge of his contact lenses. His beard was unshaven, dark circles rested under his eyes, and his hair was in its usual state of perfect chaos. He looked tired, but no less handsome. Somehow, the evidence of sleepless nights only emphasized his features, making him more human—more approachable.

“I…” James started, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes scanned your face, lingering on the way your lashes were still damp, as if you really had been crying. He knew it wasn’t his business, but the question slipped from his lips anyway.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, surprise flooding your features. Your mouth opened, the lie at the tip of your tongue, but no words found their way out—not when he was looking at you so genuinely, almost as if he truly cared.

Which made no sense at all. In all the time you had been neighbors, you had exchanged no more than a few words.

And yet, there he was. Standing in front of you, as if he was willing to wait as long as needed for your answer.

And it had been so, so long since someone had shown any kind of concern. Your lower lip trembled, and you recognized the familiar burning in your throat. Your eyes lifted, blinking once, twice, countless times in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

"I... I just—" you sniffled, your voice too fragile to take shape. A melancholic smile curved the corners of your lips as you wiped your eyes, feeling more miserable than ever for crying in front of your handsome neighbor. "S-sorry, this is so pathetic. I-I really—"

His hand landed on your shoulder, a comforting weight. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of your blouse. You looked up at him in the same second, your heart tightening under the weight of the concern on his face.

"Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Did something happen?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning over you as if searching for any injuries. "Did someone do something to you?"

You shook your head, still not trusting your voice enough to answer. James watched the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. He had never seen you like this—so fragile, so vulnerable, like you were about to break at any moment.

He didn’t like seeing you like this.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked again, his fingers pressing gently into your shoulder, as if to emphasize his words. The feeling of touching you was still new, making his fingers tingle, even now, as he pulled back. When his gaze started to drift away, he called you again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not alone."

"T-thank you, Mr. Potter, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems."

"James."

"What?"

"Call me James, please. And you won’t be burdening me, I promise."

You sniffled again, still unsure how to deal with the weight in his eyes. It was easy to understand why he was a detective. It was easy to trust him.

Fighting the urge to wring your fingers, you exhaled, surprising yourself when you finally spoke. "I don’t think you can help me, Mr. Pott—James," you corrected, feeling your face heat up. "Unless you know of a place hiring someone without references."

James wondered if you could hear the gears turning in his head. It was an idea—a terrible idea. But it burned through his mind like the death of a star. It was the easiest solution to two problems. You raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face.

He wetted his lips, hesitating for only a second before speaking. "Actually, I... uh, I do."

"Really?"

James nodded in response, watching how your eyes lit up with hope. "Yeah, but..." He glanced down the empty hallway first, then back at the way your clothes were slightly rumpled after an afternoon at the park, as if carefully considering what to say next. "Can we meet in twenty minutes? To talk about it."

You nodded, hoping you didn’t seem too eager. If he really found you a job, it could be in the depths of hell, and you wouldn’t care.

James gave a short nod before stepping back through his door. You took a deep breath, sniffled one last time, then straightened your shoulders and stepped inside.

Gigi, the cat, barely waited for you to set foot inside before curling around your legs, nearly knocking you over in the process. She must be hungry.

You poured some food into her bowl before checking that everything was in order. James had never been inside, and that made you a little nervous. With nothing else to focus on, you put a kettle on the stove.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at your door. Your heart skipped a beat. Forcing your legs to move, you crossed the living room, ignoring the slight tremor in your fingers as you opened the door.

"Hey," James greeted with a small smile.

His hair was still slightly damp, a strand falling over his forehead. He had changed clothes, now wearing a white shirt that stretched just a bit across his chest, his forearms exposed. He smelled like soap and clean skin. You quickly dismissed any thoughts your mind tried to entertain.

"Hi," you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Once James entered, you shut the door. He watched as you took the lead, walking back into the living room with small steps. Unable to help himself, his eyes wandered around the space—light-colored walls, countless books stacked on a shelf, delicate curtains. It was a feminine place, well cared for.

"Would you like some tea?"

James blinked, processing your words. "Oh, sure. Please."

You disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and when you returned, James was still standing in the same spot, as if his feet had grown roots into the floor. It felt strange having him here, as if the place was too small to contain him.

"Please, have a seat," you motioned toward the couch with your chin. James obeyed promptly, sinking into the plush cushions, watching you place a tray on the coffee table and expertly pour two cups of Earl Grey. His eyes followed the movements of your hands, the way your fingers looked so delicate.

"How do you take it?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Your tea, how do you like it?"

"With cream and two spoons of honey, please."

When you handed him the cup, your fingers brushed by accident, sending a shiver down his spine. James cleared his throat, taking a sip, the rich, sweet taste spreading across his tongue. It was perfect.

He sighed, a sound of pure satisfaction, as he took another sip. "Thank you, this is perfect." A small smile curved his lips in gratitude. "But I know you’re interested in what I came here to say."

You waited, feeling the warmth of the cup between your fingers. He wetted his lips. "I know this might be an unusual situation, but when I said I knew someone who was hiring... that someone was me."

James watched as surprise crossed your face, so he continued, "A new case came up, and it’s taking up most of my time. Finding a reliable babysitter isn’t exactly easy. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I saw how you cared for Mrs. Jones. I see how you treat Henry. He adores you."

"I need someone to help with him until I wrap up this case. To pick him up from school and stay with him until I get home. You’d have the mornings to yourself, unless something urgent came up at the station." At your silence, James felt his shoulders tense slightly. "I know it’s a lot—"

"I’ll do it."

"And Henry can really be a handful— Wait, what did you say?"

"The job. I’ll take it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I mean, we're neighbors, I wouldn’t mind staying with Henry a little later. And I think I can handle it—he's really adorable."

James looked surprised, genuinely surprised. "I, uh… I didn’t expect you to accept so easily."

A nervous smile curled your lips as you remembered the growing pile of bills. "I'm kind of desperate right now."

"I'm really sorry about that."

You shook your head. "It’s not your fault."

"I still feel sorry."

"Thank you." To soothe your nerves, you took another sip of tea. "So, when do I start?"

"Tomorrow, is that okay for you? Great, this is really wonderful."

"You don’t, uh… want my résumé or something?"

"Actually, I’d be happy just with your number." Seeing the way your face heated up, he quickly added, "In case of an emergency, so I can call you."

Oh.

Oh.

Of course, that was the reason. You mentally cursed yourself for daring to think otherwise.

You leaned forward, reaching for the stack of papers on the coffee table. "My résumé has my number on it anyway."

James took the sheet, his eyes scanning over the printed details. Address, phone number, full name, date of birth—ten years, you were nearly ten years apart. But what really caught his attention was the photo. It was just a simple picture, but his eyes lingered on the way the camera had captured you. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over it.

You went over a few more details—schedules, salary, responsibilities. It was almost hard to believe this was real, that you had finally found a job. Even if it wasn’t permanent, at least it was something, and with free mornings, you could keep looking for something else. And you liked Henry—he was a truly sweet boy. Taking care of him wouldn’t be a burden at all.

You walked James to the door, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. "Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I’ll do my best."

"I know," he smiled, stretching out his hand toward you. You took it, feeling the way his fingers were slightly rough and firm around yours. You didn’t notice the way James looked at your joined hands, how he seemed to study the way they fit together. He exhaled, finally lifting his gaze to yours. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," you repeated with a broad smile, having no idea what was ahead of you.

[peanutalergy]

stray cat ꨄ s.r. × reader

in which spencer reid sneaks into fem!reader's room at night

tags: high school au !! no explicit content duh ? tooth rotting fluff in a brain rottingly terrible written way, reader is a cheerleader and like a popular girl ? idk I'm a sucker for the popular × nerd trope; not canon accurate obviously because if it were spencer would be twelve and bullied by everyone; mentions of blood and cuts and weapons and getting hurt but not in the way you might think ..?; reader's dad is mentioned ? yeah anyway idk what else sorry

w/c: 2k (this was meant to be a blurb ?)

a/n: okay so I found this draft from last year (back when I was still in hs (r.i.p.)) and I decided to finish it because it seemed cute. turned out terrible I hate it whatever, it's very ooc idk sorry ALSO inspired by a situation I lowkey went through myself hence why there's things spencer would never say/do, sorry

you’re sitting in bed with your computer atop your thighs, stressing over the third essay you have to finish by the weekend, when you hear a noise coming from outside. you ignore it, at first, thinking it's just a raccoon or a stray cat, until you hear a very human grunt from right beneath the window. immediately, you jump to grab the small—and frankly, quite useless—knife that you always keep in your bedside drawer in case of an intrusion or something of the sort.

you pull out your phone, contemplating dialing 911, until you see spencer's head pop up at the window. putting down the "weapon", you run across the room to open it, laughing confusedly as your boyfriend stumbles in. you help him inside, taking his hand in yours, which he holds onto like he might fall right now from right here.

you open your mouth, but he starts mumbling breathlessly before you even get the chance to say anything.

“i don't know what i was thinking, i’m never doing that again. i don't think just reading the stealthy guide to climbing roofs was enough, i mean, the writer didn't even take into consideration everything that could've went wrong. do you know how many terrible things could have happened? i could have fallen and broken my neck, someone could've seen me and called the police, or– doesn't your dad have a shotgun? do you think he heard me? god, i'm all dirty, i’ve got leaves all over me, i don't–”

you press a quick kiss to his lips, the most effective way you've found to shut him up. when you pull away, he's frozen, trying to catch his breath, cheeks rosy from the physical exercise–something he doesn't usually engage in–and from your touch, as well.

“what are you doing here?”

“sorry…” he mumbles, staring down at his fingers as they fidget with the sleeves of his cardigan, “i wanted to see you. did i wake you up?”

“oh, baby” you giggle, patting away the dirt and leaves from his body gently, “don't apologize, i'm glad you're here. i wasn't asleep, don't worry. you scared me, though. i thought someone was breaking in.”

“oh, i'm sorry, i didn't want to scare you, i’m really sorry. i should've called you.”

“no, don't worry. it's okay. it’s a nice surprise.”

“yeah…?” he asks, glancing up at you hesitantly.

“mhm.” you nod before taking his face in your hands. he tilts his head, leaning into your touch, similar to an animal who wants to be pet, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. you chuckle and give him another kiss, your fingers moving up and tangling in his hair.

“why did you go through the window, though? you could've just knocked on the door, my dad doesn't have a shotgun. he's a sweet little old man, he would've let you in just fine.”

“i don't know, i was scared. i'm sorry.” he says shyly. he's blushing furiously, heart almost jumping out of his ribcage, and it doesn't have anything to do with the adrenaline from the climb anymore.

“no, it's okay. you're fine, it's fine. are you hurt, though?”

“i- uh, i hurt my hands a bit, but it's nothing major, i’ll be fine.”

“aw, you poor thing. lemme see.” he looks down at his palms, and you take them in your hands to see they're all scraped, red and raw, blood mixing with some of the dirt. “jesus, spence. we should get that cleaned up, no?”

“no, no, it's fine. we– it's okay, we don't need to, i'll be fine.” he tries to pull his hands away, but your grip on his wrists doesn't let him, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

“hm, no, c'mon, that's gonna get infected or something. then your hands will get necrosis and fall off. do you want your hands to fall off, baby?”

he shakes his head, and you can tell he's holding back a chuckle, “well, that– that's not really how necrosis works, but–”

“no, it is, shut up.” you cut him off and give him a playful nudge, “please, just a few band-aids?”

he looks at you reluctantly, and after a second, he sighs and finally nods, “sure. but just because you're worried. i wouldn't get necrosis either way.”

you giggle and press your lips to his again. as you pull away and walk to the closet, you point to your bed and mumble, “go sit down,” which he does immediately, settling awkwardly at the edge of it.

while you search for the first aid kit, you notice spencer looking around your room with a smile. he's been here a few times before, but never at night, and he finds awe in the way the moonlight reflects off a mirrorball that sits on your desk, and the way your posters look when the only other source of lighting comes from a few vanilla scented candles.

it’s actually quite ironic how much you two fit together. no one would have to look at you twice before guessing your interests, and they'd be right if they were to say things like pop music and cheesy 2010s romcoms; but there's a side of you, a side only spencer reid has ever met, that matches him perfectly.

after a while, you walk back to the bed, little box in hands, and you sit down on the ground in front of him, looking up at him with a smile.

“please, don't sit on the floor.” he murmurs as you settle between his legs.

“why not? it's clean.” you mumble as you start rummaging through the first aid kit.

“no, but, you're– this is– just… it'll hurt your back.”

“it won't, though, don't worry.” you give him a smile, and before he can protest again, you put out your hands, “gimme.”

he gives you his wrists once more, where you hold as you begin gently wiping his palms with antiseptic. he winces at first, and tries to hold back a noise so as to not worry you even more.

“what were you thinking about?” you ask. he answers with a hm?, that makes you say it again, “when i got back. you looked like you were thinking about something.”

“oh, just… your room.”

“what about it?”

“it's so… you. i mean, the space in which one lives does tend to be a reflection of themselves, but… it's like you took everything that makes you yourself, and you spread it all around the place. it's adorable... like you.” he mumbles awkwardly.

you chuckle, looking around the room, glancing at him, then turning your attention back to his hands. this time, when the wipe touches his raw skin again, he hisses. “ooh, sorry, that hurt? i’m sorry, baby. i’m trying to be gentle, i swear.”

he shakes his head. “no, you're being gentle–” very gentle, more than anyone had ever been to him before, “–it's just the alcohol. it- uh… alcohol molecules activate the same nerve receptors in your skin that let you know hot is hot, so it burns. it's chemical. you're being very gentle, don't worry, it's not you.”

you hum, smiling and nodding, before you both go quiet. he's staring down at you as you work, brows furrowed as you concentrate on his hands. “y'know, i could've done this myself,” he mumbles.

“mm, yeah, well, we could do it all by ourselves. we'd be miserable, though, no?”

he's quiet for a second, thinking about a way to deny that, but when he can't find one, he just mutters a soft yeah and goes silent again.

scared of the situation getting too awkward, he starts rambling on about his day, telling you all things he believes you’d find interesting as you listen and nod and hum along and laugh. it's like he doesn't notice the words coming out of his mouth when they do, “i missed you at school today.”

“oh, i’m sorry, honey. i, uh– i wanted to talk to you at lunch, but, i– i wasn't sure you'd want to see me. i don't know, i didn't know if you'd want to be around the girls, and they wouldn't leave me alone, so... i didn't want to make you uncomfortable.” you say, looking at him between placing band-aids.

“of course i would've wanted to see you. yeah, your friends are… a lot. i think they don't really like me. but i don't mind being around them, if it means being around you.”

“no, they like you. don't worry about that, they like you."

“they sure have a strange way of showing it”

“yeah, well, they're– they look a bit, like, uhm… mean girls, but they're not. they're nice. they're just a bit... vain and shallow.”

“vain and shallow usually means mean girls.” he whispers with a chuckle.

“nah, not really. just means boring. to be fair, you're much cooler than them.” you answer with another laugh, to which he shakes his head in disbelief, right as you finish bandaging his hands.

you place two gentle kisses to his palms, which you can notice makes his breath hitch a little, and you put the kit to the side. you shuffle closer to him and tilt your head, resting it on his knee and smiling up at him, “i missed you, too.”

he nods and tucks a strand of your hair behind an ear, his touch lingering at your jaw. there's another moment of quiet, in which you just stare at each other, grinning. he looks at you and touches you almost as if you're not real, almost as if he's convinced this isn't actually happening.

he can't help but be fascinated by the intimacy of this moment. a few months ago, he had never even been looked at for more than a few seconds, and now he's doing staring contests with the captain of the cheerleading team, in her room, at night.

sure, the people at school still see him as a loser, but that doesn't matter to him. all he cares about is you. you're here, holding and taking care of him, looking at him like he's worth something. that's all that matters right now.

“hi.” you break the silence, though barely, your voice a quiet whisper.

“hi.” he whispers back with a smile, “please, will you get up from the floor…?”

you chuckle and stand up again, him being sat allowing you to press a kiss on his forehead while your fingers run through his hair. when you do so, he wraps his arms around your legs and burrows his face into your stomach, letting out a noise, almost a purr as he nuzzles against you like a kitten.

after a while, he pulls his head away to look around the room again, and his gaze falls on the laptop that had been sitting in your bed this whole time, the essay abandoned. "when is that due?"

"history class on friday."

"i could help you with it, if you want."

"no, no, no, you don't have to. don't worry. i'll get it done... sometime." you say with a chuckle.

he nods–he woke up the next morning and finished it for you while you got ready–and hides his face back in your shirt.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask, and it makes him lift up his head to look at you once more.

“can i?” he mutters reluctantly, “i don't want your parents to wake up, and see– y'know… a boy in your bed. and we've got school tomorrow, so…”

“do you want to sleep over?”

“mhm” he hums with a nod, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt.

“my parents won't mind, then.”

“are you sure? i mean, teenagers are–” he starts rambling again, and you shut him up with another kiss.

“my parents won't mind.” you repeat after pulling away, leaving another peck on his nose, “and we can just skip school tomorrow. it’s gonna be boring, anyway. we don't even have any classes together. we can spend the whole day here, yeah?”

“okay, yeah.” he mumbles under his breath, trying not to look too nervous.

you smile and lie down on the bed. he immediately follows suit and curls up next to you, face buried in your chest, arms around your waist, leaning into your touch and clinging to you like you'll be gone if he lets go. “i love you,” he whispers, his warm breath against your skin sending tingles down your spine.

“i love you” you whisper back, placing yet another kiss on the crown of his head. it's not long after you start running your hands through his hair that he falls asleep.

and in the end, you realize that, in a sense, it actually was a stray cat at your window.

[fearcvlt]

❝end of the water(feel)❞

pairing. caleb x fem!reader note. i only downloaded this game for the caleb debut and... yeah, he got me locked in. very new to lads, might be some slight timeline inaccuracies for which i apologise. needed to write virgin caleb so bad though so... forgive me. reblogs/feedback forever appreciated. mwah <3 tags. nsfw, mdni. loss of virginity. p in v. creampies. pre-mature ejaculation. kind of obsessive caleb. psuedocest. panty sniffing. fingering. yearning. jealousy but it's not a focus. pipsqueak is here... not sorry. no use of y/n. 2.9k words.

Caleb finds it easy to remember the moment he realised he was madly in love with you.

He’s sure it had always been the case — he’d spent the majority of his childhood following you around like a lost puppy, doing anything he could just so you could smile at him. Feeling things and knowing what you’re feeling are two different situations entirely, however.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but you weren’t the only girl he would look at and think that (it just so happened he ended up looking at you more than any other girl he knew). It wasn’t until you got your first ever confession that he realised how much he disliked the fact that other boys could find you pretty, too.

The note was from a classmate of yours. It shouldn’t have even been a blip on Caleb’s radar — nothing more than an innocent, heartfelt little confession from someone who liked you. It made an unfamiliar feeling twist in his gut as he watched you giggle as you read over the letter. His blood felt like it was burning in his veins. He was unable to keep the scowl off of his face, unable to prevent the burn of his eyes when he realised he’d never gotten you to smile at him that way.

Caleb had to flee so you didn’t see his reaction, brewing in a mix of jealousy and self pity as he curled up on his bed, tears stinging his eyes.

The following day, Caleb played the protective big brother card for the very first time, practically snarling at the boy until his face was splotchy and red and he looked like he might cry. He should have felt bad. He didn’t. He’s sure he’d never been prouder.

You were upset, of course. The very first person to ever confess to you had suddenly started avoiding you at all costs — you thought you had done something wrong.

Caleb was more than happy to offer you a shoulder to cry on. He held you close to his side, his heart thumping at the close proximity, eyes wide with wonder as you only snuggled up closer. He remembers thinking that you were still the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on, even as you were crying. He even remembers the promise he had made.

“I’ll protect you, pipsqueak. Forever.”

Maybe he thought he’d grow out of the crush one day. Maybe he just didn’t care. All he knew was that every boy that came after the first was never good enough for you. No one was good enough for you. Caleb kept them all away, but it was for your own good. You’d understand that eventually.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Caleb’s feelings only worsened with time.

What started off as an innocent crush devolved into something more akin to obsession as he grew. He was climbing closer and closer to his mid-twenties, and yet he still felt like a small child carefully guarding his favourite toy when he was in your presence.

His thoughts began steering into dangerously non-brotherly territory when he came home from the Aerospace Academy for one summer to find you had already returned. You had… changed. There was a newfound confidence surrounding you since you began your hunter training, like you’d grown into yourself in the time he was gone. It felt almost bittersweet — he had called you pipsqueak out of habit, but the nickname didn’t feel quite right anymore. You laughed and pushed his hand away as he ruffled your hair. He didn’t like it, yet somehow your touch made his face heat up now.

Caleb liked feeling needed. He wanted to feel proud of you for coming out of your shell and gaining independence from him, but he couldn’t. He hated the idea that he needed you so badly, but you might not need your big brother as much anymore.

The first time it had happened was an accident. He had insisted he would do your laundry for you when you came home tired one day. He’d tucked you into bed all tight, pressing a kiss to your temple to silence your complaints.

You were all comfy and half-way to dozing off, and Grandma had already turned in for the night, so he was alone as he carried your things to the laundry room.

He wanted to make sure he did a good enough job that you would realise you could still rely on him. He carefully separated each article of clothing before placing them into the machine, making sure none of the colours would bleed, that anything delicate wouldn’t shrink or tear.

His fingers brushed lace, and he swallowed thickly. The offending material belonged to a pretty pink pair of panties. His chest started heaving as he stared down at them, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

When the fuck did you start wearing things like this?

He didn’t like it. He absolutely fucking hated the idea of you getting these to impress some other guy. He hated himself for the way all the blood in his brain seemed to immediately rush south and impede any reasonable thoughts from entering his brain.

He brushes his thumb over the fabric once. Twice. A third time when he notices the gusset of the panties feels different against his skin.

His gaze flicks quickly to the laundry room door. He waits, perking up like a dog waiting to be scolded as he listened for any sounds in the home. When he found none, he shuffled closer to the door, shutting it before bracing himself against it with an arm. Slowly, cautiously, he raises the fabric to his nose.

He inhales once, and immediately realises he’s doomed. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a shaky inhale, burying his face deeper into the fabric. He presses his forehead to the door, his free hand sliding down his body so he can palm at his steadily hardening cock through his shorts.

He gasps instantly at the contact, panting into the fabric. His tongue darts out to taste them, and all it takes is two more shaky touches before he’s coming in his pants.

Caleb’s eyes widen and he jerks back like he’s been burned, the panties quickly being flung back into the washing basket. He switches on the half full machine, quickly skittering out of the room to have a cold shower.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I thought you would grow out of being so fussy,” Caleb scolds lightly, brows furrowing as he watches you wrinkle your nose at the sight of some of the vegetables on your plate. “That’s why you’re so short, pipsqueak. You haven’t been eating your greens.”

“I’m not even short,” is your immediate response, tongue coming out childishly. Caleb can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “And I do eat vegetables. Just not… these ones.”

“Riiiiight. Are you sure that’s the case? You’re terrible at lying to me, you know.” He pauses, tilting his head with a small smile. He places a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in closer as he picks up your fork, stabbing it through some of the remaining food on your plate.

“Open wide, pipsqueak. Colonel Caleb has a very important flight to land.” He teases, doing the whole here-comes-the-aeroplane act with far too much enjoyment.

“I’m not seven anymore, Caleb. That stopped being cute over a decade ago—“

“Ah-ah. I don’t remember asking for you to argue with me. What stopped being cute a decade ago was that bratty attitude of yours.”

He pokes the tip of your nose with the hand that was previously resting on the back of your chair, grinning as his hand slips lower. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip without thinking, trying to pry your mouth open.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad-fucking-idea.

Your breathing hitches, and your lips part instinctively. There is no way the heat he feels rushing to his cheeks haven’t made it abundantly clear how helpless he is when it comes to you. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to focus on your wide eyes rather than how hot your breath feels against his thumb (and how easy it would be to feel just how warm and wet the inside of your mouth is).

Absolutely fucking terrible idea.

His pants are feeling particularly strained right now, and he’s praying to ever deity he’s ever heard the name of that you haven’t noticed. Caleb isn’t good at handling how his body chooses to react about you, but he’s always been great at deflecting and teasing you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, praying you don’t notice how breathless he is. He can see every imperfection on your face right now, every single lash as you look up at him. God, was he always this close? It’s taking all of his restraint not to lean in closer.

“You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. It’s only me. You trust me, don’t you?” You nod, and he gives you a lazy smile. “You’re so pretty. Sometimes I worry about leaving you all alone.”

Of course, by sometimes, he means he sometimes gets so nauseous when he lets his mind wander to what you might get up to without him around that it makes him dizzy. Not that he would ever vocalise that fact.

“Pretty?” You repeat in a voice that’s so soft and sweet and hopeful that it’s dizzying.

“Pretty.” He confirms, dropping his forehead against yours.

Caleb doesn’t remember leaning in to kiss you, but suddenly his lips are on yours, and you melt. He smiles against your lips, his fingers trailing along your jawline before they’re moving up to cup your cheek. It’s clumsy and sweet — he can tell you’ve never done this before, and that makes something warm blossom in his chest.

He wants to ruin you, but he’s not entirely sure you haven’t ruined him, first.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip until it parts to let him inside. He brushes his tongue against yours until you’re practically a puddle in his arms, only pulling back when he needs to breathe.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, eyes solely focused on your spit-slick lips. “Can I take you to your room?”

You nod.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Is this okay?” Caleb whispers, brows furrowed in concern at the way you hiss as he slips two fingers inside of you. He withdraws them slightly, leaning down to spit on your cunt before slowly pushing them back in. They move easier now, and he finds himself letting out a relieved sigh as the crease between your brows melts away.

“Good. It’s… it’s good.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he starts to thrust his fingers into you, gently scissoring you open. “Or if I do anything you don’t like.”

You nod again, and he rewards you by brushing his thumb over your clit experimentally. Your walls clench around his digits as you moan, so he does it again. “Good girl.”

His touch is more exploratory than anything. He watches your face closely the entire time, repeating the actions that make your nose scrunch up all cutely. He doesn’t stop until your cunt is practically drooling all over him, leaving him very at risk of coming in his pants.

“I’m going to be gentle, okay? Are you ready?” He asks softly, hands trembling as he slides his fingers out of you. His hands move to shed off his own clothes, his body draping over yours. He doesn’t make any move to do more until you agree.

“Yeah. Please, Caleb.”

Caleb has dreamed of this moment. He’s almost tempted to pinch himself, just to be sure this is really happening. His lips part with a strangled groan as he pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance, his head tipping forwards.

“Oh… you’re so tight.” He gasps, practically shaking as he continues to slowly press forwards. His hips meet the back of your thighs, and he can’t help but stare down at where the two of you are connected in awe.

He rolls his hips experimentally, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he feels the way you try to greedily suck him back in. It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time. You whine, squirming underneath him, trying to get him to move again.

“So good… feels so good,” he practically whimpers, repeating the movement a few times so that his eyes can take in the way he disappears within you. “Fuck. I love you, y’know that?”

Of course you do. Caleb has never been shy when it comes to showing how deeply he cared about you, but the words feel different now. More charged.

You say you love him, too, and Caleb grunts. His hips stutter, then he pauses. Blinks. His eyes flick downwards, a flush overtaking his face as he watches his cum start to seep out of you, pushing past the barrier his cock provides as the droplets slide down your ass to stain the sheets. You’re still panting, whining, begging him for more.

He swallows. Hard. His throat bobs as he pushes past the sensitivity to start rocking into you with more confidence this time, his now half-hard cock slowly stirring back to life. He knows you must have felt it, the sudden warmth flooding you. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. He’s been waiting for this moment for years, saved himself just for you, and that was all it took?

He leans over you a little more, pressing deeper in an attempt to make up for it. Your back arches and you let out the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, lips parting in a way that makes him feel light-headed. Suddenly, he’s not so worried anymore. He smiles, letting out a soft little laugh as he presses a kiss to your temple, fucking into you slow and deep.

“You look so beautiful like this.” He breathes. Running his nose along your cheek, your jawline, down the line of your neck. He inhales deeply, lashes fluttering as he takes in your scent. His chest is starting to hurt from how fast his heart is beating, but he doesn't care. His entire focus is on you — the sounds you’re making, the way you feel as your cunt sucks him in, the warmth of your body pressed against his.

“I love you.” He says again, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His arms wrap tight around your waist to hug your body tight against his own, leaning all of his weight onto you as he continues to thrust into you. His movements are almost lazy. He’s addicted to the feeling of being inside of you, the slow, languid drag of his cock. The way you gasp as he presses his hips flush to yours. He can’t stop smiling.

“I love you too, Caleb. Always… always loved you.” You gasp. Caleb hisses at the breathless sound of your voice, his thrusts growing harsher and more erratic.

He sits back on his heels, dragging you along with him. He keeps his grip on you tight, crushing you to his body as he fucks up into you, gasping and panting each time his cock sheathes itself fully within you.

“Close… I’m so close, baby. Cum, please… need to… need to feel you cum.” He grits out through his teeth, head lolling back as his fingers dig into the flesh of your back, desperately attempting to bring you closer. If he could, he’d merge your bodies together so he’d never have to be without you.

“Can’t… I can’t, need more—“ You gasp out in response.

Caleb groans, one of his hands slipping down your back and around your side, pressing itself between your two bodies so he can rub at your clit. Your core flutters around his length, a fresh wave of arousal setting your nerve endings on fire. You rock into his touch, grinding back down to meet his thrusts before you’re pressing up to chase the touch of his fingers.

Your body tenses, walls clenching around him as you come with a cry, arousal soaking him until its dripping down your thighs. You’re trying to kill him, he’s sure of it.

He finds it impossible to deny his release much longer. How could he, when you look so perfect against him like this, your expression hazy and blissed out. You looked utterly wrecked, and it was entirely his doing.

His hips jerk forwards shakily, a series of grunts and curses spilling past his lips as his cum fills you to the brim. He drops his forehead against your shoulder, both arms moving to wrap loosely around your waist to keep you close to his body.

He keeps you there for a moment before slowly lowering you back onto the mattress, gently draping his body over yours. He nuzzles your neck just to have another excuse to breath in your scent, the smell of sweat and sex mixing with something so distinctly you.

The silence is only broken as you whine, pushing at his chest. “Caleb, heavy.”

“Oh? Am I?” He teases, laughing against your neck as you try to wriggle free. He just tightens his grip. “Nuh-uh, pipsqueak. You’re stuck with me.”

He means it.

[daredevils-stuffed]

One Shot - Help a Girl Out

Matt is sick of hearing how you’ve been unable to cum. From men and on your own. So, he takes it into his own hands.

Relationship: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: boss/ employee vibes kinda not really. There is an actual like story, not just smut. But, Smut. A little kinky if you squint. He counts your orgasms. Office sex.

•••

Authors note: Happy Daredevil: Born Again Eve to those who celebrate. Very excited for tomorrow.

•••

The first time Matt hears of your issues. It’s early on a Monday morning.

Matt first learned about your issue on his way into the office.

He doesn’t mean to listen—doesn’t want to listen—but the moment your voice filters through the air, he can’t stop himself.

You’re perched on the edge of Karen’s desk, your morning coffee barely making a dent in your exhaustion. It had been a long night, and Karen needs to hear all about it to make yourself feel better.

“So,” you sigh dramatically, “I don’t think he was confident enough to use anything other than his hands. It was like I was his guinea pig. Just kinda laying there pretending to moan, pretending to feel something.”

Karen pouts back at you, understanding your predicament like most women would. “Oof, that is bad. At what point did you call it?”

“When he kept trying to make eye contact with me…from down there, it gave off weird vibes. So, I just patted him on his head and got up.”

“You did not!”

You groan up at the ceiling, covering your face with your hands. “It gets worse…after he left, I tried to help myself -yah know. And nothing.”

“I think you might be cursed.” Karen has already given you all the advice she could. What helped for her, what didn’t, even which brands of lube that might help. But nothing. Literally nothing has helped.

“Yeah, no shit! I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels to have my own mind blowing, out of this world, orga- “

You stop dead.

The weight of your stare pressing against him even though he can’t see it. He clears his throat, adjusting his glasses as he enters the room.

You quickly shoot a look to Karen who just smirks.

“Morning Matt” you both chime, dripping with innocence.

He grumbles a response not really stopping to interact with you. His mind running a mile a minute. Have you never had an orgasm? Maybe I could help?

Matt doesn’t know why that gets under his skin as much as it does. But it does.

He drops into his chair, flexing his hands at his sides. Your voice is still there, looping in his head, and it shouldn’t be this distracting.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…mind-blowing, out-of-this-world…

Christ.

He doesn’t need this. He’s had a hell of a week already—barely any sleep, too many cases piling up, and now? Now he’s going to spend the rest of the day haunted by the mental image of you—spread out, breathless, wanting.

Matt knew the dynamic between you went beyond friendly colleagues. There had always been something there, an unspoken tension simmering beneath every playful jab, every stolen glance. But he had never taken it seriously.

That changes now.

He moves before he can stop himself, heading to the office kitchen. Two cups of coffee—one for him, one for you. It’s a rare gesture, but he knows you’ll appreciate it.

“For you.” He grunts shoving a mug towards you. Your fingers brush his as you take it. Matt lingers for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes boring into yours intensely. The telepathic message he’s sending not quite reaching you.

Just when you think he is going to say something his lips smack closed and he’s walking away.

The words I can help lost in his throat. Matt scowls at himself for chickening out. He couldn’t embarrass you like that. It really is none of his business.

All you notice however, is how his fingers are flexing at his side, as if your quick brush has stung him. The gesture of coffee confuses you, but you’re too distracted by his hands. You picture what they can do for you, take you to an edge you’ve never experienced before.

“Well, I don’t get coffee like that” Karen snides from her side of the room. You flush and hide behind your stack of papers. You take a sip and hum. It’s just how you like it, Matt always knows how you like things.

Matt spends the rest of the morning trying—and failing—to focus.

The sound of the office hums around him, phones ringing, papers shuffling, the steady rhythm of keyboards clacking. But all he can hear is you. Your voice, looping in his head, the way you sighed when you talked about last night, the frustration laced in every word.

I’m convinced I’ll never know how it feels…

His fingers twitch against the edge of his desk. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t want to care.

But he does.

And that’s the problem.

By the time lunch rolls around, he needs space. Needs air. Needs to clear his head before he does something stupid.

Because the last thing he wants is to come off as some arrogant asshole who thinks he has all the answers. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s just like every other guy who assumes he knows what you need.

Even if, deep down, he’s pretty damn sure he does.

The thought twists in his gut as he heads back to the office, rehearsing ways to make a move that don’t end with him humiliating himself—or worse, pushing you away.

But the moment he steps inside, ready to test the waters, Foggy’s voice cuts through the air.

“…I know he knows what he’s doing.”

Matt stops. Freezes mid-step on the stairs.

He’s on about a blind date.

Someone else.

Someone else touching you. Someone else making you laugh, making you moan. Someone else failing you.

Whilst Matt was out Foggy took the opportunity to swoop in, grinning as he flops into the chair across from you. Getting you to spill all the details from last night.

You skim over the basics—the guy took you to a nice restaurant, knew how to flirt, wasn’t exactly your usual type but still tried. Foggy questioned if you managed to get off, which shocked you. You knew you hadn’t told him, which means Karen must have.

The snap of Matt’s jaw tightening echoes in his ears.

He doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t register the way his fingers crush the takeout bag in his grip, barely even feels the splintering pressure of his cane beneath his palm.

All he knows is that when he speaks, his voice is sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, can you please leave our paralegal alone to get on with her work?”

Silence.

He’s standing in the doorway now, Foggy blinking at him in surprise, you stare at him like you’re trying to read him. Like you can feel the heat radiating off of him from across the room.

Matt clenches his jaw, forces himself to move, to breathe. Forces himself to walk away before he does something reckless.

It’s not my problem. It’s none of my damn business.

But the thought of anyone else fixing this for you—that is what has his stomach twisting. That is what has his grip tightening around his cane until he’s sure the wood is about to crack.

I know what I’m doing.

Your pulse, however, is unsteady as you turn back to your desk, your mind is spinning.

Matt never snaps like that—not over you.

And yet, the frustration in his voice, the heat behind it, the way he stormed off like Foggy had just personally offended him—

You swallow hard.

No. No, you must be imagining things. Reading too much into it.

But then some time later, as you return from the bathroom, you pause. Confusion flickers across your face as you spot something on your desk—a plate, half a sandwich, some chips.

You glance around, questioning, until Karen gives you a knowing smirk, tilting her head toward Matt’s office.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t acknowledge what he’s done.

•••

It’s late. The office is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the low hum of Matt’s computer. Everyone has gone, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space. You’ve been pretending to focus on paperwork, but your mind has been elsewhere- on the weight of Matt’s presence, on the way he looks in the glow of his screen, his jaw tight with unspoken tension.

Matt, with headphones in, is distracted. He’s thinking about you, like he has been all day. Thinking about the way you might touch yourself when no one is watching. About how much he wants to be the one touching you instead.

The thought takes hold, creeping into his veins like wildfire. His hand drifts lower, pal, pressing over the hardness straining against his slacks. He exhales sharply, his mind flooding with images - your skirt bunched around your waist, your body arching against his, the breathless sound of your moans as he drives you over the edge. His fingers tighten. He’s losing himself in it, lost in the fantasy of you, of having you, of making you his.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

You stop in your tracks, eyes widening at the sight before you - Matt, head tilted back against his chair, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his hand gripping himself through his trousers. A bead of sweat slides down his temple. Your name spills from his lips in a quiet, desperate murmur.

Heat coils in your stomach.

You should walk away. Pretend you never saw. But you don’t.

Instead, you step closer.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr Murdock?”

His body goes rid His body goes rigid. His eyes snap open, unfocused but sharp, as if he can feel your presence more than see it. His breath is unsteady, his arousal still evident, straining against the dark fabric of his slacks.

It takes him a moment to speak. "You’ve done this to me," he rasps, voice rough, edged with frustration. "Drove me to this. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day."

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. You take your time, stepping between his spread legs, savouring the way his breath hitches. You step closer, the air between you electric. His hands clench at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into his lap and grind against you until you’re just as desperate as he is.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he confesses, voice tight with restraint. “Every look. Every word. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hum, tilting your head as if considering his words. “And what exactly have I done, Mr. Murdock?”

His jaw tightens. He’s unraveling, restraint slipping through his fingers like sand. You see it in the way his breathing turns ragged, in the way his control—so carefully maintained—is fracturing before you.

“You already know,” he growls.

Your hands brush along the armrests of his chair, caging him in, your body close enough that he can feel your warmth. His fingers twitch, aching to touch.

“You’ve spent all day thinking about me?” you murmur. “Thinking about what you’d do if I let you?”

His control snaps.

One hand grips your waist, dragging you onto his lap in a fluid motion. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head so your lips are a breath away from his.

“Say the word,” he rasps, mouth ghosting over your skin, teasing, tormenting. “Say the word, and I’ll show you exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”

Heat coils in your stomach. His fingers dig into your hips, firm and possessive, as if grounding himself.

“Then show me,” you whisper.

It’s all the permission he needs.

In a blur, your skirt is bunched around your waist, and his mouth is on you—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, each one laced with the promise of what’s to come. His hands roam your thighs, spreading you open, savouring every inch of exposed skin like it’s something sacred.

"You smell incredible," he murmurs against your lips, voice reverent, like he’s memorising every piece of you. His touch is maddening—just enough to make you shiver, but not enough to satisfy the ache burning between your legs.

He lowers himself to his knees pulling you to the edge of the desk. Bringing one of your legs over his shoulder, placing gentle kisses until he reaches your centre.

His breath hitches as he finally—finally—tastes you. A low groan vibrates through his chest as his tongue drags over you, slow and deliberate. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, anchoring him there.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against you, voice thick with reverence. “You taste even better than I could ever imagine.”

His tongue moves in long, languid strokes, teasing, savouring, drinking in every sound you make. His grip tightens when your hips jerk against his mouth, an unspoken command to stay still.

But he’s not done teasing you. Not yet.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” His voice is low, gravelly, sending shivers through you. “Going to do exactly what I say?”

You can barely form words, nodding, breathless.

“Good.”

And then he ruins you.

His tongue works you over with practiced precision—each flick, each stroke designed to drive you higher. Your body trembles, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as pleasure coils tighter, hotter.

“You like this, sweetheart?” he taunts, voice dark and full of promise. “Like knowing how fucking desperate I’ve been for you?”

You moan, back arching, legs trembling as you lose yourself in him. He keeps going—pushing you closer, dragging it out until the pleasure is unbearable. It’s almost a pain mixed with white hot pleasure. You beg for more. For it not to stop. It can’t stop. You grip Matts hair to be sure it doesn’t. He sucks on a spot that makes you want to scream. Or maybe you are. It’s all too much and you need it. And then you reach a point where it is too much, and your eyes squeeze close and your thighs shake.

And then—release.

You shatter, thighs tightening around his head, a strangled cry escaping your lips. He groans against you, lapping up every last tremor, drawing out every aftershock until your entire body is shaking.

And still—he’s not finished.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s pulling you into his lap, large hands tracing slow, grounding patterns along your abdomen. The fabric of his slacks is rough against your oversensitive skin, the hard press of him impossible to ignore.

"That’s one," he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple.

You barely register the words before his fingers are sliding back between your legs—tracing, teasing, pushing inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your body jolts, oversensitive, but Matt doesn’t stop.

“We’re not done yet, darling.”

You grind against him instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His head tips back, jaw clenched, as you roll your hips over him.

"Fuck," he grits out, hands gripping you tighter. "You're going to kill me."

His fingers curl inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy. His breath is hot against your ear, murmuring filth that makes your toes curl, your body tightening once again.

It doesn’t take long until your second orgasm hits like a freight train. "That’s two."

And then he’s standing, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and bending you over the desk.

Your cheek presses against the cool wood, the contrast to his burning heat making you shudder. Light brushes against your shoulder blades as he moves your hair aside, placing slow, reverent kisses down the curve of your neck.

"You have no idea how perfect you are like this," he groans, his hands steadying you, grounding you. "Falling apart for me. Letting me take what I want. You deserve to feel it all."

Your mind is blank—no, not blank, just utterly consumed by him.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His touch is slow as it glides down your spine, teasing, taunting.

You barely manage a nod.

He chuckles darkly. “Think you can take one more?”

A whimper is all you can offer.

"That's what I thought."

And then he’s inside you.

The stretch is exquisite, overwhelming, a perfect contradiction of pleasure and desperation. He gives you a moment to adjust—to feel every inch of him, to let the sensation take you over.

And then he moves.

Deep, unrelenting strokes, each one angled to wring more from you, to keep you right on that edge where pleasure and pain blur into something devastating.

"So tight," he groans. "So fucking perfect for me."

He fists a hand in your hair and pulls you up, your back flush against his chest. The movement is purposeful—possessive. His free hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the way you gasp for him.

You’re babbling, incoherent, barely able to hold yourself together. And Matt loves it.

His rhythm falters, hips stuttering as the pleasure consumes him. "Fuck," he hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You’re going to make me—"

Your body clenches around him, and that’s all it takes.

He groans your name into your neck, the sound raw and wrecked as he tumbles over the edge, heat spilling inside you. His hold on you tightens as he rides it out, dragging you with him, until the only sound in the room is your ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your hearts.

And still, he doesn’t let you go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you firm against him, his breath still ragged against your ear. His hands, once gripping with desperation, now trace slow, grounding circles over your skin. Neither of you speaks for a moment—just the sound of your heartbeats, the slow rise and fall of your chests in sync.

Then, finally, Matt exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder. His fingers slide down to your waist, squeezing gently, almost reassuringly.

“You okay?” His voice is lower now, softer, a stark contrast to how he had just wrecked you.

You hum, too blissed out to form words. He chuckles, the sound warm and satisfied, and the vibration of it sends a pleasant aftershock through you.

For a while, you just stay like that, his body still pressed against yours, neither of you willing to move just yet. He runs a hand up your spine, then down again, like he’s memorising every dip, every curve, every shiver you give him.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls back just enough to let you turn in his arms. His face is unreadable, but there’s something intense lingering behind his expression. Something possessive, something tender.

His fingers ghost along your jaw, tilting your chin up. He studies you, like he’s committing this exact moment to memory.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, dazed, still trying to process everything. A small, breathless laugh escapes you, and he grins, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

A beat of silence stretches between you. The weight of everything settles in the air—what just happened, what it means, where it leaves you both.

And then, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“So…” he murmurs, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. “Still convinced you’ll never know what a mind-blowing orgasm feels like?”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you swat weakly at his chest. “Shut up, Murdock.”

He laughs, catching your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. “Just making sure you’re keeping count,” he teases. His lips trail down, ghosting along your collarbone, dangerously close to starting something all over again.

You arch a brow at him, trying to feign exasperation, but you already know the truth.

You’ll never be able to get enough of him. From the look in his eyes, he feels the same. And that? That might just be the most dangerous thing of all.

[kiwriteswords]

Hotch and Reader are both in love with each other and have been for years but are both too professional and care too mcuh about work and ruining things so they dont get together but they end up getting together finally. its angsty and delicious!! with a happy ending ofc! (bonus if smut is added at all!?!?!)

I love you in a place where there's no space or time

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: So sorry this one took so long to share, anon! I hope it's all you hoped for! xx

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.6k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, feelings un-acknowledged, canon-typical injuries, language, fade-to-black smut, sexual themes, friends with benefits, friends with benefits turned relationship, slow burn, family dynamics, intimacy with feelings, proposal, talk of marriage.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner has always been a man of order and control, carefully compartmentalizing the demands of his work and personal life. But when a long-standing partnership with a member of his team—you—begins to blur the lines between professional and personal, he’s forced to confront feelings he’s buried for years.

Aaron Hotchner had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was a skill he'd honed over years of leading the BAU, of balancing the chaos of his work and the fragile peace of his home life—or what passed for home these days. And you? You were a complication he never anticipated but somehow couldn’t imagine his life without.

You’d been with the team for years, carving your place with sharp wit, unwavering competence, and a sense of humor that could soften even the darkest days. Somewhere along the way, your partnership had morphed into something more. Late nights at the office became late nights at his apartment, pouring over files as Jack played in the living room. Work dinners turned into shared takeout meals, laughter filling his kitchen. And the tension—the chemistry between you both—it became a thread stretched taut, always on the brink of snapping.

But neither of you ever said a word.

Hotch couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, exactly. Maybe it was the time you showed up with a Batman figurine for Jack, just because he’d mentioned liking the character once. Or the way you sat with him on the couch after Haley’s death, saying nothing, just being there when he needed it most. Or the way you touched his shoulder during a case, grounding him when his anger threatened to boil over.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now, you were a constant in his life, and he had no idea how he’d let you become that. Friends with benefits, the team might have called it if they weren’t too polite to say it out loud. But it wasn’t just the sex—though that was undeniable. It was the quiet moments. The way you fit seamlessly into his life, into Jack’s life. Like you belonged.

Like you were family.

Hotch watched you now, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, a game controller in hand, as Jack giggled beside you. You feigned frustration as Jack’s character beat yours on the screen, throwing your hands up dramatically.

“You’re cheating,” you teased, pointing an accusatory finger at Jack, who grinned up at you.

“I am not!” Jack protested, his voice full of glee. “You’re just bad at this.”

“Bad at this?” you gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d mortally wounded you. “I’ll have you know I used to be the reigning champion at this game.”

Jack tilted his head, squinting at you skeptically. “When? Like, a hundred years ago?”

Hotch couldn’t hold back a laugh from the couch, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee. “Careful, Jack. She might just ground you for that one.”

You spun around, pointing the controller at Hotch like a weapon. “Oh, don’t you start with me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on Jack’s side,” he said smoothly, the rare smile tugging at his lips, softening the tease. “He’s clearly the underdog here.”

Jack beamed, puffing out his chest. “See? Dad gets it.”

“Traitors,” you muttered, shaking your head dramatically before turning back to the game. “Fine. But if I win the next round, you both owe me ice cream.”

Jack laughed harder, leaning against you as if you’d always been there. “You’re not winning,” he declared. “And even if you do, I pick the flavor. No weird ones.”

“No weird ones? Jack, I have excellent taste. Mint chocolate chip is a classic.”

“Mint chocolate chip is gross,” Jack said, sticking out his tongue.

You gasped in mock outrage. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.”

Hotch set his mug down, leaning back into the couch as he watched the scene unfold. This was his favorite view: you and Jack, a picture of domesticity he didn’t dare name.

The ache in his chest was familiar by now. Warm, heavy, and terrifying all at once.

Later, after Jack had gone to bed, Hotch found you in the kitchen, drying the dishes. It was a quiet ritual you’d fallen into over time, one neither of you had ever acknowledged aloud. The hum of the dishwasher and the soft clinking of plates filled the space between you, but it was far from silent. The weight of everything unspoken lingered, just like it always did.

Your shoulder brushed his as you reached for a glass, the simple contact sending ripples of awareness through him. It was ridiculous, he thought, how something so small could affect him so much. But that was how it had always been with you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, though he already knew the answer.

You glanced at him, a hint of amusement in your expression. “You know I don’t mind.”

Of course, you didn’t. You never minded. Whether it was a case of collapsing into bed together after a high-stakes day or nights like these—quiet, uneventful, and free of tension—you always stayed. It wasn’t just about the times the chemistry boiled over; it was about all the moments in between. The ones that felt effortless.

Hotch set the last plate on the drying rack and turned toward you, wiping his hands on a towel. “Jack really likes having you here,” he said, his tone conversational but deliberate. “He talks about you all the time.”

“And you?” you asked lightly, with a teasing lilt that tried to downplay the weight of your question. “Do you like having me here?”

His brow lifted, a rare smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I? You help with chores and keep Jack entertained. I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “Deflect all you want, Hotchner. I know you’d be lost without me.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle, one that softened the sharp edges of his usual demeanor. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, though his voice held more warmth than his words. “But I like having you here. More than I probably should.”

That caught you off guard for just a moment, but you recovered quickly, the teasing smile returning to your lips. “Good,” you said simply, returning to dry the last dish.

By the time the house had settled into silence, Hotch found himself in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as he unwound from the day. He heard your soft footsteps before you appeared in the doorway, your presence familiar and steady. You didn’t pause or hesitate, instead crossing the room to climb into the bed—his bed, though it had long since stopped feeling like just his.

You always stayed, and it had become a routine neither of you commented on. The guest room was just there for show, untouched and unnecessary. Some nights, the pull of tension between you snapped, leaving no room for words or space. Both of you would end up breathless and wanting in bed. Other nights, like this one, were quieter. Still, you stayed.

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” you asked, your voice low and tinged with humor. You were already lying on your side, propped up on one elbow, as you watched him with a curious gaze.

Hotch smirked faintly, shaking his head as he joined you, slipping under the covers. “I thought you might enjoy the peace and quiet,” he replied, his tone dry.

“I don’t think you’d know what peace and quiet were if it hit you in the face,” you shot back, though your words held no bite.

He settled beside you, his arm coming around you instinctively as you shifted closer. It was a gesture that felt as natural as breathing now, one neither of you ever acknowledged, but both seemed to rely on.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice soft against the stillness of the room, “it’s kind of funny how we never talk about this.”

“This?” he echoed, though his hand lightly tracing circles on your back betrayed the calmness of his tone.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the two of you. “Me staying. Us… whatever this is.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered his response. “Talking about it might ruin it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled at that, the kind of smile he couldn’t see in the dark but could feel in the way your body relaxed against his. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of the things neither of you dared to say aloud. And as you shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, Hotch allowed himself the brief indulgence of pretending that this—your warmth, your presence—was something permanent. Even though he knew it wasn’t.

Your company was appreciated and needed more than Hotch knew, even at work. The case was brutal. A family annihilator who preyed on vulnerabilities, using twisted logic to justify his violence. Hotch could feel the weight pressing down on him, but he didn’t have to carry it alone. You were there, as you always were, your presence steadying him.

When the unsub was in custody, and the team returned to the precinct, you lingered in the corner, watching him. He could feel your gaze like a physical touch as if you were daring him to break the silence that stretched between you.

“You okay?” you asked finally, your voice soft. Never prying. 

He nodded, but the truth hung in the air, unspoken. He wasn’t okay. Neither were you. But that was the deal, wasn’t it? To keep moving forward without acknowledging the things that could break you.

That night, back at the hotel, the weight of the day lingered on Hotch’s shoulders, pressing harder with every passing moment. Cases involving families always hit him differently, carving into the parts of himself he worked so hard to protect. But tonight, something else tugged at him—a sharper, deeper ache he couldn’t shake. It was you. It was always you.

He’d known you’d come. You always did on nights like this, when the line between partner and something more blurred into nothingness. The knock on his door was soft but unmistakable, and when he opened it, there you were, leaning casually against the doorframe as if this wasn’t an unspoken ritual.

“You weren’t going to sleep anyway,” you said, your voice low, tinged with exhaustion but still carrying that edge of teasing familiarity.

“Neither were you,” he replied, stepping aside to let you in.

The door closed softly behind you, but the tension in the room was anything but quiet. It filled the space between you like a storm waiting to break. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and Hotch couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on you—the curve of your shoulders, the set of your jaw, the flicker of vulnerability in your expression you probably thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Rough day,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “They always are.”

You crossed the room, your steps slow and deliberate, until you were standing just in front of him. “But this one was worse,” you said softly, your voice lacking the teasing edge it usually carried. “For both of us.”

Hotch didn’t answer, because he couldn’t. The words caught in his throat, the weight of everything unsaid pressing harder than ever. But you didn’t seem to need his response. You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze steady, searching, and then you moved closer.

It happened all at once and yet not at all suddenly, as though it had been building for hours. His hands found your waist, gripping you tightly as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate as if he was afraid you might vanish. And you let him, meeting his intensity with your own, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him as tightly as he held you.

It wasn’t just adrenaline from the case or the pull of attraction that neither of you could deny. It was the unspoken understanding that this—whatever it was—was the only way either of you knew how to deal with the weight of the lives you led. It was raw, honest, and utterly consuming.

You tugged at his tie, loosening it with practiced ease, your movements steady but charged with purpose. His breath hitched as your hands brushed against his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with a deliberate slowness that had his pulse racing. His own hands mirrored your urgency, sliding under the fabric of your blouse, feeling the heat of your skin against his palms.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough but soft, his forehead pressing against yours as he paused just long enough to look into your eyes. The question wasn’t about this moment—it was about everything. About stepping closer to the line, you both swore you wouldn’t cross but had already blurred so many times.

You didn’t answer with words; instead, you pulled him back into a kiss, which was softer this time but no less consuming. Your lips moved against his in a way that spoke of trust, of understanding, of a desire too strong to deny. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say aloud into the way he held you.

When you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice was low and steady. “I’m here, Aaron. Always.”

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and something inside him gave way. He guided you toward the bed with a gentle but unwavering urgency, his hands never leaving you. The soft glow of the room’s lamp cast warm shadows across your features as you looked up at him, your expression a mix of vulnerability and certainty that made his chest tighten.

The rest of the world disappeared as you both surrendered to the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a testament to the connection you shared—a connection that went beyond words, beyond labels, beyond anything either of you could easily explain.

When you reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers against the faint stubble along his jaw, he leaned into your touch instinctively. “Aaron,” you said again, his name a quiet anchor pulling him further into you.

He tilted his head down, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and raw, the words escaping before he could stop them.

“I think I do,” you replied softly, your hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “Because it’s the same thing you do to me.”

The admission hung between you like a fragile truth, one neither of you had dared voice before. But instead of shattering the moment, it only seemed to deepen the connection that pulsed in the quiet space between your bodies.

Hotch’s hands found the hem of your blouse, his movements deliberate as he slid it up and over your head. His fingertips brushed your skin, the contact sending sparks of warmth that spread through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your touch steady despite the tremor of anticipation that hummed in the air.

When you finally settled on the bed, his weight pressing into the mattress beside you, the world outside the walls of the hotel room ceased to exist. The past, with all its heartache and shadows, faded away, leaving only the present—this moment, this connection, this intimacy you both shared.

Hotch leaned over you, one hand bracing himself beside your head, the other trailing along the curve of your side. The way he touched you was reverent like he was committing every inch of you to memory. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer this time, more deliberate, as if savoring the quiet intensity of the moment.

But there was something else beneath that tenderness—a tension he could no longer hold back. His lips pressed harder against yours, the kiss deepening with a newfound urgency. His hand slid from your side to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulled you closer as if closing the space between you would somehow quiet the storm raging inside him.

When you gasped softly against his mouth, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, usually so controlled, were filled with something raw, something unguarded. "Tell me if it’s too much," he said, his voice rough, the words both a request and a warning.

Your answer came not in words but in the way you hooked your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands gripping his shoulders as if daring him to let go. “It’s never too much,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the flush of heat in your cheeks.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slid up your thigh, his grip firm but not harsh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss wasn’t soft—it was demanding, consuming, as though he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way his mouth moved against yours.

Hotch’s other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access as he trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. He paused at the hollow of your throat, his breath warm against your skin. When his teeth grazed just enough to make you shiver, he chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Still okay?” he murmured, though the way his hands gripped your waist betrayed his struggle to hold back.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you arched into him. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The restraint that usually defined him seemed to unravel as his kisses grew rougher, his hands exploring with a certainty that left no room for hesitation. He shifted, guiding you further back onto the bed, his body pressing into yours, solid and unyielding. The way he moved, the way he touched you—it was as if he was trying to claim you, to prove that this moment, this connection, belonged to both of you and no one else.

As his lips returned to yours, his hands found yours, pinning them gently above your head. His weight and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of anticipation through you. "You’re mine tonight," he said, the words rough but filled with a quiet reverence that made your breath hitch.

“And what about tomorrow?” you teased softly, though your voice trembled with the weight of the moment.

Hotch’s grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his expression darkening with something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. “Let me have tonight first,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, and completely his.

The rest of the world disappeared as you both surrendered to the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a testament to the connection you shared—a connection that went beyond words, beyond labels, beyond anything either of you could easily explain. Times like this, when cases were especially bad, it was a little rougher than tender, but neither of you seemed to mind.

The silence in the room was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came after something unspoken had been shouted without words. Hotch’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath your head, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, grounding both of you in a moment that felt suspended in time. The storm of the night had calmed, leaving in its wake a raw, unfiltered intimacy that neither of you could explain—or acknowledge.

But then you shifted.

The movement was subtle at first, just a slight pull away from his side, but it was enough to snap him out of his haze. He felt your warmth leave him as you turned, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He watched as you reached for your clothes, your movements slow but deliberate, your back to him.

“You’re leaving?” The words came out gruffer than he intended, his voice low and edged with something he couldn’t quite define—something dangerously close to vulnerability.

You hesitated, your fingers pausing on the fabric in your hands. “I should,” you said quietly, though your tone lacked conviction. “We both need sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Hotch sat up then, the sheet pooling around his waist as he leaned forward. “You usually stay,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression guarded, but your eyes betrayed you. They always did. “It’s different tonight,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned, his brows drawing together. “Different how?”

You stood, pulling on your shirt as if the action might shield you from the conversation you were both teetering on the edge of having. “I don’t know,” you said finally, shaking your head. “It just… it feels too close. Like if I stay, it’ll mean something.”

Hotch swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He reached for your wrist, his grip gentle but firm enough to stop you. “It already means something,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in his chest.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn to face him. “We don’t talk about this, Aaron. That’s the deal.”

“I know,” he admitted, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull away if you wanted. “But tonight—” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “Tonight, I don’t want you to go.”

That stopped you. You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the weight of everything you both refused to say hung between you. You looked at him like you were trying to decipher some unspoken truth, but he didn’t flinch under your gaze. He couldn’t. He needed you to understand.

“I don’t know if I can,” you said finally, your voice wavering.

“Yes, you can,” he said, standing now, closing the space between you. His hands found your shoulders, grounding you just as yours had grounded him earlier. “Just for tonight. Stay.”

Your walls were up; he could see it in the way your jaw tightened, and your shoulders tensed. But he could also see the crack in your resolve, the way your lips pressed together as if to keep from saying something you might regret. You nodded slowly, and his hands dropped from your shoulders, relief washing over him in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch stepped back, giving you space even though every fiber of his being wanted to pull you closer. You climbed back into the bed, your movements slower this time, less certain. When you finally settled beside him, he wrapped an arm around you, his hand resting lightly on your back.

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence was heavy with understanding. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and he didn’t know if either of you could keep pretending this wasn’t something more. But for now, it didn’t matter.

You were here, and that was enough.

The room was quiet again, save for the rhythmic hum of the hotel’s air conditioning and the faint sounds of life beyond the walls. You were back beside him, though the space between your bodies felt heavier than before, as if the rawness of what had just happened was an invisible barrier neither of you wanted to cross.

Hotch’s arm rested lightly on your back, his hand brushing the curve of your shoulder in slow, deliberate motions. He could feel the tension in your body, the way your breathing was steady but shallow, as though you were trying to keep your emotions at bay. He didn’t push; he never did. But tonight, the weight of everything unspoken was almost suffocating.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less firm than it had been when he asked you to stay.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to look at him, your expression unreadable in the dim light. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, and there it was—your defense, sharp and ready, a shield to deflect the vulnerability threatening to surface.

“No.” The word came out before he could stop it, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for ambiguity.

Your eyes softened just slightly, but you quickly masked it, shifting to lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. “This feels… different,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like the other times.”

Hotch turned to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. “It is different,” he said, his gaze steady on you. “But I think it’s always been different. We just don’t say it.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, turning your head to meet his eyes. “We’re not exactly great at saying things, are we?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though there was little humor in it. “No, we’re not.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

You closed your eyes briefly, as if trying to absorb his words without letting them take hold. When you opened them again, there was something softer in your gaze, something that looked a lot like surrender. “You scare me sometimes,” you admitted quietly. “Not in the way you think. Just… the way you make me feel.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, his hand moving to rest against your cheek. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “Because I do.”

The air between you shifted then, the tension softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked as though daring each other to break the silence. Then, slowly, you reached for him, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll stay,” you said softly, almost as if reassuring yourself as much as him. “But just for tonight.”

It was always more than just tonight. 

Hotch nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned down to kiss your forehead—a gesture so tender it felt almost out of place between the two of you. “Just for tonight,” he echoed, though the way his hand tightened around yours betrayed the truth.

You shifted closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, and for a while, you both lay there in silence, the unspoken words still hanging in the air but no longer suffocating. Whatever this was between you—messy, undefined, and terrifying—it was enough for now. It had to be.

Aaron Hotchner prided himself on control. In his work, in his demeanor, in the way he navigated the chaos of the BAU—it was a skill he had honed to perfection. And yet, when it came to you, control felt like a slippery thing, something he grasped at but never fully held.

The days following that night settled back into the rhythm you and Hotch always maintained—something hovering between routine and denial. At work, you were as efficient and professional as ever, the picture of a seamless partnership. You exchanged clipped updates about cases, worked in sync during briefings, and traded subtle glances across the room that said more than words ever could.

Outside of work, the lines blurred more than ever. You still joined Hotch and Jack for movie nights, helped Jack with his homework, and shared quiet dinners that felt far too domestic for two colleagues who claimed not to be anything more. You fell back into bed together on those nights when the tension boiled over (and many nights when you both were just too tired not to just be), and yet neither of you ever spoke about what it meant. That was the unspoken agreement: not to name it because naming it would make it real.

It worked. Until Beth.

She had been kind, warm, and direct in a way that took him by surprise. Meeting her at the park had been pleasant enough—a chance encounter during one of his runs training for the triathlon. She’d struck up a conversation easily, and before he realized what was happening, she was smiling at him in that way, the kind of way that left no question about her intentions.

“I-I could use some tips--if you’re not busy?” she’d asked, her tone light but confident.

For a moment, Hotch froze. His first thought, inexplicably, was of you—how you’d look at him if you knew, the slight quirk of your brow, the teasing edge in your voice. And yet, beneath that, there was something else. Something heavier.

“I—” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I just don’t know my schedule. I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, as you sat on the couch in his apartment, flipping through a case file while Jack played nearby out of hearing, Hotch broke the silence.

“Someone asked me out today,” he said, his voice calm, almost too casual. 

You didn’t look up immediately, your focus still on the file, but he caught the way your hand stilled on the page. “Oh?” you said lightly, though the tightness in your tone betrayed you. “Anyone I know?”

He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “A woman I met at the park. Beth.”

“Beth,” you repeated, setting the file down. You finally looked at him, your expression unreadable. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.” He paused, studying your reaction closely. “It felt… strange.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a wry smile. “Strange how? Like you haven’t been asked out in a while? Or…?”

Hotch sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Like it would be wrong. Like I’d be… cheating.”

The word hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you laughed, though the sound was hollow. “Cheating? Aaron, we’re not—” You stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat.

“I know,” he said quickly, his jaw tightening. “But it still felt that way.”

You leaned back against the couch, your arms crossed over your chest. “How would you feel,” you asked after a long pause, “if someone asked me out?”

The question was quiet but sharp, cutting through the space between you. Hotch’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His first instinct was to deflect, to downplay it, but the truth was already clawing its way to the surface. His eyes darkened at the thought. 

“I’d hate it,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “I’d hate it, and I’d probably want to throw a punch.”

Your eyes widened slightly, his uncharacteristic bluntness catching you off guard. But instead of teasing him, you leaned forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you mirrored his posture. “Really?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“Really,” he replied, and then, after a pause, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “There was a time… that officer in Seattle, the one who wouldn’t stop hitting on you.”

You blinked, clearly startled by the shift in the conversation. “The one who called me ‘darlin’’ every five minutes?”

Hotch nodded, his jaw clenching at the memory. “I had all I could do not to step in. Every time he touched your arm or found some excuse to be near you, I—” He stopped, shaking his head as if trying to will away the irritation that still simmered beneath the surface. “It wasn’t professional.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “You were jeal-ous.”

“I wasn’t—” he started to protest, but the sharp look you gave him cut him off.

“You were totally jealous,” you said, your smile widening. “You hated that someone else even thought about getting near me.”

Hotch shifted in his seat, his expression stern but not quite able to hide the faint flush of his cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You tilted your head, your gaze playful but laced with something warmer, deeper. “You know, it’s kind of hot.”

“Stop,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation, though the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him.

You laughed softly, the sound lightening the tension between you. “Fine. But admit it—you wouldn’t like it if someone else was interested in me.”

“No,” he said simply, his voice quiet but firm. “I wouldn’t. Because…” He sighed, fidgeting, running a hand through his hair. “Because it would mean someone else has something I want but won’t let myself have.”

The confession hung between you, raw and unfiltered. You looked at him for a long moment, your expression softening, though there was still a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Aaron…”

“I know we don’t talk about this,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “But you asked, and that’s the truth.”

You leaned back again, your arms wrapping around yourself as if for protection. “I don’t think I’d like it much either,” you admitted quietly, scrunching your nose at the thought. “If someone else had what I already think of as mine.”

Hotch’s breath caught at your words, and for a moment, the weight of what you’d both said seemed too much to bear. But then you looked at him, and something in your expression shifted—a quiet resolve that mirrored his own.

“We’re really bad at this, huh?” you said, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at your lips.

“Terrible,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly despite himself.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but it was also full of understanding. Neither of you had the answers, and maybe you never would. But for now, the truth was out there, raw and unspoken, just like everything else between you. And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Life fell back into its strange, unspoken rhythm. You and Hotch continued your routines, the moments that felt too much like a relationship carefully tucked away, ignored but ever-present.

Hotch had made his decision about Beth without much thought, declining her offer politely but firmly. He told himself it was because his life didn’t allow for complications like dating, but he knew the real reason. 

He didn’t bring it up again, and neither did you. But sometimes, when you caught his eye across the bullpen or during a quiet moment at his apartment, there was a weight in your gaze that mirrored his own. It was easier not to talk about it.

The unsub had been cornered, a desperate man with nothing left to lose. Hotch could see the wild look in his eyes, the way his hand twitched around the gun. You stood a few feet away, crouched behind a car door, your gun trained on the suspect.

“Put it down,” Hotch commanded, his voice steady, calm, despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

The unsub didn’t move, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch like a cornered animal. Then, in an instant, he shifted his aim—toward you.

It happened so fast that Hotch didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He moved before the shot rang out, his body blocking the line of fire as he tackled you to the ground. Pain flared in his shoulder, sharp and searing, but he didn’t let it stop him. He rolled to shield you as Morgan and the local PD took the unsub down, disarming him within seconds.

“Aaron!” Your voice was sharp, filled with anger and panic as you shoved him off you, your hands immediately moving to his shoulder. “Are you—damn it, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, though the pain in his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not fine!” You glared at him, your hands pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding as the medics approached. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to let you get shot,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t argue as the medics came to his side. 

Hotch sat in the back of the ambulance, his jacket discarded and his shirt pulled down over his good shoulder to expose the wound. The paramedic worked efficiently, stitching up the graze with practiced precision. He barely winced, his focus not on the pain but on you.

You were pacing a few feet away, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you muttered to yourself. He could tell by the sharpness of your movements and the tension in your jaw that you were furious. He also knew it wasn’t just anger; it was fear, worry, and something else neither of you would admit.

“Does she know you’re okay?” Rossi’s voice broke through his thoughts. Hotch turned to see Rossi and Morgan standing at the back of the ambulance, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“She knows,” Hotch replied curtly, his tone dismissive.

“She doesn’t look like she knows,” Morgan said, nodding toward you. “She looks like she’s about to tear you a new one.”

Hotch sighed, his hand clenching briefly at his side. “She’ll get over it. She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rossi asked, his tone pointed. “Because from where I’m standing, this whole act the two of you have going is starting to wear thin.”

“What act?” Hotch asked, though he already knew the answer.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “The one where you two pretend you don’t have feelings for each other. It’s getting old, Hotch. And frankly, it’s not doing anyone any good.”

Rossi crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Hotch. “You put yourself in the line of fire for her, Aaron. We all would have done it, but you didn’t think twice. That’s not just leadership. That’s something else.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering briefly to you before he looked back at them. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it’s not,” Rossi said, his voice gentler now. “But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. You’re not protecting her by pretending it doesn’t exist. You’re just making it harder—for both of you.”

Hotch didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor of the ambulance. The paramedic finished the stitches and stepped back, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the weight of Rossi and Morgan’s words.

When he finally looked up again, you were still pacing, your anger radiating off you in waves. And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Rossi was right.

The atmosphere back at the BAU was tense, the usual hum of activity muted by the weight of the recent case. Hotch moved through the bullpen with his usual efficiency, though the stiffness in his shoulder and the dull ache radiating from the stitches served as a constant reminder of how the day had started.

You were another reminder.

Since the moment he got out of that ambulance and was cleared to finish the case, you’d been snapping at him—sharp comments about his paperwork, curt responses to his questions, even a pointed remark about his “reckless heroics” during the case. It was all thinly veiled anger, but it wasn’t lost on anyone. Rossi shot him a knowing glance as he passed; Morgan smirked but wisely stayed out of it, and even JJ looked like she was holding back a comment. He’s pretty sure he even heard a scoffing laugh out of Emily at one of your brattier comments. 

“Hotch,” you said sharply, interrupting his conversation with Reid about a case update. “If you want those reports done before midnight, you might want to clarify what you actually need. Or is guessing part of the job now?”

Reid froze mid-sentence, his wide eyes darting between you and Hotch. The tension in the room was palpable, and Hotch’s patience, already worn thin by the soreness in his shoulder and the mental fatigue of the case, snapped.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone firm but controlled. “My office. Now.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, he reached for your elbow and guided you firmly toward his office. The rest of the team watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement as you allowed yourself to be led, though the fury in your eyes was unmistakable.

Once inside his office, Hotch closed the door behind you, the sound louder than it needed to be. He released your arm, his hand lingering for only a second before he stepped back, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “You just dragged me in here like I’m fucking child.”

“You’ve been snapping at me all day,” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “What do you expect me to do? Let you keep undermining me in front of the team?”

“Oh, so now I’m undermining you?” you said, your voice rising. “God forbid anyone have a reaction to you throwing yourself in front of a bullet.”

“I did what I had to do,” he said, his tone clipped. “It’s my job to protect the team.”

“You’re not invincible, Aaron!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly on his name. “You can’t just—do that, and then act like everything’s fine. Like we’re all fine.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow breath as he tried to keep his frustration in check. He was tired. Tired from the case. Tired from the injury. Tired of the running.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let you get hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“And what about you getting hurt?” you fired back. “Do you think any of us would be okay with that? Do you think I would?”

Hotch froze, the intensity in your voice cutting through his fatigue and frustration. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The raw emotion in your eyes, the way your shoulders shook slightly as you tried to keep yourself composed—it was almost too much.

“This isn’t about the case, is it?” he asked, his voice softer now, though there was an edge of steel to it. “You’re not just angry about what happened.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you turned away, your arms tightening around yourself as if to create some kind of barrier.

Hotch took a step closer, his tone steady but tinged with something softer, something almost pleading. “Talk to me.”

You turned back to him, your eyes blazing with anger, but beneath it, he could see something else—fear, worry, hurt. “Why should I? We never talk about anything. Not really.”

The words hit him like a blow, the truth in them undeniable. And for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

Hotch stood still, every muscle in his body taut as he let your words settle in the air. The frustration and fire in your voice cut through him, but it was the vulnerability underneath that made him pause. He had always prided himself on reading people, on staying composed no matter the situation, but you had a way of stripping him bare, of making him feel exposed in ways he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Every time you step in front of danger, every time you put yourself in harm’s way for me—it eats at me. And then you have the nerve to act like it’s just another day at the office, like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t act like it doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice sharp, cutting through your words. “But we can’t afford for it to mean what you think it does.”

“And why is that?” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Because it might make you feel something real? Because it might mean admitting that this—whatever this is—actually matters?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to argue, to say that you didn’t understand, but the truth was, you understood better than anyone. “Because if something happens to you,” he said finally, his voice low but cracking at the edges, “it would destroy me.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And you think it’s any different for me? You think watching you throw yourself in front of a bullet didn’t tear me apart? God, Aaron, don’t you get it? You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his composure fraying with every word you spoke. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demanded. “From being hurt? From feeling? Because if that’s your plan, it’s not working. I’m already hurt. I’ve been hurt for years because we refuse to deal with this.”

“You think it’s that simple?” he asked, spinning back to face you, his voice rising. “That we can just talk about it and everything will magically be fine?”

“No,” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “But pretending it’s not there isn’t fine either. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away—it just makes it worse.”

The room was suffocating now, the air thick with all the words neither of you had said for years. Hotch’s mind raced, every argument, every excuse colliding with the raw truth you had thrown at him.

“This job…” he started, but his voice faltered. He took a steadying breath and tried again. “This job demands everything. It doesn’t leave room for mistakes, for weakness.”

“And you think this is weakness?” you asked, your voice trembling now, the anger giving way to something quieter but no less intense. “Do you really think what we feel—what we’ve built—is a liability?”

Hotch’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him as the weight of your words pressed down on him. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice raw. “I don’t know how to do this, how to balance it. I don’t know how to protect you and still let myself have you.”

You stared at him, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. But it wasn’t enough—not yet.

“You can’t have it both ways, Aaron,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You can’t keep me close enough to feel everything and then pretend it doesn’t exist when it gets too hard.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his admission. “I know I can’t. But I don’t know how to do this without risking everything.”

“Neither do I,” you said, taking a step closer, your voice trembling. “But the risk of losing this, of losing us—aren’t we worth figuring it out?”

Hotch closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking as your words sank in. He couldn’t argue with you, not when everything you said mirrored the storm that had been raging inside him for years. He opened his eyes and looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he let himself feel the full weight of what you meant to him.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and electric, the air in the room thick with everything you’d both left unsaid for far too long. Hotch’s gaze flickered to yours, searching for something he couldn’t name but desperately needed. His own words had fallen short, his admission incomplete, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

But then you spoke, and it hit him like a tidal wave.

“I can’t keep doing this, Aaron,” you said, your voice trembling but strong, each word deliberate and cutting through the fog of tension. “I can’t keep being someone you make love to, someone you fuck when it gets to be too much. Someone you play house with when we’re with Jack. You can’t look me in the eyes and expect me to pretend I’m not already part of your family.”

He flinched, the raw honesty in your voice slicing through the walls he’d spent years building. “You are part of my family,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“Then why do we keep acting like I’m not?” you fired back, your tone sharper now, anger laced with pain. “Why do you let me stay, let me take care of Jack, let me sleep in your bed—let me love you—but we act like it doesn’t mean anything?”

Hotch’s breath caught, his chest tightening as your words hit their mark. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done.

“You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Aaron,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “And you expect me to believe you’d do that for anyone else? That I’m just another member of the team? I’m not stupid. I know what this is—what we are. But I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

He stepped closer, his hand twitching at his side, but he didn’t reach for you. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t feel it every time I look at you, every time I hear Jack ask about you when you’re not there? You think I don’t know how much it means to me that you’re part of my life?”

“Then we have to stop running from it!” you exclaimed, your voice cracking as your arms fell to your sides. “Stop pretending it’s safer to ignore it, because it’s not. It’s killing me, Aaron. I’m so in love with you, it hurts. And it’s killing me to keep living like this, to keep pretending we don’t already know the truth.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, leaving him breathless. He felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him, like the armor he’d spent years perfecting had finally crumbled to dust. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of the storm inside him.

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, though your eyes never left his. “I need you to decide,” you said softly, but the steel in your voice was unmistakable. “Because I can’t keep doing this—loving you like this—if you’re not willing to let yourself love me back.”

Hotch’s throat felt tight, the weight of your ultimatum pressing down on him like a physical force. But as he looked at you, at the pain and determination in your eyes, something inside him shifted. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. “I’ve been running. I’ve been terrified. But I can’t lose you—not like this. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his, and for a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you finally giving way to something else. Something undeniable.

“I love you,” he said, the words raw and unpolished, but no less true. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try. With you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t look away. “Then stop pretending I’m anything less than yours.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady now. “Not anymore.”

The air between you shifted, the weight of everything unsaid finally lifting as you stepped into him, your arms wrapping around him as his enveloped you. It wasn’t a resolution, not entirely, but it was a beginning. A chance to stop running, to stop pretending, and to finally face the truth you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

The embrace lingered, grounding them both in a moment of quiet resolution. Hotch could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away as his arms tightened around you. For once, the silence between you wasn’t filled with unsaid words or guarded emotions. It was calm. Real.

But the calm couldn’t last forever.

As you stepped back slightly, your hands still resting on his chest, Hotch caught the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips. It was subtle, but he recognized it immediately—the way your mouth twitched just before you said something that would almost certainly drive him up a wall.

“You know we just gave the entire team front-row seats to our meltdown, right?” you said, tilting your head as you looked up at him. “They’re probably out there placing bets on how long it’ll take us to come out of this office.”

Hotch sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought the urge to smile. “I’d imagine Rossi’s leading the pool.”

“Of course he is,” you replied, stepping back fully now, though the warmth in your voice remained. “He’s been waiting for this for years. Probably thinks he’s some kind of love oracle.”

Hotch allowed himself a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll have to face them eventually,” he admitted, his tone resigned but not without a trace of humor. “It’s not like they’ll forget about it by morning.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. “Oh, they won’t. They’ve been watching us like hawks for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morgan starts calling us ‘Mom and Dad’ the second we walk out of here.”

Hotch froze for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean, ‘Mom and Dad’?”

Your grin widened, and you shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t know? The team’s been referring to us as Mom and Dad behind our backs for ages.”

He blinked, his lips parting slightly as he tried to process your words. “They… what?”

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” you said, your tone teasing now. “You’ve seen how they act around us. Morgan and Reid bicker like siblings, and JJ’s always trying to keep the peace. They’ve practically assigned us roles in their little BAU family.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice laced with amusement. “Because it makes a lot of sense when you think about it. I mean, you are kind of a dad to everyone, and I—” You stopped abruptly, the teasing edge in your voice faltering for just a moment before you continued. “Well, I guess I’m just always around.”

Hotch looked at you then, his gaze softening. “You’re not just always around,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team. You’re part of my life. And, apparently, the team’s ‘mom,’ whether we like it or not.”

The warmth in his voice made you smile, and for a moment, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. “Well,” you said, pushing off the desk and straightening your posture, “if we’re going to face them, we might as well lean into it.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Lean into it?”

“Sure,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Let them think they’ve been right all along. It’ll make their day.”

He sighed again, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you said, moving toward the door. “But it’s not every day we give them this much to gossip about. Might as well embrace it.”

As you reached for the door handle, you turned back to him, your expression softening slightly. “You ready?”

Hotch straightened, his shoulders squaring as he stepped forward. “Not even a little.”

Your laugh was soft but genuine, and as you opened the door, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Whatever was waiting for the two of you on the other side, you’d face it together. And that, at least, was something he could hold onto.

The weeks that followed were, on the surface, remarkably unchanged. You and Hotch still worked side by side at the BAU, the same unspoken rhythm of partnership guiding your every move. Your routines remained intact—late nights at his apartment, dinners with Jack, quiet moments stolen away from the chaos of your jobs. But now, there was something new woven into the fabric of it all. Something quiet and steady: the acknowledgement of what you were to each other.

It started small. He would brush his fingers against yours when no one was looking, or you’d linger in his office just a little longer than necessary, your smiles softer, your words laced with warmth. And the words “I love you” slipped into your conversations as naturally as if they’d always been there.

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you both returned to his apartment, the comforting routine of shedding your workday as familiar as ever. Jack was already in bed, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting a warm light as you both settled in.

Hotch disappeared into his home office for a moment, returning with a folder in his hand. He handed it to you without a word, his expression unreadable.

You took it, raising an eyebrow as you opened it. “What’s this?” you asked, flipping through the pages.

“Employee relationship disclosure paperwork,” he said simply, his tone neutral but his lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing as a slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Employee relationship paperwork?” you echoed, setting the folder on the coffee table. “What exactly are we calling this, Aaron?”

Hotch paused, clearly caught off guard by your question. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you looked at him with mock seriousness. “I mean, if we’re filling out forms, that means we’re officially labeling this, right? So, what are we? Is this… a relationship?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as though the question confused him. “Of course it’s a relationship,” he said, his voice steady. “It has been for a long time.”

You tilted your head, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, we’ve been playing house without acknowledging anything for years. So what’s the label, Hotchner? Are we ‘dating’? Am I your ‘girlfriend’?” You said the words with a playful lilt, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath your teasing tone.

Hotch hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered your question. “I don’t think ‘girlfriend’ really fits,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful. “It feels… juvenile.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Juvenile? Aaron, you sound like you’re 100 years old. What would you prefer? ‘Lady friend’? ‘Companion’?”

He shot you a pointed look, though the warmth in his eyes undercut his irritation. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you replied, still smiling. “If ‘girlfriend’ doesn’t fit, what does? You could’ve at least asked me to go steady or something.”

That earned you a quiet laugh, and Hotch shook his head as he sat beside you on the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re old-fashioned,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But seriously, what is this? What are we calling it?”

Hotch turned to face you fully, his expression softening. “We don’t need a label,” he said after a moment. “But if you want one… yes, you’re my girlfriend. My partner. Whatever word you want to use.”

Your smile widened, your teasing demeanor giving way to something warmer. “Your girlfriend, huh? Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You make me say a lot of things I never thought I’d say.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I like the sound of it,” you said softly. “But you know, if this is going to be official, you’re going to have to deal with the team making fun of us.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with amusement.

Hotch felt the faintest tug of a smile on his lips as your fingers threaded through his. The warmth of your touch steadied him in a way few things ever could. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze resting on you with that quiet intensity he so often wore, but this time there was a softness beneath it.

“You’re going to have to deal with it too,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. “You think Morgan’s not going to have a field day the second he hears about this?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch and letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Morgan’s going to call me ‘Mom’ for the rest of my career,” you said with a grin. “And don’t even get me started on Rossi. He’s probably already planning the toast for our wedding.”

Hotch groaned softly, though there was no real frustration in the sound. “Rossi thinks he knows everything,” he muttered.

“Well,” you teased, “he was right about this.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting down to your intertwined hands. He knew the rest of the team would have plenty to say, but for once, he didn’t feel the usual tension that accompanied such thoughts. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance, a sense of inevitability that, despite his usual resistance to change, felt strangely comforting.

Your voice broke through his thoughts. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually said it out loud.”

“Said what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to look at you.

“That you’re my boyfriend,” you said, the word tumbling out casually, but the way your lips curled into a playful smile told him you were testing it, savoring the way it sounded.

Hotch blinked, his brows lifting slightly. “Your boyfriend,” he repeated, the word feeling foreign but oddly fitting on his tongue.

“Yes,” you said, your tone mockingly serious now. “You know, boyfriend. Partner. Significant other. Lover—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, though the faintest hint of color crept into his cheeks as he shook his head. “I get it.”

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with his reaction. “I think it suits you.”

“I feel ridiculous,” he admitted, though there was no heat in his words.

“Ridiculously lucky,” you corrected with a smirk.

Hotch sighed, though his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something unspoken that now didn’t need to be.

He leaned back against the couch, letting out a quiet hum of agreement. “Maybe I do.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of this already, boyfriend,” you said, your grin widening.

He shook his head, chuckling softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you replied, settling into his side. “That’s half the fun.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he let your words settle, your playful tone doing little to mask the deeper warmth behind them. He tilted his head, watching the way you fit so effortlessly into his side, your teasing smile lighting up a part of him he rarely let anyone see.

“‘Boyfriend,’” he repeated softly, tasting the word again like it was foreign but not unwelcome. “I think I still prefer something more… permanent.”

You lifted your head slightly, your brow arching in curiosity. “Oh?” you asked, your tone laced with amusement. “What would that be? Partner? Spouse? Or—” You grinned, the mischief returning to your expression. “Are you saying you’re more interested in ‘husband’?”

Hotch didn’t flinch, though the faintest flicker of color touched his cheeks. He met your gaze, his expression steady, though his lips quirked in a faint smirk. “If we’re being honest,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, “that does sound like it fits better.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, your mock surprise more playful than genuine. “Aaron Hotchner, did you just casually suggest skipping the whole dating phase and jumping right into wedded bliss?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch with an air of calm that was entirely deliberate. “Considering we’ve been acting like we’re married for years already, it doesn’t seem like that big of a leap.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine as you swatted his chest lightly. “You are ridiculous. You’re not even my fiancé, and you’re already talking about being my husband.”

“Like I said,” he replied, his voice soft but steady, “I prefer more permanent labels.”

Your grin softened, your eyes searching his as the teasing edge in your tone gave way to something quieter, more reflective. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, the question almost tentative.

Hotch nodded slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t take things lightly,” he said simply. “Not with you. I never have.”

For a moment, the air between you was heavy again, but not with tension. It was filled with the weight of everything you’d both been building for years, every unspoken truth and every quiet moment of connection that had brought you here.

You smiled, leaning into him again, your voice soft but teasing as you murmured, “Well, if that’s the case, boyfriend, you’re going to have to start calling me ‘your wife’ in front of the team.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “One step at a time,” he said, though the warmth in his tone left little doubt about where his mind had already wandered.

Life fell back into its natural rhythm after you and Hotch filed the paperwork. The team made their comments, as expected—Morgan’s teasing was relentless, and Rossi’s smug satisfaction was borderline insufferable. But beyond the ribbing, nothing really changed in the day-to-day. You and Hotch continued your routines, slipping seamlessly between work and home as if the acknowledgment of your relationship had always been there.

Except now, there was an ease to it. A clarity.

The shift became apparent not in how you treated each other, but in how the rest of the world seemed to see you. It started small—another parent at Jack’s school, someone Hotch didn’t recognize but who greeted you both warmly at pickup one afternoon.

“Oh, you must be Jack’s mom,” she said, smiling at you before turning to Hotch. “He’s such a sweet boy. It’s clear he gets it from you two.”

You both had opened his mouth to correct her out of habit, but then he stopped you. What was the point? It felt right. Natural. So he’d smiled politely and said, “Thank you.”

Later, as you walked back to the car with Jack skipping ahead, you nudged him lightly. “Jack’s mom, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t correct her either,” he countered, his lips twitching with amusement.

You shrugged, your smile soft. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

It was one of those rare sunny Saturday mornings when Hotch found himself not at the office but at the local community park with you and Jack. The three of you had fallen into an easy rhythm—Jack running ahead to the swings while you and Hotch strolled behind, coffee cups in hand.

As usual, you and Jack had dragged him into this outing, insisting he needed a break. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but watching Jack’s laughter echo through the park and seeing the soft smile on your face made him realize how much he needed mornings like this.

While Jack climbed the jungle gym, you leaned against the railing near the benches, brushing a stray hair from your face as the breeze picked up. Hotch stood beside you, close enough that your arm brushed his when you reached for your coffee.

A voice interrupted the moment. “Aaron Hotchner, is that you?”

Hotch turned to see a woman he vaguely recognized approaching, her face lighting up as she drew closer. It took him a moment to place her—one of Haley’s old acquaintances from a distant social circle.

“It is you,” she said warmly, stopping in front of you both. “Wow, it’s been years. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” Hotch said politely, offering a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Claire.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity plain on her face. “And this must be…?”

“My wife,” Hotch said without hesitation, the words slipping out so naturally that he didn’t even think to correct himself.

You blinked, your lips twitching with amusement as you extended a hand to her. “Hi,” you said, your tone friendly but neutral. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Claire’s smile widened as she shook your hand. “It’s so nice to meet you too. And Jack! Oh, he’s grown so much,” she added, waving at him as he climbed the monkey bars.

Hotch nodded, his gaze following Jack for a moment before settling back on Claire. They exchanged a few pleasantries—updates about mutual acquaintances and polite questions about work—before she finally excused herself, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

“You told a lie,” you said after a moment, your tone casual but laced with quiet amusement.

Hotch turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “About?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a faint smirk. “About me being your wife.”

He paused, the realization settling over him, and then shrugged, his expression unbothered. “Didn’t feel like I needed to call you anything different.”

“Really?” you asked, your smile widening. “Is this what we’re calling it now?”

Hotch glanced at you, his dark eyes steady but soft. “It’s what it feels like,” he said simply. “It’s what we are.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, you said nothing, your gaze searching his. Then you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I guess I should get used to it, huh?”

“You’re not opposed, are you?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with amusement.

“Not in the slightest,” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee before looking up at him with a grin. “But if you keep calling me your wife in public, you’re going to have to follow through at some point.”

Hotch chuckled quietly, his lips twitching with a faint smile. “Noted.”

Jack’s shout from the swings broke the moment, and you both turned to watch him wave enthusiastically for your attention. Hotch gave a small wave back, his hand brushing against yours as he lowered it.

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to the simplicity of the morning, but the weight of what had been said lingered in the air. Neither of you felt the need to correct it. After all, it was the truth—whether there was paperwork to prove it or not.

The next instance came at work, during a meeting with another department. A young agent had introduced herself and, glancing between you and Hotch, asked, “So, you and your wife—do you find it hard balancing work and home life at the BAU?”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to him, your expression unreadable. But he also didn’t hesitate. “It’s a challenge,” he said smoothly, his tone professional but warm. “But we make it work.”

After the meeting, you leaned against the edge of his desk, your arms crossed as you smirked at him. “Wife, huh?”

“Again, would you prefer I said ‘girlfriend’?” he asked dryly, hating the juvenile label, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

“Not at all,” you said, tilting your head thoughtfully. “But you do realize you’ve been calling me that a lot lately.”

He shrugged, his gaze steady. “Feels accurate.”

Your smile softened, and you reached out to brush your fingers against his. “Feels accurate to me too.”

It wasn’t until one afternoon in the bullpen that the team finally confronted you both. Emily leaned against Morgan’s desk, her arms crossed as she watched you and Hotch exit his office together. She raised an eyebrow as the two of you exchanged a look and parted ways—Hotch heading toward the coffee station and you to speak with JJ.

“Alright,” Emily said, her tone laced with curiosity as she approached Hotch. “Are you and Y/N married? And don’t try to brush this off—I’ve heard you call her your wife at least three times this week.”

Hotch turned, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, we’re not married,” he said, his tone even.

Emily’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. “Then why do you call her your wife?”

He hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Because it feels more honest than calling her my girlfriend. That doesn’t seem to cover what we are.”

Emily blinked, clearly taken aback by the straightforwardness of his response. “Okay, fair point,” she said slowly. “But what’s stopping you from actually getting married?”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. What was stopping them? He knew it wasn’t fear or hesitation—it hadn’t been for a long time. And the thought of marrying you didn’t fill him with apprehension; it filled him with the same sense of certainty he felt when he called you his wife without a second thought.

“I—” he started, but before he could finish, you appeared at his side, holding a file.

“What’s this about?” you asked, glancing between them.

Emily grinned, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Just asking your husband here why you two aren’t actually married yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, before turning to Hotch. “Well?” you asked, your voice teasing but your expression curious.

Hotch met your gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around him. “That’s a good question,” he said, his voice steady. “What do you think?”

Your smile widened, your eyes softening as you leaned just slightly closer. “I don’t think either of us have a good reason not to,” you said, your tone light but meaningful.

Emily rolled her eyes but grinned. “Well, when it happens, let us know. Rossi’s already planning your wedding toast.”

As Emily walked away, you and Hotch exchanged a glance, your smiles matching. And for the first time, the idea of making it official didn’t feel like a question of if, but when.

The idea had been with him for weeks, lingering in the back of his mind as he watched you move through your life together. It wasn’t a sudden realization or a dramatic epiphany. It was quiet, steady, and inevitable, much like the way you’d become the most important person in his life. He didn’t need to overthink it because he already knew the answer. You were his partner in every way that mattered, and it was time to make that official.

But Hotch being Hotch, he planned every detail. Not something grand or ostentatious—that wasn’t either of you. Instead, he wanted it to be personal, grounded in the quiet, meaningful moments that had always defined your relationship.

It was a Friday evening, the end of a particularly grueling week at the BAU. You and Hotch had fallen into your routine, picking up Jack from soccer practice and grabbing takeout on the way home. The three of you sat around the dining table, laughing as Jack recounted a story about his coach’s dramatic attempt to demonstrate a bicycle kick. Hotch caught your eye during the meal, the warmth in your gaze settling something deep within him.

After Jack went to bed, you lingered in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs. Hotch joined you, sitting close enough that his knee brushed against yours. The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

“You look tired,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

He smiled faintly, his hand covering yours. “Long week.”

“You don’t have to tell me that twice,” you replied, your lips curving into a small grin. “But at least we survived it.”

“We always do,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a weight to his words that caught your attention.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing slightly. “What’s on your mind, Aaron?”

He hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing on him. But then he reached into his pocket, his movements deliberate but calm, and pulled out a small box. Your eyes widened slightly, and you sat up straighter, your hand still resting on his knee.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About us. About what we’ve built together. It’s not just a routine or a habit. It’s a life. And it’s a life I want to share with you—not just in words or assumptions, but in every way that matters.”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t interrupt. He opened the box, revealing a simple, elegant ring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect, understated in the way he knew you’d appreciate.

“I’ve called you my wife more times than I can count,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Because that’s what you are to me. It’s what you’ve been for a long time. And now, I want to make it real.”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Aaron Hotchner let every wall fall away. “Will you marry me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or tense. It was full of the gravity of the moment, the quiet weight of a decision that neither of you had to think twice about.

Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes soft as they brimmed with unshed tears. “Of course I will,” you said, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Yes, Aaron. Yes.”

Relief and joy washed over him, a rare, unguarded smile breaking across his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he pulled you close, his own arms circling your waist.

It wasn’t flashy or elaborate. It was simple, quiet, and utterly perfect. Just like the life you’d built together.

Aaron Hotchner had never been a man who dreamed of grand gestures. His life had taught him the value of simplicity, of finding solace in the quiet moments that others often overlooked. And as he sat with you on the couch that night, your hand resting in his, the weight of the ring now on your finger, he realized that this was everything he’d ever wanted. No fanfare, no spectacle—just you, him, and the life you’d built together.

The days that followed felt much the same, yet somehow entirely different. There was a new ease between you, a sense of certainty that replaced the unspoken tension that had once lingered. At work, the teasing from the team was relentless but good-natured. 

But it was at home, in the moments away from the chaos of the BAU, that the shift was most palpable. You’d catch Hotch watching you with a quiet intensity as you helped Jack with his homework or laughed over a shared joke at dinner. And when you teased him about it, his response was always the same—a faint smile and a simple, heartfelt, “I’m just happy.”

One evening, as you sat curled up on the couch together, Jack asleep in his room, you glanced down at the ring on your finger and then back up at him. “So, husband,” you said, the word rolling off your tongue with a mix of playfulness and warmth, “how long do you think it’ll take before Rossi starts making bets on when the wedding will be?”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours. “If he hasn’t already, I’d be surprised.”

You grinned, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come? How all of this just… fell into place?”

He turned slightly, his arm wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “It didn’t just fall into place,” he said quietly. “We built it—one step at a time. And I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft but filled with that familiar spark of mischief. “Not even the part where the team found out and started calling us ‘Mom and Dad’?”

He smirked, his hand trailing absently along your arm. “Not even that.”

The two of you sat there in the quiet, the glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. It was a life neither of you had expected, but one you’d fought for in your own way. And as Hotch held you close, the future felt less like an unknown and more like a promise—a life you’d continue to build together, one quiet, meaningful moment at a time.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[aventurineswife]

hi hi!! can i request hsr men (aventurine, dr ratio, and any of ur choice <3) with a s/o who is an over-apologizer? no need if u dont feel comfortable just in case but thank u in advance 💙

I'm so sorry!!

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng IL x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Over-Apologizing!Reader, Gentle Reassurance, Soft Moments, Emotional Support, Romantic Undertones.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin dancing on his lips as he watched you flounder before him, your hands wringing in an anxious motion. He couldn’t help but find your constant apologies both endearing and, at times, amusing.

"Are you... apologizing again?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching with a playful smile. You, blushing, nodded repeatedly, as though your incessant apologies would somehow make up for the minor mishap you'd caused.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you late. I’m so sorry I knocked over the coffee earlier—again. I can’t believe I did that. I promise, I’ll be more careful next time," you rambled, looking anywhere but directly at Aventurine, who was still smirking, seemingly entertained by your flustered state.

Aventurine leaned forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. "My dear, you do realize I don’t mind a bit of chaos, especially when it’s you causing it. You’re an over-apologizer, yes, but that’s part of what makes you... you. And I must admit, I enjoy seeing this side of you. It’s rather charming."

You blinked, taken aback by his words. You’d expected a scolding, not praise. Aventurine continued, his tone softening, though the smile never left his face.

"You don’t have to apologize for every little thing. I’m not the kind to hold grudges. If anything, you should only apologize when you truly mean it. Until then, just be yourself. I’ve already invested too much in you to let something like a spilled cup of coffee bother me."

You blushed at his reassurance, the knot in your stomach loosening. Aventurine’s words were always laced with layers of truth and care, though veiled in his typical flair. Still, you appreciated it deeply.

"Thank you..." you muttered shyly.

Aventurine chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No need to thank me. But you might want to apologize... just once more. For making me wait so long." He winked teasingly, and your heart fluttered as you hurried to sit beside him.

Ratio had never been the most patient person. His brilliance was often paired with a sharp tongue, and he had little tolerance for those who didn’t meet his intellectual standards. But when it came to you, something about you made him pause and reconsider his usual cold demeanor.

You had once again apologized for something trivial—this time for knocking over a stack of books on his desk.

"I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’ll clean it up right away, I promise!" you said, frantically picking up the fallen books with an anxious look in your eyes.

Ratio watched you in silence, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of his desk. His eyes softened slightly as he took in your flustered state. You were always so quick to apologize, to the point where it almost seemed like you didn’t believe he would forgive you for anything.

"Enough," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "There’s no need for this incessant apologizing. It’s a simple mistake, nothing that requires endless regret. You can’t control every little detail, after all. The world is full of chaos, and you can’t simply apologize for every piece of it."

He walked toward you, his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t angry—he never was, not with you. But your over-apologizing did frustrate him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He tilted your chin up gently with his finger, a gesture that was both comforting and commanding. "I care for you," he said, his tone softer than before. "I’ve seen you apologize for things you don’t need to. When you truly make a mistake, you’ll know it. And when that happens, we’ll deal with it. But for now, stop apologizing for things that aren’t worth it. It’s exhausting, and frankly, it doesn’t suit you."

You nodded, your eyes searching his face for any sign of mockery, but finding none. He was serious, and somehow, it made you feel better.

"Thank you." you murmured.

Ratio gave you a small smile, a rare sight for him. "You’re welcome. Now, let’s get back to those books. I have a new theory to test, and I need your help."

You smiled back, finally feeling like you had permission to just exist without constantly worrying about your mistakes.

Dan Heng's eyes narrowed slightly as he felt you accidentally step onto his tail. He stilled for a moment, trying to suppress his reflex to flinch, and before he could even process the situation, you were already profusely apologizing.

"I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to step on your tail! Are you okay? Please don’t be mad, I—" you babbled, your face flushed with embarrassment as you fretted over the minor accident.

Dan Heng blinked, his tail twitching as he quickly recovered from the initial shock. His expression remained calm, but there was a faint furrow in his brow, and he could see the distress in your eyes. He wasn't the type to get upset over small things, but the way you were carrying on made him feel an odd mix of sympathy and a desire to reassure you.

"You don’t need to apologize," he said softly, his voice steady, but there was a hint of warmth in it that only you seemed to notice. "It was an accident. My tail’s fine."

Your eyes widened as you processed his words, still unsure whether to be more apologetic or relieved. But Dan Heng’s calmness eased the tension in the room, and you realized he wasn’t angry.

"It’s okay," he added, his tone a little softer. "You didn’t mean to, and it doesn’t hurt. Just... be careful next time." He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that made his usual stoic demeanor seem a little less distant.

You, still embarrassed, nodded slowly, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little. "Thank you, Dan Heng. I’ll be more careful."

Dan Heng placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his touch reassuring yet firm. "You don’t need to apologize for every little thing. Life’s full of accidents. Just... don’t overthink it."

For once, you could finally relax, knowing that with Dan Heng, you didn’t have to worry about constantly apologizing for things that weren’t even your fault.

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter fifty four. waiting for us wc. 2k a/n. name drop!!!! ok but that being said this is a VERY heavy chapter dealing with very sensitive topics. please read through the tw and be safe. tl;dr at the end. TW!!! negligent parents, brief mention of abortion, brief mention of religion, verbal abuse, domestic abuse, violent acts, mentions of self-harm and attempted suicide also i'm not entirely sure how I should tag this, but there is a part where yn has her clothes ripped off of her without consent, but it is not in a sexual way (?) or for the purpose of doing something sexual.

You stand just outside the door of 3RACHA’s (and hyunjin’s) apartment, and your quite certain that your heart is going to pound itself straight through your chest. Perhaps there is a brief moment where you consider just running for it but you think better of it. A half empty duffel bag sits on your shoulder and there’s a ratty backpack that hangs loosely off of you. Maybe you’d find it sad that your whole life could fit into two measly bags, but you couldn’t deny that it was just easier this way. You had left nothing behind, wiping your entire existence out of that place and you would not look back.

When you finally gather the courage to knock on the door, your knuckles barely make a sound while they rap against the wood. Yet the moment your hand makes contact with the door, it’s swinging open and Felix throws himself into your embrace. You almost lose your balance but Felix makes sure you don’t fall backwards, clinging almost painfully to you.

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay since you were later than you said you’d be, but the words die on his tongue at the sight of you. There’s nothing different from you besides the bright red mark decorating your cheek.

“YN? What happened? Who hurt you?” He questions, voice going almost impossibly deeper. The thought of someone putting their hands on you fills him with anger. You actually almost don’t know what he’s talking about before remembering the parting gift your mother had given you before you left.

“Oh. This. Don’t worry about it,” You mumble, acting rather nonchalant as you attempt to get past Felix and into the apartment but he doesn’t let you get too far, grasping gently at your wrist to pull you back.

“No seriously. Who hurt you yn? What’s up with the bags?” He fires out questions, now just realizing the two bags you had with you.

“I was hoping I could stay the night. Or a few. Or forever,”

The silence between you is deafening.

“Yn” You hate (love) the way you shudder at the way he says your name in that deep tone of his.

“I might have, um, run away from home?”

“WHAT?” He yells at that effectively alerting the rest of the boys of your presence.

“Lix? Is that YN? What’s going on?” Chan’s voice filters through the apartment, getting louder the closer he gets. You finally move past Felix, leaving your bags by the door for now.

“Lixie, I’ll explain everything ok? I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself over and over again,” You beg the boy with an almost desperate lilt to your voice, giving him big puppy eyes for added ammo just in case. He sighs and let’s it go for now, letting you drag him towards the couches.

But of course, even if Felix had dropped it, the other’s wouldn’t; immediately demanding to know who hit you as soon as they see your red cheeks. As much as you appreciate their concern, the swirl of emotions you’ve been feeling for hours already has you on edge and you’re so close to snapping.

“GUYS” You raise your voice and the effect is immediate, all of them quieting down and staring back at you. “It’s ok, I promise. I barely feel it. It was the first time my mom hit me anyway,” At that they all start asking questions again, talking over each other but one glare from you shuts them up again. “Please. I’m here to explain okay? So please, let me tell you everything before you guys start asking a million questions,” You plead, tired and scared of the can of worms you were potentially about to open. But you also know how much you need this. You just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

The boys all gather onto the couch and the seats next to it, with you sat in the middle next to Felix and Jisung, one on either side of you. Both of them are close enough that you can feel their thighs pressed to yours. It helps to keep you grounded while you try to take a deep breath but it just comes out shaky. Jisung slides his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze before giving you a reassuring nod.

“I was an accident. My mom somehow managed to get pregnant even though my dad had a vasectomy after they had my brother. Despite not wanting another child, they decided to have me anyway for whatever reason. We’re not religious or anything so she could have just gotten an abortion. I’ll never know why they decided to have me.

Growing up the abuse was mostly verbal. An insult here or there, mostly reminding me I wasn’t wanted or needed. My brother of course was the worst with his words but overall it really wasn’t that bad. For the most part they ignored my existence, which was honestly fine with me. It….only got worse after I turned 16. When I got my soulmark,” Your hands are shaking in Jisung’s firm grip while Felix scoots closer for comfort, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder. You are so thankful for them.

“Both of my parents are blanks and so is my brother. So it was only natural that I assumed that I would be a blank as well. So imagine my surprise when it turns out I have 8 soulmates,” You let out a small snort, head shaking softly.

“I’m know you’re all probably thinking that I freaked out or panicked about having so many soulmates with how I reacted when we met, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” You make brief eye contact with Jeongin who has a confused expression on his fox-like face.

“For the first time, hope bloomed in my chest. My original plan was to leave when I turned 18, as soon as I could, but I didn’t really know what I would do. I would be all alone, no soulmate and experiencing the real world for the first time. But now, I finally felt like I had a purpose. To find my soulmates. I couldn’t believe that I would have 8 soulmates. 8 people who would love me. Who would want me” your voice cracks at those last words, tears burning in your eyes. Hyunjin looks like he’s not too far behind with his own tears threatening to fall.

“Of course I had lied to my parents about my soulmark, just saying I was a blank. It was easy since they didn’t really care but I had the suspicion that my brother didn’t believe me. I used to stand in front of my mirror staring at my soulmark, tracing over your names, dreaming about what life would be like with you guys,” Felix clings a little harder to you. “It was my only solace in that prison, that one day I would be where I belonged,”

“One day my brother…he caught me looking at my mark. He-“ Your eyes close in pain as the tears run down your cheeks. You squeeze at Jisung’s hands who haven’t lefts yours yet as you take in a deep breath. “He dragged me to the living room by my hair, yelling at my parents that I was a lying whore. That I was some kind of greedy slut for having so many soulmates. He pushed me to the ground and…he- he,” You choke on your tears before you feel someone patting your cheeks dry with tissues. You look up to see Minho, his eyes soft and sad as he continues to dry the tears leaking from your eyes. The other boys that were not on the couch have abandoned their seats in favor of being closer to you. Seungmin is on the floor, stroking at your calves soothingly, while Hyunjin does the same on your other side.

“He ripped my skirt off and…he….he took a lighter and….and-“ You can’t even finish the sentence before you throw yourself in Seungmin’s embrace, sobbing into his shoulder as he holds you. The rest of the boys try to comfort you as you feel hands along your back and hair, soft soothing words being said into your ears. It takes you a few minutes to pull yourself together.

“’M sorry-“ You say with a sniffle, letting Minho clean your face as he insists on doing it himself.

“Don’t say sorry. You’ve had horrific things done to you. You are so strong,” Changbin says in a soft voice, contrasting his normally loud demeanor. His hands smooth your hair down.

You can hear the sniffles from Felix and Jisung who have starting sobbing silently, their hearts breaking for you. You let out a sigh because you’re not even done.

“After that…the abuse…got worse. It turned physical as my brother would take his anger out on me. My parents didn’t care about what he did to me. I slowly…became a shell of myself. I started turning to self harm because everything hurt so much that I needed something else to hurt so I didn’t have to think about anything else. Even though he didn’t sever our soulmark, I felt like I had let you down- that I let someone else disfigure our beautiful connection. I though about my soulmates who would probably never want someone as broken as I was. I felt so lost. So….on graduation night I-“ You tuck your head down in shame. “I swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills,”

Everyone is deadly silent but you can hear Hyunjin and Jeongin joining in on the crying. Seungmin just holds you a little tighter.

“I had texted Minghao before I went through with it. Telling him that I was so grateful for his friendship and that him and Jun were the best friends I could ever ask for. Of course that man has some freaky 8th sense or something because I don’t think it took him more than five minutes to get to my house even though he lives twenty minutes away. He was yelling at me when he barged into my bathroom but I don’t remember much after that. I passed out and woke up in the hospital. Now that I was conscious Minghao throughly chewed my ass out though. The nurses had wanted to hospitalize me actually for mental health reasons but my parents refused and said something about how it was just an accident,”

“We thought you died,” Jeongin pipes up, his eyes red rimmed with tears as he sniffles.

“Your mark went gray and we all felt this sharp pain in our chests. That night we had mourned the loss of a soulmate that we thought we’d never get to meet. The relief we felt when your mark went back to black was unmatched. We had assumed you must have had an accident or something to have triggered the mark to react,”

The rest are eerily quiet, still waiting for you to continue your story.

“After I was discharged, my father had someone managed to score himself a promotion. Something about using a sob story about how his daughter was feeling lost being in a small town and needing to explore or some other bullshit. Either way we were suddenly packing and moving to seoul, not that my opinion mattered if I wanted to go or not.

My grades in school were actually pretty good. I really didn’t have anything better to do then study so It was surprisingly easy to get into seoul uni. And well….then I met Jeongin in Biology. Slowly the rest of you followed and wormed your way into my heart,” you smile fondly at the boys around you who smile back, even with tears stained cheeks.

“I really don’t care about the thread Yunjin posted, but my brother saw it and was not happy. He informed our parents and they let me have it. I just sat there taking it when I realized that I didn’t have to put up with this shit anymore. So I kinda just got up, grabbed my stuff and left…Figured you guys wouldn’t mind if I stayed,”

“Never ever. You do realize that now that you’re here we are never letting you go. Ever again,” Changbin whispers, squeezing you a little tighter. The boys are practically cutting off your oxygen but you can hardly care, feeling the love pouring out of them. You love them. You never want to be without them ever again.

“You have been so brave, so strong. We are so proud of you. Thank you. Thank you for waiting for us,”

tl;dr ! yn's parents find out about her soulmates via her brother who found out from the thread. while they chew her out, she realizes that she doesn't has to put up with this anymore and "runs" away (but not without her mother slapping her). she goes over to their apartment to tell them her story. yn was an "accident" and even though her parents didn't want another child, they went ahead with the birth anyway. they, along with her brother never let her forget that she was unwanted. both her parents and her brother are blanks and so she had assumed she would be too - but surprise, surpise. she has 8 soulmates. yn adored her mark and was excited for the day she would get to be with them. she'd spend time staring at her mark, memorizing their names. one day her brother catches her and gets so angry that he takes a lighter and burns her mark. after that yn falls into a deep depression and turns to self-harm in order to cope. still unable to take it and feeling like she let her soulmates down, she decides to take a bunch of sleeping pills. minghao is the one who finds her and saves her. the boys mention that they thought that she had died due to the mark reacting and turning grey. they were very happy when the mark went back to black. after her attempt, her father was able to get a promotion at work and moved their family to seoul, resulting in yn finally finding her soulmates.

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[lilacxquartz]

JJK x Reader: What they would do for your birthday

included: sukuna, uraume, kenjaku & mahito

tags/themes: drabbles, fluff, slightly suggestive, slight body horror for mahito, 500-1000 words per character

ao3 link • masterlist • mdni

a/n: levelling up this month so why not a lil drabble post 💥 i’ll write one up for the other chars next time

Sukuna

You had been officially with Sukuna for about a year now and have lived together with him for about half of that duration.

Therefore, it was only a matter of time before you ended up spending your birthday with him.

Or so you thought.

Waking up, you were surprised to find the bed completely empty and utterly devoid of his presence. Instead, Uraume stood in the doorway with a neutral look on their face, entirely unphased by you being partially undressed with the covers only concealing half of your otherwise bare body.

It took you a while to adjust to their unwavering stare before you noticed that they were holding onto something.

At first, you couldn’t help but consider the possibility that perhaps Sukuna had arranged for a gift to be dispensed at their hands rather than to deliver it himself. However, the longer you both stared each other down, the less likely that seemed to be the case.

Stepping forward, Uraume snapped open a roll of measuring tape in their hands, the object making a tight whipping sound, “Your measurements, please.”

Blinking, you tried to process their request.

“It would be wise if you could cooperate with me,” they added, piling onto your strained silence.

“Hold on a sec,” you murmured, “let me just get dressed—“

“—I really don’t mind,” they replied stiffly, “nor do I care.”

“I care, a-alright?” you partially stammered, feeling your face warm up under their eyes. Curse Sukuna for requesting that you sleep unclothed. “Just step out for a moment. …Please?”

With a weary eye roll, Uraume complied with your request.

Quickly slipping into a tank top and a pair of underwear, you awkwardly cleared your throat a couple of times to signal that you were ready.

As they walked back inside, they swiftly manoeuvred around you, looping the measuring tape around your arms and waist with calculated precision as you stood there with slowly building discomfort.

“S-so… what’s this for?” you asked.

“For lord Sukuna,” they quietly replied while taking a step back, their eyes closing for a moment as though to make a mental note, “a request of his so that I can make some… adjustments.”

You nervously laughed in response in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You make it sound so ominous.”

Uraume however did not reciprocate, leaving you alone in the bedroom where you were left to gather what remained of your throughts for a good couple of hours. In that time, you chose to take it as easy as possible in fearful anticipation for what Sukuna might have had in store for you.

When the time finally arrived for him to make his grand appearance, you were sitting in bed half awake against the headboard, sleepily browsing your phone.

Sukuna’s footsteps were methodical as he approached you, holding onto what appeared to be neatly folded fabric. His pointed fingernails lightly threaded around the cloth, seeming careful not to tear through the material.

Warily, you sat up and steeled yourself, unsure as to what to expect all the while he extended his arms, offering you what you were certain to be a gift.

Before you could say anything however, he promptly cut you off with a disapproving tone, “You will refrain from getting sentimental at my offering. I’m doing this out of pure etiquette.”

You blinked at him with a confused arched brow as your mouth slightly hung ajar. Thinking nothing of it, you carefully unfolded the cloth, unfurling the creases and gently spreading out a robe similar to the one he often wore.

Unable to resist a smile, you couldn’t help but ask in a teasing tone, “Did you just give me a matching kimono? Are we really matching? That’s so adora—“

“—cease, the rags you otherwise wear are simply… unacceptable, that’s all,” he huffed in a curt response, seeming displeased with your remark. “This is more so to please me than it is for you to enjoy.”

Your smile continued to grow as his words went right over your head. No matter how much he would continue to deny it, he got you something personal—something purposefully commissioned for you to wear that matched what he had.

Attempting to further taunt him for being soft, you opened up your mouth to tempt the idea. However he quickly grabbed your wrist and yanked it towards him as a playful threat, his voice low and full of warning, “Don’t push your luck, brat. You’ll try this on and let me see how it sits on you.”

Stifling your mockery for now, you quietly obeyed his word without further question to which he released you to do so. You punched one arm at a time through the kimono while he helped you ease into it; his eyes fixated intently on how you wore it, silently judging how you adapted to wearing the cloth.

“Perfect,” he whispered under his breath, although the annoyance he felt prior was steadily returning the longer you stared at him with that irritating smile, “again, don’t mistake this gift as an act of kindness. I’m simply ensuring that you dress the way I’d prefer.”

“Sure,” you replied with a sarcastic undertone.

You couldn’t lie though, the material was perfectly soft against your skin. It felt like wearing weightless silk that both cooled yet somehow warmed your body.

And despite the coldness that he continued to deliver you with his pointed stare, there was a flicker of something else in the depth of his eyes. Perhaps it was care, no matter how much he denied being unable to feel such an emotion.

Or perhaps it was longing… or a subtler form of affection that you didn’t quite understand.

Whatever it was, the gift was a token of his claim towards you—for you to wear something he did too, to present to the world that you were in fact truly his.

Which in his eyes was the most meaningful gift that he could ever give.

Uraume

Your interactions with Uraume were always a hit or a miss, at least initially. Slowly, you grew to appreciate their company over the last couple of years and during more recent times, the pair of you had blossomed into a relationship.

Taking such a big step forward was a challenge for you both, but you did come to value the way they showed affection—no matter how subtle it always was.

Together, you lived on a property not too far from Sukuna’s residence. They were always available at a moment’s notice for his every whim and need, so often times you were left to spend the evenings alone and when your birthday finally rolled around, you didn’t expect anything less.

However, much to your surprise, Uraume seemingly got off much earlier than you had anticipated, arriving home just before it was too dark. Just before you were too tired to stay up for their company.

“You’re home early,” you said, greeting them with an acknowledging nod as they lingered in the doorway—both hands clasped onto a box that they held onto for dear life.

As they nodded back, you became curious about the contents and gently placed your phone onto the sofa to inspect what they were carrying. Carefully, you trailed off to where they stood, looking down ever so slightly while they figured out how to address you.

“…Today is a significant day for you,” they spoke up at last, their hands slowly extending as they attempted to part with the box.

You grabbed onto it, securing it at parallel ends.

“Correct,” you slowly nodded.

A moment of silence had passed before Uraume continued on with what they wanted to say, “As such, I have brought you something as a gift. Please open it carefully.”

Nodding once more, you heeded their request and placed the box onto the breakfast table, sitting on a chair and began to open up the box. Slowly, you unloaded a fine china tea set with a delicate touch.

“Is it acceptable?” Uraume asked.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” you whispered, carefully inspecting each and every single fine detail, seemingly hand painted onto the dishes.

“I used to have a similar set, way back then,” they added, “although I couldn’t find the exact original.”

“You have incredible taste either way,” you complimented.

Uraume’s lips curled slightly, looking away for a second as you praised them,

“Is it… acceptable?” they asked you again, wondering if it was a gesture that you enjoyed or not. Uraume didn’t like it when things were sugarcoated, preferring a blunt or clear response instead.

“Yes,” you replied, “I love it.”

For Uraume to not only consider your interest but to also add a personal flair and also locate something potentially rare and nostalgic to them was an incredible gesture to you.

Seeming pleased, Uraume continued, “I could prepare you some tea then, if you’d like. You should be sleeping soon, so a cup might be nice.”

“I’d love that,” you replied.

“Then please sit tight,” they smiled, “allow me to treat you as you deserve.”

Kenjaku

Going to sleep at Kenjaku’s side and waking up alive the next day was a miraculous accomplishment each and every single time. It was such a relieving feeling, that you almost found yourself feeling thankful that on your birthday, you woke up feeling perfectly fine without a hint of unwelcome surprise.

No suspicious incisions, no missing organs—you were fine, all fine. Just fine…!

Yet as you left the bed and saw a note sitting at the doorstep to the entrance of the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy.

You warily picked it up, scanning over the surface of the paper:

‘Happy birthday. Your gift awaits.’

As you then unfolded the note completely, you found that there was more written on the inside; an unnamed address without any context.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for whatever it was. You didn’t want to go anywhere unnecessary today, yet here he was, directing you somewhere potentially strange.

Chucking on your usual outfit—something lazy for running errands, you inputted the address into your GPS app and began to march towards the mysterious direction.

You supposed that you were lucky to be dating this man during the modern times, where you at least had modern technology to accurately guide you to wherever it was he directed you. Had this been just decades earlier with a paper map, you might have genuinely lost the single shred of sanity that you had left.

And upon reaching the address in question, you stepped inside what appeared to be an old antique shop. Inside stood an old man who trembled as he asked for your name, seeming equal parts nervous and relieved as he handed you a note with a key folded inside.

Sighing, you thanked the man and parted the key from the paper, reading more of his forsaken words:

‘Unlock compartment #51 and retrieve the contents.’

Doing just that, you asked the man if he knew what the note was talking about and with a strained nod, he led you to a small room filled to the brim with small drawers dotted with little key slots. You supposed that this antique shop somehow doubled as an old post office perhaps, given the worn state of the lockers.

You braced yourself for whatever you were about to find in the allocated compartment, frowning as you retrieved a small box wrapped in paper. Inside, was an even smaller box, although completely metal with a cap on it and to your lacking surprise, another note.

“Oh for the love of—“ you muttered as your eyes focused on the new piece of paper:

‘Return home and loudly close the door. Break the seal of the case and place it onto the counter.’

With an almost exasperated groan, you stormed back to your shared home and did exactly as he instructed—feeling genuinely unsure as to why you were torturing yourself on what appeared to be a scavenger hunt for what gave him the audacity to do such a thing.

You stared at the activated case with a narrowed gaze, half expecting the damned thing to blow up. It was surely not too promising as smoke seeped through the narrow ventilation slots and as a loud beeping noise played, but then you smelled something pleasant.

Kenjaku then materialised seemingly out of nowhere, jolting you with unanticipated surprise as he swooped in to disassemble the case, unveiling a small cake of some kind that he then took a bite out of, without offering you a single crumb.

“…Excuse me?” you asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“I haven’t had one of these for centuries,” he replied, his mouth slightly muffled as he chewed.

You continued to stare at him, “And why did you make me go through all of that?”

Initially he curiously hummed but then smiled upon finishing up the confection, “So that I could give you a gift that you wouldn’t forget. A pleasant memory.”

“I didn’t find it very pleasant…” you sulked.

Kenjaku simply continued to smile as he patted your head, messing up your hair in the process, “But it was definitely unforgettable, right?”

“I… I guess so?” you reluctantly supposed.

“Then, consider that to be my gift to you,” he replied, “a day of intrigue, but also enrichment.”

“T-thank you?” you replied in a state of quickly growing confusion; completely unsure of what was even happening.

Seeming satisfied, Kenjaku retreated from you as he slinked back into what was his study, “You’re welcome,” he sang before disappearing into the room.

All the while you could do nothing but simply stand there, confused yet also… somehow fulfilled?

Mahito

You weren’t sure how, but you managed to find yourself entangled in Mahito’s personal web. You weren’t sure as to why this strange cursed spirit seemed to spare you, but you were starting to wish that he hadn’t, given how often he popped into your own home.

You tried just about everything to keep him out, but he was just too damn determined. It was on a nightly basis that he made it into a routine; somehow breaching your barricaded doors and boarded up windows to routinely appear in your bedroom.

You could always tell when he was there, too.

Initially he gave you the creeps as he lingered in the shadows of your dark bedroom, but slowly he became something to simply just expect.

And with the all too familiar tapping of his knuckles against the wall, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed as he paid you yet another visit against your will.

Flashing on the lights, you bathed the once dark room in a blinding glow and there he was; stood idly up against your wall, waiting for you to notice him.

“Miss me?” he asked, leaning ever so slightly forward which caused his silver locks to sway.

You groaned into your pillow, turning away from him, mumbling something just coherent enough for him to parse, “I’m about to go to sleep. Go away.”

“Sleep? How boring~” he mocked in a jovial tone. “Especially on such a special day.”

You reluctantly acknowledged that it was indeed your birthday, choosing to push down the curiosity you had in mind with how on earth he managed to obtain such knowledge to begin with.

“Correct,” you begrudgingly replied, “so can my present be for you to leave me alone?”

Mahito simply laughed in response, a shrill and mocking sound escaping his lips. It always bothered you how expressive his features were yet how vacant his eyes seemed to be.

“Silly!” he exclaimed. “That would be rude of me, now wouldn’t it?”

“…The opposite, actually,” you mumbled.

Mahito pushed himself off of the wall and made his way to sit by your side while you were still in bed. He made a point of pulling off your blanket away from you and throwing the pillows off to the side—forcing you to whether you wanted to or not, to acknowledge his existence.

However, before you could react any further, his bare fingers brushed against your forehead with a strange, almost alien sensation that followed.

It felt like a headache of some sort but you couldn’t quite figure it out just yet.

Something was simply just… off.

Warily, both of your hands felt around your scalp, feeling something pointed and sharp spearing out of your head. In an attempt to get it off of you, you seemed to make the pain worse.

Such a realisation that he might have altered your body filled you with a deep sense of dread and that wasn’t a feeling you were particularly ready to accept.

“W-what did you just do…?” you asked with a trembling voice.

Mahito clapped his hands together in delight, seeming thoroughly amused at the sight before him. His eyes gleamed with pure excitement as he traced the air with a pointed finger, drawing an outline of your figure.

“Just a little something to get you into the party spirit,” he hinted with a sense of excitement that was just barely contained, “why not look into the mirror and see for yourself?”

Albeit reluctantly, you got out of bed and padded your way to the standing floor mirror that you had in the corner of your room. You weren’t quite sure what to expect, but upon seeing a literal organic mass spearing from the top of your head, it certainly wasn’t that.

The longer you stared at it, the more uneasy you felt.

The very sight of it alone made you feel nauseated.

“G-get it o-off…!” you barely choked out, the volume of your voice croaking out as nothing more than a whisper.

Mahito’s grin then grew wider, “Not yet, birthday girl. How about some gratitude for your very own built in party hat?”

Surrendering to his terms under the implication that he would undo such a ridiculous alteration to your body, you managed to sputter out that could have resembled coherent words.

“Th-tha-thank y-you, Ma-mahito.”

Yet, the patch faced spirit didn’t seem satisfied with your attempt at all, tilting his head off to the side as though to indicate disappointment.

“Let’s try again,” he requested with a feigned sulk, “with a little bit more enthusiasm, perhaps?”

“Th-thank you!” you blurted out, although still sounding more horrified than grateful.

“That’s better,” Mahito cheered on, his personality rebounding in a split second, “but still not quite good enough,” he added on, “one last time with the right amount of passion? Unless you’d rather I keep it permanently like that?”

“Thank you for this incredible gift, Mahito!” you exclaimed, practically shouting as your both your voice as well as your dignity left your body.

Seeming genuinely pleased, Mahito ran his fingers by your head once again before returning you back to your original form. Not only were you right as rain, but he also gave you a good minute to compose yourself, waiting for you to scold him.

“What was that…?” you huffed.

“A magic trick for your birthday party,” he beamed, charading the flick of a wand, “a gift to get you into the birthday mood!”

“Oh, I’m in a mood alright,” you sighed.

“Not to worry,” he announced after yet another moment of painful silence, his sudden movement jolting you, “I’m going to leave you alone for now. So goodnight, better be thankful or else I’ll bite tonight~!”

Your eye twitched as he continued to taunt you with the almost burdening reminder that regardless of his promised absence, that he would come crawling back into your life the very next day.

Perhaps however, you should be thankful that he only seemed to want to rile you up rather than to torture you.

So maybe that much was a gift in itself than anything else.

>>> more birthday jjk drabbles

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (04)

Well, damn, it’s been a while. Uni is kicking my ass, but I’ll try to do at least one update every week (the goal is one during the week and one on the weekend). Anyway, I hope you like this chapter too! Thank you all for your support; I really appreciate all the likes and comments. It’s my first fic, so seeing people enjoy it is so validating and motivates me to keep writing.

I will try to post another chapter this weekend though.

Warning: cursing, blood

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut ; bisexual!Reader

03 <- 04 -> 05

Masterlist

Taglist

You had never gotten home so fast in your life. The entire drive was a blur—nothing but flashing lights, familiar roads, and the sound of your own pounding heart. It was a miracle you didn’t slam headfirst into someone else’s car or lose control of the wheel. The last, dying surge of adrenaline got you through a sloppy parking job, followed by a sprint into your apartment complex, straight to your apartment’s door. The moment it slammed shut behind you, you quickly locked the door. A distant voice in the back of your mind wondered if your neighbor would leave yet another passive-aggressive note about the noise, but you couldn’t care less right now, but you couldn’t care less now. For the first time in what felt like hours, you sucked in a shaky breath, leaning against the door as you slid down. Your back scraped painfully against the wood, but you didn’t care about that either. When your ass finally hit the floor, the whole nightmare came crashing down on you. The fear, the panic, the pain—it all hit you at once, in a suffocating wave that made your chest tighten.

Your nose had stopped bleeding during that hellish drive, but the damage was done and blood was everywhere, splattered all over your shirt, caked, crusted and dried. And then there was the sweat dripping down your body, making your skin sticky and gross. You smelled like rusty iron and sweat, a disgusting mix that made you want to puke, while the still sharp and throbbing ache in your nose acted as a constant reminder of how fucked up this day had been.

You sat there in silence. The tears long gone, dried somewhere between the drive and the door slamming shut behind you, but the exhaustion was still there. Everything hurt: Your head from being smashed into the wall, your face from Red Riot’s fists, your legs from sprinting like your life depended on it. And it might as well have been the case.

Minutes passed in agonizing stillness before you felt something besides pain and exhaustion. A vicious spike of anger shot through you. White-hot, boiling rage surged through your veins. It crashed into you with full force, tearing through the numbness. You had been terrified, yes—petrified, running for your life—but now? The fear had settled, buzzed out of your system, and only left rage in its wake. Staggering to your feet, you felt the room sway around you as you stumbled to the bathroom. Once you met your own eyes in the bathroom’s mirror, you couldn’t stand the sight of yourself—sweaty, bloody, pathetic and wrecked. It made your stomach churn. You looked like shit, arguably worse than shit. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face swollen, your lips busted wide open. And your nose—twisted in a way that made you wince just looking at it.

All of this for what ? Nothing.

That piece of shit Red Riot, did that to you. He came barging through the door like a red storm, no explanation needed before breaking your nose. You hadn’t even done anything wrong. Not a goddamn thing. But no Red Rio- Kirishima Eijiro, the known friendly hero, had acted like a rabid dog and torn into you without a second thought.

Fuck him. Matter of fact, fuck Todoroki too. Fuck those two.

He beat you into the ground, and you did nothing. You couldn’t do anything. Rage boiled in your chest as you yanked your clothes off and threw the bloodied, reeking fabric to the floor. Your hands reached for your face, intending to heal your injuries with your quirk but as your fingers brushed over the dried blood and bruises, you caught the faint scent of berries and honey beneath the sweat and rusty iron. Your stomach twisted as the memory of Todoroki’s desperate wet kisses on your hands flashed through your mind. The anger surged again, burning hotter as you quickly washed away his scent on you in the sink before healing yourself.

A soft yellow glow filled the room as your quirk worked to repair the worst of the damage—your split lips, your broken nose. A tingling sensation crept over your body, uncomfortable, but familiar and you frowned, concentrating on pushing through the discomfort as your quirk did its work. It wasn’t a “miracle-doing” type of quirk though, your nose straightened, your lips sort of healed—but the pain lingered, lurking beneath the surface. You’d only kick-started the healing process. It would take time for the swelling to go down, for the bruises to fade, for the pain to finally subside.

You hit the shower, cold water cascading over you, washing away the dried blood as you scrubbed your skin roughly with your loofah. You stayed under the chilling stream, hoping it would wash away the weight of this terrible day, letting it all drain down the sewer. It was only when you began to feel raw and too cold that you jumped out of the shower, dried yourself with your towel, and put on the first non-bloodied shirt you found on your way out of the bathroom.

Once you opened your bedroom door, you didn’t bother to turn on the light; the darkness felt comforting, and you welcomed it with open arms. You crawled under the sheets, burying yourself in the heavy comforter, yearning for the warmth it promised to bring. The weight of the blanket pressed down on you, grounding you in a way you needed after this atrocious day. You longed for it to smother the lingering anger and exhaustion, but you couldn’t shake the thoughts running rampant in your head. How long before Red Riot reported you to the police? How long until the hospital fired you and your medical license was revoked? It would be your word against his in front of a judge. “Beloved hero Red Riot catches a doctor taking advantage of his mate, other beloved hero, Shoto Todoroki,” you could already imagine the headlines. The public, police and judges would eat it up, siding with the hero without question.

After a day filled with chaos and pain, your mind was now horrifyingly clear. You knew it—there was no escaping this. You were done for.

Ironically, the only person who might have been as furious as you today was Kirishima. He was livid—at you for taking advantage of Shoto, at the villain he had to apprehend before rushing to the hospital, and at himself for arriving so late.

He barely noticed when you fled the room, his focus entirely on Shoto. He realized how awful of a partner he’d been, letting his anger consume him. He knew how overwhelming his scent got when that happened, and how sensitive omegas were to scents during their heat. Shoto’s heat wasn’t even due for another three weeks normally, his mate was always so punctual when it comes to thing like this, so to smell his familiar scent of berries and honey, so rich and intense from behind the door, surprised him when he first arrived at his mate’s hospital room earlier. But what really made him stop was the new, unfamiliar scent coming from the room

The two scents mingled, forming a mouthwatering fragrance of sweet, thick and ripe—berries, peach, and maybe apricot under a drizzle of hot honey. The combination was intoxicating, like stepping into an orchard at the height of summer, where each layer of sweetness blended perfectly with the next. The richness and depth of it were almost overwhelming, a scent so inviting and luscious it felt as though you could taste it, lingering and saturating the space around it. It was so enticing but equally odd, a foreign scent mixed with Shoto’s. The warmth and intensity of his mate’s scent coming through the door was a confirmation that he was already in heat and the thought of Shoto in such a vulnerable state with a stranger fueled Kirishima’s panic. Worried, he had bursted through the door to find you, a doctor, with your hands all over Shoto in a way that looked anything but professional, a red haze of fury had fully consumed him.

But now ? Now, he had to be there for Shoto. He had already wasted too much time dealing with you, and the pain in Shoto’s eyes confirmed he had already failed as a partner today.

“Shoto, are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t come—" His voice was thick with worry and panic, but Todoroki cut him off.

“Eijirou, home, now….just take me home."

“Of course. Let’s get you out of here.” Kirishima nodded instantly, his heart pounding as he held out his hand, ready to steady Shoto with it. Shoto was his priority now, and he couldn’t risk another creepy doctor coming in.

He took him by the arm and supported him as they both walked toward the exit. Pro heroes had their own separate exit in their hospital wing as a safety measure, preventing journalists from harassing them the moment they stepped outside. When they reached the hospital’s second front desk, the man working there gave them a confused look, as patients couldn’t be discharged without their doctor’s approval. However, one look from Kirishima discouraged him from asking any questions.

Once they left the building, Kirishima noticed Todoroki’s condition worsening. If his usual quiet demeanor was comforting and endearing, the silence now filled Kirishima with dread. He focused on getting Shoto home, guiding him to his car and helping him into the back seat. The heterochromatic boy appeared uncomfortable lying on the too-small back seat, and all Kirishima could do was hold his hands, and softly promises they’d be home soon.

The drive home was the most careful yet fastest he had ever experienced, but still one of the worst. He hated hearing Shoto's pained moans every time he accelerated too quickly or hit a bump too harshly.

Did I mention that chapter 3 was the end of the prologue? Well, I lied! I had planned an interesting scene between Kirishima and Todoroki, but this chapter ended up being so long. I think I'll save it for next time. Plus, I wrapped up the last two chapters similarly, with a character leaving the hospital in their car, so that counts for something. At the very least, it’s a mini cliffhanger: “Oh, what’s going to happen when Todoroki and Kirishima finally get back home? 👀👀👀 »

What did you think of the Kirishima POV part of this chapter? I feel like calling his mate by his last name is a bit silly, but I also noticed I overused their names. It’s just "Shoto... Kirishima... Shoto's... Kirishima..." on and on.

I can now confidently say that the prologue is complete—unless I decide otherwise in the next update!

As always, criticism are welcome !

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

03 <- 04 -> 05

My apologies if I forgot anyone in the taglist, I may have underestimated how much work a taglist is 😭

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

When Their GF Is Followed Home

Pairing : ot8 (separately) x f!reader TW : reader getting followed ; reader panicking ; honestly it's fluffy ; major anxiety though ; might be anxiety inducing or triggering ; Word Count : Bangchan (745) ; Minho (847) ; Changbin (747) ; Hyunjin (1370) ; Jisung (1396) ; Felix (1114) ; Seungmin (1564) ; Jeongin (1645) -TOTAL : 9.4k AN : this is entirely self indulgent and I will write my requests, this is kind of a coping mechanism for me. Thank you for being patient with me and for everyone who commented on my post about what had happened and I really do appreciate and love all of you. I won't tag my perm. tag list in this one because it isn't really a request or anything, it's just for me, but I'm gonna post it here just in case anyone else needs it or wants to read it.

You should have been home 5 minutes ago, he knew exactly the amount of time it took for you to get from your job to the house, and even if traffic was bad, it would only tack on an extra 3 or 4 minutes. It’s been 20 minutes since you told him you got out of work, and now he was starting to worry. Did you have to stay late? It wasn’t unlikely, but you’d usually tell him these things so he wouldn’t wait up for you at night. 

His phone started vibrating, and when he saw your name as the caller ID, he let out a little sigh of relief… Until he answered and he heard the sound of the car running, which wasn’t what he was used to considering you were a strict advocate of not using your phone while driving at all. Then he heard your heavy breaths and your sniffling. You were crying. “Channie…” You whispered, the sound of his name shaky when it left your lips. “I’m being followed… I don’t know what to do…” 

The panic that he initially felt came back tenfold, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and the worst part was that there was nothing he could do. It’s not like he’d tell you to stop the car so he could get to you, he didn’t know what the person following you was capable of or even what they planned on doing. “Call the cops… Okay? Call the cops and go back to your work. Stay in your car… Lock the doors and keep the windows up.” 

You gasped before he heard the loud sob, he was terrified just hearing about it, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how you felt right now. “O-Okay… Bye… I… I love you…” You stammered, and the way you said it only had him freaking out even more. It sounded like you were saying goodbye to him, not like you normally would, but like a final goodbye. 

He knew where you were going, and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t sit at home and wait. He needed to know right then that you were okay, so he grabbed his keys, not even bothering to change into his shoes, running straight out the door and climbing in his car, racing towards your work. His own hands were shaking as his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, his entire body was trembling as his head filled with the worst thoughts of what could have happened to you. 

The ride to your work was actually quite short, just a couple blocks, but right now it felt like it took forever to get there, but once he was finally in the parking lot, he could see that you were parked right out front. He pulled his car around to park behind you, quickly climbing out to run over to yours. 

It was heartbreaking to see the way you jumped when he got up to the window, the way your body was still shaking and your one hand still wrapped around the wheel in a vice grip as if you were ready to speed off if that person did come back. Once you realized it was him though, you rolled your window down, and then he really saw you. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and you were practically hyperventilating. “I-It’s my b-boyfriend…” You said to whoever it was on the phone, and when he glanced at it, he could see that you were still on the phone with the police. “I’ll hang up now… Thank you…” You whispered before ending the call and then looking up at him with the glassiest eyes, the saddest eyes, and all he wanted to do was hold you, to tell you that everything would be okay. “An officer is… on the way… right now…” 

“I’ll stay here with you, I’m not leaving you.” He assured you, grabbing your hand through the window and leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help… I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I promise I won’t let anything like that happen ever again.” And now he was crying, you both were crying as you sat in the parking lot, but that promise that he made was one that he’d stick to and keep forever. You were the most precious thing in his life and he’d make sure that you never have to go through something like that ever again.

It was a late night in the practice room, another comeback and he wanted this one to be just as powerful as the last so he was practicing his dances as much as he could. He was taking a small break, resting against the mirrored walls of the room when his phone started vibrating on the floor beside him, the sight of your name and picture on his screen had all of his exhaustion washing away and a smile spreading across his face. 

“You know I love you… Right…?” Was the first thing you said as soon as he answered the phone, and the question alone had his heart sinking, but the way you said it, the way you sounded, he knew that something was wrong. “I’m headed back up to my work right now… I just wanted you to know that I love you so much… Give the cats kisses for me. I gotta go though… I’ll text you when I can…” 

The call ended before he was even able to say anything, but it was all so cryptic, it scared the hell out of him. Whatever was happening, he could tell that you were beyond scared, and for some reason you were saying your final goodbyes, and that had him pushing himself up off the floor and rushing out of the practice room and down the hall to the elevators. 

He was pissed at himself for staying at work so late, the building was on the complete opposite side of town, there was no way in hell he was going to make it to you. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, and all of the texts that he was sending didn’t seem to be going through because you weren’t answering any of them. He felt physically sick, like the entire room was spinning and his knees felt weak and he couldn’t breathe and he really just wanted to hear from you, to know that you were okay. 

“You shouldn’t be on your phone while you’re driving, you could cause an accident, Min.” He remembered the way you’d scold him from the passenger seat if he even reached for his phone while his car was in motion. That little memory only scared him more because he heard the sound of your engine running in the background of the call, you were on your phone while you were driving… Or maybe… Maybe you weren’t driving… Maybe it was someone else… His stomach sank deeper at the thought. There had been so many stories coming out recently about things that happened to unsuspecting people… You were so nice, so naive… He needed you to answer him, he needed you to text him back. 

20 minutes had passed since the initial phone call, he had sent you so many texts, and you finally answered him. “Heading home now… I’m sorry.” He was standing at the front door, waiting for your car to pull up, and when it did, there was an officer driving behind you. His heart was racing as he ran out of the house barefoot, not even caring as he ran out into the street to pull open your door, sighing heavily when he saw you sitting there. “What happened…?” He whispered, his hands landing on your shoulders as you climbed out of the car, and he couldn’t not notice how puffy and red your eyes were, but instead of answering, you fell against his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around him. 

The officer had to take some information, and once Minho had thanked him for escorting you home, he walked you into the house, pulling you down on the couch beside him. You told him what had happened, and he went through an array of emotions. Anger, sadness, panic, but most of all, he felt downright awful. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that’s what was happening?” He questioned as you laid against his chest, your fingers gripping tightly onto his shirt as your body continued to tremble. The fear that you had felt still hadn’t left, and he was sure it would be there for a while, and rightfully so. 

“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt trying to race to my job… I know how you are. I just wanted you to know that I love you…” You whispered back, your voice cracking as you started to cry once again. “I know that you love me, and I love you too, so much. I’m gonna drive you to and from work now… I can’t have anything happening to you… I’ve never been so scared in my life.” He murmured, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. Now that he knew you were safe, that fear and desperation that he had felt subsided but quickly turned to anger. He wanted nothing more than to hunt this guy down, to find out who it was and make him feel the same way you felt. You’re his everything, and he was going to do right by you no matter what it takes.

He was in the studio with Chan and Jisung, his phone muted so as to not ruin the recording process. Maybe he had just become complacent in the fact that nothing had ever happened before when you were on your way home, but he never felt the need to have his phone turned on when you were at work or while he was at the studio and you knew that. You’d text him at some point if you had the chance and vice versa, but you both knew that once the two of you were home you’d have so much to talk about it would keep you up for hours. 

“I’m gonna head out now, Y/N should be home by now.” Changbin said, getting up from his chair and stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He was always the first to come in and get things started so that he could be the first to leave, not wanting you to be at home alone for too long. 

On his venture to the elevator, he finally pulled out his phone, noticing that his lockscreen was filled with missed calls from you from over an hour ago, and then a text from you from 25 minutes ago. You would never call him that much when he was in the studio… Unless there was an emergency… But there were never any emergencies. You worked right down the street from the house, what could possibly happen in that short amount of time? Unless there was an emergency in your job and you were trying to call him. 

Before even checking the text, he called you back, opting to take the stairs just to get out of the building faster as he held his phone up to his ear, waiting to hear your voice. “Binnie… I’m sorry I called so much… I’m okay now.” You whispered into your phone, and there was nothing truly relieving about what you said. You being okay now meant that you hadn’t been okay before and he wasn’t there to help you or even answer your calls when you needed him to. 

“What happened?” He urged, pushing through the exit door on the side of the building and coming out into the parking lot, slightly breathless from the amount of stairs he had just sprinted down in a matter of minutes. “Did you get hurt? Are you home? Where are you right now?” He needed more answers, but all he could hear were your shaky breaths over the line. “Baby… Talk to me, please.” 

He was getting more panicked the longer you stayed silent, and he could hear you softly sniffling as if you were crying. “I’m home… Not hurt… An officer escorted me home. I’ll tell you about it when you get in… Okay? I don’t want to talk about it when I’m by myself…” 

When he finally made it home and came through the door you were waiting for him right beside it, your cheeks stained with tear streaks, and you crashed into him as your body shook with uncontrollable sobs. “Shh… It’s okay… I’m here now…” He cooed, rubbing his hand soothingly over your back, although he still wasn’t sure what had truly happened, it must have been awful for you to be like this. “Tell me what happened…” 

As he sat and listened to you, all he could imagine was how scared you must have been. You were still shaking and you were already home, it must have been downright terrifying to be going through it at that moment. He wanted to know everything about what you possibly could have seen, what was the make of the car, what did the driver look like… He wanted to know every single detail. “Don’t try to find him… It’s not worth it…” You said shakily, holding tightly onto his hand. “It’s over now…” 

But it wasn’t over… Because you hadn’t seen the plate numbers, and all you could go off of was a vehicle description, and whoever this guy was… He was still out there. He could do it to someone else, he could come back and do it to you again… Changbin didn’t want to take those chances. For now though, he agreed, because he wanted to take care of you and make sure you were alright and make sure you felt safe. One thing he was certain about though… He’d never put his phone on silent again.

“I’m in my car now, I’ll text you when I get in the house. I love you!” The text came in and Hyunjin read it quickly, smiling to himself as he sank deeper into the couch at the dorms. You hadn’t been together very long, at least not long enough to take that step to moving in together, but he liked to know exactly when you got off work and exactly when you made it home. The second text that he had gotten used to, that he had timed almost perfectly to come in at least 7 to 10 minutes after the first text meant that you were safe and he’d finally be able to call you on the phone and hear your voice. 

When it went past 15 minutes and that second text didn’t come in, his initial thought was that you had just forgotten. Maybe work was just really tiring today and you ended up laying on the couch and passing out… But that didn’t make sense either… You’ve had days like that before and you still texted him to let him know you made it home safe… You just weren’t able to call him because you had gone straight to bed right after. 

“Hey honey… Did you make it home? Text me as soon as you can… I’m getting worried.” He quickly typed out the message, dropping his phone onto his lap as he nervously watched his screen. There were some nights that you’d stop at the store or the gas station on your way home, but even then, you’d text him beforehand that you planned on going there before going home, and then you’d text him when you made it to whatever destination you were headed to. 

After 5 minutes of you still not responding he couldn’t take it anymore, dialing your number quickly and heading to the front door. You had never gone this long without answering him, and you certainly wouldn’t have ignored a phone call from him. He even had his own special ringtone in your phone so you’d know it was him. Something must have happened, and his mind immediately jumped to the worst. 

“What’s going on?” Chan asked as he turned the corner from the kitchen, watching Hyunjin pull on his shoes. “You’re heading out?” Hyunjin never left this late at night, he’d usually already be in his room talking on the phone with you, his giddy voice heard through the walls, giving Jisung and Changbin perfect ammunition to tease him with the next morning. 

“Y/N hasn’t texted me to let me know she made it home… She didn’t answer my text or my call…” Hyunjin said, frantically looking around the room as if he was missing something, but it was just his phone which was still in his hand. He felt like a chicken running around with his head cut off, but the panic seemed reasonable at this point. “Can you drive me to her place?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes silently pleading with his hyung to say yes. 

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just stuck in-” 

“No! She lives in a residential area… Her work is only a couple blocks away… She doesn’t have to go through traffic! Something happened!” Hyunjin shrieked, running his hands through his hair. “Look, if you’re not going to take me to her house, fine… I’ll catch a cab or something. But I need to be there. I need to make sure she’s alright.” 

So Chan relented, grabbing his keys off the hook and following Hyunjin out the door, trying his best to keep up with the younger guy who seemed to be racing against time as he ran down the hall to the stairs. 

In Hyunjins hurry to leave the dorms, he had forgotten to grab the key you had given him to get into your house, but he knew you weren’t home yet. The lights weren’t shining through the blinds in the window, there were no lights on at all. Your dog was still barking at the front door as he and Chan sat on your front porch. But what really gave away that you weren’t home was the fact that your car wasn’t parked out front. 

Every single set of headlights that came around the bend had Hyunjin standing up, checking to see if it were you only to dejectedly sit back down as the car sped past. You still hadn’t texted him back and his heart continued to sink deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach the longer the silence lasted. 

Two sets of headlights came around, both of them lighting up the street, and this time Hyunjin didn’t even bother to stand up, his head dropping back down to stare at his phone screen as he expected them to drive right by like the other cars did… Until the car in front parked right in front of your house, and he realized that the car that had been driving behind was a cop car. 

He pushed himself up off the stairs, tripping over his feet as he ran down to meet you outside of your car, practically pulling you out of it once your seatbelt was unlatched. “Oh my baby… What happened?!” He cried, his eyes already welling up as he looked you over, checking for any sign of injury or harm, but all he could see was that you had been crying, you were still crying. “Baby…?” His voice lowered a little more as he looked at you with worry filled eyes, his bottom lip jutting out. 

“I am going to need some information. Your license and your phone number.” The cop said, and Hyunjins eyes widened. Did you get into an accident? Your car didn’t look damaged or dented, and you’d have surely called him if something like that did happen. He watched as you handed over your license to the officer, your hands trembling and your breaths shallow and uneven. “If something like that ever happens again, if you see that car or the driver, just call that number…” The officer handed you a tiny white card and gave you a sympathetic smile. “You’re okay, everything is gonna be okay.” 

He was more confused than ever now as he watched the officer climb back in his car, but he didn’t take the time to watch him drive away, quickly grabbing your bag and then leading you up to your house. “I’m sorry… Sorry for worrying you…” You croaked out as you kicked your shoes off and dropped down onto the couch, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“No… Don’t apologize…” Hyunjin squatted down in front of you, grabbing both of your hands and giving them a light squeeze. “The cop followed you home… What happened? Why?” He questioned, kissing the back of your hands before cupping your cheeks, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. 

“I was… followed home… I had to go all the way around… And they kept following me. They blinded me with their high beams and… I called the cops. I didn’t know what to do… I drove back up to work…” You explained, your breaths coming out more heavy, your words broken up by loud sobs as your head fell forward. “I was so scared, Hyunjin…” 

He didn’t say anything, instead he scurried up onto the couch, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap, his hand moving up to the back of your head to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Hot tears fell against his skin as he rocked you, whispering I love you’s as he held you close against him. 

There wasn’t much he could do, it had already happened, it’s not like he would have been able to stop it. Now all he could do was try to fight that fear, to make you feel safe again. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worth fighting for was ever easy. “I’m moving in… I don’t want you to be alone. Text me when you get off work and I’ll get a ride down there just so I can ride with you back home. This’ll never happen again, I swear.”

The problem with being out of the country for tours was the fact that he couldn’t bring you with him. Not only was it protocol from his staff members and management themselves, but your work didn’t really allow you that much time off. Whenever he was away, the two of you depended on texts, calls, and video chats to talk to each other, and with him being so far away, he liked to know everything. He wanted minute by minute updates on how your day was going and whether you made it to and from work safely. The guys would always tease him and say he’s being a little redundant, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make sure the person you love is okay. 

Your work schedule was never consistent either, which sometimes made it hard for Jisung to relax. Sometimes you’d get off work at 8pm, and other times you wouldn’t even be leaving the building until 11pm. It just depended on how much you had to do, and that would leave him restless, waiting for your text to come in to let him know you were on your way home. 

Tonight seemed to be a late night, and even though he wasn’t back at the house waiting for you, he couldn’t help but anxiously look over at his phone every couple seconds to see if your text had come in. He was about to start a live stream, it was already 10:40pm where you were, and there hadn’t been a single text yet, so he decided to text you. 

“Hey pookie bear, I’m about to start the live. You can still text me to let me know when you get off and please let me know when you get home. I love you so so so much!! I can’t wait to be back home with you!” He quickly sent the text before setting his phone down to the side to start the stream, trying his best to shake the nerves so he could turn on the camera. 

15 minutes into the stream his phone started vibrating. It wasn’t a text, it was a phone call coming in, and one glance over had him reading your name. Maybe you hadn’t read his text, but you usually didn’t call him during a stream, and you rarely ever called him when you were on your way home, and he still hadn’t texted him… Something must be wrong. He looked to the staff member who seemed just as confused on what to do, but he decided to answer it anyway. He wasn’t going to just let it go to voicemail. 

“Sungie… Baby…” Your voice came through softly, slightly muffled by the sound of the car engine humming in the background. “I love you so much… You mean the world to me, and you’re so special, you’re so amazing at everything you do… And I’m just… I’m so lucky that you’re my boyfriend, and I really wish I could spend the rest of my life with you… I just wanted you to know that. I have to go now though… I’ll text you if I can… Love you…” 

Now, Jisung was rarely ever stunned into silence, but this call had him staring blankly at the staff behind the camera who hadn’t heard anything. The call ended so quickly, but you were clearly panicking, you were crying, and he had never felt so hopeless in his life. He was thousands of miles away, and now you weren’t answering any of his calls. “The fans are wondering where you went…” The staff member said, but how was he supposed to worry about the fans when you were clearly in trouble, or hurt, or both. 

“I don’t know if I can… I…” Jisung stammered, running his hands over his face, feeling his palms get dampened with the tears that had started to fall. “Y/N is in trouble and I really need to try to get a hold of her… I can’t get back on like this… I’m scared.” He explained, but the staff member rolled his eyes, coming over with a box of tissues and setting it down in front of Jisung before flicking back on the camera. 

He didn’t have a choice it felt, but once the camera was off and the stream was over, he’d be having a long talk with the managers about the staff member who clearly wasn’t concerned with anything but himself. For the time being, he pretended to read comments off his phone as he stared at the text screen, waiting for you to say something, anything, to let him know that you were okay. 

It felt like forever, but in actuality, it was only another 10 minutes before another one of your texts came in. “I’m home now… A cop followed me home to make sure I’d be okay. I don’t want to worry you, it’s over with now, but I know that you’ll still ask, but I was followed home… I’ll explain everything when I get the chance to, but right now I just want to take a shower and go to bed. I love you… I can’t wait to see you either.” 

The text wasn’t in any way helpful, it actually made him feel nauseous, knowing that he wasn’t there when you had clearly been through something so traumatic that it made you feel like you had to call him just to say goodbye. The stream was still going, but he couldn’t be bothered to focus on it anymore, his attention solely on his phone screen as he continued to read and reread the message. He couldn’t keep up the act though, and once he had fully processed what he read, he looked to the camera. “I have to go now, there’s an emergency. I’m sorry… Please be safe, STAY. I love all of you.” 

As soon as the camera was off and the live stream ended, the staff member was pissed, but Jisung was just as angry. He was angry at himself, angry at the guy who was now coming closer to grab the laptop who had selfishly forced him to continue to live stream. “This is ridiculous. I’m sure the managers are gonna be real happy, especially ending a stream like that. I can only imagine the rumors that’ll come up.” 

Jisung didn’t care about any of that though, all he cared about was you. He pushed himself up out of the chair and headed to his hotel room door, pulling it open and motioning for the staff member to leave. “There is an emergency, and my girlfriend being terrified after being followed home when she was leaving work isn’t ridiculous. She’s terrified and I’m not there to physically comfort her and the last thing I want to do is a fucking live stream pretending that everything is all sunshine and rainbows. So get out, I have to call her.” 

Since you were okay, Jisung couldn’t exactly use your fear as a reason to leave the tour early, much to his disappointment. He wanted you to come out to be with him though, even if only for a couple days to help get your mind off of what had happened, but of course, you were still needed at work and your job really didn’t care that you had gone through something like that… Which again, made Jisung hate your job more than he already did. 

The distance seemed to feel so much further after what happened though, and there was nothing that would make him fully relax until he got home. For now though, you both agreed to stay on the phone with one another whenever you were driving, even if he was on a stream or in the middle of a concert, he’d stop everything he was doing to make sure you made it work and back home safe without something like this happening for a second time, and that agreement carried on even when he got home from tour… And now when you got home and he was there, he’d be waiting for you at the front door with open arms. That fear wouldn’t just stick with you, but it stuck with him too… The fear of losing you, of not knowing what to do… He never wanted either of you to feel that way again.

Your schedule was erratic to say the least, there was never a set time to you getting off, and Felix, being the sunshine that he is, trusted that you’d get home safe without any problems every single night that you did work. That’s why he didn’t expect you to call him or text him, he just believed that everything would be fine, and when you did get home, you’d let him know all about your day as he sat beside you on the couch. 

Tonight was no different, other than the fact that he was staying at the dorms because he had to head out early for a music video shoot the very next morning. You knew about this, and while you both hated being away from each other, you understood that his work was demanding, and sometimes it demanded that he be away from you for long periods of time. Instead of talking about your days in person tonight, you both had agreed on video calling each other, which was something that he was excitedly awaiting. 

When his phone started to buzz, he jumped off the couch and ran to his bedroom, shutting the door and locking it before answering and flopping down on his bed, a smile spread across his face as he waited to hear your usually cheerful greeting. “Felix…” You gasped out his name, and the happiness that he had expected to hear wasn’t there at all. He immediately went into panic mode, sitting upright on his bed and holding his phone closer to his ear. “I…I’m being followed, I don’t know what to do… I already drove past the house and… They’re still following me. They almost drove right into me… Felix I’m scared… What do I do?” 

You were audibly crying which had his own tears on the brink of falling over the edge, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly as his leg bounced over the side of the bed. “Hang up, angel… Call the police. You have to call the cops, right now… Okay?” He urged, or, moreso, demanded you to do. He hated the fact that he told you to hang up, but he knew that there was nothing he could do from where he was at right now. 

“Y-Yeah… Okay… I love you.” Was how the call ended, not even having the opportunity to say it back. He couldn’t sit still, adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and he wanted to go to you, he wanted to go to your apartment and wait for you there just to know that you made it home safe. The worst part was that he didn’t even know where you were going right now, he should have asked, but he didn’t want to waste anymore time which was essential to you and your safety at that moment. 

He couldn’t even stand to be cramped in his room that felt a little bit too small right now, walking out into the main room where the guys were sitting, and as if his emotions were like a cloud that had hit all of them at once, their heads lifted to look at him, questioning the tension that was radiating off of him in waves. “Y/N is being followed… Fuck! I don’t even know where she’s at right now… And she’s on the phone with the cops… I can’t call her…” He ranted, his hands running anxiously through his hair. 

“Do you want to drive out there to her apartment to make sure she makes it home? I can drive you there.” Minho offered, and Felix looked around the room once before nodding his head in agreement, shuffling over to the door and pulling on the first pair of shoes he could find. “I’m sure she’ll be okay. She’s a smart girl, she probably went back to her work.” His hyung tried his best to instill comforting thoughts, but Felix couldn’t stop thinking the worst. 

“Why would anyone follow her? Why would someone try to scare her like that? They could have caused her to get in an accident! What if they were trying to hurt her?!” Felix continued to ramble, and there was truly nothing that anyone could say to get him to think otherwise, not until he saw you again and made sure that you were truly okay. 

Just as Minho pulled up outside the apartment building, you were pulling into your parking spot, followed by an officer who parked a little further away. You seemed to be in a daze when you climbed out of the car, not even noticing that Felix and Minho were right there. Your keys jingled at your side from how much you were shaking, and he hated seeing you this way. He hated to know that someone, some stranger, had caused you to get like this. 

“Angel…” Felix blurted out, causing you to jump and drop your keys, which he rushed over to pick up off the ground before you could even begin to bend over to grab them. “You’re alright?” He questioned, holding you at arms length to check you over, and once he saw that you were okay, other than the crying, he pulled you against his chest. “You’re alright. You’re safe now…” He cooed, not even wanting to let you go for a minute to get out of the street and walk you into the apartment. 

“It was awful… I’ve never been more scared… My hands were shaking… I never use my phone while I’m driving… I couldn’t even focus… I thought I’d crash…” You choked out, your face still buried in his shirt as he continued to pet his hand over your hair. “He… He flashed his headlights at me… And I wasn’t going to stop… I just kept going… And I was scared my gas would run out and…” 

Felix shushed you, not wanting you to continue reliving those moments, at least not right now. You were safe with him, you were okay, although the mention of the headlights had him remembering a news report he had seen a while back about what that sometimes meant and it made him sick to his stomach. “You’re such a smart girl, angel… You did great. I’m gonna stay with you tonight, and all day tomorrow. I’ll head to the set the next day. I’m gonna get you one of those dash cameras… I gotta make sure my angel is safe, always.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, giving you a soft sympathetic smile. “Let’s get inside, get you something to drink, and then we can lay down and cuddle for the rest of the night… How does that sound?”

“What time do you think you’re getting off tonight?” Seungmin asked from the back room, the stylist working around his phone that he had held up to his ear. Hearing your voice always helped calm his nerves before he did an interview, although he’d never tell anyone else that. 

“Not sure… It’s a late night tonight. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do when I finish actually working.” You answered dejectedly. Seungmin hated how much your job seemed to overwork you, and it wasn’t just that, but they didn’t even show any sort of appreciation for the things that you did. There was no raise in your near future, although Seungmin would always be the first one demanding that you get one whenever you brought it up. No one even thanked you, it’s like they simply expected it of you, which pissed him off. 

“You know that I’d take care of you. You don’t have to stay there.” He reminded you, and he heard your tired chuckle, one that usually meant that you wanted to take him up on the offer, but you couldn’t take him up on the offer either, and that’s why he never pushed the issue any further. “I’m doing an interview, but you know the number for the staff if there’s an emergency, right?” You hummed in agreement, and he sighed quietly. “Text me as soon as you get off work and as soon as you get through the front door. Okay?” 

“Alright. I love you.” You whispered, and you couldn’t see it, but his cheeks raised and turned a light shade of pink, his heart fluttering at those three words. You were the only person that could ever make him get like this. “I gotta get back to work. I can’t wait to hear about the interview tonight.” 

“Mm… I’ll tell you all about it. Don’t overwork yourself… And don’t play your music too loud in the car, you won’t be able to hear anything.” He preemptively scolded you, and he knew that you were rolling your eyes, but you always played your music a little bit too loud… Something that worried him when he knew you were driving home alone at night. He wished that he could be there waiting for you when you got home, but he’d be there soon enough, and that’s what was going to get him through the interview. 

About 30 minutes into the interview, Seungmin saw one of the staff members bring their phone up to their ear, their mouths immediately falling as they listened to whatever it was that was going on. Seungmin was observant, but he wouldn’t have thought anything of it if the member didn’t make direct eye contact with him before walking further away from the interview set. 

None of the other guys seemed to notice, and neither did the interviewer, they were all still talking and goofing off, making it harder for Seungmin to even try to hear what was being said. “I’m not feeling too well, can I have a minute?” He said, still staring at the staff member who seemed to be on the phone still. The guys all turned to look at him, but he didn’t have time to answer their questions, not when he had his own that he needed answers to. 

By the time he got up and made his way over to the staff member, the call seemed to be over, but the girl who had answered the call seemed to still be a little shaken up. Whatever it was, it must be bad. Once she noticed he was standing there, her head was already shaking, her mouth opening and closing as if she didn’t know what to say, which only annoyed Seungmin. If it was serious, he wanted to know right now. “She called… Y/N called… She was crying and panicking and… She said she was being followed and… She said she’s on her way back to her work now and she’s calling the police… I told her to call them…” 

Seungmins mind was immediately going through different scenarios, a multitude of different reasons for something like this to be happening. He was trying to be as rational as possible, which was quite hard to do when the worry was setting in and he felt absolutely helpless as your boyfriend. “Good… Good… That’s good…” He rambled, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to think of what to do. “Let them know that I need to go… I need to get up to her work right now…” 

There was only a short list of people that would follow you and have you panicking so badly. It was either a crazed fan that wanted to get to Seungmin or wanted to hurt you for being with him, or some absolute psychotic stranger. Crazily enough, it would be better if it were a fan honestly, at least Seungmin would know the motive and knew that most of them were hopefully not dumb enough to do something crazy in a public space such as your work. If it were a stranger… He didn’t know what they were capable of, and that scared the hell out of him. 

It felt like he was racing against time, and in that race, the staff member that was driving seemed to catch every single red light. It was aggravating, it was infuriating, and what was worse was the fact that you still hadn’t answered any of his texts which he had been sending out every five seconds, and the only reason it was taking that long was because he needed to type them out. 

By the time he got to your work, the cop was just pulling up. You had been sitting out in your car in front of the store for that long just waiting for an officer, and that too bothered him to no end. What if something bad had happened? Why didn’t the officer come quicker? He didn’t even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before jumping out and running over to your passenger door and knocking on the window. 

“Excuse me!” The officer shouted, rushing over to Seungmin, but you quickly rolled down the window, exclaiming that he was your boyfriend and unlocking the door so he could climb in. Of course, the officer needed to take down some information which seemed to take even longer when all Seungmin wanted to do was get back to the house with you and comfort you. 

“I didn’t want to ruin the interview…” You murmured as you put the car in drive, slowly taking off and heading back down the street. “I didn’t think they’d tell you… I’m sorry for making you leave.” If you weren’t driving, Seungmin would have kissed you to get you to stop thinking that way. An interview definitely wasn’t more important than your safety. “Are the guys mad?” 

Seungmin sighed, his head leaning back against the headrest but turned in your direction so he could look at you. Your knuckles had turned pale from how tight you were gripping the steering wheel, and your body was still shaking. You shouldn’t be driving like this. “This would be quite a stupid thing to get mad about, wouldn’t it? If you need me, I’m always going to run to you, before anything else. You’re my priority first and foremost.” He explained, and you nodded your head slowly, shakily sniffling as your bottom lip began to tremble. “I love you… That’s why I ran to you. She didn’t even have to tell me what was going on… As soon as she looked at me and I saw that look on her face, I asked her what happened. I’m so sorry you had to go through that by yourself… But never again…” 

You shook your head, your face scrunching up as you gasped sharply. “I still have to drive at night to get home from work. I… I don’t know if I can… Just the thought of it…” Your head dropped as you came to a stop sign, your hands quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks, and he wished he could have done it for you. “I’ve never… I don’t ever… God… Seungmin I’m so scared… What if they do it again?” If it were to happen again, if the same person were to come after you… Seungmin wouldn’t hold back. They were messing with the most precious thing in his life, and the fact that they had gotten away with it now, they should count themselves lucky. But Seungmin wouldn’t allow it to happen again, he wouldn’t allow you to be put in a situation where it could happen again. “I know you, for some reason, feel like you need to stay at your job. I’m not going to take that away from you… But I don’t want you driving at night by yourself again… Ever again. I’ll have one of the staff members come pick you up. Or I’ll have them drop me off so that I can ride with you. Either way… If you truly want to keep working there on that shift… You’re not driving alone at night anymore. I love you, and I don’t think I’d be able to live if anything ever happened to you. I’m going to make sure you’re safe. Always.”

He was performing tonight on Music Bank, and you had told him that you’d try to make it home in time to catch his performance. Of course, he told you it would be okay if you didn’t, and that he didn’t want you rushing to get done and potentially getting hurt trying to get home too fast. He already had your TV set up to record their episode just in case you weren’t home in time to see it. 

Your break managed to come at just the time that he was getting done up by his stylist, sending you silly little selfies to try to make you feel better after you had told him about how awful and busy your day had been. “I’m hoping I’ll be done soon, and then I can get home and change into my pajamas before the show starts.” 

Even though it made him beyond happy to know that you so eagerly wanted to see him perform, he wanted you to be safe, and he appreciated you regardless of whether you caught the show or not, just the fact that you wanted to rush so you could catch it was enough for him. “You have time… So please, take it. You won’t miss anything anyway, you’ve already seen us perform it multiple times in the practice room.” 

He could sense your eye roll just from staring at his phone screen, the way his message was left on read a couple seconds before the three dots appeared to show you were typing back. “Yeaaaah…. But I still want to watch it. I’m ending my break early just so I can get done faster. I love youuuuu. Hugs and kisses mwah mwah!!” 

How could you be so cute even over text? God, he loved you, and now it only made him worry more about how fast you’d be driving to try to get back home. He quickly typed out his last response. “Please drive the speed limit. I love you most. Seriously… Be safe.” 

15 minutes before the show was about to start, he got another text, and he quickly grabbed his phone from off the vanity table, his heart swelling when he read your message. “I’m fast as fuck baybeeee!!! I’m gonna make it home in time to see your performance. I might not catch the interview before hand though :(“ 

He chuckled to himself, hiding his phone from the guys as he texted you back. “That’s alright, but now that I know you’ll be watching, I’ll do so much better. Get home safe baybeeee! I love you a bunch!” He never thought he’d be this sappy, but with you, it didn’t even make him cringe. He just loved you so damn much, it was like you alone were making his earth spin. 

It didn’t take you that long to get home, he knew the drive from your work to your house by heart, and he was sure that you’d be able to make it home just by the end of the interview. His mind was soaring, thinking of ways that he could do facial expressions or certain moves just for you, things that only you would recognize that you’d know were for you only. It was one of his favorite things to do, giving you something to look for while he was dancing, and then coming home to hear from you if you actually caught it. 

As he stepped out on stage, he found his camera and smiled at it, giving a small wave to the lens before getting into place. This performance would be for you, entirely for you. He couldn’t wait for you to see it. 

He was sweaty, breathless, but excited as he rushed back off to the dressing room, grabbing his phone off the vanity and getting even more giddy when he saw the missed phone call and voicemail from you. It was probably you telling him just how amazing he was and that you had caught the little hand sign and wink that he had done for you. 

Dropping down into his seat, he played the voicemail, full volume because honestly, he didn’t care if the guys heard. You’d probably be complimenting all of them as well in the message. “Jeongin!” Your voice sounded through his speakers, and he wasn’t used to you saying his name like that, especially with that tone, and he immediately perked up in his seat. The sound of your voice had already gotten the attention of the other guys in the room and they had all begun to crowd around Jeongins chair as they listened with him. “Fuck… Fuck fuck… What do you want?!” You whimpered, the sound of your obvious crying and clear panic had Jeongin on edge, his eyes widening as he looked up at Chan. “I love you… And I’m really sorry I didn’t get to catch your performance but I know you and the guys did amazing. Uhm… Shit… Okay… I’m being followed and… And I have to go but… I just wanted you to know that I love you, okay? Don’t forget that.” The kissy sound at the end of the call wasn’t how Jeongin remembered it sounding, but he couldn’t even focus entirely on that. 

You were being followed, and instead of calling the cops first, you called him. Why would you call him? How bad was it? The call came in almost 10 minutes ago. “Call her… See if she answers.” Chan urged, but Jeongin couldn’t seem to get his fingers to move, he couldn’t even seem to breathe evenly as his mind went into a frenzy. “Someone call her! Minho, Changbin, you get him to Y/N’s apartment, someone go find one of the security and go see if they can find out where she is.” 

Minho was on the phone in seconds, dialing your number as he and Changbin ushered a seemingly shellshocked Jeongin out of the room. He was shaking, his phone still tightly gripped in his hand as he robotically followed behind the guys. “Everything is gonna be okay. I’m like… 99% sure she’s okay.” Changbin said, patting Jeongins back as he climbed into the back seat of Changbins car. 

“What about the other 1%?” Jeongin whispered anxiously from the back as Changbin climbed into the car. The two older guys both turned to look at Jeongin, confused about the question, but his hand slapped against the seat beside him. “What about the 1%?! You said you were 99% sure that she’s okay… So what about the other 1%?!” 

Changbin took a deep breath, looking to Minho who only shook his head as he continued trying to call your phone that was going to voicemail as well. “Don’t think about the other 1%. She’s fine. Okay?” 

Jeongin was completely zoned out the entire ride to your house, unable to think of anything except your voicemail. He had never heard you sound so scared and that fear was contagious, he was terrified for you, with you. He didn’t even realize how long Changbin had been driving until the car came to a stop, and he finally looked out the window to see that it was parked right outside of your house. 

The light from the TV was flickering through the blinds, and without a word or a look back, he climbed out of the car and ran to your door, his fist coming down harshly against it. He immediately regretted it though, wondering if the sudden loud knocking would frighten you more, but the door swung open and he saw you, illuminated by the light of the room behind you, already dressed in your pajamas, but your eyes were still puffy and your nose was still sniffling. You had been crying still. 

“Innie…” You croaked out his name, and he quickly pulled you into his arms, inhaling the scent of you, simply wanting to hold you after being worried for so long that he had lost you. “I’m sorry I missed it… I was watching it though… Just now…” 

He sighed softly, shaking his head as he tilted your back with his finger, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m not worried about that. God… I’m just… I’m happy that you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to you…” But he cut himself off, biting his bottom lip to keep from pessimistically rambling about all of the awful things that could have happened. “You’re okay though? Not hurt?” 

You shook your head in response, giving him a small smile. “Just a little shaken up… You’re here now though… I feel a lot better.” You were acting so strong, and he knew that you were only doing it because you could see how scared he had been. “I shouldn’t have called you and worried you like that… It was a… Just in case call… So that you’d know that-” 

He kissed you again, stopping you from continuing that thought. “I’m glad you called me…” He kissed you again, his hands cupping your cheeks now as he brushed his thumbs along your dampened cheeks. “But I want you to call the police first if anything like that happens again… I really want you to move to the morning shift so that nothing like that happens again…” You nodded your head slowly as your sniffles subsided until they weren’t heard anymore. “And I’m gonna get my permit… I’m gonna learn how to drive, I’ll have the guys teach me… I don’t want you driving by yourself anymore. I’ll be your personal chauffeur. Until then… I’ll just ride with you and wait up at your work until you get off.” You scoffed, but he wasn’t joking, and you quickly realized that. “You don’t know how worried I was… I wouldn’t be able to live anymore if you were gone.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - It Rises Fast

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Me not include pop culture references in my writing: impossible. I'm channeling my inner Marvel studios writer. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Labyrinth by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 11.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A few steps forward. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Read on A03!

“Take off your shoes.”

Bucky frowns at you from the doorway. “What.”

“Shoes.” You raise your brows at him, not bothering to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “They’re these things you put on your feet, for walking around outside-“

“I know what shoes are,” he grumbles your name, his grip on the strap of his bag tightening until the cloth is scrunched. “I’m not taking mine off.”

“Then you’re not coming inside.”

“That’s ridiculous-“

“Maybe,” you shrug. “Doesn’t matter though. My apartment. No shoes.”

Bucky’s scowl deepens. “Why.”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart-“

“Isn’t it?” You wrinkle your nose at him, remaining planted in his path, and you’re going to win this stare off.

You haven’t won anything in a while, but you’re going to win this. Bucky isn’t setting a damn foot in your apartment with his muddied boots, because you’ll have to clean it up, and you’re not good at cleaning things up, and if the Boy eats the dirt that will be a whole thing for you to deal with.

There is not enough time to deal with more things.

And you really need this small, pointless victory against Bucky. Where he just takes off his shoes and comes inside, because he’s won everything else in the past week, and he doesn’t need this like you do. 

The victory. You need the victory.

Not his company. 

You don’t need Bucky’s company. It might no longer be crawling over your skin to speak to him, it might even be an odd relief to be around him, but you don’t need his company.

You may be starting to trust him more than most other people, enough that you’re allowing him into your apartment, but that doesn’t mean you need him. In any way. At all. 

You’ve worked very, very fucking hard not to need anyone but yourself. You’ve bled and remodeled everything in your body so you can power yourself wherever you could, and Bucky does not get to ruin that. He doesn’t get to take care of you once—it’s his job, he did it because it’s his job, not because it’s you—and just burrow his way right into your life.

He can still see right through you, and that’s dangerous, not good.

You never have to swallow your thoughts or chose your words around him—like you’re choosing a weapon—but that’s just because it would be a waste of energy. No point in putting on the Show when no one’s watching. When you try to tell him I can do this, and he’s looking right into you and know that’s a lie.

It hadn’t been a fluke, at the theatre. You hadn’t been okay. You’d been crumbling and fraying apart into nothing, and you couldn’t have stayed there, or you would’ve passed out. You had still be able to taste your own bile on your tongue, still been able to hear his voice scraping in your ears.

“I- You have to come home.” You’d whispered into the phone, your dress scrunched at your feet.

Bucky wouldn’t burst back into the bathroom. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t. There was no reason for him to.

You kept an eye on the door anyway. Just in case.

“I don’t need to do anything, honey-“

“Please. I- It’s getting bad, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll hold on-“

“Just do the damn future thing-“

“It won’t work-” 

“Course it’ll work, babe, I’m giving you permission-“

“No- It’s-“ You’d let out a long, slow breath, and your brain felt fogged. Heavy. Better, but not enough. “You need to come home. Please. I- I’ll do anything you want, but I can’t make it another week, Miles, I- I really don’t feel well-“

“You never feel well.” He’d snapped into the phone. You’d been able to hear the distain in his voice, and you deserved it, but you couldn’t keep going.

The time between episodes was shorter. The pain was longer, and worse, and you’d almost passed out two or three times in the theatre box. You’d had to keep looking back to check that Bucky was still there, because—and the asshole never gets to know this—it had been reassuring. If you passed out, he’d get you out safe. He was good at his job, and he always caught you on the subway, and Hydra hadn’t gotten to you yet, so you’d be fine. 

As long as Bucky was around, nothing was going to get to you. 

Which was incredibly annoying.

You hated it when Sam was right. 

“I need you home,” you’d mumbled, clutching your stomach as it growled with hunger, then twisted with pain. Or at the idea of Miles being home.

Maybe both.

But the bond was breaking. This was a place that you didn’t have the luxury of choice. 

So you begged.

“Please, I- We can do whatever you want while you’re back, go anywhere, I just- I can’t keep this up, it hurts-“

“Fine.” Miles had snapped, and your stomach has twisted again. “I’ll be back on Monday.”

He’d hung up, and you’d let out a long, weak noise of pain, like some kind of dying animal. Bucky hadn’t burst through the door.

Some very hollow, lonely part of you—one that was even more wasteful than the rest of you—had wanted him to. But he hadn’t.

It was good he hadn’t. He would’ve asked questions about what the hell was wrong with you, and why you were still just curled up on the floor, and when you tried to say I’m okay, just catching my breath, he would’ve seen right fucking through it.

And everything was falling apart around you, but you could deal with it. You’ve always dealt with it, alone, so you did not need Bucky.

“If I take my shoes off,” he mutters, watching you carefully from the door. “That’s it. I’m allowed inside.”

“Yep.”

He narrows his eyes, scanning over your best, completely casual face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for. If this is a trick, if there’s a little hidden caveat about your words where he’ll end up banished into the hall, if you’re just making fun of him, or hiding glass on the floor to hurt him.

You wouldn’t do that. You just don’t want shoes in your apartment. And you think he knows that, because Bucky grunts and drops his bag in the doorway, kneeling down to remove his boots.

It gives you time to glance over your shoulder, and do one last quick sweep of your handiwork.

You’d cleaned, before he arrived. Not because it was Bucky that was arriving, but because you didn’t need him to see more of you than he already could. Bucky doesn’t need to notice the pile of dishes in the sink—nobody would eat off them but you anyways, and you could survive a dirty plate—or all the laundry on the floor from when you’d been too tired to bother putting it in the basket.

He’d just see that you didn’t care enough to clean for yourself.

You don’t need that.

And he especially doesn’t need to see the Hydra papers, resting on the kitchen counter only an hour ago and covered in your handwriting and pointless attempts to crack the code. You’d hidden them in your bedroom, with the sweater he’d given you at the diner.

You were trying not to think about that part. How you wanted to keep Bucky’s sweater, and there was no good reason for it. It was a nice sweater, but you had nice sweaters. It smelled good, too, but that didn’t matter. It was warmer than all your other sweaters, but the heat would fade the longer Bucky was away from it. 

You didn’t need Bucky’s sweater. It was weird to keep it. 

But you’d still picked it up as you cleaned, looked at it for a long moment, and thrown it into the back closet without a second thought.

If Bucky asks for it, you’ll go grab it. You’d only hid it from Miles.

He wouldn’t like you having a men’s sweater that wasn’t his. And you’d needed to clean overall, for when he got back. He won’t be kind about mess you’d declined into, all on your own, and it was a leverage you couldn’t offer him. He already had one noose around your neck. Seeing how pathetic you were on your own would only offer him another rope to try and drag you away from the only good, useful parts of you. Of your life. 

You couldn’t be dragged away. You were only still moving because of those pieces of your life. The parts that weren’t for you, that you’d tricked other people into needing you for. 

If Miles got the final say and made you leave, you’d be stripped raw, left alone.

No more Sam, no more work, no more-

Bucky doesn’t get to be on that list.

He is. You’re less lonely when you’re around him—there’s something comforting about know he’s going to be there, all the fucking time—but Bucky doesn’t get to know that.

He doesn’t get to know why you caved for the security. That you’d been sick and tired and cold, and Miles had texted that he bought his tickets home, and you didn’t want to be alone. Even if Bucky never looked at the cameras, at least you’d know you weren’t completely, totally alone. 

You don’t think he’ll ask why you changed your mind. He hadn’t at the diner.

You don’t have a good, convincing lie if he does.

You’ll figure it out, if you have to. You’ll talk in circles around him until he drops it, throw his every question back in his face with spitting words, and try not to let it eat you that he doesn’t even flinch.

He never flinches. You’re a crude, worthless little animal, but Bucky never fucking flinches.

Even now he pushes back to his feet with a neutral expression, scanning silently over your apartment, and sets his boots neatly off to the side.

“This is your apartment.”

You hum, nodding. “It’s not clean. Sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t need to know that this is clean. 

The way his lips twitch slightly make you this that he already does.

“You want to show me around?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want the cameras in, yeah.”

You frown at him. “Don’t you have the blueprints?”

“I do.” He shrugs, still not moving from his place in the doorway. “It’s rude to just walk around someone’s house, kid. Don’t know if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“What are you, a vampire?”

“Why, you keepin’ garlic and a cross ready for me?”

Bucky holds your gaze, that fucking smile pulling at his lips, and he won, but this doesn’t feel like you lost. He’s joking with you. Relaxed.

Grinning.

If you stay in this second too long, it feels like you’ll be trapped in it. Like everything will still and slow until it’s just a picture.

You’d felt that at the diner. This odd, delicate sensation like mist through your blood, born from Bucky grinning at you.

You scoff, breaking the spell, and time keeps moving like nothing happened at all.

“Shut up.” You side-step, opening his path inside. “C’mon.”

It’s a quick tour. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Living room and kitchen, office, roof.

“Close the door when you’re up here.” You mutter, rubbing your arms as the wind bites at your skin. “I don’t want the Boy falling off the roof.”

Bucky blinks at you. “The boy?”

“My cat. He’s an idiot.”

“Your cat is named boy-“

“No. Follow me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but trails after you, back down the stairs.

And he closes the door behind him.

“Why didn’t I know you had a cat?”

You shrug, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s frowning, like this is, somehow, an actual problem. “You never asked.”

“You talk all the damn time, would’ve thought you’d mention a cat by now-“

“I talk all the time because it’s my job, not to share everything about my life.”

Bucky scoffs behind you. “You do share everything about your life.”

“No, I-“

“You didn’t go to college. You have siblings, but your parents are dead, and you used to date around a lot before the Blip.” Bucky talks right over you, and it’s enough to make you stumble. 

He catches you, with an arm on your wrist, before you can fall down the stair.

And he just keeps talking.

“You met Sam when you were pretty young, you like a lot of stupid things, but you won’t apologize for it, and you can’t speak Mandarin.”

You manage to roll your eyes at the last one, even as Bucky keeps staring into you. All the way into you.

Right down to your rolling, wrecked and glinting core, without ever flinching or wavering away.

“That last one doesn’t count.” You grumble. “You could’ve guessed it.”

“But I didn’t.” He shrugs. “You tell me everything, do- Butterfly, and you didn’t ever mention you had a cat.”

You blink at him. “Butterfly?”

Bucky frowns at you, every line of his face deepening, and for a second you think he didn’t hear himself. 

Then he glances down at your wrist, releases it, and shakes his head to himself.

“Yeah.” He shoots you a challenging glare. “You got a problem with it?”

You do. It’s not one you can articulate, but it makes something like molten iron settle over your skin, and you don’t like how normal it feels to be there. To hear him. To look at Bucky and not turn away.

“Shut up.” You mutter, and start back down the stairs. ‘You’ve got camera to install, James. Focus.”

He does focus. Bucky sets up a little camp of metal and wires and other, black and gray camera parts, and gets to work on what he’s actually here for.

But he doesn’t drop the cat thing, either.

“What his real name?”

You frown up from your laptop, and Bucky hasn’t even look away from his work. “What?”

“Your cat.” He grunts. “What’s his real name.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He shoots you a glare. “I’m not worried. I want to know your cat’s name.”

You shake your head. “You have to earn the Boy’s name. He has to like you.”

“Then where is he.”

“Hiding.” You shrug. “You’re being loud, Bucky. He doesn’t like it.”

Bucky’s facing away from you, but you can still hear his scowl. “How the hell am I supposed to get him to like me if he won’t come out.”

You can’t stop your snort. “You like cats, Bucky?”

“Yes. They’re good animals.”

You hum, fidgeting with your hair as he continues to work on the camera. “What constitutes a bad animal?”

Bucky pauses for a second, and he seems to be actually thinking about his answer before he grunts, “I don’t know. But cats are good.”

“I mean, yeah.” You hum, leaning back in your chair. “Have you ever had a cat?”

“No. I was poor, and then I didn’t get to have anything.”

“Wow, that’s a bummer.” 

Bucky lets out a long, heavy breath, and you make sure your grin is a little softer when he glares at you again.

“There’s no good response for me to have there, James.” You hum, raising your brows at him. “How would you feel if you asked me something and I gave that answer-“

“You do that all the time.” He snaps, and you frown at him.

“No, I don’t-“

“Yes, you do.” His tone is the same smug one, from only minutes ago on the stairs, and when Bucky turns back to his work, and you could swear there was a smirk on his face before it moved from your view. “All the time.”

“No-“

“How do you think I knew all that stuff about you, kid? One time I asked you why you were walking around like a zombie, and you said cause you slept on the bathroom floor.”

You don’t remember saying that. But it does happen often enough, and you have developed a dangerous habit of just telling Bucky things.

And Bucky doesn’t lie about that stuff. You think he doesn’t see the point in it.

“Oh. I’m-“

“I do it too.” Bucky shrugs, cutting off your apology before it can leave your mouth. “My therapist says it’s me tryin’ to push people away.”

“You have a therapist-“

“Court-mandated.”

You blink at his back. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you didn’t have a pet?”

He snorts, climbing back down his ladder. “No, I didn’t. But Steve used to make be feed ducks and rats with him. One of the ducks would follow me around, too.”

You hum, watching him grab more of his weird little scraps and twirling your hair between your fingers.

His voice really is nice, when it’s just talking. It’s smooth. Like a river, or soft air.

You’d like to hear it a little more.

“You name your duck?”

He raises his brows at you. “You name your cat?”

“Shut up.” You mutter. “Are these cameras up to code?”

Bucky gives you an odd look. “Do you care?”

“No.”

He smirks. “Thought so.”

“I said shut up-“

“Follow your own advice first, butterfly.”

That seems to be sticking. It’s sinking into your skin, along with the deeper, smoother part of his voice, and it’s dangerous. 

“Did you name your duck?”

Bucky sighs, scanning over you with a frown, and you give him your most trustworthy, sweet and innocent look. His eyes flash, and you know he sees right through it. 

It doesn’t seem to really matter.

“Named it Glinda.” He mutters, frowning at the parts in his hand, and you chew on your lip as his words click together in your head.

“Like-“

“From the Wizard of Oz book. Loved that book.” Bucky pauses, and the look he gives you isn’t as cautious as before. It’s not open, but it’s not guarded either. Like he’s offering you something, and you’re really not sure what. “She had pink feet.”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Many ducks do.”

Bucky’s  mouth twitches, but it’s all you get. “What about your cat, you gonna-“

“I told you, Bucky, you gotta earn it.“

“Well, tell me what he looks like, then.” Bucky turns around, heading back to his ladder. “So I can keep an eye out.”

“He’s black.”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

You frown at his back. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“You seem like a black cat person, butterfly.”

He needs to stop calling you that. It’s doing soothing things to the rope around your throat, strangling you more and more as the hours pass by.

The close Miles gets to coming home.

“I’m not insulting you.” He adds, before you can insist that he elaborate on the exact meaning black cat person. “So don’t throw anything at me.”

You scoff. “I wasn’t going to throw anything at you-“

Bucky only hums. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

He’s relenting really fast. 

You still scowl at his back.

And the apartment falls into silence for a long, moment, and you don’t hate it—it’s not a silence that’s scratching at your ears, demanding you try to do more than just sit here and watch Bucky—and that’s worse than starting to like Bucky’s voice.

“So you liked the Wizard of Oz?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You hum, hiking one knee up to your chest. “You should read Wicked.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Bucky drawls your name, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s a book-“

“I coulda gotten that myself-“

“Based on the Wizard of Oz.” You snap. “It’s following the Wicked Witch. There’s a musical, too-“

“Stop trying to make me like musicals.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything, James, I think you’d really like the Wicked book, and also some other, completely unrelated musicals-“

“If you suggest Mamma Mia one more time.” Bucky turns back around, pointing whatever pointy tool is in his hand at you with a glower. “I’m not finishing these stupid cameras.”

You give him a dry, amused look. “We both know that’s not true.”

Nostril flare. You win. “Yeah, well, I’m still not watching it-“

“And that’s a you mistake to make,” you shrug. “But, I wasn’t going to recommend Mamma Mia. I was going to recommend the Lion King.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. “The what.”

“Lion King-“

“What is that.”

“It’s like Hamlet, but cats.”

He rolls his eyes, returning to the camera. “That sounds… strange.”

“Most things are.” You hum, glancing back down to your computer. 

You haven’t written an email in an hour. You’re not behind, but you’re not ahead, either, and you need to be ahead because when Miles comes back, you’ll have to take the whole week, so you’ll fall behind, and you’re not useful if you fall behind-

“I think you’re a black cat person because you’re smart.”

“What?” Your attention rips away from your computer, and Bucky just shrugs.

He took off his jacket, to work. 

You can see all the muscles in his back, flexing with the movement.

“People don’t like black cats cause of all those superstitions. You’re too smart to fall for that shit. They’re just cats.”

Your grin splits over your face before you can stop it, and there’s an odd, soft warmth to the feeling. “You think I’m smart-“

“You think you’re smart, butterfly.” Bucky’s tone is dry. You really wish you could see his face. “I’ve heard you call yourself a genius.”

“I was joking, though. You think I’m smart.”

“Yeah, I do. Because I’m not blind and deaf. Throw me the pliers, kid.”

“Wha-“

“The pliers.” Bucky twists on the ladder, nodding to his tool set. “I need them. Toss them up.”

You roll your eyes, but push out of your seat all the same, grabbing Bucky’s pliers and walking over to the ladder to pass them over.

Bucky frowns at you as he takes them. “I could’ve caught them. ‘S why I said to throw them.”

“I couldn’t throw them.” You snap. “I have shit aim, Barnes.”

“Well, you seem to manage to hit me just fine. Dead in the face.”

“And I’m aiming for your chest.”

That pulls a short, deep laugh from his chest, and it almost echoes through the apartment. Through your skull. Through your bones.

It’s a strong laugh. And it’s real. It’s not a show to make you think you’re entertaining, to try and warp you into whatever pliant thing he needs. It’s a laugh you trust, that you like, that you want to hear again.

Shit.

“If you could have a pet.” You stand at the base of the ladder, and it feels like roots are growing over your legs. Keeping you near Bucky. “What would you want?”

He grunts. “I don’t need a pet right now-“

“I’m not offering a pet right now, I’m just asking a question. Any animal, which one?”

Bucky pauses, looking down at you with a frown. “Any animal?”

“Yep.”

“Cat.”

You give him a flat look. “Really, Bucky.”

“Yeah, am I supposed to say ostrich or something?”

“No.” You shrug. “I’m just getting worried you’re going to steal my cat.”

“I’m not gonna steal your cat,” He drawls your name, and he’s gotten really good at saying it. It’s making you lean a little further into the ladder, even though he told you earlier you didn’t need to steady it. “I don’t think it’s real.”

“My cat is real-“

“He doesn’t have a name, sweetheart.”

“He has a name-“

Bucky shakes his head. “I think you lied, couldn’t think of anything but Boy in the moment, and now you’re tryin’ to come up with something better.”

“That’s a stupid thing to lie about-“

He laughs again. Your grip on the ladder tightens. “You’ve lied about stupider.”

“Yeah, but I was joking.” You grumble, glaring up at him, “I have a cat, James.”

“Sure, kid.”

You scowl at him. He sounds bored, and passive, and you can hear his stupid smirk, and he’s saying and doing all the right things to light up your every nerve, to make all the boiling, bursting, loud and demanding pieces of you push to the surface. 

“Stop doing that.”

“I’m not doing anything. Well,” he pauses, grinning down at you. Grinning. That’s a grin. “I’m installing the cameras, like you asked, but that’s it.”

He knows what he’s doing. You hold his gaze, and he’s looking right into you, just like always, and he knows what he’s fucking doing. 

“My cat is real.”

“Sure.”

“I told you, Barnes, he just doesn’t like loud things-“

“That makes two of us.”

You frown up at him. “What-“

“Done.” Bucky starts to climb back down the ladder, looking around the rest of your living area with a drawn brow. “What next.”

“I was going to get us food. What do you mean, loud things-“

Bucky cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t need to cook for me. I’m not that hungry, anyway-“

“I’m not cooking for you,” you stick your tongue out at him, whacking his chest before you can stop yourself.

Bucky doesn’t flinch. Or look away.

But, for a second, you could swear his jaw clenches, and his ears turned a little red.

“Then what are you-“

“We’re ordering.” You shrug. “I told you, we’re diversifying you palette. No more war rations.”

“Oatmeal is not war rations.”

“Yeah, but I’ll shoot myself before I eat it.” You pull out your phone, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“That’s a little dramatic, sweetheart.”

You ignore him, scanning over the open restaurants on the screen. “How do you feel about spice, Sargent Barnes?”

He doesn’t answer, and when you look back up at him, his arms are crossed back over his chest, and his whole body is braced. He’s staring again. Unblinking, right into you, making that unwavering heat settle right back over your skin. 

“Buck-“

“I can handle spice.” He grunts, marching past you, back to his tools.

His shoulder brushes yours on the way past. 

It feels like it seeps him into your skin, and leaves a tattoo. 

Not a brand. A brand would hurt, and sear, and you’d be scratching to try and remove it.

With this, with Bucky, you just stare at him, sorting through his tools with a scowl.

His arms look strong, too.

“You, uh,” you clear your throat, and it feels like something is being evaporated in your gut. “You sure?”

“I lived in Wakanda.” He grunts. “I’m a super-solider. Spice is fine.”

You nod, and Bucky better not notice how you’re suddenly dead quiet, trying to grab the soft, colorful mist that’s moving up your spine and shove it back down wherever it came from. 

You don’t have a damn clue. 

But it’s making you stare at him longer than you should, and you’re only dragged out of it by Bucky looking back to you. By lighting rushing over your body at the attention, and making you swallow, all your words rushing out without control.

“I, uh, I’ll order then go down to get it, you can keep working on the cameras, and I can read you the menu or make the choice for you, but it’ll take a while to get here, so if you want a drink or something I can try and head to the corner store-“

“You want a drink?”

You shake your head a little weakly. You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to you, but it needs to stop now.

“Then I’m good. Only drink socially.” Bucky grabs another, half broken camera, and moves on to his next target. “Take a breath, butterfly.”

You’re going to punch him. It won’t hurt him, but it would be cathartic, and it would wipe that casual, easy grin off his stupid, handsome face.

He really does have a nice face, now that you’re looking at him and not trying to pick apart his next move or strategy to break you further down. His features are sharp, firm, almost carved. If you saw him on the subway, you would’ve stared. Would’ve wondered why his eyes looked so heavy, and if—when he smiled—every other part of him would light up as well.

They would. 

When Bucky smiled, you were learning, it would start in his eyes and move out, but only if it was a real smile. The one that had been off-putting at first, and was quickly blooming through with the rest of him. A real smile or laugh, when it was from Bucky, would start in his eyes and move somewhere deep and shimmering in your body.

Only when it was real. Not a part of any show or mask or game, just a teasing comment you made while ordering the food, and a chuckle that rolled through your whole body once more.

And it goes back and forth like that, for a while. Too natural conversation, where you’ve both given up on biting each other in a way that will scar, and now you’re waiting for him to look at you more. For those brief moments while he works and you wait for the food—he let your order for him, and that feels important, but you don’t know how to say why—where he’ll really grin, and laugh, and look at you, and he can see you but it’s making him relax. Making him laugh.

You’re starting to wonder if he’s not seeing as deep as you both seem to think. If there’s one last veil or illusion that you’re putting up, because if he could see the you you—the feral, needy, screaming one—there’s no way he’d be so comfortable. He’d go back to sneering and mocking you, because Bucky knows what evil, twisted liars look like, and that’s what you are. He knows how to put down big, wrong things. He should know how to recognize them, too.

And you’re worse, because nobody made you into what you are. What you struggle and parade around to hide.

But if Bucky can see that, he’s not mentioning it. He’s acting like it’s not there at all.

You can’t bring yourself to point it out to him. Not when you need him- 

To finish the cameras. And stick around so you don’t have to start over on this with some stranger you can’t trust.

You can trust Bucky.

This is getting away from you too fast. Bucky’s grinning at you and you don’t know how to deflect it, because no grin as ever been that strong and moved that fast into your body, as if it’s reinforced and designed to go right into the cavity of that soft, previously untouched part of your body. 

Leaving you vulnerable.

Yet you still trust him. 

When the food arrives, it a relief. You get to wander out and get it, giving you a second where you don’t have to stare at Bucky and think about his smile.

But then it’s silence. And there had been moments of silence in your apartment, but they didn’t hurt, and the silence of the elevator and lobby hurts, and you want to go back to Bucky-

You need to get a grip. You don’t need Bucky.

But he grins at you again, when you return to the apartment. 

And it makes you feel soft. 

That’s going to be a problem.

“What’d you get?” Bucky leans against the counter as you unpack the food, and you pretended you can’t feel his attention all over your skin. 

“Indian. This is yours.” You slide the box across the table. “Wash your hands, James.”

He glances between you, his hands, and the food, and shuffles over to your sink.

“You got a lot of books, butterfly.”

You glance up at him from your stool. “I like to read.”

He shrugs, and the muscles in his back flex again.

You need to stop noticing that. It’s not helpful.

“Most of them look like they’re covered in dust.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.” You mutter, poking at your food as you speak. “If you want to borrow one, you can.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re not tricking me into reading, kid.”

“I’m not trying to trick you into reading. And you said you like reading-“

“Yeah, and I’ve read everything I like-“

You snort. “You sound so old.”

He gives you a flat look. “We’ve had this conversation, I am old-“

“Yeah, but you also have to adapt, Bucky. You can’t just stick to the same five books for your whole life.” You wrinkle your nose at your food. “That sounds so boring.”

There’s a pause, and when you look up, Bucky’s giving you an odd look again. 

“It’s more than five.” He grumbles. “And what should I read?”

You open your mouth, then close it, eyeing him carefully. It doesn’t seem like a trap. Bucky doesn’t really trap you with these questions. He doesn’t ever ask things unless he wants to know.

You still need to be careful.

“You really want to know? My opinions?”

Bucky shrugs. “You got opinions, don’t you?”

He doesn’t say that the way most people do. Like it’s a problem. 

So you nod. “Yeah.”

“What are they?”

“I-“ He wants to know. You’re not being too much if he actually asked to know. “You like the Wizard of Oz?”

Bucky nods. “And the Hobbit. Sam mentioned they made more of those books?”

“Yeah, three more. And movies. But you’d hate the Hobbit movie.”

“I hate most movies.”

“You wouldn’t hate Mamma Mia.”

You give Bucky your best winning smile, and there’s his grin again. Real. Starting in his eyes.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, butterfly. Anyone ever tell you that?”

That should’ve struck something wired and spiked in your body. Should’ve made you gnash and claw at him.

Instead, your smile just widens. “Yeah. You.”

He laughs again. There’s the echo, and you don’t think it’s the apartment.

It’s just over that cavity of your chest, before sinking and floating everywhere, until it’s left a depression on something in you. The soft thing.

This is so strange. And really fucking dangerous. You get more vulnerable, more visible, every time Bucky laughs.

You still don’t pull away.

“You really would like Mamma Mia,” you hum, pushing on before Bucky can cut you off. “But for books, you should try Percy Jackson.”

“What’s that.” Bucky mutters, but it’s not hostile. It’s relaxed. Almost curious.

“Children’s book series.”

“I’m not a child-“

“So? Children’s media is often better than adults- Oh, that’s another thing you’d like.” You spin your fork in your hands, and Bucky still doesn’t cut you off. “Avatar.”

Bucky frowns. “Sam showed me that already. With all those dumb-looking blue people.”

“No- I mean, yes, but that’s not the Avatar I’m talking about. Mine animated.”

Bucky nods, his words slow. “And it’s a children’s show.”

“Yep.” You lean forward, holding Bucky’s gaze. “I’m serious, Bucky. You’d like it. If you like fantasy, these are good, and you should avoid things like Game of Thrones.”

“Hm.” Bucky gives you another odd look, brows knitting together. You know this one, now. It means he’s thinking. “Sam said the same thing. Said it was violent. I told him I could handle violence.”

“Yeah, I’m not worried about the violence.”

“Then what are you worried about, butterfly?”

His attention is drilling into you. It’s going to leave a mark.

You still don’t pull away.

“I think you could use things with happy endings.”

Bucky blinks. Nostril flare. 

You surprised him.

“Really.”

“Yep.” You twirl your fingers back between your hair, holding his searing gaze. “Try Star Wars, too.”

Bucky grunts, his attention dropping back down to the plate in front on him, and before he can grumble something about your recommendations and not needing them—even though he asked—the Boy jumps up on the table with a squeak.

He moves right over to you, giving Bucky a distrusting look, and Bucky looks like someone shot him. 

“I told you.” You hum, holding out your hand for the Boy to bump against, and Bucky doesn’t even respond.

It’s almost adorable, the open, nervous look on his face. How he’s gone so still, as he watches the Boy parade around the tabletop. As if he’s afraid that one wrong move will send the Boy scampering off, and that would be the worst thing in the world. 

Then the Boy sits, staring at Bucky with a blank expression, and it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever seen.

Bucky’s in a staring contest with a cat.

The cat is winning. 

Neither of them notice when you sneak out your phone, and take a quick photo. For blackmail.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve never seen Bucky look so relaxed, even as he remains as still as a statue. There’s no tension in his shoulder. No lines on his face. His lips are slightly parted, and he has really nice lips-

Not the point.

“Let him smell you.”

Bucky gives you an almost alarmed look, his voice a hushed whisper. “What?”

“Show him your hand, dummy.” You lean over the table, grabbing Bucky’s flesh hand and pulling it up from the table. 

He doesn’t fight you. There’s a brief second where Bucky’s eyes flick down to where you’re touching him, and you worried you went too far—assumed Bucky would be okay with you touching him when he isn’t, because nobody would want you touching them, not casually when it’s easy, not when they’re Bucky—but then he looks back to the Boy, and lets you hold him forward, right in the Boy’s line of vision.

The Boy sniffs Bucky for half a second, then dips his head down and butts Bucky’s hand without hesitation.

It’s not worth fighting your smile at the look of pure joy on Bucky’s face, as the Boy leans into his touch, demanding more and more attention with every second.

Your cat is a whore. And a traitor. 

And Bucky looks at you with a soft light in his eyes, and you could swear time slows down, just a little, to let your memorize how happy looks on Bucky’s face.

That can’t be good.

Bucky looks back to the Boy—starting to purr and pace over the sit right in front of Bucky’s food—and lowers his voice to a murmur.

“You like me?” He looks back to you, smug glee all of over his stupidly handsome features. “I think he likes me, sweetheart.”

“Congratulations.” Your voice isn’t nearly as dry or flat as you were trying to make it sound. “Am I invited to the wedding?”

“No.” Bucky doesn’t miss a beat, raising his brow expectantly. “What’s his name?”

“Boy.”

“You said you’d tell me,” he drawls your name, still scratching the Boy’s ears. “C’mon. What’s his name.”

You hum, forcing your attention back down to your food. “I’ll tell you next week.”

“That’s not fair-“

“It’s my cat, James.” You give him a sweet smile, rising your brows. “You want my cat’s name? Come back next week to find out.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Why next week.”

The air in your apartment feels lighter, and you’re not rotting in the dark, and you’re not alone and it’s in a way that doesn’t hurt. And you don’t have friends, but you do have Bucky-

You can’t say that. It’s insane, and stupid, and everything you’re trying to avoid.

“I’m going to give you some books.” You shrug, poking at some lingering chicken on your plate. “I’ll need them back, with proof you read them.”

“Proof-“

“You’ve been taking college courses.” You give him a pointed look. “Write a book report.”

Bucky gives you a long, assessing look, then mutters, “You’re joking.”

“Yep. I’ll ask you like two questions and then I’ll tell you the Boy’s name.”

Bucky’s brows draw back together, but he seems to physically shake whatever was passing through his head away, and his gaze moves back to the Boy.

“Are you going to tell me your name, buddy?”

You bite on this inside of your cheek, forcing your voice into a drawl. “He can’t talk, Bucky.”

“I’ll get it out of him. I’m a master interrogator, case you forgot.”

That gets a giggle, and it’s just like this for a while. The Boy moves into Bucky’s laps, and you keep talking, and you’re saying everything you think but Bucky’s not cutting you off. He’s jumping in more and more, and bouncing off of you like he’s been doing it a million years, and it’s good.

You’re really, truly, not lonely. The sun has long set, and the pain is still wracking through your body without thought, but sitting in it across from Bucky, trying to convince him to try watching a boring, normal comedy movie when he gets home—although it’s late, and the cameras are long installed, and he’s making any attempts to get up—is a lot better than trying to sit in it alone. 

You’d like to stay here, for a while. And you will. It’s your apartment. But later it will be emptier. 

There will be an equal amount of people, but it will still be emptier. 

You’ll be emptier. And Bucky takes up a lot of space in places you can’t really see. Odd shimmering spaces between the air where everything blurs, and you can feel something running and rolling up your spine to try and grab it, and touch it, and have it, and keep it-

Your phone buzzes on the table, while Bucky’s muttering about how movies haven’t gotten really stupid looking. 

Miles

landing in a hour

see you at baggage

i’m driving back

You frown at the message. Not at the contents of it—you’d known it was coming—but his contact name.

He still has a little heart next to his name. It’s purple, because he says that’s your favorite color. 

It’s not. 

He doesn’t really care. And you’re not allow to remove the heart.

And you have to pick him up. There’s not really a choice. 

There never is. 

So Bucky has to leave.

“What wrong with you.”

You blink up at Bucky, and he’s staring at you again. 

It’s making you boil again, but it’s over your gut. Like sickness.

“I, um-“ You swallow, taking a slow breath. “I- I need to go see someone.“

Bucky raises his brows. “Someone.”

“Yeah.”

“Sam?”

“No.”

“Then-“

“I’ll tell you on Tuesday.”

That makes the lines appear, and Bucky blinks at you with a low, firm voice. 

The commanding voice. 

You’re going to throw up.

“Tuesday.”

You nod, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “I- You’re getting Monday off.”

“You can’t give me days off, butterfly-“

“I’m visiting someone.” You mumble. “Please. I’ll do the check-ins, I just- I need a day.”

You’re trying to find the way the tell Bucky that it’s not him. That this was alright, and you don’t want him to leave, and if he could actually just snap that his job is guarding you, so he’d not taking the day off because Hydra doesn’t take the day off, you’d really appreciate it.

But he just nods. And stands up. 

There’s no reason for you to tell him. Telling Bucky would be dangerous, and a big part of driving him off in the first place was to prevent him knowing about your situation. 

But you still asked him to install the cameras. 

And his job is to save you from Hydra. Not yourself, or your own choices. 

He hasn’t even saved you from Hydra. No one’s given you any updates, and there’s been no further contact, so really, Bucky’s just followed you around and grumbled and invaded your life like a parasite-

That’s not fair. He’s not a parasite. He didn’t even want you to make him food.

But he’s not your friend, either. You don’t do friends, and Sam and Happy don’t count. You haven’t tricked him, and you like talking to him, and you feel alive without being consumed by it when he’s around, but Bucky’s not your friend.

The rule had been not friends, so no comments on your life or choices, and he’s respecting that. 

Getting his tools and putting on his boots and petting the Boy goodbye, and you’re going to be alone-

You need to get it together. No weakness where it’s visible. Fall apart in the dark. 

Miles is coming home, so you’ll just have to fall apart in the dark.

“I won’t be at work.” You mumble, walking Bucky to the door. “We can meet at the Subway.”

Bucky gives you a blank, unreadable expression. “At the Subway.”

“Yeah, I- The apartment is- Just, the subway is crowded, and it will be-“ You cut yourself off with a frown, scanning over Bucky carefully as things start to draw themselves together in your head.

He’s still just staring at you. 

The subway is crowded. 

Crowded means noise.

And-

“You hate the subway.”

Bucky grunts, pulling his gloves back on. “I hate most things, kid-“

“No, you don’t.” You dismiss him with a hand, because that’s not true. You just spent two hours talking about things Bucky likes, and you’re not stupid. You’ve seen him looking at the art on museum tours. “But you hate the Subway.”

Bucky pauses, giving you an odd look—completely blank, you still don’t know what that one means—and sighs. “I don’t love it. But I’m fine.”

“You said you hate loud things-“

“I do.”

“The subway is loud.” You cross your arms, raising your chin at him. “Why do you hate loud things, James.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches, and the breath he lets out is slow. Controlled. “’S too much. Stressful. The, uh- Shell shock. Doesn’t like it.”

Your stomach clenches, and turn, and you’re a piece of shit. You took it too far. You always fucking take it too far, and if you could look past your fucking self, you would’ve put that together, and never crossed that line, and you’re a blinded, selfish, vile piece of shit.

“We’ll meet at my car.”

Bucky blinks at you. “Wha-“

“We’re driving. On Tuesday.”

“You-“

“Don’t argue with me.” You glance at the clock on the stove. Not enough time.

Miles never likes it when you’re late.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You twist back to glare at Bucky, but that was… sincere. Nothing mocking on his face, or in his tone, and he’s saying that like it’s what you deserve. 

It’s not. Bucky can see you. He should know that.

And at the same time, Bucky calling you ma’am doesn’t set off anything sharp and toothy in your throat. He says it smooth. With a slight accent, and it’s nice to hear, and you feel a little dazed under his attention again.

“See you Tuesday.” Bucky grunts, then looks over your shoulder, directly addressing the Boy. “And you next week.”

Your eyes widen. “The books-“

“Text them to me. That’ll be your morning check-in.” Bucky winks. It’s not hateful, or crude, and you’re dizzy. Just like on the pole in the Subway, but now it’s only Bucky, and you’re dizzy. “I’ll hand in my reports, and you’ll tell me your cat’s fucking name.”

You can’t stop your smile. You have to go.

“Good night, Bucky.” You whisper, and he nods, slinging his bag back over his shoulder.

“Night, Butterfly.”

This is… very confusing. You want him to come back. You don’t need him, but you want him to come back.

But you have other things to worry about.

Other, bigger, deeper graves you’ve dug for yourself, that nobody—no matter how many careful games or tricks you pull—is going to be able to save you from. 

——————

Bucky wasn’t following Her.

He wasn’t.

It was his day off, so he’d moved therapy up. Easier not to cram it in on a video call around midnight. Good reason to break out his motorcycle, and take the long way around the city to get there.

So wasn’t following Her. 

He was passing by Her apartment, and through her neighborhood, for a quick sweep, because it was his job. And She may have given him the day off, but She wasn’t his boss.

She’d texted that She was alive, this morning, but Bucky didn’t trust it. The Moon had been bursting like fireworks in Her eyes, when She’d told him to leave. She’d tensed looking at Her phone, not looking at Bucky. She’d been chewing and turning over Her words before they were spoken, and She’d been reserved, and Bucky was very good at knowing when he wasn’t wanted somewhere.

He’d been wanted there. 

Or, at least, tolerated there. Before the counter had buzzed, he’d been at least tolerated there.

Wanted was generous. 

Most people didn’t want Bucky anywhere.

But most people didn’t talk to Bucky, either. Didn’t listen to him if he wasn’t talking about strategy or Hydra or the Soldat. Even Sam had heard that duck story, a few times, but he’d never asked if Bucky named his duck. 

She asked a lot of stupid questions. Asked them almost as much as She rambled. 

Bucky liked answering Her stupid questions. And Her rambling was nice to listen to. Gave him a good excuse to look at Her.

He’d gotten really bad at not looking at Her.

But he was not following Her.

She just happened to be on the street that Bucky was driving down. That happened. People walked in New York—that’s what sidewalks were for—and She was not an exception from that. Bucky had even picked up that She liked walking. It was a part of the fact that She was never static, and seemed to think that She’d drop dead if she stopped moving. 

She wouldn’t. She’d stopped moving, when Bucky had been at Her apartment. She’d been smiling at him across the counter, and Her fork had been spinning in Her fingers, but Her leg hadn’t even been bouncing. She’d been still, with Bucky, and it hadn’t been about fear or worry or getting that little pout on Her face that meant She was overthinking.

Right up until the end, She’d been relaxed.

But in the quick two or three moment Bucky had seen Her on the street—he’d looped around the block, once or twice, just to check, and it didn’t matter that he’d be late to therapy, because Raynor could goddamn wait—all that ease had been gone from Her body. 

She’d been bouncing on Her feet, and fidgeting with the cuffs of Her fancy jacket, and constantly looking around as if she was afraid of an attack. 

But She wasn’t even alone.

There had been a man, with his arm around Her shoulders, moving her through the crowded sidewalk.

Bucky hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face. He’d been wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, but they were in quality condition. He hadn’t had any dirt on his clothing, either, and if Bucky had to guess the value of his watch—based off only a glimpse—he’d round it to stupid expensive.

The man looked like he ran in Her circle. The one of her office, with all the suits and pressed slacks and upturned noses. Like they were always smelling something bad.

She didn’t do that, though. Bucky had noticed it a little while ago. She’d raise Her chin, but not Her nose. As if She was a commanding officer back in the army, giving or defying an order. 

It was part of that authority aura She had, whenever She moved through the world. And the more Bucky watched it, the less it reminded him of Stark, and the more it seemed like Steve. Authority not by inheritance, but earned. Shoved upon. A higher tension in the shoulders, because Bucky had long learned that people who were born with authority never felt like they needed to hold it. It just was.

People who hadn’t—like Steve—remained tight long after whatever change occurred. It had been damn near eighty years, when Bucky met Steve again, but he’d carried himself the exact same way as in the army. 

And She carried herself the same way.

But She hadn’t in Her apartment, eating some fairly good Indian food and smiling at Bucky.

She didn’t carry it on the street, either. 

She’d been wearing sunglasses, same as the man around Her, but Her lips had been in a thin line, and Her step had been small. Careful. Delicate.

Like prey. Not the predator Bucky was used to.

Less than a doe. Smaller. More nervous in Her steps.

A bunny.

It didn’t suit Her.

The man around Her didn’t really seem to suit Her, either. And that wasn’t any of Bucky’s goddamn business, because today was his day off, and that wasn’t his job anyway.

But he was still thinking about it, in the waiting room of the office. He needed to stop. 

He just couldn’t goddamn work out how. She’d looked so strange, and Bucky had met everyone in Her life by now. The list was short—Sam, Her assistant, Her cat, and that Hogan guy from Stark’s circle—and She would’ve mentioned anyone else by now. 

Especially a man, who put his arm around Her shoulders.

And Bucky would need to know who it was. For Her security. He’d gotten the cameras in Her apartment, asking for one more name of people to monitor shouldn’t be crossing a line.

But there had to be a reason She hadn’t told Bucky about this guy. Bucky couldn’t work out what the reason was, but there had to be one. If the man was important to Her, She’d want Bucky to protect them too. 

Bucky would not protect that man. It wasn’t his job. She was. 

If She asked, he might end up doing it—because She asked, and She always got what She damn wanted—but it wasn’t like he was going to volunteer.

It wasn’t his business. None of this was. He’d installed the cameras, but he wouldn’t check them. She’d kill him, and start trembling again, and Bucky would have to deal with how that made him feel sick. He wouldn’t check them. No matter how much a little voice at the back of his skull was hissing to check them, work out who the hell that guy was, name and profile and history and what he meant to Her-

It didn’t matter what the man meant to Her. It shouldn’t matter. 

Bucky couldn’t stop goddamn thinking about how close they’d been standing together. Really close. And the man had been almost shoving Her through the crowd, which was damn rude, and no way to treat a beautiful woman-

Not his job. 

Not his business. 

Day off. This was Bucky’s day off. He was sitting on this couch, with Steve’s notebook in his pocket, thinking about anything but Her because this was therapy, on his day off.

Raynor’s plant was dying. The leaves were starting to yellow, and wilt.

Bucky kept his gaze trained on that, just to think about anything but Her.

“I hear you have a new job, James.” Raynor raised her brows at Bucky, and he felt his whole body tense. 

Goddamnit.

“Who told you that.” 

“Nobody told me.” Raynor shrugged. “Sam had to file a lot of paperwork for you to move most of your sessions to Zoom.”

“So Sam told you.”

“No, the papers told me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sam filed the damn papers.”

“James.” Raynor sighed. “We are not here to point fingers, or get into petty arguments about what Sam did or didn’t tell me-“

“So he did tell you-“

“Why don’t you tell me.”

Bucky shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I’m doing Sam a favor. That’s  it.”

“Have you been working on your amends?”

“It’s a full-time gig, doc, and this is part of my amends-“

“How so?”

Bucky paused. It was, technically, classified. And he didn’t love Raynor, but she wasn’t Hydra. He was pretty sure. It was hard to tell, and Bucky didn’t have a perfect track record with being the right amount of paranoid about who and who wasn’t trustworthy-

“I am aware that the job is in relation to your pardon.” Raynor added, and Bucky’s stare must have been going on a creepy amount of time. “And that you will not be able to share specific details.”

“Then why’d you ask how it’s part of my-“

“As I’m sure Sam has told you, amends are not only cleaning up your messes. I am curious as to how this job is affecting you, James. As a person.”

Bucky scowled. This is what he was trying, really fucking hard, not to think about. “It’s not. It’s a job.”

“What is the job?”

“You said you knew, ’s not my problem to explain it-“

“It is in therapy.”

“Just look in the fuckin’ papers Sam sent- C’mon.” Bucky scowled, and Raynor was reaching for the notebook. “This isn’t that big a deal-“

Raynor gave him a flat look. “It is in therapy.”

“Do you know how to say anything else-“

“Yes. Tell me about the job.”

Bucky leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, and a little voice that sounded suspiciously like Her’s was humming in his ears as he tried to find the words.

Tell Raynor how annoying and pretty I am. Tell her that I’m making you feel alive. Oh, tell her about the oatmeal. Does she know you’ve only been eating oatmeal for months? That you only eat real, people food when Sam makes you? She probably doesn’t. You should tell her, or, because it would be really funny, tell her about the duck. See if she asks the name. She won’t, only I have, but that could be a good test to see if it’s actually that big a deal that I asked the name-

“James.”

Bucky blinked, and he’d gotten lost. In the thought of Her.

That wasn’t good.

“It’s a job.” He grunted. The faster this was over, the more he could ward off further thoughts of Her. “Sam’s friend needed a bodyguard, and-“

“Sam’s friend?” Raynor raised her brows. “Had you met them before?”

“No, she doesn’t seem to get out much.”

Raynor hummed, and made a note. Bucky needed to figure out how to read something based off only the moment of the pencil. “Do you get along with her?”

“After she stopped trying to kill me, yeah.”

“Kill you-“

“Metaphorically. She didn’t want a bodyguard. Tried to drive me off.”

Raynor nodded slowly. “Did it work?”

“Still have the job, don’t I?”

“And how does she feel-“ Raynor paused, tilting her head at Bucky. “What’s her name?”

Bucky muttered it—he was getting too good at saying it, and it was straying too far from a codename and into something soft and sweet on his tongue—and Raynor’s eyes widened.

“I recognize that name, what does she-“

“She was in Stark’s circle.” Bucky muttered. “Still runs his charity. CEO.”

Raynor leaned forward. “And how is that for you?”

“It’s nothing.”

“James, Tony Stark tried to kill you. I wasn’t even aware Sam had friends in his circle, that is… odd given Sam’s own history-“

“She and Sam go way back, apparently.” Bucky let out a long, slow breath, and he hoped Raynor didn’t ask how far back. He didn’t know. “And she met Stark during the Blip.”

“How did she-“

“I don’t know her whole life story,” Bucky snapped, and he didn’t, but it also felt wrong to share what She’d told him with Raynor. She wasn’t the one stuck on the couch, and She’d told Bucky all that shit about meeting Stark at the party. Not Raynor. He was trying to keep lines, keep Her trust. He wouldn’t tell Raynor what he didn’t have to. “She worked for Stark. That’s it.”

“And you and she are on… amicable terms?”

He’d call it more than amicable. She smiled and light and warmth flared in his chest, and She’d been smiling a lot in the past few days. 

She hadn’t been smiling, when he’d seen Her on the street. 

Not thinking about that wasn’t working really well right now.

“Yes.”

Raynor hummed, watching Bucky with a careful expression he didn’t love. “Tell me about her.”

Bucky scowled. “Why.”

“She’s a new person in your life. Like I said, amends are not only about moving past the Winter Soldier. It’s about moving forward, as James Barnes, a civilian-“

“I am not a civilian.” Bucky muttered, and Raynor gave him a flat look.

“You understand what I am saying, don’t be pedantic. Tell me about her.”

Raynor said Her name, as if Bucky needed clarification, and he sighed. There was no getting around this. He was too tired to try anyway.

“She’s fine.”

Raynor glared at him, and that obviously wasn’t enough.

He needed to be careful. If he said too much aloud, it would be real.

“She’s…“ Bucky tipped his head back again, running a hand over his face and trying to ignore that voice like Her’s in his ear.

I’m beautiful. I’m funnier than you thought I’d be. I’m kind and it’s not an act. I’m smart. I talk a lot, but you like it, and you like my laugh, and you like how I walk, and you like me, a lot more than you should-

Fuck.

He’d have to get back to that thought later.

“She’s sweet.” He muttered, and he could almost hear Her snort. She was not sweet. She was fiery, and loud, and Bucky liked that a lot more than sweet, but this was not something Raynor needed to know. “Smart.”

Raynor raised her brows. “Did she come around to you working for her?”

“I don’t work for her. I work for Sam.” 

“Well-“

“And she came around.” Bucky shrugged. There was nothing else to say. 

Not that he wanted to share with Raynor.

“How do you feel about her?”

Shit.

“I told you-“

“You said she’s sweet and smart.” Raynor gave him a pointed look. “Those are characteristics. Not your personal feelings.”

Bucky’s hands fisted in his lap. “It’s a job-“

“It’s your first relationship built in isolation of Sam.” Raynor drawled, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I only know her cause of Sam-“

“And is that influencing your treatment of each other?”

No. It wasn’t. There had been moments where Bucky forgot She knew Sam, since he’d ruled out Hydra. And when he had remembered, it had become more of an afterthought to Her.

Raynor must have read Bucky’s answer in his silence, because she sounded way too satisfied when she continued. “What do you think of this woman, James. Honesty, please.”

“There- She’s a lady.” He needed to get a grip. She was a lady, maybe the most lady lady he ever meant, but there was more to say. Bucky just didn’t have a damn clue how to say it, or a desire to try. Trying felt like it would break a very dangerous dam in his body.

Raynor wasn’t satisfied.

“Is there any attraction?”

Bucky sat up straight, a little too fast.

Raynor’s eyes widened. 

She’d noticed.

“What’d you mean-“

“I mean physical or emotional desire for closeness.” Raynor said, her words way too damn slow and careful. “If this is the woman I’m thinking of, I’ve seen pictures. I am not trying to make any assumptions-“

“So stop talking.” Bucky grunted. 

He didn’t want to talk about it.

Of course there was goddamn physical attraction. Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He had eyes, and She was inhumanly beautiful. He might not be able to help looking at Her, but he had control of it. Of himself. 

Bucky was in complete fucking control of himself, and Her being pretty was not going to break that.

More than pretty. Her voice hummed, starting somewhere near his heart and traveling up to the base of his skull. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Mean and delicate. Too easy to like, easier to the job for, and control is overrated anyway-

Control was not overrated. Bucky had it. He needed it. He would not let go of it for one beautiful lady.

“How about we do the exercise.” Raynor’s voice was soft, and she must have put together that Bucky really wasn’t going to entertain this. “Start with your name.”

Bucky let out a long, slow breath. The exercise meant this was almost over, and he’d be able to go back to his empty, lonely apartment. 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he muttered, holding Raynor’s gaze and keeping his voice bored. “It’s Monday. Your plant is dying.”

Raynor frowned, but Bucky just kept going.

“I like that I got to ride my bike here today, because I haven’t in a while. I don’t like that you didn’t just ask me about my new job over the Zoom calls, because I know you were trying to damn trap me.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Raynor, and she just shrugged for him to keep going.

“I need to check my phone.”

“Why?”

Because She should’ve texted with a check-in, but Bucky’s phone hadn’t even buzzed.

“Because I’m expecting a work update.”

Raynor sighed, and if she didn’t believe him, she didn’t push it. “And what you want?”

He wanted to know Her cat’s name. He didn’t know why it was such a big secret. Why he needed to earn it. 

He wanted to earn it.

Fuck.

“I want to go to the library.”

Raynor blinked at that, and Bucky continued before she could cut him off.

“I’m trying to get into reading again.” He muttered, and Raynor nodded slowly.

“That’s good. Personal interests are important to getting better. How about we make your homework getting two books and reading through one of them, and I’ll see you next week.”

“Over Zoom.”

Raynor nodded. “Until you get another day off, over Zoom.”

Bucky grunted, pushed up off the couch, and before he could get out of the office, away from Raynor and her dying plant, Raynor cleared her throat.

“Remember, James.” Raynor gave him one last, firm look. “Feeling things means you are making large steps forward. Try not to fight it.”

He wasn’t fighting it. 

Bucky wasn’t fighting anything.

He knew what Raynor was implying. He wasn’t an idiot. And Her voice had been implying the same thing.

You like me. A lot more than you should.

A crush. That was what the warmth over his skin meant. What it had meant, back in the 40s, before Hydra took simple, useless things like crushes away from him.

He did not have a crush on Her. Physical attraction did not need to mean a crush. He wasn’t even flirting. 

Bucky knew how to flirt. He was good at it. He’d flirt with women in bars on easier nights—he hadn’t done that since he met Her, but that wasn’t important, he’d just been too busy—and he’d flirt with Sarah to get a rise out of Sam. Being able to do that again was just part of the better.

And She was not.

She was just more beautiful than anyone had any right to be, and talking to Her was easier than talking to most anyone, and Her voice sounded like Bucky imagined stars sounded like, and the Moon was locked in her eyes, but that didn’t mean he had a crush. 

That was insane. Irrational. It didn’t fall anywhere into place, so it wasn’t. He didn’t.

She kept washing that bright and warm feeling over his spine, and it was spreading fast through the rest of his body, but that didn’t mean he had a crush. 

He needed to know who the hell She’d been out with, who She’d given Bucky the day off for—following Her around was supposed to be his job—but that was for Her safety.

Not because the idea of Her shaking and feral made his chest and hands strain. Not because seeing Her with the man had set off that twisting gut feeling.

Not because he liked Her.

And Bucky did. Like Her. But that was normal. They spent time together. She was funny, and kind, and somehow drove off all the heavier, darker thoughts from Bucky’s head by being so consuming he couldn’t think about anything but Her, as long as he was in her presence.

And a little while after, too.

Goddamnit.

He needed to find something to do with the rest of his day that wasn’t thinking about Her. About why, when his phone finally buzzed with Her check-in, it was like lighting through his blood.

Sorry. 

I’m alive

See you tmr.

Tmr meant tomorrow. Sam had taught him that one already.

But the message felt too short. Too rushed. And Bucky couldn’t stop picturing the man with Her, and wondering who he was, and trying to stamp it down wasn’t working, and he didn’t have a crush but goddamnit he couldn’t stop fucking thinking about Her-

Control.

He was in control of this. Things were getting better in weird, too-quick ways where She was burrowing into Bucky’s head against his will, but he was still in control.

He didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day.

Her smile seemed to be imprinted, a little behind his vision. 

Bucky really did want to know the name of Her cat, and he’d gotten two of the books on his drive back, but is brain was too wired to think about something that wasn’t cut and dry and simple. Strategy was simple. It would or wouldn’t work. He used to like reading because it wasn’t like that—there were many possible answers, so Bucky couldn’t be wrong about his—but Raynor had set him on edge, and the thoughts of Her were starting to make him warm again.

She’d said Bucky could use things with happy endings. She’d given him all those recommendations with such fucking certainty, like there was no possible world where She was wrong, and Bucky didn’t like them.

If She was wrong, maybe that would shake Her off Bucky’s thoughts and skin. She would just remain beautiful. Remain a shifting, impossible presence, and not whatever strange animal was capable of invading him like this. In a way he needed to be bothered by, but couldn’t manage to. 

He hoped these movies were shit. Bucky needed them to pass the time and day, and be it. Kill it—thoughts of Her, and Her voice, and the man holding Her closer than Bucky was allowed to be—with apathy and boredom.

That’s why he was doing it. Not because some small, long dead part of him was starting to sing and thaw, and he wanted to test if it could bloom.

She was not the reason Bucky did anything. He would not become just another person who looked at Her and feel for Her grace and beauty and life. 

You could be more. I look at you more, James, don’t I. I smile more. And that weight on my shoulders looked lighter, when you were in my apartment-

Bucky dropped on the couch with a scowl.

This wasn’t for Her. It was for him. To get back in complete, total control.

So for the first time, Bucky sat on his couch, and turned on the TV.

End Note: We're moving to Saturday updates going forwards, just for my own scheduling reasons. This one has been a little slower starting than all my other stories, so I thank you for sticking through the slight plot lull for the relationship development.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

@megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @sheneedsjesus @moompie-blog

@bonkydarnes @whimsicalcherry @charliethemanticore @cats-chaotic-mind @foolinthera1n

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[lenaswritingandstuff]

Shame(less) • Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader; Adrian Pucey x f!reader

Summary: y/n feels ashamed for cheating on her boyfriend with Mattheo, but the same couldn't be said fo the dark haired boy.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Cheating, slight cursing

A/N: It was supposed to be a drabble but oh well. I really don't like how it turned out, but I might write a Theo version if people ask. Comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated :) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @chelawrites @isntthatsweetiguessso @aegon-andaemondtargaryenslut18

Christmas break was over, and it was time to go back to Hogwarts. It meant going back to the same routine, taking your meals in the Great Hall, going to class, doing your homework, having fun with your friends in Hogsmeade and also spreading time with your boyfriend, Adrian. The prospect should have made you happy, and you should have been looking forward to seeing him, but you just couldn’t. Not when he would be here too.

After arriving at the castle, you met Pansy in the Slytherin common room. You two hugged warmly, and talked about your respective holidays. You did your best to focus on what your best friend was saying, nodding at her words, but you could feel your heart beat fast with anxiety, and your eyes kept taking glimpses around in case Adrian or him came in. After a moment, Pansy left to go unpack her bags, and seconds later, you jumped as you felt two hands on your eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Adrian!” 

With a small laugh, he took his hands off your face and put them on your hips instead as you turned to face him. He bent a little to kiss your lips, and you tried to feel something, anything, but you didn’t. Only shame that you felt something - felt so much - when it was another man’s lips that were on yours. 

“Had a good Christmas? Did you like my gift?”

“Yeah!” You said, trying to sound normal. “It was nice to see my parents, and I really liked your gift, Adrien, it was really beautiful. Thank you. How was yours?”

“Good, good,” he said with a nod. “I liked your gift, as well. But, I have to admit I missed you, babe.” He sighed and continued with a softer voice, “I’m sorry for how I behaved before the break, I…I didn’t give you much attention, and I regret all our fights. Can I start making it up to you?” he finished with a hopeful small smile.

“No”, you should have said. He was right in everything he said, and you had seen couples from school break up for less than that. 

“Okay,” you nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

He kissed your cheek, and you forced your lips to form a smile. 

“I, uh, I have to go unpack my back,” you said.

“Oh. Sure. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Remaining silent, you gave him a nod, and his hands left your hips as you detached yourself from him and walked to your dorm, hoping that staying alone for a moment would allow you to pull yourself back together and finally make the right decision. With a heavy breath, you opened the door, expecting to see the room empty, but there was somebody here, sitting on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised, and you already knew who it was - he was always there. 

Mattheo Riddle. In the same house and same year as you. For years, he was just a classmate you didn’t interact much with, except for strange, silent stares that started in your fifth year. Nothing changed when you started dating Adrian, but one night after a fight with him, Mattheo found you all alone, in tears, and sat down to listen to you. Things had escalated, and ever since, you felt nothing but shame and fear that anyone would find out. You tried to avoid him after, to convince himself that it was a mistake. However, if you felt shame, it wasn’t the case for Mattheo. After that night,  and kept staring at you in class, during meals, and especially when Adrian was close to you. And as if it wasn’t enough, he kept trying to spend time alone with you, and eventually succeeded, leading in more “accidents”, as you called them, more shame, as well as less and less affection for your boyfriend and more and more for feelings and shameful desire for the dark haired boy in front of you. And it definitely wasn’t helping that he also kept trying to convince you of his feelings for you and to leave Adrian once and for all.

He raised his head when you came in, and you quickly closed the door behind you, quietly locking it. Your heart started beating faster, and you leant on your door, not daring to get closer. 

“Well, hello, love.” 

You felt your cheeks - or maybe your whole body - becoming hot, and gulped. 

“You can’t be here,” you said with a shaky voice. “What if someone saw you coming in?” 

“Nobody has seen us so far,” Mattheo answered with his usual carelessness you both hated and felt drawn to. “Why would they see me now?” 

“Mattheo, you know perfectly what I meant,” you retorted. “Plus, what if Adrian saw you?” 

Mattheo rose from the bed, and slowly started walking towards you. 

“Speaking of your little boyfriend, I saw you guys before you came in.” His brown gaze hardened like it always did when the topic was Adrian. “It nearly took everything in me to not break his fingers for touching you.” 

“Mattheo,” you sighed. “He’s my boyfriend. He has every right to touch me.” 

Staring at you, Mattheo had a smirk that did not reach his dark eyes and tilted his head. His face was now inches away from yours, and you tried as much as you could to not breathe his perfume. 

“And do I have the right to touch you?” he said in a low voice.

Not waiting for an answer, he brought one hand to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb and now looking at you like he had been for a few weeks - with love. 

“Mattheo, please…”

He closed his eyes and brought his nose to your cheek, his thumb still caressing it. “I’ve spent three weeks in hell not seeing, touching, or kissing you,” he whispered. “I fucking need to feel you, love…Even just a kiss…”

One of his hands still on your cheek, the other went under your shirt, and when he started kissing your neck, you knew you were done for. Your body was as hot as ever, and you felt shivers down your spine as well as your body craving Mattheo’s touch. You sighed, and as he brought his mouth to yours, you kissed him back, putting one hand on his back and the other on his neck. He immediately deepened the kiss, and his hands grabbed your legs to put them around his waist. 

“I can’t fucking stand the thought of you being with him,” he mumbled between two kisses. “I can’t stand the thought of not being the only man who gets to touch and kiss you, the only man who can call you his…”

He suddenly stopped kissing you, leaving you breathless.  

“Leave him, y/n. Or I’m gonna go crazy. I could give you…Everything. Everything I have.”

All lust had disappeared from his eyes, leaving only desperation, and love. 

“Fine,” you whispered, feeling incapable of saying no to him. “I’ll leave Adrian tomorrow.” 

Mattheo smiled, and you felt his relief. He gave you a loving kiss before looking at you again, this time with a mix of both love and lust.

“Now that it’s settled and you’re fully mine forever, how about we make up for the time we spent apart?”

You smiled and kissed him, the feeling of shame not disappearing in the slightest. 

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Masterlist

[writingnightmare]

A/n: I think I might write a follow up to this, but I’m not sure. Fukuzawa is a character that always just draws me in, I didn’t even mean for it to be this long.

─── ✶ ───

Characters: Main - Yukichi Fukuzawa | Background - Ranpo Edogawa, Akiko Yosano, Doppo Kunikida

Content summary: Yukichi and office staff!reader [fem] slowly catch feelings for each other, Ranpo catches on and decides to play wingman with Yosano.

Warnings: None!

Tags: [SFW], Light![Fluff]

Word count: 1.9k

─── ✶ ───

The Butterflies of Affection - Yukichi Fukuzawa x Reader

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

─────────── =ᗢ= ───────────

Denial was not something you associated with yourself. You were logical, organised, professional, you prided yourself on your work.

The first time you truly noticed it, you were ferrying important paperwork to your boss, low heels clicking across the floor as you hauled the mammoth mound of paperwork. He watched subtly, metallic blue eyes peering through his hair every few moments as he wrote on the document before him, the actions going unnoticed by you. You laid the paper onto his desk, before hurrying away once more, ready to collect the remainder of the pile, before his voice stopped you.

“Y/N, don’t rush.” It was only a few words, but the fact he took a moment to ensure you weren’t overburdening yourself was touching. You paused, glancing back with a light smile directed at the man, nodding slightly.

“It’s no bother sir, I’ll be back with the second half in a moment.” He nodded, looking back to his paperwork as you made your way back into the office. Fukuzawa had never been unpleasant to you at any stage, if anything, he was exceptionally kind, even if he was a man of few words. You grew to enjoy his quiet company, finding comfort in the silence.

As you walked back into the office, he looked up at you once more, the corner of his mouth pulling up in an ever so subtle smile; if you hadn’t known the man for over two years, you would have missed it. You set down the papers once more, meeting his eyes with a sense of accomplishment. “I have the case files organised by completion date as you requested, instead of by detective. Hopefully that makes it a bit easier for you sir- oh! And before I forget, I did some light editing to Dazai’s work, just in regard to spelling.” He hummed, giving a slight nod in acknowledgement.

“Y/n, thank you. I appreciate the work you do greatly.” There it was, that childish giddiness you had been feeling recently around the man. You were too old to be feeling such things, you were simply appreciative of his acknowledgement. Yes, that’s all it was. Sure, you had been noticing how your heart sped up every time he offered a small smile, or how every compliment he gave felt like it meant so much more to you, but that was simply because he was your boss after all. Everyone got nervous with their boss, it was completely normal.

In spite of shoving the feeling to the depths of your mind, they seemed to become ever more present in your work life.

“Ranpo, you really must eat something,” you insisted, collecting the glass bottles that littered the Lead Detective’s desk as he spun on his chair. His glasses frames sat proudly on his face as he spiralled into a whirlwind of thoughts, legs crossed and face focused.

“I don’t want to eat, I want a good case,” he whined, leaning back in exasperation, his head tipping backwards and hat dropping onto the floor. You smiled lightly, observing the boy affectionately. You walked to the bin, letting the bottles clatter into it, their clinking sounding almost pretty, despite the boy groaning behind you. “Everything has been so boring lately, Y/n.”

“It can’t be helped, sometimes life slows down unexpectedly in this city, you know that.” He grumbled, knowing full well that you were right, but still. It did nothing to quell the devastating boredom he was experiencing, nor the annoyance he felt. “But if you don’t eat soon, you’ll feel particularly unwell, and then you won’t be able to solve the interesting cases when they do come back around.”

“She has a point, Ranpo.” You looked up at the unexpected voice, blinking in surprise as Fukuzawa moved into the room. “You must look after yourself.”

“But I-“

“Come, I will buy you lunch,” he stated, causing the black haired detective’s eyes to spark up brightly. His head snapped up, a slight smile on his face at the offer. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. No matter what Fukuzawa had offered, or how much of it, Ranpo would always get excited at anything the man gave him. You were aware of their close bond, but seeing the boy’s reactions in person simply made it much more evident.

“Can we get donuts?”

“That isn’t enough to sustain you,” he lectured, drawing an overdramatic groan from Ranpo, but the boy jumped up anyway, walking towards the door.

“I guess,” he drawled out, before glancing back at you, looking between yourself and the President. “Are you coming, Y/n?” You shook your head, smiling as you turned to face him.

“I have a lot of work to do unfortunately, and I’d hate to fall behind.” Ranpo simply looked at Fukuzawa, who was staring intently at you, before shrugging.

“Y/n, you should come,” he stated, arms crossed in front of his body. Happiness bloomed at his offer, but you quickly pushed it down, swallowing as you laughed lightly, waving him off. He seemed to slowly be becoming more relaxed around you, but his face gave nothing away either way.

“While I would love to, I really shouldn’t-“

“You are ahead on your workload, I insist you join us.” And that was how you ended up joining the pair on lunch, hands clasped in front of your form. The pair indulged in lunch together regularly, at least twice a week Fukuzawa would usher Ranpo out of the office, insisting he eat something more than candy. Occasionally your coworkers would join them, but you could never find time to join yourself, head buried in paperwork no matter who nagged you. The fact that Fukuzawa had managed to convince you seemed to be a miracle in of itself.

Over time, it became a recurring theme at the agency, the detectives watching as Fukuzawa walked into the office, lips turned upwards with the smallest hint of a smile. It was the same thing twice a week, insisting you take a break, you’d done more than enough after all, and you could never find it in yourself to say no. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the pair of you were fond of each other, the space between you both seeming to grow ever closer as days turned to weeks, then months.

The small touch you left on his shoulder when you delivered the case files, the way his eyes seemed to be ever so slightly more gentle when he spoke to you, it didn’t take long for Ranpo to catch on to the changes in both parties behaviours. He sat at his desk, chewing on a piece of candy as Kunikida worked intensely at his desk, Yosano sorting the files of her latest case. He stared at you both through the doorway, ankles crossed as he leant back on his hands.

“You see it too, right?” Yosano looked up, following Ranpo’s eyes. Her purple eyes landed on your smiling form, desperately clutching onto your files and folders as Fukuzawa spoke. His voice was too hushed to hear in the office, but she could quickly tell what was happening in the scene unfolding before her. The way the president reached over, gripping onto the ends of the paperwork in your arms, lightly trying to pull it from your grasp. Amusement danced across his features at your obvious protests, your voice also hushed as you tried to maintain your ownership of the folders. “They’re behaving differently.”

“I don’t think I���ve ever seen the President so… light hearted,” she added, drawing Kunikida’s attention as she grinned. She looked over at Ranpo, eyebrow raised as the man hummed, deep in thought. “What’s your thoughts, Ranpo?”

“They’re clearly experiencing affection for each other,” he observed clinically, drawing a light laugh from the Doctor.

“It appears so.”

“You think? I don’t see it,” Kunikida muttered, adjusting his glasses.

“You don’t? He’s in there every second day, inviting her for lunch, not accepting a no. I can’t recall the last time the President was so…persistent. And you should see how she looks at him when she brings in his documents. I’ve never seen her look that way at any of us,” she stated, Kunikida humming in acknowledgement as he sat back.

“Actually, now that you mention it, the President thought she was sick last week. When he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone go so red before. I just figured Y/n was sick from overworking herself…”

Ranpo’s mind was settled on that day. If you two would interact like such at work, but never see each other out of work, he would simply have to ensure it happened.

One day Ranpo stopped Fukuzawa and yourself at the elevator, sucking on a lollipop as he stared at the man, face blank. Yosano and Kunikida watched on from a few metres behind him, intrigued by the apparent stand off.

“I’m not coming today,” he stated plainly, watching as Fukuzawa raised his eyebrows in silent question. Ranpo shrugged, turning his head away as your brow pinched in confusion, eyes dancing his form in concern.

“Are you feeling okay, Ranpo,” you asked lightly, drawing his eyes back.

“I don’t feel well, isn’t that right, Yosano,” he called, twisting the candy in his mouth. Fukuzawa’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, observing the man curiously. His complexion was fine, his behaviour was normal, and he certainly wasn’t loudly announcing his complaints of his illness as he normally would do. Why would he lie about such a thing?

Yosano nodded, hurrying over with a smile, more than willing to assist her close colleague’s plan. “Yes, he’s caught a stomach bug, it’s a shame,” she stated, standing behind Ranpo. Your brow pinched further, perplexed by their behaviour. Fukuzawa clocked onto them quickly, a quiet sigh leaving him, but a smile gracing his lips nonetheless.

“I see, well that’s okay, we can go tomorrow-!”

“No, you should definitely go today,” Yosano stated, ushering you both into the open elevator. You tried to protest, but were merely silenced by their goodbyes and the closing doors. You stood there for a moment in silence, feeling the elevator shift underneath you, before Fukuzawa broke the quiet air.

“If you would still like to, I’d more than enjoy to have lunch with you, Y/n,” he offered, watching as you looked back quickly, face flushed and expression tentative at his offer. He was calm as ever, but you could spot a hint of colour near the tips of his ears.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable, sir. As your employee it would be rather improper of me, and I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression,” you rambled, but he only hummed as the doors opened, his hand resting on the small of your back to guide you out. You swore the butterflies that bloomed under his touch would surely be the death of you.

“What do you mean by the wrong impression?” You paused for a moment, collecting your words carefully before you spoke, the man waiting patient as ever.

“Well, it may appear as a date to onlookers, and I wouldn’t want to tarnish your name.”

“Well yes, it would be a date. I would hope it would appear as such. If you are so inclined to join me.” You stood there, processing his words, a genuine smile on his lips as he waiting once more. His presence was never pressuring for you, if anything, it only made you feel more comfortable as you laughed lightly, the situation clicking in your mind.

“Well, in such case I would love to join you sir.”

“Please, called me Yukichi.”

Songs I listened to whilst writing:

[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 - 𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲]

1:03 ──⚬──── 3:45

⇆ ◃◃ ıı ▹▹ ↻

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb II

(Law student POV pt. 2)

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 1300 words. Pt. 2! (Spring cleaning is done lol kinda) Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect flirting, hot af barista Caleb, jealousy blooming and plenty of banter with the newbie barista. You learn something new about Caleb—and, as always, you and the newbie are in this chaotic little mess together.

Chapters: initial doodle, pilot pt. 1 (law student), pilot (newbie), pt 3, pt 4

Tags: @gavin3469 @mipov101 @unstablemiss

Turbulence | Pt. 2 (law student)

It’s been three days.

Three days. Eleven drinks. Two shaky hands. One minor caffeine-induced breakdown in the library bathroom. And not a single Caleb.

The newbie’s been your reluctant caffeine lifeline. Quiet, sharp, tongue piercing flashing when they talk, salmon-colored hair tied back messily, a silver ring glinting at the edge of their nose. They don’t ask why you keep showing up—mostly because they already know. They catch your glances at the door, your pauses when Caleb’s name is mentioned, your steady descent into coffee-fueled delusion.

They say nothing. But every time they hand you your drink, their eyes say: same hat, different clown.

But today?

Today, you’re done pretending.

You step up to the counter, drop your bag, and level them with a look.

“Okay,” you say, voice flat. “This is not a crush. This is a case study. I just need to know—when does he work? For science. National interest. Closure.”

The newbie blinks, then gives you a slow, unimpressed look.

“You could ask him yourself.”

You open your mouth to argue—just as they glance at their watch, untie their apron, and say under their breath:

“Actually… perfect timing.”

And that’s when the door opens behind you.

You feel him before you see him. The shift in energy. The hum in the air. The ghost of that smirk from three days ago.

Then his voice, warm and amused:

“Hey.”

You turn around.

There he is—Caleb. Dressed in the same soft black shirt, hair slightly mussed, sleeves already rolled like he’s here to work and ruin your life.

He walks past you toward the counter, claps the newbie on the shoulder with easy affection, and ruffles their hair like it’s a normal thing people survive.

The newbie’s whole body goes still.

They turn to you, dead-eyed, mouthing: Kill me.

Then they mutter something about their shift ending and vanish into the back before Caleb can do more damage.

You’re still smiling when he turns around and spots you.

“Oh hey,” he says, tying his apron behind his back, eyes bright with something unreadable. “Didn’t expect to see you this late.”

You shrug, trying to keep your cool. “Guess I’m still unpredictable.”

His grin curves. “You wanna try something weird?”

You blink.

“I’ve been thinking about this drink all week,” he continues, moving behind the counter. “Coffee. With apple juice.”

You stare. “That sounds like a war crime.”

He laughs. “Exactly. But it might also be genius. C’mon—let me make it for you. Worst case, you hate it and I owe you a real drink.”

He’s already reaching for the espresso.

And somehow, you’re already saying yes.

You watch as he works. Veins shifting under his forearms as he moves so precise, so practiced, you’re tempted to file an official complaint with the Department of Hot People Doing Too Much. He talks while he works—voice low, casual, like this is all completely normal. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

“Apple juice cuts the bitterness. Adds brightness. Kind of a shock to the system, but in a good way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like a tagline for your whole personality.”

He smirks without looking up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He finishes the drink, slides it across the counter toward you. The cup is warm, the smell… confusing. Like summer and danger and something that should probably not be consumed without signing a waiver.

“Try it,” he says, watching you.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t trust the drink—but because he’s watching you like this matters. Like your opinion on this weird little experiment is somehow important.

And it shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does.

You lift the cup, take a cautious sip.

It’s—good?

Weird. But good. Tangy, slightly sweet, the coffee mellowed into something strange and spark-bright on your tongue. You blink, surprised.

“Well?” he asks.

You look up at him, lips still on the rim of the cup.

“…This is actually kind of amazing.”

His smile is slow, satisfied. “Told you.”

You lower the cup, trying not to look like you’re about to write an entire thesis on the way he’s leaning forward just slightly, hands braced on the counter like you’re the only thing in the room.

You glance at the drink again, then up at him. “What made you think of it?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “I just have a thing for apples.”

And that’s when you see it.

The thin chain around his neck catches the light as he shifts��barely visible under the collar of his shirt. It slips out just enough to show what’s been hiding all along:

A dog tag.

And next to it, resting against the metal, a tiny apple charm.

You freeze.

You’ve seen it before. Or maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’ve been too distracted by everything else. But now, it’s all you can see.

Delicate. Meaningful. Not self-gifted. Not accidental.

Someone gave that to him.

And it’s been there. Long enough to be worn down at the edges. Long enough to become a part of him.

You look back down at your drink.

He didn’t make it for you.

He made it because apples mean something to him. Because she made them mean something.

And you hate that it matters. But it does.

You sip again. Slower. Trying not to show your face.

Trying not to wonder if everything about him is already spoken for.

You sit back down at your usual table with the coffee-apple crime still in hand, but your appetite for it has cooled. You pretend to read a paragraph of case law and get through maybe five words.

Because you’re still thinking about the necklace.

The charm.

Her.

Is she like you? Blonde? Quiet? Loud? Prettier? Softer? Did she work here? Was she the one who taught him to like apple juice in his coffee, or worse—did she drink it first?

You’re spiraling, and you know it.

You adjust your blazer. Reread the same line three times.

Across the room, Caleb’s voice drifts through the hum of espresso and indie guitar.

It’s just coffee. He makes drinks. You’re not special. This is nothing.

You take another sip.

…It’s still good. Damn it.

The newbie walks past your table on their way out, shooting you a look that says you okay? without bothering to say it out loud.

You raise your eyebrows in a silent do not even start.

They shrug like fine, but as they pass, they murmur:

“Don’t look too hard at the charm. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

You whip around to say excuse me?, but they’re already gone. Vanished through the entrance with a pling of the doorbell, leaving you with your overactive brain and that damn necklace burned into your memory.

You try to recover. Get your bag together. Your pride. Your notes.

And just as you’re slipping your laptop back into its case, you hear him behind you:

“Hey, Golden Girl.”

You turn, eyes wide.

He’s leaning against the counter again, arms folded, apron dusted with a bit of cinnamon.

“I’m working the early shift tomorrow,” he says. “Should I make a cup of sin for you again, or… are you too scared to handle it twice?”

There’s that smirk.

That exact smirk.

And just like that, every ounce of composure you rebuilt cracks apart like a dropped glass.

You force a smile. Steady. Controlled.

“Careful,” you say lightly. “Turbulence, remember?”

He flashes that grin, all white teeth and silent challenge. “Trust me. I’m a trained pilot.”

You walk out, smile still frozen on your lips, heart pounding in your chest like a full-on procedural hearing is taking place in there.

And as soon as the door shuts behind you, you mutter under your breath:

“I’m lawyering the hell out of that apple girl.”

——————————————————————————

Part 3

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So when I say my drafts are empty, I don’t mean literally—but you’ve successfully squeezed the last half-decent AU I had kinda ready since you wanted the law student with the MC existing. I was just too scared to commit lol. Congrats, you’ve all unlocked the “fine, I’ll post it” hidden achievement on my tumblr. We can always make the MC disappear if you change your mind (said with Colonel Caleb intensity)

I’m honestly amazed (and so grateful) that people enjoy this simple AU of mine—thank you for the comments, likes, and reblogs! Muah!

Let me know if you’d like more, dear reader! I’ll be off doodling my newfound Apothecary Diaries AU in the meantime—before dropping a headcanon for all the boiis later this week, hehe. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻