#he was so excited about the magic box

[theladydi]

watching merlin as a buffy fan is such a bizarre experience, seeing anthony head stewart play a character with such a visceral hatred of magic seems kind of funny when this is literally him as giles

[vox-off]

brandon and i have been saving up since the set announcement to get three boxes of thunder junction boosters - one to open and two to draft out of while we wait for bloomburrow - and i gotta say, the sheer number of duplicates we pulled was a big disappointment

i mostly stopped seeing new cards after the third pack i opened; there was an occasional new card but 99% were repeats, even the prosperity post frame cards. from pack 4 onwards, it was pretty much the same 50 cards in a random rotation. we have - and i'm not kidding, we counted - over 15 copies of most cards we opened

we drafted half of the second box, then stopped and just opened the remaining packs. it felt like we were drafting the same decks over and over again, it was getting monotonous. we still have one box left and neither of us is particularly excited to open it; it's probably just going to be the same 50 cards again

[leonsrightarm]

had an absolutely excellent idea for a children's/ya fantasy novel last night but unfortunately every moment of my life is too exhausting to bear

[mononijikayu]

i saw mommy kissing santa claus — fushiguro toji

“Mom, I saw you kissing Santa Claus last night.” You froze, the coffee cup halfway to your lips as your cheeks turned a warm shade of red. Your husband Toji, on the other hand, lowered his mug, his sharp green eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked at you, one brow raised, fighting the grin threatening to spread across his face. “Oh, really, kid?” Toji said, leaning back casually. “Mommy here was kissing Santa Claus, huh?” You stammered, caught off guard. “W-well, Megumi, I think maybe you were dreaming—" “Nope!” Megumi insisted, crossing his little arms over his chest. “I saw it, mom. You were right by the tree!” 

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, christmas day, santa, parenthood, pet names (babe, love, etc), love, humor, light-hearted, domestic life, slice of life, being in love, parenthood, married life, healthy relationship, toddler, family, late night sex, kissing, p-i-v sex, profanity, sexual intercourse, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of body praise, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, husband! toji, mamaguro! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: toji seems to me like the type who would have been so good at teasing mamaguro??? like he would definitely be the person that would also wear a santa claus costume just to put megumi's gifts on the tree and then know that megumi would be watching??? anyway i love their tiny family i am so floored every time i write about them. anyway merry fushiguro christmas!!! i love you all <3

box it up, christmas hun! (santa kayu 2024)

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU ALWAYS ADORED CHRISTMAS. Even as a child, the magic of the holiday season was something your mother and father made sure to bring alive for you.

They worked tirelessly to fill each moment with joy, whether it was the way the house glowed with lights or how the scent of fresh-baked cookies lingered in the air. 

Your favorite memories were wrapped in those small, meaningful traditions—sipping hot chocolate while the snow fell softly outside, unwrapping presents by the fire, and gathering together to share stories and laughter. It wasn’t about the gifts or the grandeur, but the warmth of family and the sense of belonging.

Now that you had a family of your own, you were determined to recreate that magic, to pass down those same feelings of joy and love to the people you held closest to your heart. Fushiguro Toji wasn’t raised with those kinds of traditions. 

For him, the holidays were often just another day. Especially when he lived with his family and even after that. There was no desire for a fuss, no fanfare. But when it came to you, he was more than willing to step out of his comfort zone.

Toji might not have admitted it outright, but seeing how much the holidays meant to you made it easy for him to get involved. Whether it was wrestling with tangled strings of lights or holding your hand while you browsed for the perfect tree, he found himself drawn into the excitement. It was a quiet kind of joy for him, watching your face light up with happiness as you brought the season to life.

When your beloved Megumi came along, the holidays became even more special. Toji was quick to embrace his role, even if it meant helping you with putting out the tree or helping to bake cookies that somehow ended up burnt half the time.

He didn’t care if it was messy or chaotic—seeing the laughter, the wide-eyed wonder, and the unfiltered happiness of his family made every effort worth it.

What surprised him most was how much he’s slowly come to love those traditions, too. They weren’t just holidays anymore; they were the foundation of memories he never knew he needed.

He started to look forward to the little things, like staying up late with you to wrap presents or watching Megumi to try to stay awake for Santa, only to fall asleep halfway through their schemes.

Each holiday became another chance to build something new together, a season filled with traditions that were uniquely yours. Toji might have started off doing it for you, but somewhere along the way, he realized he was doing it for himself, too.

After all, your beautiful family meant everything to him, it’s now his safe zone—and these moments were proof that he finally had one worth celebrating.

So on this bright Christmas morning, your comely house was tenderly wrapped in a soft, magical stillness. The gentle hum of the house’s heater and the occasional crackle from the fireplace your husband had set up added to the warmth of the room. 

The Christmas tree glowed with colorful lights, their reflections dancing on the ornaments and the neatly wrapped presents beneath. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air, blending with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Young and bright four year old Fushiguro Megumi shuffled into the living room, his favorite blanket dragging behind him like a cape. His small, sleepy frame was bundled in his fuzzy pajamas, the ones with tiny snowflakes printed all over. 

His dark charcoal hair was a tousled mess, sticking out in every direction as if he’d been wrestling with his dreams. He paused near the doorway, rubbing his blue–green eyes, and blinked at the cozy scene before him.

There you were, curled up on the couch with Toji, both of you cradling steaming mugs of coffee. Toji was dressed in his usual casual sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, the other holding his mug. He looked relaxed, his sharp green eyes softened with a rare, unguarded warmth. 

You were tucked into his side, your legs curled beneath you, wearing an oversized Christmas special cardigan and your fuzzy faux fur slippers.

The two of you shared a quiet moment, sipping the coffee your husband brewed and exchanging conversation and content smiles as the early morning sunlight peeked through the curtains.

Megumi's sleepy gaze lit up as he took in the sight of the tree, its glowing lights illuminating the pile of presents waiting for him. His little mouth opened in a gasp, and he looked at the two of you with wide, sparkling blue–green orbs.

“It’s Christmas!” he announced, his voice still tinged with the rasp of sleep but filled with excitement. “It’s Christmas morning!”

You smiled, setting your mug on the coffee table and opening your arms to him. “Good morning, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He toddled over, crawling onto the couch and nestling between you and Toji. Toji chuckled, ruffling Megumi’s messy hair affectionately. “Morning, kid. Looks like Santa came through for you this time around, huh?”

Megumi nodded eagerly, his blue–green eyes darting back to the presents under the tree. “Can I open them now?” he asked, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation.

“Not even a good morning first?” Toji teased, arching an eyebrow. But the playful tone in his voice made Megumi giggle. “Too excited, you are.”

“Good morning, Dad.” Megumi said, grinning as he leaned against you. “Good morning, Mom.”

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, his excitement so pure and unfiltered. You kissed the top of his little head, wrapping an arm around him as Toji stood and stretched, walking over to grab the digital camera.

“All right.” Toji said with a smirk, motioning to the tree. “Let’s see what Santa left for you, kid.”

With a delighted squeal, Fushiguro Megumi scrambled off the couch and ran toward the presents, his blanket forgotten on the floor in his excitement.

You and Toji shared a tender glance, his usual smirk softening into a genuine, warm smile. You shake your head, looking at him with much contentment.

He walked back to you, settling beside you on the couch and slipping his hand into yours. His touch was steady, grounding, as the two of you watched Megumi dive headfirst into the pile of gifts.

His bright laughter filled the room, bright and melodic, blending perfectly with the soft crackle of the fireplace.

For a moment, everything was perfect—pure joy radiating from your son as he examined each box like it was a priceless treasure. Then, Megumi suddenly paused, his small frame still in the middle of the living room. 

He turned slowly to face you both, his expression shifting into something unusually serious, his little brows furrowing in a way that was far too mature for his age. When he wasn’t smiling, you were sure your son was quite a young old man in that tiny body. 

You blinked, puzzled, as Toji sat up straighter, his grip on your hand loosening. Before either of you could ask what was wrong, Megumi crossed his arms over his chest, his blanket forgotten entirely now, and declared with absolute certainty:

“Mom, I saw you kissing Santa Claus last night.”

You froze, the coffee cup halfway to your lips as your cheeks turned a warm shade of red. Your husband Toji, on the other hand, lowered his mug, his sharp green eyes sparkling with mischief. He looked at you, one brow raised, fighting the grin threatening to spread across his face.

“Oh, really, kid?” Toji said, leaning back casually. “Mommy here was kissing Santa Claus, huh?”

You stammered, caught off guard. “W-well, Megumi, I think maybe you were dreaming—"

“Nope!” Megumi insisted, crossing his little arms over his chest. “I saw it, mom. You were right by the tree!” 

His little pout was so serious it almost made you laugh. You tried to hold your composure, his cute little glare gleaming at you with the most adorable aggression. He looked too much like Toji when he was like this. And that had made you even more adoring of him in this way.

Toji’s chuckle deepened as he leaned back on the couch, completely unbothered. “Cookies and milk are standard, kid.” he said, shrugging casually. “But Santa? He’s a special guest. Sometimes he deserves a little extra appreciation.”

Megumi tilted his head, his little face scrunching in thought. “Like a hug?” he asked, glancing back at the presents under the tree, though his curiosity still lingered.

“Sure, sure.” Toji said, smirking as he threw a glance your way. “Or something like that.”

You nudged him with your elbow, your cheeks heating up again. “Toji, that’s not something you should be jumping into.” you whispered under your breath, giving him a look that was equal parts exasperated and amused.

Toji just grinned and leaned in closer to you, his voice low so only you could hear. “What? I didn’t even mention the mistletoe.” His tone was full of playful mischief, and you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. 

“Mom? Dad?” Megumi’s voice broke through, his tiny hands clutching a brightly wrapped box as he looked up at you both. “Can I open this one first?”

You gave a soft laugh, glad for the distraction. “Of course, sweetheart.” you said, smiling warmly at him.

Toji reached over, ruffling Megumi’s hair again as the boy plopped down in front of the tree. “Go for it, kid. Let’s see what Santa left you.”

“Hmm. Okay.” he finally muttered, turning his attention to the colorful boxes waiting for him.

Megumi’s attention shifted entirely to the gift in his hands, his little fingers working furiously to tear the wrapping paper. You let out a breath, glancing at Toji, who was still watching you with that infuriatingly smug look.  His hands wrapped against your shoulders. 

He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Kissing Santa, huh, babe?” he teased, leaning in close. “Got any more Christmas spirit for me?”

Your face burned as you playfully shoved him, your smile betraying you. “Shut up, Toji.” you whispered, though the giggle that escaped ruined the effect.

“Guess Santa’s the lucky one this year, don’t you think?” he murmured.

You bit your lip, shaking your head but unable to hide the smile that crept across your face. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, yeah.” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer as he looked at you. “But you love me anyway.”

“Merry Christmas, babe.” Toji murmured, stealing a quick kiss.

“Merry Christmas, love.” you whispered back, heart full and cheeks still warm.

══════════════════

TOJI SAID HE PLANNED EVERYTHING. And knowing how much you trusted your husband, you do believe him. He hasn’t ever failed you before, after all. Your husband wasn’t going to fail you now either. He said he’s going to make it happen and he will. 

The night before Christmas was serene, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the fireplace and the occasional rustle of branches as the tree swayed slightly under the weight of its ornaments. 

The vibrant living room glowed softly, bathed in the colorful twinkle of Christmas lights that reflected off the shiny ribbons and bows of some of the presents you had already wrapped and bought for Megumi and each other. All Toji has to do now is add the other ones you bought for Megumi.

You had just finished cleaning up after dinner, your feet padding lightly across the wooden floor as you straighten a few stray decorations. A hum of curiosity pulled you toward the living room, and when you peeked around the corner, you couldn’t hold back a small smile from appearing on your pinkish lips.

There he was— Fushiguro Toji, crouched by the tree, fully dressed in a Santa Claus suit. The red fabric clung to his massively broad frame, the white trim looking comically out of place against his rugged demeanor. 

The bright red hat was askew on his head, barely covering his wild, dark hair, and the sight of him muttering multiple times under his breath while adjusting a precariously balanced present was nothing short of endearing.

“Damn this tree’s too small.” Toji grumbled, carefully shoving a particularly large box further under the branches. “How the hell does Santa Claus even do this without knocking everything over? Like, this is just an insane operation for a break in. Mission impossible even!”

You stifled a laugh, leaning against the doorway as you crossed your arms. “You’re really committing to this Santa Claus thing, huh?”

Toji glanced up sharply, his green eyes narrowing at you in mock irritation before softening into a lopsided smirk. You sighed, smiling as he enjoys taking in the sight of you like this. He has never thought he would ever have something as enjoyable as this life. And he always has you to thank for it.

“Caught me, babe.” he said, straightening up and dusting his hands off. “Santa Claus really had to work harder for this. And I gotta commit like he does, babe. I mean, this is harder than it looks, you know.”

You stepped into the room, your gaze sweeping over the scene. “You’re supposed to look jolly, not grumpy, love. Kids don’t want an angry Santa Claus.”

Toji snorted, tugging at the crooked hat and tossing it onto the couch. “You’re lucky I even agreed to wear this, babe.” he said, gesturing at the suit with a faint grimace. “This thing’s itchy as hell. How the hell did people wear this without having to scratch everywhere? Even my crotch feels itchy.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to adjust one of the presents he’d just placed. “You’re not exactly selling the magic of Christmas, love.”

He leaned against the arm of the couch, his smirk turning sly. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m doing pretty good. The kid’s gonna love it in the morning. He’s going to have fun about Santa bringing in lotsssss of cool presents.”

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “And what about me? Does Santa Claus have any surprises for me? I mean….I should get gifts too, right?”

Toji’s grin widened as he pushed off the couch and sauntered toward you, his voice dropping to a playful, sensual murmur. “Actually, yeah. Look up, babe.”

Your eyes followed his gaze, landing on the tiny sprig of mistletoe hanging above your heads. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. You looked at him with so much adoration, you couldn’t help it. He just made you feel giddy every single day. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

He took another step closer, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe. But I’m also a hardworking Santa Claus. And Santa likes to get paid for his trouble. I’m sure this pretty lady in front of him will ease his troubles.”

You rolled your eyes playfully once more, your lips twitching as you fought back a smile. “Naughty Santa, aren’t you?” you muttered, leaning up just enough to close the gap between you. “What about Mrs. Claus?”

“Don’t have one.” He smiles down at you, his thumb pressing against your lips. “Would you wanna volunteer to be one, pretty woman?”

You laughed aloud at his words. “Shouldn’t you take me out to dinner first?”

“Well, if you’d let me, then I will.” He grins at you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you.”

“Good. Santa’s happy about that.”

“Well, we only want that, don’t we?” You smiled at him.

“Hm, very great for securing your kid a spot on my gift list.”

You giggled at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous, future Mrs. Claus.” 

You laughed at his words again, which made him very happy. Your husband Toji happily pressed hands forward and found your waist as he met you halfway, his sly lips brushing against yours in a passionate kiss that was far too warm for such a chilly night. 

You pushed deeper, kissing him back, pulling him closer to you. When you finally pulled back to take a breath, his grin was smug as it was shameless, his bright  green eyes gleaming with the endless joy that comes with having you as his beloved. 

“Best payment I’ve ever gotten. By far.” he murmured, his voice soft but smug.

You laughed, swatting at his chest as you stepped away. “Go finish your job, Santa Claus. There’s still a tree that needs all the presents to set up for the good kid.”

He chuckled, watching you with a lingering smile as you walked away. “Yes, ma’am. But don’t think this is over.” he called after you, his tone full of promise.

“I look forward to it, Santa!”

══════════════════

OF COURSE YOU’LL NEVER FORGET ABOUT LAST NIGHT. You could still feel your legs sore and your throat full of his pleasurable bites. But that wasn’t important right now, even though, of course it felt really good. Santa was really good with blessings. But that wasn’t the point. 

You could feel your cheeks turn redder and your ears more scarlet. You tried to calm yourself down as you continued to clear out stuff in the kitchen. The cookies were more important. You had guests coming over.

Of course, on the other side of the wall, the living room was alive with Megumi’s excited giggles and the joyful chaos of wrapping paper flying in every direction.  His precious little voice carried as he marveled at each gift, holding up toys and books like treasures. 

You peeked at him from the kitchen, your heart swelling at how happy he was. Your son’s joys were the reason you always worked so hard at the prosecutor’s office. And he was, genuinely, the happiest little boy. And that made everything feel like it paid off.

You were in the middle of arranging cookies on a festive plate when you felt it: a pair of strong arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against a firm chest. The scent of pine and the faintest trace of cologne told you exactly who it was before he even spoke.

“Toji, love.” you started, a hint of exasperation in your voice. “What are you doing?”

“Mmm nothing.” he murmured against your ear, his voice rich and teasing. He grins slowly as he catches a peak of the hickeys from your side, hidden in the cardigan. “Just came to say thank you for, you know... last night.”

Your hands froze, the cookie you were holding slipping onto the counter as heat rushed to your cheeks. You were just trying to forget about it now but the images started to flood your head once more as your husband nibbles against your ear.

“Toji, please.” you hissed, glancing nervously toward the doorway to make sure Megumi was too busy with his presents to overhear. The last thing you need is to traumatize your little son.“Not now.”

But Fushiguro Toji, as always, was undeterred. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing just close enough to your ear to make you shiver. He hums against your skin, bright eyes looking at you with wanton affection.

“What? I’m just saying Santa Claus didn’t just get a kiss under the mistletoe. I mean he enjoyed it really well too—”

You spin your head toward him, your bright eyes wide as you whisper with embarrassment. “Will you stop? Love, our son’s on the other side of the wall and—”

Toji only grinned, his hold on you tightening slightly as he leaned in closer. “Come on, sweetheart. Admit it. Santa Claus always deserves a little something extra for working so hard, don’t you think?”

“You sly fox of a husband.” you hissed, swatting at his arm as your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. “You are impossible. I swear, Toji.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, clearly reveling in your flustered state. “You’re cute when you’re all embarrassed like this, babe.” he teased, nuzzling the side of your neck in a way that made your heart skip. “But I wasn’t lying, you know. Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Your heart melted at his words, even as you tried to maintain your composure. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, love.” you muttered, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a small smile crept onto your face. “Otherwise, it’d be a different story.”

Toji shifted, leaning back just enough to study your beautiful expressions. His bright green eyes were soft, a rare tenderness shining in them that made your breath catch. The air of joy blossoming in his chest ever so fondly when he looks at you more. 

“Lucky, huh?” he said, a hint of sincerity beneath the teasing. “Nah. I’m the luckiest guy every day I wake up to you. Every day, every minute, every second. Every day. For forever. I’m the luckiest guy on earth, babe.”

Your face burned hotter, and you turned back to the cookies to hide your expression from him. You could feel your heart making flips and jumps against the wall of your chest. He’s always so good at making you feel this way. 

You were really going to be overwhelmed for all your life with how much he always makes you feel the universe with his love and tenderness. You were always going to be falling in love with this man over and over again like this. You sighed, admitting defeat to him. 

 “You’re ridiculous, love.” you mumbled, but the warmth blossoming in your chest betrayed your words. “Really….”

He couldn’t help but chuckled again, reaching around you to snag a cookie off the plate. You gasp as you try to stop him, but he lifts it up and you pout at him, knowing you can’t reach it. He snickers at you. You turn back and continue putting away the other cookies.

“That’s why you love me, babe.” Toji said, his voice smooth and teasing as he took another bite of the cookie, his smirk practically glowing with satisfaction. 

Before you could muster a response, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss so gentle it made your heart flutter. “Don’t work too hard. Megumi and I are waiting for you, okay? Still got some presents left for us to open.”

You watched him stroll back into the living room, his broad frame relaxed, his laughter already mingling with Megumi’s excited chatter. His voice carried back to you, warm and playful, as he greeted your son again, seamlessly joining him in exploring his new toys. 

The sound of Megumi’s giggles and Toji’s deep chuckles filled the house, creating a melody that could warm even the coldest snowy, winter morning. It was what you wanted to wake up to every single day. It was all you could ever want for all of time.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, leaning back against the counter as a soft smile tugged at your lips. It was uncontrollable, this joy, this love that bubbled up in your chest. This was a love that had a place to go and blossom here in this place, in this family. In this life you have.

Ridiculous, you thought with a shake of your head. Toji was ridiculous. But he was also your, the most precious of men who made even the simplest moments unforgettable, who filled your life with laughter, warmth, and love.

And your precious Megumi. Your sweet, bright boy, was the perfect little light who completed the picture. Everything about life made sense when you met Toji and had Megumi together. Life began when you had this. And you knew he would agree with that sentiment.

You looked out at the scene before you, the two of them sprawled on the floor amid wrapping paper and toys, Megumi pointing animatedly at something as Toji nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

It was so small, so ordinary—and yet it was everything. It meant the world to you. No, you shook your head. It meant the universe to you. And you would never trade this for anything in the world.

You felt it all in that moment: gratitude, contentment, and a profound sense of love. How lucky you were, to have this life, this family. This was your everything. And no matter how many lifetimes you could dream of, you knew there would never be anything more beautiful than this.

“Babe, Megumi wants his mommy!” Toji’s voice called from the living room, pulling you from your thoughts.

You chuckled, pushing off the counter and heading toward the sound of your favorite voices. “Coming, love!”

As you stepped into the living room, Megumi beamed up at you, his hands full of his latest toy, while Toji looked over with a smirk that was both mischievous and affectionate. You settled in beside them, feeling their warmth wrap around you like a hug. 

Life wasn’t just great to live—it was perfect. 

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

══════════════════

TOJI'S TAKING ALL THE OPPORTUNITIES HE CAN GET. But if you were being honest, so were you. Last night wasn't enough for you to get your fill. When your husband is someone like Toji, how could you?

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the floorboards as the winter wind pressed against the walls.

Megumi had been tucked into bed after a long, laughter-filled Christmas dinner, his tiny snores signaling that he was sound asleep. The evening had been perfect—filled with warmth, love, and memories you’d cherish forever.

Now, it was just the two of you.

Toji leaned against the doorframe of your bedroom, watching as you pulled off the festive sweater you'd worn all day. His gaze was heavy, but not with exhaustion—it was something else, something that made your skin tingle.

"You finally sitting still for once?" he teased, his voice low, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I was waiting for you to catch up."

That was all the invitation he needed. Toji crossed the room in a few long strides, his arms circling your waist as he pulled you close. His lips found yours almost immediately, hungry, but unhurried. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, and for once, it felt like you did.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and eventually settling at your hips, holding you firmly against him. The heat between you both grew, sparking like the fire you’d left burning in the living room.

"I’ve been waiting all day for this, babe." he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and filled with need.

"Me too." you admitted, your breath hitching as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, teasing kisses that made your knees weak.

The world outside didn’t matter anymore. Not the snow piling up on the windowsill, not the mess of dishes waiting in the kitchen, and certainly not the clock ticking down the last hours of Christmas Day. All that mattered was the way Toji made you feel. You always feel so seen, loved, desired when it comes to your beloved husband.

He guided you toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second. The night was yours, a stolen moment of intimacy in the chaos of life.

And as his lips found yours again, you knew this was the best gift you could have asked for—time together, just the two of you, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s arms.

Toji’s arm slid right back around your neck, firm yet careful, pulling you closer as his lips claimed yours once more. The way he touched you sent shivers cascading down your spine, every sensation heightened by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

His grip was confident, possessive, and it made your pulse quicken as pleasure rippled through you like a rising tide. Each kiss, each graze of his hands against your skin, ignited something deep within you, leaving no room for anything else but the heat building between you.

He knew exactly how to unravel you, how to make you melt under his touch, and he didn’t hold back. He never holds back. Not when it was you he has to make love to. Making love to you was his church. It was his patronage. It was his repentance, it was his atonement. It was his salvation. His love for you was his salvation.

“Toji…” Your voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of breathlessness and yearning.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and intense, filled with something raw and unspoken. His thumb brushed gently along your jawline as his other arm stayed firmly around your neck, keeping you grounded in the moment.

“You doin' so good, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

The way he looked at you, the way he held you. Everything about it was overwhelming in the best way. Your body responded instinctively, arching into him as the pleasure coursed through every nerve, building higher with each kiss, each touch, each whispered word.

Time seemed to blur as he continued, his movements unhurried but deliberate, as though savoring every moment with you. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. This was all there was right now, just the two of you, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of each other.

Toji’s lips trailed down to your neck, his hot breath against your skin making you shiver. He knew exactly where to kiss, where to linger, drawing soft gasps from you as his hand caressed your side, sliding over the curves he loved to touch.

The pressure of his arm around your neck wasn’t rough, but good enough to make you feel the tension of his touch against your flesh. Everything about his touch, it was deliberate, possessive, reminding you that he wanted every inch of you, body and soul.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him to keep going. The sensations rolled through you like waves, each one stronger than the last, your body responding to his every move. You could feel the heat of him against you, the tension between you building with every touch, every kiss.

“Toji…” you murmured again, your voice trembling with need.

“Hmm?” He didn’t stop, his lips finding that spot just below your ear that made your breath hitch. “Say it again, babe.” he whispered, his tone dark and teasing, sending a fresh jolt of desire through you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently, and the low chuckle that escaped his lips vibrated against your skin, sending shivers cascading down your spine. The sound was rich, deep, and filled with promise, igniting a fire inside you that grew with every passing second.

His lips trailed along your jawline, slow and deliberate, before finding the sensitive curve of your neck. He lingered there, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.

Your body press instinctively closer to him. The warmth of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth against your skin, left you trembling, a quiet gasp spilling from your lips.

His hand slid lower, the roughness of his palm contrasting deliciously against your soft skin. His touch was teasing at first, featherlight, exploring, testing your limits.

But then it grew bolder, more certain, as he found the places that made you quiver beneath him. Every brush of his fingertips sent sparks shooting through your body, the intensity of it building with each moment.

You arched into him, desperate for more, the ache between you growing unbearable. A soft moan escaped you, unbidden but unstoppable, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him.

He let out another low, satisfied laugh, his breath hot against your neck as he murmured, “You sound so good, baby. Don’t stop.”

The pleasure rolled through you like a tidal wave, crashing over every part of you until all you could feel was him. It was all his touch, his heat, his weight against you.

The room seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you locked in this intimate dance, your bodies moving together in perfect, unspoken harmony.

Your skin grew slick with sweat, the heat between you almost unbearable but so, so good. Every movement, every touch, every kiss only pulled you deeper into him, the connection between you electric and all-consuming.

“Toji…” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes smoldering with desire as he leaned in close.

“I’ve got you, babe. I got you.” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with raw emotion.

And with those words, he claimed your lips again, pouring every ounce of his passion into the kiss. His hand tangled in your hair, his other still exploring, holding you firmly against him as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Toji’s breath hitched as he stilled, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. The heat of your body wrapped tightly around him, the soft, rhythmic flutter of your walls making him groan low in his throat.

It was almost too much for you, how big he was, how whole you feel when he fit you to the hilt. Everything about it the way you felt, the way your body seemed to pulse and cling to him, drawing him deeper into the moment. It all just felt too good.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, anchoring himself, trying to hold onto the frayed edges of his control. A thought flickered in his mind, unbidden and primal: Can I even last long with this?

The idea sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t need to move—didn’t need to thrust or grind or do anything but stay right where he was, utterly consumed by the way you felt around him.

The subtle contractions of your body, the way you tightened around him and the way he fluttered tightly against your walls, that was all enough to drive him mad. You were still as you were before, you were paradise in every sense of the word.

“Toji…love....oh—” you whispered, your voice a mix of need and wonder, your nails dragging lightly down his back. The sound of his name on your lips only made it harder for him to hold back.

“Shit, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough and strained. “You’re gonna kill me like this.”

He pressed his forehead harder against yours, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he tried to wrestle with the overwhelming pleasure. Your moans can only grow as he pushed in and out in a more passionate speed.

“I swear… I could come just like this, babe.” he admitted, his voice low and ragged. “The way you’re squeezing me so good, babe… you feel so damn good.”

The confession sent a shiver through you, your body responding instinctively, and he groaned again, his fingers digging into your hips as if to ground himself. He wanted to move, to chase that inevitable high.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to lose the sheer intensity of the moment—didn’t want to lose the way it felt to just be inside you, connected in every way. He still needed to last a little bit more, he wanted this moment to last.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “You’re perfect. You know that?” His voice was raw, filled with both reverence and desperation.

And as he stayed there, lost in the heat and intimacy, he wondered if he could ever get enough of this—of you. Every sensation was heightened, every second stretching into eternity, until nothing else existed but him.

The overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. In his arms, you felt completely unraveled, utterly cherished, and entirely his. The world outside faded completely—just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet intimacy of your shared space.

Toji’s movements grew more deliberate, his bruised lips finding your own again as he deepened the kiss, his arm around your neck keeping you anchored to him. His tongue wrestling against yours as he tried to thrust deeper inside your mouth, earning a groan from your throat.

The way he held you, the way he touched you—it wasn’t just desire; it was love, raw and unfiltered, pouring into every moment.

Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure he brought you, and you clung to him, lost in the heat of the moment. Toji pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his voice low and husky when he finally spoke.

“You’re mine, babe.” he whispered, the words heavy with emotion and promise.

His calloused hand brushing your cheek as his eyes met yours. And in that moment, you knew there was no place you’d rather be than here, with him, wrapped up in the intensity of his love.

"Always." You whispered back to him.

He felt satisfied with that as he pushed deeper into you.

You couldn't speak words anymore by the end of that.

The world was cold from the snowing echoes, but you were warm.

Warm in the pleasure of the husband you loved the most.

══════════════════

epilogue

The room was still bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, your breathing finally steady after what had been a Christmas evening full of all sorts of intimacy and bright warm laughter.

Fushiguro Toji, ever the opportunist, propped himself up on one elbow, the smirk on his face practically devilish as his fingers began tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.

“You know, babe.” he started, his voice low and teasing, “I’m thinking Santa deserves a little overtime bonus for all his hard work tonight.”

You turned your head, arching a brow as you caught the glint in his eye. “Overtime? Didn’t we just finish the main shift? Both last night and tonight?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of energy left, babe.” he murmured, leaning in to nip playfully at your ear. “The question is… do you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, maybe to tease him back, but the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway made you both freeze. Your eyes darted toward the door, which creaked open just enough to reveal a mop of messy black hair and the outline of a sleepy little boy clutching his favorite stuffed animal.

“Mom? Dad?” Megumi’s voice was tiny, wobbling just enough to tug at your heartstrings. “I had a nightmare…”

Toji let out a low groan, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he muttered, “Of course you did, kid. Of course you did.”

“Shush!” you hissed, elbowing him lightly before sitting up and pulling the blanket around yourself. “Come here, sweetheart.” you said softly, patting the edge of the bed.

Megumi shuffled in, his little feet barely making a sound as he climbed up onto the bed and wriggled his way into the space between you and Toji. He immediately buried his face against your side, his stuffed animal squished between the two of you.

“What happened, bud?” you asked, stroking his charcoal hair gently.

“There was a big, scary monster…” Megumi mumbled, his voice muffled against your side. “It chased me, and it almost got me.”

You looked at your husband who sighed back at you. Toji pushed himself up onto one elbow, running a hand through his disheveled hair, looking towards his little son.

“A monster, huh?” he asked, his tone light but laced with mock seriousness. “Did it look like a giant turkey? ‘Cause I told you eating all that stuffing was a risky move.”

Megumi pulled his face away just long enough to glare at his dad, his little brow furrowed in unimpressed indignation. “No, Dad.” he said with a hint of exasperation. “It wasn’t a turkey. It was scary!”

“Scarier than me?” Toji teased, flexing his arm dramatically as if that would somehow settle the matter.

You shot him a look, biting back a laugh. “Toji, love. Please.” you warned softly, shaking your head.

“Okay, okay.” Toji relented, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Megumi’s hair. “Listen, kid, no monsters are getting past me. You know that, right? They take one look at your old man and run for the hills.”

Megumi’s little body relaxed against you, his small hand clutching tightly at your shirt. “Promise?” he whispered.

Toji ruffled his hair. “Promise. Now get some sleep. You’ve got another day of playing with all those presents tomorrow, and I don’t want to hear any complaints about being too tired.”

Megumi let out a sleepy little hum of agreement, his breathing evening out as he drifted off within minutes. Toji flopped back onto his pillow with a long sigh, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“So, what do you think? Nightmare slayer and round-two initiator all in one night? I’m a man of many talents.”

You smirked, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re also a man with a very tired wife and a son snoring between us. Maybe tomorrow, Toji.”

Toji groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “Tomorrow? I’m not getting any younger over here.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh as you settled back down, pulling the blanket up over the three of you. “Goodnight, Santa.” you teased, nudging him lightly.

Toji huffed but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at his lips as he turned to wrap an arm protectively over both you and Megumi. He looked at you both warmly.

“Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas to me." he muttered, his voice soft and warm. And despite his earlier grumbling, you could feel the contentment radiating from him.

For Fushiguro Toji, there was no better gift than this—his family, safe and sound, wrapped in the warmth of a love he’d never stop cherishing. Life was great.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Call Sign: Daddy

pairing; jake seresin x wife!reader

summary; Everyone thought Hangman’s biggest secret was his ego—turns out, it’s a wife, two kids, and a killer marshmallow recipe.

word count; 6.6k

warnings; nothing. fluff, fun, the daggers being chaotic and dramatic

a/n; you ask i deliver! here's girl dad!jake! this was SO much fun to write, i love these kinds of pieces. i am SO down to keep writing for this little family or just dad!jake in general (i am incapable of writing anything short i'm sorry)

masterlist

The new house still smelled like paint and sunlight.

Boxes towered in the living room like a cityscape, half-labeled and already a little rumpled from the drive. The front door stood open to let in the sea breeze, and the soft whir of ceiling fans stirred the scent of fresh wood floors and cardboard.

“Daddy! This one!” Cami’s voice rang through the hallway like a firecracker. Her curls bounced as she darted from room to room, barefoot and beaming. “This is definitely the best one.”

Jake, still in a gray t-shirt and jeans dusty from the move, peeked around the corner with a smirk. “Didn’t you say that about the last two?”

She planted her little fists on her hips. “Yeah, but this one’s got the biggest window. And look—” she ran over to it and flung her arms wide, “I can see everything!”

From the kitchen, you laughed softly, adjusting the baby sling on your chest. Lex was snuggled close, soft and warm against your body, her tiny fist curled against your collarbone. She made a sleepy noise but didn’t wake, lulled by the rhythm of your movements and the muffled excitement around her.

“She’s going to change her mind five more times,” you called over your shoulder. “Minimum.”

Jake walked in and leaned against the doorframe, watching you unpack a box labeled Kitchen - Fragile in your handwriting. “That’s generous. I was guessing eight.”

He crossed the room to you, brushing a hand along your spine in that absent, instinctive way he always had—gentle, grounding. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, smiling up at him. “Lex is asleep, I haven’t dropped a mug yet, and Cami hasn’t tried to climb on the counters. I’m calling it a win.”

Jake glanced down at Lex, and his whole face softened. He reached out to cradle her head briefly with one palm, then kissed your cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you out of assembling the crib again.”

“Worth a shot.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable crash of a box being tipped over, followed by Cami’s delighted giggle. “I’m helping!”

Jake’s eyes closed with a sigh, but he was smiling. “That’s my cue.”

He turned and jogged off in the direction of the chaos, and you watched him go, heart aching a little in that sweet, full way. Seeing him like this—barefoot, hair a little messy, completely wrapped around his daughters—it was everything you’d always wanted for him. For all of you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, San Diego,” you whispered to Lex, who sighed in reply.

You went back to unpacking, and in the next room, Jake’s voice rose in a playful protest: “No, honey, that’s not a hammer. That’s a whisk. Where did you even get that?”

Cami shrieked with laughter, and you swore your heart couldn't grow bigger.

The sun had started to dip low in the sky, casting soft gold across the living room floor where half-built furniture lay in various states of disarray. Instruction manuals fluttered open beside tiny screws, wooden pegs, and the mysterious metal contraptions that always seemed necessary but never quite explained themselves.

Jake sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, brow furrowed and tongue caught in the corner of his mouth as he studied the baby dresser. He had gotten the frame halfway done. Maybe. Depending on how generous you were feeling.

Cami, perched on her knees next to him, had a tiny screwdriver clutched in her small hand like it was a magic wand. She wore a tutu over her leggings and one of your old t-shirts, which hung off her shoulders like a dress. Her curls were a riot around her face, and her fingers were smudged with something suspiciously marker-colored.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, Lex still tucked snug to your chest. She was asleep again, her little cheek pressed to your sternum, one leg dangling out of the wrap like she owned the place.

“Okay, Daddy,” Cami said with authority, poking the air like a tiny forewoman. “This piece goes on top of the other piece. Like a sandwich.”

Jake blinked at the board she was pointing to. “That’s the bottom panel, baby.”

“But it looks like the top.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s upside down.”

Cami frowned, then flipped the piece over with both hands. It clunked to the floor, just missing his foot.

“See?” Jake said, trying not to laugh. “Now it’s a bottom that looks like a bottom.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

From his spot on the floor, Jake glanced up and caught you watching. He grinned, wide and slow and just a little sheepish. “Hey, darlin’. How’s the supervisor?”

You adjusted Lex’s head gently and whispered, “She’s napping on the job.”

“Slacker,” he murmured with a wink, before turning back to the pieces in front of him.

Cami leaned in close beside him, pressing her head to his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was made Jake laugh under his breath, then glance back at you with mock-seriousness.

“She says we should throw away the instructions and just use our feelings.”

“Oh God,” you said, laughing. “That explains so much about you.”

Jake chuckled and ruffled Cami’s curls. “You hear that? Mama’s roasting me again. Typical.”

Cami grinned like she’d won something, then leaned against her father’s shoulder, tucking her tiny feet under her.

For a moment, everything was still.

Golden light spread across the wood floors. The air smelled faintly of new furniture, baby lotion, and the faint salt of the ocean drifting in through the open window. The soft rustle of palm trees outside, the distant echo of a car door down the street, and the occasional creak of the settling house were the only sounds besides Jake humming tunelessly as he tightened a bolt.

Jake leaned back, resting his weight on one palm and looking up at you.

“I know we’re not done unpacking,” he said, voice low and a little rough with feeling, “but it already feels like home.”

You smiled, walking toward him slowly. “That’s because you brought your girls home.”

He reached up and touched your wrist, brushing a finger over the baby’s foot.

“We’re lucky you came with us,” you said.

Jake looked up at you, eyes soft. “No,” he murmured. “I’m lucky you waited for me.”

Cami blinked between the two of you, then laid her cheek against his shoulder again with a sigh. “Okay, but are we building this dresser or what?”

Jake snorted, grabbing a screwdriver. “Yes, boss.”

And with his firstborn on one side, and the rest of his world standing just steps away, Jake Seresin went back to building his life—one drawer at a time.

The California sun beat down on the tarmac, sharp and dry, but not even the heat could keep the familiar buzz of energy from crackling through the air.

Top Gun had changed. Sleeker buildings. A brand-new hangar. The same stretch of runway, but with fresh paint and a higher security presence. What hadn’t changed, though, was the group clustered just outside the ready room, voices overlapping as they swapped stories, insults, and half-serious bets on who’d forget their callsign first.

“—told you, man,” Fanboy was saying as Jake approached, sunglasses perched on his head and a wide grin on his face. “He puked in the rental van. Twice. And then tried to blame it on the dog.”

Coyote laughed, arms crossed. “Please tell me that was your neighbor and not your cousin again.”

“Nope. Cousin.” Mickey smacked a hand to his chest like he was proud. “And I had to deep-clean the whole backseat before I drove out here with Bowie.”

“Wait,” Phoenix cut in, squinting at him. “You brought your dog across the country?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy, golden mutt hanging its head out the passenger window, tongue flapping. “Look at that face. He’s the real MVP.”

Rooster whistled low. “You’re braver than me. I left my plants behind.”

“They were fake,” Bob said dryly, getting a chorus of laughs.

Jake slid into the circle with a nod, arms folded, boots scuffing a mark into the concrete. “What, no one’s moved with a houseplant, a dog, and a messy break-up? Come on, you’re telling me I’m the only one who had a peaceful move?”

That earned a few snorts.

Rooster elbowed him lightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything?”

Jake gave an easy shrug. “Couple duffel bags. My truck. That’s about it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “No roommates? No girlfriend clinging to your bumper? No tragic love story in your rearview mirror?”

Jake let out a short laugh. “Nope.”

He didn’t look at Javy. Not directly.

The lie wasn’t heavy—not yet—but it was sharp. Quick. A reflex. The same one he’d used a hundred times over the years. It felt different now, though. Dirtier. Because this time, he wasn’t hiding a fling or dodging a label. He was leaving his family out of the picture.

Not forever. Just… not yet.

Coyote gave a low whistle beside him, too casual to be anything but a cover. “Guess some people travel light,” he said, and if the words held a second meaning, no one noticed but Jake.

“Hangman, a minimalist,” Phoenix said with a scoff. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “New year, new me.”

Rooster snorted. “You said that last year.”

“And look how great I turned out.”

They all groaned, but the mood held, rolling easy like a wave that hadn’t quite crested yet.

“Alright,” Maverick’s voice cut across the courtyard from the ready room doors. “Let’s see if you all remember how to fly.”

The squad moved in a pack, still joking as they filtered inside.

Jake walked a beat behind the rest, sunglasses shielding his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing a little more firmly against his ribs. It was only a matter of time before they found out.

But for now?

For now, it was just him, his girls, and the silence between.

[..]

It had been a week since Rooster arrived in San Diego and he was already sick of takeout. His fridge held nothing but mustard, half a lime, and a six-pack of beer. It was time to act like an adult — or at least pretend to.

He pushed his cart through the grocery store with a lazy rhythm, sunglasses tucked into his collar, and a list on his phone that he was half-ignoring. Eggs, coffee, something green… cereal.

He turned into the cereal aisle, already reaching for the same red box he always bought, when a familiar figure ahead caught his eye.

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Back turned.

Rooster paused mid-step.

Seresin?

It looked like Jake — same relaxed posture, same stupidly perfect haircut. But the guy was wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, not his usual base uniform or something annoyingly designer. Casual. Normal.

Rooster took a step forward, ready to call out a sarcastic, "Didn’t peg you for a Cheerios guy," when the man turned slightly to the side.

And that’s when he saw her.

A baby.

Strapped to his chest in one of those soft, wraparound slings. A tiny baby — maybe six or seven months old, by the size of her — nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth. One of her socks was missing, her little toes peeking out like she’d kicked it off mid-nap.

Rooster froze.

And then—

“Daddy, look! They have the cinnamon ones!”

A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and excited.

A little girl — maybe five — stood up in the shopping cart seat and waved dramatically at the shelf of cereal boxes like she’d discovered treasure. Her curls bounced as she wiggled, and she wore a pink t-shirt with sparkles on it and denim overalls with a sticker stuck to one leg.

Jake turned to look at her fully, the side of his face now visible, and Rooster’s heart tripped over itself.

No way.

“Alright, alright, Cin-a-mon Swirls it is,” Jake said, stretching to grab the box while carefully balancing the sleeping baby on his chest. “But only if you promise not to sneak handfuls before breakfast again.”

The little girl giggled. “I don’t sneak. I sample.”

Jake laughed under his breath — that soft, genuine laugh Rooster had never heard from him on base — and dropped the box in the cart.

Rooster ducked quickly behind the display of oatmeal, heart hammering.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Those weren’t nieces. That baby was practically grafted to Jake’s chest, and the little girl had his eyes. The same green-gold color. The same crooked grin. The same exact nose.

Rooster peeked around the endcap.

Jake had one hand resting protectively on the baby’s back and the other guiding the cart while she chattered away, telling some elaborate story about a dragon and a breakfast castle. And Jake? He was listening. Actually listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling to himself like this was the best part of his day.

What the—

Rooster stepped back, the shock settling into something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief.

Hangman has kids?

Real kids. Not nieces. Not a girlfriend’s kids. His. There was no mistaking it. That little girl might as well have been a clone.

And he’d said nothing.

Rooster stood frozen, cart forgotten, eyes still locked on the aisle corner where Jake had just turned out of sight, baby and child in tow.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there in the cereal aisle, trying to process the impossible.

Jake Seresin — Hangman — had a secret family.

And now, Rooster wasn’t sure who the hell he’d been working with all this time.

Rooster didn’t remember checking out.

He was pretty sure he paid — probably — because the cashier smiled and told him to have a good day. But everything from the cereal aisle to the parking lot felt like a blur. His brain was short-circuiting, looping through the same impossible images like a broken projector.

Jake. Baby. Little girl. Daddy.

He sat in his Bronco, staring blankly at the wheel. The cinnamon cereal he'd ended up grabbing by accident sat in the passenger seat like evidence.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “This is literally insane.”

He could not be the only one to know this. He didn’t want to be the only one. Someone had to validate this reality — and someone had to help him process what the hell was going on.

Which is how he ended up at the base gym, tossing his keys into a locker with a little too much force, pacing past the row of squat racks, and scanning the room like a man on a mission.

Phoenix.

There she was, finishing up reps on the bench press like a total machine, earbuds in, hair tied back, towel around her neck.

“Hey,” he called, voice slightly too loud.

She didn’t hear.

“Hey!”

Phoenix startled, pulling one earbud out with a scowl. “Jesus, Bradshaw. I almost dropped that on my face.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you. Right now. Privately.”

She raised one eyebrow and sat up slowly. “What, did someone die?”

“No, but—close. I mean—no. It’s not a death death, it’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just—can we?”

Phoenix stood, towel in one hand, already skeptical. “Okay, drama queen. Come on.”

They ducked into the hallway outside the locker rooms, still sweaty and smelling faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. Phoenix crossed her arms.

“Alright. Spill.”

Rooster opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shook his head.

“Rooster.”

“I saw Hangman with a baby,” he blurted, eyes wild. “And a kid. Like a five-year-old. And he was grocery shopping with them like it was normal. The baby was strapped to his chest like one of those little marsupial carriers and the kid called him Daddy.”

Phoenix stared.

He waited.

She didn’t blink.

Finally, she said, “What?”

“In the cereal aisle! I thought it was him, and I was about to say hi, but then I saw the baby, and the little girl looked just like him and then she said ‘Daddy’ and I—I panicked, okay? I hid behind the oatmeal.”

“You hid behind the oatmeal?”

“I was caught off guard!”

Phoenix let out a snort-laugh. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious, Nat. They looked exactly like him. The girl had his eyes. His smile. And he was being all—dad-like. It was weirdly gentle. I didn’t know he had a tone like that.”

Phoenix was quiet for a long second, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No mention of kids. No ring. No pictures. No weird schedule conflicts. If he has a family, he’s gone to serious lengths to hide it.”

Rooster nodded like a bobblehead. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Are you sure they weren’t his sister’s kids or something?”

“The baby was drooling all over his shirt and the other one was bossing him around like she owned him. And he was listening. Patiently. Hangman doesn't listen patiently to anyone.”

Phoenix stared into the middle distance.

“...Holy shit,” she said under her breath.

Rooster folded his arms. “So what do we do?”

Phoenix blinked at him. “We?”

“You’re involved now!”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But you know.”

Phoenix gave him a look. “So what—you want to confront him?”

“No,” Rooster said quickly. “God, no. What if it’s, like, a secret family on purpose? What if it’s some Witness Protection-level thing? Or he’s on the run from the PTA?”

Phoenix barked a laugh. “Okay, calm down, you're not in a TV show.”

“I just—I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Rooster muttered.

“And I can’t un-see it. Like, every time he opens his mouth now, I’m going to hear that little girl’s voice saying ‘Daddy.’”

Phoenix scrubbed a hand down her face. “Alright. We sit on it. For now. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “Then we accidentally run into him again. Maybe outside work. Maybe at the grocery store.”

Rooster looked appalled. “You want to stake him out?”

Phoenix shrugged. “What? You already started the recon mission. Might as well finish it.”

Rooster groaned. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradshaw,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It already has.”

Jake had been minding his own business. Genuinely. For once.

He’d gotten through the morning flight briefing, his simulation review, and even a cup of coffee without roasting anyone. It was a personal record. But then—suddenly, for no reason at all—Bradley and Natasha started acting weird.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster said casually, sliding into the locker bench beside him, half-dressed in his flight gear. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Jake squinted at him, one boot half-laced. “What?”

“Just curious,” Rooster said, far too quickly. “Normal question. People ask each other that.”

Jake stared. “I did laundry. Took the truck in for an oil change. Nothing exciting.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoenix chimed in from across the aisle, leaning against the lockers like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Did you, I don’t know, go to the store?”

“The store?” Jake echoed slowly.

“You know,” Rooster added. “For… groceries.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Got some eggs. Why?”

“No reason,” they said in unison.

Jake looked between them, brow furrowing. “Did I miss a memo about getting really into meal prep?”

Phoenix gave a tight smile. “We’re just... interested in nutrition lately.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “Very into breakfast.”

Jake opened his mouth, paused, then slowly tied his boot. “You guys are so weird today.”

Phoenix pushed off the locker. “So you live around here, then?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Obviously.”

Rooster jumped in. “Yeah, yeah, but like... where?”

Jake pulled his boot tighter. “You wanna come over for dinner, Bradshaw? Is that what this is? You finally caving to my charm?”

“No! I mean—unless you’re offering.” Rooster looked at Phoenix. “He could be offering.”

Jake stood, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?”

Phoenix played it cool. “Nothing. We’re just making conversation.”

“You’re never just making conversation.”

Rooster crossed his arms. “Maybe we’re trying to be your friends.”

Jake paused mid-zip on his jacket, one eyebrow climbing like it was headed for the stratosphere.

“My friends?” he repeated. “You think this is the first week of kindergarten and we’re picking lunch buddies?”

Phoenix shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Stranger things have happened.”

Jake gave her a long look. “Are you both dying?”

“No.”

“On drugs?”

Rooster smirked. “Only caffeine and a burning need for the truth.”

Jake stared for a beat longer, then shook his head and walked out of the locker room with a muttered, “Y’all are exhausting.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster once he was gone. “Okay, new plan. We’re terrible at this.”

Rooster groaned. “I thought the grocery question was subtle.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He’s too smug. He has secrets and he knows we want to know them.”

Phoenix sighed. “And he’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

Rooster tilted his head thoughtfully. “He might be just confused. That would track.”

They both stood in silence for a moment before Phoenix said, “We need to try again. Cooler. Smarter.”

Rooster gave her a long look. “You gonna say ‘do you have kids’ in Morse code or something?”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. “...Maybe.”

Jake pushed open the front door with his shoulder, juggling his keys, a bottle of wine, and the pink glittery water bottle Cami had insisted on bringing to preschool. The house smelled faintly of laundry and lemon cleaner, and somewhere in the background, Taylor Swift’s voice floated out from the kitchen speaker.

You were at the counter, barefoot in leggings and one of his old Academy hoodies, hair piled on top of your head like a soft crown of chaos. Lex was in her bouncer on the floor nearby, babbling softly to her toes like they were telling her secrets.

Cami was on the couch with a coloring book and a stack of markers that had no hope of staying uncapped for long.

Jake dropped his keys in the bowl and stepped into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I survived another day of being interrogated by two weirdos.”

You smiled without looking up from the dishwasher you were loading.

“Phoenix and Rooster.” He opened the fridge and tucked the wine onto the bottom shelf. “They’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

Jake pulled out a leftover container and leaned against the counter. “Asking where I live, what I did this weekend, if I’ve been to the grocery store. They were so subtle it was almost adorable.”

You bit back a smile. “Huh.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe they already know.”

Jake froze, Tupperware in hand. “Know what?”

You turned and gently nudged the fridge closed with your hip. “About us. About me. About the girls.”

Jake blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, scooping up a bib from the table. “Maybe they saw us out. Maybe someone mentioned something. Cami does talk to strangers like they’re long-lost cousins.”

Jake groaned. “Oh God. Did she tell the cashier I’m a Top Gun pilot again?”

“She told the woman at the post office that your call sign is Hangman because you ‘always hang upside down on the monkey bars.’”

He dropped his head to the counter with a muffled laugh. “She’s gonna get me court-martialed.”

You smiled as you stepped closer and gently carded your fingers through his hair. “You said you liked them. The squad.”

“I do,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled. “Most days.”

“Maybe it’s time they knew the truth.”

Jake lifted his head, watching you carefully. “You think so?”

You tilted your head, soft and teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? They start calling you Daddy-man?”

Jake winced. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

You laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Seriously. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a great life. You have a family who loves you. And a baby with thighs so chunky they deserve their own zip code.”

Jake looked down at Lex, who had stopped babbling long enough to blow a spit bubble.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “I know.”

Cami’s voice floated in from the living room. “Mom! Daddy! Where’s the sparkly purple marker? It’s an emergency!”

Jake shouted back, “Check under the couch! Or in your hair!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “Well… when you’re ready, we’re ready too.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms sliding around you with a quiet, grateful squeeze.

The squad had claimed their usual table on the outdoor patio of the base commissary — sun shining, aviators on, trays full of fries and whatever passed for lunch that day. It was the kind of afternoon that made everything feel like summer break, even if they were technically on duty.

“Well, I hope you’re all happy,” Bob was saying dryly as he unwrapped a sandwich. “I checked my mailbox today and it was filled with glitter.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, beaming. “You’re welcome. That’s the kind of magic only Bowie and I can bring to a neighborhood.”

“You named the dog after David Bowie?” Phoenix asked, chewing on a carrot stick.

Mickey grinned. “Ziggy Stardog.”

Groans went around the table.

“Unreal,” Coyote muttered. “That’s terrible and I’m impressed.”

“I live to serve.”

Jake was halfway through a burger, content to let the chaos unfold, when Maverick appeared like a ghost with sunglasses, stepping out of nowhere and holding a coffee in one hand like it was sacred.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice easy, “but Penny wanted me to let you all know we’re doing a bonfire tonight. Out by the beach. Her place. Says it’s a welcome-back thing, so don’t bring beer, don’t bring drama, and for the love of God, don’t bring your motorcycles onto the sand again.”

Everyone snickered. Rooster threw his hands up defensively. “That was one time.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Mav said with a pointed look.

Jake straightened slightly, setting down the last bite of his burger. He glanced around the table, pulse oddly steady. The decision had settled itself sometime that morning between spooning oatmeal into Lex’s mouth and Cami asking—again—when she could meet Daddy’s new friends.

“Mav,” he said, casual but clear. “Is it cool if I bring some people with me?”

The table went quiet.

Maverick blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Jake gave a little smile and nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Everyone stared.

Fanboy was the first to break the silence. “Uh… what people?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like people.”

Payback looked mildly alarmed. “Are we being replaced?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

But Phoenix was watching him like a hawk.

And Rooster was actively vibrating with contained energy, a fry halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“You’re being weird again,” Jake said, pointing his straw at Rooster.

“You’re bringing people,” Rooster shot back, eyebrows in the stratosphere.

Phoenix leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We talking plural as in roommates? Or plural as in… little people who call you Daddy?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to hers, the tiniest tilt of amusement in them. “I’m just saying,” he said evenly, “if I show up with the most beautiful girl at the party, don’t be surprised.”

Rooster choked on his fry.

Phoenix kicked him under the table.

Fanboy looked around, utterly lost. “What is happening?”

Bob squinted suspiciously. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jake only smirked and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“See y’all tonight,” he said, casual as anything. “Save me a seat by the fire.”

And with that, he walked off — calm, unbothered, and just smug enough to make Rooster groan into his hands.

Phoenix leaned back, arms crossed, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s happening.”

Rooster looked haunted. “I knew that baby wasn’t a hallucination.”

Payback stared between them. “What baby?!”

The house smelled like sunscreen, baby lotion, and a little bit of anxiety.

Cami was bouncing from room to room like a ping-pong ball, wearing a sparkly denim jacket over a pink sundress and clutching her favorite plush unicorn in a tiny fist. She kept popping into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror, then running back to Jake.

“Do I look okay, Daddy?”

Jake crouched to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You look perfect, honey.”

She beamed for a second, then hesitated. “What if your friends don’t like me?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Cami twisted the unicorn’s mane around her finger. “What if they think I talk too much? Or that I’m weird?”

Jake’s heart ached in that split-second way it always did when she got serious. He smoothed her curls gently and gave her that look — the one he reserved for bedtime promises and skinned knees.

“They’re gonna love you, bug,” he said softly. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and you make the best marshmallows on the planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “But we haven’t even made them yet—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake whispered, grinning. “You still win.”

That got a giggle out of her, and she hugged his neck, throwing her little arms around him with enough force to knock him off balance onto the hallway rug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said into his shoulder.

Jake’s voice caught. “I love you more.”

You stepped out of the nursery then, Lex already strapped to your chest in a soft carrier, cheeks pink and drool bib firmly in place. She was wide awake and blinking like the golden light in the living room was the most interesting thing in the world.

Cami ran to grab her tiny heart-shaped sunglasses from the coffee table. Jake stood and watched you for a second longer than necessary, just taking it all in.

“How’s Lex?” he asked, crossing the room to meet you.

“She’s been cooing at the ceiling fan for fifteen minutes straight,” you said. “I think it’s her soulmate.”

He smiled and reached out to gently fix the strap across your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, looking up at him.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. I mean... yeah.”

You gave him that look — soft and knowing and full of the kind of patience he still didn’t fully understand how he’d earned.

“It’s not a bad kind of nervous,” he said after a second. “Just… new. I’ve never brought my family to anything like this. Not with coworkers. Javy doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely doesn’t count,” you agreed.

Jake chuckled under his breath, then exhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I just… this is the part where it’s not just mine anymore, you know? Where they get to know you. The girls. The best parts of me.”

You stepped in closer, pressing your hand to his chest. “We’ve always been yours, Jake.”

He looked down at you, green eyes a little glassy now. “Yeah,” he said. “But tonight... I guess it starts being real to everyone else, too.”

You smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Because it means more people get to see what I see. That you’re a good man. A good husband. A good dad. And the people who matter? They’ll never forget that.”

Jake swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then one to Lex’s. Then one to your mouth — soft, slow, like a thank-you.

“Alright,” he said, voice lighter. “Let’s go make an entrance.”

“Let’s go blow their minds,” you replied, already grabbing the baby bag.

Cami burst back into the room, sunglasses on upside down. “Do I look like a cool kid?”

Jake scooped her up with a dramatic gasp. “Coolest kid in the whole world.”

Cami giggled into his shoulder.

And just like that, the Seresins stepped out into the soft evening light, hand in hand, baby bouncing, hearts a little nervous, but completely full.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when the Seresin family arrived.

The beach behind the Hard Deck glowed in warm amber and rose, the bonfire crackling at the center of it all, with the Daggers scattered around in folding chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rolling easy on the breeze. A cooler full of seltzers sat half-buried in the sand, and someone had already started a playlist that leaned heavy on Fleetwood Mac and bad decisions.

Jake stepped onto the sand first, Lex balanced easily on his hip in a floral romper and a soft pink headband that did absolutely nothing to keep her hair down. She let out a content little sigh and sucked on two fingers like she’d been born for the beach life.

You followed beside him, Cami’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Her sparkly jacket caught the firelight as she walked, pink sunglasses pushed up into her curls, gripping her unicorn under one arm like backup.

To anyone watching, it was immediate.

They looked like Jake.

Same eyes. Same golden skin. Same confidence — even Cami, who clung to your side but stood tall, taking it all in.

The Daggers didn’t notice them at first.

Not until they got close enough that Bob glanced up and nearly choked on his drink.

Then Rooster turned — already half-expecting it — and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Phoenix elbowed him like don’t say anything stupid but her own jaw had gone slack.

Fanboy actually gasped.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Coyote just sat there grinning like he’d known all along — because, of course, he had.

Jake stopped just in front of the fire, let the conversations fizzle into stunned silence, and gave them that damn cocky smile — the one they all knew so well — only this time, it was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that said this is everything to me.

“Evening,” he drawled. “Hope we��re not late.”

Nobody said a word.

Cami peeked around you, her voice small but clear. “Are these the pilot friends?”

Jake looked down at her and nodded. “Sure are, baby.”

You smiled gently at the group, then bent to whisper something in Cami’s ear. She stepped forward a little, still clutching the unicorn, but brave in that way only five-year-olds could be.

“I’m Camila Seresin,” she said proudly. “But you can call me Cami.”

Jake gave a slight nod, then shifted Lex on his hip. “And this little one is Alexandra. Lex, if she likes you.”

Lex burbled in response, blinking sleepily at the circle of stunned adults. Jake’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close.

“And this is my wife,” he said, voice soft but certain. “The love of my life. The reason I’m not a complete disaster.”

You gave a small, amused wave. “Hi.”

Phoenix finally blinked. “You’re married?”

“To her?” Payback added, looking between you and Jake like he was trying to process a physics equation with no numbers.

Fanboy leaned forward. “You’re married married. Like… full on?”

“With kids?” Bob choked.

Jake smirked. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

Coyote just raised his beer and clinked it against Jake’s bottle. “About time, hermano.”

Phoenix gave you a look of genuine bafflement. “I mean, no offense, but you’re… like… stunning. And you married Hangman?”

“I know,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “We all make mistakes.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Payback was still staring at Cami, then Lex, then Jake. “They look exactly like you.”

“They should,” Jake said. “Made ‘em myself.”

Phoenix groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

Jake just laughed and tucked Lex’s head against his shoulder. “Cami, wanna roast some marshmallows?”

“Yes please!” she squeaked, already dragging you toward the snack table.

Jake looked around at the still-shocked faces of his squad — his friends now, he supposed — and gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“Welcome to my real life,” he said.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the flames of the bonfire cast soft flickers across everyone’s faces. Music drifted low from someone’s speaker, mingling with the sound of the waves and the occasional snap of firewood.

It should’ve been a normal night.

But nothing felt normal now that Jake “Hangman” Seresin was casually sitting cross-legged on the sand, marshmallow stick in his hands, helping his five-year-old daughter make the perfect s’more.

“I said not too toasted,” Cami whispered urgently. “Just golden. Like the picture.”

Jake nodded seriously. “Golden. Got it. This is high-stakes work, sweetheart.”

Phoenix nudged Rooster with her foot. “Who is this man?”

Rooster, still visibly reeling, shook his head like it might clear the image in front of him. “I thought he ate protein powder straight out of the tub and slept on a bed of ego.”

“He’s using baby talk, Bradshaw.”

Rooster narrowed his eyes. “And I think the baby just giggled at him.”

“Not the baby,” Fanboy said from behind them. “Me. I’m giggling. This is surreal.”

Across the fire, Jake caught the tail end of the conversation and gave them a smug little look, tossing a marshmallow at Mickey that he expertly dodged.

You were nestled beside Jake on a blanket, Lex sleeping soundly against your chest now that she’d exhausted herself chewing on everyone’s fingers (with permission, of course). You leaned into Jake’s shoulder with a soft smile, watching Cami flit between the snack table and her latest obsession: Bradley Bradshaw.

“Hey, Mr. Rooster?” she called, holding her unicorn in one hand and a half-eaten graham cracker in the other.

Bradley blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

Jake nearly dropped his beer.

Phoenix howled.

Rooster sat very still. “Um. Sure?”

Cami wandered over and patted it with her little marshmallow-sticky fingers, studying it like a curious scientist.

“It’s soft,” she declared. “Like a cat. You should name it.”

Jake groaned. “Cami.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Jake shot Rooster a look over her head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rooster raised both hands. “Hey. I’m just standing here. With a face.”

You leaned over to whisper, “You’re really going to lose sleep over your daughter flirting with a mustache, aren’t you?”

“She has bad taste,” Jake said grimly.

Before anyone could tease him further, Coyote appeared at Cami’s side with a juice pouch and a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me find more sticks for the marshmallows?”

“Uncle Javy!” Cami cheered, grabbing the juice and launching herself at him like a tiny cannonball.

Phoenix blinked. “Uncle?”

Jake shrugged. “He’s the only one who knew. Got promoted early.”

“You told Javy?” Rooster cried, scandalized. “You told Javy and not me?”

Coyote slung Cami onto his shoulders with practiced ease. “I’m the trustworthy one.”

Jake smirked. “He didn’t try to follow me home or interrogate me about my grocery list.”

Rooster folded his arms. “That was one time.”

Phoenix grinned. “Still your worst stakeout.”

As the night deepened and the stars came out, the squad began to shift from disbelief into something sweeter: genuine admiration. Watching Jake tuck a blanket around Cami’s legs, kiss the top of her head. Seeing the way Lex instinctively settled in his arms, one tiny hand curled into his shirt. Hearing the way he said darlin’ to you like it meant something old and permanent.

This wasn’t a side of Jake Seresin anyone had expected to see.

But it fit him.

Perfectly.

[eddiazx]

riding full throttle - evan buckley x reader

(in honour of the finale tonight, here's something about buck on the motorcycle since I'm still not over that scene)

The rational side of your brain can attest that motorcycles can be dangerous and come with a significant risk that other vehicles may not pose.

The horny side of your brain saw a video of your boyfriend riding a motorcycle, got into a boxing ring, and knocked out that rational side of your brain.

"Hey, Buck?" You say one evening, as the two of you do the dishes.

"Mhm?" He hums, giving you a lopsided smile to let you know that he was listening.

"What are the chances that you can rent a motorcycle for a night... for the two of us?"

Buck nearly drops a plate into the sink at your question. "Are you serious?" He asks, eyes bright and excited. He knows how you (and frankly the entirety of the 118) feel about motorcycles, so he stopped riding them a long time ago. That doesn't stop him from wistfully gazing at them when he's on the road though.

"Just for a day. I think it would be fun to have a little joyride, dont'cha think?" With that, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek and get ready for bed.

You should've known that Buck would find a solution quickly. Your man is nothing if not resourceful, and the following Friday, when you park your car after work in your apartment's underground parking lot, you're met with a beautiful sight.

That sight being Buck straddling a motorcycle with his thick thighs, wearing all black. He holds out a helmet for you, before putting on his.

"Hop on, babe." Buck tells you cheekily.

You rest your hand on Buck's right shoulder before swinging a leg over the bike. Your front was flush with Buck's broad back, and you wrap your arms around Buck's firm middle. Even though he was wearing two layers, you can feel his body heat under your palms.

"Ready?" Buck murmurs.

You nod as a reflex, then utter a soft "yes" when you realize that he probably couldn't see you while he was facing forward. Your nerves were shot with both adrenaline and the fear of being on what Hen would call "a death trap", but you trusted Buck.

Almost as if he could read your mind, he reassures you: "I researched spots that were low traffic so we could be safer. I'll also stop or slow down whenever you want - just say the word, okay?"

You smile softly. Of course he had done his research. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too. Let's go?" With a squeeze of your thigh behind him, Buck zooms out of the lot.

You couldn't help but feel alive with the wind whipping in your face, the rumble of the engine, and the comfort of Buck underneath your touch. You don't know how long the two of you rode - time felt endless and magical - before Buck eventually stops in a secluded area. He takes off his helmet, and you couldn't help but bite your lip in appreciation. Helmet hair should not look that good on anyone. He then helps you dismount, completely oblivious to your inner thoughts, before pointing up at the sky.

"Found an area where we can properly see some stars. It's not much, but..." Buck trails off.

You can't help but shake your head at his thoughtfulness. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck. "It's perfect. Thank you, Buck."

"You're welcome." He smiles at you, before leaning down to capture your lips with his. It's a kiss that starts off slow and sweet, almost syrupy, before you start tugging on Buck's curls and his hands firmly squeeze your ass in an attempt to bring your bodies closer. You eventually separate, light pants and exhales mingling with the night air. The two of you laugh breathlessly, before walking back towards the bike, hand in hand.

Buck mounts, and before he can put his helmet on, you climb on as well, but this time, in front of and facing Buck. You straddle him fully, and Buck looks up at you in surprise.

"What're you doing?" Buck questions, voice raspy with want, but his hands start to wander from your sides and thighs. His half-hard length (his perpetual state around you, to be fair) stirs in his pants, thickening up fully the longer you sit on him.

"Riding." You state innocently, rocking your hips against his.

"Baby." Buck groans in pleasure, hands flying to your waist, helping you grind against him. You lean down to kiss Buck again, teeth nipping at his rosy, full lips.

Your clothed hips continue to roll against his sensually and patiently, until it became desperate and quick when you knew your release was imminent. "Come on baby, come for me." He grunts lowly, urging you towards your release.

White-hot pleasure explodes behind your eyes, your nails digging into Buck's biceps as you come. Buck follows not long after, a wet spot staining his jeans.

The two of you wince, thinking of riding back in stained clothes. "Sorry." You apologize sheepishly.

"I'm not. We'll just have to go home and get clean together." Buck states with a wink.

Needless to say, your first riding experience with Buck was a hit.

[l0vergirlwrites]

hidden talents ; spencer reid

synopsis: during a cozy night in with spencer, you both reveal your hidden talents to one another.

warnings: established relationship with fem!reader, silly hidden talents, so much fluff i could die, kissing & sweet touches, season 6 spencer in mind lowkey

note: i wrote this while listening to ‘north’ by clairo!

another note: i promise i’m working on the requests in my asks box! just taking longer than normal (reminder that requests are open!)

it had been a particularly cold day for the east coast, the arctic mass of freezing air drifted all the way into the apartment in dc where spencer & you reside, freshly showered under warm streams of water, dressed in pyjamas under a few extra blankets for good measure.

nights like this were rare—uninterrupted moments shared with just him & you, his left hand caressing one of your thighs under the blankets while his right one held a special cover version of steinbeck’s east of eden in his lap.

you were busy drawing patterns into the fuzz of the top blanket, right cheek pressed into spencer’s left arm as you drew leaves, flowers, & swirly symbols, watching the blanket leave shiny remnants of your artwork. a tv show you had started binging played softly on the medium sized tv spencer mounted on the wall last month, but you were growing bored.

“do you have any hidden talents?” you randomly asked once you lowered the tv’s volume more, placing the remote back on the nightstand before turning to spencer.

he gave you a quirked brow under his glasses, sliding his bookmark to where he left off before shutting the hardcover. “i don’t know. does having three phd’s & an affinity for magic tricks count?”

with a shake of your head & a chuckle, your right hand propped your head up on the pillows, free hand rubbing spencer’s bicep in a cruelly sweet way.

“people—including me—already know those things, silly” you pointed out, gasping when he squeezed your thigh in a funny spot. it didn’t hurt, just made you smile wider.

“c’mon, there has to be something you’ve kept hidden under your sleeve” you pleaded, tummy turning when spencer looked at you with those puppy dog eyes of his.

you were swooning hard.

but he’d argue that he was swooning harder.

“let me think…” he pouted his lips in thought, genuinely wracking his brain for something to appease you.

“i can talk with my mouth closed” he blurted, turning back to you & seeing your intrigued gaze.

“like jessie j?”.

“yes, like jessie j”.

“show me!” you demanded with excitement, sitting up a little straighter for the big reveal.

closing his mouth, you watched spencer say a few sentences with his mouth completely closed, his lips shut tight like they were glued together. the face he was making was silly & cute, & you were genuinely shocked at how clear you could hear him talking.

clapping lightly with delight, you scooted closer to him (as if you weren’t already tucked into his side like a magnet), cheering him on for his cool talent.

“how have you kept this hidden from me for five years? five whole years?!” you teased, seeing the effect you had on him live when his neck & cheeks grew pink & hot.

ducking his head, spencer shrugged. “it never came up”.

“you’re forgiven” you kissed spencer’s cheek, kissing it again when he leaned closer for another. you’d give him all the kisses in the world anyways.

“so, what about you? what’s your hidden talent?” he squeezed your thigh again, ready for you to reciprocate with something exciting.

“i can make a trumpet sound with my mouth”.

“really?”.

“you don’t believe me?” you faked surprised hurt.

“i’ll believe it when i see it, sweetheart” it was his turn to tease you now, chest tightening when you scrunched your nose a little with a smile.

that action always made him swoon somehow.

“okay, okay,” you rubbed his bicep again, preparing yourself. “but don’t look at me at first, or else i’ll start laughing & ruin it. please”.

at least you were polite.

with eyes closed, spencer patiently waited, & when he heard the trumpet like sound come from your lips, his eyes automatically opened in intrigue. because how did it sound at least sixty-percent like the real thing?

you proudly trumpeted the tune of ella fitzgerald’s song ‘at last’, some notes were off key but the heart was there. & spencer was amazed.

“that sure beats my talent by a long shot” he clapped too, laughing when you cupped your hurting cheeks. smiling too much hurt in the best way.

“you should do that at parties sometime” he teased lovingly, pulling you to his chest so he could feel your laugh vibrate through his skin.

lifting your head back up after a moment, feeling his hand drift through your hair, you played squinted. “you think you’re so funny, spence…”.

the look in his eyes was all gentle, the lamp light beside him casting a little honey glow to them. “you’ve always said you loved my jokes”.

you sighed, letting your face fall back to the cotton pyjama shirt he wore, unable to hide the fuzziness growing inside you. “i do”.

his looks were killer, sending your body into a frenzy of love & jittery emotions—the good type of jittery.

“are you too tired to read me some steinbeck?” you asked after a moment of content silence, his hands musing your hair while one of yours drew patterns onto the crook of his neck.

“never” he replied happily, letting yourself get comfortable on his chest before reaching for the book on the nightstand.

“wait”.

before spencer could grab it, your lips meshed with his, eyes shutting immediately as his hands cupped your cheeks, falling down the hedge maze of your touch before pulling away, his lips pressing two kisses on each cheek good measure.

“i’m never gonna get tired of that” you murmured as you got comfortable again, lips tingling from mingling with his. you’ve kissed spencer millions of times by now, but every kiss feels like the first—addictively sweet.

spencer clearly felt the same, because he couldn’t help but peck a few kisses to your forehead before opening the book to pick up where he left off.

his murmur of “me either” confirmed it too.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

The Manuscript // Luke Hughes

wc: 1.1k

cw: angst, breakup, sad shit man, there’s no happy ending in this.

There was a time where all you could think about was the joy of stepping through the door. The excitement about seeing him. The wonder of what the rest of your day was gonna be like with him.

There was never a time you worried, a time where you ever felt second in his life. You were, and he always said, “will be my number one. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

All that feels so distant. All the love, the spontaneity of him, the kisses in the doorway unafraid if the neighbors saw, the slow dancing in the kitchen.

The late nights he swore he wasn’t tired just so he could have a few more minutes with you. That all seemed so foreign.

Your bed wasn’t a comfort anymore, his pillow wasn’t your safe space while he was gone. He wasn’t yours anymore. No matter how many half hearted “I love you.” he gave as he walked out the door, you knew he wasn’t there. That wasn’t your Luke anymore.

There was a time where you’d wake up to flowers and breakfast in bed. There was a time he’d pick your outfit and give you a time frame to be ready for a date. There weren't any dates anymore. There wasn’t eating dinner together anymore. There was nothing. All you two shared was that stupid apartment that hurt every time you walked into it.

Tears filled your eyes as you packed your last box. Reminders of the words he mumbled as he walked out the door.

“This is my job! You know that! You act like you haven't been around my family and hockey for the last 5 years. This isn't any different. Now I have to go.” All you could do was nod. A silent understanding. He didn't have to understand yet, but you did. It was an understanding that no matter how difficult it was, Luke would always choose the sport over you. And who are you to get in the way of what makes him happiest?

The box that held all the signs of your relationship. All the pictures, all the gifts, the jersey’s, the jewelry. Your neck felt naked, that “L” pendant leaving a burning pain in its wake. You couldn't bother taping it, just left it sitting on the dining table.

One final breath and you were out the door. Dropping your keys with the neighbor and a promise he’ll give them to Luke tomorrow when he returns from the last road trip of the season.

He had wondered why you never responded to his text. You always responded, you always were so excited to see him home. Truthfully? He was excited to be with you again. He missed you so badly. His mind hasn't been right, and he knows he’s been a shitty partner. He’s been eating himself alive with it. Since Jack had his injury he had to pull more weight for the team. He had just hoped you'd understand. You'd be in the kitchen with dinner and he could just talk.

When Luke had finally stepped in front of his door, his shoulder eased. He was met with a dark apartment. An apartment that suddenly didn't feel like your shared home.

As soon as the lights flicked on and he didn't see your shoes or your bag by the front door - his chest felt heavy. His mind runs a mile a minute, the panic setting in the moment he sees the opened box. The folded piece of paper with his name on it, and that necklace he gave you in high school with it is what broke him.

With shaking hands and hot tears slowly falling from his eyes, he grabbed the paper.

Hi Lukey,

I know this is kind of cowardly and for that I apologize, but I didn't know how else to do this. You’ve probably got an idea at this point what’s happening. After you read this, please make sure you listen to the doorbell footage from Tuesday at 5:40pm.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep breaking my own heart hoping you're going to magically be different. And yeah, that’s shitty of me. I tried talking but I was only met with a stupid empty promise of dinner together tomorrow and those dinners never came. I know it’s been hard for you too. I know you've been so busy with the team and I'll never fault you for that, you're doing your job. You're doing what I know you love, what I've watched you do for so many years. You know the difference though.

I need you to think about how long it’s been since you ate a meal with me? When was the last time you kissed me, or even hugged me? Months, its been months Luke. Months I went feeling like the butt of a really bad joke. Months I felt like I wasn't important, wanted, or loved. I hope you understand my hurt, I hope you can understand why I did this. Why I left. Why I couldn't stay in a home, in a partnership that did not value the other anymore, in a partnership where only one side's feelings mattered.

If there’s anything I forgot for some reason, I went home. You can have Jack or Quinn drop them off when you’re all at the lake house in a few weeks.

I'm sorry Luke. Please take care of yourself, and don't forget, the dryer shrinks your uniform. Has to be on delicates. Good luck, Lukey.

No. Fuck, this cant be happening he thought to himself. This has to be some sick joke. His feet moved faster than his brain did. He was running down the hall, fuck the elevator. He can't wait, he needs to get to the airport.

He wasn't paying any attention, too focused on booking the flight on his phone before he bumped into someone. Not just someone, Jack.

“Hey, hey. Luke! What's your problem, why are you crying?” Jack asked.

“Fuck dude, shes gone. I need to go, I can't let her just leave Jack!”

Shaking his head, he ignored his brother's questions. He had one plan, and it was to get to you.

He opened his phone and went straight to the footage you referenced in your letter.

You were stood in the hallway, tears staining your cheeks. God he hated this, he hated knowing how badly he had hurt you. He never wanted to be the reason for your tears and now he was the only reason behind those. You took a deep breath and looked up to the doorbell. I loved you Luke, so much. I’m so sorry. I lived for the hope of it all for so long now, I hope you understand.

He did understand, he understood why. He didn't blame you for it either. He had lost the one person who loved him, all of him. Flaws and all. He lost her.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Only tonight 2/5

Summary : Lando Norris expected another loud Monaco party after the Grand Prix, what he didn’t expect was her. Charles Leclerc’s little sister, Eléa, dancing like the night was hers to burn. Radiating a freedom he’d never seen before, she wasn’t the quiet girl from the paddock he was used to.

But as the music pulsed and the drinks flowed, something in her laugh didn’t quite ring right. And when she whispered it was her birthday… everything changed. Now Lando make his personal mission to make her birthday unforgivable.

Genre : fluff, consumption of alchool

Pairing : Lando Norris x Leclerc sister (original female character)

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Author note : mega race this weekend for Lando, so happy for him so here a new chapter to celebrate this well deserved win :)

Lando had completely lost count of how many drinks she’d had. He had finaly agree she ordered some coktails after she made this sad look he apparently can't resist. He wasn’t sure she even finished any of them, to be honest. She’d take two sips, get excited about the garnish, or the glass shape, or the tiny cherry floating in the bottom, and then jump to the next one like a distracted butterfly.

Everything amazed her. Everything made her smile.

“Oh my god, this napkin is sooo soft,” Eléa whispered across the table like she’d just discovered silk. “Feel it, Lan. Feel it.”

Lando pressed the napkin between his fingers, chuckling. “Incredible. Revolutionary textile engineering.”

“I’m gonna steal it,” she said, hiding it in her purse with a theatrical wink. “Souvenir.”

He couldn't stop smiling. His face was starting to hurt.

She suddenly leaned over the table again, eyes wide and hopeful. “Do you… do you have a boat?”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“A boat!” she said, like it was the most obvious next topic. “Do you have one?”

He hesitated. “Why?”

She leaned her chin on her hands, dreamy-eyed. “Because I love boats. Like, love love. And it’s Monaco. And it’s night. And if you have a boat, then this could be the most perfect birthday ever.”

His heart did something stupid in his chest.

She was beaming at him now. “Do you have one?” she asked again, and this time her voice was all softness and hope.

He opened his mouth to say no.

But what came out was: “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got one down at the harbor.”

She gasped so loudly the people at the next table glanced over. “No way. Really?”

Lando grinned, nervously. “Yeah. It’s… small. But nice.”

He didn’t know why he lied.

No, actually, he did. It was the way she looked at him. Like he was magic. Like he’d already made her birthday.

“Can we go?” she said, nearly bouncing in her seat. “Please, Lando, please, please, I want to see it, I want to see the sea, I want to float.”

There was no universe in which he could say no to her right now.

So he stood and dropped some bills on the table. “Let’s go birthday girl.”

Eléa squealed, launched herself over the table, and kissed his cheek.

And that was it. He was done. Confidence at 110%. No way out now.

The taxi ride to the harbor was full of her pressing her nose to the window and pointing at everything.

“Monaco looks like a jewel box,” she murmured, kicking off her heels and tucking her bare feet beneath her. “We’re so lucky to live in a jewel box.”

Lando was only half-listening, too busy going through every possible excuse for what he was about to do.

He didn’t have a boat.

But Max Verstappen did.

And Lando, thanks to one chaotic post-GP night last summer, knew the exact harbor location, the model, and the security code to get past the private dock gate.

It was fine. Probably fine.

They arrived, and Eléa all but skipped across the marina, her heels dangling from one hand. “Where is it, where is it, oh wait, this is private! There’s a gate!”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me…” Lando stepped up to the keypad, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and typed in the code.

The lock clicked.

The gate swung open.

And Eléa’s jaw dropped. “NO. WAY.”

Lando turned around, arms out. “Ta-da.”

“That's your boat?” she gasped, staring at Max’s sleek, gleaming superyacht like it was the Titanic and she was Rose. “It’s massive! It’s not a boat, it’s like...like a floating palace!”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It… has good lighting.”

She sprinted ahead, arms spread wide, barefoot on the deck as she twirled under the stars. “This is insane," she breathed, spinning in place. “Wow... Look at this view.”

He just stared at her.

She was glowing, flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, a little off-balance due to her tipsy state but full of this uncontainable joy. Her hair was wild in the breeze, her dress catching moonlight in waves.

It wasn’t the boat, or the view.

It was her.

“You wanna sit down?” he said softly.

She nodded, dropping onto one of the cushioned lounge benches with a sigh. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders again, then stepped into the small kitchenette below deck.

Max always kept emergency supplies, Red Bulls, of course, and more importantly, water.

He came back with a bottle and handed it to her. “Here. Hydration break.”

She looked up at him with glassy eyes and took it gratefully, uncapping it with a wobbly twist. “You’re taking care of me.”

“Someone’s got to.”

She leaned back against the seat, jacket wrapped around her, sipping water and looking up at the sky.

“The stars are so bright tonight,” she whispered.

He sat beside her, shoulder just barely brushing hers. “Yeah. They are.”

“I think,” she murmured, turning her face toward him, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

And the way she said it, soft, surprised, grateful, it nearly undid him. And right then, Lando knew. He would’ve stolen ten yachts if it meant seeing that smile again.

The stars had shifted overhead by the time Eéa began to slow down. The sea was calm, rocking gently beneath Max’s boat, the only sound was the water lapping quietly against the hull.

Lando hadn’t moved in a while. He sat beside her on the deck bench, jacket still wrapped around her shoulders, his body warm and still and completely alert.

She’d gone quiet for a bit, sipping the rest of the water, then slowly curled her legs beneath her and leaned, very gently, against him.

“Cold?” he asked, voice hushed.

She nodded without words and snuggled closer, cheek resting lightly on his shoulder.

He stared straight ahead, heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

The soft hum of the marina filled the silence between them, but Eléa was still awake, her breathing slow but even, her fingers brushing the fabric of his jacket like she was grounding herself.

And then she spoke again, quietly, her voice rougher now, sleepier.

“Did you know,” she murmured, “that Monaco has more yachts than grocery stores?”

Lando chuckled under his breath. “Is that a fact?”

“Totally. Googled it once when I was drunk.”

He smiled, tilting his head slightly toward her. "You get drunk often ?"

She hummed. “Just when feel lonely...Like tonight, especially tonight.”

He didn’t answer.

She kept going, her voice soft and meandering. “It’s weird. People think I have this perfect life. Monaco. Fast cars. Brother in F1. But no one asks me what I actually like. What makes me excited.”

He glanced at her. “Then tell me.”

She shifted just slightly, her temple pressing into his shoulder. “I love old books. The ones that smell like dust and ink. I love thunderstorms when I’m in bed. I love baking, even though I suck at it. And French fries dipped in mayonnaise, don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” he whispered. “I’m memorizing.”

She smiled softly. “That’s a good line.”

He swallowed, mouth dry.

And then she sat up a little, turning to face him. Her eyes, still glassy, were locked on his.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The question hit him like a slap.

“What?” he said, blinking.

She tilted her head, innocent and bold. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or maybe… a boyfriend?”

He coughed, heart skipping. “No. I don’t. Why?”

She blinked in surprise, like she hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But that’s weird,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “You’ve got fast cars, a sweet smile… and a boat.”

He laughed, covering his face for a moment. “You really think the boat’s a dealbreaker, huh?”

She shrugged with a grin. “I mean, yeah, when I was younger I always said I will marry a guy with a boat when I will get older, it's a very serious request."

All he could think about was that she’d called his smile sweet. And that he very not owned a boat, but maybe he will have to buy one now.

When he looked up again, her expression had shifted, soft, curious.

“What about you?” he asked carefully. “Anyone special?”

Her face changed.

The joy dropped off her features like a mask slipping, revealing something smaller and bruised underneath.

She hesitated. Then said, “I did. Once. He dumped me.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “I’m sorry.”

“He was a jerk,” she said quickly, brushing it off with a fake laugh. “Said I was too closed off and then too intense sometimes.”

Lando didn’t know which part made him angrier.

“And since then?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I think guys are afraid. Or just not interested. Or… maybe I’m just hard to like.”

He turned sharply to her, brow furrowed. “That’s not true.”

She gave a small, crooked smile. “Boys are lame anyway. And none of them have a boat.”

He grinned, but before he could reply, she added, more quietly:

“Also… it’s hard when your brother is Charles Leclerc. The golden boy. The prince of Monaco.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy.

“No guy can really compete with that,” she said softly. “And no one wants to be compared.”

He looked at her then and see everything. The way she was trying so hard to keep the edges of her heart together. The way her voice cracked just a little. The way her eyes were wide and vulnerable and quietly begging to be seen.

She glanced at him, and then smiled.

“Well,” she said, eyes bright again, “maybe you could compare.”

He blinked. “Me?”

She nodded, curling back into his side again. “Yeah. I like you.”

Lando didn’t breathe for five full seconds.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly, trying to laugh but failing. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she murmured, not lifting her head. “I do mean it.”

“Eléa…”

“No, really,” she said, voice looser now, but still firm. “I think you’re… really cute. Like, since always. I just never had the guts to tell you.”

He turned, just enough to see the side of her face. She looked half-asleep but so honest.

“The alcohol helps,” she added. “Makes me brave.”

Then she sighed and nestled further into him, like she belonged there.

“It’s okay though,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s not… reciprocated. You’d never go for a girl like me.”

His heart squeezed.

“That’s not true,” he started, voice low, rough, full of something that was almost breaking out of him.

But he didn’t finish.

He couldn’t.

Because she was drunk. Because she was Charles's little sister and before tonight he had never had the chance to really talk to her.

And maybe she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

And maybe she didn’t even mean it, not really. Maybe it was just the buzz, the loneliness, the stars.

So he said nothing.

And she didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, she lifted her head and turned to him with wide, sleepy eyes. “Do you know what I want for my birthday?”

He blinked, thrown off. “What?”

Her lips curled into a tiny smile. “A kiss under the stars.”

He stared at her, stunned. “Wait… what?”

“I used to dream about it,” she said, laughing softly, eyes distant now. “When I was little. I wanted a movie moment, you know? One perfect kiss, outside, under the sky. Just once.”

She sighed again. “But boys are dumb. And boring. And cowards. So it never....”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence.

Because Lando leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy.

It was slow, careful, like pressing a fingertip to the surface of still water, waiting to see if it rippled.

Eléa froze for a moment, caught by surprise.

And then, with a soft, startled noise in her throat, she kissed him back.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And when they pulled apart, her eyes were shining.

“Thanks, Lan,” she whispered, forehead resting gently against his. “You’re nice.”

Then she curled into him again, arms tucking under his jacket, her body warm and soft against his.

Lando stared straight ahead at the sea, every nerve on fire.

“I’m not just nice,” he whispered, so quiet it barely reached the air. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to.”

But she didn’t reply.

She was already drifting into sleep, her breath slow and even, her fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt.

And Lando just held her, still, silent, heart full and aching, under a sky full of stars.

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[foxtrology]

Harry Castillo crying with those big brown eyes is too good to pass up: prompt 1!

dad! harry castillo

prompt 1: harry takes adella to her first day of preschool and forgets to pack the crayons she insisted on bringing because he was too busy crying in the hallway and taking photos of his babygirl.

prompt list

⸻

The morning started slow, even though they’d both set alarms.

Harry had been awake since 5:52, staring at the ceiling. Not because he was worried—no, no, definitely not worried—but because his little girl was starting preschool today and his body had decided to treat it like the most important boardroom meeting of his entire life.

Next to him, she stirred sometime around 6:10. Rolled toward him, sleepy eyed and warm, wearing one of his old t-shirts she’d claimed years ago.

“She’s going to be fine.” she murmured, even before opening her eyes.

“I didn’t say anything,” he whispered.

“You were thinking very loud.”

Harry sighed, reaching for her hand under the sheets. She laced their fingers together like muscle memory, brushing her foot against his ankle. “She’s still so little,” he murmured.

“She’s nearly four and she already bosses Frances around like a tiny CEO.”

He cracked a smile. “She gets that from you.”

“She gets the dramatic flair from you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, deadpan.

She snorted into the pillow, smiling against his shoulder.

And for a few moments, they laid like that—quiet and soft, the house still hushed before the rush. It was peaceful.

And then—

“Mommy!” came the voice, high and excited, somewhere from the hallway.

They both sat up like they’d been launched from a cannon.

Adella was already dressed.

Well. Half dressed.

She was wearing her carefully chosen sparkly cat-print dress and one pink sock. Her hair was a frizzy mess of curls and her toothbrush was still clutched in one fist. She was barefoot. Frances was trailing behind her, grumpy and disheveled, clearly having been woken up against her will.

“I’m ready!” Adella announced to the living room.

“You’re—very close,” her mom said gently, bending to kiss her forehead.

“I picked my dress last night.”

“I know, sweetheart. You did amazing.” She smoothed Adella’s hair back and tucked the toothbrush out of her hand. “Let’s do your hair and put your shoes on and then we’ll be really ready.”

Harry stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them with something like reverence.

His two girls.

One grown. One growing.

Both magic.

He pulled out his phone and took a picture right then—Adella standing on the step stool in the bathroom while her mom combed through her hair with practiced gentleness, murmuring little encouragements under her breath while Adella talked nonstop about how she hoped there would be stickers.

Harry had never known mornings could feel this good.

The kitchen was chaos in the best way.

Sliced strawberries. A tiny thermos of milk. A granola bar. A sandwich cut into a dinosaur shape because “rectangles are for boring people.” Harry had hovered behind the counter, triple-checking the lunchbox, the backpack, the water bottle, the emergency contact card which he’d laminated twice.

“She wants to bring her crayons,” his wife reminded him, placing the little box on the counter. “The sparkly ones Maya gave her.”

“Already on it,” he said, placing the box next to the lunch.

“You sure you’re okay doing drop-off alone?”

Harry looked up, his face softening. “I want to.”

She reached across the counter and took his hand. “Text me when you get there?”

“I’ll text you before I get there.”

“I know.”

He leaned over and kissed her, long and warm, until Adella interrupted loudly with a very exaggerated ewwww and reminded them it was her big day, not a kissing day.

Harry looked at her and felt his chest swell.

God, she was so little.

How had time moved like this?

At the preschool gates, he realized several things at once.

One, he was the oldest dad there by at least a decade. Maybe more.

Two, a few other parents gave him a look. That oh, you must be grandpa look. He met it with the flattest expression he could manage until they looked away.

Three, he didn’t care.

Because Adella was holding his hand, practically vibrating with excitement and nerves, her tiny backpack bouncing behind her with each step. She looked up at him with her gap-toothed smile and whispered, “Are you so proud of me, Daddy?”

Harry dropped to one knee and fixed her collar.

“I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life.”

“Even the skyscraper building you made?”

“Even that.”

“Even your big fancy job?”

“Especially that.”

She beamed.

He kissed her forehead and stood, snapping one more picture—her standing in front of the little preschool sign, her curls in perfect spirals, her lunchbox hanging from one hand, her other hand giving him a thumbs up.

And then the teacher called her name.

She hesitated for a second, her little fingers tightening around his.

Harry knelt again, smoothing her dress.

“You’re okay, bug. You’re brave. And I’ll be right outside.”

“You’ll wait?”

“I’ll wait.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, voice soft. “Always.”

She let go.

Walked into her assigned class.

Didn’t even look back.

The moment she was out of sight, Harry crumbled.

Not outwardly. Not in front of the other parents.

But the second he stepped into the hallway of the school, away from the crowd, he leaned against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

He stared at his phone.

Zoomed in on the last photo he’d taken.

She was still just a baby to him. Still the soft bundle that used to sleep on his chest. Still the toddler who clung to his leg during storms. Still the tiny voice that asked him to “hold her forever.”

And now she was in preschool.

A teacher would be watching her.

Other kids would be sitting beside her.

He wasn’t ready.

He wanted to storm the room and demand to be made a tiny desk just to sit next to her.

His wife texted.

how’d it go?

He sent the photo.

i’m never recovering.

She sent back a string of heart emojis and then:

you forgot the crayons.

Harry blinked.

He looked down at the counter photo he’d taken earlier. The crayons. Right there. Still on the kitchen island.

“Oh, shit.”

He muttered it under his breath and immediately texted her back,

i was emotionally compromised.

you’re lucky she loves you.

He stared at the preschool door.

Quickly raced to the car.

And arrived at his home.

Then returned as quick as he left.

“Can I go back in?” he asked the receptionist, holding up the glittery crayon box like a white flag.

She gave him a knowing look. “First day?”

He nodded.

She smiled. “Of course.”

When he walked into the classroom, Adella was sitting at a tiny table next to a boy in a striped shirt, both of them coloring on placemats.

She looked up and lit up like the sun.

“Daddy!”

Harry crouched beside her and held out the crayon box. “Forgot these.”

“You forgot them,” she said with a tiny gasp, like it was the greatest betrayal she could imagine. But then she took them and hugged them to her chest. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

She turned back to her drawing.

He stayed for another second, watching her pick out her colors, watching her little legs swing beneath the table, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

Then he stood.

And left.

This time, he only cried a little in the car.

That evening, after dinner and a retelling of her entire day in great dramatic detail, Adella curled in his lap on the couch while his wife rubbed her feet from the other side and they listened to her read out loud from the paper she’d brought home. It was a self-portrait made of scribbles and too much glue, signed in huge crooked letters, ADELLA.

“You were very brave today,” her mom said, kissing her cheek.

“I was scared at first,” Adella whispered. “But then Daddy said he’d wait. And that made it okay.”

Harry pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“I always will.”

And he meant it.

Every word.

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Dreemurr of Demons

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Asriel ventures back to Hometown while on the trail of trying to find out what happened to Kris, and stumbles across an unusual man who's all too excited to share his demon-warding knowledge! But it's unclear so far whether this knowledge will actually be of help to him...

Yaaay all done with this series back with the Dreemurrs! This one was definitely the longest, but also had some important info! What I'll tackle next is a mystery to me right now...

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1 Panel 1: Exterior shot of a back alley in Hometown, with old barrels and boxes stacked behind medieval buildings. Asriel walks down the alley, wearing a striped shirt, glasses and scruffy blond hair, and carrying a large canvas bag over his shoulders. The annoying dog trots happily beside him.

Panel 2: The annoying dog drops his nose to the ground, sniffing at some interesting smell.

Panel 3: The dog bounds off ahead of Asriel to a haphazard collection of trinkets, boxes, jars and displayed charms, all partially covered with colorful cloths. A man is kneeling under one of the tent setups. Asriel walks to catch up with the dog, asking, "What's got your interest this time, dog?"

Panel 4: The man pops up from his odd collection and turns to Asriel with arms spread and a big smile. He has short curly hair, and is dressed in a medieval robe with a cape slung over his shoulders, and bone designs in his sleeve cuffs. He answers, "Just the finest assortment of handmade charms and magical meals made by yours truly, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!" The dog happily circles Papyrus, tail wagging.

Panel 5: Asriel is a bit taken aback by the introduction, but waves in greeting anyway, and responds with "…Oh! Howdy!" The dog sits in front of Papyrus, panting and wagging his tail.

Page 2 Panel 1: Papyrus leans down with a big grin to pet the dog and ruffle its face. "What a bright and clever fellow! Such a sweet face!"

Panel 2: "You're a good, good boy, aren't you?" Papyrus continues. However, the dog glances over to the side, as something has got his attention:

Panel 3: It's one of the charms Papyrus has on display: a large femur bone decorated with paint, beads and feathers.

Panel 4: The dog leaps up and snatches the charm in its mouth. Papyrus looks agape at this thievery, eyes cartoonishly wide. "Wh-HEY! That's my SPECIAL demon-warding charm!"

Panel 5: The dog goes running off further into the alley, the bone still in its mouth. Papyrus shakes his fist at it and yells after it: "You thieving scoundrel! I take back all the nice things I said about you!"

Panel 6: Papyrus quickly turns back to Asriel with a more apologetic look; even now he can't be too mean. He says, "I apologize, I didn't mean to yell at your dog. I'm sure he's normally better behaved!" Asriel waves off the apology with tired bemusement. "No, it's fine. He's not really my dog." Under his breath, he adds, "He just keeps following me around for some reason…"

Panel 7: Papyrus stands back up and gestures to his odd collection. "In any case, you at least are welcome to my little shop-in-the-works!"

Page 3 Panel 1: Papyrus leans in close to Asriel, observing him, and getting a bit into his personal space. "You look a little familiar, though! Are you perhaps related to Mr. Dreemurr?" Asriel nervously adjusts his glasses, and replies, "Heh, yes. I'm Asriel, his son."

Panel 2: Asriel holds up a hand and gives a little sideeye to the alley around them. "But, uh…I actually don't want my parents to know that I'm back in town, so I'd appreciate you keeping quiet about me being here."

Panel 3: Papyrus mirrors that sideeye, hands on his hips, as if recalling some recent incident. "Ahh…I know well the trials of avoiding family. Especially when they decide to try out some terrible new jokes."

Panel 4: Papyrus makes a lip-zipping motion with his hand and mouth. "Not to worry, my lips are sealed!" Asriel smiles back, and says, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Panel 5: A wider shot of the two still standing within Papyrus's collection of tents and trinkets. Papyrus asks, "So, if it's not to see your folks, what brings you back around Hometown?" Asriel glances around them, and replies, "I'm looking for something. Or well…kinda hoping I don't find something here."

Page 4 Panel 1: Papyrus points up one finger, looking as if he's already solved this problem. "If you don't want to find it, then looking for it seems rather counterintuitive!"

Panel 2: Asriel looks a little taken aback by that logic. "Yes, well… Okay you have a point, but…"

Panel 3: Asriel keeps glancing behind him, as if expecting to see someone there. "This is kind of the next step in a trail of research I've been doing."

Panel 4: Papyrus puts a hand to a chest and puffs himself up, imitating his heroic poses from Undertale. "Well, if your research involves handmade charms and tasty foods both designed to ward off demons, evil spirits and the like… Then I'll be your most cited source!"

Panel 5: Asriel crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows, intrigued by this. "Really."

Panel 6: "You know a lot about demons, huh?" Asriel asks as he sits himself on one of the rugs within the tent setup. Papyrus keeps up his self-congratulatory pose. "I, the Great Papyrus, am a bonafide expert in such subjects! Sad that so few around here seem to recognize my talents."

Page 5 Panel 1: Asriel holds his hands up, willing to follow this strange thread wherever it might lead. "Well, I've got a question that all my research hasn't been able to answer for me, so perhaps you can…"

Panel 2: A pause as Asriel holds on to his thoughts, hands closed in front of his face. Papyrus sits down on the rug across from him.

Panel 3: Asriel lowers his hands, his face deeply serious. "How do you kill a demon?"

Panel 4: Papyrus looks back at him with an equally serious expression, then…

Panel 5: The seriousness is gone as he gives a casual shrug, and gives an answer. "Oh, that's simple. You don't!"

Panel 6: Asriel looks a little bit baffled, and disappointed. "…You don't?"

Panel 7: "No, silly. They're immortal, like angels!" Papyrus keeps up the casual shrug, as if this information is obvious.

Panel 8: However, Papyrus then seems to become aware of why this is being asked. He looks around the area frantically, his head whipping back and forth. "Why?! Are there demons around here that my detection flatbreads missed?!" Asriel offers an amused smile back. "Heehee… no, I don't think so."

Page 6 Panel 1: The seriousness returns to Asriel's face as he scratches at his nose, lost in worried thought. "I just…have this real bad hunch. I'm trying to prepare myself for all potential outcomes."

Panel 2: Papyrus ignores the seriousness of the situation, and just seems impressed. "Preparation! The hallmark of the truly intelligent!"

Panel 3: Asriel is still set on getting some information, and continues his questions. "Thanks. So, if you can't kill them, what do you do about them?" Papyrus holds up a finger again, happy to keep explaining: "Well, you got two options! First, you can banish them back to their own plane!"

Panel 4: Papyrus continues, "However, that's really only the ideal option if you're the one that summoned them in the first place. Otherwise it's a whole ordeal." In the background, Papyrus's point is illustrated with a little graphic of a cult member holding up a hand in rejection of a demon within a summoning circle. The demon looks confused and perturbed by the rejection.

Panel 5: Asriel says, "I see. What's the other option?" Papyrus continues his explanation across the two panels: "You bind the demon to something! Quickest and easiest thing to do is bind them to an object! Buuut, problem with that is, if your object gets broken or destroyed, now your demon's free and even angrier than before."

Panel 6: To illustrate his point, another background graphic shows a shocked human with a broken jar in front of them. A demon rises out of the remains of the broken jar, looking angry and ready to strike.

Page 7 Panel 1: Papyrus again continues his explanation across two panels. "Hardest and most time-consuming thing to do is to bind them to a place! Good option if you have the prep time, but then you can't really use that place anymore. Better pick a restaurant you hate and hope no one there minds you standing outside it chanting for three days straight."

Panel 2: To illustrate his point further, a scene (perhaps a flashback) shows Papyrus with his arms raised outside of a restaurant, supposedly chanting angrily at it, while another person stares back at him from the doorway, hands on their hips in annoyance.

Panel 3: Asriel watches as Papyrus finishes up the rest of his explanation: "Aaaand, last thing you can do is…bind the demon to a person! Which…"

Panel 4: Papyrus stops suddenly. For the first time, he looks actually disturbed and hesitant.

Panel 5: Asriel watches quizzically, waiting for him to continue.

Panel 6: When he doesn't continue, Asriel tries to prompt him on, tilting his head towards him. "…And?"

Panel 7: Papyrus quickly waves his hands in front of him, smiling nervously, clearly trying to dismiss the whole idea. "But you know, we don't need to go into the details of that!"

Panel 8: Asriel says nothing, but remains in nervous thought, one hand covering his mouth. It's clear that this is sticking in his mind the most.

Page 8 Panel 1: Asriel remains sitting with a hand to his chin in thought, but Papyrus has moved on to better advice. "But as I always say, an ounce of prevention's worth a pound of cure! You're much better off trying one of my charms or meals to-go!"

Panel 2: Asriel lets himself smile more at this suggestion. "Y'know? I'm sold. And also a bit hungry."

Panel 3: Asriel gets up, and drops a handful of coins into Papyrus's open hand, which Papyrus looks at in surprise. Asriel says, "Give me your best demon-warding meal."

Panel 4: Papyrus stares down at the coins in his hand, his eyes cartoonishly big and shiny, full of excitement. "WOWIE!! My FIRST ever sale!" he says with a big smile.

Panel 5: Papyrus leaps up and begins to rummage through some of the boxes and barrels around his collection. "This calls for my finest delicacy!" Asriel watches him from a few steps back, and mutters under his breath, "…First ever?…"

Page 9 Panel 1: Papyrus straightens back up, gesturing to a small sack that he is holding in one hand. He looks pleased with himself. "Spiced candied yam bites, from my home country!"

Panel 2: "Each one will purge you of evil spirits for a whole ten hours!" he continues. He hands the small sack off to Asriel, who takes it from him and says, "Sounds like a good deal." In the background, the annoying dog pops back up from behind some other boxes, holding something in its mouth.

Panel 3: Asriel hefts the bag over his shoulder again, and holds up the sack of treats in acknowledgement of the exchange. "Well, I know where to come if I need more info and good charms."

Panel 4: Papyrus stands proud, both hands on his hips, happy at being able to spout off his knowledge to a stranger. "Yes, yes! Tell all your friends about the fantastic advice and the culinary masterworks of the Great Papyrus!" he says excitedly.

Panel 5: Asriel heads off back into the alleyways, and waves goodbye to Papyrus. The annoying dog follows close behind his steps. Papyrus enthusiastically waves to the two as they leave, and says, "Safe travels to you and your annoying dog!"

Page 10 Panel 1: Papyrus turns back to his collection of trinkets and boxes with a determined look, hands on his hips. "And now to see where that criminal canine buried my special charm…" he says to himself.

Panel 2: While continuing on through the alleyways, Asriel opens the small sack and pulls out one of the candied yam bites.

Panel 3: Asriel glances back down at the dog, and notices that he's carrying something that's making a tinking noise. It's partially hidden from view. "Oh boy, what did you steal now?" he asks with a wry smile.

Panel 4: Asriel takes the yam bite and pops it into his mouth with a crunch…

Panel 5: …Only to then make a face, his eyes wide and his mouth scrunched up, as if tasting something indescribable.

Panel 6: "What IS this flavor?" Asriel asks to himself, although all but his back foot are off-panel. The focus is on the annoying dog, who is shown to be carrying a strange, heart-shaped metal lantern on a chain.

[hotchnerwrites]

hello this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s bad😭😭😭. but i was thinking about maybe the reader having a hard day at work (she worked at the bau) and was kinda stress out so hotch sits her in between his legs and fingers her while whispering sweet nothings in her ear ???? i just need him to take care of me😩😩😩😩😩

Reckless

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), fingering, mirror sex, kind of established but hidden relationship, no use of (y/n), afab reader

A/N: Hi, hun, thank you so much for taking the chance on me and requesting, especially since this is your first time <3 It was a great request, and I love the idea! I'm kinda new to writing smut. It's definitely a learning curve for me, but I tried my best. I really hope you like this, and it's what you wanted!!! mwah mwah mwah, enjoy. And man, I want Aaron to talk me through it so bad 😩

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

You hate Denver.

It’s ridiculously hot. Not even the AC was helping. And to add fuel to the fire, the local sheriff was utterly incompetent. Not only had he lost half the physical evidence, but he was also getting in the way of the team’s job.

And just your luck— you’d been tasked with retrieving the evidence. In a desperate effort to escape from reality, you’d locked yourself in the evidence cabinet, hands still shaking from too much caffeine. You knew it couldn’t last forever, but even ten minutes away from the local police was solace. 

For a while, the only noise in the room was the ruffle of papers as you dug through cardboard boxes desperately, wishing the documents would magically reappear. Mindless work, but it was grinding your gears, and you could feel yourself becoming more stressed by the minute. But you keep at it, hoping against hope. 

Just as you begin to settle into your task, you hear the door creak open. Damn it.

You tense, hoping it’s not that damn sheriff again. You didn’t want to have to punch him in the face. But a familiar cologne of warm spice and amber crowds your space and the tension eases— Hotch. 

Though you were grateful for his presence, the case, the pressure, the exhaustion— it had all built up to a breaking point. The last thing you wanted was to talk, but you couldn’t shake the knot in your chest. Hotch, always attuned to your mood, noticed how you seemed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders right now. That’s why he’d followed you into the filing cabinet. 

Wordlessly, he slides you a small piece of paper. Before you could open it, he places a soft kiss on your temple and leaves the way he came.

10 pm Knock thrice if you’re feeling reckless. Twice if you want me to behave. Either way, my door is always open. - A

You smile.

———

You lay spread-eagle on your bed, listening for the sound of doors closing. You wanted the team in bed before you went to Aaron. All but one door… and there it was. The last click. The coast was clear. You swing your legs off the bed. Exhaustion racks your frame, but your excitement masks the strain.

You slip out of your hotel room, gently drawing your door close. Aaron’s room is opposite yours— convenient. As you’re about to knock on his door, you hesitate for a second. Twice or thrice? But as the week you’ve had flashes in front of your eyes, your resolve hardens. 

Tap-tap-tap.

The door swings open almost immediately. Chocolate brown eyes meet yours, and the day’s irritation melts away. Aaron takes you by the wrist, guiding you into the room gently. The warmth of his palm was comforting, a reassurance that you were safe, even when your mind was racing.

As you follow him, you take in the state of the room. Files are scattered across the desk. A few are marked with sticky notes, others open to pages filled with dense reports and scribbled annotations. A half-finished glass of bourbon is balanced precariously nearby, and his blazer is draped over the back of the chair. Aaron’s tie is missing, tossed in some dark corner.

A dry chuckle escapes you, “Good to see I’m not the only one going nuts from stress.”

He doesn’t respond, but the small quirk of his lips tells you he heard.

“Sit,” he instructed softly, pointing towards the edge of the bed. With a quiet exhale, you obey, letting yourself be steered. You didn’t want to think anymore. Your knees fall open as you settle in, tension roving through your muscles.

Hotch steps between your legs, presence steady and grounding. Without a word, he places his hands on your shoulders, expert thumbs kneading the knots there. 

Slow. Deliberate.

You can’t help the groan that falls from your lips. It felt heavenly. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “Take a deep breath for me.”

The rigidity in your neck eases slowly, and your breathing evens out. For the first time since landing in Denver, you let go.

But just as you begin to get comfortable under Aaron’s ministrations, he moves.

Not far, just enough to sink down on the mattress beside you. Before you could process his decision, his large paws envelop your waist. And he pulls— guiding you effortlessly into his lap.

A quiet gasp escaped you as you let yourself be gathered into his hold, your back pressing flush against his chest, his arms winding around your middle.

“Better?” he murmured against your hair, his lips barely brushing your temple.

You exhaled, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

“Let me take care of you tonight, honey,” he whispered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

He wasn’t kidding about being reckless. You had never done this before on a case. Despite that, you nod eagerly. You needed this. And something told you that Aaron did, too.

He doesn’t waste any time. Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands trail up your ribs, going all the way up under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your skin set your senses on fire. Heat blooms across your face and your head lolls back against his shoulders as he cups your tits, the rough pad of his thumbs flicking against your nipples. A low grunt from Aaron conveys that he’s grateful for your decision to forego a bra tonight. 

Without warning, he pinches your right nipple. The sudden sensation catches you off guard, and you gasp, arching into his touch. He’s barely even started touching you, and you’re already losing it.

“The mirror,” he says suddenly.

The words cut through the haze of arousal settling on your brain. “What?”

“The mirror. Look at it.” You feel him indicate with a nod, and you blink, gaze shifting forward to land on the large mirror across from the bed—one of those standard hotel-room fixtures positioned perfectly to reflect the two of you. 

What you see makes heat spread across your face. You, seated in Aaron’s lap, with his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your face is flushed, and your nipples are pointed through the material of your shirt. Your jaw hangs slightly open, and you’re breathing audibly. You look utterly wanton and at Aaron’s mercy. With a start, you realise his shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms.

Just the way you like it.

And the way they strained as they caged you against him? Words couldn’t describe how badly you needed him right now. Sensing your desire, Aaron moves faster. In the blink of an eye, he pulls your thin shirt over your head and discards it, exposing your breasts. Large, calloused hands sweep across your body and whispered sighs fall from your mouth. 

“Touch me, please,” you beg, desperate for his hands to graze you where you need him the most.

Through the mirror, you watch Aaron as he slowly mouths up your neck, settling on that soft spot behind your ears. Impatience takes over, and you grind into his lap, rubbing your pussy into his hardening crotch. You needed him inside you now, and you didn’t care whether it was his fingers or his cock.

“Patience,” he rasps into your ear, “Or I’m gonna go even slower.”

Your retort burns on your tongue, but before you can do anything about it, Aaron slides his hands under the waistband of your pants. He brushes his fingers gently over your abdomen, taking his sweet time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight, sweetheart,” he continues. His voice is unfairly composed. You have no idea how his brain is still functioning because yours certainly isn’t. All you can think about is the feeling of his thick fingers, preferably buried inside your cunt.

A prolonged moan slips out of you. You couldn’t give less of a damn about who heard right now. 

“Aaron,” you plead, making eye contact through the mirror. He looks so pleased— like a cat that got the cream. And then, slowly— oh, so slowly—his fingers flit over where you needed him the mouth.

“I want you to keep your eyes on yourself, sweetheart,” Aaron commanded, his Unit Chief voice seeping out. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Anything. Whatever he wanted, you’d give it to him. You just wanted him inside of you. 

Aaron rolls your pants down in a deft movement, letting his palms rove over your stomach. Thankfully, he decides to put you out of your misery, and slides his fingers into your panties, groaning in your ear as it slips in oh so easily, creating a wet sound. The friction sends you to heaven, and you stretch your legs further apart, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you look in the mirror right now. 

“My pretty girl,” he rasps, “You’ve been so good today.”

The praise has you whimpering and you grind down on his palm.

“Didn’t even complain,” Aaron grunts, hooking his fingers inside your gummy walls, “Such a good girl.” You whimper at his words and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. The way he’s scissoring his fingers in your cunt… 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me right now.”

Aaron continues to slide his fingers in and out of you, ever so slowly but oh so perfectly. You bite your lips to contain the noises threatening to escape you, but when he grabs your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers, your eyes slide shut, letting the sensations take over.

“I said,” he growls, punctuating his words with thrusts of his fingers, “Look. At. The Mirror.” 

Your eyes fly open, and your hips jerk involuntarily, overwhelmed by the feel of his touch. Your body burns in pleasure, and his name falls from your lips, tangled with a soft moan. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, honey,” Aaron groans, “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re so wet. You’re doing so well, baby”

“Please, yes…” you whine back, body arching to beg for more. His fingers are dripping wet with your arousal and you watch them disappear repeatedly into your cunt, making damp sounds. You bite your lower lip to keep your impending orgasm at bay, but just then, Aaron circles your clit with the pad of his thumb.

The cry that leaves you only seems to incense Aaron. He’s fully hard by now, and you can feel his cock straining painfully against your ass. Pleasure clouds your brain, and you can’t do anything but take what he gives you and grind helplessly on his lap. Despite that, you don’t look away from the mirror, watching indulgently as you bounce on Aaron’s hand and he sucks light bruises into your neck.

Aaron keeps circling your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. The coil in your belly is tightening and you can barely even concentrate on the honeyed words he’s spilling in your ears. He continues to work you, pumping his fingers steadily into your pussy.

“Aaron, I wanna cum so bad,” you sob, hovering over the edge. The pleasure is spreading from your clit to the rest of your body, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, “Let go.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

Your orgasm crashes into you like a massive wave, walls squeezing his fingers tightly. Aaron groans deeply in your ear as you ride out your pleasure, watching you through the mirror. He continues thrusting his fingers inside you, his other hand holding your waist tightly.

Tears prick your eyes, and your body shakes. You take time to come down from your high, but when you do, you can’t even remember why you’d been in such a shit mood today to start with.

Aaron gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, still whispering sweet nothings. His eyes were still dark with lust, but he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. You lift a trembling hand and wrap your palm around his wrist. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron smiles, holding you close. “Feel any better?”

“Much,” you admit. 

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he peppers your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Hey, Aaron,” you start suddenly, “I think I know where the sheriff put the evidence.”

“What?” Aaron blinks at you, processing your words. Then, with an exasperated smirk, “You really know how to kill a mood, sweetheart.”

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

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[twola]

I have one simple request, getting back from a successful mission with Arthur , reader and Arthur are all excited and happy about the job and can’t wait to get their hands on each other with reader trying to discreetly suck him off behind a wagon at camp. Or something along those lines, I’m a sucker for keeping that man quiet when others are near. Work your magic girl!

Uh. *checks notes*

Filthy. I hope you like filthy.

Success

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

“Reckon that’s a winning combination,” you laugh, swinging down from your horse and tying its reins to the hitching post. 

Arthur swings down from his horse as well, grunting in agreement, patting his mare’s flank before he follows you deeper into the camp, past the folks cleaning up their dinner, breaking into their first (or fourth) drink of the night—Dutch’s gramophone lilts in the background.

As the two of you walk closer to the table where the contribution box is set out, Arthur opens his satchel to pull out the ill-gotten gains.

“Course, like anyone would believe a pretty little thing like you could rob a man blind.” Arthur places the overflowing jewelry bag into the camp’s money chest, but not before nicking a pair of earrings that he knew would look good on you. 

“Are you being facetious, Mister Morgan?” You smile overly sweetly at him and move quickly ahead of him, walking backward toward your destination of his wagon.

“Reckon I don't have the brains to be so, Miss.”

“What did you tell that man that he was so damn excited about getting in a room with me?” You continue slyly, playing with the ends of your hair in a flirtatious manner.

“Told him ain't nothing ever been sweeter than your mouth on my cock.” Arthur rumbles lowly, his tone teasing.

Oh, it was one of those nights.

You push his shoulder. Once. Twice. You know you could never move the mountain of muscle that he is. But he allows it, letting you push him backward until he smacks against the side of his wagon. He smirks as you press yourself against him and he eagerly meets you as you lean up to kiss him. 

What he doesn’t expect is those warm little hands of yours deftly unfastening his gunbelt and immediately working at his pants.

“What are you doin-” he harshly whispers and immediately shuts up as you wind your hand through his hastily opened buttons and encircle his cock.

“Shit-” he hisses, leaning back against the wagon, watching you draw out his engorged cock from his pants and stroke it gently, teasingly.

“Can you be quiet for me, cowboy? Can you hold yourself together as I suck you off?”

Arthur smashes his hat onto his head to block his vision as you sink to your knees, biting his lower lip.

“Look at me, Arthur Morgan,” you whisper before kissing his shaft, your nose tickled by the wiry curls on his pelvis.

He looks down at you, hand coming off his hat, his other arm braced against his wagon.

Loudly swallowing, he looks around for anyone who would be able to see. The rest of the gang were mulling about- only steps away, 

“Watch me, dearest.” You smile, sickly sweet, before your tongue darts out and licks a warm, wet stripe from base to head.

He whines, whines, trying to keep quiet. Arthur’s breath comes out in hurried pants as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. You look up at him again, bright-eyed as you lap at the sensitive skin of his member.

“Fuck, honey, I -” he grits his teeth as you lick again, the tip of your tongue probing against his slit, tasting the first bitter, salty drips of his arousal.

You frown up at him, hand wrapped around his base, and pull away, “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

His jaw immediately clamps shut as he nods dumbly, following your order. Arthur cannot help but to spread his legs further, his spurs jingling, as his head passes into your mouth. 

“Hah-”  he wheezes, watching you slide your mouth further down his shaft. Each inch of him disappearing into the warm, wet cavern.

“Oh, Jesus-”  he throws his head back against the wagon, his hat falling to the ground, as the very tip of him hits the back of your throat and begins to arch downward as your nose presses against his pelvis. He knows he’s leaking like a dripping faucet, blinking up to the stars, breathing out through his nose loudly like a bull to stud.

Your mouth is perfect - wet and warm and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock insistently. You make a small noise around him and he looks down at you. His entire cock is in your mouth, prodding the back of your throat, and you blink up at him with doe eyes.

He’s a goner, even before you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Arthur barely has enough time for his hands to find your head, holding you still as you groan, and with one half-aborted thrust, he comes, hot and sticky down your throat. You gag a little, and he realizes he’s choking you, and his hands move down to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

You gasp, coughing a little as his cock leaves your mouth, bobbing slightly in front of your face. For a moment, a pearly string of saliva and spend is suspended between your lower lip and the head of his cock. He grits his teeth again, fighting off the moan that he wants to let loose into the night air.

The string breaks as a large drip of pearly spend escapes his cock, falling to your chin.

You blink away tears as you look up at him, gasping for breath, his spend bright on your skin in the moonlight.

“Oh honey, here-” he’s wincing as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his pants before stooping over to take your shoulders and help you up.

You press your hands against his chest to steady yourself.

Arthur’s hand leaves your shoulder and his thumb wipes slowly across your chin, collecting that last drip of spend.

You grab his wrist, preventing him from moving, as you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking off the last drop of spend from him as he gazes upon you dumbfounded.

You let go of his thumb and suddenly he’s crashing into you, his arms thrown around your body, crushing you to him, his lips insistent against yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth. He kisses you like he needs your love to breathe.

You melt into his embrace, kissing him back with equal fervor. He swings you around to change places, with you leaning against his wagon, the boxes of bullets inside clinging as he pushes you against it.

“Christ alive-” he grits between kisses.

“If I ain’t-” Arthur’s hand paws at your rear and you gasp. “The luckiest man-” Your skirts are drawn up.

“West of the Lanaheechee-” Your bloomers puddle around your boots. You bury your head into his shoulder as you gasp, his fingers zeroing between your legs with a practiced ease.

“Look at my hand, honey.” Arthur teases as you squeeze your eyes shut, your knees shaking as his other arm wraps around your waist, keeping you upright.

You heed him though, looking down between you and grabbing at your skirt, lifting the fabric enough so that you can see his hand cupping the entirety of your cunt, where just the smallest tuft of dark hair is visible where his palm ends. You suck in another breath as his middle finger parts your folds and presses against your opening.

Arthur is looking down at you with a confident hunger as the first part of his finger slides into your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as your hands clench at his strong trigger finger pushing behind the first, both sliding into your body.

He crooks those fingers and a cry escapes you. His other hand covers your mouth and he shushes you, lowering his head to yours as he whispers lowly,  “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

Your eyes widen as you nod your head, but he doesn’t remove his hand from your mouth, instead leaning in and taking your earlobe between his teeth as he starts his ministrations in your cunt again.

His hand muffles your sounds as he begins to thrust those fingers roughly. His tongue traces up the helix of your ear before he harshly whispers into it.

“You may play the whore but ain’t no man ever gonna touch you but me. Ain’t no man ever gonna make you come, right honey?”

You nod vigorously, about to trip over that precipice.

“Good girl, now come for me.” Arthur orders, pressing his thumb hard against that bead of nerves above your cunt and curling his two fingers inside.

Your knees shake as your eyes squeeze shut, moaning into his hand as you obey, a small gush of your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his knuckles.

Arthur slowly removes his fingers from your body, and your skirts drop as his other hand uncovers your mouth. You pant, leaning heavily against the wagon. He looms over you, and as he also breathes heavily, a smile cracks across his weathered face.

“Reckon any more and we’re really gonna get caught.” He nuzzles his forehead against yours.

You smile, laughing softly, “Any more and neither of us will be able to stand up.”

Arthur snorts as he holds out his hand for you to take and hold on to. “C’mon, let’s show our faces a bit before disappearing again.”

[sunnypopoki]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.3

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.2 / Р.4

Kieran stared at the classroom filled with other fifteen-year-olds. Already, they seemed to fit the stereotypes he always saw on tv back in Russia; jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, and more. It was true that none of them had uniforms. At least that was one good thing, he wouldn't feel stuffy in some uniform.

Scanning the classroom, he paused when he noticed a girl in the back of the class. Her head was crammed into a notebook, cheek against the paper, as she wrote something down. Wasn't that pose hurting her neck? Why was she so close to the paper? She wasn't taking in the teacher's information while Kieran was waiting to be introduced. The class was chaos in a nutshell and all the students were chattering so loud that his ears were going to fall off.

"Now class, all of you need to pay attention to this!" the teacher huffed, clapping her hands, "come on! pay attention. Unless you all want some homework over the weekend!"

It was like magic. At the mere mention of homework, the entire class stopped talking. He bit the inside of his cheek when all the eyes in the room were suddenly on him. A few girls giggled, some boys leaned forward in their seats, and some gave him sweet smiles. He already hated all of them. Why did they stare at him like he was a new exhibit in a zoo?

The girl in the back of the class raised her head, wincing and rubbing the back of her neck. There was a sparkle in her eye and Kieran pursed his lips. She seemed to be one of the annoying chatter-box girls with that happy look.

"Today we are introducing a new student to our class, Kieran. Be nice, he just transferred here from London, so he might have to get used to how this school works for a bit," the teacher beamed at him, "why don't you go sit beside (Y/N)? She's a good student, she will help you with anything you need."

The class burst into welcomes, giddy excitement, and questions. Kieran had a gut feeling that they were only acting this way because he was a foreigner. He was aware that if they knew he was Russia, they would either be interested in his culture or racist about it. His father warned him that a lot of people were mean to Russians at times just because of Putin. Sure, not all of them, but he really didn't want to be called a terrorist just because of his ethnicity.

(Y/N), who he realized was the girl in the back, slowly raised her hand. That sparkle in her eye was something much more nervous now. People nudged and whispered at her, glancing at him with giddy eyes. Great. He was going to be stuck to the weird girl who writes like she has a broken neck. He ignored the pestering stares and whispers around the room as he walked to the back of the class and sat next to her. At least her name wasn't obnoxious.

While he desperately ignored her, he noticed the girl glancing at him from the corner of his eye. She gnawed on her bottom lip and her leg bounced up and down, followed by her opening her mouth to say something but then quickly shutting it.

Kieran's father taught him a lot of lessons growing up and one of those lessons was about cowards. The Morozov family wasn't fond of people who couldn't speak their minds, at least that was what his father told him, because cowards often ruined business. Of course, Kieran wasn't allowed to know a lot about his father's job, but he went ahead and applied that advice to this situation. He didn't understand why she was stammering so much and why her eyes bored holes into the side of his head. Was she just dumb? Maybe a dumb coward? His eye twitched and he leaned against his palm.

Finally, she managed to speak up.

"Uhm—do you... do you want to share my textbook for this class? I see you don't have yours yet. We are learning exponential equations," she proposed, "I'm not the best at them yet, but I can teach you what I know so you can get caught up with the class."

"Sure."

(Y/N) was taken aback by his harsh accent. He knew that it was thick. When he lived in London for two years, the private school he was at always had issues understanding what he was saying. This caused a lot of bullying, especially by the posh brats who didn't have anything better to do than flaunt their wealth and complain about how their parents didn't buy them a specific set of shoes for their birthday.

Her eyes lit when she realized he agreed and she quickly fumbled to put her desk next to his, opening her textbook so the two of them could see it. Kieran was glad he was forced to learn English at a young age because who knew he'd be in a situation like this once he got older? He still struggled with English now and again, certain words and sentence structure confused him, but he knew how to read the majority.

Kieran's eyes flickered to the side. (Y/N) was nervously rambling about something, pointing and poking at the page.

In truth, he was surprised she talked to him. His first impression of her was some weird, shy girl who didn't have a social life (even if that was extremely judgmental, he didn't care). The way she wrote in her notebook like some gremlin in the back of the class was enough to give him that impression. However, she seemed kind so far, even if she was jittery and nervous around him. He knew that even if she was some yellow-bellied coward, he'd rather talk to a coward instead of a bitch.

Back when he was a transfer student in London, people who tried to talk to him immediately retreated when they realized they would have a hard time understanding him if they continued the conversation. They had so much fear of putting themselves in an awkward situation that they didn't want to talk to the boy with a thick accent. Not that he cared, most of the time he just wanted to be left alone.

So it was shocking, to say the least, when (Y/N) started asking him questions.

"So, how do you like our school so far?" she beamed, nervously picking at her sleeve, "I hope you haven't met Jenson yet. He's rude to everyone, but I have a feeling he won't be nice to you."

Kieran pursed his lips, muttering, "...ah, well, everyone likes to stare here."

(Y/N) tensed and tilted her head. Ah... he knew that reaction. Did she not understand him? Annoyance bubbled in his chest and he gnawed on his bottom lip, tapping his fingers aggressively against the table. He opened his mouth to repeat himself and—

"Oh, yeah! People stare a lot here, but if you stare back at them, they will look away. I do that sometimes when some of the girls from art class stare at me," she interrupted, "sorry. Your accent is very thick—I mean, I don't mean that in a bad way! Uhm, it just took me a second. It's very pretty!"

Kieran blinked. His mouth clamped back shut and he awkwardly shifted in his seat, glancing away from her. "It's fine."

His hands stopped tapping at the table and he politely placed them in his lap. His ears felt hot and he rolled his shoulders back, doing his best to shake off the sudden awkward itch on the back of his neck. His accent was pretty? Was she just saying that to be nice? His teeth nibbled on his bottom lip.

(Y/N) brought out her notebook and started to doodle on one of the pages. He glanced over and saw that she was drawing a lot of animals on one page. A dog, a cat, an otter, there was a whole plethora of small critters on her page. She started to draw a black cat, absentmindedly containing the conversation, "Was your school in London cool?"

Why is she suddenly drawing a black cat?

He shrugged, "...not really. Posh brats everywhere."

Her eyes lit up. Whatever she was thinking, he didn't have to place it together quickly to understand what she was going to ask him next. "A lot of people in school romanticize British people. It's probably not the nicest thing to do, but I know a lot of girls from the grade above have been talking about visiting London one day. Did you go to a fancy school in London?"

He nodded. "A private school, but I was homeschooled in Russia."

God, he was delighted to be out of that place. Not everyone was rich and snobby in that place, and he knew it was because of their wealth and not where they came from, but he liked to blame it on the fact they were British. Just like he always liked to blame a lot of things Americans did just because of the fact they were American. All of them had shitty food compared to the delights in Russia, at least in his opinion.

"Woah! That's so cool," she looked up at him with a large smile, "where did you live in Russia? "

"Yakutsk," he deadpanned, "a port city on the Lena River."

(Y/N) blinked. She scribbled in the corner of her notebook and made a dark spiraling circle, her lips pulling into a much more awkward grin. "Uhm, did you say Yaktooz? I'm afraid I don't know where that is. If I am honest, I only know of Moscow, and I don't even know where that is."

Kieran's smiled a little bit more. It has been a while since he talked of his home, even if it wasn't the best place to live. He missed the food and the people, but there was a lot he didn't miss either. He shook his head and pulled out a piece of paper from his notebook, writing down the name of his town and then trying to write it down in English. He grumbled and erased it.

"No, it is pronounced Yakutsk," he paused and muttered to himself, "how would an American say it... shit, I don't know how to pronounce it in a way you'd understand."

(Y/N) tilted her head and looked at the page, "can you say it again?"

"Yakutsk."

When written down in Russian, the word looked completely different, something she wouldn't be able to understand at all. The word 'Якутск' stared back at her heavy yet fluid handwriting. She took her pen and tried to copy the Russian letters right under it. It was messy, not fluid, and hesitant handwriting.

"I--I don't think I will be able to say it as cool as you say it. Is it cold where your home is?"

Kieran didn't blame her for not repeating it. She did butcher the pronunciation when she tried the first time, whatever the hell she was trying to say.

"Summers were short and our winters are very cold. Russia is big, so not every place is cold, but Yakutsk is in Siberia. People have named it the coldest city in the world."

The only reason his family lived in that part of Russia was because it was because of the low crime rate and the fact it was easy for people to go missing there. The Lena River was one of the longest rivers in the world, and Kieran knew that his father sometimes took out people who wanted to cause them harm and threw them there. Why did they want to cause his family harm? he didn't know, his father never shared, but only said "You'll understand when you get older."

However, he wasn't naive. He knew that his father did something illegal. It wasn't just his father, but his entire family. They always kept strong peaceful ties with the authority in Russia and his father always managed to have the highest ranking of power to anyone they met. His father was a kind person, he smiled at everyone, and was so polite that it made him sick--but he also knew that scary look he had behind closed doors when he was talking with some of his men.

One day, he would get all the answers. He was still impatient about it though.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. She went back to doodling her cat, humming, "Oh, that's so cool! Do you still have some relatives in Ru—"

"(Y/N), please stop bothering the new student," the teacher snapped and pointed her pen at her, "Kieran is here to learn, not listen to you ramble."

She sank back into her seat and her lips pursed shut. She didn't blush, but by the way her eyes lowered to the floor and her body folded in on itself, she was embarrassed. He stared at her from the corner of his eye while the class burst into giggles and chatter. Some of the other students tried to ask him questions but he ignored them. Instead, he finished the black cat doodle in her notebook, adding a small 'meow' in Russian right next to it.

"Now, everyone pay attention! can someone come up to the board and answer this question?"

Whatever the teacher was saying, he blocked it out. The class went back to doing whatever they were doing, (Y/N) raised her head and doodled a second black cat to go with the first one, and then he added a third. Her doodles were better. When she doodled a pigeon, he was quick to doodle an owl. The rest of the class was spent wasting their time and not paying attention to the board.

Kieran bit his lip to keep his lips from twitching upward. He still would have preferred to be alone, but she wasn't that bad or annoying, and she was so far keeping him from being bored... He supposed he could talk to her a little bit more.

━━━━━━━ ╳ ╳ ╳

Kieran sighed and stopped scribbling on the blank paper on his desk. There were many times when he reminisced, remembering the time he first met (Y/N). It was hard to believe that he didn't like her at first. He didn't understand his past self, how he could have found her bright smile annoying. Now it gave him butterflies each time he thought about it.

Their time spent in school was wild, to say the least. Kieran wasn't the ideal student but he managed to get good grades throughout, good enough that his mother and father didn't scold him when he got home. How ironic that (Y/N) always got the best grades yet somehow her parents never thought it was enough. He licked his teeth at the thought, cursing them under his breath.

He never liked them. He was glad they were out of her life.

They got married six months ago and a couple of her family members were there, but their presence brought down the entire wedding. His family on the other hand were a little bit too loud.

His mother kept cooing and complimenting (Y/N) in Russian each time she had the chance and his father kept telling her baby stories about him. It was embarrassing. His parents adored her, which was good, but they were too adoring at times.

He glanced over at the watch on his desk. It was a gift she gave to him whenever they were in high school. It didn't fit him anymore but he still kept it close, reminding him to be careful and not get shot, because she was waiting at home for him.

Though... something had been off about her.

He knew that she was upset because of him. Kieran was busier than normal, he'd been out of the house more, and he'd been craving her touch. The nights she wasn't with him are the nights he couldn't sleep at all. Did she feel the same way? Was she lonely? God, he felt lonely, and he was the one going out and working all the time.

Not that he could stop. While he was the boss, just throwing away the mafia would get him killed. He had to make sure she was safe and throwing away his job just to be close to her would get her and him killed together. It wasn't like his father was in the States to help protect her either.

His mind flashed back to what happened last night. His expression soured, thinking of the two gang members he found talking to her, and her salty tear-stained cheeks. She was angry at him but didn't want to tell him. She wasn't a good liar, especially when she had an expression of gut-wrenching guilt. Why was she guilty? Did he make her guilty? Fuck, he never wanted to hurt her. He'd rather gut out his intestines and string them up for the crows instead of hurting her.

Kieran tried talking to her about it when they got home, but the conversation didn't go anywhere. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better, telling her the truth was more dangerous than lying, but he knew either option was hurting her. He knew she was lying about so many things. She was an open book. There were many times she pretended to be asleep just to avoid him. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He needed to find those thugs that talked to her. His ties with the police were beneficial for to the mafia, it kept them off his hide, but maybe they'd know their address when he didn't. He didn't want to go around asking his extra personal contacts for something small like thugs in minor gangs.

He groaned and his head fell into his hands.

God, he missed her.

He missed her scent, her laugh, the way she bites her bottom lip when she's embarrassed, her touch, her panting breaths when he kisses her—Kieran cleared his throat. Thinking about such things at work would leave him with a problem and he didn't want to explain to Sam why he wouldn't leave his office for an hour or two. Yet he couldn't deny that he craved just the brush of her fingers against his arms, his neck, his cheek.

He craved for her body pressed against his. He could imagine it already; (Y/N) cuddled next to him on the couch, watching a horror movie, her hands grabbing whatever they could get ahold of each time she was scared. The feeling of his clothes shifting, the way her body would move, her innocent eyes glancing at him to see his reaction to the movie.

Would she get all embarrassed if he leaned in closer? What sighs would leave her lips if he kissed her neck, caressing her like the goddess she was? God, he'd worship her like a temple, her breath enough to topple him to his knees.

He hissed. His pants suddenly felt tight, unbearably so, and he rubbed at his face. Work was leaving him pent up.

Kieran would be truthful and admit that there were times when it was hard for him to not touch her. All he wanted to do was to cradle her, to make her bend to his touch, to see how pretty she was on top of him... but being a killer didn't mean he was monstrous enough to force her to do something with him. She had to be safe with him, to trust him, so giving in to every horny thought about her wasn't the way to keep her happy, especially since she wasn't ready. He didn't care if she was never ready--she would stay with him forever, even if they weren't intimate.

However, there were times like this. Where the mere thought of her would rile him up, leave him breathless in his office, with no way of having privacy for longer than thirty minutes.

Kieran gritted his teeth as he shuffled in his chair, forcing his mind somewhere else. Somewhere boring. Walking out of his office pent-up was something he didn't want his men to see.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Thank god, a distraction!

Kieran glanced up, sighing whenever he noticed a familiar face peering through the cracked door to his office. Of course, Sam would bother him at a time like this.

"Why didn't you respond to my message?" he snapped, his voice thick with a Italian accent. "You left me on read and everything. I know you are cold, but I didn't expect you to be that cold. We are the only two higher-up immigrants here! We gotta be nice to one another!"

Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose. He was spouting nonsense again without any context. He should have expected this right when he saw him, he was always doing shit like this. "Come inside and stop talking through the crack of my door. What the hell are you even talking about?”

Sam huffed before barging into the room and shutting the door behind him. He was a short man, about 5'7, but the mass of his muscles compensated for it. He was about ten years older than Kieran but still appeared somewhat youthful. His dreadlocks were pulled into a bun and his colorful clothes only added to his unique and distinctive personality. He flipped the orange sunglasses off his nose and slapped them down on the desk.

"You know what you did, Kieran—

"Boss."

"—Boss!"

Kieran was usually confused each time he talked to Sam. Sam, short for Samuel, was a friend of his father's and someone who was meant to help him with the men underneath him. The Morozov Mafia was a dangerous place to work, especially since it was moved from Russia to the States. His father dragged all his people whenever they moved to both London for two years, and then to the United States. Sam was there throughout it all.

Were they close? Well, they were as close as mafia business partners could get. They recognized the respect between the two, they knew each other from growing up. Hell, Kieran could remember the day Sam turned 22. It was hard to believe that was 8 years ago.

"I don't know what I did," he confessed, "so what are you complaining about now?"

Sam frowned. "I messaged you at around ten yesterday morning and you left me on read. I told you to respond and everything because you didn't tell me where the hell you were after you said you'd meet with me. That's so cold of you, I thought we were like brothers."

"...I wasn't home at ten this morning. I already told you that I got caught up in some shipment yard where Kozlov fucked up and got some petty gang members into our territory."

It was messy work. The shipment yard was moving a box of slaves; people who were in debt with the mafia due to past agreements and refused to pay up. Their fault, they were the ones who decided it was a good idea to make contracts with the mafia when they didn't have the money to pay it all back. So hopefully they'd find some use elsewhere, likely back home in Yakutsk with his father and mother.

Even so, he wasted bullets on gang members. He viewed them as kids, infants with baseball bats and an occasional Glock G19, a common gun that anyone could get in the States if they tried even a little bit. Of course, such guns were sloppy, but that didn't stop one of his men from being shot in the leg. To put it simply, it was humiliating.

"Isn't the app on your phone? Are you sure you didn't glance at it and forgot then?" Sam asked, suddenly piqued in curiosity.

"I didn't."

"...I mean, maybe your wife read—"

"Sam," Kieran warned.

Sam leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. He sighed and his leg bounced up and down, staring at Kieran with a knowing look. "Then who else would have read the message? You only have that app on your laptop and your phone, which I doubt anyone would go through unless the woman who has access to it, did it. If the systems were hacked, which we'd already know by now if they were, then that'd be an issue. But they aren't."

Kieran glared. Quickly, the issue of being pent up went out the window, doubts starting to cloud his mind. Anxiety filled up his bloodstream like poison.

What would he do if she knew?

How could he keep her safe?

Who would hurt her?

How would he keep her with him?

"I know what you're thinking, but you already know the answer to that," Sam picked up a small candy from the tray, unraveled it, and plopped it into his mouth, "You either drag her in or you throw her out, kid, that's how this business works. Hell, you're lucky the Big Boss loves her so much that he allowed you to marry her."

"Sam," Kieran warned again, his voice tighter, face falling to hide behind his hands as a headache grew.

"I'm just saying! She's probably curious about where you are leaving all the time. You're editor, so of course you meet up with your clients sometimes, but not every goddamn night."

"Poor woman doesn't even have her man there to sleep with her. Who knows, maybe she'll go out and find some other guy—"

Sam stilled whenever he saw the two green eyes peeking out behind Kieran's hands, staring at him with enough intensity to knock the air out of his lungs. Thousands of spiders crawled up his spine and sweat built on his brow. He opened his mouth to fix his mistake, to undo what just slipped out of his mouth, but he couldn't speak. Not whenever the cold eyes of the devil were threatening to swallow him whole.

Kieran was glaring with icy anger. No, it wasn't quite anger. It was hard to explain, whatever look was in his eyes, but Sam had a gut feeling that he wouldn't have any issue placing a bullet in his head if he continued to talk about his wife. The sparkle in his emerald eyes was gone. It was dead, daring, threatening.

The two went way back—but he knew very well that Kieran loved and adored his spouse more than anyone and anything. He was obsessed. She was a drug and each time he was two feet away from her, he started to show cold symptoms of withdrawal. Bloodthirsty withdrawal.

"I—I was just joking boss," Sam backpedaled, "you don't have to look at me like that."

Kieran's eyes narrowed. Like a snake scrutinizing its prey, Sam felt like a mouse about to be served on a dinner plate. He shivered and his hands instinctively crossed his chest in a mere attempt to guard himself. Not like that would work. He was stronger than Kieran, but Kieran also knew martial arts. He could easily slam his head into the table with enough force to watch him choke and bleed out on the cold concrete floor.

"So... anyway, you should—you should talk to your wife. If she saw the message, she probably assumed it was something... indecent."

He needed Kieran to speak. To say something. Because the silence was getting overwhelming and his gaze was drowning him in tar. Hot, sticky tar that made his body break out into a sweat and his lungs clog up each time he shuffled in his seat.

"Fine."

Sam exhaled. He was dizzy, just how long was he holding his breath?

Kieran leaned back into his seat and stopped cradling his head in his hands. He was still on edge, Sam could tell, but at least he wasn't staring at him like he was planning a blood-soaked feast.

"Sam."

He inhaled, "yes?"

"Don't talk about her again."

Sam flinched. His hands wiped at his thighs and he nodded, staring at the gritty concrete under his shoes, "...yes boss. I won't bring her up again."

He was lucky someone ended up knocking on the door.

Kieran's face fell into indifference whenever a runt knocked on the door. He called for them to come in and soon a hairy man, clear of all common mafia tattoos, scurried in. He lowered his head and nervously tugged at his beard. He was shaking. Sam and Kieran leaned forward in their seats, picking up the strange atmosphere.

"Sorry to bother you, boss," the man choked out, "but some members from Leovana are here. They—They said they have a gift and message for you from, uh, from their boss."

Sam's eyes widened. He glanced over to Kieran, noticing the emotionless facade he was wearing. Why did he seem so nonchalant about it? The damn CEO of Leovana was their known enemy, even if he wasn't in any close mafia groups. He was a standing pillar who somehow continued to stay upright even when he was in a field of mafia men. It wasn't normal for a random CEO and his business to stand tall even in situations like this.

"What's the gift?" Kieran deadpanned.

"They didn't say."

"What's it held in?"

"A small box, boss."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip. He doubted it was a bomb, the bastard wasn't that tactless. However, Kieran looked like his head was going to explode based on how much he was rubbing his temples. He sighed and shrugged the anxiety off his shoulders, turning to face the man before Kieran had to say anything.

He didn't. Instead, Kieran pushed up from his desk and fixed his undid his messy bun into a low ponytail. He brushed a couple of strands from his face and walked to the door. Sam had a gut feeling that he was planning something, like usual, but it was going to be gorey this time.

"Sam, you're coming with me."

He grabbed his sunglasses off the table and put them back on. "Aye Aye."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

RANDOM KIERAN FUN FACTS

• Kieran makes the MC food every morning each time he can. Sometimes he makes it before he leaves at night and puts it in the fridge so she can warm it up later. The only times he doesn't make breakfast is when he's away for days.

• Kieran got his first tattoo before age ten for mafia purposes. It's the symbol of his family's group.

• Kieran is ACTUALLY an editor. It's not some lie, he does work as an editor for a coverup and does speak with authors and clients in face-to-face meetups.

• Kieran has a special charm tattoo on his arm that he got so he could always kiss it for good luck. It's the black cat that she doodled when they first met. Yes, something as small as that is important to him.

LINKS:

— 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳

— 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥

— 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘷

[ P.4 ]

[ktownshizzle]

Magic & Mayhem | Masterlist

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader, Kim Namjoon x Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: So your relationship with Namjoon has gone to shit. Your solution? Hit up a sex shop and try to salvage things in the bedroom instead of dealing with the real issues. (Solid plan, right?) What you didn’t expect is to walk out with a blind box and pull a toy called SUGA—magical, stupidly hot, and guarantees to fix your 99 problems, but he actually becomes one. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternately: Yoongi is a Labubu / Sonny Angel. (Kind of.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Crackfic galore, Magical realism slash sci-fi, Non-idol ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Again, Yoongi is a toy (be aware of that, but, well, he grows life-size.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello!!! And welcome to another vaguely planned series. I know it’s not the type/genre I usually post, but this idea has been in my brain for months now. I promise it’s gonna be a fuckin' good time! 🎉 TAGLIST IS OPEN

Masterlist

🔮001 ✨ 🔮002 ✨ 🔮003 ✨ 🔮004 🔮005

Extras:

Drabble 001 : Laboongi is 'Lost' ✨

Read the introduction under the cut

You always thought relationships ended dramatically—with screaming matches and shattered plates, and doors slamming hard enough to shake termites off the walls. But you learned the painful truth with your first love Kim Namjoon: relationships often crumble quietly, fading so gradually, so infinitesimally, you barely notice until the warmth has completely vanished, hearts once filled with everything is completely weightless.

Like now, seated across from him at your favorite café, sunlight streaming through tall windows, you sip your coffee and glance at him over the rim. Namjoon is buried in his phone, thumb scrolling endlessly. A small sigh escapes your lips, but he doesn’t notice. Hasn't noticed, actually, in a very long time.

"Did you hear what I said?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" He lifts his eyes, distracted. "Sorry, work shit. Sup?"

"Never mind," you say with forced brightness, waving away your disappointment. But the heaviness in your chest stays, quietly and gradually expanding.

You’d planned this coffee date to rekindle something—anything—but now it feels like a futile effort. The silence stretches until your coffee turns cold. Just like your 10-year relationship.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel thrilling forever, but it shouldn’t feel this empty either. Maybe it’s because you fell in love too early, too soon. But you miss the laughter, the passion, the nights tangled together in bed until dawn. Lately, all you've shared are polite good mornings and goodnights, passing like polite strangers under the same roof.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures, you suppose. Which is exactly how you find yourself standing in front of "The Magic Shop", the quirkiest little sex shop tucked in an alleyway of boutiques you've always avoided entering. A glowing neon sign flickers playfully above the door:

Cum Inside. Happy Endings Guaranteed

Wow. How subtle.

Inside, you're met by walls of purple velvet, shelves crowded with vibrant boxes and toys in every conceivable shape and size. It's whimsical and overwhelming, scented faintly of vanilla and spice. You're about to lose your nerve when a warm, amused voice interrupts your anxious thoughts.

"First time in the Magic Shop?"

You whip around to meet a pair of moon-like eyes and a mischievous smile, belonging to a man behind the counter whose nametag reads: Jimin.

… to be continued

A/N: Alright! Are we sat??? Leave me a note if you’re excited. 🥹

TAGLIST IS OPEN | Just drop a note or leave an ask so I can tag you when the first part is out. Or you can join my permanent taglist :)

Permanent Taglist: (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @woozuzu @glossdebut @kiki-zb

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

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@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm- @angellekookie

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[bunniestial]

PAVEMENT CHALK & NOSTALGIA

H.HK x ChildhoodBestFriend!Reader

Summary: Hyunjin stumbles across a small artist from Twitter and Dms them for tips, short messages of advice turn into confessions of the past and confiding in eachother- and Hyunjin realises that the pretty girl who works with pastels isn't just some nobody.

Prev ★ Series Masterlist

★ EPILOGUE ★

Hyunjin had left before sunrise like usual. As always his schedule was unforgiving and he had to be in the hair and beauty chair at JYP for a promotional shoot early in the morning.

For the first few months of your relationship, you had demanded Hyunjin wake you before he left— waking up to an empty bed made your mind race. Questioning whether he left you once more, or if your reconciliation was just a dream and not reality, those thoughts rushing through your head and pushing you into a spiral.

But today marked exactly 6 months since the day "Sam" (read: Hyunjin), direct messaged you on Twitter for art advice.

When you were younger you used to believe in the red string theory, the idea that you and your soulmate were tied together with a red string that will always pull you back together. That faith and belief dwindled as you got older- magic and fairies were deemed as "childish" by teenage you.

But when you wake up in the morning, sunlight flittering through the half opened sheer curtains, illuminating a yellow sticky note on hyunjin's pillow, black or blue biro scribbling "I love you"s and "message me when you wake up" alongside little cartoon figures. That faith slowly filled your heart once more.

You sat in bed, picking up the yellow note and playing idly with the edges. You'd started to collect them ever since he started writing them. You must have at least 50 now, they were all laid in your bedside drawer, but they were starting to each capacity. You needed something bigger, maybe a shoebox—

A shoebox!

Your mind rushed at the epiphany as you scrambled from your bed to your closet, you stood on your tiptoes, trying to reach the old battered shoebox left on the top shelf.

Eventually, after the help of standing on a few books for an extra boost, your hands gripped the shoebox that was covered in stickers and decorating tape.

Hey— little you was also creative.

You eagerly, but cautiously took off the shoe box lid as you peered at the contents as you riffled through.

Handmade friendship bracelets. Cute. But not what you were looking for.

Birthday cards. Nope.

The red ribbon you used to put in your hair. Now that is a throwback- you could use it.

Your old school tie. Ugh- no, even the thought of wearing that gives you sensory nightmares.

Polaroids? Awww. Not what you were looking for, but you could use that, sure.

When Hyunjin told the boys he was seeing someone, the reactions were what he expected.

Chan was happy for him. He patted him on the back and said "good for you mate" with a smile, he was excited to meet the girl who he had heard so much about- the quote on quote "one who got away".

Minho was silently happy, didn't say much, but Hyunjin could tell he was pleased for him.

Changbin mockingly cried and wailed, stating that Hyunjin was cheating on him and "how dare he break up a family?!" After his joking act was acknowledged with a laugh, he pulled Hyunjin into a hug and gave him an affirming clap on the back.

Jisung was smug. So smug Hyunjin wished he didn't say anything. "AH! I KNEW IT! — I WAS RIGHT WASN'T I? ITS THE GIRL FROM TWITTER!". Hyunjin only rolled his eyes.

Felix immediately started asking questions- "what is she like?" "Do you have any photos?" "How long have you been going out?". Hyunjin- ever the romantic, was more than willing to gush about you to anybody that would listen.

Seungmin and Jeongin had similar reactions, making various jokes about how "it was about time" and how they started to think that Hyunjin was all talk when it came to romance.

After the initial reaction everything went back to normal, it always did when one member told the group of a development in their personal life. But that didn't mean there was no teasing.

Hyunjins looking at his phone too long? "Are you texting your girlfriend, lover boy?" (He is but don't tell them that)

Hyunjin's more tired than usual? "Up late with the Mrs, Hyunjin?" (He's not dignifying that with a response.)

Hyunjin talking about a new art exhibit? "Are you taking sunshine with you on a date?" (He is but shut up)

He let out a small sigh as he felt the make up artist brushing something onto his face. Six months? That's a big deal to him.

When telling the members, most of them regarded the six months milestone as mostly insignificant- just a text or a bouquet of flowers to commemorate the occasion was warranted.

But Hyunjin was theatric, romantic and passionate. Flowers were too cliche. Chocolates had no thought behind it.

Hm. A good present consists of two parts, something sentimental, and something useful.

Hyunjin could do that.

He hopes.

--------

You could hear Hyunjin outside the front door, his hands fumbling with the key pad clumsily. You laid relaxed on the arm chair in the living room. It was chaos, organized chaos, but still chaos.

Canvases strewn across the floor, dried up paint pallettes, boxes of oil pastels, sketchbooks, crafting paper littered everywhere.

You were always worried about Hyunjin seeing the mess as gross or disgusting. You ensured the space was clean and sanitary- but you still had an irrational fear of judgement, so much so that you refused to let him into your apartment for at least two months.

Eventually, after relentless nagging and whining you gave in reluctantly, where you swiftly found out that your worries were unneeded. When hyunjin's eyes saw your organized chaos his face lit up like a kid on Christmas, and shot out various rapid fire questions on your paint brands, canvas quality and gushing about your half finished sketches.

Hyunjin found it endearing. Your apartment resembled you so perfectly, coloured walls and fake sticky adhesive tiles the store clerk had ensured you were "rent-friendly". Every nook and cranny of the house was covered in art, from your professional pieces to the doodles of the kids and children you took care of at the hospital.

The "thank you" banner the kids made to the anonymous donor however, was now hanging in hyunjin's room at the dorm- taking pride and place next to his own art pieces he had both made and collected.

"Sunshine~" hyunjin's voice called as he finally opened the door, letting himself in as he carried multiple bags in his arms.

"Hi baby — What's all this for?" You enquire, getting up and walking towards him as he places the bags onto the kitchen counter, your arms wrapping around hyunjin's waist.

"Eh?! - you don't know?!" He exclaimed, eyes wide, but his arms still reciprocated the embrace.

You laugh "Ah- I'm joking, I'm joking... Happy six months baby"

"You want to order in? Chinese food and wine sounds amazing right now" you ask.

"hm, romantic." He jokes, squeezing at your sides, "yeah sounds good."

"m'kay I'll put the order in- you want to go have a shower?"

"what— you don't like my after dance practice musk?" He pulls you in further, playfully squeezing you as you pretend to push back weakly.

"Gah! You're so gross hyunnie" he pecked your cheek before letting go.

"I'll be like ten minutes- don't open those bags."

He walks off in the direction of your bathroom and you wait for the sound of the water rushing. You ordered food quickly and kept your footsteps light as you went to retrieve your present, covered in a white sheet as you put it on the table.

You continued to set up the table, two mini easels you'd bought a little while ago for the kids at the hospital, two equally mini canvas', clean paint palettes, pencils, and various other supplies. You lit some candles, and got out the fancy wine glasses.

The water turned off and you stepped back and admired your work. "Woah-" Hyunjin's voice came shortly after his approaching footsteps.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it? It's beautiful, sunny." He said softly, staring a little bit and giving you a small side hug before getting out his phone and taking a picture. "Ugh, I wish I could post this on Instagram" he sighed wistfully before turning the camera to you.

"Smile for the camera pretty girl"

You replied with a cheesy grin as he cooed in reply "ahhhh my heart~"

You scoff "Dinner should be arriving in 40 minutes, want to make a start Van Gogh?"

-----------

The soft flicker of candlelight danced on the wooden table, casting warm golden hues over two blank canvases propped delicately on their easels. A gentle hum of indie jazz played in the background, muffled by the thick warmth of the room and the occasional clink of glass against wood.

You let out a breathy laugh as you adjusted your canvas, the legs of the easel slightly crooked from your last attempt to level it. Across from you, Hyunjin sat with one elbow resting on the table, his other hand swirling the deep red liquid in his crystal glass, the rich burgundy catching the candlelight like a gem.

“You sure we’re not just here for the gin?” he teased, raising his glass in a playful toast.

You grinned, reaching for your own glass. “I thought we were here for the art.”

“Right,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Art. And maybe a little chaos.”

On the table, a bottle of wine stood tall beside a tray of paints, vivid reds, calming blues, playful yello, all jumbled together in their palettes like an invitation to forget perfection. Scattered brushes and unopened chocolate bars rested nearby, hinting at sweet intermissions and creative cravings.

Behind you, oversized red balloons with white polka dots leaned lazily against the chairs, a cheerful, childish contrast to the otherwise moody atmosphere. A vase of fading flowers brought a rustic charm to the space, petals curling inward like secret smiles.

Hyunjin picked up a paintbrush, held it out like a sword, narrowing his eyes. 

“Prepare yourself, Picasso. This is war.”

You rolled your eyes and laugh. “You’re going to regret saying that when you see what I paint.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave, teasing but affectionate. “Oh yeah? What are you painting, then?”

You dipped your brush into a swirl of red, then looked up at him with a soft smile. “Something that makes me happy.”

For a moment, the air shifted, charged not with wine or laughter, but with something more intimate. More quiet. More real.

He stared at you, the candlelight reflecting in his dark eyes. “I hope it’s me.”

You blushed, pretending to focus on your canvas. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

And so the evening unfurled: laughter and brushstrokes, sips of gin between streaks of color, fingers stained with paint and hearts warmed by quiet glances. Outside, the world spun on, unaware. But inside that softly lit room, time paused—just long enough for two people to turn a blank canvas into something unforgettable.

The candles had burned lower, their wax pooling quietly on the wooden table. Dinner had arrived about 30 minutes ago, you both decided to eat and paint at the same time, cheekily throwing fortune cookies and empty boxes at eachother as a form lf "distraction".

Your wine glasses were nearly empty now, the gin having warmed your chest and loosened your nerves just enough to let creativity flow. The room smelled faintly of citrus and flowers and something warm—something like comfort.

You leaned back, brush still in hand, inspecting your masterpiece with a mix of satisfaction and nerves. Across from you, Hyunjin let out a triumphant “Aha!” and tossed his brush into the empty cup like he’d just completed a symphony.

“Done,” he announced proudly, wiping a faint streak of blue from his cheek with the back of his hand. “And might I say… I’ve truly outdone myself.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Hyunjin leaned forward, grinning. “Same time?”

You nodded, heart fluttering with anticipation. There was something almost sacred about this moment, sharing what you’d created, what you’d quietly poured pieces of yourself into.

“Three… two… one-”

You both turned your canvases toward each other at the same time.

There was silence.

You stared at his painting, and then laughed. Not because it was bad. Not because it was ridiculous. But because it was you. Not a perfect portrait given the rushed circumstances, but a dreamy interpretation of your silhouette, sitting at the very same table, surrounded by soft lighting and blooming color. He’d exaggerated the flowers behind you, added a glow to your gave. It was beautiful. Warm. Alive.

“You painted me?” you whispered, surprised.

Hyunjin’s ears turned pink as he looked down, suddenly shy. “I, uh… yeah. I wanted to capture the way you looked tonight. You know… peaceful. Focused. Like you belonged here.”

You stared a second longer, heart swelling.

Then you turned his gaze to your painting.

At first, he said nothing. His eyes traveled slowly over the canvas. You hadn’t painted him in full. Instead, you’d painted his hand reaching out—toward yours. Two hands, suspended mid-air, fingers almost touching. Around them were soft washes of color—sunset pinks, warm orange, deep violet—like the entire world faded behind that one, near-touch.

He looked up at you, something quiet behind his eyes. “Is this… us?”

You nodded. “I was trying to capture that moment. You know, when something’s about to happen. When it’s not just friendship anymore.”

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the painting, lips curved gently. “It’s perfect,” he said.

There was a silence then—not awkward, not empty. Just… full. Of unspoken things. Of shared gazes and rapid heartbeats.

Then he spoke again, softly, “I guess we both painted what makes us happy.”

You looked at him.

And maybe it was the warmth of the room, or the gin, or the way his voice had softened just for you—but you leaned across the table, your fingers brushing his. Not quite holding. Not quite letting go.

The same way your hands had nearly touched in your painting.

The soft atmosphere was interrupted with your exclamation. "Oh! Your present!"

You get up hastily, the awkward sound of the chair dragging across the tiles floor as you retrieve it from its hiding place, still wrapped in a white cloth.

Hyunjin had cleared a little space at the table for you to set your gift down, his bags of gifts lay on the table next to yours.

He slid the bag he had bought towards you. "Ladies first."

You pulled out the first wrapped gift. It was large, flat and rectangular- you gave the present a rhythmic tap as you hummed in recognition. "Canvas?" You said, not waiting for an answer before you peeled off the pink and red heart wrapping paper.

Concealed behind the paper was an oil painting, muted colours and deliberate brush strokes that melded together to form a bouquet of flowers.

"I painted it a few years ago— it was during the anniversary of me moving away. I saw it the other day while trying to find your next present, and I thought it was a good representation of how bleak my life has been without you" He confessed, his eyes holding contact with yours.

"I'm going to repaint it I think... Maybe for our one year anniversary, with more vibrant colours this time."

Your eyes teared up as you sniffled, as you dabbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. "Ahh, you're gonna make me cry hyunnie"

You stand up and walk around the table, wrapping your arms around him. He scooches back on his chair before pulling you in by the waist and you sit on his lap.

"Don't cry yet you have 2 more presents" he laughed, pulling a thick envelope. You gingerly opened it, still sniffing and teary eyed from the painting and you pulled out 14 pieces of folded paper, each numbered.

"Every year I wrote you a letter, the first one was a few months after I left. The rest were on the anniversary of me leaving- I figured since I never got to send them to you. You could have them now..."

Year 1

Sunshine,

It’s only been a few months, but it already feels like a lifetime. I still reach for my phone to text you, forgetting I can’t. Everything reminds me of you — your laugh in the back of my mind, your handwriting on my old notebooks. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you. I hope you’re okay. Please be okay.

Always, Hyunjin (11 years old)

Year 2

Hey,

Today I passed by a café that reminded me of the one we always went to. It wasn't much different, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in. What’s the point if you’re not there, waiting with that annoyed-yet-soft look because I was late again?

I miss you. I’m scared to admit how much.

Yours, Hyunjin (12 years old)

Year 3

Sunshine,

I’m getting better at pretending. People ask me how I’m doing, and I smile. But some nights, I dream about you and wake up with tears on my pillow. Do you still think about me? Even for a second?

Three years and I still can’t let you go.

Love, Hyunjin (13 years old)

Year 4

Sunshine,

Someone told me that time heals everything. They lied. The wound just settled into a quiet ache. I tried to start over, meet new people. But no one is you.

I don’t know if I’m waiting for you or for myself to forget.

Still here, Hyunjin (14 years old)

Year 5

Dear Sunshine,

I found an old photo of us today. We looked so happy — young and certain. I wanted to rip it in half, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stared at it until the edges blurred with tears.

I wonder, would you recognize me now?

Missing you, Hyunjin. (15 years old)

Year 6

Sunny,

There’s a new song that reminds me of us. I listen to it on repeat like it might bring you back. It won’t, I know. But I still let it play. It’s the only way I can hear your voice in my head clearly.

You were my favorite melody.

Forever, Hyunjin (16 years old)

Year 7

Dear You,

Half of me wants to forget. The other half holds onto you like a lifeline. What does that say about me? About us?

Seven years, and I still haven’t learned how to live without you. Maybe I never will.

All my heart, Hyunjin (17 years old)

Year 8

My Sunshine,

The sky was the same shade of blue as the day you left. I watched it for hours, wondering if you were looking at it too.

I hope you’re happy. Even if it’s not with me. I’m trying to mean that. Really, I am.

Always yours, Hyunjin (18 years old)

Year 9

Hey,

I met someone who reminded me of you — not in how they looked, but how they made me feel: that electric spark, the warmth in silence. But I pulled away. It wasn’t fair to them. Or to you.

You still live in every corner of my heart.

Solemnly, Hyunjin (19 years old)

Year 10

Sunshine,

Ten years. A decade. I thought I’d be over it by now. But then I catch a glimpse of something — a scarf like yours, a laugh like yours — and I fall apart all over again.

Do you remember me the way I remember you?

Endlessly, Hyunjin (20 years old)

Year 11

Sunny,

I wrote your nickname in the fog on my window this morning. I don’t know why — habit, maybe. Or hope. Some days I think I’ve finally healed. Then I hear something that sounds like your voice, and it all crashes down.

What am I without you?

Hyunjin (21 years old)

Year 12

Dear You,

I wonder what kind of person you’ve become. Are you still afraid of thunder? Do you still drink your tea too hot and regret it instantly? I wish I could see you, just once, from afar — just to know you’re real.

I still carry you with me.

With love, Hyunjin. (22 years old)

Year 13

Sunshine,,

I dreamed of you last night. You were older. I was too. But you smiled the same way. I woke up with my heart racing, wishing it had been real.

You were the best part of my life. Still are.

Maybe we’ll meet again someday.

Until then, Hyunjin (23 years old)

Year 14

My Y/N,

Fourteen years. I’ve lived a whole lifetime without you, yet it feels like no time has passed. I think I’ll always love you — not in a desperate, aching way anymore, but quietly, deeply, endlessly.

If I saw you again, I’d say: I never stopped waiting.

Yours forever, Hyunjin (24 years old).

As your hands, now trembling, put down the last letter as you bit your quivering lip. Your shoulders curled inward, and you bent your head like the weight of it all was too much. Hyunjin stood there, heart cracking open, watching you hold every word he had written in scribbled handwriting for all the years he couldn't’t reach you.

And then, softly, you said,

"I don’t deserve this."

God, you did. You always did. Hyunjin thought as he moved your tear stricken face into his neck as sent comforting shushes. His thumb brushing a tear away.

"I never stopped writing to you sunshine, because I never stopped loving you."

A poignant pause of silence flittered over the two of you, deep shaky breaths. " I think your third present can wait for later- can't have you crying any more, can't have your pretty face getting tired"

"Shut up. You better cry now hwang." You sniffled, pushing your present over.

It was a wooden box you had knocking around after you had bought it on a whim at the new arts and craft store opened up a few years ago- you'd never had any use for it until now.

You'd painted the woods with acrylic, orange, yellow and pink hues merged together to create a gradient likened to a sunset, in the foreground you had painted sun flowers with winding green leaves and vines that ran across the box's lid. The latches and handle to open it were golden, and it was around the size of a shoe box.

"Ahhh it's so pretty" Hyunjin hummed, picking up the box for a better view.

"That's not the present, dummy." He gives you a cheesy grin before lifting the latch and opening the box.

Inside you had filled it with tissue paper, on top of the paper you arranged the Polaroids decoratively in a circle, displaying all of the pictures. Pictures of you at school, during summer breaks, at the beach, drawing together. Each snapshot taken by your parents, representing your friendship perfectly.

In the middle was the snapped piece of chalk, you had used the red hair ribbons and tied a bow around it. Hyunjin's eyes glossed over at the sight, his hands shakily picked up the white stick.

It looked so much smaller now, he used to be able to hold it like a pencil, his small seven year old hands grasping around it. Now it could fit in his palm, he closed his hand into a fist and it was engulfed completely.

"Can't believe you kept this" he whispered, putting down the chalk and wrapping his arms around you once more, "Is that your hair ribbon?"

"Yeah"

He let out a sniffle and peered at the pictures, a quiet tear rolling down his face as he smiled. God he was such a pretty crier.

"Thank you Sunshine..." He muttered, face now nuzzled into your hair. "I'm gonna display this- this is the best present I've ever gotten..."

"Your welcome Jinnie..."

You sat in each other's embrace for what felt like hours, the comfortable silence ran through your veins as you contemplated. You were lucky. So lucky to have met Hyunjin when you were a kid. And even luckier to meet him again now.

"Hey, what about my third present?" You said as you broke the silence.

"Wow... Eager are we? Seems you're already becoming spoiled." He laughs

"Shut up." You scoff as you roll your eyes playfully.

"Check your Twitter."

IMPORTANT!!!!

oh em gee I cannot believe how many people have interacted with this shitty little mini series. I decided to make this as I've never made a smau before and wanted to get the hang of it. and OMG it's so fun!!

BUT my obsession with the childhood best friend trope is not yet satisfied and I'm starting another series called: MILSHAKES & HEARTACHES which is Felix x reader, and I'm very excited about it. So if you liked this story or want to continue supporting me! Check it out!!!

Also I wrote some of this on my phone so the formatting or grammar and punctuation might be a little inconsistent sorry 😔😔

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