#classes started and for the first time in three months i saw the morning sun ugh

[holidei]

3am post

[carlislefiles]

penpal | itadori yuuji ╰►it's just one summer. but...it's not just one summer. it's a whole three months, thirteen weeks, away from you. he finally has you, and now he's gonna give you up. but he finds that being away from you, while miserable and lonely and awful, does have its appeals. like the lovely, heartfelt letters you write him, and the sweet, knowing packages you mail him. the facetime calls that go on for hours. missing you is awful, but it's a bittersweet kind of ache. one he feels thankful to have. 5.4k words

a/n: this has been sitting pretty in my drafts for a while now. I like it a lot, but for some reason I've convinced myself it's not that good. not fishing for compliments, just genuinely don't know how I feel about it, so I hope you guys like it. and thank you to the anon who requested a yuuji fic, you inspired me to finally post this bad boy. semi-canon compliant, but I don't think the students actually get a dedicated summer break, so just pretend with me here :] I was lowkey shitting on megumi in parts of this fic...was not my intention, but it kinda comes off that way my bad. warnings/what to expect: fluff, kissing, cussing.

yuuji had known you for two years. he’d been in love with you for most of them, though he only got to call you his about a year in. you came to jujutsu tech like some serene little storm—not loud or messy like him, but quiet in your devastation. you weren’t flashy, but you were competent. focused. what you lacked in raw cursed energy, you made up for with an almost religious discipline. the way you trained—morning runs before class, late nights on the field until your knuckles bled, the way your hands shook from exhaustion but you never stopped—he’d never seen anything like it.

you volunteered for every mission. you never hesitated. you were the first out the door and often the last one back. gojo sent you on solo missions all the time, which made yuuji anxious in the beginning, until he saw just how capable you really were. it wasn’t jealousy, not really. that wasn’t his nature. he didn’t burn with envy—he just brimmed with admiration. reverence. he wanted to take care of you, not because he thought you needed it, but because he needed to do it. you were the kind of person who made him want to be more than he was.

he’d probably had a crush on you since the moment you met. and now, a year into dating you, he could still hardly believe his luck. he could talk for hours about how beautiful he thinks you are. write novels about the freckles scattered across your cheeks and shoulders like constellations. sonatas on the softness of your skin, especially in late spring when the uniform sleeves rolled up and your skin went golden and red from the sun. you made his heart ache in the most devastating, beautiful way. and he told you that. often.

he liked to joke about how he “tricked” you into falling for him, as if it hadn’t been the most careful, patient, sincere pursuit of his life. it started small—compliments slipped in between classes, during missions, after sparring. he always noticed when you styled your hair differently, or wore a new outfit when you and kugisaki went shopping. he was subtle, at first. quiet about it. you didn’t pick up on his feelings, not right away. you were too practical. too oblivious. you brushed off his compliments. squinted at him suspiciously when he offered to carry your training gear. tilted your head like a confused puppy when he gushed about you to gojo-sensei.

yuuji was nothing if not persistent. fushiguro, predictably, had no patience for any of it. “just tell her how you feel,” he’d grumble, usually while icing some injury he got in sparring. which was rich, coming from fushiguro—who’d been nursing an epic crush on a certain second-year for much longer than he’d ever admit.

but yuuji knew better. you didn’t like surprises. public affection made you uncomfortable. if he told you everything all at once, you’d fold into yourself and pull away. so instead, he built his love for you slowly. brick by brick. invited you to movie nights. asked you to study in his dorm (after cleaning it obsessively first). stayed up just to wait for you to come home from missions and pretend he was “just grabbing a snack,” ramen packet already boiling. he became your shadow. your biggest fan. a lovesick puppy who knew exactly who he wanted. and eventually, something shifted. his compliments didn’t go over your head anymore—they landed. you started to smile at him longer. laugh at his jokes. sit next to him without prompting. share an airpod on walks. choose his dorm to study in, instead of kugisaki’s or your own. you opened up like a sunrise—slow and soft, but radiant.

your dorm became his favorite place on earth. to anyone else, it might’ve looked boring—neutral tones, soft blankets, piles of books. but to yuuji, it was like stepping into your chest and hearing your heart beat. quiet. warm. steady. he saw you in it. the small comforts you clung to in a world that had given you so few. the little signs of a person trying to build something gentle, even when the world kept asking for violence. he wanted to be that place for you. and slowly, you started letting him.  you let him brush your hair from your face after training. let him curl around you like a shield after a long, bruising mission. let him rest his head in your lap while you read to him, your voice soft and low, stumbling over the occasional word, especially when he stared up at you with that look in his eyes.

you never had a moment. no confessions. no breathless declarations in the rain. it just...shifted. somewhere along the way, you stopped pulling away from his affection. started leaning in. started trying. not because you felt like you had to, but because something in your chest cracked open and yuuji had rushed in to fill it like sunlight.

it wasn’t easy. it didn’t come naturally. love never had, not for you. not like it did for him. where yuuji loved in color—bright, bold, full-bodied—you loved in grayscale. yours was a quieter thing. but no less real. it made you feel naked, sometimes, the way he looked at you. the way he touched you without hesitation, like he was sure you wouldn’t break. the way he praised you without wanting anything in return. affection still made your skin prickle some days. made your chest tighten like your body couldn’t quite accept that this was safe. that he was safe.

but you gave it anyway. a hand on his shoulder. a thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. a quiet I missed you when he returned from missions. you couldn’t mirror his joy, his ease with the language of love—but you found your own dialect. one he understood perfectly. you let him into your space. your life. your rituals. he learned to love your quiet. you learned to love his noise. and somewhere in the middle, you fell for him. not in a rush, not in a whirlwind. but in soft, unshakable steps. one foot after the other. you showed up. that was your way of loving. not loud. not immediate. but steady. enduring. the kind of love that doesn't shout—but never leaves. yuuji never asked you to be anyone else. and that’s what made it so easy to try.

now, with the sun climbing higher and the days stretching long and hot, summer has arrived. and for the first time, he won’t be spending it with you. not a week or two apart. a whole summer. you’re headed home to see family. yuuji’s staying in tokyo with gojo and fushiguro. he’ll finally get to see this mansion fushiguro’s always grumbling about. you’ll be on opposite ends of the country. no surprise movie nights. no dorm room reading. no you. last summer, you’d stayed at the school for the summer. your family wasn’t the sentimental type. they’d sent you off to become a better sorcerer. but yaga had set up renovations to take place over the summer. so going home was just the sensible decision. fushiguro had annoyedly claimed the offer was open, but kugisaki wasn’t going. so you politely declined, you didn’t want to impose. 

you seem unbothered, serene as always, just like you are before missions. you promise to call, and he knows you mean it, despite the fact that he knows you don’t like phone calls. but that doesn’t stop the dread in his chest. the hollowness behind his smile. he tries to act like it’s fine. that he’s fine. but god, he’s gonna miss you. 

the train ride out to gojo’s house—sorry, gojo’s mansion—is quick. he lives just on the other side of tokyo, far enough out that everything slows down, quiets, turns rural. but you're taking a bullet train across the country. practically a world away. yuuji knows you’ll be fine. he’s seen you pin grade 1 sorcerers in a matter of seconds. watched you exorcise curses blindfolded and bound just for the challenge. he’s seen you survive things that should’ve left scars, and still come home with that same calm steadiness, as if you’d just run errands instead of dancing with death. but he worries anyway. he can’t help it. he downloads an audiobook on his phone—something dense, something you’d picked. the same one you’re listening to on your train ride. he texts you when something happens in the plot that grabs him, and you respond, just wait. it gets even better.

he asks where you’re sitting. back of the train, you text. he facetimes immediately, hopeful the quiet section means you won’t be overheard. you’ve got earbuds in and you speak soft and low, barely above the hum of the train. he misses you already, and he says so. he tells you about his short trip to gojo’s. how fushiguro ignored him the entire way there. you smile faintly—your relationship with fushiguro is... testy at best. there’s mutual respect, no question. you’re both composed, private, precise. but the difference is: you love yuuji without shame. quiet, but complete. fushiguro... well. he loves like it’s a secret. like it's something to be embarrassed about. you never talk about it. but it's there. yuuji pretends not to notice. you’re his two best friends, and you make it work.

he asks what your plans are when you get home. he wants to know about your family. your town. where you come from. a little coastal village outside of okinawa. you tell him it’s small—fields instead of skyscrapers. you grew up with dirt under your nails and windburn on your cheeks. your family isn’t loud. not physically affectionate. but the love’s there. just in your language. small, quiet, hard to spot unless you know what you're looking for.

your mother makes your favorite dinner the night you return. your sisters insist on sleeping in your room, one on either side. they barely touch you, but they’re close, and that’s enough. they want to hear everything about yuuji. all about him. you show them pictures. tell them about how he leaves little notes in your textbook margins, how he walks you to class even when it’s out of his way. about how he makes you laugh, really laugh. the kind you feel in your ribs. “he sounds so nice,” one of them says. 

“he is,” you reply. you miss him, too. you just don’t say it out loud.

the next morning, you wake to three texts from yuuji. you reply to each one individually. he responds immediately. he’s up early—he knew you’d be awake. your conversations trickle in all day, a stream of consciousness that stretches like a string between you, humming with tension and sweetness. each message is a little love letter to the long, hot summer you’re spending apart. you keep busy—your days are full. chores. catching up with family. reading. card games at the kitchen table. you blink, and a week is gone. one down. twelve to go.

on the final night of the week, you sit at the small desk in your room. you pull out a blank sheet of paper and pick up your pen. and you begin to write. you write about everything. the pink tulips you repotted and set on the windowsill—they reminded me of your hair. the tabby cat you see every morning on your run around the property. the summer storm that rolled through the second night, drenching the ground and leaving everything smelling new. the dumplings you made with your mom, how you got flour in your hair and on your nose and she laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a while. you write about the paintings you did with your little sister—hers a pink unicorn, yours the sky, both ridiculous and beautiful in their own way. the two books you’ve already finished. how you miss him. how you even miss fushiguro’s grumbling. how you miss the taste of his overcooked ramen and the crooked grin he gives you when he tries to flirt and fails spectacularly. the two scars he lets you kiss each night before bed. his beautiful, expressive eyes. you’re not desperate enough to say you miss gojo-sensei. not yet. but you’re getting there.

you print out photos with your polaroid camera. one of the cat. one of the dumplings. the flowers. your paintings. the books. and finally—inevitably—a photo of yourself. you in his favorite red hoodie, the one that’s soft and stretched out and smells like him no matter how many times you wash it. it’s yours now. he saw you in it once and never asked for it back. you slip the pictures and the four-page letter into a thick yellow envelope. the next morning, you stop by the tiny convenience store in town. you find some spicy nori snacks, a box of matcha pocky. add them in. seal it. you drop it off at the post office without ceremony and go on with your day. 

that night, you facetime. you don’t say anything about the package. he tells you how pretty you look. how lovely you are in his hoodie, flushed from a day in the garden. his voice is soft, reverent, like he’s seeing a dream and doesn’t want to wake up. you threaten to hang up the call. he grins and moves on. tells you about the new bruise on his arm—courtesy of gojo’s bright idea to use a basketball during baseball practice. he swung, connected, and got flattened by the rebound. you shake your head. you miss him. but honestly, you're glad you’re not at gojo’s house. a couple of days later, a package arrives on gojo’s doorstep. 

it hits him like summer sun on bare skin—sudden, bright, and a little overwhelming. the package shows up one lazy afternoon, thick air curling through the open windows of gojo’s place. the cicadas are loud. there’s something sweet in the air, like peaches or sun-warmed grass. gojo drops it on the kitchen counter like it weighs nothing, flipping through a magazine as he says, offhandedly, “hey. something came in from okinawa.”

fushiguro, halfway through slicing into a watermelon, raises an eyebrow. “who do you know from there?” but yuuji’s already moving—no, tripping over the side of the couch like it’s trying to keep him from the counter. a graceless tumble. he doesn’t care. because he knows. you. it’s from you. that’s who he knows in okinawa. that’s who he’s been thinking about every minute of every day since you left.

the package is plain. no stickers, no doodles. you’re not sentimental like that. but yuuji opens it like it’s made of glass, like the contents inside are too precious for fast hands. his fingers shake a little. inside, a few things sit nestled gently together, and suddenly his throat is tight. spicy nori. he’s never had it, but you must’ve remembered that. he’d mentioned it once—months ago, maybe. a craving, a curiosity. you remembered. matcha pocky. his favorite. he stares at it for a moment, like maybe if he looks long enough, it’ll explain how you know him so well it makes his chest ache.

and then photos. they look random. but he knows they’re not. they’re fragments of your days. slivers of moments he wasn’t there for. a garden. a messy dumpling attempt. a painting. a cat. he doesn’t need the stories behind them. it’s enough that you sent them. that you wanted him to see. and then—the one that knocks the wind out of him. you. at your desk. wearing his red hoodie and your pajama pants. your hair down, natural, soft the way he always tells you he loves it. you're making a little face at the camera—cheeky, just barely a smirk. like you knew if you didn’t include a photo of yourself, he’d pout about it for a week. and you were right. he would’ve. but now you’ve gone and outsmarted him again. now he’s staring down at this picture like it holds the answer to every question he’s ever asked about love.

finally—finally—he notices the letter. four pages, all in your handwriting. folded with a kind of neatness that’s distinctly you. he reads it too fast the first time, eyes skipping, hungry for everything. has to go back, start again, slow down. some of it he’s heard before, through facetime. little updates. passing mentions. but there’s so much more here. so much softness. so much you. he laughs out loud when you mention watching human earthworm 3 with your sisters. “they hated it,” you wrote. "I loved every second.” he presses a hand to his chest. god, he wishes he’d been there. you write about listening to his favorite song during one of your runs. you say it felt like he was there with you. and he can’t even handle how his stomach flips at that—like the laws of space and time bend for a second just to let him be close to you.

you mention your hair again. how when you’re not constantly out on missions, you can finally take the time to wash it and let it do its thing. he’d noticed, of course. could tell from the photo. but the fact that you thought to explain it to him? that you wanted him to know? he has to stop reading for a second. his vision’s gone a little blurry. because this letter—it’s not flowery. it’s not full of declarations or clichés. it’s not romantic in the way some people would call romantic. but it’s a love letter. god, it is. it’s so you. attentive. specific. steady. you miss him, and you say so. but more than that—you see him. you know him. and you care. deeply. completely. without needing to shout it. he reads the last line three times over before he can breathe again. "I love you, yuuji ♡”

he presses the letter to his chest and lets his head fall back against the couch. he’s quiet for a long moment. the summer breeze ruffles the corner of the letter. someone says something in the other room—maybe gojo, maybe fushiguro—but yuuji doesn’t hear it. his whole world, right now, is inside that envelope. and you’re not even trying. that’s the thing that wrecks him. you’re just being yourself.

he calls you immediately—eyes still suspiciously glassy, voice slightly too upbeat.

"umm, what is thisss?" he says, holding the opened package up to the camera like you might not recognize it. “you’re way too nice, baby. this is literally the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

you blink at him, chewing a piece of ice absentmindedly. "what is?"

"this!" he rattles the package, then points dramatically to the letter like it’s a handwritten declaration of sainthood.

"oh. that?” you say, frowning. “that was nothing.”

you’d honestly forgotten you sent it.

it had taken you half an hour to throw together. less than 1000 yen. you’d picked up the snacks while buying shampoo. you’d stuck in the letter because the envelope felt too light. you’d printed the picture because you figured he’d whine otherwise. it wasn’t much.

but he’s gushing. twenty whole minutes. you can barely get a word in. he’s complimenting your handwriting like it’s calligraphy. he’s pointing out specific phrases from the letter and repeating them back to you in a dreamy voice. he’s asking if the cat from your run has a name yet.

eventually you settle into your usual facetime routine—quiet, warm, full of long pauses that don’t feel empty. your mother calls you down for dinner. normally, you’d say goodbye and hang up.

but tonight, you don’t.

you just…carry him with you. down the stairs, to the kitchen. your sisters have already eaten. your plate is waiting for you under cling wrap in the fridge. you heat it up, sit at the counter, and start eating with the phone propped against the sugar canister.

you barely say anything for the first five minutes. just the soft clinking of utensils, the occasional sigh.

“do you want me to leave you be?” yuuji asks gently.

you look up, surprised. “no. I don’t want to eat by myself.”

it’s not a big declaration. you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

but to yuuji, it might as well be a marriage proposal.

because he remembers you two years ago. the girl who used to apologize for having freckles. who stiffened at compliments. who lived curled up in the corners of her dorm like a ghost. and now you want to share your dinner with him across two time zones.

he doesn’t say any of that. he just smiles and goes to grab his own food. he makes fushiguro come eat too, plates already lukewarm from gojo’s microwave. he sets the phone in the center of the table like a centerpiece.

you ask megumi how he’s doing. if he’s ready to kill gojo yet.

"I am always ready to kill gojo,” he deadpans. but it’s half-hearted. you all know the truth.

you talk about what you want to do when you’re back on campus. yuuji lights up.

“let’s add kugisaki to the call!”

you do. she’s annoyed at first, claims she’s busy. but she stays. and suddenly it feels like another night in the dorms. like you're not scattered across japan, separated by obligation and summer heat. for a little while, it just feels like home.

—

the next day, yuuji sets out to write you back. he opens to the first page with the same energy he once reserved for exam questions or curse exorcism strategies. serious business. except…he struggles. a lot. your letter was perfect. it had felt effortless. this? this is like trying to write a poem in a thunderstorm.

but once he stops trying to match you, and starts writing like himself, everything spills out. he writes about the baseball-basketball hybrid gojo invented. (“it’s dumb. I'm obsessed. we play everyday.”) he tells you how he and megumi tried to cook that soup recipe you mentioned. he describes the exact moment the fire alarms went off and how gojo’s first words when walking into the smoky mess were “you guys better not be cooking something healthy.” he tells you about the kyoto girl megumi is clearly in love with, and how you need to help orchestrate something. “maybe he can trick her into dating him. worked for me.” he thanks you for the spicy nori. “it was amazing. buy some more. facetime me when you try it!” he compliments your hair. rants about it, really. summer humidity is a miracle, and your hair is living proof. he asks for pictures of the ocean. says you must be able to see it from your family’s house, or at least on your morning run. says he wants more pictures of your paintings—especially the pink unicorn one your sister did, which he describes as “abstract and terrifying and amazing.” he asks for more pictures of you, too. “one is a total disservice. I deserve at least five. maybe ten.”

and then, because it feels right, he says it. over and over again. I love you. I love you. I love you. the words tumble out. not in some neat little line, but smeared across paragraphs, tucked between snack reviews and bad doodles. they’re everywhere. just like he is. just like you are, in his world. the letter is a mess. his handwriting is a disaster. ink is smudged. words are misspelled. there are crossed-out sentences and strange margin notes. he’s doodled a weird little version of you in his hoodie with stars around your head. he’s drawn a cat that looks more like a potato. he loves it. he knows you’ll love it too.

he doesn’t have a polaroid, which is tragic. he makes a note to buy one. but he still manages to include something tangible—a couple bags of tea from gojo’s pantry that he’s pretty sure you’ll like. (if not, you’ll bully him, and he’s fine with that.) he puts hearts all over the envelope. big ones. lopsided ones. he considers sealing it with a kiss, then decides that’s weird, then does it anyway. he sends it off the next morning. and with it, he sends the part of him that hasn’t stopped missing you since the second you left.

it spirals, gloriously, hilariously, heart-wrenchingly from there. the rest of the summer becomes an exchange of laughter folded into letters, fingerprints smudged onto snack packages, love woven into bubble wrap and twine. you trade days the way people trade baseball cards. one sweet little offering at a time.

yuuji sends you candy bars from the corner store with scribbled notes like “tastes weird. tell me if I'm crazy.” he includes half-baked recipes clipped from magazines, fully aware he’ll never pull them off. you try them. you lie and say they’re amazing. (“don’t worry, I didn’t burn the soup. unlike some people.”) you send him a miniature basketball plushie because he will not shut up about gojo’s cursed frankenstein sport. he opens the package like it’s a sacred relic, then immediately facetimes you to introduce it to the world. “this is mikey. he’s our son now.” he gives it a place of honor on his pillow. fushiguro scoffs and sighs for a full ten minutes. you make matching bracelets. twine and a little metal charm you found at a beach stand. you keep one. mail the other. he acts like he made it, flashing it dramatically on every facetime call. “check out this artisan craftsmanship.” you let him have it.

one afternoon, you call and he’s asleep. megumi answers, caught somewhere between suspicion and resignation. the air between you two is awkward, delicate. you don’t say much. until you grin and say, “go get a permanent marker.” megumi blinks. then smirks. yuuji wakes up to a full mural on his cheek and something profane scrawled across his forehead. he groans, squinting into the camera. but you're cackling. megumi’s barely holding it together. he can’t be mad. not even a little. he receives more pictures from you. candid, sleepy, sunlit. some with your sisters, some with your fingers half-covering the lens. one of you holding a seashell to your ear like a dork. he sets them on his nightstand in the guest room like they’re family heirlooms. sometimes he looks at them before bed and just whispers, “you’re so cool,” like a man cursed by affection.

he makes you explain your hair routine in painstaking detail. wants brand names. ratios. “like, how wet is your hair when you use the curl cream?” he’s convinced that if he studies your methods, his hair will someday be as majestic. you’re losing your mind. he’s so serious about it. it’s infuriating. you love it. he sends you postcards from tokyo with captions like “wish you were here (i mean you practically live here but still)”. you keep them all in a shoebox under your bed. there’s already too many to count. you start watching movies “together.” he’ll call, and you’ll sync up your streaming services like you’re detonating a bomb. “3...2...1...play.” the audio never lines up perfectly. the subtitles sometimes glitch. but it doesn’t matter. you talk through the whole thing anyway.

and it’s...gross. sickening, even. soft and sappy and too gentle for a world that rarely is. but it’s yours. built slowly, lovingly, from nothing more than stamps and signal bars and the occasional haunted snack box. and it matters. because you didn't used to believe in this kind of thing. and yuuji—yuuji believed in you even when you didn't believe in yourself. he made room for you. made space for this. for love. for warmth. for something that doesn’t sting when it touches you.

he still misses you, of course. but it’s different now. not aching and hollow. it’s…sweet. soft around the edges. like the kind of longing you get for a favorite song, or the smell of your mom’s cooking when you’re away. he thinks about you every morning. every night. every time he passes that stupid unicorn drawing or tightens the bracelet on his wrist. he misses you. but he’s grateful to miss you. because missing you means he has you. and that is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

—

he’s jittery. he’s always jittery, sure, but this is different. yuuji’s not just bouncing his leg—he’s halfway to vibrating out of his skin. the entire bullet train ride he’s cracking knuckles, chewing on the corner of his lip, refreshing your last text like it might suddenly change and say “surprise! I'm here early! come get me now!” it doesn’t. you said your train left at 3:00am. brutal. typical you—always the cheap ticket, always the one who makes do without complaint. you don’t mind early mornings or sore backs. he minds for you. his ride is short. unfairly so. which means he gets to be alone in his dorm for a few hours with all this energy and nowhere to put it. he bugs kugisaki within twenty minutes of unpacking. fushiguro? emotionally exhausted, allegedly. but yuuji knows better. fushiguro loved hanging out with him this summer. he’ll never say it, but he’ll miss yuuji’s endless talking, his stupid pool games, his bad movie taste. they’ll both pretend otherwise.

yuuji’s a livewire. can’t sit still. he finally channels it into decorating, if you can call it that. every picture you mailed him gets stuck on the wall in a wild, crooked constellation—no rhyme or reason, just instinct and affection. the letter drawer gets a place of honor in his nightstand, already worn from being opened and reread too many times. then he gets mischievous. he grabs mikey, the plush basketball, and heads to your dorm. he’s plotting. you’ll come in later and find the plush sitting on your pillow, possibly with a dramatic note about “co-parenting.”

he knocks, ready to annoy kugisaki into letting him in. but the door swings open—and it’s you. you, with that sly, soft look on your face, like you know exactly what you’ve done. "I was waiting for you to come up here,” you say. “wasn’t sure you would.” liar. your train hadn’t left at 3:00am. you’d found a late-night deal, and you took it.  you’d been here since last night.

and yuuji? he short-circuits. he doesn’t freeze—yuuji itadori never freezes—but he ignites. he barrels through the doorway like a storm surge, lifts you off your feet, spins you around like some cheesy k-drama protagonist who’s waited thirteen weeks for this moment. (which he has.) he tucks his face into your neck and inhales. he missed this—your perfume, your shampoo, your skin. he missed you. his lips find every freckle like they’re dots on a map he’s finally coming home to. he squishes your cheeks in his palms and baby-talks at you like he’s trying to imprint your face onto his soul. which, to be fair, he probably is.

you endure it with only mild suffering. arms loose around his shoulders. a soft grumble of, “okay, okay, yuuji…” but you don’t pull away. when he finally sets you down, your hands come up—gentle—and you press your lips to the matching scars on either side of his eyes. a habit now. something quiet and reverent, like you’re acknowledging everything he’s been through without saying a word. then you look at him. just…look. wide, steady eyes. hair undone. that calm, quiet sort of smile that he’s never been able to resist. "I missed you too, yuuji.” 

and that’s it. that’s the sentence that breaks the dam. he’s kissing you again, not even properly—just barely-there little pecks over your cheeks, your temple, your hands, your eyelids, whispering things like “you’re so pretty, holy crap,” and “I'm so lucky, I'm so stupid lucky,” and "I love you, I love you, I love you.”

you’re calm. he doesn’t know how. he’s been vibrating with anticipation for thirteen weeks and you’re just…serenely unpacking, like he didn’t just get metaphorically hit by a train. but that’s who you are. steady. quiet. warm in a way that sneaks up on him. he decides, right then, next summer he’s going with you. nakijin or bust. you don’t argue. you just nod. he wraps around you like ivy as you organize your desk. follows you like a puppy while you reset your dorm. it’s not hot—there’s a breeze drifting through the cracked window, and a hint of fall in the air. soon there will be class schedules and curfews and missions and real life.

but for now, it’s this. just this. warmth and laughter and the smell of your perfume on his shirt. and sometimes—just sometimes—when things settle again and days start to pass like normal, yuuji finds himself missing what it felt like to miss you. because even that was beautiful. even that was yours.

[matchpointfaist]

you tell me the sun is shining in paradise // if i believe you

apollo! art x devotee reader

tw for religion, mentions of sacrifice but not like death, smut, lowkey manipulative art a little? kinda got freaky sorry <3

you’d never been religious- too many mornings forced to behave in a church pew had steered you clear of the organization of it all. but sometimes, late at night, when you were at your lowest, you just needed someone. someone beyond this, someone to make it all worthwhile, to bring it all to reason. the folklore and mythology course you took your freshman year of college was the first time it occurred to you; it didn’t have to be a singular god, it could be an entire institution, an entire universe of higher beings, webs weaved by hands you’d never touch. that’s where it started, the journey that led you to him.

you’d had a bad few months- a bad year, truthfully- and you were isolated, at a university thousands of miles from home, with no real friends to turn to. your only real solace became the courtyard outside of your dormitory building, the small patch of grass where the sun shined despite the near constant cover of clouds. the warmth of the sunbeams on your skin became a safe haven, the sanctity of your little spot untouched by any outside factors. there, you could be anyone you wanted. you could be silent, you could cry, get angry, anything you needed. the prayers started three weeks into your sophomore year. a bad year had led to an even worse new semester, with your grades falling and your attention slipping. you lived your life through intricate fantasies, daydreaming of a life far away from your own. you’d make your way to the small courtyard, away from any prying eyes, and lay out a small blanket, decorating it with tarot cards you’d learned to read back home, and small offerings you’d researched in the campus library.

athena was first. who better to cure your failing grades? but there was no connection, no comfort, just the cold isolation of praying to a god who would never extend their hand. then aphrodite; if you couldn’t be great, you could at least be loved, desired. she, too, was fruitless. days turned to weeks, and you felt as if you’d reached anywhere you could, turned every page. but then, apollo. where better to find your patron than in the haze of the sun, his very own sigil? you laid out your altar- the sun tarot card you’d always felt a special connection to, scribbled out sheet music for your favorite song, pages torn from your favorite novel. the connection was immediate, all consuming, a fire burning within you. it felt as if you’d been asleep your entire life until this moment. he’d settled, curled inside your chest, made a home that you never knew to miss.

you started to see him everywhere. in the trees as they blew in the summer breeze, in the plants that bloomed facing the sky, in the philosophy your professor preached every tuesday afternoon. he was your lifeline, running through your veins, as much apart of you as your earthly family. worship came easy to someone like apollo, the fairest god of them all, the welcomer of the lonely. he flew his carriage to the sun, and delivered you from darkness, one afternoon at a time.

next came the blonde headed boy on campus. he was warmth incarnate, bright hair and brighter eyes, sunkissed skin and a freckled nose, tall and clumsy, like he hadn’t yet learned to operate this body properly. you saw him between classes, eyeing you from across the courtyard, always close enough to see but never enough to touch. in any other situation, you’d have been afraid, unnerved. but his presence brought you peace, enveloped you with a sense of belonging that could only be found when you were placed at the center of someone’s routine, a stop in their walk through the day.

you finally gathered the courage too approach one particularly warm afternoon, your typical anxiety seeming to fade away the closer you got to him, to knowing him. “hi,” it was simple, a start, and you extended a hand for him to shake, hoping it didn’t look foolish, “i’ve seen you around,” his hand on yours was enough to take the breath from your lungs, setting your skin alight, waking you up all over again, “i’ve seen you, too. i’m art,” you wanted to tell him it was ironic that someone so beautiful, so awe inspiring, would be named art, for that was what he appeared to be. “are you new here?” you asked, meeting his eyes, taking note of the broken color in one iris, the blue making way for a golden brown. “yes,” he nodded, a small smile on his lips, like he knew a secret, “very new. and you?” “no, i’m on my second year,” you returned the smile-it felt like the only natural response, “well it was nice to meet you, art. hopefully i’ll see you around?” “yes, i hope so,”

you continued to visit the courtyard, continued to think of apollo, but each day, you felt your thoughts sneaking back to art. with each picture in your mind of your patron god, art’s face came to the forefront of your mind, his coy smile and radiating eyes, the warmth of his hand in yours. a form of guilt had started to make a home inside of you with each thought of him, and soon your prayer requests turned to apologies. how could you lose sight of apollo, of all he’d done for you, over some boy? some boy you hardly knew, especially. “do forgive me,” you blinked up at the sky, cheeks warm, “you have extended a kindness to me that i have not forgotten, i will not lose sight of it,”

when you opened your eyes again, art was standing over you, the sun rays casting a halo around his glowing hair. “forgive you for what?” he asked, his voice ringing with familiarity. “oh!” you startled, placing a hand on your chest, “i’m sorry, that wasn’t meant for you, i should go,” you gathered your things quickly, but failed to locate your beloved sun card, looking around frantically. it was placed between his fingers, his thumb tracing over the man and the sun almost lovingly, a sort of longing in his pale eyes. “not unto everyone doth apollo appear,” his voice was soft, quiet, “but unto him, that is good,” “what?” your breath hitched, “what did you say?” when you reached for him, he was gone, the card in his hands gone with him. next to you, on the blanket, lie a new card in it’s place. the lovers.

you didn’t see him for days. you struggled, attempting to grasp what you’d seen, coming up empty each time. surely this boy, this man that had stood just in front of you, real as anything, was not apollo. and if he was, by some miracle, what would he want with you? deities did not come down to earth for nothing, you knew. and you, in the grand scheme of things, were nothing. you were just another lost soul, searching for some sort of anchor, some fabric of the universe to tether yourself to. you’d start to lose hope, contemplated throwing away everything you’d collected for your altar, starting anew and leaving this chapter behind. he gave you space and time, waiting until your last moment of desperation to appear to you again.

“you called for me,” his voice startled you from your daydreaming, standing right in front of you, alone in your dorm. “what?” your brows knit, “i didn’t- i barely know you,” “you know me,” his hand rested on your cheek then, warm and painfully cool all at once, “don’t you remember? i heard your prayers, heard you beckoning for my return. i was made of the god of light, i first tasted of him love and sweetness. my hands will keep the gold they took of him.” goosebumps raise on your arms when he quotes your words back to you, the false solitude crumbling around you. “you were there?” the words come out weak, vulnerable. “my darling, i am everywhere,” he practically hums, running a thumb over your jaw, “i am in the trees, in the wind as it carries fallen pedals onto your lap, in the sunshine as it kisses freckles onto your face. don’t you recognize me? i am here,” his hand comes to tap against your chest, over the beat of your heart, “i am flowing through your veins. from the moment you prayed to me, i have been one with you, carrying you through this life,”

“oh,” your eyes fall closed, skin tingling with pleasure at the simplest touch, his hand ghosting over your throat, down to the crook of your shoulder. “you’ve dedicated yourself to me,” he sounds so sure, so certain, “did you mean it? that you’d do anything for me?” “yes,” you don’t have to think twice before you nod; you’ve never meant anything more. “good,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “i’m sure your mythology courses have taught you the way things go. god’s don’t come to earth, not just for a simple prayer. but you? you were worth descending for,” you look up at him with baited breath, “but why me?” “i’ve grown fond of you, in the way that you speak, the way you pledge yourself to me, the way you ask for help but never demand. i had to meet you, had to be with you,” his eyes fall to the various worship objects littering your room, the melted candles and dusty tarot cards, the sketch you’d done of him days after seeing him for the first time. “so devoted,” he murmured, “my most cherished subject,”

in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. gods didn’t take human lovers, didn’t indulge in the forbidden fruit, didn’t take what was so easily disposable to them. but he’d grown a soft spot for you, abandoned all of his virtue and taken this earthly form, for nothing more than a chance at this very moment, at your bleary, impressionable eyes staring up at him like you were waiting on a sign. “i’ll give you something to believe in,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours, “if you’ll let me,” “i believe in you,” your voice was painfully sweet, chilling him to the bone, your hand coming to take his. his breath hitched as you led his hand to your chest, placing it just over your heart, “you have given it a reason to beat,” you said it like a secret, like a sin, “i’ll be yours, in whatever way you want me to be,”

he stood, fully, ready to flee. this was too much, even for him, to take a girl so empty, so broken, to turn her into something new. but then you were pulling at his jeans, eyes sparkling, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet at the foot of your bed. “oh,” his hand came to your hair, watching as your trembling hands stripped him, your lips parting as you glanced up at him. “i have prayed for this,” his mind fleeted back to your prayers, the part of his brain devoted to memorizing them, and came up empty. you hadn’t prayed to him for this, surely, he’d recall. “you did not,” his voice was hoarse, “i would have heard you,” “not to you,” you pressed a kiss to his thigh, startling him, “to aphrodite. i prayed she would make me beautiful enough for you to take me. i guess she finally listened to something,” and then your mouth was on him, wet and warm, staggering his confidence as he watched his cock slide between your lips.

you were nothing if not meticulous, your tongue running along his veins, eliciting sounds from him that he couldn’t recall ever making. your eyes never left his face, watching his every reaction, even as you took him down your throat, even as tears beaded your vision. he was entranced, awestruck, holding your hair like a vise as you laved at his cock, greedy and effervescent. “stop,” he had to force the word out, already taut with pleasure, his skin hot and flushed, “let me touch you, darling,” you hesitated, like you didn’t want this to stop, until he gently pulled you back, exhaling roughly as he watched you wipe your lips as he helped you back onto your bed.

your clothes were gone in an instant, his hands working quickly to rid you of them, desperate to admire you fully. “beautiful creature,” he murmured, trailing his fingers over your curves, “divine,” he laid you back, your hair splaying out around you in a curtain as he kissed down your neck, hovering over your chest for a moment before taking one of your nipples into his mouth just enough to have you mewling, your back arching. one hand came to the other, rolling it between his fingers, pulling louder, more breathless sounds from you. his free hand slipped between your thighs, breath hitching when he found you slick and hot, moaning incessantly when he ghosted his fingertips over your clit. your legs fell open, eager for more, your hips bucking slightly into his hand.

he backed down the length of your bed, nestling between your thighs, watching you through blonde lashes as he buried his face in your cunt, lapping at you hungrily. “oh!” you gasped, hands flying to his hair, holding it tightly, “art- apollo, oh my god,” he grinned against you, sucking at your clit as he eased a finger inside of you, nearly moaning as you took him in greedily. he added another when you relaxed, curling them experimentally, satisfied when you cried out, your thighs squeezing around his shoulders. “gonna-“ you cut off with a moan, clenching around his fingers, his tongue never slowing as he worked you through it. he laved at you, grinding against the mattress as his desperation grew, slowly withdrawing his fingers and gazing up at you as he sucked them clean.

your cheeks glowed, eyes shiny and half lidded as he crawled back up to you, sitting on his knees between your still parted legs. “gorgeous,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss you, hard and heavy. your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as you kissed him back, whimpering into his mouth when his fingers teased your clit again. “take me,” you whispered, resting your forehead on his, chest heaving, “please, i’m yours,” his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your begging, and he nodded, kissing your jawline, “mine,” he murmured, one hand going down to rub his cock against you, biting back a moan at the wetness he found there, “so ready for me, angel,”

“please,” your eyes fell closed, your lips parted, “oh, art,” he eased into you, slow and steady, trembling with self restraint as he let you adjust, feeling you fluttering around him, “so desperate for me,” he grit out, slowly pulling out before thrusting into you again, watching your reactions closely, like he needed to memorize them. you were a mess beneath him, panting and moaning, writing when his pace quickened. “art, so good,” you mewled, eyes rolled back. “apollo,” his voice was hoarse and rough, “call me by the name you pray to. watch me while i undo you,”

you were obedient as ever, your eyes opening enough for him to watch your pupils dilate, “apollo, my god, thank you,” you looked close to tears from pleasure, “thank you, thank you,” “good,” he could feel the pressure building, impossibly close to the brink, “tell me you’re mine, pledge yourself to me,” he was making a horrible mistake, taking advantage of you, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care when you were sprawled out like this, moaning like a slut, all for him. “i’m yours,” you nodded, quick and eager, “all yours, apollo, my life is yours,” “oh, darling,” he groaned, twitching inside of you. you pulled him back into a kiss, and he lost it, coming inside of you with a shudder and a flurry of muffled moans.

he slowed down before stilling, pulling out of you slowly, sitting back just enough to watch the mess spill out of you, his eyes rolling back. god, he could be condemned for this. “was i good?” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, soft and vulnerable. “oh, of course,” he nodded, laying beside you, pulling you close, “you were perfect, darling. a goddess divine,” he pressed kisses to your cheeks and against your hair, breathing you in, savoring the moment he was sure could never last. “thank you,” you murmured, leaning into his chest, “i love you,” he knew it wasn’t true- you loved the image of him, the deity, the physical form he’d taken to come here to you. but then he remembered all the days you’d cried to him, alone and helpless, begging him to bring you some form of happiness. he’d indulge you, for now. “i love you too,” he mumbled, “get some rest, darling,”

he stayed until you were fast asleep, trying his hardest not to think too long on the things he’d suffer when he returned to the sky. he’d take it, for you, take the scrutiny, take the pain. maybe he’d be stripped of his title, be sent to earth in this form forever. then, he thought distantly, he could be with you, no consequences.

[undressrehearsal]

right back where we started

summary: ellie is on tour as the opener for a popular band. she begrudgingly passes through the hometown that she had sworn she would never see again and runs into the one good thing she left behind.

tags: some sad stuff, ellie has daddy issues, mentions of alcohol, modern au, not rockstar ellie but that same kinda genre???, no smut in this one sorry this is all setting the scene, this is another shorter one 3.6k words

a/n: listen. I'm gonna level with yall. life's been fucking insane. it's been what 3 months since I posted something?? and it's because 1. my fiancée and I are buying a house 2. and planning a wedding 3. I work 45 hour weeks (at a job I hate so much omg) 4. I'm writing a book and 5. I'm preparing for a p major surgery (I go on tuesday)

so yeah, life's been insane. but I missed writing fics. I'm writing my book so I never stopped writing but writing a lil fun fic just hits different yk?

anyway enjoy and look forward to a few (I'm thinking 3?) parts of this

love yall. reply and lmk if you wanna be added to my tag list. also I'm posting this on my phone so the formatting might be fucked lmk

part 1

Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this city.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could remember exactly the last time she had been in this city. She had watched it disappear in her mirror when she had driven her bike west three years ago in search of the horizon. She had hoped she would find something more once she got there - more than the dingy dorm room she had loosely called home and the classes that had made her eyes glaze over; something more than playing at the bar’s open mic nights, her guitar hard to hear over the noisy din of drunk students and drunker professors; something more than a future that had been planned for her by the time she was in high school.

Her dad had kicked her out after she dropped out, of course, but that was fine. She had planned to leave that night anyway; she had kept a packed bag hidden underneath her bed for months. She hadn’t seen him in three years, either, and she planned to keep it that way.

But when she woke up and saw the city outside the bus window, silhouetted against the rising sun, something in her chest rose to her throat and refused to be swallowed back down.

She hadn’t missed it - but as she looked down at her shaking hands, Ellie figured her body must not have gotten that memo.

The band she was traveling with were still sleeping; she could hear the singer snoring in her bunk, could see the bassist's leg sticking out into the aisle. She had never been a morning bird - back at her shitbox apartment, you'd rarely catch her up before noon - but something about being stuck on a bus for days made her restless. It was her first time touring - after three years of playing at open mics and taking small jobs singing at the senior center - and she wasn't used to feeling her own bed constantly shifting beneath her.

Which is how she always ended up pacing the length of the bus, tapping her fingers against her thighs as the confined world around her slept, waiting desperately for the driver to pull off to whatever venue they had booked. She wasn't sure what the band did before their shows in the evenings, but she didn't stick around long enough to ask. Maybe it was rude, but she couldn't force herself to hang out with the band who only chose her because their usual opener had “flaked” on them - which was how they described it when the opener couldn't travel with them for several months after their mother had just died.

So, yeah, Ellie couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it when she rushed off the bus as soon as it parked, not even sticking around to let the band know where she was going. They wouldn't care either way. Hell, they were probably so hungover they wouldn't wake up until their show started in several hours.

The driver - his name was Zachary (never Zach) and he was the only one who paid her any mind - helped Ellie hoist her bike down from the rack on the back of the bus. The band had teased her about bringing it, bitching about how it showed she didn't want to hang out with them. She had been tempted to tell them they were right, but she couldn't really risk losing the first real gig she’d gotten. She lifted the seat and dug her helmet out, waving to Zachary as he disappeared back into the bus to get his own well-deserved rest.

The purr of the bike was a familiar comfort beneath her. Lowering the visor of her helmet to block out the sun, she squinted at the streets sprawled before her. She realized, with dizzying familiarity, that she was in the next neighborhood over from her old apartment. Hell, she had watched a few shows at the venue she was playing at - something in her stomach clenched.

Fuck, she needed coffee.

With the wind cold against her bare arms, Ellie let the world fly by, the city waking up around her. Her phone remained snuggly in her bag; she didn't need directions here, the familiar streets leading her down well-worn paths, winding all the way back to a life that was no longer hers.

It was muscle memory that led her back to the coffee shop she had frequented as a student. She looked up at it, a glow around its worn brick from the rising sun, and something tightened in her chest. They had replaced the patio chairs - the old ones had been practically falling apart three years ago - but otherwise it hadn't changed.

Ellie cursed under her breath, swallowing around the foreign lump in her throat, and climbed off her bike. When she took the steps two at a time, it felt like somebody else had taken the wheel. It was a familiar stranger that opened the door.

The smell hit her first. They say that scent has the strongest tie to memory, and the smell of burnt coffee beans hit her like a punch. There had always been a sweetness underneath it, something she had never been able to place but thought might be honey? When she stepped up to the counter, she could even smell the milk they were steaming.

The barista - a young girl with faded pink hair tied up into space buns - looked up from her phone and said, in a voice teetering on the edge between cheerful and bored, “How’s it going?”

Ellie took her in briefly, noting the brown corduroy overalls and the star-shaped nose ring, and was comforted knowing that this place was just as queer as she had left it. She would bet money on the fact that if she peeked over the counter, this girl would be wearing beat up Docs. She was young enough to be a student - probably an English major, if she had to guess.

She always ordered the same thing - iced mocha with oat milk. She had never understood why her dad drank his coffee black.

The barista - her tag said Dianna She/Her/Hers - eyed her as she rang Ellie up, brows quirked. When she smiled, dimples caved her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you a student?”

Ellie fought the urge to groan - this girl was just trying to be friendly (and was probably trying to decide if Ellie’s flannel meant she was gay or was just a bad fashion choice), but the last thing she wanted to do after failing to sleep on a bus and waking up at the ass-crack of dawn was to make small talk.

Still, she smiled and said, “I used to be.”

She paid and stuffed the remainder of her cash into the tip jar. When Dianna thanked her, her cheeks were as pink as her hair. Ellie could feel her eyes lingering on her as she walked away, nodding awkwardly in thanks.

This place really hadn’t changed in three years. The coffee shop had a reputation of students writing all along the walls - over a decade ago, they had simply stopped trying to paint over it, so the walls were littered in signatures and drawings and claims of call this number for a good time. Scattered poetry was written along the edges of the windows, an incredibly detailed Sharpie drawing of a cat peeking over the top of the doorway. When she searched for it, she found that her own scrawled handwriting was still there, small letters where nobody would think to look, right underneath the thermostat: Find me where the sun sets east. Don’t forget me.

She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and stepped away. Her eyes stung from sleep deprivation and nothing more.

Ellie scanned the room and found that, to her annoyance, nearly every table was taken. Students huddled around notebooks and laptops, engrossed in their work or else on Netflix to avoid studying. Professors blinked wearily, clutching their own cups of coffee as though they were lifelines holding them to this realm. Ellie could see the spot she had frequented herself - a booth tucked by the window, where she could write her songs in a dingy notebook without anyone looking over her shoulder.

Now, there was a guy with his cheek pressed to the cold surface, snoring lightly.

Ellie jumped when Dianna called her name, holding out a cup so filled with coffee that it trickled over the side and down the glass. Ellie took it gingerly, holding it in careful fingers to not spill any more on the countertop.

Dianna held onto the cup for several seconds longer than necessary, her fingers - cold from the glass - lingering on Ellie's. When a crooked smile pulled at her lips, her brown eyes sparkled. There was a teasing tilt to her voice when she said, “I hope to see you around, Ellie.”

Ellie gave her what she hoped was a friendly smile - judging by the way Dianna’s cheeks bloomed pink, she must have succeeded - before turning away. She almost felt guilty for the relief she felt when she found there was no phone number left on her glass this time. She was never sure whether it was nicer to ghost somebody or to send a gentle rejection through text, and she did not have the energy for that decision.

She turned, searching for an empty seat to slouch in and try not to fall asleep into her coffee, when her eyes found you.

You hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. You had changed - anybody would in three years. You had changed your hair, and now you dressed differently than she remembered - you used to bitch so much about how you couldn’t dress how you wanted, and now, looking at you three years later, she was happy to see that you were finally dressing like all those pictures you had saved in your little Pinterest folder of “outfit inspo.”

Ellie could see the mark of three whole years, but truthfully, you hadn’t changed. You were slouched over a laptop, leaning way too close to the screen, and you still had that pinch between your brows when you concentrated, the one that she used to run her thumb over; she could still feel how soft your skin was beneath her fingers.

She should have ignored you - she should have gone to slump in a corner of the coffee shop like she had planned, trying not to fall asleep into her cup and pretending to not notice you even as her eyes kept cutting across the cafe to find you again. She should have pushed the memories away just like she had pushed away all of the other memories associated with this city - hell, she should have never come back to this city in the first place. There were too many memories here that she had spent three years, a thousand miles, and an ocean of whiskey running away from.

And yet Ellie found her feet carrying her over to your table of their own volition. She walked the tightrope between who she is and who she once was, chasing a memory of the only good thing she left behind.

You didn’t look up at her as she approached. You kept your head bowed over your laptop, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. There was no reason for you to look up - Ellie could have been any nameless stranger coming to bother you when you were clearly just trying to work.

But Ellie had never been good at leaving well enough alone. Which is why she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and tapping lightly on your shoulder. She had to bite back a laugh when you jumped, pulling your headphones from your ears and swiveling around to look up at her.

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t do an embarrassing acrobatic jump when you met her eyes. And she had always been a terrible liar.

“Hey,” Ellie said, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady; she only somewhat succeeded. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice when she said, “Remember me?”

Satisfaction bloomed warm in her stomach when your eyes widened, taking in the sight of her. Truthfully, she must’ve looked like shit; she had had to take a disturbingly brief shower at the last rest stop - the water apparently didn’t get any warmer than antarctic - and she hadn’t looked in a mirror for a few days. She had forgotten to pack her brush, so her hair must have been standing up at odd angles. And God knew what the lack of sleep was doing to the ever-growing shadows under her eyes.

But none of this stopped you from running your eyes down her body, cheeks pink when you finally looked up to meet her eyes again. And Ellie couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across her face, her own cheeks growing warm. It wasn’t intentional when her voice dropped another octave, nearly a murmur when she said, mostly to herself, “Yeah, you remember me.”

“Holy shit, Ellie?” You jumped to your feet, a smile pulling at your lips as you gripped her arm. The familiar shine in your eyes did something funny to her stomach that she was way too stubborn to name. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was just, uh- just passing through town,” she found herself saying, rubbing at the back of her neck. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but explaining to you the actual reason she finally came back to this hell-hole town suddenly seemed daunting. “Wanted to check out some old haunts, I guess.”

And then you just… looked at her, for several long moments - long enough to make Ellie squirm. Your eyes bore into hers, searching for something that she had buried three years ago.

You jumped, and whatever spell that was floating between you broke when your phone buzzed from where it still sat on the table. You scooped it up and flashed an apologetic smile to the glaring student a few seats away. Swiping at the screen, you cursed under your breath:

“Fuck, I have to get to class.” You looked back up at her again, a question behind your eyes, and Ellie had never wished so hard that she could read minds. You hesitated for only a moment before saying, words rushed, “Do you want to walk with me?” Before Ellie could respond, you continued, picking up your cup and fiddling with the straw, “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you and I want to catch up. But you’re probably busy, so you don’t have to-”

“I’d love to,” she cut you off, trying to smother the smile that pulled at her pink cheeks. She failed drastically when you smiled back at her.

After asking for a to-go cup from Dianna - thankfully no number written on the plastic cup either, despite the way the barista eyed Ellie as she left - she followed you out the door and back into the blinding morning sun. The mid-October air bit at her cheeks, creeping under her flannel; the cold coffee in her hand made her fingers sting, but you were already walking away, so she grit her teeth and followed.

And it was like you both just fell back into place, aligning with each other as though that empty space had never existed. You were working towards your graduate degree, Ellie discovered, and were working as a TA to get through; the class you were heading to was the dreaded public speaking class that you taught around your own curriculum. You laughed as you talked about some ridiculous speech a student had recently presented, and Ellie had forgotten just how much she liked the sound until it was burying behind her ribs again.

Ellie didn't tell you exactly why she had come back. When she’d left, you had known she was chasing a dream - it was the main reason she had presented when she broke up with you. The idea of long distance was too hard - too complicated - and Ellie didn’t want anything tying her to this town.

Even so, her body still wanted to fall into old habits. She told you about her roommate and how, when Ellie had been up too late writing a new song or her roommate had had a late shift at the hospital, they would play truth or dare until they were too drunk to stay awake, and her fingers brushed against yours, muscle memory making her reach for you. Ellie told you how she had visited her sister, Sarah, while passing through Houston, and she wanted so badly to lace your fingers together. She wanted to wrap her arm around your waist - hell, she even wanted to grab your ass right where everyone could see, just like she used to. She tucked her free hand in her pocket.

“You still haven’t told me why you came back,” you said, coming to a stop in front of the Communications building - it was just as tall and ominous as Ellie remembered. Her stomach lurched at the site, remembering all the speeches she had to make in her own classes. She supposed Public Speaking wasn’t a useless class now, considering she didn't stutter when she had to speak in front of an audience now.

Ellie shrugged, dropping her cup into a trashcan without looking at you. “Like I said, I’m just passing through-”

“Bullshit,” you said, but there was no malice behind it. You tilted your head to meet her eyes and smiled at her, even as your eyes held something unreadable. “The Ellie I knew couldn’t wait to get out of this shithole - her words, not mine. She wouldn’t simply pass through - she would go out of her way to stay in the next town over. So,” you crossed your arms, “what changed?”

Before, if you had ever crossed your arms at her, Ellie would reach out and gently pull your arms away from your chest, pulling you into an embrace. She wanted nothing more than to pull you into her, instinct unaware of the three years and a thousand miles that had separated you. Instead, she leaned against the wall of the building, the brick biting into her back. “Nothing’s changed. Trust me, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here.”

For only a second, your face twisted into something unreadable that pulled at Ellie's stomach. But you quickly schooled your expression, tilting your head, your smile soft. “Listen, I have to go - if I'm too late, these fuckers are just gonna try to skip. But we should meet up later - I want to catch up.” When Ellie opened her mouth to say you had been catching up, you continued, “Really catch up. I want you to tell me everything - it's been years, so we have a lot to cover.” You looked at your phone and cursed. “Look, my last class ends at 3:25. Meet me on the green after?” For good measure, you stuck out your bottom lip and added, “Please?”

Ellie had never been good at resisting that look - she had given into you so many times from that look alone. She had to bite back the sudden, stupid smile pulling at her cheeks, so she pressed her lips together and looked away. After three years, you still made her cheeks flush without trying.

“Okay,” was all she could say.

Without warning, you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around her neck briefly. Her hands hovered at your sides, unsure of where to go. Feeling your body pressed against her again - feeling the warm brush of your breath against her neck - short-circuited her brain, leaving her gasping on dry land.

Before she could figure out where to put her fucking hands, you murmured in her ear, “I really did miss you, Els,” and pulled away, just as quickly as you had come. Ellie's mouth hadn't even caught up to her brain by the time you were gone, the door closing softly behind you.

Later, after she had had a proper breakfast from McDonald's, she was still thinking about you. Seeing you again had opened up a bottle that she had sealed away, and the cork wouldn't fit back into it. Her fingers itched with the memory of your skin beneath them. When you had hugged her, she had smelled the shampoo that you apparently still used, and she remembered how it had felt to have your head on her chest, breathing you in as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. And your lips next to her ear - that opened a whole subcategory of memories that she tried desperately to push away.

She was only here for the night. She lost count of how many times she had to remind herself.

Ellie was stopped at a red light, leaning her bike from one foot to the other, when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced at the blinking crosswalk sign - twenty seconds, so she still had plenty of time before the light turned green - before fishing her phone out. She had to squint against the sun, straining to make out the screen. She nearly dropped the phone when she saw the familiar name popping up on her screen, fumbling to open the text.

There was a screenshot of an Instagram post from the venue she was going to play at. The band's name was in bold letters, stars pasted around a grainy picture of the group. And in small letters underneath - like an afterthought - was her name: Ellie Miller.

And underneath, in all caps:

YOU'RE PLAYING AT THE HAWTHORNE?????

Her face flushed all over again. After all these years, you had still kept her number.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

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CHAPTER 3 •AGREEMENT• (2.6K)

previous chapter

*18 months ago*

Phillip and Julliet are situated in Prime & Provisions restaurant. The atmosphere of this place takes you back to the glamour of 1920s mixed with a little bit of modern design. This type of place is unfamiliar for a woman like Julliet who was born in Roseland, not the richest neighbourhoods in Chicago.

Her parents are immigrants from Italy but sadly they were brutally killed by a drugged driver on the road, leaving Juliet an orphan at the age of 26. Three years passed so quickly.

She has no siblings, just her best friend from college - Diana. They graduated in Dancing at the Columbia University. Diana made a name for herself. She is one of the most famous professional dancers right now. Many people look up to her.

For Juliet, things didn't work out like this. She didn't necessarily wanted any fame or that kind of stuff. She wanted to create a dance school where she teaches kids and people of all ages how to dance the stress away.

To achieve that, she needed money, so she started giving dance classes in public schools but the income from that wasn't enough. That's why she started a second job as a bartender.

That's how she's been living for the past years, work and work. Now, she has a bit money collected but there is so much stuff she has to do in order to build that school.

One day, at her way to grab her morning coffee after the night job before the morning job, Juliet met a man who she had no idea would end up as her boyfriend - the infamous Phillip Brooks, who owns Inenergy - a company that is an operator of sustainable energy solutions.

Of course, she had no idea that this is actually him. Juliet isn't familiar of rich men, CEOs and so on. He is also significantly older than her bit that morning in the cafè sparks flew between them.

They have been seeing each other for a while and now they are in that glamourous restaurant. Phillip always took Juliet to nice places for their dates but this one, especially, is going to be really special.

While eating the extra delicious steak, the elder man started speaking.

"I like spending time with you, Juliet." he remarked.

"Thank you. I like spending time with you, too." she replied, flashing her beautiful smile at him which drives him crazy.

There is an obvious mutual physical attraction between them. On the one side, there is the beautiful brunette Juliet and on the other, the gracefully aging Phillip who visibly has plenty of charm left.

The nicely styled dark brown hair, gray-white beard, beautiful green eyes and pretty smile. He looked like a dream.

His maturity adds even more to the level of attraction. Juliet has been dealing with immature men all her life and suddenly, she meets a man like Phil and she is taken aback.

"I know my name is not Romeo but for I ne'er saw true beauty till this night." he, of course, quoted one of the most famous lines in Romeo and Juliet.

She laughed at his creativity.

"I am serious, Juliet. You are an amazing woman and I am a selfish man who wants you for himself only." he continued with the confessions.

Juliet's stomach flipped in the best way possible because Phil is just speaking so beautifully, obviously with sincerity.

"I know we have quite an age difference and I look like I am your uncle...sort of but would you be my girlfriend?" Juliet smiled at his comment of self irony and also just the way he is proposing her as a whole.

She thinks he is very cute especially for a man of his age and status.

"Lest that thy love prove likewise variable." she decided to reply with one of Juliet's most famous lines.

There was a big grin on Phillip's face. It's like sun just rised in the night. He really likes Juliet, there might be something even more than liking. She makes a man like him feel happy, forget about his work problems and loneliness.

And he makes her forget about the sadness and hollow in her life.

The same night Juliet received her first present as Phil's girlfriend - a big Cartier necklace that complimented the no sleeve black tight dress she was wearing.

He also made sure, of course, to drive her home safely with his black Lamborghini. They are in front of the apartment complex which didn't look very modern or new but inside, Juliet made sure it looks cozy and neat.

Phillip didn't have any interest in checking out but he wanted something else. After the sweet kiss of goodbye that turned into a little makeout session, he said:

"Pack your things, tomorrow you come to live with me."

"What? Isn't it too early?" she was taken aback.

"Do I look like a man who has all the time in the world, Juliet? Plus, I want to make your life the most comfortable it will ever be, so please." he grabbed her hand slowly and kissed it.

Then they started kissing again.

The same night was a way more different for the Reigns family. The 3-member family was gathered for dinner and it's been a couple of days since Roman caught his wife, Willow, cheating on him. They decided to tell Josephine the news.

It was all silent and the spouses were exchanging some looks, trying to decide who to start the conversation.

Roman was certain that it won't be him because he wasn't the one that cheated. Despite everything he stayed loyal to his family. Yes, he knew Willow isn't the love of his life but she gave birth to his daughter, after all, so there was a major respect in him.

Settlement too. He didn't care about finding his true love because he had a family to provide for. Roman just made sure to work hard and earn enough money, so he can take care of his daughter and his wife who had to sacrifice her education and youth to give birth.

Willow is an attractive woman - brown skin, honey blonde curly hair, hazel eyes and body like a goddess. Sixteen years ago Roman went head over heels for her, she liked him as well and one night they hooked up at the campus party.

They had no idea, however, that this hookup would result a child. Not only that, it was too late for abortion, so Willow had to stop her education. She, as Roman, wanted to become a lawyer, but only one of them succeeded in achieving their dream.

When all of this happened was sadly, when they realized what they had was pure mutual attraction and nothing more. People say you can't be with a person if you are not slightly physically attracted to them but you also can't be with a person with whom you are solely physically attracted to.

However, they had to try and be tolerable towards each other since they are about to raise a kid together.

Sixteen years later, Willow continues being a very hot chick. Men still go crazy over her whenever she goes out, with or without her daughter. She met her new man at the literature club she is attending.

He is a literature professor in University of Nevada. The way he was talking so smartly and the way he was sharing her viewpoints about the books made her fall for him. He wasn't more beautiful than Roman, but still had charm.

Enough to go against her morals and cheat on her husband for months.

"Your mother wants to tell you something." Roman spoke as he looked at his beautiful daughter. He loves her to death.

This is the most precious human being for him and he is trying his best to be a good father. Looking at Josephine, she resembles him a lot but she has her mother's smile.

A smile that cannot be seen right now because the girl was sensing something is not okay.

"Am I gonna have a little brother? What's going on?" she asked, seeing her parents don't spill the beans although her father is a lawyer.

"No." Willow replied. During those years they've been thinking about a second kid but many people told them it's not gonna solve their problem. "Me and your father are going to part ways."

"What? Why?" Josephine's forehead wrinkled because she didn't see this coming, for sure.

"Because she met the love of her life." Roman replied and Willow looked at him, mad because of his choice of words.

"What do you mean 'love of your life', mom? Isn't father enough for you?" Josephine started screaming. Sixteen is a fragile age - puberty, hormones, boyfriends, friend break-ups, and now adding a divorce.

While Willow was searching for words to say, her daughter got off the table to go to her room.

"Great choice of words." she looked at her husband with hatred.

"Did I lie, though? She deserves an explanation." Roman crossed his arms. "She is not a little kid anymore and what I hope for is that her mental health doesn't get damaged."

So Roman made sure to find the best therapist for his little girl.

*present*

All the trauma Juliet and Roman have been through is being temporarily erased when they were having sex.

They are in the same room again, in a lap dance position, thematic for their situation - a stripper and a client but with benefits.

Client with benefits - another new term for a relationship between a man and a woman.

Both of them craved for each other and honestly, Monique didn't expect Roman to come back whatsoever and even that soon after their first intercourse.

On the other hand, Roman didn't expect Bambi to agree to another private session while according to her words, it's not allowed.

The horny people were having unprotected sex again since they shouldn't leave any trace.

Once they finished, moaning and groaning from the pleasure, they fell on the bed facing each other, normalizing their breaths.

It's insane how after the animalistic sex they have, you can spot intimate moments, too, like they've been together for some time but they are not.

It's like an addiction. Some people cope with alcohol, some with cigarettes, others with drugs but Roman and Monique cope with sex.

Only with each other.

"Sometimes I wonder if you really have back and knees or that's an optical illusion." Roman implied the flexibility of his...his...what is Monique to him?

Friend with benefits? No, they are not friends. They know nothing about each other except their names and jobs, yet he doesn't know her real name...even less her birth name.

Acquaintance? Not exactly. Acquaintances know basic information about each other with tiny bit of details but have no idea how they look like without their clothes on.

Somebody should invent a word for knowing only a person's body but not the soul. The word would describe them perfectly.

Monique smirked faintly at his remark.

"My job requires it, yes."

"And if your boss finds out about this..."

"I am probably gonna be fired but who cares?" Roman was surprised at her nonchalance.

"Well, probably your wallet." the lawyer replied.

"I am gonna find another bar, not a big deal. We are in Sin City after all." Monique shrugged and Roman downturned his mouth, agreeing with her.

"But you gotta tell me where your new job is." he said and the stripper laughed out loud.

"Of course. Will do."

"We need a contact information for that, though." oh, so he is searching for her contacts now. He is right but Monique gave him a suspicious look. "I'm not gonna bother you...unless you ask me to."

Monique chuckled at his explanation. She eventually got up, separating her private parts from his. Maybe both of them haven't realized they were still body in body until now when the dancer got up.

She went to the nightstand, looking for a paper and pen to write down her number. However, she bent in order to grab the needed stuff not realizing her butt is facing Roman.

He licked his lips, enjoying the view of Bambi's perfectly shaped behind. The impulsive thoughts were telling him to go and fuck her again, the conscious ones, however, told him to calm his dick down, indicating there might be something wrong with him.

Once she wrote her number on the little piece of paper, Monique turned around and was surprised Roman still isn't dressed, his eyes were sparkling.

"If show was a person, it would be you, goddamn." he groaned, biting his lip. "You are such a trouble."

"Trouble? What did I even do?" Bambi played dumb, getting closer to him, giving the little list. "Business only, okay?" she specified again the reason she is giving her contact information to him.

"Business only. I can even prepare a contract if you want and next time I am gonna bring it." Monique laughed at how funny this guy actually is. Very funny for a lawyer. "Or leave me an email and I can send it to ya."

"No need of contracts." she replied and caressed his muscular shoulders. Monique loves Roman's body - it is way too perfect, some people may say it's a bit too muscular but that's how she likes her man.

Phil also had quite the muscular body. Similarly to him, Roman is also tatted but just one big tattoo which almost resembled an armor. Monique thought it's cool.

The lawyer noticed a tattoo the last time on Bambi's underboob but it was written in cursive and he couldn't read it quite well. Now that she is sitting in front of him, almost on his lap, he took a better look at it - La vita é bella or translated in English 'Life is beautiful'.

"Are you Italian?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Yes." judging by his look, she knew he saw but how does he know it's Italian. "How'd you know it's Italian?"

"My mother is from there." Monique was surprised that they share ethnicity...or at least half. Mother is Italian but father has to be and islander or something because that man is extra huge. However, Monique didn't want to ask any questions.

"I could never guess." she confessed and then Roman placed a kiss on her beautiful yet small and elegant tattoo.

Monique liked it. She could do this for another few hours, it's a beautiful moment but she has to ruin it.

"It's time for me to get back to the stage." and she did it, she ruined everything or at least she thought she did.

"What if I pull out more money and you stay here?" the loyal client asked as he started kissing Monique's soft skin around her breasts and stomach.

She was dazed by the way this man wants her.

Am I that good or is he as lonely?, she started asking herself. When you see how this man looks, walks and talks, nobody could guess he is lonely. But another lesson she learned is that men who come here are in fact, lonely - not necessarily in a physical way, but more like mentally.

Thus, her assumptions about him seem to get more and more prone to be the truth but her question is "What or who made him feel like that?"

"Okay, Mr. Attorney, we have a deal." Monique giggled and he pulled her on him, throwing themselves in the bed but then he switched positions, making sure he is at the top this time.

next chapter

[blood-mocha-latte]

How about Webgott + love letters, for Valentine's day :)

greetings!! i stared at this prompt for Forever, and was trying to write it in an Organic and Normal way. and it turns out that the Organic and Normal way for me to write this was modern exes webgott. so although i’m sure it wasn’t exactly what you were thinking, i hope you enjoy <3

~

Sun, Feb 4, 9:38AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Subject: Books

Web - 

You forgot your collection at my house. It’s all Dostoevsky, which I knew you did on purpose, idiot. You know I can’t stand that fucker, and you took all of the Vonnegut with you.

Come back and get your books before I burn them all.

- Joe

//

Sun, Feb 4, 2:19PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: Books

Joe -

You have my phone number. Just text me. What if I don’t have time to check my email?

I’ll pick up my books at 6.

- David

//

Sun, Feb 4, 6:01PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: Books

Web -

You always check your email. At least five times a day. Don’t lie to me. And I don’t want to have to compete with your goddamn spam texts, I know you forget to delete them.

P.S. You’re late.

- Joe

—————— 

Fri, Feb 9,  3:06AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Subject: Journal

I can’t find my journal. The one from August to November? Can you see it at your place? I need it.

//

Fri, Feb 9, 3:41AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: Journal

It was in your nightstand. You didn’t think to clear that out? 

Go to sleep. It’s ass in the morning.

//

Fri, Feb 9,  4:13AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: Journal

Can I come by and pick it up before Public Speaking? And you’re the one that responded.

//

Fri, Feb 9, 4:39AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: Journal

Public Speaking starts at 10, I’m at work by 6. You know where the key is. 

You’re the one that emailed in the first place. I can’t believe you didn’t just text.

//

Fri, Feb 9,  5:01AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: Journal

You’re so old I thought a text would confuse you.

—————— 

Mon, Feb 12,  9:03AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Subject: Journalist

Why did I just get called by a guy about a sports journal? The fuck are you up to?

//

Mon, Feb 12, 12:41PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: Journalist

Don’t worry about it.

//

Mon, Feb 12, 12:52PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: Journalist

Web, he has my contact info. If you get crazy-insane murdered so do I. Did you do something?

//

Mon, Feb 12, 1:13PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: Journalist

Don’t be a doomsday planner. He’s not a murderer. I just went out with him one time. It didn’t end great.

//

CALL FROM: JOE (DON’T)

February 12, 1:27PM

“Yeah?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“What — Jesus, Joe, is this about the guy? It’s fine—”

“Yeah, see, that doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence that you didn’t do something stupid—”

“I already told you, I just went out with him. To dinner.”

“When?”

“I… I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Yes, the fuck you do, because if—”

“Oh, what, you expect me to say I went on a fucking date with him when we were still together? Get over yourself, Joe, it was five days ago—”

“I didn’t say that! I did not say that—”

“And why the hell do you care, anyways? We broke up in December, okay—”

“Jesus, that was only two months ago—”

“It was three, and that’s plenty of time—”

“I’m just saying, you won’t catch me going out with—”

“Because no one can stand your crotchety ass—”

“Oh, but they can stand yours?” 

“I — Jesus fuck. I’m hanging up. He only called you because he saw your name and thought it was a different Joe. I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll see you—”

“Wait, wait, Web—”

“I’m not even going out with him again, I just was thinking about the fourteenth. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“David — fuck.”

//

Mon, Feb 12,  6:34PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: Journalist

I shouldn’t have pushed that far. That’s my bad.

—————— 

Wed, Feb 14, 5:28PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Subject: (no subject)

Can you come pick me up?

//

Wed, Feb 14, 5:37PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Are you okay? Are you hurt?

Where are you?

//

Wed, Feb 14, 5:31PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Outside of Delancey’s bar.

//

Wed, Feb 14, 5:32PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Please don’t call me.

//

(DRAFTED EMAIL - UNSENT)

Wed, Feb 14, 5:33PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I couldn’t stand to hear your voice right now.

//

Wed, Feb 14, 5:42PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I’m on my way. Stay where you are.

—————— 

Sat, Mar 23, 1:18AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Subject: (no subject)

I miss you, I think.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 1:23AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Finally giving in to just emailing, huh?

Go to sleep, kid.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 1:29AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I understand it, now.

It’s less personal.

You have to think more about what you say.

And you’re not asleep, either. 

Thank you for picking me up last month.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 1:53AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I thought you wanted a clean break, after that. That’s what you said at the bar.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 2:02AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I think that once your ex picks your shitfaced ass up from a bar because he got an email, there’s no such thing as a clean break. 

I think I’m just delusional.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 2:10AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Well, I never said you weren’t.

But it seemed like we might have made it, in this go around. It’s been almost a month since we last talked.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 2:18AM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Well, in the words of one of the best movies of all time: I just can’t quit you.

//

Sat, Mar 23, 2:32AM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Eugh.

—————— 

CALL FROM: WEB

April 6, 8:52PM

“You know, he almost broke his nose here.” 

“Yeah, I do know, Web, ‘cause everyone knows that. There’s not an American alive that doesn’t know that.”

“Mm. I like this scene.”

“What, the making out? Or did the TV’s go outta sync again?”

“No, the making out. Both do a good job at the… the emotion. The desperation, I guess.”

“Mm.”

“Are you eating something? I hear chewing.”

“What are you, a cop? Can a man not eat a toblerone while watching a movie?”

“No, you can, it’s just — you’re chewing right into the receiver, Joe, it’s gross—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll put it down. See? No more chewing. Enjoy your gay cowboy movie.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re also watching the gay cowboy movie.”

“Only because it was on! And I would’ve turned it off if you didn’t call me.”

“If I didn’t — you called me!” 

“Yeah, yeah, believe what you wanna believe.”

—————— 

Thur, April 18, 11:27PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Subject: (no subject)

I think we’re better as friends.

//

Thur, April 18, 12:09PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

What makes you say that?

//

Thur, April 18, 12:31PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

It’s just.

I can’t be the only one that thinks that we get along about a thousand times better now then we did for the entire time we dated. I mean, you would have NEVER watched a Wes Anderson film with me if we were still together.

And we talk way more too, I think. Because of the emails, maybe. 

//

Thur, April 18, 12:54PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Well, first off, the reason we talk way more is because of the emails. Because you don’t delete those spam texts and have no filter and are therefore near impossible to reach.

Second off, we still get along terribly, fuck you. 

But I can understand parts of that. We’re still seeing each other just as much as when we were together, I’d say. Now you’re just half an hour away, though. Much shorter distance.

//

Thur, April 18, 1:08PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

Do you think we’d still be together? If we hadn’t been long distance for so long?

And I’m just saying. You never would have agreed with me on any of this if we’d still been doing the whole dog and pony show. You just don’t have the bone in your head that says to be nice to people.

//

Thur, April 18, 1:19PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: (no subject)

I disagree with you on everything just on principle.

—————— 

Fri, May 3, 7:12PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Subject: The New Deal

I want to propose something.

//

Fri, May 3, 7:39PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

You get five sentences.

//

Fri, May 3, 7:57PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

If neither of us is married by forty, we marry each other.

//

Fri, May 3, 9:02PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

That is the most stereotypical bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

And I’ll be forty in five years, you’ve got a while. How in the hell does that even work?

//

Fri, May 3, 9:23PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

It works in normal marriage ways, idiot. 

And that’s why I was thinking about it, anyways. You’re 40 in 5 years, I’m 40 in 12 years, we just split the difference and get married in 7 years. Avoid a lot of hassle.

//

Fri, May 3, 9:44PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

When you say you were thinking about it, it makes you sound like this is a pity marriage thing. Which is weird, by the way. I don’t think that’s how it works, anyways. That’s more of a heterosexual friends who are scared they’ll die alone sort of deal. Real platonic like.

//

Fri, May 3, 10:01PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

This isn’t a pity marriage thing! I just think that it’s something to consider. Unless one of us gets hitched in the next 7 years, it doesn’t seem like a half bad plan.

//

Fri, May 3, 10:19PM

To: webster.david99@gmail.com

From: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

Oh, I have plenty of issues with this plan.

But fine. We’ll get pity-married in 7 years. You’ll be a child bride. 

//

Fri, May 3, 10:34PM

To: liebgott.joe92@gmail.com

From: webster.david99@gmail.com

Re: The New Deal

I’ll be 33, dickhead.

—————— 

CALL FROM: JOE

May 19, 9:54AM

“The German dog tags are a nice touch.”

“Mm. ‘s an interesting movie. I like this part, though. It’s incredibly violent.”

“Yeah, I figured. I dragged this fucking DVD across the country and rented a DVD player from the hotel to sync this movie with you, and get such wonderful comments as I like that it’s violent.”

“Well, I do! Nothing much to add there, really. D’you have anything smart to say, jackass?”

“You’re chewing into the receiver again. And not at this particular scene, though. I just like Eli Roth in this movie.”

“Hm. Figures. Want me to start bashing people's heads in with a bat? I could be the Bear Jew.”

“No one could be the Bear Jew. I’m sorry to tell you this. You don’t have the flair. Or the height.”

“Oh, go straight for the jugular, why don’t you—”

“It’s true! You’re chewing, again.”

“How’s everything going?”

“Ugh. Fine. I hate these fucking tours.”

“I know. That’s why I delight in them so much.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you still want me to pick you up from the airport?”

“...yeah. I can’t get anyone else to do it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll spare you the humiliation of having to be picked up by your ex. I’ll wear a hat and sunglasses. Send me the information.”

“Oh, yack it up, asshole. And I’ll email you.”

“Fine. Remember to make sure it has a fucking subject, I hate it when you do that.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to watch this.”

“Mm. But you’ll still email me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll still email you, Lieb.”

[writtenbyshama]

Promise of The Meadow (Part II and III)

A Sylus x Reader birthday fan fiction

Author's note: I made this as a video style fanfic and uploaded it on Instagram as my entry to a fan contest hosted by the game developers. If you liked what you read and want to support me in the contest, please like the Instagram post which will be linked down below.

Synopsis: This is your first time celebrating the birthday of Sylus. You plot with the twins, Luke and Kieran, and decide to make the entire month of April special. Sylus is very precious to you after all, and he deserves the absolute best. 

Notice: This fanfic has been divided into three posts because of the length. However, there is only one video.

II — Sugar Maple Hearts

I rolled over in the bed, subconsciously reaching for Sylus. He pulled me closer and placed a soft kiss on my temple. “Morning, kitten.”

I smiled and kissed him back, wishing him a happy birthday. Having stayed over at the base last night, he’d upended his sleep schedule to match mine and wake up in the morning like a human being. In no hurry to start the day, we had our breakfast in bed before slowly heading to the bathroom to wash up. Sylus wanted to spend the day with a picnic, so a picnic in one of his extensive sugar maple farms it was. We helped each other get ready and piled up in one of his off-roading SUVs with an elaborate picnic basket and a fluffy blanket.

The day was glorious, but not overly sunny that might have blinded my dear boyfriend. I insisted on driving and made him the passenger princess birthday boy for the day. He obeyed with an amused smile. 

We reached our destination in half-an-hour, entering through large metal gates that closed behind us. The workers were given a day off to give us both privacy. Sylus directed me between the huge maple trees to a clearing on a small hill. When I climbed out of the vehicle, I saw the entire farm spread out below us like a neat bushy carpet. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Not as beautiful as you, though.” Sylus stopped next to me and grabbed my waist, looking at the scenery spread out below us. 

He was, as usual, wearing a suit, but this one was special because I’d given it as one of my gifts. I wanted to see him wearing light colours and he looked breathtaking. “You’re one smooth talker.”

“You bring it out in me.”

We spread the blanket under the shade of a nearby tree and opened the picnic basket. Sylus’s in house chef had gone all out and prepared a feast fit for royalty. I bit into a sandwich, its cheesy goodness making me moan, almost. Sylus wiped off a small bit of melted cheese from my chin with his thumb and licked it clean before picking out another sandwich for himself. After we’d eaten until we were full, he took me on a tour of the farm, explaining the process of tapping the sap and sending them to the manufacturing plant nearby where the huge machines boiled down the liquid into syrup. 

The sun was at its zenith when we made our way back to the blanket. I sat down against the tree trunk while Sylus placed his head on my lap and stretched out on the blanket, his feet poking out to rest on the grass. Running my fingers through his hair, I talked about my classes and work while he listened with closed eyes. 

I had noticed that one of his love languages was quality time together. He would be happy to do a grocery run if it meant spending time with me and I was glad to have him along. The afternoon breeze and birdsong was making me drowsy too. Eventually, I slipped down to lie down in his embrace and we took a nap together. 

I woke up first, the late afternoon light filtering through the maple leaves. Sylus was soundly asleep on his back, his breaths deep and even. He’d once confessed that he never slept properly, and always lied down on his stomach with a hand on his gun underneath the pillow in case of an attack. It had gradually changed until he was comfortable enough to sleep properly around me and I had been ecstatic. There was something delightful about being the comfort person of man like him. Being the person with whom he could be vulnerable with. I wished every happiness to be showered on Sylus. 

I got up slowly, not wishing to disturb his sleep, and packed the remains of our food back in the basket and placed it in the SUV. On the way back to the blanket, I noticed the ground was covered with clover. Sitting back down next to Sylus’s sleeping form, I looked around for a four leaf clover. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sylus stirred and turned to his side, hugging my hips and plopping his chin onto my thigh. “What’re you doing?” He slurred in his cute, sleepy voice.

“Trying to see if I could get a four leaf clover for you, it’s supposed to bring good luck.”

“Hmm.”

After another ten minutes, I gave up. There wasn’t a single four clover in our vicinity. Sylus was fully awake now, watching me pout with amusement on his face. He patted my knee in consolation. “Sweetie, don’t feel bad. It’s alright, I have you as my lucky charm. By the way, is it this one by any chance?”

“Where did you find it?” I reached out to grab it, but he used his evol to make it fly away near to his shoulder. I gave him a look, he laughed it off. 

“Must be wind. Try and catch it, if you can.” He rolled over on his back, supporting his head with a folded arm and played with the clover as I swatted around to catch it. I was like a cat chasing a laser pointer, until I finally trapped it on his stomach. 

“Ha! Got it!” I rubbed his stomach with my knuckles and held up the clover with a flourish. He watched with a smile as I retrieved his wallet and carefully stuck the leaf to the leather flap inside, right next to the passport sized photo of me. Returning the wallet into the depths of his trouser pocket, I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. He put his arms around me and tackled me down, and we watched a plane go overhead in amiable silence. 

“Outwardly, you seem like someone who’d have extravagant birthday parties on top of some skyscraper or something,” I mused after a while.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but this, spending time alone in the nature seems to suit your personality more, though.”

My eyes were on the sky, but I could feel his gaze on the side of my face. “How so?” He asked.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you are surrounded by all kinds of people, but none of them know anything about you. You like spending time alone, in quiet silence or with music for company. The people who are close to you are very few, and you make them earn that position of trust beforehand. And though you like being extravagant, it’s more for the benefit of your reputation; underneath all that, you like a simple and peaceful atmosphere, without all the distractions.”

I turned to look at him, and he watching me with so much intensity that I wondered if I’d said something wrong. He finally looked away, exhaling a deep breath. “Well, you certainly are observant.” He didn’t say anything else, I let it go at that. 

Instead, I pointed at the taps on the maple trees in a bid to change the subject. “Is the tree sap sweet?”

He tilted his head. “Let’s try it and see, shall we?” He helped me stand up and we went to the nearest tree. The tap was higher than where I could reach, however, and Sylus put an arm around my legs and lifted me up. “There.”

It was difficult to concentrate when his hand was coiled around my thighs underneath my skirt. As a small act of revenge, I gathered a drop of the sticky sap on my finger and made a show of rubbing it sensually on my mouth. He watched me do it like a hawk, and closed his eyes with a sigh as I did the same to him, tongue flicking out to lick it as I did so. 

The sap was not very sweet, but before I could lick it off completely, he brought me down to kiss him. I didn’t resist. His other arm caressed my back as we kissed each other softly until our lips were red, sticky and swollen. He sighed against my mouth as we pulled back for air. “I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life, sweetheart.”

I smirked. “The day isn’t yet over.”

****

III — Candlelit Ribbons

The crimson ribbons of my dress flowed down to the floor, fluttering as I moved around my villa overseeing the final touches. I had planned for a candlelit dinner in my backyard and had cooked every dish myself. It had been late evening when we returned from the maple grove, and I’d sent him directly to his base and ordered him to wear something crimson to match me later. 

It was almost midnight now, and everything was ready. The twins were driving him here and they’d told me they were five minutes away. The flash of headlights through the front window had me scrambling to reach the door and unlock it. There, on the doorstep, Sylus looked absolutely unholy with a shirt of the darkest shade of crimson tucked into midnight black trousers, cinched with a premium leather belt with a silver buckle. He was holding a bouquet of violet lilies and a bottle of wine in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Sylus,” I breathed, unable to say anymore. His hair was combed back and styled with a bit of gel, and I had to clench my jaw to not start drooling right then and there. His waited patiently as I handed over a large food parcel to the twins for their work in bringing their boss here. They thanked me and left, the car lights blinking as it vanished down the driveway, through the gate. 

Once inside, I accepted the flowers and the wine, heading to the kitchen with Sylus following me. 

“Are you my gift tonight?” He asked in a low voice, twirling a stray ribbon on my dress as I unwrapped the lilies to place them in a vase.

“Do you want me to be?” I asked coyly. The dress did look like I was a wrapped gift, gathered in a bow tie sitting low on my chest. I had chosen it deliberately, mostly because I wanted to see how Sylus reacted when he found out that it unravelled if he just pulled one end of the bow tie. 

He let out a long breath but didn’t reply.

Grabbing two wine glasses and a corkscrew, I ushered him through the halls of the villa into the backyard. It was a full moon night, giving the atmosphere a magical glow when paired with the fairy lights strung onto the tree branches and the numerous golden candles everywhere. I had dragged out a table and a sofa to make the event more intimate and cozy. 

“This is really pretty, sweetheart.” He was holding me by the waist, absentmindedly playing with the ribbons as he looked at everything I had set up. His jewelled eyes shined brightly, making the other lights seem dull and lifeless. 

Fingers curling around the lapel of his silk shirt, I led him towards the sofa covered with plush cushions. The table in front of it was covered with his favourite dishes and the gifts for the day. The entire set up faced the spread of Linkon city below our feet. Sylus sat down and I curled up next to him, tucking my bare feet under a pillow. 

I had never seen Sylus go out without an exquisite brooch pinned to his lapel. So, I had used my savings to hire a jewellery smith to make a diamond brooch that matched the crow brooch I had from Sylus. Mine had a brilliant red ruby encrusted into the dark metal shaped into a crow. The one that I now pinned to his shirt’s lapel had a solitary diamond peeking from its place next to the crow that was identical to mine. 

Sylus ran a finger over the planes of the diamond. For the first time ever, I could see he was speechless. When he looked up, I thrust another gift onto his lap. He opened it and took out a soft cat plushie. I chuckled at his somber expression. “It’s for when I can’t be with you for the night, so you don’t have to sleep alone.” He tried very hard not to show that he liked the plushie, but I noticed the way he caressed the cat’s head and carefully placed it on the other side of the sofa. 

After accepting that day’s temple offerings, he heartily tucked into the food I had prepared. I poured the wine he’d brought into glasses and we clinked them together. The atmosphere was filled with good-natured banter and laughter as we ate. The wine created a pleasant buzz in my mind as we finished eating and laid back, lazily exchanging kisses and fluttering touches. 

Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he pulled the ribbon near my bust and unravelled the dress, eyes roving appreciatively as he did so. As it was, his first birthday celebration with me ended up with him carrying me inside, the rest of the night being spent in each other’s embrace.

****

Part I

Part IV

Here's the link to video version if you're interested :)

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[timaeusterrored]

Wip Whenever

Tagged by @peaches-n-screem @katsigian and @kharonion 💕💕💕

Working on a story called Early Morning Kisses. Was making it for someone then got worried it wasn’t good enough, finally decided to pick it back up

Kerry was up first. The night had been filled with tossing and turning and swearing, and he just gave up. When he finally saw the sun, that was his cue to slip out of bed, after one final kiss to V’s forehead. The merc had just shifted a bit and fell back into his deep sleep.

The Rocker rubbed his eyes, aggravated with his lack of sleep as he started on coffee. He thought he was getting better sleeping through the night. He also knew V would notice, and be concerned. And Kerry fucking hated his concern, not that he didn’t appreciate the fact that his partner cared about him, but it felt like Kerry had gone two step forward, and three steps back.

He knew he was overthinking it, V would never think or say that Kerry’s progress didn’t matter, that he had gone backwards. V also had shit nights where he tossed and turned in a huff then got up to go smoke. Kerry would usually join him, because when V didn’t sleep, Kerry didn’t either. He didn’t expect it to go both ways though, V needed sleep.

He didn’t even hear V coming down the stairs, too lost in his mind to notice. He felt hands slide over his hips and lock together in front of his stomach. Kerry almost immediately melted back into him, resting his head back on his shoulder. The thoughts had melted away with V’s warmth around him. It never ceased to amaze him how much he had grown to truly love this man.

College Au, obviously 💕

“I got Fox and Smidt first period, uh… actually I really need to go. I’m gonna be late- I love you too, mama- Yes I’ve eaten- she has- Mom!”

Vincent loved his mother, but she worried too much. And River had been honking for the better part of ten minutes, with Mike blowing up his phone. He knew! Trust him, he was well aware of the time! Them honking and texting him wasn’t going to make Guadalupe let him go any faster. It was a mother’s duty to make her child late.

“I CANNOT BE LATE TO VIKT’S CLASS AGAIN BECAUSE OF YOUR DUMBASS NOW GET IN HERE!” Mike’s whole upper body was basically out the window of River’s truck. It had been about a week since their run in with Vincent’s ex and both Mike and Vincent’s faces had healed quite nicely. Thanks to Vik’s magic of course.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’! You wanna tell my mother to not call me before class then be my guest!” Vincent had to squish himself into the back, his own bag and Judy’s in between the two. Mike got special treatment because he was River’s gay awakening despite the constant denial. Vincent had bets going with Panam and Aaron about it.

And some mini things: Vax losing his shit and Vampire Au

Vampire Au:

“I see…”

A vampire stood at the window, hands tucked in his pockets.

“That’s an issue.”

He turned, sitting on the two couches was a young vampire, rubbing his thighs with his palms. His nerves were obvious, and a sign of fear. Fear that could not be left to fester any longer.

Vax losing it:

Vax had always been a shadow. Willingly so, he didn’t mind being Jackie’s shadow back in their merc days, or the few months he was Kerry’s shadow. The difference was he was never in someone’s shadow.

Tagging: @moderndaycirce @vincentmatthews @elvenbeard @wilxfyre @theviridianbunny @vince-linder

[nathanarmageddon]

i have such stockholm syndrome for my teenage years in comprehensive school. I miss the blazers and ties and scratchy trousers that sounded like velcro when you walked. And the big green metal gate id rock up late to in Y8. And the grotty corridors too narrow for all the kids and they all hate you or at least dislike you. I miss the chavs and the roadmen that made me fear for my life so much I had to change my route to classes. I miss sitting in the back of English drawing by the radiator when I got the best seat in final year. I miss watching the sun rise from the classroom windows as much as I miss the dark mornings. I miss the inclusion corridor painted in a pale hospital green and how good it felt to be missing class down there. I miss sitting nestled with my group of friends before I lost them all in a crook in the wall I think we dubbed 'the cave'. I miss the coursework PE lessons where all I'd do is draw bullshit on MSpaint on their laptops. I miss the mould in my bag that smelled so bad. I miss getting rocks and pizza and cigarettes thrown at me. I miss when the stairways would flood and we'd all get a day off. I miss tutor lessons where it was never really an actual lesson, just fifteen minutes of pratting about. I miss washing my hair in the toilet sink. I miss being a mitski fan experiencing literal psychotic symptoms for two years and I never became the person I was before that again. I miss the cool art competitions they sometimes held. I miss the free toast during exam season. I miss science class with my boyfriend where we'd doodle on a piece of paper handing it back and forth. I miss the year I had a science substitute teacher who was so funny and it was also the class I got the name I'd keep forever from my best friend. I miss book club despite the many arguments I had there. I miss leaving school when it was dark out and coming home to fall asleep and wake up when mum was done with dinner. I miss watching people saw chairs in half with the elastic strings of COVID masks. I miss the days where I had double of my favourite lessons. I miss when it finally started to get warm and you knew you'd be out for summer soon so everyone starts to relax.

And on the final day after the final exam I felt nothing because I hated that school and what it turned me into because I started as such a lovely person with everything in the world and left with nothing but a wank haircut and anorexia as my closest friend. When people came in for the final time they all wore their white shirts for people to sign and I didn't even bother because I couldn't imagine I'd ever want to remember that place.

I think it just boils down to being young and being there for five years. It's just so familiar and you spend so many hours there it becomes a second home and you never really get that again. It was a horrible horrible horrible experience that I literally had to get therapy for and yet I still think of it so fondly for some reason. More than college. And I liked college until final year. I went from a literal daily nightmare in comp to smoking cigarettes in the sunshine on the college field with my friends. I went from no friends to houseparties with people I genuinely liked. But two years in college is nothing. Not enough to get attached to it or settle down into some sort of familiarity.

I enjoyed those college years and finally thought my life was looking up until the final few months where everything fell to bits due to me smashing a mirror and getting seven years bad luck. And I left again with not much to show for it but another eating disorder and my painting in an art gallery. And since then I've just been like fuck it. Just keep moving. I've nearly finished my first year in uni and if I blink the next two will probably fly by. I've got three months left at my shitty flat that costs me £953 a month and after that I wind up back at home in the same old sticky black oil. And I'll really miss not living with my girlfriend. And I'll really miss not being able to have my own space and being able to be completely impossible to contact for my own sanity. I'll miss that city. I'll miss having somewhere else to go instead of couchsurfing to get away from my stepdad and my mum when she's pissing me off. It's this house driving me mental everytime I come to visit. It's the fact I live next to my old school. And I can never sleep in my bedroom.

Don't know what I'll do after uni, probably work some random job for a year and if I can't get a decent job go back to uni to do my PGCE + work placements and teach for a bit and hopefully move out securely. Even if it's some wee nasty place. I think I've been wanting familiarity of a place that feels like home. That's probably all I miss. I keep telling myself if I work hard enough, and really play my cards right, I can get that feeling back.

[fraener]

1/17/25

things in motion since i last wrote. lynch died night before last and if you can believe it, its friday again. h and i came to terrible blows but resolved things somehow, i reached a quiet and dignified settlement in myself between my wants and reality. i wish i had written some of it down so i could have remembered better. you cant decide what you feel but you can decide what you do with it. h said he was feeling "waves of chill" about it all here and there so he optimistically thought it would be fine. i told him i wanted him to stay in and feel angry and sad at my side rather than retreating out of the relationship so he wouldnt have any responsibility for his actions. since then, we went to the san juans, had good sex, and he cooked for me twice when i was down from my menses on our trip. hes got bedbugs again and wont really be able to take care of them fully until hes out of that house. i feel very sad for my belongings that have been in his care while hes let all of this get out of hand...i didnt go to la this time but am looking at march for a visit with ap, as and f. i like the idea of cali and dont know how to understand that its always on fire. we drove through wildfires on our way back from co this summer and the destruction was beyond anything id ever seen, it was like the rebirth of soil after a volcano eruption or something just as extreme. r and i havent really talked since he went back to la, i think i am not going to hear or see from him again until march. g was furiously texting me about a mistake he made with the schedule and was so irate to the point of maybe trying to get me fired. i am worried about seeing him today, ive got to work. i dont want to lose this job because i do love working in there but g is making me more and more uncomfortable and hes very clearly taking some of his stress out on me in a way that wouldnt be appropriate in a personal relationship, let alone between a manager and employee. my boss at the studio said i could take on tutoring students though and shes concocting more classes for me to teach so i can migrate away from there...ill miss it so much, lazy afternoons lulling on the little three legged stool behind the packing counter while the sun slithers across the face of the theatre across the way.

its sad, im seeing strange shifts. eeme starting back up again and were doing some vocal pieces from the look of things, touring the pieces we wrote in the summer. p+s are leaving in a month, theyll be back briefly in march or april before they leave again for a long time. s wants to come home after the first leg of their travels it seems like and p wants to go farther, live farther. we spent a long time together just the two of us yesterday. we saw the salmon gift for the first time, thousands of melting corpses along the riverbed turning to white and blue fluff and the faint overlapping ferns of bones. we sat in the car for what might have been 4 hours just talking after the end of our walks and this morning im beyond tired. i feel a fundamental kinship with p that i dont have with many people and it felt good to exercise that last night. we are both struggling through the terror and hurt of something that is essential to our being that we have already felt bad about our whole lives is coming into light as the reason someone cant love us the way we want. something so melancholy about that feeling. and a familiarity. i am learning to trust myself better than ever and its having me come out from underneath something. i hope to see p succeed in everything he tries and i hope s finds comfort in the arms of a truly kind woman. and i hope they can still support one another and love one another somehow still. its funny that anyone would treat this different from a divorce...or treat it with any reductive lens that would diminish the pain and ecstasy either of them are finding. i went the day before with s and j to tacoma and ran around through strange indoor markets. we spend our time laughing when we see each other but we have our brief moments of acknowledgement for the strange sad changes ahead. she still talks about him all the time. theyre such fundamental parts of one another. p said he wanted to live in a way where they didnt feel like the decisions the other person made were in a way decisions they felt responsible for and as deeply affected by, or that it would be a benefit of the way things could go. he is still so in love with her and is so afraid of that change. they are both such genuine and good people, i have so much respect for them both as individuals and it feels in a way like a huge honor to be given a portal in to view the ways they are working to support one another through growth. i am sooo sad theyre going to leave but maybe ill try and end up where they end up, or where p ends up since his ambitions mirror mine.

he talked about how he always only writes the bad things in his journal and hes fighting to write and remember the good. matter of fact brother/mirror to me. were fighting to find the good, and everything is possible. season of the salmon gift as a lesson in being nourished and fed by what we let fade away, be reused, let go of, move from...

[parksprout]

Sprout Journal 11/4/24

Wow! What a day! I have so much to say about today, but I'll try to keep it brief. So first of all, I hate the time change more than almost anything else in existence. That stuff messes me up so bad!! I woke up at 5am dude, what on earth is there even to do at 5am? I ended up cleaning my room for a lil bit before the sun rose and got dressed for school extra early, so that was nice at least. I somehow managed to rush out of the house early and forget to grab my breakfast, so my banana oatmeal will have to wait another day ToT

On my walk to school I listened to the rest of the first Ghost album and oh my god! I am becoming such a big fan of them so quick, their music is so striking both instrumentally & lyrically. I need to actually read their lore and become a real fan but so far I am LOVING this band. Tobias Forge's accent is also so nice!! That lil bit of Swedish that comes out as he sings adds such a twist to his style. But after my walk to school, I settled into Spanish class for my oral exam - which I think I did pretty dang good on! We had three random prompts that we could've been given, and I unfortunately got the one prompt I didn't have time to practice before the exam, but I aced it anyways! I didn't stutter once, I conjugated all of the verbs in the correct tenses, and my professor let me use the e ending because I'm nonbinary instead of the a (feminine) or o (masculine) ending which made the language work a lot better for me! After Spanish class I had Creative Writing class, which I unfortunately am behind on. I didn't read the chapters in the novel we're supposed to be reading for the rest of the semester. We actually had a different professor today and will have a different one for the next three weeks! Our main professor had his baby last week. He seems like such a good father, apparently he's taking full time care of the baby while his wife rests ToT how adorable??? If I ever have a kid I wanna be like that, taking care of my partner while they recover. Anyways our new professor introduced herself in such a funny way. I could hear the distinct clop of her faux alligator skin platform shoes echoing down the hallway from a half mile away, and she burst into the classroom late with a flourish then SLAMMED the door behind herself. She's so quirky and chic. She was wearing this seashell patterned dress shirt, fancy ass corduroy pants that I really am jealous of, and even more jewelry than I wear each day! She led us through a really fun discussion in class.

After that, my Anthropology professor called off so I had an almost four hour period of downtime during which I told myself that I was gonna do a bunch of reading, but instead I ended up just posting to tumblr and texting my [REDACTED]. We talked so much this morning and it was so fun ToT I know I shouldn't be ridiculous and hope too much about things so soon, but at the very least we're communicating a lot better than we have in months regardless of what we are. I do keep finding myself sending them hearts, or messing up and saying a pet name. I called them babe earlier out of reflex and deleted the message super fast, I don't know if they even saw it? I think that if we do become a couple again I'm gonna find myself laughing over how awkward I've been while trying to keep my natural inclination towards affection repressed. Either way, our conversations were super fun today, but I started getting both too feelys and wanting to say things I shouldn't like the big four letter word, and also I started getting a bruuuttaalll headache. I had to buy myself a water and some acetaminophen and put my phone down for a while.

Archaeology class was after that, and it was such an interesting lecture! We had a guest lecturer today and she discussed the actual process of applying for, obtaining, and working field jobs specifically within Cultural Resource Management. So, CRM is this pseudo-governmental job in archaeology that typically requires you work with both state governments and construction agencies. Basically, anytime there's a state or federally funded construction project it's legally required that the construction company and state pay for archaeologists to examine the site to make sure that no artifacts/cultural materials are being damaged. It's the bulk of all field work conducted by archaeologists today and probably what I'm gonna end up doing as my career!

Gosh this is turning out to be a lot. After that I went to the gym and worked my ASS off. I wrote down what I did so here it is :3

15 minutes (two miles) on the elliptical as a warmup

3 sets of 10 shoulder press reps at 85 lbs

1 set of 10 shoulder press reps at 110 lbs

3 sets of 10 leg raise machine reps at 140 lbs

1 set of 15 leg raise machine reps at 200 lbs (I MAXED OUT THE MACHINE MY LEGS ARE SO STRONG OUGH)

3 sets of 10 incline bench machine reps at 85 lbs

1 set of 10 incline bench machine reps at 110 lbs (this one I barely managed omg)

15 minutes (two more miles) on the elliptical to finish off strong!

I was sweating so much by the end omg. I ate a protein bar and had probably 1.5 liters of water while at the gym aklsdjfhaksdjf but I'm loving the effect that working out has on my mentality for the rest of the night after I get home. Also, the people are starting to recognize me there and someone even cheered me on today!

This is a lot. Besides that, I called my sister and got some super solid relationship/self care advice, got stuff to make the bnuuy their christmas presents in the mail, and played a bunch of bass! I also recorded myself singing along to two songs I really heavily fw and sent it to the Bnuuy as well, and got myself some food at my favorite local restaurant for the first time in a while!

It was a very good day <3 thank you for listening tumblr, I love you! Have a good night everyone

[twistednuns]

May 2024

Spending the first day of the month completely alone. At home. Working on little projects. Labeling all the boxes in the basement. Hanging art. Building a wooden frame for my new kitchen shelves. Tiling my bookcase.

Guessing correctly why I suddenly got a tummy ache. Doing exactly the right thing to make it go away (coffee and meds on an empty stomach are never a good idea).

Mentally apologizing to my body for only really moving it once a week during yoga class.

Recreating my grandma's potato goulash. Eating it with sour cream.

Buying a stool on sale that might or might not look like a little sheep.

Strawberry milkshake on a stressful day. It literally cooled me down.

Getting to know the lady who lives in the cool and airy apartment across the street.

Caught in the act: a little birdy landing on my sheepskin, ripping out a big fur ball for its nest.

Prioritizing alone time. Saying no to social obligations.

Long naps. Sleeping with the windows open, a nasal dilutor and mouth tape. Such a difference. Sometimes I even put a teeth whitening strip in and I want to start experimenting with self-hypnosis tracks.

Unearthing one of my old favourites: Dallmayr Ginger Ginseng green tea.

Sorting out my jewellery just to find a few pieces I really wanted to wear again!

Going to Gregor von Raffay's (Kathi's dad) vernissage. Falling in love with his painting Am Meeresgrund. Having a good time with Chili, Kathi and their kids Luis and Maya.

Rolling down the car windows. Singing along loudly to Soak Up the Sun by Sheryl Crow. My summer jam 2024. Also, I was surprised when I saw what a detailed Wikipedia article this song has.

Coconut porridge and fresh peaches (what a divine smell) for breakfast. Eating outside on the balcony.

Self-massage and gua sha with Aesop Breathless oil - a subtle blood orange smell.

The sudden urge to listen to Unison again. And again. Masterpiece.

Making a playlist of podcast episodes that left an impression.

Watching movies from the late 80s/90s/early 00s I haven't seen yet. I need more feel-good cinema in my life.

Singing at church with my choir. Emotional... such dense energy in there, every time.

Buying spices, bread and Greek antipasti at the market. I wonder why it's so rare for me to go shopping there. I always enjoy it tremendously. But it's probably because I've always thought that it's too expensive. I might have to put market days in my calendar! Hope that helps.

The golden chain tree has started to bloom in yellow cascades in our garden!

A spontaneous decision to join some friends at the drag flea market at Pathos. Exactly the right kind of people I needed that day. Julia, Daniel, Patricia and Katharina. I bought two wigs and a sassy Queen of Hearts costume. Then we sat outside an Italian restaurant until it got cold. Quite entertaining and the right amount of socializing.

My first time in a Float tank.

Finding Isabel Allende's Eva Luna in a box of free books after the thunderstorm.

Making banana ice-cream as a midnight snack.

An improv theatre workshop. So many good ideas and such fun! I even got a day off for it! (and one of the participants who noticed that I was having a tough time and offered me her yoghurt; we really vibed in the word association exercise, too)

Not an exclusively good thing because it came with a lot of fear, an activated abandonment wound and some emotional damage (I spent my lunch break locked in the handicapped toilet trying to calm down my tense body, not knowing how to properly release my emotions, crying big teardrops on the tile floor): three tough but cathartic conversations with C. Deciding that we would stay together. And that lovely moment in the morning when I felt my affection for him coming back.

Sneaking into yoga class. Listening to my body. So glad I went.

Being a member of the little team that is going to suggest new outfits for our gospel choir. Using Miranda Priestley as our group icon. / Also: everyone's joy when Beate got a phone call from Sarah telling her that her son was born a few hours before!

Baffled parents asking me how I manage their kids - and I'm the only teacher who can. Apparently I'm doing something right.

Single use changing mats. Best idea ever. So liberating. I hate wet spots.

The first rays of sunshine in the morning after a few horribly rainy days. Hoping for a chance to dry everything wet on the balcony.

Running into Uschi and Andrea. Dealing with their gossip with a new, detached energy.

Adding a few lemon slices to my tap water. Using my Retap bottle with the wooden lid for the first time in years.

A lengthy journalling session with lots of insights.

Flight mode for more peace of mind.

My strelitzia producing a huge new leaf. The baby is bigger than all the old ones.

Meeting some members of the Burn Family at Stroke Art fair. Good conversations with Sandra, Yeli and Kathi. Discovering a few inspiring artists.

Cinema and dinner with LenObi. It's been a while.

The moon appearing as a faint but full disc with a thin crescent in the lower right corner.

Eggplant burgers.

Visiting Ramapriya's yoga studio for the first time. I don't know what took me so long. We reconnected immediately and now I'm thinking about doing a Yoga Vidya teacher training. I learned so much in that one class. Her pelvic floor asanas and explanations were fantastic. Afterwards we talked about HSP, Human Design (she’s a fellow member of the ManGen club), her daughter, and she showed me a mantra to remove obstacles / gain energy, inspiration and joy. I left after more than two hours. C. called me and told me about a crazy dream featuring an erupting volcano.

Buying a FeetUp as a birthday gift to myself to practice handstands and improve my balance and core strength.

Hanging laburnum branches above C.'s kitchen table.

A walk through the forest/Filzen with C. Picking a bouquet of wildflowers. And “old people sex” which is what we called lying in bed attached to the same EMS machine, having a good conversation. Jumping on the trampoline together. Receiving little caresses and holding hands while watching TV. An intimate high pressure massage. Telling our dreams to each other in the morning. Making travel plans. Turning it around.

When the podcast is about to end right when you arrive at home.

Talking to Annika about portals.

Body doubling. Grading English tests while C. was assembling his new standing table. I love working side by side. Or even just somebody being present - it's some sort of control mechanism, I feel supported. I did that for C. when I just sat with him while he sorted out his storage space. And I think it really helped him, too.

Reading the lyrics of Die Interimsliebenden by Einstürzende Neubauten with C. In ihrem gemeinsamen Mund lebt ein Kolibri. Mit jedem seiner Flügelschläge, dafür das Auge viel zu träge, Kulturen erblühen und vergehen; ganze Kontinente untergehen.

Getting to know Elena, who works with Somatic Experiencing and Craniosacral Method. We got to know each other and I drew two pictures of my body. How it currently feels and what I want it to feel like. Interesting insights.

Waking up in a weird but calm energy on my birthday. Drawing the receptivity card. Attending a workshop on Deep Listening at the Art Academy. We meditated and played with sounds, even synthesizers. While some of it was too much for me (I could hear the electric current and most of the synthesizer sounds felt threatening) I enjoyed the concept and exercises. The other participants were all art teachers too. I felt resistance around one of them, Bastien, but we started talking over lunch. It got interesting really quickly and we spent two more hours in the English Garden after the workshop. B. told me his story. How he received healing. Experiences he's made. It was batshit crazy but I think I believe him. Was that the story I needed to receive that day? / Then I had tacos with Ben and we got along famously. I told him how much I like him when he's sober. I rented a karaoke box for two hours and sang with lots of friends - even Manu came which delighted me more than I would have expected.

Another relational abyss. Melodramatic scenes, right out of a movie. Turning around one of the saddest days of the year by truly talking and listening to each other. Seeing the wounded inner child in my partner. Being there for him. A commitment to doing the work. Growth.

Thoughtful birthday presents. A pillow for my uncomfortable car, a beautiful wok with wooden handles, homemade liquor and roasted pistachios. A video note from Christian and Lian.

Joking with C. and L. Easy, relaxed, appreciative. Developing C.’s idea for his outside platform. A relaxed morning with a kiss goodbye.

Lucie blessing me by singing the Om Tryambakam mantra for my birthday.

Shower Citrus! Eating a citrus fruit in the shower. My theory: the warm steam enhances the smell of the essential oil in the peel. It smells divine! What an experience.

A lavish breakfast. The spontaneous decision to go on a roadtrip. So we just packed the car and went our way. First we visited C.'s friend Maxi. She's one of those people with whom you immediately feel comfortable with. Her home was lovely. I also want a garden, chickens, a yoga platform. We slept in a caravan, talked about Merlin Sheldrake, had green pancakes and herbs, vegetable cake, smelled her entire DoTerra essential oil collection (Cassium, Madagascar Vanilla and Grapefruit are my favorites). I adored her daughter’s hairstyle (two chopsticks in a bun) and felt very cheerful one morning when I came into the house and an old Cat Power album was playing. / Then we visited her mum and tested all her esoteric devices and appliances. Moved on, had to change plans because C. forgot his backpack. Stopped at a strawberry field. Met Maxi and Juna at a lake, went swimming. I was reminded of how much I love that kind of movement. Water really is my element. We slept at a campsite in Aue. Not my scene at all. But the next day, we went to a thermal bath and sauna. Another happy place. Then we stayed with Franzi in Leipzig. I adored her apartment and we had a long conversation on her balcony. We also visited Marie together the next day. I tried to convince her cat to like me - no such luck. And I also ran into Jonathan that afternoon who was in town to visit his brother. What a strange coincidence. We went vintage shopping - I bought stained glass (and really want to learn how to work with it myself), C. bought an iridescent fake python jacket and a postcard for his son. We checked into a hotel. Received another lesson on personal boundaries. Went for a swim and a sauna session. Had ramen noodles. After a big breakfast (with fresh nut butter, delicious) we went to Jena and spent Ralf's lunch break in the botanical garden with him. We had a lovely time and spent the rest of the day in the planetarium for a 360° full dome movie festival and a concert. I took breaks for a Thai massage and fantastic Indian food. What a great trip.

Chris Wormell’s incredible illustrations, escpecially his astronomical woodcuts.

The tiniest mushrooms starting to grow in my champignon kit.

Making strawberry Raffaello cake for the Filzhof pizza party. Getting to know some of C.'s neighbours better. Playing with the dogs.

Watching the first season of House of the Dragon together. I'm a Rhaenys fangirl now.

White Matcha chocolate. And the best snack: pecans, freeze dried strawberries and spelt flakes.

Going to the garden center with C.! I loved picking out plants for the empty corner in his garden.

Alone time. Feels so nice after spending a long time surrounded by people.

Finishing the sunrise decor on my kitchen cabinets. They turned out really lovely.

Re-folding all my clothes. Sorting them by type and colour.

Eating buckwheat for lunch and dinner.

A phone call with Ludwig. Learning about my crippling insecurity and the underlying fear. Paradoxically, insecurity is my safe space because it means inaction. I don't have to make a decision - which would come with the possibility of making a mistake. / The Lesson pt.II - I clicked on a random video to keep me company while eating cornflakes. It was, of course, on safety as THE basic human need. In my face.

Harvesting the first two tiny cucumbers on my balcony. The bush in front of my window in full bloom - thousands of tiny white blossoms.

Making myself a cup of herbal tea instead of aimless snacking, trying to meet an emotional need. It worked.

Activities with Lian: decorating pudding, folding origami Pokémon, playfights.

Finally grading the artworks from the final exam. Procrastination alarm.

Drawing my body now and in its desired state with Elena. Doing boundary exercises. Meeting my inner protector: a big fuzzy bear. Which made me think of Luki who like running around in dark brown sheep skin and radiates a very stable, secure energy.

Reaching a relative state of everything is as it should be in my apartment with hardly any loose threads.

A visit from Luna and her friend Jannik. Deep talk, hanging out in my bed.

The golden morning sun. The long days around summer solstice.

[umichenginabroad]

Stockholm Week 15: Already Time for Austria! 

My time in Europe is running out and I am trying to make the most of it. 

Welcome to Jiwoo’s blog. This week’s main attraction is Vienna (or Wien), Austria! 

However, before leaving for Austria, I enjoyed a new experience in Stockholm.  

4/24 Wed: The ABBA Museum

Our Glued to the Screen: TV Film course voted on the location of our field study  last week. The winner was the ABBA museum! 

Did you know that ABBA, who sang hits like Dancing Queen, was a Swedish  supergroup? To be honest, I did not know until I came to Sweden. Surprisingly many companies and groups are Swedish and I had no clue! Top examples I can think of right now are Spotify, IKEA, H&M, ABBA, Roxette, and Ace of Base. 

I knew the museum was popular but it was on the more expensive side so I never visited before. This was a perfect excursion for me! 

There were various interactive activities and photo spots such as karaoke rooms, dance stages with ABBA members, and places with phone stands for selfies (very convenient)! 

I was the fifth member of ABBA for an hour   

The ABBA museum is in Djurgården, an island that is rather far from everywhere. Since I was there already, I made it a whole trip by checking out Rosendals garden as well! 

It has been on my places-to-visit list for a while due to its flower gardens and cafes. 

I saw a wide variety of beautiful flowers, which momentarily healed my soul. I strongly encourage the gift shops too! 

I wanted to live here

On the way to a meeting, I saw the cherry blossoms that were starting to bloom now. I’m planning on visiting them when I return from Austria! 

There weren’t in full bloom yet but I think they are now! 

My partner and I met at illycaffe to practice our Swedish oral exam. The cafe had a relaxing, studious atmosphere but the wifi was a bit janky so we had to move around in the cafe.     

4/26 Fri: First Day in Austria!

Finally, the day of our flight to Austria. As soon as I finished my last class of the day, I headed to the airport. 

After flying for two hours, we arrived in Vienna! The first view of Vienna from the airport was unexpectedly so green, which made me helplessly fall in love with Vienna. 

The sun was going down when we arrived; soon, darkness covered the sky.  

Airbnb was our first destination, then the city center for dinner and touristy things. We devoured dim sum for dinner at this really good Chinese restaurant called Hao Han. After we got satiated, we walked around the innere stadt. Even at night, the palaces and statues were beautiful. We walked around quite a bit until our legs failed us.

You can find a few stars in the photo too!

4/27 Sat: Schönbrunn Palace

We started the morning early by leaving at 9 am since we did not want to waste any time that could be used to travel. 

My roommate started her day extra early by leaving for Prague at 4 am. My friend and I, who stayed in Vienna, went to a flea market. I didn’t buy any clothes or accessories there, but I bought a small digital camera that I have been craving for a few months now! 

After a small pastry and lunch break, we traveled to The Schönbrunn Palace. The place was HUGE. My friend and I decided not to go into the palace due to time constraints; we were glad of this choice because just walking around the free gardens, fountains, and viewpoints took us over three hours. 

The parks were free to enter yet extremely well managed and decorated -- we talked about how we would come here every single day to stroll around or read a book under the sun if we had studied abroad here. 

We went thrifting for an hour after our excursion, but couldn’t find anything that caught our eye. Stockholm has better thrift stores in my opinion! 

We called it a day after getting dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant. Our legs were about to fall off and we had work to do :( 

Unlike our original plan of going back to Airbnb and working on our projects and presentations right away, we took a nap for an hour before getting everything started.

4/28 Sun: Prater Amusement Park, Albertina Museum, Austrian National Library, St. Peter’s Church 

I couldn’t pass by a hotdog stand in Vienna, so I got a classical Vienna hotdog for breakfast. The sausage came wrapped in a carved baguette! The bread was softer than I thought it’d be and the sausage was better than I expected :)  

Since we ate breakfast, it was time for dessert. We met up with my roomie at Cafe Demel, a popular cafe known for authentic Austrian desserts.

After lining up for thirty minutes, we got in and ordered sachertorte (a dark chocolate cake with apricot jam and icing, served with whipped cream) and kaiserschmarrn (bite-sized caramelized scrambled pancake with powdered sugar served with sour apple sauce).

It was such a good combi, a rich dark chocolate cake paired with savory pancakes and sour apple jam.

The souvenir store downstairs was also cute but pricey. 

For lunch, I went to Prater amusement park to meet my high school friend who is currently studying abroad in Vienna. It was so funny because I am going to meet her again next week on a trip to Italy. We are meeting more often in Europe than in the United States, and that was funny to us. 

As risk-taking adults, we invested some money into claw machines. And the best part: WE ACTUALLY GOT ONE! High risk high return  ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ 

Talented pookies right here

And with that adrenaline, we decided to go on a ride with five loopy loops. Why? I’m not sure because the moment we got on the line we were shivering with fear. 

FIVE WHOLE 360s

As proper grown-ups, we came out in one whole piece without crying. With our jittery legs and spinning vision, we somehow managed to walk towards the archery game stop and popped some balloons too (I popped one out of five balloons!!!). I had to say goodbye to my friend after that because the museums closed early, but it was definitely a core memory. 

I was a busy gal that day! I speed-walked to the train station to go to the Albertina Museum. I was debating between the Belvedere museum (has Klimt’s Kiss), but decided that I wanted to see more of Monet’s paintings. I found other pieces of artwork that I cherished on top of Monet’s artworks. I call that a win! 

I discovered during my study abroad that I love impressionism and still art!!! My favorite is Monet so far if you couldn't tell 

The souvenir shop had an assorted collection of goods made out of popular artworks -- I ended up purchasing several coasters and postcards :) 

Buildings right outside the museum

Without delay, I moved on to State Hall in the Austrian National Library.

Unlike other libraries, it had an entrance fee of 7.50 euros (student price). However, it was worth it. It was a mix of museum and cathedral with a hint of palace. In short, it was stunning and breathtaking.

People for scale

There isn’t any place to study because there are no tables, but other parts of the library might have had study spots. 

The ceiling was the final blow for me -- I was awestruck

At last, we went to a famous restaurant with authentic Austrian food. We got there without reservation but they were kind enough to provide a table for us. We got Pork Schnitzel (~thin katsu), Beef Goulash (~beef stew), and potato salad. The combination of those three dishes was amazing - the potatoes surprisingly went well with both main dishes, allowing us to eat every little piece on the plates. 

Our final destination in Vienna was a string concert at St. Peter’s church. For a little over an hour, we heard a true harmony of Classic Ensemble Vienna playing a series of songs by Beethoven, Bach, Vivaldi, and Mozart. 

The concert sparked my desire to play the violin again!

Overall, my trip to Vienna was wonderful! The weather was perfect, the food was amazing, and the attractions were gorgeous. I would 10/10 recommend a weekend trip to Vienna for studying abroad students! 

Next week is when my Milan and Florence trip begins. Come back to see what I am up to in Italy! 

Danke, 

Jiwoo Kim

Chemical Engineering

DIS Study Abroad in Stockholm, Sweden

[irulaan]

HOW FAR IT CAN BEND | REGULUS BLACK

— the way he loves was tainted since he was a child. it didn’t help that he always, subconsciously, desired everything his older brother could put a hand on.

nav | regulus’ mlist

✧ PAIRING. regulus black x fem!reader

✧ WORD COUNT. 1.8k

✧ WARNINGS. low self esteem. mm slightly sirius black x reader. english isn’t my first language

You have been around them for a while, you knew them but never had a word with any of  the four boys. Lily Evans, a fierce girl, whose personality and intelligence was paired with ginger hair and bright viridian eyes, had a few words with you, at a potion class. And her  good nature ignored the fact you were usually linked to a pure blood fanatic, Regulus Black. 

On said occasion, her words kept slipping through her mouth—she was surprised by your kindness and the way you’ve carried a light conversation about the day’s topic, since she expected you to be a complete asshole. She believed you could be a good friend, a good partner at class—as your intellect matched her own. Over the following weeks, she kept looking for you to start banal conversations, about classes, about anything. It was about time to meet her friends.

Three of them had a study meeting with Lily Evans, and they adored the girl, they won’t say no. “I think she’s Regulus' girlfriend?” James has said, when yours and Lily's blooming friendship became a topic. 

Sirius snorted, “Pff, that spineless idiot could never have a girlfriend. Haven’t I told you he's as cold as my progenitors? The only way he’s getting to that point is if they arrange something” He was unusually so bittersweet about his brother’s affairs. Since he stopped caring a long time ago. 

James smiled at his behavior, laid his books down on the table. And sat across Sirius and Remus. “We just saw them” 

“Maybe she pity him?” He earned a round of laughs. Remus had shocked his head, covering his eyes with a large hard at Sirius’ nonsense. 

“Yeah, most likely” James mocked him.

Remus eyes’ caught his ginger friend arm in arm with her new friend, you. “Speaking of the devil…” He said, warning his friends. 

They liked you in a beat. Sirius' first impression was that you were a complete opposite to his younger brother. You laughed at their lighthearted jokes and had a focused expression while they explained some of their pranks. It was nice and refreshing to have you around, it wasn’t always, but it was often enough to have a sense of proximity. A belief and a feeling you were a friend to all of them. Your first impression of Sirius was meh—nothing less, nothing more than you expected. He had the most charming personality, an ounce of his attention was enough to make you feel like a radiant sun—a fake one tho. You knew his ways with girls, how they would fall to his feet with a smirk and a mischievous grin. Your confused feelings constantly met a wall when you saw his interactions with a potential love interest, even if it’d last a few weeks—days even. 

Regulus Black had collected the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend on a sunny, fresh spring morning — just a month before summer holidays. It was a question you have been expecting since you realized your romantic feelings for him, months ago. It was easy since he let you into his softe, most vulnerable side. Where you learned about his terrors and insecurities. Where you learned his need for reassurance —that you like him, that you love him— has its roots in his abused childhood, where his parents deprived him of pure and sincere affection, only praising him when he did things Walburga and Orion thought were correct. His way of understanding of love was tainted by his emotional baggage—it was something you thought you could work on together.

Four Gryffindor boys saw you both hand in hand, kissing in public. You didn’t see them, as your eyes could only lay on the boy staring lovingly at you. You were both in love. That love you crave and envy when you’re young and wild, a love seemingly pure and sincere at the surface, one that couldn’t be marred by anything or anyone, but one that was cursed by the first shared glance. You'd have to scavenge a bit to find its rotting foundations. That day Lily Evans and her kind self gave you a cold shoulder unmatched by the concern and guilt in her eyes. They boys didn’t acknowledge your presence. It lasted—and continued for a week, until you couldn’t bear with it.

You were glad you found the group hanging in the common room. Your presence was noticed at first by James, who tried to escape when his eyes met yours, Lily held his hand, keeping  him in his place.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Sirius received a whiplash when he turned when he heard your voice. Now, all of them stared at you. “Like if i made a mistake i would want to apologize, but i don’t know what i did” Your distressed tone and how your voice broke were enough to make the older Black brother feel a pang of guilt. Like a stab at his heart by his own hand. Because it doesn’t matter how hurt he was when he saw you and Regulus’ holding hands—it didn’t matter because now he had hurt you, by isolating you from them, your friends. Thinking you did something wrong. 

The sand-like haired boy shared a quick look with Sirius, as saying you, and only you can fix this. It was his responsibility. “It’s okay, i’ll explain to her” He had said and the rest of them flew out of the room in a blink. 

Now alone, he had focused on your red rimmed eyes, on how you bite the insides of your mouth. “I’m sorry”

You let out a humorless laugh, “What does that mean?”

His breath faltered, “I shouldn’t have done this—I was angry I guess” You nodded, confused. “I don’t know how to say this, huh” 

To catch Sirius Black struggling to find some words was a spectacle—nor of you enjoying it. It fueled your anxiety and desires to run back to Regulus’ soft gaze, the one he gave you when you told him you were going to fix whatever you’ve done. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe you should have let the time work it out for you. 

“Sirius, you’re scaring me, please,” You tilted your head, getting close to him. It destroyed him—your fucking worried eyes. 

“I liked you, and you ran to my brother’s arms!” His tone was harsh, and he crossed his arms in his chest when you shot him a confused look. Like a spoiled child, who wants something he can’t have.

“So you decided to not talk to me again, without saying anything?” He couldn’t utter a word, he felt dizzy, even. He couldn’t understand how he was in that situation. “You know, I liked you too, for a while, but I knew if I told you, you’d have broken my heart. That’s who you are” 

He breathed in, appearing trapped. “It was different with you!”

“How—how was it different? —No, you know what, save it. I didn’t deserve any  this” You pointed furiously your index finger in his direction. 

He bit his lip. He would rather see you angry than put up with your understanding side. He hurted you, and maybe he didn’t deserve to be forgiven, for now. “Sorry, it's not gonna happen again. Don’t know what else I can do” 

So he didn’t do anything.

Summer came over, distancing you from them. You tried to close the wound, because they never apologized, and Sirius did a terrible job at it. But it didn’t matter anymore, because  you probably won’t see them again. They graduated and you’ve heard James and Lily were trying to have a baby—feeling the need to leave something behind. You were afraid to reach for them, to send a letter congratulating them, to know what they’d do now. You missed Lily and developed a hate for Regulus’ older brother and his poor emotion management. A feel that grew everyday like an undergrowth, one you watered with self doubt.

“I knew he liked you,” Regulus’ had confessed some time after. “He stared at you as if you were a piece of meat. Another girl he can ruin and then left” 

You wouldn’t have suspected anything if his eyes wouldn’t give him away  — he felt guilty.

Your breath wavered at the realization, and Regulus knew. “You’re cruel, I’ve been in love with you for months and you only asked me to be your girlfriend because you saw Sirius as a threat?” Your voice was delicate, slow but unsteady, as your own insecurities jeopardize your calm.

Regulus had shook his head rapidly, with a mind ridden by guilt. “I felt the same, I was just scare you didn’t want me that way—He just made me realize I had so save you” 

You snorted. “Pff, Save me?” 

His head gave up, hanging low, avoiding your eyes. “I’m sorry I was wrong, please don’t be angry at me” He begged in a low tone, barely audible. But it was sincere and ras.

“I’m not—“

“—Nor disappointed” You smiled. It was real Regulus. It was Regulus’ realizing his decayed stability. And you had promised you'd go through this. 

Warm hands greeted his cold, sharp cheeks. Held his head and mind—quite literally. “I’m not, Reggie,” It was heaven, as your thumbs traced his cheekbones. “I’m just sad, you needed — you waited until someone gave me attention to act. You wouldn’t have said anything…” In such a short time your self deprecating ruminations had leaked through your conscious mind. But you won’t unfold your heart in this situation. 

His head lingered near your shoulder, craving more of your touch, but so afraid to ask for more than he thought he deserved. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry, can you forgive me?” He kept apologizing, not raising his voice. 

You push his head up. You hadn’t expected to find tears at the edge of his silver eyes. “You’re forgiven, just don’t do that again, please” Like a caged animal set free, his arms snaked around your torso, flushing you against him. But it wasn’t enough—he craved more. 

Shoving his nose into your shoulder, Regulus had tried to remember your scent. To have it forever stuck in his mind. “I’ll try. I’ll do anything” A short silence filled your ears. “Do—do you still love me?” He muffled against the upper side of your left collarbone. 

You placed a short, tender kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Reggie” A promise, it was a promise. All you could do was give, give everything to him.

Foundations putrid and all, when pieces fell, they’d remain together glued by the sweet but dangerous desire of being needed and to need each other. Glued by three-word promises. 

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED i will literally give you forehead kisses if you support me <3

[radiant-reid]

Easter Sunday

a/n: in honor of my favorite holiday and favorite comfort character

Summary: A cute Easter brunch with the team and some Reid babies

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (fluff)

Word Count: 3.0k

Masterlist | Navigation

The sun shining through the large double windows marks the perfect start to the day. The weather forecast has promised sunshine and higher-the-usual temperatures for the holiday weekend. Emily let the team have a five-day weekend as the BAU tradition has dictated for several years. Hotch originally started it, realizing, three months after Christmas, there was a need for family time. 

For the Reid children, things look different now that their dad is home more. He has always been very present, but now he’s at more practices, doing drop-offs and pick-ups, and reading stories at bedtime. Still, their excitement for Easter has been growing, knowing it means uninterrupted time with all of their uncles and aunts.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” Spencer greets her from the doorway before she notices he’s not in bed next to her.

He hands her the mug she has every day, filled with perfectly made coffee. He’s the expert at that, so it’s his first task in the morning.

“Thank you, handsome.” She replies, adding to the thanks with a soft kiss on his lips. “It looks like a good day out there.” She notes as he draws the curtain open. 

“It’s meant to be in the high 70s later.” He reports, probably having already skimmed the New York Times.

She grins, sipping her coffee. “Perfect for today.”

“We should host one time,” Spencer suggests.

Y/n chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Rossi would never go for it, and I thought you’d know better than to mess with tradition.” 

He nods, knowing it’s true. “We’ll stick to summer barbeques and birthday parties since it’s the perfect house.”

It’s the type of house Spencer never really saw himself living in. Growing up, he lived comfortably, and thanks to the mortgage being paid off before his dad left, he continued living in a very middle-class area of suburban Las Vegas until he went to school. 

California was more expensive, but between his multiple scholarships, he had enough money to feed himself, always be caffeinated, and live in a small apartment near Cal Tech. He didn’t see the need to spend every cent he had living somewhere fancier, and his mom’s treatment wasn’t fully covered, so he paid for that. 

In DC, his place was simple. He didn’t need anything more than a one-bedroom apartment since he didn’t have family coming to stay, and without any student debt and a good-paying job, he had more money than he needed.

When they moved in together, it was to Y/n’s larger apartment that they eventually brought, and with two bedrooms, there was no need for anything huge until Matilda was old enough to sleep in her own room.

After learning they would have twins their second time, their quickly growing family needed much more space, so they brought their dream house. As much as he wanted it, Spencer never expected to have a family or a large home in the suburbs, but he does now, and every morning, he’s grateful for it.

“True.” Y/n agrees. 

Spencer sits back on the bed next to her, and she throws her legs over his lap, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling into his side as they enjoy a few minutes together in silence before the craziness of their day starts. 

Gurgling on the baby monitor breaks the peace, and the video feed shows Mabel standing up and shaking the crib bars. 

“I’ll go.” Spencer declares, shuffling away from her to get out of bed. “And I’ll get the twins changed.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows, looking impressed with what he’s promising to tackle. “Good luck.” She jokes, grinning at him as she also gets out of bed. 

“I’ve got this.” He assures her. “Go shower and get dressed up.” 

She’s not about to argue with it. Having a shower where she doesn’t get interrupted by little hands banging on the door asking for snacks or to change the TV channel would be a rarity. 

Her new dress is perfect for Easter and spring, long and flowy white fabric with a blue floral pattern and a sweetheart neckline. It’ll look even better with some soft curls in her hair.

Spencer’s first stop is Mabel’s room. The door’s sign says her name, and the bedroom has cute flowers painted on the wall above the crib. “Hi, sweet baby.” He coos, reaching out for his youngest. She still wears her sleep sack to bed, and Spencer thinks it’s the cutest thing.

She squeals when she recognizes him, jumping adorably. “Daddy!” She yells in her sleepy voice. 

He scoops her up, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling her tightly to his chest before kissing her forehead. “You know, I think you might be ready for a big girl’s bed soon.” He tells her.

Mabel rests her forehead against his. “Like Tilda?” She asks, eyes sparkling at the mention of her big sister.

“Just like Matilda and the twins, too.” He answers.

She pulls back from him quickly with excitement. “We go see them?”

“Let Daddy put your pretty dress on you first, and then we can see them.” He tells her. “If they’re awake.” 

They are awake, he discovers when he finally finishes dressing Mabel. She runs ahead of Spencer and climbs the stairs without help to find the three of them in the living room.

“Hi, little people,” Spencer says, announcing himself to them. 

They spin around from the TV, jumping up from where they’re sitting and rushing over to hug him. It’s one of his favorite sights when they get excited that their eyes shine upon seeing him, and one of the best feelings is how warm he feels when they race over and fling their arms around him. He has never felt as much love as he does now, yet somehow, it grows more each day.

“Daddy, it’s Easter!” Matilda cheers. 

“I know.” He says. “Happy Easter.”

“Did the Easter bunny come?” Toby wonders. 

Spencer nods. “Grandpa Rossi called to say he’d dropped off lots of chocolate eggs for all of you.” It’s a lie, technically, but it makes their faces light up all over again, so it’s worth it.

“Are the cousins coming?” Aspen wonders. 

“Henry, Michael, Jake, David, Chloe, Lily, Rose, and Hank is as well,” Spencer lists the other BAU kids and former BAU kid, earning another round of cheers from his kids. “We need to get ready, though. Tillie, your dress is hanging in your wardrobe. Want me to help you, Aspen?”

She shakes her head. “No, I can get changed by myself.”

Independent as always, and something he should have anticipated. “Okay, upstairs and into dresses.” He instructs. “Then you can watch TV. T, you want daddy’s help getting ready?”

“Can you put gel in my hair?” Toby asks. “Mommy says that it looks handsome.”

Spencer chuckles at how cute his little boy is. “Sure, bud.” He agrees. “And it does make you look very handsome.”

It’s always a juggle with four kids, trying to get everyone dressed in time to go anywhere. Mabel can’t be left alone, so Spencer has to multitask between keeping her from running away to cause trouble while doing Toby’s hair and ensuring Aspen and Matilda haven’t gotten distracted. 

“Look how handsome you look.” Y/n coos as she peers into the bathroom where Spencer’s finishing off Toby’s hair. 

“Mommy!” He squeals, jumping off the stool and running over to hug her.

She hugs him back, careful not to ruin his hair. “Hey, bubba, did Daddy do your hair really nice?”

“Mhm.” He answers. 

“You want help getting changed?” She offers, met by him shaking his head, following the independent streak of his older sisters. “Alright, get to it, Mister.” She instructs, sending him off to his room with a pat on the back. Spencer’s eyes stay fixed on her as she stands there, and he rests against the bathroom counter. “What?” She asks shyly.

He smiles softly at her. “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “It’s just you’re so pretty. I still can’t believe you’re my wife.”

Then Y/n is grinning dumbly, twirling in her dress for him to get the full 360 view. “I might marry you again if you keep being so sweet.”

“Then I’d be the luckiest guy in the world again.” He tells her, walking over and placing his hands on her waist. He just stands there looking at her, admiring every detail of her makeup.

“Stop.” She says, pushing his shoulder. “I love you, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer steals a kiss, careful not to mess up her pink lipstick. “I love you more, Y/n Reid.” 

She shakes her head. “Impossible, but we should debate that later.” She decides. “We’ve got babies to get ready.”

“Yeah.” Spencer agrees. “It’s been oddly silent for a little too long.” 

Thankfully, the silence wasn’t getting-into-mischief silence. Y/n takes over getting the kids ready while Spencer gets himself dressed, and impressively, they’re done five minutes early.

“How you do this every morning is a miracle to me.” He remarks as they make their way out the door. 

“I’m just a super mom.” She jokes, but it’s the truth.

“You absolutely are.” Spencer agrees with her. “The best mom in the world.”

Car rides are possibly louder than being inside, thanks to the enclosed space, but Rossi’s house is only a few minutes drive, and they pull in behind JJ’s car. 

The girls are in pretty pink dresses that’ll no doubt end up covered in grass stains, and Toby’s pastel blue shirt matches Spencer’s. In both Y/n and Spencer’s eyes, they’re the most beautiful children ever.

“Little Reids!” Penelope cheers as soon as they’re through Rossi’s wide-open front door. She’s crouched down to scoop them all up, wrapping them all in a tight hug, looking like the definition of sunshine in her yellow dress. “Aren’t you four just so perfect?” She asks rhetorically as she pulls back to look at them. They are, and their parents nod to answer her confession.

After answering a few of Penelope’s questions, they squirm away to run through the house and greet everyone else. 

“And the perfect parents.” She greets them with hugs as well. 

 Y/n chuckles onto her shoulder. “You look incredible, Pen.” She compliments.

“That’s you, Mrs. Reid.” She replies. “And you’re all matching, just the cutest family ever.”

Spencer grins, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “We kind of are.” He agrees.

“Come on, come see everyone.” Penelope ushers them through the house, taking on the role of secondary host as she usually does at Rossi’s. She and Krystall tag-team the job.

Henry, Michael, Hank, Matilda, Toby, Aspen, and Mabel are waiting in the living room, their little faces pressed against the glass as they look out the big glass doors trying to spot the hidden easter eggs in the garden. 

Everyone’s in their nice clothing, dresses and good shirts with jackets. It’s mostly BAU members Y/n often sees at Rossi’s, but Derek and Savannah have made the trip and quickly hug their old friends.

“Look at you, mama,” Derek remarks. “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”

“And you’re as flattering as ever.” She jokes, nudging his shoulder. “We didn’t know for sure that you’d be coming.”

“Couldn’t miss a family day.” He reminds her.

The Simmons’ walk through the door a moment later, and Rossi flings open the glass doors for the excited children to race outside and start their egg hunt with squeals of delight. 

Y/n gives Rossi a hug as the adults stream outside. “Thank you for hosting another wonderful Easter.”

“You’re always welcome, my dear.” He assures her. “I hope you don’t mind the little Reids going home full of sugar.” He nods to the massive baskets of chocolate and candy each kid carries, almost as big as Mabel. 

“I guess Spencer’s doing bedtime.” She jokes. An hour on the trampoline should do the trick.

“Speak of the devil,” Rossi says, drawing her attention to her husband as he comes waltzing over, holding out an extra mimosa to her.

She takes it appreciatively, letting him wrap his arm around her shoulder. “A very handsome devil.” She chuckles, making Spencer blush easily. It’s endearing to her that he reacts the way he did the first time.

“Shall we eat?” Rossi asks, looking around the yard where everyone’s scattered chatting. 

“It almost looks too delicious to eat.” Y/n compliments, looking at the spread.

It’s the gorgeous, perfectly prepared food the team has become accustomed to having at Rossi’s. There are hot cross buns, fresh bread, fruit salad, pastries of all kinds, bacon, eggs, waffles, and all the toppings in the world.

They sit at the adult table, and Spencer’s hand drifts to her knee instinctively. It’s why she sits on his left side each time. The kid table is next to the big one with smaller seats and prefilled plastic cups of juice. Rossi and Krystall are always prepared to entertain.

The kids take their seats, and Y/n momentarily leaves to ensure they’re getting balanced plates and not just gorging themselves on chocolate and candy. 

Then she’s back to Spencer’s side, and they’re talking with the rest of the team, basking in the warmth of the sun and family. It’s what they always have been. Even throughout the darkness they’ve seen over the years, they’re closer than ever, and there’s so much love between them.

After brunch, a few drinks in, and Spencer’s more relaxed, pulling Y/n onto his lap and resting his head on her shoulder while they laugh and joke with the team.  

It doesn’t last too long before someone’s pulling on Spencer’s sleeve. “Daddy, can you look for the Easter eggs in the trees?” Toby asks, showing him his best puppy eyes even though it’s unnecessary since he’d do anything for him.

Spencer looks around the table to see Derek and Matt being asked the same question, all three of them being targeted by their sons for their height. Flashing a curious look at Rossi, Spencer agrees, moving out from under Y/n to join the hunt. 

Rossi and Krystall insist on cleaning up, not wanting their guests to move a muscle, which leaves most of the girls alone at the table since Penelope and Luke are getting drinks and definitely not flirting with each other.

Rose, who has been sleeping so far, starts to cry in her carrier, and Kristy unclips her, pulling her into her arms for cuddles to quiet her. She’s adorable, most similar looking to Jake, in Y/n’s opinion. 

“She’s so tiny.” Y/n remarks off-handedly, looking at the small baby. “What’s it like? Four to five?” 

All eyes are on her in a second, but JJ beats everyone else to speak. “You’re not...”

Y/n shakes her head quickly, stopping that rumor before it can start. “No. No, I’m not.” She assures them, holding up her glass of champagne to prove it. “I’m just wondering.”

“The nights are rough, but diaper changing is still the same,” Kristy answers honestly. “And Mabel’s probably young enough that you’ve got all her stuff. Is it something you’re considering?”

Y/n shakes her head again. “Not until I see a little baby or that.” Her eyes drift to Spencer, who’s chasing Toby and Aspen around the yard. “But we could end up with twins again, and I think six is a little too crazy.” 

Laughter breaks out around the rest of the group, which relieves the seriousness of discussing family planning.

“Here.” Kristy offers Rose to hold, and Y/n takes the baby happily, looking at her adorable face and seeing up close how tiny she is. 

“She’s so precious.” She notes, catching Spencer’s eyes. “Spence, look at how little she is.”

Her address gets Matt and Derek’s attention, who are standing next to Spencer. “Uh oh,” Derek remarks knowingly, smirking at Spencer. 

“Someone’s about to commit to a new baby.” Matt pats him on the shoulder, smirking as well. 

Spencer chuckles, unsure of if it’s true or not. He’ll give her another baby, promised he’d go up to five if she was willing. “Do you think I could pretend I didn’t hear her?” He asks jokingly.

“Get over there, papa bear.” Derek insists with a laugh. 

Dutifully, he walks over, sitting next to Y/n and admiring the baby. “She’s so cute.” He compliments Kristy first.

“Look at how little she is.” Y/n repeats. 

“Yeah, it seems impossible they’re ever this little.” He remarks, earning hums of agreement from the other women sitting around the table who once had babies this little and now have fully grown children running around in the yard. He remembers when his children were that little like it was yesterday, but Rose still looks tiny. “No more, though.” He tells his wife with a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She agrees. “Not when we’re just getting full nights of sleep.”

The party continues into the late afternoon. The company is too good, and too much fun is being had for anyone to leave earlier. 

Despite how much candy they’ve eaten, Aspen and Matilda still manage to eat more in the car on the way home. Y/n agrees they can sleep in the lounge for a sleepover while watching movies, and it takes them far longer than usual to fall asleep, but they do. 

Y/n and Spencer hug in the kitchen as they watch the ending credits. He knows it’s a good chance to ask about what he heard earlier. “Do you actually want another baby?”

She’s taken aback, figuring it was forgotten, but she shakes her head. “Not really, but I think our kids are beautiful, and babies are cute when they’re that little.”

“We’d get more chocolate if we had five.” Spencer jokes, nodding to the baskets on the table and pulling away from her to steal one. 

“Spencer.” She giggles, splitting the chocolate egg with him. “I think we’ve got more than enough. It’ll last us until next year.”

“I love Easter, you know?” He asks rhetorically. “And you, everything we have, our kids, being a dad, brunch.” 

She nods in agreement, leaning up to peck his lips. “I love you, too. Thanks for being in this with me.”

Spencer takes her left hand and kisses her ring finger. “Always.”

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