#thought of this like three weeks ago and then kept forgetting to make it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

verricherri · 18 days ago

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Rhett Abbott one night stand vibes with accidental pregnancy? Surprise me with how the ending turns out please 🙏🏻✨

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A/N: I definitely went overboard with this one 😭 scrapped three drafts before landing here — so this version? she’s the chosen one. Warnings: soft, protective Rhett coming your way. you're not ready and neither am I. i melt for this Rhett — like full-on puddle. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated ☀️

The baby was asleep when he started talking.

Not that she’d understand a word of it — all curled up in her cotton wrap, her fingers twitching against his shirt, her breath warm and even where it ghosted over his collarbone. But Rhett liked to think she’d remember the sound of his voice. The shape of it. The safety.

He shifted in the old rocking chair, boots planted firm on the creaky wooden floor — though the nursery didn’t look quite finished. Shelves only half-installed. A mobile still waiting to be hung. There was a paint roller in the corner and a small pile of unopened baby books someone had dropped off weeks ago. Maybe him. Maybe you.

He looked down at her — all six pounds of her — and smiled without teeth.

“You wanna know how you got here?”

The room stayed quiet. A cricket chirped somewhere near the baseboard heater.

“Well,” Rhett said softly, adjusting her weight in his arms, “That’s a long story. And not the kind I ever thought I’d be tellin’.”

His thumb brushed over the soft edge of her ear. So small.

“So small,” he whispered. “Didn’t think somethin’ so tiny could turn my whole life upside down.” He smiled, barely. “Just like your mama did.”

He leaned his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling fan that never worked quite right.

“She wasn’t supposed to stay, you know. Not that night. Wasn’t even supposed to look at me, let alone... God.” He let out a breath “I don’t even remember what song was playin’. Just remember her laugh. It was like drinkin’ somethin’ too fast — made my head spin.”

The baby sighed in her sleep.

“I didn’t mean to let her go, kid. I just didn’t know how to make her stay.”

The memory tightened in his chest like a rope.

One night. That’s what it had been. One stupid, beautiful night. And in the morning — she’d left. Quiet as sunrise.

No note. No number.

Just the smell of her on his shirt and the shape of her still carved into the sheets.

He blinked. Swallowed hard.

“I told myself not to chase her. Thought if I kept busy, if I stuck to riding and kept my head down, I’d forget.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“But I didn’t. Not once.”

He looked down again — at her tiny fists, her sleep-pink mouth.

“You’ve got her eyes,” he whispered. “Big and soft. Like you see more than you should.”

He kissed her forehead.

“You weren’t part of the plan, little one. But you sure as hell ain’t a mistake.”

The chair creaked as it rocked. Outside, the sky was turning bright over the ridge.

“And if she won’t tell you how it happened,” he said, brushing a thumb over the baby’s cheek, “I will.”

—

The music was loud. Too loud for the size of the room, too loud for how late it was, but no one seemed to care — not the old jukebox wheezing out another George Strait hit, not the drunk couple trying to two-step on scuffed wood floors, not the college kids tossing back shots they couldn’t afford. The Wabang bar hadn’t changed. Not in years. Probably never would.

Rhett didn’t come here much anymore.

He was nursing a beer in the farthest corner of the room, half in the shadows, half pretending to care about the pool game in front of him. Someone was shouting about a scratch, someone else laughing too loud. He felt the thud of bass more than he heard it. His boots tapped once. Twice. Then stilled.

And then he saw you.

Across the room. Laughing at something a friend said. Hair tied up, strands falling loose, cheeks warm with heat and liquor and the kind of confidence that made his throat tighten. You were wearing a denim jacket and a black tank top, and for a second — just a second — you looked right at him.

And smiled.

Rhett blinked.

That smile hadn’t been meant for him. Couldn’t’ve been. He hadn’t seen you in years. Not since school. Not since that awkward period where he’d liked you a little too much and you’d barely known his name. You ran with a different crowd. The smart ones. The ones who didn’t stay.

But you were here now. And walking toward him.

Shit.

“Rhett Abbott,” you said, dropping into the seat across from him without asking. Your voice was soft and surprised, like you weren’t entirely sure you were doing this. “I thought that was you.” He stared for half a beat too long. “Hey.”

That was all he could get out. Hey.

You laughed again. “Don’t sound too excited.” “No—I mean. Yeah. I just—didn’t expect…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you doin’ here?” “Visiting. Friend’s birthday. Thought I’d stop by the old haunts.” You gestured to the room. “Didn’t think I’d see you. You look… the same.” “That good or bad?” You tilted your head. “That depends. You still ride?” His mouth quirked. “Sometimes.” “Still quiet?” “Only when I don’t know what to say.” You raised your brows. “You always knew what to say back in school.” “No,” he said, and this time it came out slower. Truer. “I just knew how to listen.”

You looked at him differently then. Like the game had changed. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a mistake.

“I always thought you didn’t like me much,” you admitted, nursing your drink now. “You were kind of… intense.” “That mean I scared you?” You laughed. “A little.” He smirked, eyes drifting down and back up. “Still do?”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him — like you were trying to decide if this was dangerous, or if you wanted it to be.

The jukebox whirred into a slower song. Something mournful. Something sweet.

You held out your hand. “Wanna dance?”

Rhett looked down at it, then back at you.

And for once, he didn’t think. Didn’t second guess. Didn’t play it safe.

He stood and took your hand.

—

The floor was sticky. The music was old. But the way you fit against him, the way your head dipped toward his chest — it felt brand new.

“You always dance this quiet?” you murmured. “Only with people I don’t wanna let go of.” You smiled against his shirt. “That a line?” “No,” he said softly. “It’s the truth.”

The dance slowed, the music fading into something else. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Outside, the air had cooled. You walked together, neither of you saying much. The kind of silence that buzzed between skin and breath. When you got to your car, you paused. Unlocked it. Didn’t open the door.

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” you said. Rhett leaned against the passenger side. “You wanna ride?” You looked up at him. “Where?” He met your eyes. “Anywhere you want.”

—

The truck smelled like pine and leather. You didn’t turn on the radio. Just let the wind and gravel speak for you.

He didn’t ask where you wanted to go. Just drove.

And you didn’t stop him.

The motel was just outside of Wabang. Old sign flickering, vending machine humming near the front desk. Rhett didn’t even flinch when the clerk handed him a key — Room 6 — didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer explanations. Just nodded, paid in cash, and led you up the crooked concrete steps.

The room smelled like stale AC and cheap soap.

One lamp. One bed. One heartbeat between yes and no.

You stood there for a second, keys still in your hand. “I don’t usually do this,” you said.

Rhett didn’t move. Just looked at you.

“Me neither.”

You turned to face him.

The light hit him just right — tired, tan, a little older than you remembered. The kind of man who looked like he’d seen too much and still chose softness anyway.

He didn’t touch you first. You did.

You kissed him like maybe it was a mistake. He kissed you like maybe it wasn’t.

There were no loud declarations. No fumbling urgency.

Just a quiet look.

A question in your eyes.

An answer in his touch.

When he undressed you, it was careful. Slow. Like he didn’t want to spook the moment.

When you pulled his shirt off, he didn’t say a word. Just looked at you.

And you swore — just for a second — you saw something in his face that had nothing to do with lust.

Something like hope.

—

The morning light hit too hard through the cheap motel curtains.

You were already dressed when Rhett stirred, still tangled in the sheets. He watched you pull your jacket on like you couldn’t get it done fast enough. Like if you moved quickly enough, you could leave the night behind entirely.

“I wasn’t gonna wake you,” you said softly, eyes on the floor. “You leavin’?” You hesitated. Then nodded, “This doesn’t need to be anything.”

He sat up slower than he meant to, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress like it might hold him up.

“Right,” he said, even though it didn’t feel right. Not at all.

You gave him the kind of smile people give at airports or funerals — polite, distant, already halfway gone.

“Take care, Rhett.”

You left without looking back.

—

He didn’t go home. Not right away.

Drove for a while. Long enough to burn through a quarter tank. The day felt dull around the edges, like sound underwater. By the time he pulled into the ranch yard, the sun had barely cleared the ridge.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and something burning. Royal sat at the table, flipping through paperwork. Cecilia moved silently at the stove, frying eggs she wouldn’t eat.

Rhett stood in the doorway, unsure why he’d even come in.

“You’re late,” Royal said without looking up.

Rhett didn’t answer.

Royal glanced up, eyes sharp. “You hungover or just stupid?” “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” Royal leaned back in his chair. “Got that half-glazed look like a man thinkin’ too hard about somethin’ that ain’t his to think about.”

That landed. Harder than Rhett expected.

Royal kept going. “Whatever it is, drop it. You’ve got a ride next week and I don’t need your head three counties away.”

Rhett didn’t answer. Just nodded, slow.

Cecilia set a plate down in front of him. Toast. Eggs. The kind of comfort she never named.

She didn’t say a word — just looked at him, once, with something like knowing in her eyes.

Then she walked away.

—

He didn’t talk about it again.

Not to Royal. Not to Perry. Not to Amy, who asked why he was quieter than usual and got a headshake in return.

Instead, he trained harder. Rode more.

Got thrown off a bull in Sheridan and got back on like it didn’t matter.

Told himself it didn’t. Told himself it was better this way.

He hadn’t seen her since. Didn’t expect to.

—

It was the kind of day that didn’t ask much. Overcast sky, wind low and steady, that late-autumn chill sliding down the back of your neck like a warning. Rhett wasn’t even supposed to be in town — just running an errand for Perry, picking up horse feed and a new belt buckle he didn’t need.

He didn’t plan on seeing her.

Didn’t plan on freezing in the middle of the grocery aisle, one hand around a can of coffee he wasn’t sure he’d even grabbed.

But there she was. By the end cap near the bakery. Reaching for something on a high shelf.

She looked the same, but softer. Hair pulled back in a low knot. Jacket zipped halfway. She turned slightly as she adjusted her footing and—

His breath caught.

There it was.

Not obvious, not dramatic. But there. A soft curve beneath her coat.

A bump.

She didn’t see him at first. He should’ve walked away. Turned around. Left it alone.

But he didn’t.

He took a step forward. Then another. And then—

“You gonna tell me?”

She froze.

Didn’t turn right away. Just let the sound of his voice sink in like a stone.

When she did face him, her eyes flickered — surprise, guilt, something else he couldn’t name.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t expect to see you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t expect to see this either.” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up. “You should’ve told me.” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how.” “You could’ve called.” You shook your head. “And said what? That I left in the morning and came back months later with a bump?” Rhett didn’t flinch. “Would’ve been better than this.” You hugged your arms across your chest, suddenly very small in the wide-open aisle. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t know me at all if you thought that.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, you said it. “It’s yours.”

He nodded once. No surprise. He’d already known.

“Boy or girl?” “I don’t know yet. I didn’t want to find out alone.”

That stopped him. Softened him.

“You don’t gotta do this alone,” he said, voice lower now. Steadier. “I know you think this was nothin’. That I was just some night you regret. But you’re carryin’ my kid. And I ain’t about to be some ghost in her life.” You flinched. “Her?” He shrugged, eyes never leaving yours. “Guessin’.” You blinked fast. “I wasn’t asking for anything, Rhett.” “Well, too bad,” he said simply. “Because I’m here anyway.”

You stared at him — not sure if you were angry, relieved, or just stunned.

He didn’t look like the boy you’d stole glance at school. Didn’t look like he needed convincing.

He looked solid. Real. Like someone who’d already decided he wasn’t leaving again.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. Rhett took a breath like it hurt to let it out. “I like you.”

You blinked.

“I don’t know when it started. Back in school, maybe. Maybe the night at the bar. Hell, maybe before that. But it wasn’t just about the night. You gotta believe me on that.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna scare you,” he added. “Didn’t wanna break it before it even started.”

He looked down, then back up — eyes steady.

“And now there’s a baby in the middle of this, and I know you didn’t ask for me to be around. I know you’re strong enough to do this alone.”

You were quiet. Breathing shallow.

“But I don’t want you to,” he said. “Not just because of her—him—whoever they turn out to be. But because of you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

“I’m not gonna break you,” he said softly. “Even if I already cracked something that night.”

Then, lower now. Barely above a whisper, but it landed like thunder:

“I want to be responsible for this. For you. For them. I know it’s not simple. I know I messed up by not sayin’ it sooner. But I’m sayin’ it now.”

You swallowed hard, something in your chest twisting sharp and sudden.

He kept going. “You don’t gotta decide today. But I need you to know—I’m not runnin’. Not from this. Not from you.”

—

The knock came just before dusk.

Not loud. Not urgent. Just... there. Like he didn’t want to scare you off.

You stood at the window for a good ten seconds before opening the door.

Rhett stood on your porch, holding a brown paper bag and a half-flustered expression.

He looked like he hadn’t rehearsed this part. Like the grocery aisle had been raw instinct, but this—showing up again—this was commitment.

“I brought you dinner,” he said finally. You stared. “You’re serious?” He held up the bag like it was proof of intent. “You need help. And I didn’t think ‘I like you’ was gonna be enough if I didn’t show up again.”

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

The kitchen was small, warm. Lived-in, but tired. Dishes drying by the sink. A plant you weren’t sure was dying. Mail on the table you hadn’t opened.

Rhett unpacked without asking where things went. Two frozen meals. A loaf of bread. Oranges. Ginger tea.

“You researched what pregnant people eat?” you asked dryly. He paused. Scratched the back of his neck. “Nah. Asked that lady at the checkout. The one with grandkids. Real loud voice.” You snorted. “Mrs. Henley?” “That’s the one,” he said, almost sheepish. “She said oranges help with heartburn. Scared the hell outta me, honestly.”

That earned the smallest smile from you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping the edge of your counter. “You got anything that needs fixin’? Leaky faucet? Broken hinge? Lights out?” “Why?” “Because I’m standin’ here and I wanna do somethin’ more than just breathe the same air as you.” You folded your arms. “You can’t just show up with groceries and expect that to make this easier.” “I don’t,” he said. Quiet. Steady. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Or fall into my arms. I’m not that stupid.”

You swallowed.

He took a step closer, but not too close.

“I just want you to know that I’m here,” he said. “That I meant what I said. I want to be part of this. I don’t wanna watch you do it alone when I can stand beside you.” You blinked, throat tightening. “You make it sound simple.” “It’s not,” he said. “It’s hard as hell. But hard things are worth stayin’ for.”

The silence sat thick between you.

Then he said it. Soft. Unapologetic.

“I never stopped thinkin’ about you after that night. You disappeared, and I told myself I’d imagined it all — that it was just one of those things. But now... now I know better. And I’m not walkin’ away from that twice.” Your voice cracked before you even meant to speak. “And if I don’t know what I want yet?” His eyes didn’t falter. “Then I wait. I show up. I do the dishes. I fix the porch. I buy groceries. I wait.” You laughed once — a shaky, wet sound. “That sounds stupid.” “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

—

You didn’t ask him to stay.

But you didn’t ask him to leave either.

The sun dipped low outside, turning the kitchen gold. Rhett stood awkwardly by the counter, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that the groceries were unpacked and the speech was over.

You broke the silence first. “You hungry?” He blinked. “What?” “You brought food,” you said, softer this time. “Might as well eat it.” He nodded once, slow and cautious, like the offer might disappear if he moved too fast. “Yeah. Alright.”

You microwaved the meals he brought — chicken something for you, beef stew for him. He stood by the sink the whole time, watching the timer count down like it mattered. When it beeped, he jumped a little. You pretended not to notice.

You both sat at the table like strangers trying not to be.

Halfway through dinner, you said, “You always eat this quiet?” He looked up, eyes warm with the smallest flicker of something — relief, maybe. “Only when I’m nervous.” You paused mid-bite. “You’re nervous?” “‘Course I’m nervous,” he said, nudging his tray with his fork. “You’re smart. And strong. And pissed off. And pregnant. And sittin’ across from me after months of not speakin’. I’d be an idiot not to be nervous.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t. But your lips curled, just slightly. Just enough.

After you both finished, Rhett grabbed a paper towel and wiped down the counter. Like it was his house. Like he belonged there.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, watching him from the table. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

He threw the towel away. Then turned to face you again. Hands at his sides. Shoulders square. Still unsure.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But I want to keep showin’ up. However you’ll let me.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you stood. Crossed the room. And leaned back against the counter next to him.

“Okay,” you said. Just that. No fanfare. His head turned, eyes searching yours. “Okay?” You nodded. “Okay. One step at a time.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“I can do one step,” he said. “I’m good at steady.” You bumped his arm with your shoulder. “You’re also good at falling off bulls.” He smirked. “Falling for difficult things is kind of my brand.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh.

And it felt like the first true thing between you since that night.

—

It started with the screen door.

You’d mentioned, offhand, that it creaked every time the wind hit it. Not as a complaint. Not even really expecting anything. Just one of those things people say when they’re tired and trying to ignore the things that bother them.

Two days later, it was fixed.

No note. No fuss. Just... fixed.

And then came the squeaky bathroom faucet. Then the broken fence post near the back gate. Then the step on the porch that’d always slanted left until suddenly, quietly, it didn’t.

You never asked him to do any of it.

But he did.

He stopped by every few days now. Always with a reason.

Brought extra milk once. Said he “accidentally bought two.” Dropped off a hammer the second time. Claimed he “forgot it last time,” even though you were pretty sure it hadn’t been there at all.

And once — just once — he showed up with a tupperware of stew and mumbled something about “Cecilia made too much.” You didn’t question it.

You started leaving the porch light on without thinking about it.

—

One night, you found him sitting on your steps, your dog curled up next to his boot, watching the wind move through the trees like it was a story worth hearing.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t call. Just sat there with the kind of quiet you didn’t mind.

You opened the door and leaned against the frame. “You’re just gonna sit there all night?” He looked up, sheepish. “Didn’t wanna bug you.” You gestured toward the couch. “You wanna come in or not?”

He smiled — small, crooked — and followed you inside.

—

The living room felt warmer with him in it. He didn’t say much. Just took off his boots, set his hat on the counter without thinking, and leaned back into your secondhand couch like it remembered him.

You brought two mugs of tea and sat beside him, knees almost touching.

“I didn’t think you’d keep coming,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d be able to stop,” he replied, just as soft.

You looked at him — really looked.

At the faint scrape on his knuckles. At the way his shirt pulled at the shoulders from work. At the way he exhaled like he hadn’t had a quiet place to land in a while.

He caught you looking. Didn’t flinch.

“You always stare this much?” he asked, voice low. “Only when I’m trying to figure someone out.”

He leaned back on the couch, one arm stretched over the cushion, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric.

“I’m not that complicated.” You raised a brow. “That’s what complicated people say.”

He smiled at that. Small. But real.

“I just like bein’ here,” he said. “That’s all.” You tilted your head. “Why?”

He looked around the room — at the dim lamp, the mismatched throw pillows, the chipped mug on the table still holding yesterday’s tea bag. Then back at you.

“Because no one’s waitin’ for me to mess it up.”

That quiet landed deeper than you expected.

But before you could say anything, he added, softer:

“I’m not here just ‘cause there’s a baby involved.”

You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Still guarded.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’m here because I wanna be. With you. The baby’s just…” He hesitated. Then gave a lopsided shrug. “The baby’s a happy accident. You’re the part I was already wantin’. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your chest. He looked nervous now, like he’d gone too far.

But you didn’t pull away. Didn’t run. You just let your foot rest against his, and this time, you didn’t move it.

And he stayed.

—

It came out quiet.

Like most true things do.

You were sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through the week’s mail, legs folded under you. Rhett was on the couch behind you, flipping through a hardware catalog he had no intention of ordering from. It was just background noise. Just a way to fill the silence between what had already been said and whatever was next.

You set an envelope down and said, “I found out on a Wednesday.” Rhett looked up. “Yeah?” You nodded, eyes still on your hands. “I didn’t feel right. Thought maybe I was just tired, maybe stress, maybe—hell, I don’t know. But something told me to go pick up a test.”

He didn’t say anything. Just sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees.

“I didn’t even wait until I got home. I used the gas station bathroom down by that old diner. Locked the door. Waited. Shook the whole damn time.” You let out a quiet breath. “Didn’t need to wait the full three minutes. It showed up quick.”

Rhett stayed quiet.

You looked down at your fingers. “I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile either. I just... sat there. For a long time.”

Still nothing from him. Just presence. Just patience.

“I went home. Put the test in the trash. Took another one the next morning. Same result. And I just… kept going. Like it hadn’t happened.” You paused, trying to shape it right. Then: “I wasn’t scared of being a mom. I was scared of telling you.” Rhett’s voice came out low. “Why?” “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to blow up your life.” “You didn’t.” “I didn’t want it to feel like some trap. Like you owed me something just because I kept it.”

He didn’t speak. Just set the catalog aside and slowly stood — not rushed, not dramatic. Walked the two steps over.

Then he sat down beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, knees bent like he was settling into something he didn’t want to leave.

He rested his arms on his thighs, voice steady. “I don’t feel owed. I feel lucky.”

That stopped you. Fully stopped you.

He glanced over. “If you hadn’t told me? If I’d never known? I’d be walking around not even realizing I had this chance. You.” You swallowed, throat tight. “It didn’t feel like a chance. It felt like a mess. And I was already halfway drowning in it.” Rhett nodded. Quiet. “I’m not afraid of mess.” “I am,” you said. He didn’t look away. “Then let me be the part that’s steady.”

You didn’t answer right away.

So he added, softer: “I’m not here to fix it. I’m here to stay. Even when it’s ugly. Especially then.”

You looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, you believed it.

—

You turned to him, slow. Careful.

“What if we tried?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right.

“Tried what?” “This,” you said. “You and me. Not just because of the baby. But... because we want to.”

Silence. But not the bad kind.

Rhett didn’t blink. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat still like the moment was sacred.

“I’ve wanted that since school,” he said finally. “You were always...” He trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Untouchable. Too smart. Too pretty. Too far outta my league to even look my way.” You blinked, stunned. “I barely knew you liked me.” “I barely knew how to act on it,” he admitted. “But I never forgot you.”

You swallowed, suddenly breathless.

“And now you’re here,” he added, voice dropping. “Asking me what if. After everything. After the mess. After the one night I never stopped thinkin’ about.” He smiled — slow, soft, disbelieving. “This don’t feel real. It feels like a dream I’m afraid to wake up from.” You shifted closer. “Well… what if it’s real?” He reached for your hand then. Fully, deliberately. “Then I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.”

Your fingers curled around his. Steady. Sure.

And for the first time in a long, long while — it didn’t feel like you were gambling your heart. It felt like coming home to someone who’d been waiting for you to find the door.

—

The house was quiet except for the sound of her breath.

Tiny, rhythmic. Almost like wind through cotton.

She was asleep against your chest, her body curled up like a comma, one hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt. You hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Across the room, Rhett sat cross-legged on the floor, still in his work shirt, still dusted in hay and dirt from a day he didn’t complain about. His eyes were locked on her — your daughter — like she was the sun coming up over the ridge.

“She’s got your mouth,” he said softly. You looked down. “You think?” “Yeah,” he nodded. “That stubborn little pout? That’s you.” You smiled, exhausted but full. “She’s got your frown when she sleeps.” He chuckled. “Poor thing.”

The lamp threw soft amber light across the floorboards. Everything felt warm, lived-in, quiet in a way neither of you had known before.

Rhett shifted up onto the couch beside you, careful not to jostle her. One arm draped behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck like a whisper.

“She’s really here,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “She’s ours.” He nodded, eyes still on her. “Whole world in one tiny thing.”

You looked down at her — at her sleep-heavy face, the rise and fall of her breath. You still couldn’t believe something so new could feel so right.

“She changed everything,” you said. Rhett let out a quiet breath. “Yeah. And somehow made it all make sense.”

The baby shifted, sighing softly, and you both stilled — protective without speaking, already moving in tandem without having to try.

—

The baby in his arms stirred, bringing Rhett back to the now.

She was heavier these days. A little bigger. A little louder when she wanted something. But in that moment, cradled against his chest in the quiet, she was still. Warm. Safe.

The house around them was hushed — not the tense kind of silence he used to know, but the good kind. Familiar. A hum of peace under the floorboards.

The late morning light spilled through the window. Golden, soft-edged. It lit up the room in streaks — caught the dust in the air, glinted off the framed photo on the mantel, and landed square on his left hand where it curled around her tiny back.

The sun shone bright on the silver band on his ring finger.

He hadn’t taken it off since the day you slipped it onto him, quiet and teary-eyed at the courthouse, both of you too choked up to make a big deal of it. He’d kissed your knuckles and whispered, This don’t change us. It just makes it official.

Now it caught the light every time he held her. And God, he hoped she’d see it one day and know it meant safe.

Steady.

Staying.

Rhett rocked slowly in the old chair, voice low and careful.

“And that,” he whispered, brushing his lips to her forehead, “is how you came to be.”

He looked down at her — same stubborn pout, same tiny fists — and smiled to himself.

“Wasn’t part of the plan, sweetheart,” he said. “But you’re the best thing I never saw comin’.”

She shifted, one arm flopping up against his chest like she knew she was being talked about.

“I didn’t know how to be a dad,” he went on. “Didn’t even know if I was gonna be good at any of this. I still don’t, some days. But then you cry, or smile, or fall asleep on me like this, and I figure... maybe I don’t have to know everything. Maybe just bein’ here is enough.”

A beat.

“Your mama... she gave me a real chance. Took a risk lettin’ me back in. And I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ sure she never regrets it.”

His thumb brushed gently over her back. She sighed in her sleep. Like she already believed him.

Rhett leaned back a little further, gaze catching again on the wedding band. It felt heavier in the sunlight. Not in a burdensome way — just real. Earned.

“I used to think a win meant stayin’ on the bull,” he murmured. “Now I think it looks more like this.”

Another pause. No rush.

“You were a happy accident, darlin’,” he said. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

His voice dipped even lower, almost a promise.

“You’re ours. All the way.”

And outside, the wind moved through the trees, steady and light — as the sun kept shining.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #lewis pullman #verricherriask🍒

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softsunnyy · 2 months ago

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ok but…the hughes boys each claiming a hole…and destroying u all at once…🎤🎤🎤

alr, i think this is too much... 👉🏻👈🏻

🚨 rough sex, little moments that seem non-con, but she enjoys it, i swear. Anal sex, oral sex. All your holes at the same time. Exposing you while you sleep. Using you while you sleep. A good pt.2?? Almost losing consciousness. You can't control your actions. Cumming too hard. And i think that's the majority. 🚨

@kawhh ; @ruinix <33

you feel like you're going crazy. You're overwhelmed, overstimulated, constantly horny, remembering what you did a couple of days ago.

you let your boyfriend fuck you... in front of his brothers.

god, you even put on a show for them, stripping for them and letting them use you to get off. You still remember Quinn's taste, and how good it feels to be filled by Luke.

you even dream about it.

and since that day, a few things have changed. The place is tense. Jack watches with amusement as his brothers seem on edge for you, while you move cautiously, nervous all the time, embarrassed.

and they don't make it easy for you either.

Quinn takes every opportunity to put his hands on your body, like when he saw you in the kitchen and grabbed your waist, moving you so he could reach a spoon. Of course, you knew it was on purpose. The way he made your ass rub against his bulge gave it away.

Luke's always watching you, no matter what you do, making you feel hot. Like when you wanted to sit with them, on that same couch, and his eyes kept looking at your legs, your chest, all of you.

you're surprised nothing more has happened, but you can feel the air getting heavier every day, as if you were standing in front of a bomb that could explode at any moment. You struggle to breathe, you feel so small in every room you enter, and being with the three of them in the same place is overwhelming, and you try to put distance between you and Jack in those situations because you can see his intentions.

you feel dirty, even guilty, because you can't stop thinking about them. You've had dreams about Quinn and Luke, of them fucking you, Luke forcing you to use his thigh, and then Quinn filling you with his long fingers. You've dreamed of having both of them at the same time, then waking up wrapped around your boyfriend.

you blame him because you didn't have these thoughts before, and now you can't stop. It's all you want and need. You need all three of them. You want to be exposed to them again, to be used; but you don't want to take the first step.

it's then that a week has passed, and you're on the same couch, watching a movie with Jack. Your body covered only by his shirt, and you took advantage of the fact that the house was empty to have a long time of entertainment.

your lower back hurts a little now, your legs are a little cramped, so Jack lets you lie on top of him, while he gently strokes your back.

you curl up, seeking his warmth, feeling sleepy and affectionate, wanting to have him as close as possible. And soon the movie began to fade behind you, the voices growing more distant, your vision blurred, your eyelids wanting to close.

in his arms, you fell asleep, forgetting where you were, your situation. Forgetting about your boyfriend's needs for a second.

a couple of minutes pass until the front door opens, and Quinn and Luke walk in, talking about what they did that day, looking at each other until they reach the living room, where they see the scene before them.

Jack smiled and continued stroking your back, watching his brothers' actions out of the corner of his eye, knowing full well that your ass is starting to peek out from the shirt, which is riding up more and more with each caress.

Quinn clears his throat, suddenly feeling heated, his eyes fixed on your thighs, on how your legs are on either side of his brother's hips, making you more exposed, as if you want them to see your pretty, used, still-full pussy.

Luke tries not to look, to ignore what he's feeling, but it's impossible. He can't not look when your ass is there. He wants to grab it, smack it, spit on it. He wants to shove his cock between you and make you whimper for him.

"sit down, she can give you a show," Jack spoke in a low tone, now looking at them, and they obeyed without saying a word, this time both sitting in the direction of your ass, completely attentive.

you're fast asleep, having sweet dreams, like a date with your boyfriend, enjoying the moment and the calm around you... until you start to feel hot. And the plot begins to change. Your boyfriend starts looking at you differently, his eyes lowering to your lips, his hand getting closer and closer to your thigh. Your cheeks begin to burn, and you know what's coming.

in real life, Jack begins to lift your (his) shirt, exposing your sweet pussy, with traces of his cum staining your swollen lips. With his hands, he grabs your ass cheeks, parting them, massaging them, leaving his fingers marked by his strong grip.

Quinn begins to unbutton his pants, releasing his cock, which is slowly hardening. He wants to shove his cock into your ass, fuck you so hard that you can only scream, babble, tears streaming down your eyes as he takes you. The thought alone makes his blood heat up and his legs tense.

Luke touches his bulge through his pants, watching his brother's cum slide out of your hole a little more, and he remembers when he did the same thing, filling you with him. He wants to do it again. He wants to fill you so much, making you pregnant.

and you? you whimper in your sleep, enjoying how fake Jack places his hand between your legs, caressing your pussy while kissing your neck. It makes you rub unconsciously, enjoying it.

the real Jack takes one of his hands from your ass to bring it to your pussy, masturbating you with two of his fingers, running between your folds, playing with your still sensitive and swollen clit. He can feel his fluids dripping over his fingers, and you moan, moving as if you know what's happening, as if you know there are more people watching.

Quinn can't take his eyes off you, everyone can hear how hard and fast he pulls on his cock, thinking of so many things he could do to your body, without caring that you're his brother's girlfriend.

Luke decides to release his cock, big, veiny, and completely hard thanks to you, because of the wonderful view you're giving them.

your dream becomes more and more explicit, the fake Jack sliding his fingers so deep, while the real one rubs your clit faster and faster, moving his fingers in circles, slapping your pussy, making your juices squirt and wet everything.

you moan, moving faster and faster, more roughly, seeking your release, making Jack give you what you want, under the eyes of his brothers. And it's when you're about to cum that you wake up, dizzy, your vision blurred, your mind fogged, breathing heavily, your hole throbbing, your folds wet, and your boyfriend smiling.

you're confused, but you break into a moan when his fingers don't stop moving, torturing you. You say his name like a broken record, rubbing yourself against his bulge, your eyes fixed on him.

"Jack, i'm gonna..." your gasp interrupts you, and you rest your hands on his chest, moving faster and faster, your legs shaking. It was the best way to wake up.

it's then that he looks behind you and decides to speak, "come on, join us."

your eyes widen, but you can't straighten up because one of his hands is holding you still, pressed against his body. Then you feel a presence behind you, and warm, large hands grab your waist.

someone stands at the end of the couch, in front of your face, and when you look up, you find Luke, grinning, his cock out, almost touching your cheek.

"what?" you panic a little, wanting to back away, feeling so exposed, but they won't let you.

Jack's hands leave your body, and he begins to unbutton his pants, pulling them down with some difficulty, followed by his underwear. His cock is so hard and big.

it's then that you realize how lost you are, the compromising position, your dreams coming true, and you can't help but whimper, feeling like a whore, eager for his cocks, to be filled in every hole until you can't think of anything but sex.

you feel addicted, overwhelmed, your mind completely clouded, and you have no rational thought. You feel like you've been set up, but you can't even get angry about it.

refuse or let them use you? i think the answer is easier than you think.

one of your hands moves down to your boyfriend's cock, and your body rises slightly. You align his tip against your hole, which throbs, desperate to be filled. The hands on your waist force you down, sliding him into your tight walls until he bottoms out, drawing a moan from your throat.

your pussy was already sore, stretched, and you can feel it breaking again, making your poor walls ache. But at the same time, it's incredibly pleasurable, and you can't help but let whimpers escape your mouth.

Jack tries to move you, to get you used to it once more, knowing your body is still sore, but also knowing you need to cum, to release.

Quinn and Luke are patient, giving you time, but when you start moving on your own, jerking, making Jack's cock slide in faster and faster, they knew they could keep going.

Luke places his hand on your chin and forces you to look at him. Your neck aches, your eyes glassy, your lips reddish, and you see him, his big cock right in front of your face. You don't hesitate to open your mouth, ready for him, and he's quick slide in, slowly, inch by inch until you're choking. His tip touches so deep in your throat it makes you gag, and yet it doesn't come out, but instead begins to move. Your moans are dying now, vibrating against his skin.

your pussy welcomes your boyfriend eagerly, recognizing him, welcoming him home, molding to his size, suffocating him, your juices flying, and a ring of his old cum forming at its base.

Luke places one of his hands in your hair, and makes you swallow him deeper as he begins to move. You can feel it throbbing, how hot it is, and you try to calm the gags a little. You want to make him feel good. You wanna feel his cum going down your throat.

but someone's missing, waiting for you to feel comfortable, safe, calm. Someone waiting for your body to stop being tense, riding Jack's cock like it's the last time, while you swallow Luke's as if it's the last thing you could do.

Quinn was attentive, he waited, he analyzed, he let his cock reach its limit, and when the pain was unbearable, he decided he would use you.

and he won't be gentle, he won't be sweet.

you're a whore to them, so he's going to treat you like this.

with his hands, he spreads your ass cheeks. Your other hole is so tight, calling out to him. He knows you'll be so tight, that you'll take him so well. God, you're going to suffocate him. He'll never want to leave you again.

he adjusted himself, found a way to get comfortable, and then grabbed his cock, touching your hole with his tip. You almost panicked. You felt so full, so satisfied. You didn't think anything else could enter your body, but your mind was so foggy, your body so helpless. You couldn't say anything, just accept what was coming.

he began to slide in, sighing heavily, feeling the difference. You squeezed him so hard, it was hard to move, but he forced his way in, pushing his way in, expanding your walls brutally. And you screamed, moaning against Luke's cock, while you drool and fat tears fell down your cheeks, landing on Jack's face, who enjoyed it, feeling how you were even tighter now, so tense.

Quinn only gave you a couple of seconds, but then he started moving and it was rough, it was fast, making Jack's cock slide in faster than before. And you feel full, your holes aching, your throat strained. Your face is a mess, and your pussy is so soaked that juices are spurting out, staining everything.

your pussy is red, irritated, your ass is pink. You can't do anything, you can't control your movements, you just let them move, using you at their pace. You're like their doll, their toy.

they move faster, seeking their own release, and you're so lost in your sensations that you can't even warn them that the knot has formed inside you again, even stronger than before. Your legs spasm, your hands become fists, your belly aches and tingles, and when it happens, neither Quinn nor Jack can move, feeling you come.

from that moment on, you completely lose control, your jaw loosens, your body almost completely falling onto Jack's. You see colored dots, getting closer to losing consciousness, but you let them use you, let them continue. And you feel overstimulated, too full.

Luke is the first of the three to cum, filling your throat, making you choke, unable to breathe, just swallow and swallow. He tastes delicious to you, and when he removes his cock from your mouth, you unconsciously try to follow him, to get him back in you, which makes the three of them laugh at you.

he caresses your cheek, watching your eyes slowly close, and after locking eyes with Jack, he decides to place a small kiss on your lips, tasting his own flavor, making you whimper, receiving affection after a while.

with his kisses, he tries to distract you, to make you feel warm, but they're destroying you, giving you no rest, hammering inside you, as if they're competing to see who will leave you unable to walk. Like they're competing to own your body, and their egos are so big that they won't rest until they're done with that fight.

your clit rubs against Jack's body again and again, and when another knot forms inside you, you have to pull away from Luke's mouth, crying, begging them to have mercy, to stop for a moment. They pay no attention, and you reach your limit once more, closing your eyes tightly. Then they both cum inside you, at the same time, filling you with thick white strips, each claiming a hole, filling you so much.

you're swollen, irritated, and your vision so blurry and dark that you're not surprised when your entire body collapses, causing you to fall completely on top of Jack, battling between consciousness and unconsciousness, your breathing heavy, but feeling incredibly satisfied.

you've dreamed about this a thousand times since what happened, but you never thought you'd feel this good. You don't think you can stop after this. You need them like you need breathing.

can Jack learn to share long-term? you used to be just his girl, and he doesn't like the way Luke keeps looking at you with hearts in his eyes, while Quinn refuses to come out of you, challenging him with his gaze.

what did he do?

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neilissevered · 6 days ago

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Hey! I’ll eat anything up with baku + hurt/comfort :) It can be inspired by one of the episodes where juntae gets beat up by the union. Don’t mind anything as long as it’s angst + fluff at the end!

જ⁀➴ COLLATERAL

He fought like hell to get you back. Now, in the quiet after the storm, he holds your hand and calls it home. Full fic, whc2 timeline, mutual pining and yearning, hurt and comfort Park Hu-min (Baku) x gn! reader wc: 6k+ tw: depictions of violence and torture, reader gets kidnapped by the Union masterlist

You couldn’t forget that day, not even if you tried. It was scorched into your memory like a brand. Everything felt like it was on the verge of collapse—like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to explode.

Every step you and your friends took felt watched, weighed, and judged. The town that once wrapped around you like a warm blanket now pressed in like iron bars. Even the familiar hallways of your school, once loud with laughter and life, had turned cold, hollow—like the echo of something that had already died.

The Union was relentless. You, Hu-min Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun knew that. The gang wasn’t going to stop until Eunjang High School became a part of it. And they didn’t care how violent it would get.

It was that day that all of you realized that not even the police—or any adults could help.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you three?!” you cried out, barely able to breathe.

Your chest heaved like it was collapsing under the weight of fear. You had sprinted across town the second you heard the Union had taken Jun-tae. Your legs had moved on instinct, faster than thought, fueled by panic. Because Jun-tae… he wasn’t a fighter. Not really. But he was loyal. The kind of loyal that doesn’t run even when he should. The kind that stays,

even if it means getting torn apart.

But you only heard about Jun-tae.

You’re in the hospital now, still shaking, your palms still clammy. You’re staring at your friends, trying to make sense of it all.

“Hu-min, what the hell happe–” The you see it.

The words die in your throat.

You follow their gazes and feel your stomach twist, as if gravity itself turned on you.

There he is.

Si-eun, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, motionless. His skin is pale, lips are cracked. And next to him, his mother. Her hands tremble as she clutches his, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her sobs aren’t loud. They’re quiet, broken things, as if even her grief is afraid to speak in a world this cruel.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. You feel your knees weaken. Rage, guilt, and fear all surge at once. You want to undo everything.

But all you and the other three boys can do is stare.

And wonder if anything will ever feel safe again.

“----!!!!”

Your name blasts into your ear like someone just hit you with a megaphone.

You flinch, snapping back to reality like you’d just surfaced from underwater. The cold metal table. The cafeteria noise. The cheap plastic tray in front of you. You're back. No hospital. No unconscious Si-eun because that was all a week ago. You and your friends were okay, but you couldn’t help but still reel from the past events.

“Hey, dumbass,” Hu-min says, way too close to your ear. “You deaf or something? You just missed the best part of my story!”

You jerk your head away with a grimace, clutching your ear. “What the hell, Hu-min?! You trying to shatter my eardrum?!” You hissed, face slightly red from the embarrassment, because once again, your table is becoming a public attraction in the cafeteria because of how loud Hu-min is.

“You were zoned out for five whole minutes,” Jun-tae chimes in, mouth half-full. “Thought maybe you had a stroke.”

“Or died sitting up,” Go-tak adds while snickering, not even looking up from his food. “I was just about to take a picture of your face. Our new group chat photo.”

You shoot them a glare. “Thanks for the concern. Reallyyy feeling the love right now.”

Hu-min rolls his eyes. “We were concerned. Until you just kept staring at your rice like it insulted your whole family.” he then ruffled your hair, giving back your chopsticks that you dropped, and motioned to your food as if urging you to continue eating.

Si-eun gives the smallest snort from across the table. You glance at him. He's eating slowly, quiet as ever, but there's a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“What? You too, Si-eun??” you groaned.

You roll your eyes, shaking off the last of the memory’s grip. “Great friends I have. Real supportive.”

“You’re welcome!” Hu-min chuckles, flicking a grain of rice at your tray. “Maybe don’t zone out like you’re about to transcend to another plane of existence.”

You shoot him a glare. “Maybe don’t scream directly into my brain next time??”

He smirks, and there’s something a little smug in it. “Hey, where’s the fun in that? You can still hear, right?” he reached out, snapping his fingers next to your ear as if to prove a point, then suddenly patted your cheek. You swatted his hand away, unimpressed but flustered nonetheless. You hate that your face warms a little.

You look away quickly and shove some food into your mouth—something bland and mushy. Comfort in mediocrity, you guess.

Jun-tae then nudges you with his elbow. “Jokes aside, you good, though? You looked… far away.”

You pause. Then nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hu-min casts a sidelong glance your way, his grin wavering for just a moment. He quickly shifts the conversation to another story, successfully bringing back the earlier joyful atmosphere of your group.

However, beneath the table, his knee gently nudges yours, a silent message that he isn't convinced by your excuse, not even for a heartbeat. Yet, despite his doubts, he chooses to let it slide. For now.

“Alright, move aside and I’ll show everyone the true, Hanamichi Sakuragi!”

Hu-min whooped, beating his chest a few times as he proudly held the basketball in one hand while parading around the court like he was ready to win the national championship

Across from him stood Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun—each one wearing the same deadpan expression that screamed not impressed.

It was a spontaneous after-school plan. The five of you had decided to kill time on the court before heading home. The sun was dipping low, casting the sky in swirls of burnt orange and violet. Students slowly trickled out through the gates on their way to cram school—Si-eun almost included, until Hu-min cornered him and dragged him into the game.

You’d opted out of playing today. Something about your mood just wouldn’t let up. Your mind was still stuck on a memory you couldn’t quite shake. Nothing traumatic, nothing new—just something lingering, like smoke after a fire. Everyone was fine now. Or at least, they seemed to be.

But Hu-min…he has been different lately.

You noticed how he’d glance around corners before letting his friends pass. How he’d always walk a step ahead, shoulders tense, scanning. He acted like no one noticed—but you did and you were sure the others did too. He was watching the world a little too closely now. And everyone else? They let him.

No one’s complaining, though. You all appreciated the company, and there’s not a single moment when it turns dull as long as Hu-min is there.

So instead of playing, you sat back and let your eyes wander. Go-tak, Jun-tae, and Si-eun had decided to team up in a 3v1—some dumb challenge just to “prove” Hu-min really was the best at basketball (his idea, obviously).

And he wasn’t even half bad at it, which only fed the fire.

There was something about Hu-min’s energy—loud, electric, overwhelming. But there was warmth there, too. The kind that reached deeper than you expected. He made you feel safe without trying to. Like someone who could carry the weight of the world if it meant his friends didn’t have to.

But sometimes, you wish he didn’t feel like he had to.

Still, watching him now—sweat on his brow, laughter in his throat, arms wide like he was daring the world to challenge him—you felt it again. That warmth.

The kind you never knew you needed until he was already in your life.

And you weren’t ready to let it go.

Hu-min spun the basketball in his hand with a cocky grin, chest puffed out like a cartoon character about to deliver his winning line.

“Alright! If I make this last shot—” he pointed dramatically toward the hoop, then to you with a wink—“I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow!”

You blinked, a wave of surprise washing over you. “Me?” Your thoughts were so suddenly interrupted that it took a second (or maybe two) to process what Hu-min had just flung into the air like his basketball. When it finally hit you, your cheeks flared. A date?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The word date echoed again in your mind, not in his teasing voice but softer, like a whisper folded between your uncertain thoughts. You’d never really stopped to consider the idea. Between dodging the Union, healing bruised knuckles, and watching over the others, there just wasn’t time. Romance always felt like a luxury too fragile for the kind of life you unfortunately led.

But now...

Your heart did this strange flutter, like it had just realized it was in a body that could feel. And not just feel—but want. Want soft glances across a rooftop, laughter shared in quiet corners of the gym, the press of a hand that stayed a moment longer than it needed to. You and Hu-min have been friends for a long time. You weren’t going to deny that there was something more in your friendship. Something that has maybe been long overdue.

He leaned in, his smirk widening like a crescent moon. “Yeah, you. What? Afraid to be seen with someone as stunning as me in public?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the laughter bubbling up inside. “Stunning? You mean ‘delusional’?”

“Touché,” he chuckled, casually spinning the ball on his finger, “but let’s be real, it’s hard not to notice someone who steals the spotlight.”

You exchanged playful glances, the air thick with unspoken possibilities.

Go-tak immediately gagged in the background from the suddenly sappy atmosphere. Jun-tae booed. Si-eun didn’t even look up while he tried to catch his breath.

“You miss this, and you’re buying us dinner,” Si-eun muttered.

Unbothered, Hu-min jogged to the three-point line, hyped himself up under his breath—“Alright, let’s go, this is my moment”—and shot.

It bounced off the rim.

Hard.

There was a beat of silence while everyone watched the ball roll off the court in the saddest way possible. Go-tak and Jun-tae exploded with laughter. It’s like the best comedy they have ever seen.

Jun-tae pointed. “This is why you’re single!”

Go-tak doubled over. “True love denied by poor aim! Holy shit I should’ve recorded that moment!”

Even Si-eun cracked the faintest smirk while he watched the other two mock Hu-min, trying to mimic his very sad attempt at shooting the ball by jumping around.

After a few back-and-forth curse words and hard teasing from the other three, Hu-min gave up the banter and tossed them the ball

“Whatever! That was the wind pushing the ball out of the hoop!”

He walked off the court and went to where you were seated on the steps, trying not to look amused.

He dropped down next to you, wiping sweat from his brow, still breathing heavily. “They’re so annoying,” he muttered. “Anyway, pretend that went in. The offer still stands.” He winked.

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The whole thing did take your mind off the Union for a bit, but there’s still a gnawing feeling inside of you.

Hu-min noticed. Of course he did.

He leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, his voice lower now. He gently nudged your arm. “You’ve been quiet today. More than usual.”

You glanced at him, then away. “It’s nothing. Just really tired today.”

“Hey, don't give me that.”

A beat passed before you spoke again. You let out a sigh, deciding to just come clean. “It’s just… after what happened to Jun-tae, I keep thinking—what if it happens again? What if we’re not ready next time? Hell–I don’t think you guys were ready at that time..”

Hu-min was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke, voice soft but steady.

“It won’t. Because I’m here.”

You looked at him again. This time, he was serious. No teasing. No grin. Just Hu-min—warm, real, and right beside you. He smiled reassuringly, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you, not even to those idiots over there,” he said. “Not now. Not ever again.”

The fading light caught in his eyes, the orange glow softening his usually loud presence.

He didn’t need you to thank him. He didn’t need anything in return.

Just everyone’s safety, and yours especially.

That was enough for him.

“Hey! Everyone, go straight home, alright?” Hu-min called out as the group started packing up. The sun was dipping below the rooftops, casting long shadows on the pavement. It was getting late, and they all had class the next day.

“What?! Hey, what about our dinner treat?” Go-tak whined, slinging his bag over his shoulder with exaggerated disappointment.

“Hm? Never heard of it,” he replied coolly, brushing off the comment with a shrug.

Go-tak squinted at him, unimpressed. “Whatever, man. I hope you trip on your way home.”

That earned a round of laughter from the group, loud and lighthearted. Plans for the weekend were already being tossed around, something about crashing at Si-eun’s apartment, stealing his snacks, and maybe raiding his room while they were at it.

Goodbyes came in waves—sloppy hugs, playful jabs, promises of seeing each other tomorrow. One by one, Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun disappeared into the night, leaving behind the fading echoes of their chatter.

And then it was just the two of you.

You hadn’t even realized until now that Hu-min was still holding your hand. He hadn’t let go the entire time.

The street felt quieter, the space between you closer.

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, rough calluses, and warmth pressed against your skin. It wasn’t like you to be flustered, but something about his grip—firm but gentle—made your pulse skip a beat.

You glanced down at your hand, still tangled in Hu-min’s. “You know… You don’t have to keep holding it.”

He looked at you, still grinning widely. “I know,” then didn’t let go.

You raised an eyebrow. A laugh bubbling at your chest, “So?”

“So what? My hands comfortable.”

You gave him a look. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah. Warm. Steady. I dunno. Just don’t make it weird.” By that, he already started walking with you, leading you to your own home while he swung your intertwined hands in the air.

“You’re the one making it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird! I’m making it—casual.”

You snorted. “Casual handholding?”

“Yes. Extremely casual. Like bros.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Wait—no, not like bros—don’t quote that—”

You burst out laughing, and Hu-min looked like he regretted everything immediately. But he can't help but smile at the way you look. How lighter you seem to be after he talked to you earlier.

He groaned. “Ugh, I was doing fine until I missed that shot..”

“You mean your terrible attempt at asking me out?”

“It wasn’t terrible! It was slightly… underwhelming. That’s different.”

You grinned. “Do you know what underwhelming means?”

Suddenly, Hu-min let go of your hand and, without warning, brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. Before you could react, he tugged at them gently, stretching your face with the kind of shameless mischief only he could pull off.

“Look at you,” he teased with a grin, “still trying to act cool! Go-tak taught you how to tease me, didn’t he?”

You squeaked out a protest, swatting at his wrists as you tried to escape his grip. But your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, tangled with his own. The sound filled the quiet street. Loud, chaotic, unfiltered—just like him.

When the laughter finally ebbed, both of you were left catching your breath. His hands were still on your face, but the playfulness had faded into something gentler. His thumbs moved softly now, brushing lightly over your skin as though he was trying to smooth away the laughter—but really, he just didn’t want to let go.

Then, without a word, he swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. Slowly, carefully. His gaze lingered, drinking you in like this was a moment he wanted to memorize. His chest rose and fell with a quiet breath, a softness settling in his eyes that you rarely got to see.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you leaned in—just barely, but enough for him to feel it. Your foreheads touched, the unusually close contact warming the space between you.

“I should go home soon, Hu-min”

He immediately pouted, pulling back just a little, arms falling to his sides. Your place was only a few minutes away—barely a walk—but that didn’t stop the small crease of disappointment forming between his brows.

“You sure you don’t need a hero to walk you home? I’m free of charge, y’know”

You laughed, shaking your head as you began walking away from him while waving goodbye.

“Relax, I can handle a sidewalk!”

“You’ll miss me!” He shouted, waving his hands at you as you got farther and farther away

You rolled your eyes, shouting back, “I’ll see you tomorrow Hu-min!”

“Yeah, yeah—text me when you get home!”

You turned the corner, heart light, steps even lighter. The echo of your laughter still lingered in the air, like the night itself had softened just for you both.

The sidewalk was quiet, save for the rhythmic scuff of your shoes against the pavement. You were maybe three minutes from home, still replaying the evening in your head—his laughter, his touch, the way he looked at you like he was still holding back something bigger than words.

Maybe it’s the fact that Hu-min had made everything light and easy. He made you feel safe with his presence.

You didn’t notice the footsteps behind you.

Didn’t hear them speeding up.

Didn’t feel the tension creeping up your spine until—

CRACK.

A sharp, white-hot pain exploded across the side of your head. The world spun, and your knees buckled.

Your breath caught mid-gasp as your vision blurred—then dimmed.

You collapsed to the pavement with a dull thud.

The Union now knows where to hit Hu-min where it hurts.

“Bro,” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of kimbap, “you’ve been glued to them like a damn sticker.”

Hu-min didn’t even look up while chewing his food. “What’re you talking about?”

Jun-tae leaned back on his elbows, grinning. “Baku..you waited outside the bathroom for them. For, like, five minutes. That’s practically dating.”

Hu-min scoffed, tossing a rice ball at Jun-tae’s head, not caring when the sticky grains got everywhere. “I was standing there. Coincidence.”

“Sure,” Si-eun deadpanned, not even bothering to look up. “So you do that every lunch break?”

“Hey. I missed when you didn’t talk a lot.” his ears were already turning red. He shoved more food into his mouth just to avoid answering while the Go-tak and Jun-tae teased him.

“You’re obvious,” Go-tak said, gleefully piling on. “Like, puppy-eyed obvious. It’s kind of painful.”

“I don’t do puppy eyes!” Hu-min snapped.

“Yeah? Then what was that look when they gave you their leftover fries yesterday?” Jun-tae teased. “You looked like you got proposed to.”

Hu-min whipped around to glare at him, dramatically offended. “I was hungry! Fries are sacred!”

The group burst out laughing, and Hu-min shoved his tray toward the center in mock rage.

“Whatever, man,” he grumbled. “Can’t I just make sure they don’t trip over air or get kidnapped or something?”

Go-tak leaned in, smug. “So you admit it.”

Hu-min rolled his eyes. “Admit what?”

“That you’re down bad.”

“I’ll kick you off this roof.”

But even as he threatened violence while the group continued to mock him, Hu-min’s eyes wandered—just for a moment—toward the hallway beyond the stairwell door. You were leaning against a locker, laughing at something your friend said, completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He didn’t even realize the corners of his mouth had twitched into a smile.

Your mind surfaced slowly, like dragging yourself out of deep water.

At first, there was only sound. Distant. Muffled. A low hum. Dripping, maybe. Footsteps? It was hard to tell. Everything blurred into one long, throbbing buzz that pulsed behind your eyes.

Then—pain.

A vivid pressure bloomed sharply at the side of your head, a sinister ache that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. A small whimper escaped your lips, a sound of desperation as the awareness intensified the pain, making it feel unbearable. You instinctively tried to reach for your throbbing temple, but your arms remained unresponsive, trapped and helpless.

That’s when you noticed the cold biting into your wrists. Rough rope. Metal against your spine. You were sitting, but slumped awkwardly. Tied to something.

A chair?

You cracked your eyes open. It was dark, your vision swimming. Everything doubled, then tripled, before settling into a shaky blur.

You blinked hard, your vision unfocused. Finally, you could see your lap, the once pristine school uniform, now clearly streaked with dirt and grime. Your eyes shifted to your legs, bound tightly to the chair, rendering you utterly immobile. Your body felt heavy and fatigued, while the ropes dug painfully into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

The side of your face throbbed with every heartbeat. Your lip stung, metallic and swollen. There was a coppery taste in your mouth. And god—it was cold. You were covered in sweat and probably your own dried blood from the head injury.

Voices, low and distorted, floated somewhere nearby. Talking. Laughing? Arguing?

You couldn’t tell.

Your breathing picked up, chest rising faster now as reality snapped into place like shards of glass reforming, and finally, you can remember a few things. Hu-min. The sidewalk. The pipe. The voice saying, “They’re down.”

You weren’t home.

You weren’t safe.

And Hu-min wasn’t with you.

Panic stirred in your chest, but your limbs felt heavy. Your head dropped forward again, your body sluggish and uncooperative, still recovering from the hit. Still too slow. You could only cry out in pain. From the fear and helplessness

But you were awake. And you were alone.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Suddenly, their laughter rang in your ears like a fork scraping against a plate. You winced in pain as you did your best to look up at the faces of the people who took you. You only recognized one. He was part of the union, you think.

You remembered seeing him once, behind Si-eun during a fight. He wasn’t a frontliner…more like someone who watched from the shadows. Quiet. Calculating.

Now, he was smiling at you like you were a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

“There it is,” he said with an amused sigh. “Took you long enough. You’re tougher than you look.”

You didn’t respond. Your tongue felt too heavy. And besides, what was there to say?

He walked closer, crouching just in front of you. “You probably don’t remember me. But I know you. Or at least, I know what you are to him.”

That made your stomach twist and your heart drop

Hu-min.

You could still feel the warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his laugh, the way he called after you—

“You’ll miss me!”

God. You wished you could hear his voice now.

“He’s loud, your little boyfriend,” the Union guy went on. “Always charging in, throwing punches. Never shuts up.” Everyone laughed behind him, some even mimicking Hu-min’s actions. They looked prideful, as if they had already won.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“But when he finds out we have you?”

“He’ll be real quiet then.”

You met his gaze, fury flaring despite the pain. Once he got close enough, You spat without hesitation.

It landed square on his cheek—a messy mix of blood and spit that made him recoil instantly.

“Fuck! You little—” He cursed, stumbling back as he wiped his face in disgust. He glared at you, the others looking in disbelief.

“Alright,” he muttered. “You want to be brave? You need a little reminder, then”

He motioned at the other boys lazily. And before you could react—

A fist drove into your gut, hard.

Air exploded from your lungs. The room spun. You couldn’t even scream. They all laughed as your chair tipped over from the sheer force. You came crashing down onto the floor, your body was hit hard, the edge of the metal frame biting into your side. Pain bloomed in waves, sharp and pulsing, as the men’s laughter echoed above you.

“Hey! Get this on video,” one of them barked, pulling out a phone with a grin. “Let’s send it to Baku.”

He crouched beside you, tapping the screen to start recording as you struggled to lift your head. Before you even did, though, a foot slammed into your rib. Four other guys started kicking you.

“Let him watch this on loop. He’ll come crawling on his knees.”

A cruel grin spread across his face.

“Maybe then he’ll finally get the message—Eunjang loses.”

Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyyyyy u home yet?” Bakutastic🏀: “Heyyy” Bakutastic🏀: “Helllooooooo” Bakutastic🏀: “nsajndweaksml” Bakutastic🏀: “Is ur phone dead?” Bakutastic🏀: “Message me asap or im eating all ur food tmrw.🙄🙄”

Hu-min scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. His phone screen lit his face in the dark room, your chat still open. You were only five minutes away when you left. Maybe your phone died. Maybe you knocked out the second you got home.

Still… something didn’t sit right.

Was he being clingy? Probably. Did he care? Not even a little. He just wanted to know you were safe. That’s it.

Another minute ticked by. Then another.

Ten minutes now.

He hadn’t moved—just sat there, staring at your contact name like the screen might light up if he waited long enough. His fingers hovered over his keyboard again, but he didn’t know what else to say without sounding panicked.

With a frustrated exhale, he sat up in bed, grabbing his hoodie. Screw it. He’d swing by. Just check. He wasn’t sleeping until he—

Buzz.

His phone lit up in his hand. Unknown number. No message. Just a video file.

“The hell?” he muttered, already swiping it open.

It only took two seconds. Two seconds before his heart plummeted.

The screen showed you. Tied to a chair, slumped and on the ground, Blood staining your mouth, bruises blooming across your face. The camera was shaky, laughter in the background.

Then—a kick. Straight to your stomach. You coughed hard. Violent. Your whole body jolted.

Hu-min’s breath caught. His hands started shaking.

Another blow. You flinched. He did too.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket, his phone, keys—whatever. His body moved on instinct, pure adrenaline roaring through him.

He knew those faces and exactly where they took you.

The Union thought they were clever. Thought they could break him by using you.

His sneakers pounded against the pavement as he took off down the same street you walked earlier. He didn’t feel the wind. Didn’t hear the cars. All he could hear was your voice echoing in his head—

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hu-min!”

He didn’t care what he had to do.

He was going to find you.

And God help anyone who tried to stop him.

“Ahh.. The hell is taking him so long?”

Then suddenly—a loud slam of a door.

Hu-min didn’t give them a chance to speak or even think.

He charged.

The first man barely raised a hand before Hu-min’s fist connected with his jaw. A sickening crack split the air as the man crumpled to the ground. Another lunged from behind, but Hu-min twisted, catching his ribs with a brutal elbow that sent him gasping and tumbling to a table.

There was shouting now. The sound of boots thundering.

Hu-min didn’t stop.

Didn’t think.

He ducked under a crowbar swing, landed a kick that sent one into a pile of crates. Blood. Screaming. The taste of copper in the air. Three left.

His knuckles were raw, breathing ragged. But none of it mattered.

Because in the corner of the warehouse—

He saw you.

On the floor, still tied to the chair, face bruised and barely conscious. His chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He swore the world narrowed to just you. But he didn’t run to you…not yet. He couldn’t. Not until the last two were down.

One came at him with a pipe. Hu-min took a hit to the shoulder, but it barely registered. He caught the man by the collar and slammed him into the wall with a cry.

Then, finally, it was just silence.

He dropped to his knees beside you.

He breathed your name like a quiet prayer, voice cracking at the edges as he gently cupped your face. “Hey—hey, I’m here, I got you.”

Your head tilted weakly toward him, a small movement that took all your remaining strength. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, a harsh reminder of your current state. But then your eyes fluttered open, and as they focused on him, you attempted a smile, however shaky.

“Didn’t think I’d see you sooner," you murmured, the words emerging scratchy and raw, a feeble attempt to inject humor into the tension of the moment.

Hu-min, however, could only let out a heavy sigh, a mix of disbelief and concern etched on his face as he knelt beside you, beginning the careful task of untying your binds, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, okay?” He gently helped you up into a sitting position before carefully scooping you up in his arms. The ache in his body was also starting to set in, but he pushed through. Neither of you was out of the dark yet. Not until he got you to safety.

You knew it was best not to talk about what happened to the Union guys. You’ve already seen Hu-min enraged before, as long as it was a loved one he had to protect, so the little time he took to beat up everyone wasn’t surprising. You just hope he wouldn’t be stubborn about getting himself checked out to the hospital as well.

The world smelled like antiseptic and plastic curtains.

The beeping of a monitor pulsed steadily somewhere above your head, each sound tugging you further into wakefulness. Your body ached—your ribs, your face, even your eyes—but the warmth of the blanket and the rhythmic beeping grounded you. Slowly, you regained your strength as you recalled the events from earlier. The union guys…Hu-min…and lots of blood that definitely wasn’t just yours.

But you were safe now.

And alive.

The door to your hospital room slammed open with a shout of your name.

“Holy crap, you’re alive!”

“Don’t sit up too fast! Wait—is that pudding? Can I have it?”

You blinked groggily as Jun-tae, Go-tak, and Si-eun spilled into the room like a whirlwind of mismatched chaos. Jun-tae was juggling a small mountain of snacks, Go-tak had flowers he definitely stole from the nurse’s station, and Si-eun... was holding a bag of gauze and band-aids like that was going to help.

“What the hell happened?” Go-tak said, mouth half-full of chocolate. “Baku just disappeared, and next thing we know, he’s dragging you into the ER like an action movie!”

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Jun-tae added helpfully, squinting at your face. “No offense. Still cute, though.”

You managed a weak laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. “None taken.”

Si-eun placed the bandage bag gently on the bedside table, as if that made up for everything. “You scared us.” There wasn’t much emotion behind his voice but his eyes told everything that he wanted you to know.

A soft knock came from the doorway.

You didn’t even need to look. You felt him before you saw him.

Hu-min stepped in quietly, hands shoved in his pockets, still wearing the same hoodie from earlier—creased, smudged with dirt, and faintly stained with blood at the sleeves. His eyes were on you. Only you.

Jun-tae caught the vibe immediately.

“Right,” he said, standing. “We’re gonna… leave you two alone now. Get well soon okay?”

Go-tak opened his mouth to protest, already halfway through your pudding, but Si-eun dragged him out by the collar.

The door shut with a soft click.

Silence.

Hu-min shuffled closer to your bed, awkward and quiet now that the others were gone. His hands fidgeted at his sides. “You good?” he asked, voice low. Rougher than usual.

You gave him the tiniest smile. “Been better.”

He exhaled—like he’d been holding that breath since the moment he brought you in. His eyes scanned your face, your arms, and the gauze along your temple. Even just looking at you seemed to hurt him more than his wounds.

“I should’ve walked you home,” he muttered. “I knew something felt off. I shouldn’t have let you—”

“Hu-min,” you interrupted softly, “I’m okay.”

He looked at you then. Really..looked. And whatever storm he was holding back cracked just slightly.

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

He was quiet again.

Then, gently, he sat down beside your bed. His hand hovered near yours on the blanket for a moment before finally resting over it, warm and firm. No amount of words can describe the fear he felt when he saw your bloodied and half-unconscious. It was terrifying and his heart was torn in pieces at the sight of it all.

“I thought I lost you,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

You squeezed his hand as best you could.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

He exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of relief. His grip loosened, not to let go, but to soften. Gentler now.

You expected him to joke, maybe crack something stupid like he always did. But instead…

He leaned forward a little, resting his forearm carefully on the side of the bed. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d say if I got here too late,” he said, voice quiet and uneven. “And it scared the hell out of me how much I hated that thought.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was that time you laughed so hard you snorted in front of the cafeteria, or when you always knew what snack I wanted before I asked.”

He glanced away for a second, then looked back at you. His jaw clenched like he was bracing for impact.

“…But I like you.”

The words weren’t smooth. They weren’t rehearsed. They were raw, honest, and heavier than he expected them to be.

You blinked. “Hu-min…”

“I know I’m a mess. Loud. Reckless. Not really the type you’d expect anyone to be into.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, cheeks starting to color. “But I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t say anything because it was easier to pretend I didn’t.”

He looked up again.

“But I don’t wanna pretend anymore.”

Silence.

Then, your fingers curled around his. Despite the pain, despite the bruises, your smile was soft and warm, and so you it made his heart trip over itself.

“…You think I don’t like you back?” you murmured.

His mouth opened slightly. “Wait, you do?”

You rolled your eyes, the smallest laugh escaping your lips. “You’re so dense. I mean–I never said no to you asking me out earlier…”

“Oh..right..that”

“Hu-min..did you forge—”

“Wh–No?!”

He hesitated, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson as he struggled to find the right words, eyes flickering with uncertainty and a hint of longing. You watched him with a gentle, amused smile, noting the way he fumbled for excuses, each more clumsy than the last.

Softly, you leaned in closer, your presence intimate and warm, and pressed a tender, almost feather-light kiss to his cheek. The simple gesture silenced him, leaving him momentarily speechless, his cheeks still tinged with blush. A playful, knowing grin spread across your lips as you looked at him, creating a moment full of shy affection and unspoken desire.

You pulled away just a few inches, enough to see the expression frozen on his face—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, as if his entire personality had glitched from that single kiss.

His brain short-circuited.

You grinned. “You okay there, hero?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then suddenly, he moved.

“Hey!—what was that?!” he burst, voice cracking halfway through, flailing a bit as if you’d just committed some heinous act of war while he held the cheek you just kissed. “You can’t just—just—ambush me like that!”

You tilted your head innocently. “What, didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that!” he blurted, ears turning bright red as he tried to laugh the embarrassment off.

You just laughed at him, and that was what did it. Something in him snapped—not in anger, but in reckless determination.

“Oh, that’s it,” he muttered, face still crimson, but eyes locked on you now with wild resolve. “You wanna play that game? Fine.”

Before you could react, he leaned in fast, closing the already small distance between you.

He kissed your forehead. Quick. Warm.

Then your nose.

Then your other cheek.

Then your temple.

Each press was messy and rushed and completely unsmooth, but so full of affection that it made your heart stutter.

“Payback,” he said, in between each kiss.

You were too stunned to speak, caught between laughter and something far deeper as he hovered close, hands braced carefully on the sides of the bed as each kiss was more ticklish than the last.

“Don’t think you can just surprise me and get away with it,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’m Baku! I don’t lose.”

You only nodded softly, raising both of your hands in front of you as a gentle gesture of surrender. Hu-min then pulled away, slightly panting from the burst of laughter that escaped him, his eyes sparkling with affection. He gazed down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Carefully, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your face, and tenderly tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

His voice was low and warm now as he whispered, “...You’re mine now. You understand that, don’t you?”

And from the way he said it—not possessive, not demanding, just utterly devoted—you knew it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise, and you didn’t need to answer with words.

The way your fingers laced with his said more than enough.

He stayed there with you, his forehead resting softly against yours, both of you breathing in sync. The hospital room was silent save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the hum of the air conditioning, but it somehow felt peaceful now, like the world outside could wait.

There was no more fear, no more fighting. Just this—shared warmth in a sterile room, and a future quietly beginning between stolen kisses and promises unspoken.

His thumb traced light circles against the back of your hand, as if grounding himself in the fact that you were still here. With him.

And you were.

As your eyes slowly slipped shut, a tired but contented smile on your lips, Hu-min stayed right where he was—watching over you, steady and soft in a way only you ever got to see.

The beeping of the monitor faded into the background.

And the rest of the world faded with it.

an: 6k words again.. This is why I take ages to release a full fic. I hope everyone liked this!! Not too sure if I got Baku's character to a T. Comments and feedback are appreciated! <33 This was such a pain to edit in Tumblr both my laptop and phone was lagging so bad I think I need to make shorter fics now..

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uranometrias · 1 year ago

Text

✮ꜜ : ❛ long time coming : aaron hotchner x fem! reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

summary: after getting hurt out in the field, you're on leave for a month. coming back felt long overdue, that is until your plans with the team lead you to a situation that feels a bit too close for comfort after such a traumatic time. what's worse, your feelings you've harbored for your boss have no choice but to come to light when he makes the odd choice to address you as 'agent' rather than your name after one month of being apart, and years and years of back and forth will-they-wont-they.

content warnings: making out. allusions to sexual assault + r4pe (but only in the context of the case). reader has slight signs of PTSD. anxiety/panic attacks. reader runs into a few pushy men while out at the club. drinking / drunk confessions. reader has a crush on her boss, it is also implied that reader finds derek attractive, and he reciprocates these feelings. hotch is very good at calming reader down. no usage of y/n. reader is described as having shoulder length hair (can be read as a wig/weave) angry/disappointed hotch! reader has been hiding her anxiety / nightmares / memory issues from the team. mentions of vomiting. kissing. mentions of elle & the events of the fisher king. no distinct timeline, but can be read as s7 with the iconic team (hotch, emily, derek, jj, penelope, rossi, & spencer)

"Okay, I didn't know we were going all out. I would've prepared better." you smile shyly as Jennifer pulls you into a tight hug. When Penelope had called you early that morning with an excited decree that you'd been cleared to return to work you hadn't been sure how to feel. You hadn't bothered to ask how Garcia of all people was privy to information you hadn't received from your bosses yet, there was no getting a straight answer when it came to the Technical Analyst.

It had been her idea for the entire team to get together. You'd been out of the office for a full month, and in that time you'd tried your hand at maintaining your bonds with the rest of the group. It of course wasn't the same, but you knew that you'd needed the time. The last time you'd joined them on a case things had gone horribly wrong. You shudder at the thought, you had been doing so good at forgetting about it all, but seeing them again made it all come back.

The unsub had been your run-of-the-mill anger excitation rapist, a creep that had been using an elaborate ruse to entice and entrap women. It had been Emily's idea for the two of you to go undercover, the unsub had been killing two women every week, women who in many ways were polar opposites of one another, a trait that you and Emily shared. Long story short, in the midst of your plan to lure and trap the Unsub, you'd been separated from Emily and cornered.

You’d been carted off by the creep who kept you stuck for three hours before the team used his mistake to find you. By then though, the damage had been done. You remember the look on Rossi's face when he and Hotch came busting in, and found you looking bruised up with a bloody face, and a gun barrel to the side of your head. You'd never seen Hotch quite as scared, at least not since everything with Foyet nearly three years ago when he lost Haley and almost Jack.

You'd been too out-of-sorts to hear the way they'd tried to reason with the Unsub. And you hadn't realized your abdomen was losing blood until a gunshot rang out, bullets whizzing past your head as the unsub curled into himself before falling to the ground. You didn't know much, you thought maybe your eardrums had exploded with the way they were ringing, and you'd half expected to smack your head against the ground and end up with an annoying concussion.

Instead, you'd been met with the sight of your boss. He'd yelled something you weren't privy to, mouth moving as he seemingly forced the rest of the team out of their stupor long enough to get a medic inside to look you over. It was like you said, the details were fuzzy, but nothing had managed to wipe Hotch's worried expression as he fussed over your safety, out of your mind. However, if you were honest with yourself for one measly second, that was nothing new.

Nothing seemed to fill up your mind the way your boss did, and it was stupid, and deplorable all things considered. But it's not like it had even been something you'd asked for. It just happened one day. You shake these thoughts of your near paralyzing emotions away, pulling yourself back to the present as you took in JJ, who despite her perceived candor looked great. "Oh come on Jaige." you huff, and you appraise her more openly. "You look amazing, as usual."

She grins, albeit shyly, and she's waiting, maybe for your approval maybe for something else. She's trying to be discreet as she sweeps your for obvious reminders of what happened, and you feel nervous. Most of your injuries had healed up well enough, and the scratches that littered your face had been covered in a smattering of makeup. You felt comfortable in your pretty girl cocoon, all done up with a bright smile on your face that was surprisingly believable.

"Can I hug you?" she asks, and you can tell she's been holding it in, waiting to ask. You nod your head, a quiet chuckle escaping you as the blonde seems to scoop you into her arms. She's careful not to squeeze too tight, but the love is felt all the same. "God, it's been so weird without you around." she hums, and while the rest of the team is already huddled inside, probably in a booth Penelope picked, you're so happy she's the one here telling you this now.

"Now you know how we all felt when they sent you to the Pentagon." you whisper back, and you hear her bemused giggle as she steps back, and she takes you in again. Your red minidress was a stark contrast to the usual business-casual attire you wore everyday to work. Your hair was curled, pinned back with a gold claw clip, hair just barely ghosting over the divots of your collarbones. You'd opted for a shorter do' following everything with the unsub.

"Never leave us again." she pleads, and you feel this warmth blossoming in your chest at the way she's staring at you, almost like she really means it. You'd joined the team back when Elle and Gideon had still been around. At one point you'd been the rookie, the new girl nobody knew what to expect from. JJ had been right there beside you, even back then. She had been sweet, assertive, your first real friend on the team. She'd welcomed you before anyone else.

In time of course, things had changed, JJ had a husband, kids, a hoard of other units that were plotting on her skills at all times, but she was still JJ. Still that same first friend that helped you to see the Behavioral Analysis Unit was the only place for you. "I'll do my best." you promise, and she grins. She links arms with you before you both head inside the bar. There was music playing, some alternative indie song that wasn't half bad.

"Here's the girl of the hour now." Emily exclaims, and it's clear they've already started tossing back shots. JJ's head is instantly shaking in mortification. So it was going to be one of those nights. Penelope meets you both, pulling JJ from your arms and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek sweetly, before she's turning to you. She's got tears already brimming in her eyes, and you can't help but giggle at the dramatics of it all.

"I'm so happy to see you." she squeals, and you find yourself hugging back despite the sting of your abdomen. "You look so beautiful." she adds a second afterwards. "What are you looking to get lucky?" she asks, as she uses her hands to push you away slightly, hands resting gently on both of your shoulders. You feel your face growing hot at the implication, and you see the way she's looking at your facial expressions for a signal of your lies. Curse her proximity to profilers.

"I just wanted to look nice." you reply and Penelope lets you off the hook. She leads you to the table, and you're just in time to hear the group finish up their hellos to JJ. She's sitting next to Morgan, who's bright-eyed as he looks up at you. You find yourself fussing with your hair, playing it cool as you press your lips together, re-smearing your lipstick as you waved your hand.

You weren't sure why you felt like the new kid all over again.

"It's good to see you, pretty girl." he croons, and you grin. Morgan was flirty, had been since you met him, and if you weren't so disastrously into Hotch, you think he'd be all on your mind. Well, you know... more than he was. There had been times where you'd been partnered together, and it almost felt like the tension was going to cut you in half. Sexual tension aside though, Derek was your friend.

They all were, and despite what your mind tried to tell you as you sobbed yourself through nightmares during your break from work, they were genuinely happy to see you. "I'm glad you're okay." your eyes flit over to the youngest member of the team. Spence is looking relieved as he too looks up at you with eyes full of relief. He's next to Emily, and she's already downing another drink. She'd be complaining about a migraine the next day, you could hear her now.

"Thanks, Spence." you coo, and you offer him a wink as your eyes fall on the only present member of the team that hadn't addressed you. Rossi had made a point to send his hellos, but due to a previous standing appointment, he wouldn't be joining tonight. You couldn't hold it against him, Rossi was scoping the prairie for wife number four. He offers you a faint smile, the group instantly falling into chatter.

"H-Hey Hotch." you mumble, and he's closest to you, sitting on the outside of the booth as the rest of the team tried their hardest to pretend they weren't expecting this. He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead he takes you in. He wasn't blind, he'd seen you before, you'd always been beautiful, but there was something about you done up like this. Red dress, red lip, bold makeup, and heels that showed off your legs, and accented your model-esque posture.

It was obvious that you were still a bit nervous about being out and about, and you were out of practice with being around the team. He imagined after a bit though you'd be back to yourself. You, and the rest of the girls would be falling into a rhythm in no time. He stands to his feet, much taller than you, as you take a small step back to give him space. "It's good to see you up and about, Agent." and his voice is low, clearly as a courtesy to the bustling of conversation behind you.

"Agent?" you repeat, and the word is so foreign. It makes you take another step back, the bottoms of your Louboutin's clacking against the ground. You looked a bit hurt, but you played it off quickly. "Come on, Hotch. I think we're a little past those formalities." you chuckle awkwardly, and you find yourself looking towards the bar. Yeah, you were definitely going to need a drink. He seems to curse under his breath, but you're not sure if that's due to you, or some internal conflict you weren't privy to. You don't wait to figure it out either.

He doesn't have the opportunity to reply to your correction, because you're looking to Emily, JJ, and Garcia. "Wanna get some shots?" you ask, and you sidestep Aaron, making sure you don't look his way again, as the girls immediately exclaim their agreements. Penelope's sliding out of the booth first, Emily and JJ following her example as they head straight towards the bar. JJ's shooting you a knowing glance as she looks between Hotch and yourself.

"You coming boys?" you extend the invite to Derek and Spencer, who are quick to nod along, both men trailing after the others as they head to the counter to order more drinks. You prepare to follow after them, ready for the welcome respite from your mind swimming in circles.

"I didn't mean to offend you." you stop short, spinning on your heel to meet the gaze of your Unit Chief.

"Well you did." you reply, and your voice is small. "I've known you for almost seven years, and here you are treating me like a stranger." you mumble, and you find yourself tugging at your dress. "I mean, I know it's been a while, but geez Hotch, it's still me." you say and he winces. You're not sure what the last month has been like for the others, but you know what they've been like for you. Torturous. It's been Hell.

"I know." he says, and your eyebrow raises, unmoved by his words. "And again, I didn't mean to offend you." he promises, and he clenches and unclenches his fists by his side. "After everything that happened, I guess I just assumed you'd prefer a more professional approach." he mutters, and you scoff quietly. Classic Aaron Hotchner, running away from interpersonal conflict with his tail tucked between his legs. "You don't even seem comfortable with us tonight."

You blink. Okay well he had a point there, but you were trying.

"It's not that I'm not comfortable." you mutter, and you look over your shoulder at the rest of the team. "I guess I just didn't expect to feel so out of place being out and about." you shrug your shoulders bashfully. "Everyone's normal, everything seems the same." you continue, and you notice the way that Hotch's lips have pressed into a hard line. "And it's like no time has passed at all for anyone else, but for me it's like I never moved." you blink, shivering at the thought.

Hotch's eyebrows furrow inwardly as he takes in your words. "I still feel like I'm-" you trail off, feeling a wide lump growing in your throat. "It's like I never left." you course correct, eyes shutting briefly, lashes brushing against your cheekbones. "Like no matter how much time passes, it still feels like I'm there with him and I'm-"

"I understand." he cuts you off, you think maybe to salvage your pride or to keep you from having a panic attack at the thought. "And you're certain you're ready to come back to work? You know you can take all the time you need." he reminds you, and you are immediately nodding your head as you wave a tired hand his way.

"I can't stay cooped up in my house anymore." you mumble. "It's becoming counterproductive." you huff. "I'm ready." you add a second later. "Apart from this awkwardness, I'm also perfectly fine." and it's a lie, you'd been having nightmares every night. Restless, sleepless evenings full of dread, and jump scares of your own creation. "I mean, I'm here aren't I?" you offer a tight smile as you reach out and tap Hotch's shoulders twice, a tense little conversation ender.

You don't want to stay huddled up with him anymore, not while he was looking at you like he was trying to see into your soul. You turn on your heel, dress swishing side to side as you head for the group. You find yourself in between Emily and Penelope, the blonde to your left immediately sliding a drink in front of you. You down it in a second, the intense burn as the alcohol rested in your chest was a welcome reprieve from the anguish and anxiety you'd been feeling.

You forget about Hotch, and all your heavy feelings by the time you're on your third drink. Your heels feel much too heavy under your feet as you stumble into Emily, the brunette chuckling vibrantly as you hang off each other, the music playing overhead lulling you into a false sense of security. It was nice being like this again after so long, laughing at the dramatic banter between Derek and Penelope. You wondered if they'd remain purely platonic forever.

Trading gossip back and forth with Emily and JJ was always a treat, especially as Spencer tried to keep up with eyes wide as saucers while Emily finally cracked the secrets of her coveted Sin-To-Win weekends. You weren't sure what was funnier, the peeks into Emily's life outside the unit, or the horrified looks that crossed Spence's face with every new tidbit of knowledge he learned about his coworkers. You found your eyes flickering over to Hotch again.

He was stoic as ever, but looser than he would be in the office. He seemed to enjoy being a quiet observer much more than he preferred to be in the mix. He leisurely swirled his glass of scotch, and you felt that familiar buzz of warmth in your chest when you managed to catch him smiling as he quietly passed conversation back and forth with a newly drunk Penelope, and Derek, who looked exasperated.

"Are you just gonna stare at him all night?" you jump a bit, turning to face Emily with surprise swirling in your irises. "If you keep it up, he's gonna catch you." she adds a second afterwards and you tense, head nodding as you scold yourself. You peel away from the bar, drink clutched in your hand. You had to get away from the bar for a second, maybe the cluttered dance floor would be the best distraction.

"Sorry." you mutter, and Emily offers a airy laugh. "He's just usually so serious." you lean into Emily, who nods along. She'd met Hotch after you, but still she'd managed to become so close to him it was almost surreal. She seemed to always know what he was thinking, they were in sync. Unlike you, who seemed to always be on the other end of a hard stare from the man. For a while you just began to assume he hated your guts. Or better put, he was indifferent to your existence.

That was why his look, that look he'd given you as he cradled your head while he waited for backup had been burned into your skull. All that went out of the window the second he'd labeled you 'Agent' though. God, how stupid were you? Emily's amusement makes your eyes roll. "Can I be honest?" she asks, and you nod. Penelope and JJ have migrated to the dance floor, JJ grabbing the good doctor and bringing him along with them. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sure, Em. If you think it will help." you reply audibly.

"I haven't seen him this relaxed since everything went down." she admits, and you're surprised. As if somehow your presence had been enough to set the stone-serious man at ease. "The first few days after your accident he was a mess." she adds, and she's got a surprising about of stability to her tone to be as inebriated as she was. She lowers her voice some as she leans into you, "He showed up late." she mutters this like it's some sworn secret just meant for the both of you.

"I'm sure Strauss was just riding him about another mishap in the unit." you try, and Emily looks unconvinced and unimpressed with you. "He's our boss, it's kind of his job to worry about us." you finish.

"Yeah, I guess so." Emily concedes, and she looks like she's done talking about it, so you find yourself relaxing. "Still. I've never seen him go that hard against an unsub, maybe you're not the only person that's feeling something." she leaves you with that, trying to keep from tipping as she marched towards the group. You chuckle quietly to yourself, ignoring Emily's words as you focus on finishing your drink. It seemed you'd inadvertently been trying to be alone all along.

You felt some of the tension melt from your shoulders now that you were standing at the bar, away from those prying eyes you couldn't lie to. There's this sound of heavy footsteps, and then the clearing of a throat, as you turn to be met with the sight of a man. He looked to be about your age, cheeks and nose covered in a little smattering of freckles. He's got a head full of shaggy hair that hangs in his face. He takes a quick step, sliding up against the bar beside you.

Way too close.

"Hey." he mumbles, and you appraise him boredly. It's not like he was ugly or anything, but despite Penelope's words you were not looking to get lucky tonight.

"Hi." you offer a dry greeting, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as the bar seemingly became a beacon for thirsty men. Just as you were politely stepping away from the freckled man, you found yourself bumping into another man who'd slithered up to the bar, your ass pressing against his crotch as his hands wound around your waist. A sleazy chuckle escapes the man's mouth as you gasp. "I'm so sorry." you exclaim, and you're quick to peel away.

You feel trapped though, there were at least four guys, they all seemed to be friends, they all seemed to be in kahoots.

There's a third and fourth man joining the fray, they all looked to be about the same age, height, and weight class. This was probably their routine: approach and overwhelm whatever drunk girl they might have happened upon. It looked like you were tonight's target. "Hey, what's the rush?" the guy closest to you drawls, and you wonder where all your years of training have gone. His arm raises, and it feels like he might hit you so you flinch way too violently.

"Stick around, we'll order the next round." the next demands, and his breath smells like booze. It stinks, and it's hot as it puffs across your face. You almost break your heels backing away from them, suddenly feeling self conscious a`nd way too vulnerable in your short dress.

"No, it's alright, really." you try, and you stumble again. "My friends are right over there." and you point in their general vicinity. "Have a great night though." you offer politely, and you're trying to make your grand escape. One guy, a shaggy blonde haired man is quick to grab you by your forearm, and it's like you're back to that day. Your bureau appointed therapist had been talking to you about your anxiety, how a range of things could become triggers and transport you mentally.

"That wasn't a question. Stay a while." You're stuck, absolutely frozen in place as your entire body tenses up. Some Special Agent you were, the bureau would be so disappointed in you. Your team would be so disappointed in you. All it took to turn you into a pile of nothing was a bit of confrontation. You could remember a stronger version of you, that girl would've had these men on their knees for even thinking of laying hands on you. God, you missed that girl.

His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging into you harshly as you find yourself surrounded on every side.

"L-Let me go." you huff under your breath, and you crane your neck. You spot JJ, the blonde's eyes locked on yours as the reality of what's going on forces her to sober up. "I just-" and you jerk away, stumbling back completely. You're surprised you don't scream as your glass drops to the ground shattering as glass sprays in every which direction. You feel like your ankle's twisted as you fall back on your ass. You expect to feel the embarrassing thud that came with smacking your ass on the hard floor of a bar, but it never comes.

Instead you feel cocooned by a familiar scent. Strong arms are looped around you, but you suppose your lack of disgust at the action is just a testament of your comfortability. "Are you alright?" it's mumbled against your ear, and the low tone of his voice makes you shiver. All you can really offer is a tight nod as Aaron's guiding you behind him. You don't get to see Hotch in action, not when JJ, Penelope, and Emily are flocking you like Charlie's Angels.

You feel the first signs of the need to barf pricking at you, and you know that you need to get some air. You needed to breathe.

"God, are you okay?" Penelope asks, and you're not sure if you are being dramatic. I mean, it wasn't like they'd done anything really. Now you were gonna look like the freak that ruined a fun night.

"I'm sorry." you chirp, and you miss the way Jennifer and Emily share a hard glance. It's not until you're feeling brisk air whipping around your face that you realize they've taken you outside, and you haven't stopped apologizing. I'm so sorry. Penelope's got wide eyes, quickly brimming with tears as you find yourself crumbling to the ground. Your hand's quick to clutch around your chest as you try to inhale. The dramatics of it all made you even more nauseous.

You should've stayed at home.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Emily's cooing, and it seems being out like this has sliced through her tipsy stupor. She's focused just like she would be on any regular sort of day. "I need you to breathe." she instructs, and JJ's crouching down in front of you, brown eyebrows draw inwardly as she takes in your clearly frantic state. Every puff of air that escapes you is tight and sounds like it hurts. You can just barely hear the sound of a commotion taking place inside.

You do hear JJ's quiet exclamation of "I'll stay with her, go check on Hotch and Derek!" before Penelope and Emily are heading back into the packed building. She calls your name, and it takes a while for you to regain your voice. She's devoid of pity, which you appreciate. JJ knew more than anyone how much you hated being seen as a burden, or someone to be sorry for. Pride was a killer. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" and it's then you realize your choppy little intakes of air weren't doing you any favors.

It takes a great deal of effort for your vision to be less blurry. Your ears were full of cotton, and your head was swimming. You feel bile again in the back of your throat, and you jerk away from JJ's reach. You feel like you're suffocating, transported away from the random bar in the middle of Virginia, and back to a place you'd fought so hard to escape. You were certain you'd remember that unsub forever. His evil eyes, the way he tried to use your entrails like paint.

You remember how Elle had changed after she'd been attacked by Garner. How she had changed so much that she had no choice but to step away from the Unit. Would that be your life? You didn't want that life, but it was clear you needed something, you needed help. You couldn't focus on anything else, but what had happened. You'd ruined a night out because the act of being cornered was enough to transport you back.

JJ's still peering at you as if she's waiting for you to start panicking, and maybe you were. "I'm sorry." you huff again, and JJ's shaking her head at you.

There's a deep frown etched into her face as she sighs herself. "Stop apologizing." she insists, and your lashes are wet with unshed tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes should've never put their hands on you." she proceeds. "You know that don't you?" she continues, and you don't know how to respond, so you don't. JJ reads you like an open book, and she smacks her teeth. "Well now you do." she says this firmly. "And I'm sure Hotch and Morgan are teaching them that lesson right now." you tense up again.

"I didn't mean to ruin the-" JJ's offering you a hard glare that shuts you up. Another bad habit you'd picked up since the incident. You were working on it, trying not to blame yourself for things you didn't cause. "I'm sorry." and this time it's not because of tonight. "I was so nervous about tonight.-" you take in a hiccupped breath. "I just wanted to prove that I could bounce back." you explain, and it's the first insight you've allowed anyone. "I figured if I pretend everything's normal, soon enough it would be, but it's too much." you huff.

"And that's okay." she promises. "What you went through isn't something anyone's expecting you to forget about in a month, alright? It's gonna take time, and there will be days where it'll hurt a lot more, and there will be days where you're feeling like your old self again." she promises. "What you need to understand is that we-" she pauses as you take it in. "are your family." she finishes, and your lips start to twitch, you're not sure if you'll smile or cry.

"I know-" you proceed, and she holds a hand up in front of you.

"Let me finish." she pleads, and you inhale before nodding. "I don't- none of us want a repeat of what happened with Elle." she says quietly. "None of us want to show up to the unit one day and see your badge and gun sitting on your desk." JJ sighs. "So if you ever start feeling anxious, or terrible, or just like you're back... there." and you wince at the mention. "I want you to call me, call one of us. Don't deal with this alone, alright? Not when you don't have to."

JJ hugs you before you have time to respond, but her words sink deep and make you feel warm inside. "Thanks, Jaige." you mumble against her hair. She squeezes you tighter, and you believe it's to make up for her shyer hug earlier.

"You're welcome." she mumbles back, and then she's pulling back. You don't have much respite, Penelope practically tackling you in a hug of her own. You hadn't even realized the rest of the team has left the bar, you were sure the mood of the night was much lower.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Penelope exhales, and you do too, breathing fine again, save for a few hiccups that escaped you every so often. She lets you go after a beat, and you're quick to take a small step back, suddenly feeling anxious once more.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." your eyes meet Derek and Emily's. "Thank you." and you're chuckling quietly as Derek pulls you into his side. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and you warm inwardly. Spencer does hug you, and it's a shock. One of those hugs that you never take for granted, because it could be a while before you get another. Once he's pulled away you find yourself still hovering, listening quietly as they all decide the night's not over.

You respectfully bow out, you'd had enough for one day. It's then you notice that Hotch is all by himself. You quietly excuse yourself, but you find that they're not really listening now that you were safer. "Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is very quiet. Hotch looks up from his phone as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You take in his face, and it's clear he's been in some sort of scuffle. Most notable due to the fact he's got blood smeared under his nose.

"I should be asking you that." he retorts, and your eyebrows furrow in.

"Y-You already did." you remind him, eyes darting away. "Why are you over here by yourself?" you shoot off a round of questions, the wind whipping around, and making you crave the comfort of your bed. You maintain a respectful balance, you weren't in any rush to be all up in someone's space.

"I think I've had enough of crowds for the night." he retorts. You don't realize until it's happened though, your hand reaching up to swipe at the blood that's slowly drying on his upper lip.

"Get into a bar fight?" you ask, and you hold your breath for the answer. Hotch looks down at you, and there's this unreadable expression on his face. You realize that this is nothing new. Hotch had never been easy to read, he was one of the greatest profilers you'd ever met, one of the greatest people. But he'd always been an enigma. His emotions were an Alcatraz all on their own.

"You should see the other guy." the classic rebuttal to a question like yours. It doesn't make you smile, mostly because he's not smiling either. "Are you okay?" and he's got you by your wrist, eyes zoned in on the harsh mark the guy from the bar had left behind. "He never should've touched you." his voice lowers, and there's an annoyance attached to his tone. "I'm so sorry." you find yourself huffing.

"You shouldn't have fought him." you say matter-of-factly. Your fists fold up at your sides, your lips pulling down into a frown. "It'll give everyone the wrong idea." you say, and you wrench your hand away from his grasp.

"Everyone?" he repeats, and he looks confused, classic Hotch.

"Me." you correct, "I'll get the wrong idea." you whisper. "I might actually think you like me." you admit quietly.

"We wouldn't want that." he replies, and his tone is far from mocking. You hate that it makes you crack a smile. You hate that he's always the one that manages to get that reaction out of you.

"Hey, are you two coming? We're all heading to Mo's." Emily calls, and you snort at the fact that their alcohol riddled mind had caused them to forget you'd already declined. You take a step away from Hotch, and you hate that you stumble. You were hating a lot of things tonight. Maybe you weren't as sober as you'd thought.

Aaron looks to you as if he's waiting to see your answer before giving his own, and maybe he was. The second you're politely explaining that you're ready to head home, Aaron is offering to drive you. Derek is whistling, Emily and JJ offering you smug little smirks. Penelope is trying to keep herself secured to Earth. "He's gonna take her home." he whispers to no one in particular, and it's a horrid attempt.

"We all heard, babygirl." Derek replies to her, and you find yourself a bit stuck. The thought of spending the eighteen minute car ride with your boss make you want to scream, but you'd taken a cab. Your own car was parked in the driveway of your place. And he doesn't look like he' taking any goodbyes either way. Rounds of goodbye and see you laters are soon offered. "Take care of our girl, Hotch." Derek calls, and you hear Spencer as he starts to rant about Derek's turn-of-phrase.

Our girl. Hotch finds that the words repeat in his head like an obnoxious echo. "Why are you doing this?" you question quietly. "If you're just trying to make up for the whole Agent thing, there's no need." you proceed, and you take a small step back.

"I'm not trying to make up for that." he replies quickly. "But, you're drunk, and you've been through a lot tonight." he reminds you as if you're ditsy or something. "It wouldn't be smart to leave you by yourself." he continues, and he inhales deeply. He watches the way you watch him, like you're unsure, like you're suspicious. "That isn't a testament of whether or not I think you can handle yourself... and neither was fighting that man at the bar." he promises, and you blink.

"No?" you ask, and your tongue feels extra dry. Like you've licked a stripe of sandpaper.

"No." he reaffirms. "You mean a lot to the team. We wouldn't be the same without you." he says this bit like he means it, and you can't find any trace of a lie residing in his face. He does mean it.

"Thank you, Sir." you reply under your breath, exhaling the word. The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you shiver.

"Can I take you home?" he asks, and you know you're reading into it more than you should. You know what he means, what he's really asking, but delusion was healthy every now and again, right?

"Y-Yeah." your head nods, voice wavering slightly as you take hold of the bottom of your dress. "Yes." you say more firmly.

"Okay." you stand there for a few moments more, passing charged glances back and forth. "You never answered my question earlier." is what he says to break the moment. "About how you were doing..." he proceeds. "I've asked you twice, and both times you-"

"Deflected?" you offer, and his head nods. "I guess I'm just scared you'll see right through whatever my answer is." you admit, and you cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Emily and JJ will at least humor me." you explain. "Penelope won't ask... mostly because she's scared of the answer." you chuckle awkwardly. "Derek and Spence, well I guess they're like you too... but you're here, and they're not... so here we are."

Hotch appraises you for a second, but he doesn't say much else. You're grateful for that, but equal parts annoyed that he wasn't leaping to tell you that you were harder to read than you thought. No such luck. Still, you're surprised when Hotch grabs you by your arm, much gentler than earlier, and he's slowing his stride to be in step with yours. You don't realize you've leaned fully into his side until you feel him tense up. He doesn't say anything though.

A win is a win.

You didn't know much about the inner workings of Aaron Hotchner's mind, but you did know that if he was uncomfortable with your proximity, he would have said so. The walk back to Hotch's car is silent. At least outwardly, inside you were panicking. He opens the passenger side for you, and you imagine a world where this was normal. Where it didn't take you being hit on by sleazy men at a bar to be having these moments with Hotch. But it was impossible.

"Did it hurt?" you ask, once the car is moving. He's adjusted the temperature, a soothing warm pooling from the vents. You're surprised at how quickly he drives, you'd half expected him to be one of those slow as molasses drivers. Hotch looks over at you incredulously, his eyebrows raise, but he doesn't look agitated nor annoyed with you breaking the silence again.

"You'll have to be more specific." he replies, and you hum. You pause for a second, trying to find the right words. At the last second you decide saying it straight would be just as good as anything else.

"Punching that guy?" you ask, and Hotch's lips quirk upwards, he was amused with you. In truth, he had no idea what he was thinking. As soon as the girls had ushered you away, he'd found himself swinging before he could think of the repercussions. All he knew was that you'd sounded scared, you'd sounded unlike yourself in a way that made him angry. Everyone saw how you had changed, the elephant in the room was hard to ignore. But you were trying, he could give you that.

"No." he mumbles, and that likely has a lot to do with the fact that he hasn't come down. He's still on edge, still watching you like you might at any moment start spiraling. "Besides, it was worth it." and he says this a bit under his breath, you hear it all the same. "I doubt he'll try it again." he admits, and you feel liberated. It was nice to have someone fighting for you, fighting the fights you weren't capable of.

"Thanks, Hotch." you hum, and it triggers a yawn.

"Back to Hotch?" he asks, and you look over at him confused. You kick your feet back and forth, careful not to dig your heels into the plush of the car's floor.

"Would you prefer I call you sir?" you ask, and he is tapping on the brake, the car slowly peeling to a stop as you come up on a red light.

"No." he answers sternly. "It's not like you." he admits, and the light is turning green again. He steps lightly on the gas, the car surging forward "Especially if you're only calling me Sir, as payback for me calling you Agent." he says, and even though you had tried your hand at pretending the greeting hadn't bothered you, it was obvious he had read right through you.

"Why'd you do that?" you question and your tone is a lot more clipped than you had intended.

"So it did offend you?" he retorts, and you feel anger flaring up. You swallow this feeling, hands balling up by your side.

"Hotch." you snap, and he smirks fully, eyes back on the road. "Can you be serious, please?" you ask, and you probably sound pitiful.

"The last month I've just been..." he trails off momentarily, and you wonder if he's emotional, or just being dramatic. "I should have known better." he expresses. "I should've been there to make sure that what happened didn't." he says, and you tense up. "He never should have gotten the chance to get close enough to cart you off." he completes his thought, and you're shocked. You never would have guessed Hotch blames himself for what happened to you.

"That wasn't your fault." you promise, and you mean it. You'd never once thought of blaming Hotch for what went down. "You were confident in the plan, you were putting your faith in the team."

"There is a very thin line between confidence and arrogance." He rebuttals instantly. "We got cocky, and you suffered because of it." he looks so destroyed as he says this. "And then you showed up tonight, and tried to pretend everything was fine." he notes as you remain silent. "It just reminded me that we're too close." he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The longer you stay in the unit, the more you become numb to the things we see. You start to ignore the signs that you're not alright." he says, and you'd never thought of it that way.

"Hotch..." you exhale.

"I called you Agent to set up a boundary, or at least I tried." he says this like he's beating himself up. "But then I saw the way it hurt you." and he looks ashamed. "And I never want to be someone who does that to you." you're warring with your heart then. "So I wont do it again." he promises, and he looks to you briefly. "I'll call you by your name, I won't deflect." he adds as your mouth drops open just briefly.

"But, it's not right for someone your age to be so closed off. It's not right for you to pretend to be okay just to keep up with the people around you. If you weren't up to being out, you should've stayed home, our opinions don't outweigh your safety." he lectures you. "They never will." he adds a second after, and he's so sure as he says this. He's slowing down, coming up on your place.

Your leg is shaking slightly, that pesky feeling of anxiety creeping back up on you. "We're here." he says under his breath as if you weren't aware. You don't budge, you can't. You have so much to say, but where do you start. Hotch has shut his car off, almost like he too has a lot sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I just wanted to prove I could handle it." you admit, and you're crying. "I didn't want to be another Gideon or Elle... or Spence." you cringe at the memories. "I didn't want you guys to handle with me with kid gloves. I didn't want you to see me as the girl who needs the kid gloves." you express honestly, and now your tears are falling in quick precession. "I'm sorry..." you swipe at your face. "I don't know why I'm crying, this is so stupid." you hiss at yourself.

"No, it isn't." the response earns him a surprised glance. "It's good... this is good." Hotch is quick to use a hand to swipe at your tears. He hates the sight of them, but loves what they mean. Your heart's still soft, pliable. You haven't fully succumb to the horrors of the job. "Consider this me atoning." he prompts. "You have my ear, say whatever you need to say." he looks over at you again, and seems to mentally backtrack. "If it'll help you." he adds.

You sniffle audibly, hands clenching and unclenching as the car suddenly feels much too hot. "It's not your fault, okay?" you repeat, and you say it with more certainty. "I just need you to know that." you sniffle again, but your tears keep falling, even as you try to blink them away. "Hotch, you're our leader for a reason, and you were there to save me that night, and you were here to save me tonight." you remind him. "I don't want you to pull back, not when I'm finally making some progress with cracking that hard exterior of yours."

Hotch's lips quirk at your words, and he looks down at his lap. "I've never meant to pull back from you." the inflection with the last words sticks. "I thought I was doing right by you... pulling the band aid off before you got in too deep." he says. "But that was wrong of me, I can admit to that. I'm sorry." and his apologies are like kisses. They wash over you, and force you to believe him.

"Don't apologize to me." you plead, "Just promise not to leave me behind, treat me like an outsider again." you continue as his head nods, and you can trust that he's listening.

"I can do that." he promises.

That seems to be the key to unlocking the dam of your emotions. You choke on the feelings, a quiet sob escaping you as you clasp a hand over your mouth. How dramatic, and pathetic, and God awful were all these feelings. But they'd been years in the making, right?

"Are you alright?." he asks under his breath, worry palpable.

"Do you know that the only thing that kept me from losing it that day was you?" you ask, and your boldness won't leave you, clearly it was now or never. "You told me to 'keep breathing'... you said it over and over and over, and I listened." you explain, and he remembers the day too well. "Even though everything hurt like hell, and there was so much blood." you reminisce. "And I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but there was this look." you exhale sadly. "This look you had on your face that made me think... 'maybe it's not just me'"

It isn't. He knows that instantly. You've plagued his mind so severely for so long that he can just barely remember a time where you weren't one of the only things he thought about, worried about, cared about. But he had his post to think about, he was the Unit Chief, your boss, your superior. What would the team think? What would Strauss think? Did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, did those worries outweigh his need, his innate desire to see you safe and protected from harm? Absolutely not. So what was the real problem?

"Hotch..." you inhale deeply, voice cracking distractingly as he gives you his full attention. Something you'd dreamed of, wanted more than anything since the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him. "Aaron." you correct, and you breathe again. "I've been thinking of how to say this... i've been rehearsing it over and over again, because I wanted to get it right, and I just knew tonight would be the night I'd have to have the balls to either say it or let it go forever." you admit.

"Say it..." and he's rushing you, but you suppose that's deserved. You were still stalling, dragging this out way more than you needed to.

"I'm in love with you." and it was out there, and you couldn't take it back. You stare him down, worried about his reaction, about how he would respond. "And it took me getting hurt, and being sent home, away from the team for me to realize." you inhale shakily. "I kept having these-these dreams about that night. All these different scenarios about how things could've turned out different, how I could've died had one thing been out of place." you process.

"You're the reason I'm still here, you're the reason why this team can function, and you're the reason why I- why I came tonight even though my anxiety told me it wasn't safe. Because, somehow I knew that as long as you were here... I'd be okay, and I am." you say, and it's a lot, too much maybe. His reaction is hard to read at first, face just as stoic as most times, but his eyes.... his eyes hold the truth. They melt, pools of warm honey dancing in the darkness residing there.

"And it's inappropriate... and wrong... and silly... but- I couldn't go another day without you knowing, without you hearing from me." you explain. "When you came up to the bar tonight I just... I've never felt this way before... lucky, protected, safe.... and-and I'm not asking for anything from you... I'm not expecting something in return, I just wanted to get it out there... I think we both know it's been a long time coming..." and your words are being swallowed as Aaron leans forward. The middle console is a bridge, a roadblock.

It doesn't deter him though, not from using a hand to gently cup your face, mouth slotting against yours as if it belonged there. You're dizzy, shocked, surprised, but you don't let this mess you up. You can't possibly allow anything to mess up this moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... the seconds tick by with neither of you moving to break the kiss, hands and tongues and breaths fanning over one another as you get acquainted in the most perfect way.

Still, life dealt lots, and yours consisted of a need for oxygen. It's the only reason why you break apart with heady gasps, eyes dilated and fogged with emotions much too heavy to really explain. "Oh, you can't do that." you explain, and Hotch's bemused, eyebrows raising upwards, as his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.

"I can't?" he asks, and he sounds so much lighter now.

"No, you can't. I'll get the wrong idea, you know." you explain, and he smiles brazenly at your callback to earlier. "I'll actually believe you're in love with me or something." you say, and Hotch is slow as he leans back in, a peck being placed right on your lips as your eyelashes flutter, and your heart beats out of control.

"We can't have that, can we?" he's following your lead with the callback, and your cheek presses into his palm.

"I don't know." you answer, and your voice is faint. "I'm scared this'll be a dream." you proceed as Hotch's eyes scan over your frantic face. "I'll wake up and find out that this was all in my head, and the only memories I get to hold on to are from that night." Hotch's lips purse, head shaking in denial as you inhale shakily.

"No, not this time. an ambitious remark. "This time it's real." he promises. "This time I'm here with you to make sure that all those things you felt that night, and earlier by the bar, are how you keep feeling about me." he answers truly. "I'm here to love you back for as long as you'll have me. Is it alright for me to feel that way?" he asks, and your hand jumps up to keep his squished in place against your face.

"You can feel however you want." you reply, and he laughs, a full blown chuckle escaping him as his face seems to light up like a thousand suns. His eyes glisten, twinkling as he looks down at you, like everything was right in the world. And to him it was. Nothing and nobody could hurt you here.

"Good. Then I choose whatever this between you and I leads to, I choose the feelings that come with that." You smile grows to an almost blinding brightness as you reach across the console to hug him, and pull him into your arms. He's quick as he presses a peck to the top of your head, eyes still dancing over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe he was, that part wasn't your business, all you knew was that loving Aaron was easy, it could be.

A long time coming, but a wait well worth it. Lucky you.

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saturntosatoru · 3 days ago

Text

the eyes of the girl i won't forget || gojo satoru x f!reader

summary:

Ah, man, he’s really fucked it up this time, huh?

What, you may ask?

Everything ever worth anything.

warnings: angst!, situationship-to-what-ifs, milf!reader, me cucking Gojo again :/

a/n: hey guys! don’t mind me rambling abt Gojo’s eyes for 2k words—I got wine drunk :(

masterlist

Gojo Satoru: The Honored One. The Strongest. The Great Teacher Gojo. The Strongest Sorcerer of Today.

The list of epithets is endless—every time Gojo hears a new one, he treats himself to the premiere ichigo daifuku from Ginza to celebrate his new burden. He’s indifferent to the titles now—it’s natural after this many years—but the worst one yet, the one that still makes him flinch when announced, is “The Six Eyes”.

The Six Eyes.

Every time Gojo hears those words, a shudder runs down his spine. Not only is it the Elders’ favorite pet name for him—crooned in the sickly-sweet voice of authority—but it reminds him: no matter how he acts, who he tries to be, he’ll never escape his purpose.

The Six Eyes.

Disgusting.

Gojo likes—liked—your eyes though.

When you met oh so many years ago as naïve little first years, he’d first noticed your eyes. Or rather, he noticed how normal—how dull—they were. Until then, first meetings with people included some routine of “eye ogling”, where an average of three slightly invasive comments on his eyes were made.

You didn’t care about his, and that both irked and pleased Gojo Satoru. Irked, because his eyes were so much more interesting to look at than yours, thank you very much. Pleased, because it implied you saw him beyond just his abilities, his use for the world.

It was…sweet.

And later, when you noticed Gojo’s eyes stinging him, irritating him—no one had noticed before, everyone thought he was invincible, but you had seen his pain, his humanity—you surprised him with a pair of sunglasses. A cheap pair of 200-yen sunglasses from the corner store. You—a nobody from a non-sorcerer background; a nobody at the bottom of the totem pole, the hierarchy, of the jujutsu world; a nobody who should’ve revered Gojo as a God—you saw him simply as a teenage boy trying to find his way in the world.

Gojo loved that pair of 200-yen sunglasses. They broke after a month and a half of nonstop use, but he kept them on his bookshelf, dorm room otherwise empty except for a battered poster here and there and the guitar residing in the corner.

Oh, and the bento boxes you made for him. You’d noticed Gojo’s piss-poor attempts at survival—never taught how to cook, because why would the world’s savior be taught how to save himself?—and made it your mission to keep him running.

You were sneaky with it, too; oh, you were good. It started with packing too much food in your lunches, pretending to be annoyed when Gojo would steal some tempura or side dishes from you. Then, you would leave leftovers in your bento—sitting on the table while chatting with the others, appetite sated—and then you would let Gojo finish it off.

After conditioning him like a dog for weeks, you started packing two lunches—one for you and one for him—daily, adorned with matching wraps. And every day, Gojo would look forward to what new delicacy you had prepared; even your repackaged leftovers were appealing.

He’d never tell you, but leftover days were Gojo’s favorite. He’d find you in the dorm kitchenette before class, blearily preparing two boxes, and he’d sneak up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as a morning greeting. He’d get to stand behind you, tucking you beneath his chin, as you pottered around the kitchen, reheating fish or meat from the night before and making fresh tamagoyaki for breakfast, the extra being cut into slices for lunch. You’d occasionally raise your chopsticks up, higher than your head, for Gojo to snack and judge the seasoning.

Leftover days, Gojo got to pretend you were his and his alone. Leftover days, Gojo got to pretend he was Gojo Satoru, a boy in love, and not Gojo Satoru, the boy with the six eyes.

For how many eyes he’d been burdened with, in hindsight, he truly was blind to what mattered the most. When Suguru defected, Gojo finally experienced surprise—he’d been utterly blindsided. In a sick way, it was the most human Gojo ever felt, and his reactions were of a boy, not a prophetical God.

And as a teenage boy does, he spiraled. Focused on doing enough work for two, because he knew how much Suguru contributed to the world’s balance. Suguru and him were a team, and beyond just missions, they shared burdens, shared successes, and—Gojo had blindly believed—shared dreams.

Mission after mission completed, class after class ditched. Bento box forgotten lunch after lunch, and you—right where Gojo left you.

It wasn’t until graduation—two years after Geto defected—that Gojo had the decency, the audacity, to face you properly.

You weren’t at graduation.

After the initial panic, after the adrenaline pumping through Gojo’s body unlike that in any fight he’d faced before, he learned you’d left for a traditional, non-sorcerer university. You quit. Just like that. Jujutsu Tech would send you your diploma, but you’d already started classes, doing God knows what with God knows who.

(But Gojo was never truly a god, and Gojo didn’t know. He couldn’t find out—you’d blocked his phone number somewhere between him ditching your invitations to catch up and his promotion to Special Grade.)

Really, Gojo was fine with compartmentalizing you—you and the love and the dreams he had, all of which revolved around you. He moved on, driven by his goal of a new jujutsu society. He moved on, training students and defeating curses, ignoring elders and pressures to settle down.

He moved on.

Or so he thought, until Nanami Kento rejoined the jujutsu world. Yes, it was at Gojo’s insistence, but Gojo couldn’t predict—couldn’t see—the way Nanami’s acceptance would derail Gojo’s entire existence.

It started with the bentos.

Every day, at 1 PM sharp, Nanami would open his bento in the communal lounge. He’d start by unpacking his drink, then his utensils, and finally he’d unwrap his lunch. Each day, he’d have a different, well-rounded meal, and each day, Gojo would eye him from across the room while stealing food from Yaga or Ijichi’s still-packed lunch. Sometimes, he’d buy take out.

And Nanami would sit there until 1:30, texting someone, reviewing case files, or simply enjoying his food, all accompanied with an enticing homemade bento.

Gojo would try to pry; he’d ask him if it was delivery, tease him that he probably made his cutesy bentos in the morning while wearing a frilly apron, bully him into sharing some. Each time, Nanami deflected.

And soon it was commonplace, soon it was boring. Gojo looked for new material to tease Nanami with, moving on from the bentos, but it niggled at the back of his mind.

And then it clicks, one unsuspecting morning.

Today of all days, Nanami’s tie is askew. His hair is ruffled, and Gojo can finally (finally!) tease him for being frazzled, for not being as perfect as he normally is.

“Ahh, Nanamin—you know what they say! Not everyone can be as perfect as Gojo-sensei!” Gojo claps his hands, delighting in the immediate exasperation from his colleague.

Ijichi stands in the corner, waiting for Gojo to finally read his mission briefing, but Gojo is more intent on watching Nanami break. Based on what he sees, it’ll be anytime soon now.

“Gojo. Don’t you have other things to do? Didn’t you have an appointment to save the world at 9?” Nanami fixes his tie, collecting himself with every second. Gojo’s window of opportunity is slipping.

Gojo settles deeper into his chair, long left leg swinging over the right. “Oh, Nana-Nana-Nanamin…is that a hickey I see?”

“Uh, Gojo-san, I think—”

“Think later, Ijichi. Or don’t. That’s not what you’re paid for.” Gojo’s eyes snap back to Nanami, watching his ears turn an interesting shade of red. “Oho, it is, isn’t it?”

“So, what was it?” He continues. “Booty call that kept you up late? How scandalous~”

“My personal life is none of your business, Gojo. Just like I don’t ask you about your extracurricular activities, I don’t need to divulge my outside matters with you.” Nanami rifles through his briefcase, searching for something, while blandly responding to Gojo’s inquisition.

“Nanami-san, is everything alright? Is something missing? I can pick it up while out with Gojo-san.”

(“Kiss ass,” Gojo rolls his eyes, to which no one listens.)

Nanami looks up at Ijichi, nodding once. “Yes, that would be nice. Could you please—”

“Daddyyy!” A high-pitched yell bursts into the room, followed by a little boy not older than 4 or 5. He bolts to Nanami, tiny feet pattering on the linoleum floor, gripping his tan pant leg and staring up at his (Gojo assumes, based on context clues) father.

Gojo cannot process what he’s seeing. A peek at Ijichi shows he seems to be taking it in stride. Gojo might not be considered fit for being in public at this rate, genius-level intellect unable to put this two and two together.

“Yuto?” Nanami scoops the boy into his arms with too much familiarity for Gojo’s liking. “What’re you doing here, buddy? Where’s Mama?”

“This place is so cool, Dad! I saw so many stuffed animals and there was a panda, too! And I tried to pet it, but then Mama told me it was rude…” The boy (Yuto?) sniffs. Gojo stares. Nanami is a father.

“Did you say hi to the panda first, Yuto? And did you ask the panda if you could pet him?” Nanami brushes a hand over his son’s forehead, sweeping the hair back while speaking and accepting his son’s lack of direct answers.

“Yuto? Honey, where are you?” A voice, too familiar, too nostalgic for Gojo’s heart, sounds through the room.

Ah, it’s you.

Gojo is the butt of the joke. Shame on him for thinking he’d ever successfully bully Nanami. Life has made Gojo its comedic fodder instead.

Because there you stand, tote bag weighing on your shoulder, eyes focused on Nanami and his—your—son. The smile lighting up your face is subconscious—they are your world, and Gojo is a meteor caught in a brief accidental orbit.

“Yuto! What did I tell you about running off like that?” You’re standing at Nanami’s side now, the three of you looking like the picture-perfect family. Nanami’s free arm wraps around your waist—instinctively, Gojo can tell—and he drapes a kiss to your temple.

“I was meeting, Dad! And you said it was bad if you or Dad weren’t there, but he was here! And, I found him!”

Your eyes narrow playfully at him and you tweak his nose in retaliation. “You little bugger. That’s a good argument—” Yuto giggles. “—did you learn that from Ms Shimizu at Mama’s work?”

“Morning, love,” Nanami interrupts, looking at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. (And you might’ve, Gojo thinks. Because time has done you wonders, and you look better now—healthier, happier, more at peace—than the you of his memories. You’re glowing, enough to rival the moon.) “Not that this isn’t a wonderful start to the day, but what brings you two here?”

“Yuto and I were about to leave for school, but we saw your bento on the counter and decided to make a quick detour.” You pull out a neatly wrapped lunch from your bag, placing it on the table by Nanami’s briefcase. “Meaning we’ve gotta head out now so we’re not too late.”

Nanami’s eyes gleam with gratitude. “Thank you, love. You absolutely didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did! It’s leftover day; that food is not lasting until tomorrow, and I haven’t gotten groceries yet.” You kiss Nanami’s cheek, hoisting Yuto onto your hip. “Say ‘See you!’ to Daddy, Yuto!”

The boy echoes your prompt. Nanami ruffles Yuto’s hair and presses a firm kiss to your lips. Gojo can see the smile curling on your mouth. “We’ll see you at home tonight, Kento.”

“Y/n-san! It was good to see you again,” Ijichi says as you leave, nodding his head in greeting as if this is a normal occurrence. And oh, what a traitor his underclassman is—Gojo can tell this is not a rare sighting on Ijichi’s behalf.

“It was lovely to see you too, Ijichi. Let’s catch up next week over drinks when our schedules align.”

You turn now, acknowledging Gojo at long last, and nod. His eyes—all six of them—savor the moment and drink you in. You’ve controlled your hair, frizz lessened and strands neatly restrained by the sunglasses on your head. Your figure is less gangly and more womanly now, and the innate grace you’ve gained looks good on you. Your outfit is standard—just a work-appropriate blouse tucked into trousers—but it hugs your hips, your waist, in ways Gojo wishes he could. Your jewelry is simple, a watch on one wrist and a wedding band on your ring finger.

And he finally gets a proper look at your son, a glorious glimpse into what could’ve been—what could’ve been if Gojo could be a man and not a forced God. The child has the brightest smile and your eyes.

That’s good.

In Gojo’s dreams, they all have your eyes.

Gojo’s always hated his eyes.

notes:

You work as a paralegal, assisting a team of lawyers led by your boss, Higuruma Hiromi. Shimizu has become a close friend of yours, and the two of you love to gossip about the people in the firm. Whenever Yuto’s daycare is closed and you have to bring him in to work, she buys him snacks from the vending machine when you’re not looking.

Growing up, you weren’t actually that good a cook, but Gojo—Teenage Boy Extraordinaire—would eat anything and everything you prepared, contrary to popular thought. He’d serve as a guinea pig for your weekend recipe experiments, offering suggestions for potential tweaks and improvements.

Yuto is written with the characters for ‘courage’ and ‘person’. Both you and Kento had left the jujutsu world, and it was one of the conversation topics that catalyzed your relationship when you crossed paths post-Jujutsu Tech. Both of you wanted your son to pick his path for himself, but to do so with courage and kindness—the makings of a good person, in your books.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader angst #angst #gojo angst #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk nanami kento

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luvtak · 3 months ago

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get him back! ⊹.✮₊⋆ yji x reader

You didn’t think when he left, he’d leave so much of himself with you

⊹ genre/tw angst angst angst seriously so much angst i'm sorry, but also fluff!!! a lot of fluff! f2l, fake dating, revenge dating?, hurt/comfort, ex!hyunjin being horrible (I'm sorry), reader wears a skirt at one point and is referred to as ‘my girl’ once, jokes about pregnancy (its not serious i promise) its suggestive at times but no smut, probably a little rushed at times, mostly unedited

⊹ w/c 10, 469

⊹ a/n this has been a long time coming, originally this was a fic for jaemin from nct dream that was like 8000 words long or something and i absolutely hated it so i started back from scratch and changed mostly everything but the main idea. for a long time, i have been fascinated with the process of heartbreak and falling in love again, and in essence that is what this is--I hope you like it, don't forget to like and reblog and tell me all your thoughts!! hopefully it's not terrible lol, mwah!!

You didn’t think when he left, he’d leave so much of himself with you; Everything from the cups in the cabinet to the paint splatters on the floor. The four walls of your room storing a lifetime of memories of the boy who loved you; nighttime laughter and limbs interlaced. It’s completely foreign to not have him next to you, skin to skin, hearts synced to a song only the two of you know.

You loved him for three summers, almost from the first time you saw him–sat next to the river, with headphones on and a pen in hand–He was beautiful, a timeless photograph of affection, and you were smitten as soon as he opened his mouth.

The past 36 months were lovely and joyous, 1095 days spent foolishly glued together, yet when Hyunjin decided to end the relationship three weeks ago, you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue. He’d been so busy, graduating last year and going on to bigger and brighter things–exhibitions almost every week, assisting an artist he loved–so many wonderful things that took him away from you. When he was home he was too tired to love you, so it made sense when he ended it. So much sense that it’s kept you awake all the nights following.

Every night–at roughly when he would’ve come home to you–you find yourself waking up to the loss of his cologne. For a moment, you’re given a momentary bout of bliss, confusion clouding up your mind with questions of where’d he go, rather than if he’s coming back. The answer comes quickly, though, rupturing your heart before the rest of you knew you were awake.

Your mind is lost in the goodbye, the taste of salt on your lips and your favorite blue sweater wrapped around your arms, the way his eyes were wide with sadness. Did he kiss you then? Was it his tongue that swiped away the tears or your own? Did his hands hold you one last time, make you cry from pleasure before pain? All you seem to remember was him walking away, so fast you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to recall–but it's all you seem to be able to think about.

He broke your heart on a Tuesday, but did he kiss you then?

He was sweet with the farewell, telling you he was sorry, that he loved you but it wasn’t enough any more. There was just too much time and distance living between the two of you, but nothing really has to change… we can all still be friends.

What a sad thought, friends with the boy who held your bleeding heart in his hands.

Why should you still be friends if love wasn’t enough for him?

You know you look pathetic, his too big clothes swathing around your limp form, keeping you toasty where your bare legs hit the bathroom floor. His voice flowing from your phone's speaker in happy waves, echoing off the tile right into your ears. It’s almost like he’s next to you, almost like it’s his arms filling out the gray hoodie and wrapping around you.

Shivering, you close your eyes just for a minute, with his last voicemail reverberating through your brain, you feel content for the first time since that sunny day three weeks before.

“...I love you, sweetheart!” his voice rings, lighting up your heart with all the affection the name used to bring you. He hadn’t called you that in months, trading sweet nothings for sighs and sorry’s. How you long to feel the name pressed against your skin, interlaced with the kind of happiness only he could draw out. A love so undeniably him that anything else couldn’t come close.

Loving him was sitting in planetariums and comparing each other's portraits to statues, sharing straws and blankets, breath and hands. Loving him was every star fall, trying to catch dragonflies and yelping when they grazed your hands. It was magical and devastating, everything you ever wanted.

Hyunjin was meant for stars and lullabies, a boy meant for nighttime, but the morning is fast approaching.

Soon, your roommate will wake up and discover your tearful form, and envelope you in coos and cuddles. He’ll wrap you up in pink comforters and bring you cookies for breakfast, a day spent with rom-coms and Olivia Rodrigo on the radio, but just for a few more minutes you’ll sit with your lovers voice in your head and his scent around you, and it’ll be as close to him as you’ll ever be again.

“Okay!? I love you so much, call me sweetheart, seriously! Call me, call me, call me.”

“He never even deserved you!”

“Yeah, babe, like you’re so hot and funny and nice! What does he have going for him?”

“For real! Other than being super handsome and talented, he has nothing.”

Your friends, drunk and silly, can’t seem to stop trying to comfort you, you want to laugh, and maybe in time you’ll be able to, but here in this fresh grief with his love still palpable, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to be angry.

Sure, he broke up with you, but it didn’t seem like too bad of a reason… he was busy all the time, and his distance brought anger and disappointment. You were fighting restlessly, forgetting to say I love you before you left for class, kisses became shorter and farther in between, but at the end of the day you did love him; endlessly and reverentially, and no matter what he said or didn’t say, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that that will never change.

“You guys don’t have to shit talk Hyunjin just because he broke up with me, we were all friends.” Your voice is quieter than you meant it to be, slow from all the wine and covered in the sadness that seemed to follow you. “He was a good boyfriend…”

“No, babe, a good boyfriend does not break up with you a week before your anniversary after ghosting you for a month.” Minjeong says, her tone soothing even if her words are not.

“We’re not friends with that douche canoe, okay, we only stomached him because he was your boyfriend, and now that he’s not, I personally never want to see him again.”

“Chaeryeong! Stop, you've been his friend for literal years.”

“Nope, I can’t remember!” she sings out, giggling as her wine glass spills out red liquid all over the floor.

“He’s persona non grata now, girly, if I see him, I’m coming in swinging!”

Minjeong’s claim, however silly, does have you finally laughing. Deep, belly ache inducing laughs that fill your little apartment with more joy than it’s held in weeks. It’s true that before the official break up, you were infuriated, anger escaping your lips whenever the man was mentioned. But since the finality of that day, all you’ve felt is an insurmountable grief daring to erupt at any moment.

You loved him, you lost him, and isn’t that just so sad?

You thought you’d have him forever… daydreamt weddings and forever homes, Late night whispers of baby names and honeymoons. Everything you’ve ever planned, out the window with the first signs of conflict. Sure, maybe it would’ve ended anyway, but would it have killed him to try? How dare he take that future away from you, a happy ending too good to be true.

A betrayal that cut too deep to be anything but devastating.

But sitting here now, listening to your friends being mad and protective, you think you can see a future where you are angry again–a day in the coming weeks where everything he said is tinged with red instead of blue. And maybe after that you can be happy, really truly happy, even when the girls' laughter aren’t around to accompany you.

“Hey, we love you, okay?” Chaeryeong says, breathing heavily through her giggles. “I know it’s hard now, you loved each other so much, but don’t waste anymore of your time locked inside this apartment. You’re way too cute to not let anyone see you.”

She smiles at you, her hand wrapped around yours as a few tears stray. You don’t know if they’re happy or sad, or maybe a bit of both, all you know is you love her. You love the both of them so much that even through this inescapable loss, you smile back. They’re your favorite people on earth, and if they think you’ll be okay maybe you will be.

“I love you guys too, I’m sorry I’m so mopey… Felix keeps trying to get me to smile, but there's just so much I can take before I’m crying again.”

“Hey, hey,” Minjeong whispers, “Don’t apologize, you get to be a little storm cloud.”

“Personally, I like you stormy–makes it more fun when you snap.” Chaeryeong tells you, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to get you to laugh again.

Miraculously, it works–laughter seeping out of you and onto the wine soaked tiles. Maybe they’re right, maybe all you need is some time…

Maybe another day of watching The Princess Diaries and eating ice cream for dinner will cure you, maybe falling asleep in Hyunjin’s sweatpants will finally ease the hole he left, maybe all you have to do is leave the house tomorrow. Whatever it is, you promise them you’ll try–and as they cuddle up to you, dropping popcorn in between the couch cushions and cracking up at the same jokes you’ve heard a thousand times, somewhere inside, you feel a little bit more okay.

Unfortunately, that feeling can only last so long.

It’s thirty minutes past the witching hour when you see the photo. He’s gorgeous, devastatingly so, heartbreakingly handsome just like you remembered. Clad in denim and decked out with silver, wrapped around a girl you’ve never seen before.

Your phone light glares through the night, spotlighting your place in the living room. You know you should turn the brightness down, lower it or move from your place in between Chaeryong and Minjeong, less they wake up and threaten to kill you for interrupting their slumber, but you can’t seem to make yourself move.

His hands rest on her waist, a smile breaking through close to her own, and he looks so happy. Happier than he’d looked in months, unencumbered joy leaking off him through the camera lens. And how it breaks your heart, who cares who that girl is… how could he look so happy when you haven’t even left the house in two weeks?

“Son of a bitch!” you whisper, angry tears trying to escape. How dare he? And how dare Chris for posting it on a story he knew you could see. We can all still be friends, right? What absolute bullshit.

You find yourself laughing, laughing so hard the tears find themselve trailing down your cheeks. Howling at the unbelievability of it all, here you were defending him still, while he couldn’t wait a month to have his tongue shoved down some other girl's throat. How funny to think you love him, truly love him with every part of you, and he doesn’t respect you enough to keep his escapades a secret while you heal.

Minjeong shuffles in her sleep, waking up to the sound of your inane outburst, pretty eyes squinted in your phone light.

“What is it? Nothing is that funny at 3 AM.”

“Look at this, Min.” you giggle, shoving your phone against her nose.

“Too close!! Hold on… WHAT THE FUCK!” she yells, jolting up against the cushions and waking the other girl in the process.

“What! What is it?!” Chaeryeong moans.

“Hyunjin is a fucker that’s what.” Minjeong says. “An actual despicable little shit.”

The phone is passed around, each of you staring at the picture with a sense of pure unbridled anger. To think you trusted him, gave him your heart and felt safe that he would respect it even when he gave it back.

“I just don’t understand,” You say, your voice breaking– confusion wafting through the words and encasing you in a painful blanket of disarray.

Through your tears you hear Chaeryeong, “Listen, we have to get him back.” She’s saying, Minjeong nodding along sleepily.

Get him back? What does she mean?! How can she already be thinking of revenge when all you want to do is cry yourself to sleep.

“What do you mean get him back, I don’t understand.” The brokenness in your voice gives your friends pause, and for a moment the only thing you hear is the sound of Anne Hathaway monologuing on the TV.

The two girls, true friends even with sleep dancing at their fingertips, wrap their arms around you–holding onto you like you’d drift away if they didn’t, who knows maybe you would; You do feel minutes away from being empty, like you're a bottle slowly pouring out its contents.

Their skin is warm, and their hands carry so much comfort that you collapse against them, listening to their plan like a bedtime story that lulls you to sleep.

“You want me to do what?!” You cry.

“We talked about this last night!”

“I’m sure I would’ve remembered you saying I have to go on a date with Yang Jeongin, Minjeong!”

“It doesn’t have to be Ayen, any of his friends will do, I just thought that that’s who you were closest to…” She sighs, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. “I mean it could be Changbin for all I care, I just didn’t think he’d go for it.”

“I don’t want to date ANY of his friends, Minnie!!! Hello!” Your voice sounds shrill even to you, and as much as you're trying to keep it down for fear of the librarian coming over and yelling at you, you don’t have it in you to dampen your frustration.

Last night was a blur, anger permeating your sleep and clouding your morning. Going through the motions of classes and too many cups of coffee before your friend called you to come deliberate on the fully formed plan they dreamt up. A plan that you don’t remember agreeing to.

Sure, you remember saying making him jealous might make you feel better and make him feel worse, but nowhere did they say that Jeongin would be involved. You love the boy, as cynical and cold as he could be–he could make you laugh more than anyone else you ever met, and of course he was handsome, but he was one of Hyunjin’s best friends. As much as you’re angry with your ex-boyfriend now, were you really willing to use one of his friends to get back at him?

“Plus, I don’t think he’ll go for it, I mean Innie likes to mess with the guys every once in a while, but I think hooking up with his best friends ex is too far for him.”

You try to hide the flinch at the word ex, but Minjeong sees right through you–bringing her hands up to rub your shoulders comfortingly, before she tells you:

“It doesn’t have to be real, silly!” Minjeong laughs, “Hyunjin only has to think it's real, I mean you don’t actually have to hook up with him… Unless you want toooo.” She draws out, singing the last sentence in an annoying voice.

“Minnie!” you whisper in a faux yell.

“What?! Don’t look at me like I don’t remember the infamous truth or dare of 2024.”

“Minnie.”

“Okay, Ms. I’d makeout with Jeongin if I had to kiss any of Hyunjin’s friends.”

“Minnie!”

“Fine, Fine!” She laughs, “just talk to Ayen about it, and we’ll go from there okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, but I can’t stomach thinking that Hyunjin is out there having fun at your expense and you’re just taking it.” For one moment she looks truly sad, and you’re reminded, not for the first time, that this breakup isn’t just between you and your ex, but all your friends who have to adapt to a life that looks different

Her eyes are comforting, but her mouth is all smirking revenge, and something about it urges you to listen. It can’t be worse than what Hyunjin’s already done, right? And it’s all pretend anyway, just a game of house where you and Jeongin hold hands at a party and go get slurpees after. None of it has to be real, you shouldn’t feel bad for giving the boy who hurt you a taste of his own medicine, right?

So with a heart full of guilt and stomach heavy with nerves, you find yourself asking,

“When does it start?”

On your way out of the library you found yourself cursing Minjeong and Chaeryeong and all their evil scheming that always finds its way back to you. If only you could have listened to Felix when he told you that those girls were trouble, and that the only friends you needed were him and your childhood dog, Milo.

When you left her, Minjeong reminded you to talk to Jeongin, told you where she thought he’d be and smiled at you the way she would a puppy.

God, what am I doing? You ask yourself, begging some invisible entity for help with this god forsaken plan. You like Ayen just fine, but the idea of hurting Hyunjin just because he hurt you fills you with some inescapable dread. And what if Jeongin says no? What if he’s as disgusted by you as you are of yourself? What if he turns around and tells Hyunjin?

The thoughts circle around you, haloing your form in scalding nerves until you find yourself outside of the diner Jeongin works at. You’d only ever been at night, your hand shivering within Hyunjin’s hold–so many twilights spent sitting crushed in a tiny booth, Hyunjin’s friends hollering around you and your lovers arms holding you to his heart. How different it looks in the day.

For the first time you find yourself walking through the diner doors alone, feet shuffling onto the sticky vinyl floors and searching for Yang Jeongin’s smile.

You find it behind the counter, warm and inviting as he asks a little boy what he wants. He looks different when he doesn’t know anyone is looking at him, freer than when he’s with the boys, shinier when there’s no one else’s light glaring. When he finally looks up and sees you, his smile remains, but becomes that tight look of pity you’ve become so used to–a look so out of place on his pretty face, you want it gone right away.

“Don’t look at me like, Jeongin.” You tell him, words stricter than your voice portrays.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he tells you, “but how are you doing?”

“Better if I had a cherry coke,” You say and without another word he begins filling up a plastic cup with ice and burgundy liquid. You can’t help but watch his hands as they work, knuckles clutching around the drink tighter than what's needed–the only indication that he could be uncomfortable with you being here. “How are you doing, Ayen?” you ask him.

“Well, not too bad,” he says, handing you the soda. “It’s not too busy today, and I don’t have any classes until tomorrow afternoon, so the day is just breezing by.”

“Easy, breezy, beautiful!” You tell him and finally that pretty smile breaks out on his face again as he lets out a loud laugh. He tells you he’ll be right back, smiling the whole way to the rest of his patrons.

Maybe it’s because you were dating Hyunjin before, and no other boy seemed to live up to the fairy tale you wrote about him, but for the first time you see Jeongin, not as Hyunjin’s friend but as a cute boy you could’ve met at a diner just like this. He’s boyishly handsome and sweet, giggling with the little kids and getting old ladies pie on the house.

Maybe your friends were onto something when they offered up Jeongin as the sacrificial lamb–sweet, ever happy Jeongin.

When he returns to you, that slightly sad smile returns to his face before he tells you:

“I’m sorry about you and Hyunjin… I didn’t know he was gonna do that.”

“What break up with me, or make out with a girl before the corpse is even cold?” Your voice is stronger than you meant it to be, and you feel bad as soon as you see Jeongin’s body tense–obviously surprised at your animosity.

“Both, I haven’t talked to him in weeks,” he tells you, much to your surprise, “We– we had a fight, and I hadn’t talked to anyone but Changbin and Seungmin…” his voice is thick with tension and his jaw is tight as he tries to tell to you what happened, a sight you’d never seen from him–much more used to the happy-go-lucky Ayen of days past. “I didn’t even know you guys broke up until he posted that picture last night.”

You’re surprised by this, of course, Jeongin and Hyunjin had always been close, but what's more surprising is how truly angry he looks… As angry as Chaeryeong and Minjeong, if not more. It’s this look that allows you to tell him,

“I just don’t know what to do, Ayen…”

“Whatever, I can do to help, I will… I promise.” Jeongin tells you, long fingers making you jump as they settle over your own. It’s this promise that brings you to tell him why you came–rushing out the plan your friends made for you, making sure to tell him over and over how it would just be a favor; just a way to get Hyunjin back for being a treacherous loser.

It’s through this rant that Jeongin finally smiles again, a devious look you’ve only ever seen settle onto his face during game night, and without preamble his hold on your hand grows stronger until he says,

“I’ll do it.”

It’s three weeks later when you finally realize that you’d have to actually go on a date with Jeongin for this to work. In theory, you knew this would happen, knew that you couldn’t let Jeongin sit around thinking about how he agreed to piss off his friend, but putting that plan in practice is scarier than you thought it would be.

And why? Why does Hyunjin get to ride around town happier than ever, posting that girl on his instagram story every day while you’re sitting at home crying for weeks.

Yet, the thought of doing anything romantic (even if it was pretend) with someone else, causes frost bitten chills to cover your skin. Even if the someone else was Yang Jeongin; sweet and funny Jeongin who always took your side when the boys started teasing you, who brought you a cherry coke everyday when you had class together freshman year. Jeongin who blushed pretty pink when he heard your answer to Changbin’s truth or dare last year, Jeongin who was your friend as much as Hyunjin’s, who would put that friendship aside to do you a favor.

You know you should call him, reprieve him from the quicksand thoughts you sure he’s buried in, but you can’t seem to latch that door to self hatred that has been held open since the night Hyunjin broke up with you.

You can’t seem to find where everything went wrong, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to find the moment where Hyunjin stopped loving you.

“You should stop torturing yourself you know,” You hear, and there he is standing in the doorway to your bedroom. Jeongin stands tall and handsome, leaning against the wall in a way that makes you think he has been there for a while. “You went AWOL on me, y’know, I was worried.” He’s smiling, but his words have a layer of debilitating truth that makes you a little sick. You can’t help but feel sorry for making anyone feel as bad as you do.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where to go after that last conversation we had.”

“Well, usually when you ask someone on a date… you take them out on a date.” He smiles at you, approaching your bed the way one would approach a wounded animal–slow but sure.

When he finally lays down next to you you’re struck by his closeness, the feel of his body heat settling over your skin and the way his cheek bones slope over his face. He’s so pretty, it’s not like you never noticed it before, but seeing him up close like this–like he’s completely under your disposal, like you’re a scientist looking at him under a microscope–you can’t help but be a little breathless.

He’s so beautiful and he’s lying here with you.

“What did you want to do on our date then?” you ask him, feeling braver the longer he looks at you.

When he smiles, it’s like the sun explodes–incandescent and radiant like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He tells you he doesn’t care, first dates are silly anyway, he says, before grabbing your laptop from its place on your desk and telling you to pick a movie. It’s a little nerve wracking to be with him like this, it’s odd because it’s not something inherently romantic, nor any different from something you could’ve done with him before, but the fact that he called it a “date” makes the whole thing more anxiety-inducing than you thought possible.

This is supposed to be pretend, yet the way his arm presses against yours brings a warmth to your chest that you can’t seem to decipher. Sure, you’re a bit touched starved and the constant vulnerability you’ve felt has lent itself to a mixed bag of feelings, but the strangest thing is, nothing about his heat is confusing. It feels like the surest thing in the world to have him next to you, laughing at the stupid jokes flowing out from your computer and asking if you want to order a pizza.

This is supposed to be pretend, but it feels real–like the realest thing you’ve held in months.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me what happened with Hyune?” He finally asks you. The sun has finally eased its way into night and the blue hour has opened up the air for truth telling, you always loved this time of night… Always loved the way the soft prussian hue would fill the room, the way it could coat human skin. It’s this blue honesty that motivates you to answer him, more honest than you’ve been with anyone else, much less yourself.

“I think It was always gonna end like this… me all alone and him surrounded by friends.” You see him gearing up to protest, so quickly you add, “I know I’m not completely alone,” you tell him, “but I loved him so much, it was all I thought about for three years. And… and he’s out there living his life like I didn’t even matter.

“He broke up with me cause he was busy, like I was just something on the to-do list too insignificant to keep.” You stop to breathe, in and out, before starting again, “I hadn’t talked to him in weeks… in the beginning I called and texted, but I never got a response so I thought I’d just give him space. Felix kept asking me where he was, y’know? Like I would know, I should have known–I wanted to know, but I had no idea. Finally, he showed up out of nowhere telling me he was sorry, how he’d been so busy–I was so stupid, I was just happy he was there at all”

“You’re not stupid,” Jeongin tells you, but you’re not finished.

“He–” you whisper, “He told me that he thought we should break up… said it like there was no room for arguing. I said okay… I said okay because I wanted him to shut up about how busy he was–wanted him to stop talking about his great life that I wouldn’t be a part of anymore.”

“You’re not stupid,” He says again, stronger this time. “Hyunjin’s a fucking idiot, a selfish idiot, okay? You’re not stupid.” He brings you into his arms, holding you close enough that you can hear his heart beating wild in his chest. He smells good, like sunshine and coffee, and part of you wishes this wasn’t pretend.

You wish you could lay here like this all the time, cuddled close to him, safe in his arms, and sure of the fact that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.

“We’re gonna make him regret this okay, make him see what he’s missing out on.” He’s whispering to you, but it almost seems like he’s talking to himself, reassuring himself that what he’s doing is okay, “He’s an idiot, and you’re perfect–do you hear me?” he asks you, tilting your chin up to see him from your place in his hold. “We’re gonna get him back.”

“You know, when I let him in last night I didn’t think he was sleeping over,” Felix tells you, once you come back inside from walking Jeongin out.

Truthfully, you didn’t think he was going to sleep over either, yet the feeling of his arms around was so deeply comforting you’re glad he didn’t leave. You’d spent all night talking, going over your plan to make Hyunjin jealous, but that wasn’t all you’d talked about. Jeongin told you all sorts of things to make you laugh: secrets and stories, other peoples and his own.

You spent all night telling each other things you’d never told anyone else, and for once you’d woken up happy. Strangely, it wasn’t awkward disentangling yourself from him–it was almost normal, even sharing the sink to brush your teeth felt like you’d done it a million times over before.

No, it wasn’t awkward at all–that is until Felix woke up and found you together in your room.

“Listen, Felix, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, so you’re not dating Jeongin to make Hyunjin jealous?” He asks, looking at with with a skeptical glimpse in his eye.

“Well, I guess it’s exactly what you think,” you pause, “wait, how did you guess that?”

“You’re not the only one friends with Minejeong and Chaery, sweet pea.” he tells you, stirring honey into two cups of tea.

You’re not surprised the girls blabbed, especially not to Felix–the boy has too much of an angelic face to lie too–However, they should know better than to expose you to your oldest friend. Felix, has always been your best friend, your soulmate in all definitions, and because of this he is chronically worrying over you and your wellbeing. Hyunjin had been his friend, closest to him only second to you and Chris, and the way Hyune treated you at the end was such a deep betrayal to Felix’s sense of friendship that he is grown even more annoyingly protective in the past weeks.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Lix”

“Obviously I do, I take my hands off the wheel for one minute and suddenly you’re in bed with Innie.”

“I was not IN BED with him, we just slept.”

“Yeah, okay, just don’t get pregnant. Yeah? I’m not old enough to be the dad that stepped up.”

“FELIX!” you yell, but all you hear is laughter, deep happy laughter that has been unfamiliar in your usually joyful apartment. You can’t help but feel guilty, even though it isn’t your fault. You wish everything could be normal–wish with every piece of your soul that life would go back to how it was.

You didn’t need Hyunjin to be in love with you, but you wished that your friends could go back to how they were three months ago, happy and normal and free.

You love Felix, you love Minjeong and Chaeryeong, and the thought of them being as cut up about this as you, breaks your heart.

“You know I love you, right?” You tell Felix when he’s done laughing to himself, and the way he looks at you–rolling eyes and all tells you all you need to know.

“I love you too, sweet pea…” He smiles, “but wear protection.”

The diner is busy and your friends can’t seem to shut up.

“OH MY GOD!!! He keeps looking at you!” Minjeong cries, happy as a clam in her little white sundress. The weather has finally warmed up and with it sundress season has finally arrived, a fact that Ayen seemed to be especially happy about when he saw you in one of your own.

It’s just pretend, you tell yourself, even though you can’t help but blush when Minjeong whispers, “there he goes again, ohmygoodness!”

“Minnie, it’s not like that it’s just–”

“It’s just pretend!” Chaery and Minnie sing together, mimicking the phrase you’ve told them over and over again for the past month.

That first sleepover became dinner and movie every Friday, which became study sessions on Sunday when you began falling behind, and lunch at the diner every Tuesday so he could see you before his schedule got too busy. Yet, you still hadn’t gone out–out, a problem that has wrapped itself around you like an ugly sweater, the whole reason you’re pretending to date is to make Hyunjin jealous, but you haven’t gone anywhere that he’d see you two at. Not too mention, any insta post the two you have been in together isn’t so overtly romantic that one could believe you’re together–In conclusion, the two you are pretending to date for no one but each other, so does that make it not pretend?

“It is just pretend, and you guys know that.” you tell them a bit meaner than you meant.

“Okay, okay…” Chaery says, “but you should remind him of that, cause Minnie’s right: he really has looked over here like seven times in the last thirty seconds.”

“It’s just because you guys are here,” you say, but even you sound unconvinced. “Anyway he’s probably just worried because we’re going to the party tonight, which will take this little plan of yours from 1 to 100”

“Girly I love you, but him sleeping in your bed every weekend is what took the plan to 100” Minnie sassed.

You want to admonish her, but she was right, you should never have let each other break this many boundaries. You should’ve had rules, should have watched To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before together and knew what would come of this fake dating nonsense your friends came up with. But you’ve gotten so used to him, fallen so far into friendship that the idea of him not being around physically hurts you.

You catch him looking at you again, a soft smile on his lips as he asks someone their order, when your eyes meet he winks at you, silly and sweet just like him. You laugh and smile bigger than your friends have seen you in months, and if you were paying attention you would have seen the two girls share a look so obviously judgmental it would have warranted a slap.

“Yeah, just pretend my ass.”

The night is just beginning and the party is in full force when you arrive, hand in hand with your “boyfriend,” You’d dolled yourself up for the occasion: tight shirt, miniskirt, and all that jazz, and when Jeongin picked you up he blushed so red you thought you might’ve had a fever.

The party is already wild as soon as you step foot inside, people chatting and dancing, girls who must’ve just met singing Brittany together as it rings out from the stereo. You find yourself cramped in between bodies, Jeongin’s hand being the only lifeline in the sea of humans–more than once, you feel eyes on the two you, old friends looking on in confusion as you hold the hand of the wrong guy, yet you feel more at ease here with Ayen than you ever did before.

When you finally arrive in the kitchen, unscathed except for a few wrinkles in your tiny skirt, Jeongin makes you a drink and compliments you again on your outfit. He’s called you pretty five times tonight: Once when he picked you up, two times in the car, right before you walked in, and now he’s saying it again. Each time the words emerge from his lips they sound a little braver, like he’s more sure of himself every time you say thank you.

He looks absolutely divine tonight himself–when he took his jacket off in the car, you couldn’t stop yourself from growing hotter at the sight of his arms in the tight white tee he picked for the occasion. More annoyingly he seemed to know and relish in your admiration, he seems more confident tonight, cocky in a way that wouldn’t be so attractive if it wasn’t him.

When he hands you the drink, hands tight on the plastic cup just like the first time, his empty hand immediately goes to your waist. His touch, familiar and pleasant, eases you into the corner–forcing you to be close to him in ways you’ve only been in private. A part of you feels insecure, like he’s only doing this to show off the people around you, but one look into his smiling eyes tells you he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want to.

“You’re so beautiful,” He tells you again–that’s six, “So so beautiful, I can’t believe how lucky I am, even if this is all pretend… I’m so so lucky to be here with you.” It stings a little, the truth of this being pretend, but you can’t help but agree, you really are so so lucky to have each other.

His hand moves away from your waist, moving up, up, up, until it reaches your clavicle–fingers fanning out to touch your collarbones, his ring finger gently brushing over the skin. He’s not so much as looking at you as looking into you, almost like he’s trying to see into your ribcage and decide if he can fit in there too. His intensity is burning, chipping away at your composure not unlike pick into stone. His hands are so soft, fluttering against you in curiosity, like he can’t believe he gets to touch you–feel you under his force and mold you into him. Your eyes are fluttering shut, influenced by the alcohol and his hands and the way he thinks you’re beautiful.

Too comfortable for a kitchen counter, especially not your own, his movements are even more dangerous when he is reminded the two of you are not alone.

“Innie!” You hear a voice familiar and grating in your current predicament, Jeongin’s hands stop their curious journey, but he does not move away from you–if anything he draws you closer, protecting you from whomever would dare rip you away from peace.

Changbin is shining as always, happy and handsome, like he has always been, but seeing him here is not a welcome surprise. You’re still upset you never heard from him after the breakup, sure he was Hyunjin’s friend first, and he doesn’t truly owe you any loyalty, yet it still hurts after three years of friendship to be dropped by 50% of your friends.

“Oh, hey,” he says when he notices it’s you and not some random girl here with the younger boy. “It’s been awhile, I’ve missed you–both of you.” You can see him observing your position–you, encompassed by Jeongin, huddling close into his chest… Ayen rubbing his hand up and down your back. It's clear what the closeness means, and Changbin who has claimed to know exactly what's going on with Jeongin at any given time, feels a little hurt that he didn’t know this.

“So are you guys like, together?” he questions, “Does Hyunie Know?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care, Hyung” Jeongin answers, “and yeah, we’ve been together for a little while now,”

“A little while…” Changbin whispers to himself, and you almost feel bad for the mental gymnastics he must be putting himself through to explain the timeline of your so-called relationship. “And you’re happy? I mean you look happy, so you must be right?” he asks.

“Yes, we’re happy” you say, before even thinking about it. And it’s true–you are happy. Happier than you’ve been in months, here at this party with Ayen. His hands are warm on your skin and his smile is alive, and you’ve never been happier than here in this moment, sharing your body heat in a random kitchen.

“Very Happy,” Jeongin agrees, looking down at you with a big smile, and your heart bursts at his agreement. “Well, hyung if you excuse us, my girl wanted to dance.” Did you? You ask yourself, but you see his urging look and decide to go with it. You do want to dance–you would do anything to stay this close to him, even if that means going back to the cramped sea of people in the living room.

It’s hot, and you can feel him everywhere—hands on your waist, brushing against your tummy, running through your hair. You’re breathless at his touch, breathing him in as your bodies move together in time to the song. You feel so alive, sticky with sweat; skin on fire where the two of you meet.

The music is deafening, miscellaneous pop songs mashed up together to get everyone dancing. It’s devious and devilish, a dionysian madness that has infected you down to your bones. You wonder if he’ll take you upstairs, ravish you bloody and leave you wanting more more more. The way he’s looking at you–looming and predatory like a God searching for a devotee–sears your skin, scorches a brand onto the small of your back where his belt buckle digs into you.

It’s all pretend, but it doesn’t have to be, not when he’s looking at you like that.

Your friends got here an hour ago, sharing shots with you and trying not to give each other “I told you so” looks when they saw Jeongin’s hand sit lower and lower on your hips than they would deem platonic. You can remember Felix laughing at you when the third shot went all over your top instead of down your throat, and the way Minjeong triple-dogged dared you to pound down some Apple Crown even though she knows it always makes you sick. You can remember how happy they all looked, Chaeryeong’s hips swaying as she danced with you and Lix, laughing deep into her belly.

You can remember all of this, but you can’t seem to remember getting here… Can’t seem to find the moment where Jeongin’s touches went from casual to burning.

The alcohol found its way into your system quickly, warming your tummy and your heart—intoxicating you with the notion that maybe all of this could be real in the morning, as Jeongin’s hands tighten on your waist. You feel his head dipping, lips sliding over your neck, his tongue lighting fires along your skin. He feels the rumble of your moan, feels the way you draw into him and sigh—your hands, delicate and lovely clutching at his jacket.

“Let me take you home,” he’s saying, begging, pleading. He wants to be alone with you, wants to play pretend somewhere private, somewhere where it doesn’t have to be a game.

You find yourself nodding, turning around in his hold so you can look at him, still so devastating through the hysteria. His eyes meet yours, so lovely in the dark room, and slowly his hands reach up to push the hair out of your face.

“So beautiful.” He says, matter of fact.

His hands linger, settling on your jaw, before slowly, achingly so, bringing your lips to his. He doesn’t kiss you at first, just brings you close enough so he’s breathing your air—almost like he’s giving you CPR, breathing life into a dying body—until finally he is kissing you, and taking all that life back.

The feel of him, the taste of him–is too much to bear. His hands are still clutching at you, holding onto your face and your neck, fingers leaving indents on the most vulnerable parts of you.

He’s everywhere, he’s everything, he’s come alive.

He tastes like the apple crown he took with you, sweet and sour–a taste you’ve only ever associated with sickness, yet when it’s dripping from Jeongin’s Tongue all it causes is euphoria.

“Let’s go home,” He’s saying again, pushing the words against your lips, and you find yourself nodding again–kissing his jaw as he pulls away.

“We,” you begin, a little breathless, “We have to go tell Felix, or he’ll break down my door to make sure I’m still alive.”

The way Jeongin looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the room, shakes you down to your core. He’s grinning, wide and mercilessly, but his eyes hold that same mischief they carried the day he agreed to do this with you.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He asks you, before taking your hand and pulling you through the sea once again.

You finally find your friend in the backyard, fairy lights glinting off his cheekbones. Felix is always handsome–impish and charming–but there’s something about his face now that sets the visage apart. Rather than the joyous expression you left him with, he looks angry… Angrier than you’ve ever seen him, (except for the time you misplaced your friendship necklace in fourth grade), he’s not yelling or bursting with volatility, but there’s something about his form that reminds you of a grenade. He’s so still, his body tense and eyes steely.

The haze of your previous euphoria clouds your mind enough to make you wonder what’s going on–the picture being so out of place, your intoxicated mind can’t seem to make sense of it. Jeongin’s hand squeezes your hand tighter, and suddenly the painting comes together–there he is, standing in front of Felix, saving all of the volatility for himself.

Hyunjin is beautiful, even now, standing tall and angry like an archangel. You knew you’d see him here, had planned on it even, but seeing him like this is so daunting. He’s beautiful and terrible, and as you watch him yell at your best friend–who is only ever good–you can’t seem to conjure up that love you always felt for him.

You can feel Jeongin holding you back, his gentle hands holding onto your intertwined fingers tighter than normal, and when you look up at him his face urges you stay with him,--to leave with him like you planned, but even he can’t stop the current from bringing you towards the Conflict.

With one last look at Jeongin, you find yourself walking away from him and towards the boy who broke your heart.

When you approach the boys you can finally hear their voices, angry and insistent. They’re being drowned out by hushed refrains of “c’mon guys!” that you think must be coming from Chris and Minho from their place behind the two boys. Hyunjin’s voice cuts through, “Can’t you just fuck off? God!” he’s groaning, and suddenly you’re rushing forward.

“What the hell is going on?” You cry, alerting the boys to your presence. The noise stops almost immediately as they look at you, shocked that you would be a witness to this outburst, as if it was something private you just stumbled into and not in the middle of a party. There are people scattered along the patio, some you know and some you don’t, but they’re all looking at you–waiting for something good to happen.

Yet, The only person you’re looking at is Hyunjin–he’s shaking with anger, but his eyes are so sad. It’s an unwelcome sight, no matter how angry you are with him, to see him so clearly devastated. He looks different up close, all the signs of anger from far away slip into sadness the closer you get to him.

When you turn to look at Felix, you can see that he’s crying–oh your emotional boys, they could never feel anything by half. “So?!” you ask again, “What the fuck is happening?”

“Just go,” Felix tells you, not unkindly.

“What? Now, she can’t talk to me?” Hyunjin throws at him, before looking at you and smiling–It’s so out of place on his angry face, a smile so heavenly it used to bring you to peace. Now, all you feel is disappointment.

“Nothings wrong, sweetheart,” he tells you, the old nickname making you flinch. “Me and Felix are just talking, you can go back with your boyfriend.” The smile is still on his face, yet the words are venomous.

The reference to Jeongin, snaps you out of reality. Of course, you knew what you were doing by coming here with him… Knew that this was the whole point, to get him back! But being here, seeing the hurt you knowingly caused, doesn’t make you feel good–just sad.

“Can you just fuck off already?” Felix asks, his words coated in a thunderous anger. “Leave her alone, it’s none of your fucking business what she’s doing,”

“More like who she’s doing,” Hyunjin says, still smiling at you like this all one big joke, but you know him–you know everything about his heart, the sound of its beat, the amount of time it pounds against his chest when he’s upset about something. It hurts you that he’s acting like this, pretending what you’re doing means nothing to him, even when it so obviously does.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” You hear from behind you, Jeongin’s hands catching yours into his hold and subtly rubbing at your knuckles. You thought he left, hoped he wouldn’t, but thought he did… How grateful you are that he’s still here, next to you and holding your hand like nothing is different than it was twenty minutes ago.

“Oh, I’m Pathetic?!” Hyunjin cries, staring at where your and Jeongin hands meet. “I’m Pathetic?” he asks again, “You’re the one whose fucking my girlfriend, and I’m pathetic?” He laughs out, an ugly mean thing that brings tears to your eyes.

All the boys start to yell at him now, telling him to fuck off, that that was too far… But you can’t seem to find your voice. Can’t seem to be able to conjure up any sentence that would accurately portray how you feel–how angry you are, how deeply cut you are that Hyunjin would be doing this.

How could he do this to you again? How could he suck out all the air in the room every time you see him.

The noise is rushing back up, people trying to get both Felix and Hyunjin to calm down, and all the while Jeongin is shaking his head and rubbing the stress out of your palms.

You feel nothing but sadness…

“I’m not your girlfriend.” You whisper, just loud enough for the group to hear you.

“What?” Hyunjin asks.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Hyunjin… I’m not anyone’s girlfriend.” You tell him, you can hear him say your name–see him begin to protest, but before he can start, you say again “I’m not your girlfriend, and you have no right to yell at anyone, not when you’re the one who fucked everything up.”

You see him take a deep breath, try to steady himself before he says,

“C’mon, Sweetheart, don’t do this right now…”

“Me don’t do this?!” You cry, “Are you even listening to yourself?!” Your tears are falling freely now, catching onto your lips. The salty taste is ruining the sweetness of Jeongin, obstructing all the life he gave. “I can’t believe you, seriously–you should go,”

Hyunjin says your name again, pleading for you to listen to him, but you don’t want to… you can’t, all that is doing is causing you deep aches inside your soul where all your forgotten love resides.

“Leave her alone, Hyunjin.” Jeongin speaks up, his hold on you becoming more protective as the moment goes on–standing taller and taller as if to hide you from your ex’s view. “Just go home, nothing’s gonna be fixed while you’re like this.”

Hyunjin looks like he wants to argue again, but one look at his friends makes him stand down, before he walks away–Minho leading him back into the house with an apologetic look at you and a nod to Jeongin. When Chris passes you, he smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, and that's what does it–that's what brings you to full on sobs, the thought of Chris being even a little disappointed in you.

“Come on, let's just go home…” Felix tells you, tear tracks still shining on his pretty face.

“I don’t want to be with you right now,” You tell him. You can hear him try to complain, try to tell you that he was defending you, but you don’t want to hear it. Everytime you look at him, all you see is Hyunjin standing there and looking at you like you were nothing. You just can’t seem to get past the frustration that Felix couldn’t just walk away, even if Hyunjin was being an asshole.

“Listen, I love you, okay? I don’t know what happened, and honestly I don’t care, I’ll talk to you in the morning, I promise… but I can’t do it anymore.” You whisper, looking anywhere but at your best friend. Lovely Felix, who only ever wants you to be happy. He’s so sad, soul crushed and bleeding, but he understands. Understands in that way he always does, so without anything more than a nod he walks away, pressing his hand to your shoulder as he passes.

The world is quiet for a moment, dark and honest like you like it, here alone with Jeongin again. All the prior heat is gone, all of intensity leaving the air as soon as everyones gone, and all that remains is Jeongin’s hand in yours and his dark eyes looking down at you.

“Let’s go get something to eat, huh?” He whispers, and before you can resist, he’s pulling you through the night.

The diner is achingly familiar in the midnight hour, walking through the doors holding a different boy's hand than all those times before. The warm air is a comfort after trekking through the cold, abandoning the car for a night time walk through the city.

Jeongin’s hand never left yours, holding you like a wounded bird. You can’t seem to wonder what he must think of you, sullen and sad–what if he doesn’t want you anymore? Now that your heart is shining on your face.

He leads you into the restaurant, smiling at his coworkers behind the counter and ordering two cherry cokes. When you go to sit down, he sits on the same side of the booth as you, corralling you into his arms once again. You’re all cried out, can’t seem find it in yourself to let anymore of the pesky tears escape, but when he brings you into him–so close you can hear his heart beating, just as wild as the first time you listened to its song–you can’t help but feel like you need to cry again.

You’re quiet for a long time, listening to each other's breath and sipping on your sugary drink. Your head isn’t cloudy anymore, your heart is no longer so sad… It’s nice, sitting here with him; having a front row seat to his life passing before you. He’s a little awkward, fidgeting with his soda straw and tapping his foot. He’s waiting for you to say something, giving you space and time to break the silence yourself.

“You don’t have to be so quiet, y’know” You tell him, your voice scratchy from crying.

“I know, I just didn’t want to scare you,” Jeongin responds, his arm moving its way up your sleeve and into your hair. “It was so loud before, I wanted to give you some quiet.”

You can’t help but swoon, can’t help but love the boy in front of you–how sweet he is, how thoughtful. For weeks now, you’ve sat here with him like this–sharing space and time, loving him as a friend before anything else–perfect and pretend.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Innie… I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’ll always worry about you.” He says, with such honesty that it takes your breath away.

Jeongin thinks you’re radiant. Has thought so, since the very first time he saw you–snuggled into his friend and laughing at some stupid joke. He’s cared for you longer than you know, longer than he should have… but seeing you here now, holding onto him like he’s the only thing you have… It breaks his heart in two. He wants you to be okay, wants to wrap you up and keep you safe until the storm passes.

Jeongin doesn’t know when this became real, if it was real on the dancefloor, when he was kissing you and his world stopped. Was it real when you were being yelled at? Or has it been real since that moment in your room? The moment when he saw your heart open up for the first time. He doesn’t know, and honestly he can’t find it in himself to care–Who gives a fuck when it started? It’s real now.

He is worried about you, that much is true… How could he not, with your makeup ruined and your lip still trembling. You’re still so beautiful, but there's something so very innocent in the way you’re looking at him, like all you want is for him to keep you safe.

“I’ve been worried about you for a long time now, honey” He tells you, the pet name sweet on his tongue and warm in your ears. “It’s why I hadn’t talked to Hyunjn even before you guys broke up–” He stops to take a deep breath, to look out into the night before he starts again, “You’ve always been so alive, and in the end… every time I saw you with him… you just looked so sad.”

You try to remember, try to think about the last time you saw him at a get together before you and Hyunjin broke up, but you can’t. Those memories hidden behind months of trying to act like nothing was wrong, like Hyunjin still loved you–like you were happier than ever.

“I don’t remember seeing you,” You say, “I’m sorry.”

“I was always seeing you, even before I was supposed to.”

Oh your darling boy, sweet like candy and so so honest. It strikes you that everything you’ve done all night has gone past pretend, that this boy in front of you might as well truly be your boyfriend. When you think this, all the dread lifts away–seeping out of your bones and washing away as his eyes smile down at you.

He knows, you think, he knows exactly what you’re thinking–it’s never been pretend, hasn’t been since the minute he stood in your doorway and held you while you slept.

“You’re everything.” he whispers, and his smile is a thousand suns.

“HE SAID WHAT?!” Minjeong yells.

The morning after the party has been a whole thing. Waking up in your bed with Jeongin smiling down at you, cuddled together in your party clothes, peaceful until Minjeong and Chaeryeong burst in to interrogate you about what happened.

You’re not sure how they got in, even less sure if you want to ask, but they're here now: cuddled up next to you and shoving Ayen out of bed with instructions to make you all coffee.

“Minnie, I already told you–Hyune was a dick face and made me and Felix cry.” You tell her.

“That fucking guy, I can’t believe you guys cried… I would’ve just slapped him.” She says, much to the chagrin of you and Chaeryeong.

“You would not have slapped him, Min.” Chaery says, rolling her eyes as Minjeong insists she would have.

You find yourself giggling to yourself, laughing at how horrible everything was, and how funny it is now. Last night was horrific, but sitting here with your girls you really see how ridiculous the whole thing was–Hyunjin called you his girlfriend! How silly is that?

“What are you laughing about, sweet pea?” Felix asks–he’s standing in your doorway, smiling but sullen. Anxiously waiting for an invitation into the room, holding some of the coffee’s Jeongin must’ve made. It hurts you to think about him sitting up all night and waiting for you to forgive him, as if you could ever stay mad at him.

“Oh nothing, just how ridiculous we all are,” you laugh. “Why are you still standing over there, come on!” Felix’s smile is incandescent, brighter than you remember it being, and he quickly bounds over to you and the girls. Giggling about how much he missed you even though its only truthfully been a couple hours.

When Jeongin finally comes back, coffee in his hand and carrying around that 1000 watt smile, you can’t help but feel like everything is right in the world; here in your bed, with all the people you love most in the world… nothing pretend about it.

The morning is alive and sweet with friendship–Felix and the girls teasing you about Jeongin, and laughing as your face heats up.You can feel him smiling at you, you can feel the heat of his stare soaking into your skin like the sunrise. It’s a tether to reality, the proof that you didn’t make anything up… You’re everything, he said, and what a lovely thing that is–to be so intrinsic to him and his life that that's the only way he can describe you.

He’s your everything too.

You find yourself smiling at the thought, closing your eyes in bliss, you can almost hear your heart beating–louder and louder as reality sets in. It’s all real: him, you, this. You can almost see the future, prophetic daydreams passing over your eyelids of what is to come–more of this, of course, but also more–more, more, more. You can see him, laughing in the sun, kissing you under the stars, singing your favorite songs. It will be perfect, lovely and real, and everything.

When your eyes open, you see Chaeryeong smiling at you–looking at you like she can see every thought buried inside your heart. She loves you, you know that, but seeing her know you can feel it too. How you love her too, even with her silly jokes and mischievous plans. Her eyes flit to where Jeongin’s hand holds yours raising her eyebrows in that familiar way, and she tells you,

“Just pretend my ass,”

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mylovesstuffs · 6 months ago

Text

After Hours - Jeon Wonwoo

Synopsis: What begins as a quiet evening of work escalates once again into a heated encounter that blurs the lines with your coworker. Too used to this but will it ever be something more than a casual play?

Genre: Romance, erotica, office au, dominant/submissive, power dynamics, coworkers with benefits. little bit of angst if you squint and mutual pining

Pairing: Wonwoo × fem!reader

Word count: 3522 words

Warnings: Contains smut MDNI!, no protection mentioned (please be safe y'all), explicit sexual content, BDSM themes (power play, dominance/submissiveness), explicit language, non-consensual themes (light) not proofread

The office was empty, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft glow of desk lamps scattered around the open floor. You sat at your desk, hunched over your MacBook, fingers flying across the keyboard as you tried to meet a looming deadline.

"Still here?" The low voice startled you. You looked up to find Wonwoo standing near the doorway, his tie slightly loosened, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looked impossibly good, his dark brown eyes met yours, and you felt that familiar twist in your stomach.

"Deadline," you muttered, gesturing vaguely at your screen, "What about you? Thought you'd left hours ago."

He shrugged, stepping closer until he leaned against the edge of your desk. "Couldn't leave knowing you were still here. Thought you might need company."

The way he looked at your face, you couldn’t help but think about it again—the thing you tried not to dwell on too much. Why him? Or rather, why you? Wonwoo was the kind of guy who could walk into a room and have people eating out of the palm of his hand without even trying. Women drooled; men envied. He could have anyone exclusively, probably someone more polished, more glamorous. Someone who didn’t forget their lunch at home three days a week or spend weekends rewatching the same Netflix shows.

So why this? Why you? Why do your occasional late-night encounters blurred the lines between colleagues and something...more? It didn’t make sense to you.

And yet, here you were.

At first, you’d kept it casual—just two adults scratching an itch. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t expect anything beyond the arrangement you had going on. But you weren’t stupid. You knew you’d fallen for him somewhere along the way. Maybe it was the way he kissed you, like he wasn’t just after the moment but after you. Or the way he remembered the smallest details—how you liked your coffee, the way you bit your lip when you were stressed. It wasn’t just sex, though that certainly didn’t hurt.

It was how he made you feel, like every inch of you was worth his time and attention. How he touched you like your body was something to be cherished, not just used. He was warm, attentive, and so damn caring in a way that was completely unexpected for someone who usually kept people at arm’s length.

And then there were the moments that caught you off guard—the way he’d adjust your blanket when you dozed off on the couch, or the time he brought you soup when you were too sick to function. Those were the moments that stayed with you, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself this was just a casual thing.

But of course, you still had your doubts. You’d think, Why the hell does someone like him want anything to do with someone like me? Then he’d show up at your door with, kiss you like you were the only person in the world, and you’d think, Maybe I’m overthinking this.

You snorted softly to his response. "And what if I don't?"

His lips curved into a small smile. "Then I'll stay anyway."

There it was again—that warmth, that care. Whatever these coworkers with benefits thing was, whatever it meant, you weren’t sure you’d ever figure it out. But for now, you’d let yourself get lost in him just a little longer. The room felt smaller with him this close, his subtle cologne blending with the faint scent of coffee lingering from earlier. His gaze flicked to the papers scattered across your desk.

"You work too hard," he murmured, his voice dipping.

"I could say the same about you," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours as he picked up a pen.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Wonwoo tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning your face as though searching for something. "You should take a break," he said, he is quieter now.

"And do what?"

His answer came not in words but in action. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, soft and unhurried. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you to your feet. The edge of the desk pressed against your thighs as he nudged you closer, his other hand tangling in your hair.

"Wonwoo," you breathed against his lips, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, his voice rough with need.

His lips trailed down your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilted your head, giving him access, a soft moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

"Here?" you asked, a mix of nerves and excitement in your voice.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk laced with mischief. "Here."

His hands found the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath to caress the bare skin of your waist and then your breasts over your bra. The fabric pooled at your feet, followed quickly by your skirt. His lips never left yours, his touch exploring, claiming.

Wonwoo lifted you onto the desk effortlessly, his own shirt discarded in the process. The cool surface contrasted sharply with the heat of his body as he settled between your thighs, his kisses growing more urgent.

When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, you couldn't stop the gasp that escaped you. His touch was firm yet teasing, drawing sounds from you that you didn't think you were capable of making.

"Wonwoo, please," you whimpered, your hands gripping his forearms as he worked you over with a precision that left you trembling.

You inhaled sharply as his fingers tugged at the lace, pausing to look into his eyes. He held your gaze, his eyes filled with an intent. As the lace slid down your thighs, he whispered, "Lift your legs." You wrapped your legs around his waist and lifted as he asked, his voice low and commanding. "Arms up." You complied, arching your back slightly as he slowly removed the flimsy barrier between you. He tossed it aside, his eyes locked onto yours as he spread your legs wider.

Now that you're fully naked, he pulled you more closer, his eyes blazing that made you feel utterly exposed yet adored. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and dripping with reverence. His hands traced the curve of your nude waist and breasts, his gaze following every inch of your body as though committing it to memory. "So perfect... you don't even realize, do you?"

The room was filled with the sound of your shallow breaths as he hovered above you this time laying you down on the desk, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His lips trailed over your breasts to collarbone, hot and deliberate, as he whispered into your ear, "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"

You nodded, your words failing as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. "That's right," he said, smirking against your skin. "I don't want a sound unless I ask for it. Understand?"

His hands slid lower to your vagina, teasing the edge of your patience, deliberately brushing but not giving you what you craved. Your whimper earned a dark chuckle. "Already desperate, are we?" His fingers grazed the most delicate part of the entrance, his touch featherlight feeling you're already being wet for him. "I don't think you've earned it yet"

His fingers trailed through your folds, gathering your wetness before circling your entrance again. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a whimper as he teased you. Suddenly, he thrust two fingers inside you, his palm pressing against your clit. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained with desire. You complied again.

His fingers moved skillfully, hitting just your clit back and forth. Your breath hitched, eyes hazy with pleasure. "Wonwoo..." you gasped trying to not make a sound, fingers digging into his shoulders for support.

He pressed closer, his lips tracing your neck while maintaining that steady rhythm. "What do you need?" as he cups one of your breasts. You could feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, his breathing becoming more ragged "Tell me what you want," he groaned softly against your neck, teeth grazing your skin "Do you want me to..." his fingers curved deeper, hitting just the G-spot "Should I keep going?"

"Yes, please," you managed to respond.

"You want me to actually fuck you now?" He asked, voice low and husky, his breath hot against your ear. His fingers continued their relentless pace, driving you closer to the edge. He nipped at your earlobe, pinched your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass. You nodded.

But he didn't give you what you wanted yet. He edged you mercilessly, his movements calculated to pull you to the brink, only to deny you the release you desperately sought.

"That's it, take it," he murmured, his tone shifting. "Pathetic how you fall apart so easily under my hands. You love this, don't you?" Your body trembled beneath him as he leaned closer, "Say it," he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Tell me who you belong to."

"Y-you," you stammered, barely able to form coherent thoughts.

The office faded away-the desk, the papers, the deadlines. There was only Wonwoo, his breath hot against your skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"That's right," he said, his touch finally intensifying, sending shockwaves through your body. "And you'll come when I let you, not a second before." Just as he said that, his name left your lips in a broken moan as he finally pushed you over the edge, your release shattering you as he held you firmly in place.

He glared down at you, his fingers still buried inside, trembling your pussy. "You fucking disobedient little cunt," he spat, his voice cold with anger. "I told you not to come until I said so, and you just couldn't fucking wait, could you?" Wonwoo's hand tightened on your thigh, keeping you pinned on the desk as he leaned in closer. "You think you can just take what you want without earning it?" he growled, his fingers curling inside you, making your legs tremble anew.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, leaving you feeling empty as a punishment. His hand moved to grip your chin, tilting your face up so your eyes met his. "If you want to be treated like a good girl, you better start acting like one," he hissed, his gaze cold but laced with the faintest hint of hunger.

With a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he leaned back, undoing his belt with maddening slowness. "I should leave you like this," he mused, dragging the leather through the loops. "Desperate, dripping, and begging for me. But I'm not that cruel."

He kicked a nearby chair back and sat down, gesturing with two fingers for you to kneel in front of him. "Now, get down here and make it up to me," he commanded, his voice calm but brooking no argument. "If you're good enough, maybe I'll consider giving you what you so clearly can't stop thinking about."

You swallowed hard, your body trembling as you slid off to the floor and sank to your knees in front of him. His eyes followed your every movement, dominating you.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and smooth as he leaned back, spreading his legs wider. "Show me just how sorry you are."

Your hands moved to his pant, and with a shaky exhale, you pulled them down along with his boxers, revealing his hard cock. No matter how many more times you've seen his hard cock before, the sight made your cheeks flush, but you were too far gone to feel embarrassment.

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you glanced up through your lashes for approval. He nodded, his hand resting lazily on the arm of the chair. "Don't tease," he warned.

You leaned forward, your lips parting as you took his dick into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip. A low groan escaped him, his hips shifting slightly as he buried a hand in your hair, guiding your movements.

"Good girl," he muttered, his grip tightening just enough to remind you who was still in control. "Now, don't stop until I say so."

You obeyed, your pace steady and deliberate, taking him deeper with each motion. His groans grew louder, his control slipping as you worked him over with desperation. Suddenly, he tugged on your hair, pulling you off of him. You gasped, your lips swollen and glistening as you looked up at him, confused and needy.

"Not so fast," he said with lust. "You don't get to decide when this ends. Get back on the desk."

You scrambled to obey, your body trembling as you climbed back onto the desk and laid back, spreading your legs for him. His smirk returned as he stood, positioning himself between your thighs.

"Now, you'll learn to follow my rules," he growled, gripping your hips as he thrust into you without warning, his movements rough and demanding.

The desk creaked beneath you, your cries filling the room as he took you with relentless precision. He leaned over you, groping your breasts hard, "Shut the fuck up," he growled, his hand tangling in your hair as he drove you closer to the edge.

Your fingernails dragged down his back as you arched into him, whimpering, "You feel so... good," you managed to gasp out, legs wrapping tighter around him, urging him deeper.

"You're just a fucking tight little cunt, aren't you?" He spat, his voice dripping with contempt as he pulled out and slammed back in, making her scream. "You love being stuffed full of my dick, don't you? You love being used like a cheap fucktoy."

When he finally let you come, his name tore from your lips like a prayer, your body trembling beneath him. He followed moments later, his grip on you tightening as he buried himself deep inside, groaning your name. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice breaking as he reached his own release, his forehead pressed against yours.

And for the first time that night, you forgot about work.

You'd always known Wonwoo was reserved, composed. But just like tonight, every other night— he'd always show you a side of him others would've never seen before, a side that made you wonder what other surprises he was hiding.

Afterward, he pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing softly against your temple. "That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice gentle now. "But don't think I'll let you off so easily next time."

He held you close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as your breathing slowed, the tension between you was replaced by a comfortable warmth.

As the haze of passion began to fade, a soft silence settled between you. Wonwoo cradled you against his chest, one hand brushing through your hair in a soothing rhythm. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against your ear lulled you into a nice sense of peace.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle rumble that reverberated through you.

You nodded, nuzzling into him. "Yeah. Just... tired.

His lips pressed against the crown of your head in an affectionate kiss. "I figured. I didn't even go that hard on you"

You just rolled your eyes, too happy to shot bak. He shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms despite your half-hearted protests. "Wonwoo, I can walk!"

"Shh,his tone leaving no room for argument. "You've done enough for today. Let me take care of you."

He carried you to the small couch in the corner of the office, sitting you down carefully before draping his discarded shirt over your shoulders. His fingers worked deftly to smooth your hair, his touch tender in a way that made your chest ache. "You rest for a bit," he said, crouching in front of you. His dark eyes softened as they met yours. "I'll clean up."

Before you could protest again, he stood and began gathering your scattered clothes, folding them neatly on the desk. He retrieved a bottle of water from a nearby mini-fridge, twisting the cap off before handing it to you.

"Drink," he commanded gently.

You complied, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. Watching him move around the room with such quiet efficiency sent a wave of warmth through you. It was a side of him you always saw-nurturing, attentive, and deeply considerate.

Once everything was tidied up, Wonwoo returned to your side, his hands sliding beneath your knees and shoulders. You squeaked in surprise as he lifted you again.

"Wonwoo!"

"You need to clean up properly," he said simply, carrying you to the small restroom attached to the office.

He set you down carefully on the counter, his hands lingering at your waist as if to steady you. Grabbing a clean towel from the cabinet, he wet it under the tap and began gently wiping your face, neck and thighs. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his movements precise as he took care to ensure your comfort.

"Thank you," you whispered, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

He smiled faintly, something unspoken passing between you. "You don't have to thank me. Just...stop overworking yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at your heartstrings.

Once you were clean and dressed again, Wonwoo slipped his blazer around your shoulders. "Let's get you home," he said.

The drive was quiet, the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires gliding over the wet pavement filling the silence between you and Wonwoo. His blazer felt warm and comforting around your shoulders, carrying a faint scent of his cologne-woodsy, with a hint of spice. You found yourself fiddling with the edge of the sleeve absentmindedly, stealing occasional glances at him.

Wonwoo's hands rested firmly on the steering wheel, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp jawline and the faint crease of concentration on his brow. You wanted to say everything you guys have done so far, but the words seemed to catch in your throat.

"You okay?" he asked softly, breaking the silence without taking his eyes off the road.

You nodded, then realized he couldn't see you. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just the fact that you care even though we're not...exclusive."

He glanced at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a subtle smile. "I just did what anyone would do."

"No," you said firmly, shifting slightly in your seat to face him. "Not everyone would've. And definitely not the way you did" You stopped for a brief second and then continued, "Nobody would check up on me after meetings, dump all their deadlines on me, and leave me alone after having sex."

He didn't respond immediately but his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a fraction, as if your words had unsettled something within him. After a moment, he sighed quietly. "I couldn't just leave you there."

The weight in his voice surprised you. It made you wonder what he was thinking, what he wasn't saying. You wanted to press further, to ask why he cared so much, but the vulnerability in his tone held you back.

"Thank you, Wonwoo," you said again, more softly this time.

He glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than before, as if searching for something in your expression. "You don't need to thank me."

The rest of the drive passed in a companionable silence. When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he turned off the engine and stepped out before you could object. Rounding the car, he opened your door and offered you a hand.

"Can you make it upstairs on your own?" he asked. You hesitated, then nodded.

Wonwoo studied you for a moment, then let out a small sigh. "Alright. But call me if you need anything. I mean it."

You nodded again, clutching his blazer tightly around you. "I will."

As you turned to go, he called out softly, "Wait."

You paused, glancing back at him. He took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out as if to stop you, but he quickly pulled it back. "Don't forget the blazer," he said instead, his voice lighter, almost teasing.

You smiled faintly, slipping it off your shoulders and holding it out to him. "Thanks again, Wonwoo."

He accepted it with a small nod, his fingers brushing yours briefly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," you echoed, stepping inside the building. As the elevator doors closed, you found a text.

Let's stop playing around—just us?

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orellazalonia · 5 days ago

Text

A Soft Place to Fall

Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]

Summary: Overwhelmed by work and determined to stay in “big” mode, you begin to quietly unravel until Steve and Bucky gently step in, offering soft choices and steady comfort. With patient care, they guide you into little space, reminding you it’s safe to let go and be held.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Been a while since I’ve made one of these and based on what I’ve done in the past, a lot of y’all like hurt/comfort. So, happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

You’d told yourself this week would be different.

That you were going to stay focused, on task, in control. No slipping. No regressing. No needing. Just a “normal” adult week, full of work and meetings and emails you kept forgetting to reply to.

And at first, it went… okay. You’d made it to Monday’s team meeting with minimal anxiety, even if your legs bounced the entire time. Tuesday, you powered through a 9-hour workday and barely looked at the blanket with stars on it tucked at the end of your bed. Wednesday, you bit your tongue so hard during a phone call that you could still taste iron.

Now it was Thursday, and you were unraveling.

You sat curled on the couch, laptop hot against your legs, surrounded by cold coffee mugs and unopened sticky notes with scribbled reminders. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning, your inbox wouldn’t stop pinging, and every time you thought about asking Steve or Bucky for help, your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t, not when you were doing so well.

Not when they’d been so sweet about giving you space, checking in without smothering. Not when Bucky had kissed your temple last night and murmured, “You’ve been working hard, doll. We’re proud of you.”

You wanted to deserve that praise, that pride. You wanted to be strong.

But your hands kept trembling on the keyboard. You’d stopped answering texts hours ago. You’d told Bucky “I’m fine” three times that evening without looking him in the eye. You were still wearing the oversized hoodie Steve had left out for you, the soft faded one with the little tear in the sleeve that you always ended up chewing when you were close to slipping.

You hadn’t chewed it. Yet. But your jaw ached from clenching. Your legs wouldn’t stop curling in on themselves. And you hadn’t eaten dinner, just kept saying “I’ll get something later” every time they asked.

You were fine. That’s what you kept telling yourself. And it was only when Steve knelt quietly beside the couch and reached up to brush his thumb beneath your eye, where you hadn’t even noticed a tear had fallen, that you realized just how close to the edge you’d gotten.

He didn’t say anything at first. His other hand settled on your knee warm and grounding as he waited until your frantic typing slowed, until the screen went blurry through your watery eyes.

“I’m almost done,” You whispered, the lie tasting bitter. “Just a few more things. It’s nothing.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t call you out or make you feel worse. He just nodded, voice low and gentle. “Okay, honey. But you’ve been working really hard. Maybe take five?”

You swallowed hard, eyes dropping to your lap. Your hands were still hovering over the keyboard, fingers twitching like they didn’t know what to do if they weren’t typing. But your body… your body felt heavy. Like every word, every second of pretending to be okay was dragging you underwater.

From the kitchen, Bucky’s voice floated over, casual and calm. “Mac and cheese or grilled cheese, sweetheart?”

Your head turned toward the sound, slow and sluggish. You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

He was leaning on the counter, looking at you like you weren’t in trouble, like you weren’t breaking. His expression was just… soft-eyed. Steady. Safe.

“I’m making dinner,” He said, his smile small but real. “You get to pick or I can surprise you.”

You hesitated. The question was simple. You knew what you should say. “I don’t care” or “whatever’s easier.” But something in your chest cracked at the kindness. The way they weren’t asking you to do anything except choose.

You opened your mouth, but your throat closed up. You pressed your lips together instead.

Then, in the quietest voice, you whispered, “I don’t know…”

Steve was already moving. He gently closed the laptop and slid it off your lap, setting it on the coffee table with such careful precision that it didn’t feel like punishment. It felt like relief.

“There,” He said softly, brushing your hair back. “That’s all done for now.”

“But–” You tried, guilt bubbling up fast.

“Shh,” He murmured, tugging you forward into his chest. You didn’t fight it. Couldn’t. You just let yourself melt against him, your forehead pressing to his shoulder as your fingers curled into his shirt. “You’ve been so strong, baby. So big. You don’t have to hold it all in anymore.”

You sniffled, not crying exactly, but not far from it.

Bucky joined a second later, kneeling beside the couch with a quiet smile as he held out something, your favorite stuffie. The one that sat at the foot of the bed waiting for you to reach for it, even if you never did when you were trying to be big.

He didn’t say anything, just placed it beside you again. Right where he always did.

And this time, you reached for it. Slowly and hesitantly, like touching it might make the last thread snap. And maybe it did, but in the safest way. The warmest way.

Steve rubbed slow circles on your back. Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple.

“There she is,” Bucky whispered. “Our sweet girl.”

And this time, when your lip wobbled and your breath hitched, you didn’t fight it. You let it happen.

You didn’t speak for a while. But they didn’t rush you either. Bucky went and came back with a glass of water and set it gently on the coffee table. Then he disappeared again, but you heard the familiar sounds from down the hall. The dresser drawer sliding open. The closet creaking. The little noise of your favorite pajamas being pulled from the hanger.

Steve leaned down just a little. “Hey, sweetheart?”

You looked up with watery eyes, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mm?”

“You wanna get changed before dinner? We can get you all cozy.”

You didn’t say yes. But your body answered first. You shifted just a little closer to him, your fingers still gripping your stuffie like it was the only thing holding you together. Your head nodded slow, like it weighed too much to lift.

“I’ll help,” He murmured, kissing your forehead. “Let’s go slow, okay?”

He lifted you easily, strong arms cradling you against his chest. The hallway lights were dim, and you buried your face in the curve of his neck, hiding from the world while he carried you into the bedroom.

Bucky was already waiting there, laying out your pajamas on the bed: the soft ones with stars and moons, and the fuzzy socks that didn’t match but always made you feel warm.

Steve set you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, taking off your socks with gentle fingers. “Arms up for me, baby,” He said, and you obeyed without thinking. Just like that, your hoodie was swapped for your soft pajama top. Bucky helped with the pants next, both of them working in quiet harmony, never rushing, never teasing.

“There,” Steve said once you were dressed, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “That’s better, huh?”

You nodded. You still hadn’t spoken much, but you didn’t have to. Not here. Not with them.

Bucky lifted the blanket and helped you crawl into the cozy pile of pillows they’d fluffed on the couch, wrapping you up like a little burrito with your stuffie tucked under your chin. He sat beside you while Steve brought over the plate from earlier. Half mac and cheese and half grilled cheese.

He even cut the sandwich into little triangles.

“You don’t have to eat it all,” Steve said softly as he sat down beside you, handing you a fork. “But I’d really love if you had a few bites, ‘kay?”

Your hand was still trembling slightly, so Bucky gently wrapped his hand around yours, steadying it. “Let us help if it’s too big,” he said, tone light. “We got plenty of practice, remember?”

You let them help. Let Steve feed you a few bites, let Bucky brush crumbs from your mouth with the napkin. Every time you chewed, you could feel the tension in your body melting, like you were slowly remembering how to be soft again. How to be little.

By the time the plate was half-finished, you were blinking slow, the weight of the day slowly sliding off your back.

“Good girl,” Steve whispered as he took the empty plate and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

Bucky carefully carried you over to the couch, his voice low. “You did such a good job letting us take care of you, baby. We’re real proud of you.”

You didn’t answer out loud, just curled into Bucky’s side as your breathing evened out and your eyes fluttered shut.

The world was warm and quiet.

You were barely awake, your thoughts fuzzy and slow like honey in tea, your limbs heavy under the weight of comfort and safety. Somewhere far away, you could hear Steve washing up the dishes and humming something low and familiar, an old tune you didn’t recognize by name, but it made you feel calm.

Bucky stayed close on the couch, his arm draped behind you as he rubbed your shoulder with quiet, lazy circles. Every now and then he whispered something. A quiet “You okay, sweetheart?” or “Still with me?”, and each time, you nodded or hummed or made a small sleepy noise that told him you were still floating, still safe.

Eventually, Steve reappeared, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Bedtime, baby,” He said softly, crouching down in front of you. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

You whined a little in protest, not because you didn’t want to go, but because moving felt impossible. Heavy. Too big.

Steve chuckled, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Okay, I gotcha.”

Bucky shifted just enough to let Steve lift you, arms strong and sure around your sleepy body. You clung to your stuffie on the way to the bedroom, face nuzzled into Steve’s neck, breathing in the familiar, clean smell of his skin and laundry soap.

The bed was already turned down. Your nightlight, the one with the soft starlight glow, was flicked on, casting little constellations on the ceiling. Bucky smoothed the sheets as Steve laid you down gently and tugged the covers up over your shoulders.

“Need anything else, sweetheart?” Steve asked in a low voice.

You mumbled, barely audible: “Stay…”

Bucky sat down on one side to hold your hand while Steve sat on the other with a worn book in hand.

“You up for a story?” He asked. You nodded sleepily, blinking slow. “Okay. Just a short one tonight.”

His voice was soothing and calm, reading slow and steady as he read out the soft syllables of each word. Bucky brushed his thumb over your knuckles, occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

By the fifth page, you were gone. Not all the way, just enough to feel floaty. Safe. Curled into your blanket with your stuffie and their presence wrapping around you like another quilt.

Steve closed the book softly and leaned over to kiss your forehead. “Goodnight, baby. You did really well today.”

Bucky’s kiss came next, softer still. “Sleep tight, sweet girl. We’re right here.”

And they stayed. One hand resting on your blanket. One hand holding yours.

Present in the way that acted as a reminder: You didn’t have to be big. Not here, not tonight, not with them.

#stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #bucky x little!reader #steve rogers x little!reader #little!reader #daddy!stucky #daddy!bucky #daddy!steve #marvel agere #sfw agere #agere fic #hurt/comfort

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daisymbin · 7 months ago

Note

angst prompt #24 + dino

maybe where chan forgets yns bday because of his busy schedule >< (u can disregard this idea if u have other ideas in mind!) ((also up to u if u wanna make it a happy ending or not ><))

I swear dino w angst always hits different for some reason...that boy is just...lowkey kinda angst coded 😭 thank you for requesting!!!!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // chan's m.list

angst prompt #24: "I waited for you, but you never came."

you had been excited for weeks. chan had promised to spend your birthday together—just the two of you, no distractions. even three days ago, he had smiled at you over dinner, reaching across the table to hold your hands.

"it’s gonna be perfect," he’d said. "just wait."

and so you did.

you waited all morning, telling yourself he was probably running late or finishing up something important. by noon, you started to feel the edges of doubt creeping in, but you brushed it off. he was busy; he’d show up soon. you sent a text to check in—no response.

afternoon turned into evening, and the silence from him was deafening. by 6pm, you gave up on texting or calling altogether. your stomach churned every time you glanced at the untouched cake on the counter.

by 8pm, you couldn’t stand sitting on the couch any longer. you slipped into bed, hoping sleep would take away the sting of disappointment, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

he forgot.

the words echoed relentlessly, a cruel chant in the quiet of your bedroom.

you turned over for the hundredth time, staring at the clock on your nightstand. you weren’t sure if it was the lump in your throat or the ache in your chest that kept you awake, but both felt equally miserable.

then, just as you were considering giving up on sleep entirely, you heard the front door open.

your heart jumped, anger and sadness twisting together. you sat up as footsteps hurried toward the bedroom. the door creaked open, and there he was—chan, looking worn out, his hair tousled and face full of guilt.

"i’m so sorry," he blurted out, rushing inside, his face pale. "i messed up. i swear, i didn’t mean to—"

"you forgot," you said, cutting him off, your voice quiet but firm, the weight of the day pressing into your words with heavy disappointment.

"no," he started, stepping closer, desperation in his eyes. "it’s not like that. i’ve just been really busy with work and rehearsals, and everything piled up. i didn’t even realize how late it got." he rubbed his hand over his face. "i swear, i never meant to forget. i… i should’ve called you, i should’ve done something."

you blinked, trying to process his words. "so, you’ve been busy all day? that’s why you didn’t even reach out?"

"yeah," he said guiltily. "i had everything planned, but the schedule got crazy. and then when i finally had time to think about it, i just… lost track of everything. i didn’t mean to hurt you." he walked closer, his eyes full of regret. "i’ve been such an idiot."

you turned away, trying to hold back the tears. "chan.. i thought… i thought you just forgot about me."

"no, i didn’t forget," he said, voice cracking as he moved closer. "i’ve been so wrapped up in everything, and then i didn’t even realize how much time had passed. i’m such a bad boyfriend." his shoulder slumps.

"you didn’t even think to tell me you were busy, chan," you whispered, your voice trembling. "you could’ve at least said something, but instead i spent the whole day waiting for you, thinking you’d forgotten me."

he closed the space between you, his hands reaching for yours. "please don’t think that. i would never forget about you. you mean everything to me." his voice dropped to a whisper. "i just… got caught up. i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry."

you pulled your hands away, stepping back slightly. "i waited for you, chan, but you never came."

he winced, as if each word struck him like a blow. "i know, and i’m sorry. but, let me make it up to you. please, there’s still time. we can still have dinner. i’ll cook if we need to, or we can get something, i don’t care. but i want to spend the rest of your birthday with you. please."

you shook your head, the sadness still weighing heavily on you. "it’s late, chan. everything’s closed. the day’s almost over."

he took a deep breath, his eyes softening with determination. "then i’ll make dinner. we can still do something. please, i don’t want to lose the chance to make this right." he stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. "please. just give me a chance."

you looked at him, seeing the exhaustion and regret in his eyes, and something inside you softened. it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t what you’d imagined for your birthday, but it was still him, still chan, trying to make it right. you sighed, a small part of you already forgiving him.

"fine," you said quietly, though your voice was still tinged with disappointment. "but you’re lighting the candles on the cake."

chan’s face lit up with relief, and he pulled you toward the kitchen. as he fumbled with the candles, trying to light them, he mumbled under his breath, apologizing over and over.

finally, the candles were lit, and he turned to you, his face softening. "happy birthday," he said, his voice full of regret but also a little hope.

you nodded slowly, a faint smile playing on your lips as you looked at the cake. "thank you, chan."

he smiled sheepishly, stepping closer. "there’s one more thing," he said, reaching into his pocket. his hands were slightly shaky as he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to you. "i… i got this for you months ago, i was planning on giving it to you earlier, but with everything happening today, i couldn’t." he looked at you, almost nervously. "i hope you like it."

you stared at the box in your hands, confused but touched. "chan… you got me a present?"

he smiled weakly. "yeah. i’ve been keeping it safe, i wanted it to be special."

you slowly unwrapped it, your heart fluttering with anticipation. inside was a delicate necklace, a simple silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

"i thought it would be perfect," chan said softly, his voice almost apologetic. "you've always loved the moon, and how it has many faces but its unchaging, always there."

tears pricked your eyes as you looked up at him. despite everything, this was the gift he had been thinking of for months. "chan… this is beautiful."

"i know i messed up today," he whispered, "but i promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll never forget you again. you mean the world to me."

you smiled softly, wiping away the stray tear that had escaped. "thank you, chan. i love it. and i love you."

"happy birthday," he whispered, pulling you into a hug.

as he held you close, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. maybe this birthday wasn’t perfect, but with chan, you knew you’d get another chance, there's always next year—and that was all that mattered.

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astolfofo · 1 year ago

Note

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

#yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #yandere hsr #yandere x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader #sorry if i butchered your ask its like. late rn. 💀

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babextoken · 7 months ago

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There's not enough ii/iii/f!reader for me. I need more. 🥹 Can I get a ii/iii/f!reader fic where she asks to watch them together as a birthday present but they invite her to join when she does? Love the idea that ii/iii have a switch dynamic and reader gets to watch one dominate the other but then gets the other side for herself.

You’ll be getting a bill from a neurologist because this broke my brain🫶 @adenobabe @inv3ga imagine me mushing your boys together like Ken dolls.

Ahem…*mic feedback*

Switch!Brat!iii x Switch!ii x Soft!FemDom!Reader

Your birthday was this weekend and you were feeling restless. You made some lowkey plans but when your besties, ii and iii, (The Boyfriends™️ as you called them) asked what you wanted for your birthday, something snapped in your mind.

You: Ok. I know what I want 👉🏻👈🏻 remember that little offer you two had made?

In your mind you still heard III’s slurred words one night as you both eyed II across the pub: “If you think he looks good now, imagine him on top of me. Bet you’d like that…watching your two friends fuck, hm? Little freak.” At the time you laughed it off. III was such a kidder and knew not what he did when he was drunk, so what does it hurt to play along?

“Oh, can’t even imagine what you two get up to,” you purr, but the sarcasm saturates your words.

“What shit are you two talking now?” II appeared behind you silently, thus sandwiching you between him and III. The bassist loomed over both of you yet II’s piercing blue eyes was what kept both of you in place. Lifting your chin, II appraised your cheeks. “III, babes, what were you saying to her?”

“That she should watch sometime,” III responded, sounding stone-cold sober. Maybe he was lucid when he whispered those filthy things. II nodded and shrugged as if to say, ‘she should. Why shouldn’t she?’ The only thing you could do was burst into a nervous laugh which caused the boys to laugh, too; the proposition long forgotten. Or unspoken at least. But you didn’t forget. That was three months ago, allowing you 90 some odd days of the fantasy evolving in your head from something simple such as watching II go down on III to being made to touch yourself while one fucked the other. You could never decide who you liked getting fucked more in your fantasy. There was something obvious about III taking II but that didn’t make it less exciting. The thought of II fucking III made you giggle at first, thinking of iii’s legs all lanky around ii’s little waist, but soon it intrigued you…imagining II claiming III. You felt ashamed for thinking about it even though it wasn’t your original idea…the two of them literally offered themselves to you…you were allowed to enjoy the thought. And more than that…you were allowed to ask for it.

ii: are you sure that’s what you want?

iii: that doesn’t mean “no,” btw, dove.

iii: just means we want to know if we should book a room or not 😈

ii: stop double texting and give her second

iii:🖕

You: I’m sure. Saturday night.

ii: one more thing. If you’re up to it, we want you to join. No pressure, honestly. Even if you change your mind day of, yeah?

All week your mind was on its own little hellish rollercoaster. One minute was “yes! I WILL fuck my best friends!” The next was “no. I will watch respectfully.” And sometimes, but not too often, it was “I should call it off. I should be in horny jail.” But when Saturday night came and you instinctively pulled out your little red dress, you knew your mind was made up. And the boys knew it, too.

When you met up with them in the hotel bar, the energy crackled. There was a giddiness about the three of you, and you found yourself being more openly affectionate with them. It started out innocent enough. Pushing iii’s hair behind his ear mindlessly, resting your hand on ii’s arm when you asked him something—all innocent fun. Until of course they asked if you could tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

“Obviously I can. Watch and learn,” you teased. II leaned forward on the table letting his chin rest in his hand, watching intently, while iii crossed his arms.

“What are you even doing?” III laughed, asking what everyone was thinking. This was so much harder than you remembered. “Such a liar.”

“I dunno…it’s kind of hot. Persistent little thing,” II said not taking his eyes off you. You spit out the cherry stem, not even bent much less tied. A rosy blush covers your face as you giggle at yourself. “Look at her,” ii teases as he scoots near you, “she’s a mess. Aren’t you?” You lean into him as you laugh a little too loud. Suddenly iii looks serious.

“Doll. Before you get too faded…”

You instantly straighten up but shudder because II runs his fingertips across your shoulder blades. “What’s up?”

“Are you joining us tonight…or just spectating?”

This sobered you up instantly. You nearly forgot about the end goal here, watching them together or actually joining them. You took a deep breath and looked at them both for a second as you considered your options for the last time. Finally, you nodded slowly.

“Alright,” a wide smile broke across iii’s face, “shall we?”

Moments later, you were being pushed into the empty elevator with them. II made sure no one else was approaching as iii pressed you into the wall opposite the doors. His wide palm thumped beside your head on the wall, trapping you. You didn’t want to be completely passive tonight. You could just stand there and let him toy as he pleases, but it’s your birthday, and he’s a part of your gift. You lean up and gently tease his lips with your tongue. As he lets out an amused huff, he pulls your face forward in a rough kiss. II hums contentedly as he leans against the wall, just watching. III nibbles and pulls your bottom lip just a bit as he breaks the kiss. “That’s a good girl,” he laughs softly. Suddenly he flings you into ii, who captures your lips with a patient intensity. III’s kiss excited you, but ii’s seduced you. When the lift got to your floor, ii’s pulled away, wiping his mouth and looking you up and down.

“You’re trouble.”

You look back at III as he gently guides you to the room. “Is that a good thing for you two…trouble?”

III rolls his eyes and laughs dryly. “I’m always trouble with him, love,” he says as you enter the room. Seeing the soft lighting and comfy king sized bed helps you get in the mood but it also serves as a reality check. You are here! With your besties! And it becomes even more real when…oh shit.

“You’ve got such a mouth on you,” ii growls as he pulls iii to the bed. “Definition of trouble.” II climbs on top of iii to kiss and suck at his neck. III moans softly as ii marks him, but he reaches out his hand to you. He wants to lay beside him. That’s when you realize you’re staring. Gawping. You slip out of your shoes and slot beside iii with his arm wrapped around you. His hazy eyes wander to yours.

“Come here, good girl.” He whispers. III pulls you to him and your lips meet again. You don’t know what to do with your hands but you remind yourself that this is your gift. Make the most of it. Your hand drifts from iii’s chest to ii’s hair. The urge to stir the pot is too strong. You pull at ii’s hair and wrench him from the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. III breaths out a little “fuck” as you and II make out right above his face. II licks your bottom lip playfully and nudges your noses together.

“Let me take care of him and then I’m all yours, love.”

Loud and clear. III let’s go of you to sit up and take off his shirt; ii follows suit, still in iii’s lap. Their kisses are rough, needy, as if they don’t do this whenever they want. II grinds into iii’s lap and moans. “Fuck yeah…fuck…bite me,” ii murmurs as iii licks a long stripe up his neck. This is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and they’re not even naked yet. “Lay back and take your pants off, handsome,” ii whispers. You bite your lip as iii lays back to shuffle out his pants and boxers, his cock springing free. You’re desperate to touch it, to have it in your mouth, but ii beats you to it. He drags his fingertips up the underside of iii’s cock teasingly, relishing in the way he squirms beneath him. “What’s wrong? Squirming away from me?”

“Fuck just stroke it…”

“That’s an idea.”

“You want to…come on just…” iii swipes a hand down his face and grabs for ii’s hand, but it’s slapped aside.

“Hands behind your back. Now.”

III huffs and groans. “Yeah…yeah alright. Fine.” He lifts his core and folds his forearms under his back.

“Looks you have a good boy, ii,” you murmur, finally finding your confidence. II’s smirk makes you want to kiss it right off of him. Finally he starts jerking iii’s cock while staring through you. You’re under his spell, basically eye-fucking him. III is whimpering and moaning pathetically; the only attention he’s getting is ii jerking him off and he keeps looking at you…begging for anything with his blue puppy eyes.

“Babe…babe…take that pretty dres-“

“Don’t tell her what to do,” ii snaps, “it’s her birthday…have some respect.”

III chuckles breathlessly through his moans as ii slows his strokes. “Sorry. Sorry, pretty.” But there’s no love lost, you’re entertained by their dynamic. You roll closer and pepper little kisses on cheek.

“Didn’t take you for a sub, iii,” you whisper. He shrugs as ii takes a little break to fetch something from his overnight bag.

III moves his face to kiss you softly, his cock twitching when you run your hands down his stomach. “I can be…but so can he,” he whispers back, referencing ii. “Switchy, like me.”

Your jaw drops, and a shocked laugh fills the room. “II? Really, hun? You like being thrown around a little…told what to do?”

“He so does. Honestly, one time…with IVy of all peop-“ but iii doesn’t get to finish. II puts his hand over iii’s mouth, muffling his mischievous snicker.

“Runs his mouth too much. Love, show me how you’d shut him up,” ii says with a cocked eyebrow.

You take your cue to slip off the bed and undress. They both watch you in reverence. If iii didn’t have his brat mouth covered, it would have been agape. “II,” you purr, “take your hand off my seat.” II moves his hand, and iii exclaims ‘oh fuck yes,’ as you straddle his face. Since his arms are still tucked behind him, you press your desperate pussy to his mouth. Your palms press into his tummy as he laps at your clit. You can’t help the slutty noises he’s pulling from you. II has slipped out of his clothes and positions himself between iii’s legs. He’s brought a small bottle of lube with him. “Are…are you gonna fuck him,” you ask…or at least try. It’s hard when you’ve got a tongue prying at your slit and two hard throbbing cocks before you.

II squirts the liquid in his palm and pumps iii with a renewed lust. “Hah…no, no. This cock is yours first.” Poor iii doesn’t last long with your pussy gushing against his lips and ii’s deft touches. Your eyes roll back as iii moans into your pussy. “Alright, love, hop off.” You roll off and watch as the two of team meet in a hot, passionate kiss. III undoubtedly stiff arms wrap around ii and hold him like he’s the most precious thing.

“Taste her on me, babe?” iii whispers against ii’s mouth. II nods with a dumb little smile and playfully licks at iii’s mustache. “Alright…hopping in the shower.”

“Aw…but…” you pout.

“I’ll be back, doll. Don’t worry.” III chuckles as he saunters into the bathroom, leaving you and ii on the bed. As if it has to be a secret, you both sit silently until you hear the shower run. II is immediately on you, groping your tummy and breasts as he kisses at your neck. Your eyes roll back as breathy pants leave your lips. Your chest heaves as his mouth greedily works down to your breasts.

“Be a good boy for me…hm?” Your finger gently tilts his chin up. “C’mere…” He’s a goner as your lips rub up against his. They’re so puffy from kissing iii. “You’ve been good haven’t you…waiting your turn…haven’t even touched yourself.”

“Heh, stop,” he saying looking away with the sweetest blush. “Where’d this Mommy act come from, hm?” He peppers your cheek with kisses as he whispers.

“It’s not an act,” you whisper as you adjust his cock to slide in. III got you beyond wet enough for ii, so only a gentle nudge was needed for him to go in fully. II’s head falls forward with a low groan. “Let me see you…” your hand now rests firmly under his jaw, wrapped around his neck. He grins like any subby good boy would when your fingers flex. “There he is…eyes on me…” His eyes are dreamy and hazy as they flutter shut or roll back as his cock twitches inside of you. You squirm a little just to get comfy and enjoy teasing him as your bodies writhe against one another.

“Please,” he whimpers. He’s getting impatient.

“You want to cum so soon?” You question mocking pout.

“I…fuck…I can cum again later. Just please….”

His sweet puppy eyes glisten as he bites his lip, practically whining. His adam’s apple bobs against your palm but he doesn’t break. “Show me how happy this makes you…” He shudders and slowly thrusts. His body wants to slump forward but your grip holds him steady. “You want to cum before he gets back in here? Hm?” II nods quickly and squeezes his eyes shut, the overall excitement from the night and your tight softness overstimulating him. “Heh yeah…just for me and my good boy…I’m going to let go of you now—“

“No please…please keep it there…feels so good…so good for you…” he begs. “Just a little harder…” When you squeeze a little harder, a fire lights in II. He fucks you fast and rough trying to play this little game where you have to finish before iii comes out. His lips form a little pout, dying for a kiss. You can’t resist that. Instead of letting him move, you lean up and capture his lips. He moans against your mouth as the first kiss makes him lose it. You move your hand to let him breathe as he cries out against your chest.

II is still nestled against your chest, and in your pussy, when iii comes out of the steamy bathroom…already rock hard again. “Alright, loves…who’s next?”

#ask wolfie #sleep token fan fiction #sleep token x reader #sleep token x you #poly!vessels #sleep token ii x reader #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token ii x sleep token iii #ii x iii #sleep token smut #woofie's situations

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puckbunnyera · 1 year ago

Text

Mean It | Jack Hughes

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

pairing: jack hughes x reader genre: slight angst (?), fluff word count: 3.2k warnings: cursing, suggestive jokes/innuendos at the end summary: three years after the kiss that breaks your heart, jack decides it's time for a re-do, and this time he means it.

notes: maybe it's because i'm still getting used to posting things for others to see/read because i've said this, or something similar, about everything i've posted so far, but i'm not 100% sure if i like this or hate it. anyways, here is a jack one that i've based (very) loosely off of a dream i had a few weeks ago.

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

I inhale deeply as I open my car door, exhaling once both of my feet are touching the driveway below me. Despite the warmth in the Michigan summer air, the slight breeze that blows by sends a shiver running down my spine as I look up at the beautiful house in front of me. A house that I was once so familiar with. A house that belongs to a family that I consider part of my own. While I've kept in touch with a majority of the family, I haven't stepped foot in this house in years. The summer I turned eighteen was a memorable one, though not in the way I would have liked. The two summers I spent here after were awkward and tense, so eventually, I stopped coming completely. Instead, choosing to avoid the family trips to Michigan every summer with any and every excuse I could come up with. Going to university out of state made it so much easier to make excuses for my absences. Just as my thoughts are beginning to wander, I'm interrupted by the sound of my mother's voice calling out to me.

"Y/N, hurry! We're already late." She calls from where she and my father stand at the top of the porch steps. "And don't forget the wine."

I retrieve the bottle of wine from the backseat, along with my purse, and quickly make my way to meet my parents where they now stand in front of the door. All it takes is two knocks and the door swings open revealing, the one and only, Ellen Hughes.

"Hello!" She greets excitedly, a bright smile on her face as she pulls my mother into a tight hug. "I'm so glad you could make it." She pulls my father into a short one after releasing my mother and then her attention shifts to me.

"Hi, Ellen." I smile shyly and give small wave.

"Hi, Sweet Girl." She steps forward and pulls me into her embrace. "I'm happy you decided to join us this year. We've really missed you." She whispers before stepping back and inviting us into the house.

As we make the short journey to the dining room, I take in what I can of my surroundings. To my surprise, everything still looks the same.

"Do you mind if I stop by the bathroom first?" I ask right before we step into the dining room.

"Of course not," Ellen replies. "Do you remember where it is?" I nod, passing the bottle of wine in my hand to my mother, then turning around to make my way to the bathroom.

• ───────────────────────────── •

"Speak of the devil." I hear my father's voice as I walk into the room, lifting my head to meet his gaze. Despite the nerves that have redeveloped, I disguise them with a playful remark.

"Talking about me?" I scoff, a teasing smile on my face. "That's not very nice, dad."

"All good things, of course." He chuckles.

The facade begins to slip when I finally take notice of my seat, the only empty chair left at the table, right next to Jack Hughes, my childhood best friend turned stranger. As our eyes lock, I'm reminded of the boy I fell in love with when I was fifteen, the same one who broke my heart when I was eighteen. Standing here in front of him now brings the one memory that I have tried so hard to forget rushing to the forefront of my mind.

"Jack, stop!" I squeal through my giggling as he splashes the lake water in my face for the millionth time.

"Take it back!" He shouts through his own laughter.

"Fine!" I yell. "I'm sorry for calling you a brainless idiot."

"And?"

"And for saying that Quinn is better at hockey than you."

"Now was that so hard?" He chuckles, reaching forward and pulling me into his arms, my back against his chest.

We stand quietly, watching the sun set across the lake as we try to catch our breaths. It had become sort of a tradition of ours to sneak off after dinner some nights and go for a swim in the lake. Tonight was just another one of those nights. As the water ripples around us and the sun lowers further below the horizon, I recount all of the past moments similar to the one now.

"I can't believe summer is already almost over." Jack sighs, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"I know." I agree. "It's gone by way too fast, but hey! Look at the bright side. You'll be starting your first year in the NHL this fall. That's something exciting to look forward to."

"I guess." I feel him shrug. Turning around in his arms, I softly caress his face and force him to look at me.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." He shakes his head, frowning.

"It's not nothing." A frown now forming on my face. "You're upset. Why?"

"I'm nervous." He sighs. "Scared, even. What if I'm not good enough?"

"Don't say that." I stroke his cheeks softly with my thumbs. "You're THE Jack Hughes. You're good at everything." I joke, trying to lighten his mood.

"I'm serious." His frown deepens.

"I am too." It's now my turn to sigh. "If you weren't good enough, you wouldn't have been drafted. It's okay to be nervous and scared. I bet every NHL player, present and past, felt the same way you did when they first entered the league. You just have to go out there and show them what you've got. You'll do great. I know it."

"Thank you." He finally smiles.

"Of course." I return one to him.

"I'm gonna miss this." He pulls my hands off of his face and laces his fingers through mine. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'm gonna miss you too." I admit. "But we'll always have the summer, right? And maybe when I have breaks from college, I can fly out to Jersey to see you."

"I would like that." He nods.

We grow quiet again, taking in the stillness around us and falling into an impromptu staring contest. Something is the air begins to shift. I suddenly come to the realization that this boy right in front of me, isn't just a friend to me anymore. At least I don't want him to be. And when his lips suddenly crash down onto mine, I'm convinced that he feels the same. The thought, however, is short-lived because he is pulling away faster than he moved in.

"Fuck!" He backs away, removing every form of touch we previously had. "Shit! I didn't mean to do that."

"I-" I pause in an attempt to gather my bearings. "Jack, it's okay."

"No." He shakes his head. "It's not okay."

"You're overreacting."

"J-just forget it happened." He huffs, turning his back to me and heading out of the water. "It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" I scoff, following him back onto land. "If it was such a mistake, why did you do it?"

"I don't know." He shouts, the loudness of his voice taking me back a bit. "Just leave it alone, okay? It didn't mean anything. Just a heat of the moment kinda thing." His words feel like a punch to the gut. An ache forming in my chest.

"Right." I respond sarcastically as tears begin to well in my eyes. Without another word, I grab my towel and start my way back up to the house.

"Y/N" Jack reaches, grabbing my arm gently.

"Don't touch me." I yank my arm out of his grasp and continue walking away.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupts my thoughts and I suddenly remember where I am. With a blush forming on my cheeks, I quickly greet everyone before taking my seat.

"Hi." Jack whispers his greeting, while everyone else is caught up in conversation.

"Hi." I whisper back then quickly divert my attention elsewhere.

Once I settle in, Ellen starts to pass around the food. As dinner officially begins, I silently pray that the tension between me and the man to my left isn't as noticeable as it feels.

"So, Y/N?" Jim starts. "How have you been? We've missed you these past few summers."

"Few?" Quinn butts in, a teasing tone evident in his voice. "It's been like ten."

"It's been, like, two." I roll my eyes with a small smile pulling at my lips.

"That's what I said." He smirks. I ignore him this time and turn my attention back to his father.

"To answer your question, Jim, I've been doing well. And I've missed you guys too. I took a lot of internships during the summer and winter breaks between semesters, so I wasn't able to come visit with my parents."

"We hoped you would fly out with your parents last summer after your mom told us you had graduated that May, but she said you couldn't make it." Ellen speaks.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here." I apologize, catching the sad undertone of her words. "My mom asked me to join, and I would have, but I had already booked a graduation trip to France with some friends that I graduated with. My flight was set to leave three days before they would leave to come here."

"How was that trip by the way?" Luke asks. "Quinn told me you had gone and showed me some of the pictures you took while you were there."

"It was amazing!" I exclaim. "I definitely want to go back. Hopefully sometime soon. The coastal towns, like Nice and Cassis, were by far my favorite."

A genuine smile forms on my face as I continue to recount different moments of my trip. I had forgotten how much I loved spending time with this amazing family. Regret simmers in the pit of my stomach. As conversation flows easily around the table, now bouncing from topic to topic, I am consciously aware of the glances coming from next to me.

Dinner wraps up nicely and we are soon heading our own ways. My father grabs our luggage from the car before he and my mother make their way upstairs to the only spare bedroom left in the house. I grab my things and head to the furnished basement, which will be my makeshift bedroom for the summer.

• ───────────────────────────── •

The house is silent as I slide the back door open as quietly as possible. I'm making my way down the steps when a male voice startles me.

"Couldn't sleep?" Jack questions from where he sits in a chair to the right of the door, hidden by the shadows of the house.

"You scared me." I reply, my hand resting over where my racing heart resides in my chest.

"Sorry." He apologizes, rising from his seat and coming to stand above me on the top step. "Where are you headed?"

"I was gonna go down to the lake for a swim."

"Oh," He responds awkwardly. "Can I join you?"

I bite my lip nervously, not sure how to answer him. Going into this trip, I planned to avoid him as much as possible, yet here we are. Alone. After a moment, I finally find the courage to respond.

"Sure." I reply shortly, turning to head towards the lake, not checking to see if he is following.

Once I reach the edge of the water, I throw my towel down on a large rock and remove the shirt and shorts I had put on over my swimsuit.

The water is cold upon the first touch, but I embrace the difference in temperature against my warm skin as I wade out farther into the water. When I reach a depth that I can stand comfortably in, I stop and listen to the sounds around me.

I can hear Jack's every move as he steps into the water and makes his way towards me. He stops as he reaches my side, our shoulders inches apart.

"Y/N." He speaks softly, voice almost a whisper.

"Jack."

"I-" He starts. He seems to hesitate before opening his mouth to speak again. "I'm sorry." My heart squeezes in my chest.

"For what?" I pretend to be clueless as to what he means.

"You know what?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." I sigh, realizing that playing dumb won't work. "I'm over it."

"You're not." He argues. "You like to pretend you are but I know you better than that. We were best friends, remember?" His use of the past tense causes another surge of pain to hit me right in my chest. But he's right. We were best friends. That's the only reason why I tried to maintain contact for the first couple of years after that summer. Eventually, things just fell off and we stopped speaking altogether.

"Really, Jack, I'm over it." I turn to face him. "We were stupid kids caught up in a moment of high emotions and vulnerability. It was nothing."

"But it wasn't nothing." His voice seems strained as he utters the words. "I know, back then, I said it didn't mean anything, but I lied. It did mean something. It meant everything."

His confession leaves me stunned. I'm truly at a loss for words.

"W-what?" Confusion laces my words.

"I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I was in love with you."

"Jack," I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do." He replies firmly. "And even though we haven't spoken in almost three years, I am still in love with you." Those are the final words it takes to break the dam in my eyes, tears now rolling down my cheeks in steady streams.

"I've been in love with you since I was fifteen, Jack." I confess. "I held back and hid my feelings because I was terrified. I didn't think you felt the same so I kept them to myself in fear that I would mess things up if they got out. That summer, when you kissed me, I felt so happy and relieved because I truly thought you reciprocated them. But when you pulled away and told me that it was a mistake. That it meant nothing to you. It felt like you physically ripped my heart out of my chest."

"I'm sorry." He steps closer, one of his arms wrapping around my waist while his other hand reaches up to caress my cheek. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I wish things could have been different." I whisper as his thumb softly brushes my tears away.

"Me too." He whispers back.

I sniffle as my tears begin to slow, leaning in to rest my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around his body in a tight embrace. His hand that was on my cheek moves to stroke through my hair. We stand in each other's arms for the first time since that summer. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be held by him.

"Can we try again?" He asks, pulling me back to look into my eyes. "Use this summer to fix things. I know we can't take everything back or get back the lost time, but I don't want to leave this summer without fixing what I can."

"I would love that." I nod. His soft smile causes me to return one of my own. I stand for a while, just looking at his face. Taking in all the changes and trying to refamiliarize myself with his features. Tension settles in upon us, but it's not the same awkward tension as before. It's different this time.

"Feel free to tell me no if it's too soon," He prefaces, before continuing to speak. "But, can I kiss you? You know, like a redo."

"Only if you mean it."

His response is a searing kiss that leaves me breathless in the best way possible. Our lips mold together so easily as if they were meant only for each other. We kiss for a little longer until the smile that forms on my face forces us to part.

"What?" He pulls away, forehead resting against my own.

"This feels like a cliche moment from those romcoms I used to force you to watch with me." I giggle.

"It kind of does, doesn't it?" He chuckles. "But I don't mind."

"Good," I nod, nudging his nose gently with mine. "Because I don't either."

"We should head back in." He steps out of my arms but intertwines a hand with mine. "It's late."

I agree before we head back to the shore to grab our things. The walk back to the house is quiet but comfortable. Smiles remaining on our faces the whole time. Trying to sneak back into the house without disturbing anyone is almost impossible. Jack's arm wraps around my waist as he attacks my neck and shoulder with playful kisses, causing quiet giggles to leave my mouth. And just when I think we've made it in successfully, the kitchen light turns on and we come face-to-face with Quinn and Luke.

"And where were you two?" Quinn asks, the tone of his voice firm as he stands with his arms folded across his chest.

"Uh, we just went for a swim." Jack replies, dropping his arm from around my waist.

"I'm just fucking with you." He chuckles. "I'm glad to see you both back on better terms."

"Me too." Luke nods with a smile.

"Thanks." I smile at the two.

"But," Quinn's voice grows serious again. "You better keep the PDA to a minimum."

"Or what?" Jack counters.

"Or I'll tell our parents about the time you two snuck out when you were sixteen and crashed the golf cart through the neighbor's fence and destroyed their garden."

"That was them?" Luke questions, shock evident in his voice and on his face. Quinn rolls his eyes at the youngest brother's cluelessness.

"You wouldn't." I glare at him as menacingly as I can muster.

"Try me." He glares back.

"Fine." Jack sighs, grabbing my hand to pull me behind him as he exits the kitchen. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I speak to them over my shoulder.

"Goodnight." They reply, shutting off the light and heading up the stairs.

Jack walks me down to the basement where he pulls me into his chest once again.

"You know you can come stay with me in my room instead of staying down here on this shitty air mattress."

"Tempting." I smile, rising onto the tips of my toes to place a quick peck on his lips.

"Come on." He pouts. "We used to have sleepovers all the time."

"Yeah, when we were kids." I point out. "We're adults now."

"Exactly." He states, his voice taking on a duh tone. "Which means we are allowed to do whatever we want. If we want to share a bed, we can share a bed. There is nothing wrong with that."

"It won't be weird?" I ask.

"Not unless you make it weird." I hesitate momentarily before finally agreeing.

"Fine." I nod. "But the second your hands travel lower than my waist, I'm kicking you out of the bed and your sleeping on the floor."

"So what I'm hearing is that the boobs are free rein." He smirks.

"Jack!" I gasp, pushing him away.

"What?" He shrugs. I roll my eyes at him as I gather up a pair of clean clothes and head for the stairs.

"Hurry up, Hughes." I speak back to him as I climb the steps. "I'm tired and we both still need to shower. If you're quick enough, I might let you join me."

"Yes ma'am." He replies, a goofy smile on his face as he bounds up the stairs behind me.

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils #jh86 #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes fic #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #isa.writes

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freelancelobotomy · 2 months ago

Note

gravity part 2 please!!!

freudian [s.r.]

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 1.6k

summary: After fleeing Vegas and hiding out in a grimy Montana motel with a supposedly "abandoned" kitten—and the weight of your role in a murder—the last person you expect at your door is Spencer Reid, your ex-situationship from the FBI Academy, here to retrieve his friend’s missing cat.

content warnings: fluff, angst, guns, mentions of sex, reader is mean but its okay bc Spencer was meaner, death, almost kiss

a/n: this is pt 2 to gravity which you can find here. It kinda wont make any sense if you don't read it first but it!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

The sound of bare feet slapping against wet pavement might be the least sexy sound on earth. Which is ironic, considering seduction is your entire brand. It’s the reason Saesha recruited you in the first place. You’re hot—long legs, sultry voice, those eyes that never blink first.

You sometimes laugh at how absurdly contradictory your life has become.

Graduated high school at twelve. Wanted to be a profiler. Ended up part of a murderous vigilante cabal. Spencer Reid broke your heart when he left—and saved your life when he killed Saesha and cleaned up the mess you made.

Moonlight dances on your flawless legs—and on the sewage puddle you just stepped in. Perfect. This morning’s pedicure was a waste. Your crimson-polished toes now carry tetanus as a plus-one.

A siren wails in the distance.

You duck behind a trash can.

I'm so fucking scared. My life is over. The thought is sharp and breathless.

Something brushes your arm. Furry.

"AH!" you yelp, imagining the worst—a rat.

“Mrow.”

A tiny black kitten stares up at you with glassy eyes too big for its head. It’s absurdly adorable.

"Hey, little guy," you whisper, scooping him up. He melts into your arms with a rumbling purr.

No collar. No home. Well—he has one now.

The motel is the kind of place you don’t even want to touch with socks on. Threadbare sheets. Mold in the shower. The wallpaper's been peeled back like it was trying to escape.

You’ve been holed up here for a week. Montana feels far enough from Vegas—for now. Next week, you’re catching a train to North Dakota. Then out of the country. You're spacing your movements so they don’t raise suspicion. Also, you’re bringing the kitten—who you've named Jiji, after the one from Kiki’s Delivery Service—and bringing a pet onto a plane requires paperwork.

It’s risky. You’re attached anyway.

You're fresh out of the shower, damp hair wrapped in a towel. Buldak noodles spin slowly in the microwave when there’s a knock at the door. Probably Greg, the motel owner, bringing the clean sheets he promised three days ago.

You open the door—and freeze.

Of course. It’s him.

Spencer Reid.

“Y/N?”

Your body reacts before your brain does. You stumble back, make a beeline for the drawer beside the bed—the one with your gun.

“Relax! It’s just me! I’m—I’m unarmed! Check me!”

You rush him. Weapon drawn. Your hands are fast and clinical, patting him down with muscle memory. You don’t forget the ankles—he always kept a second piece there. You yank up his shirt.

“Hey!” he yelps, eyes wide.

“Turn around,” you snap. He obeys. You lift the back of his shirt, checking for wires. None. Just spine and skin.

No lies—yet.

“What the hell do you want from me, Spencer?”

You get a better look at him now. He’s a mess. Eyes bloodshot, dark circles, lips cracked. He's been crying.

“I was catsitting. For my friend Emily. Well—not because she trusts me, but JJ’s on maternity leave and Garcia’s on vacation. Emily's on sabbatical and no one else was available. So I brought her cat to Vegas during a case. Checked him into one of those ‘cat hotels.’” His voice shakes, spiraling. “And he got out. Because the hotel was incompetent. Emily loves that cat–and–I lost him. And then—Garcia tracked his microchip to this address and—”

“Mrow.”

Jiji hops onto the bed like it’s choreographed.

“You have Sergio?” Spencer gasps.

“Who?”

“The cat! Emily’s cat! Why would you steal her cat?!”

“I found him by a dumpster! No collar. I didn’t steal him. Finders keepers.”

Spencer blinks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in years.

“It’s… it’s really good to see you again.”

You blink back. What the actual fuck.

“Yeah. You too.”

His eyes lower to the floor.

“I’ve had a rough few days. Made me… reevaluate some things. Can we talk?”

You nod slowly. You need to figure out why he’s pretending last week never happened.

“Come in. Sorry for the mess,” you lie.

“It’s not messy,” he replies automatically, stepping inside.

“Why do you have a gun?” he asks, gently. “Why’d you pat me down?”

You study him. He really doesn’t remember.

You breathe once. Twice. Then you lie the way you were trained to lie—grounded in truth.

“Alexander…my ex. He just got out of prison,” you say. “He used to hit me. Last thing he told me, as they shoved him in the car, was that he’d find me and kill me. Lately I’ve been getting weird messages from burner accounts. Slurs. Insults. I got scared. So I left town.”

The pain is real. But the reason is fake. Neither is the fear. As long as he doesn’t catch you off guard, you’ll be fine.

“Y/N, you should’ve called. The BAU handles cases like that all the time.”

“I deleted your number.”

His gaze softens.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry. For everything.”

You sit through it. Again. Nodding in the right places. Keeping your face a mask.

Then finally: “You said you had a rough few days. What happened?”

Spencer swallows.

“My friend Ethan was killed. Active shooting at a night club. I—I tried to help. I shot a chandelier that crushed the gunman. But it brought down the ceiling. Debris hit my head. I don’t… I don’t remember any of it.”

He smiles bitterly. “First time in my life I’ve ever forgotten something. And it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”

You rub his back, guilt curling hot in your chest. You didn’t mean for Ethan to die. You didn’t mean for any of it.

“All we know is that it was a terrorist cell. The other members all killed themselves before we could interrogate anyone.”

Control your microexpressions. Control your microexpressions. Control your microexpressions.

“Ethan…when did he pass?” you ask, softly.

“He uh…died at the scene.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” You thread your fingers through his. “I'm here to listen if you need to talk. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

He hesitates. Then says, “I’m staying in Vegas a while. Visiting my mom. The funeral’s next week. When you come back… you can give me the cat.”

“I was planning on heading back tomorrow, actually. Want to drive back together?”

“I was gonna leave tonight, but… yeah. That sounds good. Flights were crazy expensive anyway. Holiday weekend.”

“You drove?”

He nods. “Didn’t have a choice.”

“You need coffee?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I need sleep. You’re right. I’d be nodding off at the wheel by now.”

“Then stay the night,” you offer. Your hand grazes his thigh lightly. The contact is casual. It lingers anyway.

He clears his throat. “I—I don’t want to intrude.”

“Jiji and I don’t mind,” you smirk. “Right, Jiji?”

“Mrow.”

“Oh. Listen to that. He says you can’t stay.”

Spencer chuckles. “Man of the house has spoken.”

“Got a bag?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab it.”

“And I’m paying for gas.”

“No, you’re not.”

“If I can’t pay for gas, I’m keeping the cat.”

He stares you down.

“…Fine. You can pay for the gas.”

He returns smelling like lavender and wearing the cologne he wore that night at the Savoy.

You turn off the lights and slide under the covers. You should leave things where they are. Clean break. New passport. Fresh start.

But Spencer doesn’t remember. And you can’t help but wonder.

Should you get involved again?

It’s a question for tomorrow.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You wake up to silence. You turn.

Spencer’s still awake.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay? It’s, like… three something in the morning.” You ask, concerned.

“Yea…Yea—I’m sorry If I woke you. I get…nightmares. They keep me up some nights..”

You hesitate.

“Want me to lie next to you? That helps me when I can't sleep.”

“I…” He fumbles. “I mean, studies show that sleeping beside someone you trust can reduce cortisol levels and—”

“Spencer.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He slips into the bed beside you. Close. Warm. He still uses that stupid lavender shampoo. You feel his arm flex as he adjusts the covers to make sure you’re both tucked in evenly.

You’re both quiet.

Then—you move first. You always move first.

You drape your arm across his chest and rest your head against him. His breath catches.

“I knew it,” he says.

“Knew what?”

“That you—Nothing.”

“No. Tell me or go back to your bed.”

“You and your either-or fallacies,” he laughs. “Fine I’ll tell you–”

“Ha! I knew it!” you shout, springing off his chest, finger pointed like you’ve just cracked a decades-old cold case.

Spencer blinks, incredulous. “Knew what?”

“That you want to sleep with me!” you grin, then pause—realizing how it sounded. You clamp a hand over your mouth. “I mean—sleep next to me—”

“Freudian slip,” he smirks, victorious. “I knew it. You want to sleep with me.”

“Oh please.” You scoff, crossing your arms like you’re not suddenly way too aware of how close you still are. “And you think I’d just do that with Jiji in the room? How bad of a cat mom do you think I am?”

“Cat mom?” Spencer snorts. “More like cat burglar.”

You roll your eyes, resisting the smile tugging at your mouth. “You think you're soooo funny.”

“You think so too. Your carotid’s pulsing faster than usual. Pupils are dilated. You’re flushed—”

“Oh my God, I hate profilers,” you mutter, spinning away from him and yanking the blanket over your head like a dramatic teenager.

But your heart’s thudding too fast.

His laugh is quiet behind you, warm in the dark. You pretend not to notice how he’s shifted slightly closer. You definitely pretend not to notice how good he smells, or how the back of your neck is tingling from proximity alone.

You force yourself to shut your eyes.

Somehow, against all logic, exhaustion drags you under.

You wake to a strange pressure.

Your first thought is Spencer’s arm. He’s wrapped around your waist—just as you suspected. His hand is splayed across your stomach, his breathing slow and even.

Your second thought is your heart. It’s racing. Not just fluttery, not butterflies—warning bells.

That’s when you feel it. Cold. Metal.

The barrel of a gun.

Pressed against your temple.

“Get up,” a voice growls, low and intimate. “And don’t make a sound.”

Your blood freezes.

It’s Alexander.

And he’s come to make good on his promise.

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x blk!reader #doctor spencer reid #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfic

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lightwing-s · 1 year ago

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐯 ; 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: you're pregnant. somehow, your baby daddy has to find out about it.

word count: 5,6k warnings: pregnancy, mentions of abortion.

a/n: i wrote and rewrote this a lot, and I don't think this is the best I could come up with, but here it is. a lot more angst that previous episodes and I do recommend reading it while listening to The Flame by Valerie Deniz and also Give me Love by Ed Sheeran because I love how emotional that song usually makes me feel. Hope you all enjoy it ♡♡♡

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

links: previous ; next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

With a deep sigh, you tried to settle down your nerves. Your hands were sore. Sweaty. Tired of trying. The heaviness still lingered on your chest. The feeling of incoming doom. The air all around was thicker than you’d remembered it for, nearly making it impossible for you to breathe. And you swore to your reflection in the mirror, you were gonna make it through.

It had been three nights since the result. Two days of pain. And one single thought looming in your mind. Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You didn’t know what to do, nor what to think. Sinking into a pit of terror and despair. The idea frightened you, tore you apart. And just thinking of your future, of what was to come from now on, made your head spin.

Today, you forced yourself to forget. Pretend your life was normal, like it used to be. Not Much had changed since you had taken the test three days ago, but to you it felt like everything was different.

You had skipped the gym the last couple of days, the first time doing it since you could remember, scared to face anybody and them finding out, but also too anxiety stricken to even leave your bed. You felt cramps, but also your stomach turning. You felt nauseous, but you weren’t sure if it was due to your newfound condition, or if it was the anxiety acting out.

Nessie had called, and you gave her some excuse that your boss needed you elsewhere. Another city. A quick work trip, you’d be back soon. At work, you told them you had caught some contagious disease you found on google, and they let you off for the entire week. Thankful for a relatively full pantry, you survived for two days on your own, but you sure couldn’t manage to eat much anyway.

You’ve never lived worst days. You were sure of that. Fear fills you to the brim. Sadness eats you up from the inside. And because of that, you felt even worse. There are so many people who dreamed of being where you were now, of getting a positive. So many have struggled for this. And here you were, ungrateful for yours. But you never wanted it in the first place. Not now, not like this. It didn’t follow your plan. It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t long ago that you were graduating college. And as of this moment, you were a mere assistant, not even a proper writer or a journalist yet like you’ve dreamed since you were little. An assistant. The bottom of the food chain, with still a lot to grow and harvest in your career. You neither had the finances, the stability, nor the time and mental capacity to be raising a baby on your own.

Because you would be raising it on your own, wouldn’t you? Your baby daddy would just disappear, like many others you’ve heard about. He would pack his things and disappear. He would live his life, continue with being young, having fun, while you were left to fend for yourself and your kid. All alone.

Would you even tell him? Should you even tell him?

Three nights. Three nights of torture. Of overthinking the future and sulking in your bed, your pillow drenched with your tears. You knew you’d go crazy if you kept that going for too long. So, finding some bit of courage, some tiny little ounce of determination, you left your bed that morning ready to forget. Ready to clear your mind, to make it think straight. And then, you wished, you would know what to do.

You showered, ate, did your skincare and put on makeup, and went for a walk around the park. But you just had to step out of your apartment to find someone who made you think instantly of him. Running back inside and leaving your raven haired neighbor staring confused at you, you made a beeline to the bathroom, dropping your entire breakfast in the toilet.

You had to tell him, hadn’t you? You had to tell Jason. It was the right thing to do, right?

So, here you were. Back at the gym you’d quit a month ago in favor of another. All because of your last encounter. You thought it was the best to be done, remove him entirely from your life so you could be free again. If only you had known then where you’d be a month later, you’d have laughed at the irony the world was throwing at you. You still remembered the times he’d come, praying he didn’t have them changed for some reason. Maybe he wanted to avoid you too. Maybe he had quit. Please, God. Be on my side, only for today.

It had been, perhaps, a full hour since you arrived. Roy had greeted you with a large smile, asking if you were back for good. You couldn’t match his enthusiasm, offering him a poor excuse of your own smile instead. All this time, you couldn’t complete a full set, never mind finish an entire exercise. Your body trembled, not answering you. Too exhausted. The heaviness on your chest helped in weighing you down and making every effort insufficient.

The weights you had tried to use now stood on your feet. Crooked, disordered, unorganized. Then, you found yourself looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were red and swollen. Your lips were dry and exposed some nervous bite marks you’d been taking off them. There were a few pimples on your forehead, and you had bags under your eyes. In the corner of the mirror, too stood the reflection of the one you’d been looking for.

He chatted with another man. It wasn’t Roy, by the darker hair color and shorter size. Yet it was a face you recognized, but failed to name. Jason looked happy, smiling as he spoke excitedly about something you did not know about. Were you really ready to tell him? Were you okay with ceasing his happiness?

Your eyes lingered on him for longer, and eventually, his eyes found yours. His smile was quickly replaced by a frown. An air of disgust and anger. His tongue poked his cheek, and he rolled his eyes at you. Turning around, he decided that facing the other direction was much better than facing you. Now, his broad back was all you were left to stare at.

You felt the nausea return. Leaving your things behind, you rushed to the restroom. He hated you. He hated you and he was fucking right for it. And what were you thinking? Telling him he was going to be a father, to your baby above all, at the fucking gym?

After dumping your stomach in the toilet once more, you wanted to get out of there. Collecting your things and shoving them inside your bag, you headed out. However, in good old fashion, you felt a body stop as it came in contact with someone else’s. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Eyeing you from above, Jason started to apologize before he could recognize who you were, proceeding to roll his eyes again. You excused yourself, still looking away from him, and his demeanor changed from anger to worry.

“Yn, are you alright?” he inquired, reaching for your arm. You felt your eyes start to burn, the tears finding their way back, and the nausea only got worse. Running past him, all you managed to say was a quick “I’m fine,” before disappearing.

You arrived at his building straight away, using the faint memory of the directions that remained in your brain from the night he brought you here. You were still clad in your gym clothes, not caring to stop at home first, nor remembering to actually do it. But it was fine, because you didn’t sweat anyways. You couldn’t even finish one full exercise in the hour or so you were there.

So you waited. You waited on the opposite sidewalk, thinking back to the first time you came here. It was almost two months ago, or maybe more, you don’t remember exactly. It seemed longer, though. It all seemed longer. Longer than two months. Longer than three days. It all seemed like an eternity.

The sun waved goodbye on the horizon, hiding between Gotham’s skyline. The weather started to shift, as the warmth of summer slowly gave place to the strong winds and the coolness of the autumn days. The breeze made you wish you had brought a coat or something to keep you warm, the thin gym clothes you wore doing nothing to help you. And so, your body shivered.

Shivered from the cold. Shivered from the fear. The agony you’d so desperately tried to keep away returning back to you. If you went up. If you knocked on his door. If you talked to him, there was no pretending anymore. There was no hiding facts you so wished you could. There was no fighting reality.

A lump formed in your throat, and you tried to swallow it away, to no avail. Your breath, your hands, your legs, your all trembled. Fighting to keep yourself up when all you wanted was to fall down, to curl up under your covers and hide from the world. From the truth.

You thought back to the days when things were easier. To your days at the park, playing around with your friends, the hem of your jeans always dirty from mud, dust or paint. You remembered the days all you had to do was study, your chores, and your drawings. Reading books from sunrise to sundown, or for the entire night. Of when responsibilities didn’t follow you everywhere, and the perspective of the future didn’t break you down.

You thought of your parents. Of how mad they would get. There was always a path to them, a way to follow. A way to live your entire life. Just like they had done theirs. Any step out of that line often led you to trouble. ‘You have to get married to a good and respectful husband. One that will care and provide for you. And then, when the time is right, God will give you children to raise, just like he did to me and your father,’ your mother would tell you. ‘There’s nothing more shameful than a single mother’, were once the words of your father. And the thought of what they’d do to you once they found out had your tears rolling down faster than you could hold them in.

An old lady passed by you, asked if you were okay. You lied, like you’d been doing for the past few days. You weren’t one for lying, never was, and suddenly it was all you did. “Oh dear,” she cooed, and embraced you in an unexpected hug, before her tiny pomsky pulled her away.

Grey took over your surroundings, like one of those movie filters that left everything somber. A single headlight of a motorcycle let you know he was finally here. That the time of truth was upon you. You watched him park his motorcycle like a creep. Hidden in a dark corner, away from his sight. He had showered at the gym, and now wore a different outfit. Sweatpants and a hoodie.

He looked comfortable. You clearly weren’t. He looked happy. Opposite to you. Were you ready to take all that away from him? To curse him to the same pain and anxiety you were feeling now?

But you couldn’t do it alone. You couldn’t. You needed him. You needed him. You needed him by your side. You need someone, something. Something to tell you everything would be okay. Gathering up all your courage, every bit you could find within yourself, you took one step out of the sidewalk.

A deep breath taken before entering the building, you walked in without ceasing to cry. Each step you took up the stairs was heavy. Heavier than when you were drunk, and heavier than the day you left. Each step was a gulp. Each gulp was a scream inside your brain telling you to turn around. About two or three times along the way you stopped to look down, and wondered what would be of you if you’d just ran away.

In your mind, you counted each and every step. An attempt to clear it of thought. It obviously didn’t work. Your legs shook and your breathing faltered with the last steps you took to reach the sixth floor. The tears had dried, leaving your skin cold to the touch. You moved on automatic. Everything else you did a blank stain in your memory.

It was the feeling of the hardwood under your knuckles that brought you back to reality. The hollow sound it made woke you up, showing you’d made it to his door. Your breath got stuck in your throat, and you felt like you could vomit.

He took his time to answer the door. And you wondered if it was a sign to turn around. To leave. But your feet wouldn’t move, even if you screamed at them to do so. The ruffling inside the apartment made your heart jump, beating hard in its place. Your breathing halted, trapped in your larynx, as the tears started rapidly falling down again.

When he opened the door, it was like time had stopped. He assessed you through narrow eyes, still angry at you. You didn’t blame him, not at all.

“They run from you twice and still come right back,” he hissed. His voice was hoarse and monotone, and his eyes found yours in a blank stare. The corners of your mouth fell. Your chin trembled. And had to avert your eyes from him otherwise you’d start sobbing all over again. “Yn,” he called, and his voice didn’t show the hate or disgust anymore. It was worried. It felt pain. Softer and watchfull. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the tears. Trying so hard to keep them in, but the drops that fell beside your sneakers on the floor were a testament of how your body had stopped responding to you a long time ago. Your shoulders shook, and Jason went from worried to desperate. He didn’t know what was going on. But seeing you like this made him freak out.

And suddenly he wasn’t mad at you anymore. In retrospect, maybe he never truly was. But whatever anger, or frustration he had disappeared from his body. You felt his touch on your shoulder, and you imagined he had just put one hand there as a sign of support. You’d be thankful for just that. But then, you felt his arms drawing you close, wrapping around you, until you felt the soft cotton of his hoodie through your cheek.

The tears ran down faster, soaking a spot on the thick fabric. Your loud sobs only made Jason pull you closer, not knowing how, but still trying to call you down. Whatever happened was too bad that you’d run to him of all people, and he felt obligated to help you in any way he could.

By this point, he was holding you up himself. Your body giving in to the tears. Jason tucked his nose in your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo. He caressed your back, kissed you temple, spread warmth through your body with his own hands rubbing at your arms. However, your tears ceased to stop, making the stain under your eyes enlarge, second after second.

“Yn,” he whispered right into your ear. The air he let out hitting against your skin.

You pressed your eyes shut. The tears that still lingered there being forced out. You tightened your hold on him. He called you again, and forced his neck to get a glimpse of your puffy red eyes.

You didn’t want to let go, but forced yourself to push him away just so you could finally face him. You felt your throat dry, a weak cough trying to fix it up. Jason couldn’t help the quick thought of how pretty you looked when you cried, but he felt so much pain in his chest at the same time that he wished he would never see you like that again.

The first time you opened your mouth, nothing came out of it. Jason’s fingers drew figures on your back, both a distraction and an encouragement. You can do it, you can do it. With another deep, long breath, you slowly opened your eyes to meet his.

“I-I’m…” you started, breathless. A single tear late to fall from your eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

Jason’s mind went blank. His body was suddenly weightless. The moments past your announcement, a mere stain in his memory. You now sat beside him on his sofa, your hands covering your face as he heard continuous sobs coming out of you. Your knees tight against your chest, and it didn’t bother him you had your shoes on the sofa. Nothing bothered him. Nothing was on his mind.

Your body quivered, nonstop. His own unresponsive. What the hell did he do?

Pregnant. Eight letters that had the power to change everything. Pregnant. You were pregnant. With his baby.

Jason felt his chest tighten, and breathing suddenly was harder. He tried swallowing the knot in his throat away, but it wouldn’t bulge. Resting his back on the sofa, a hand threading through his hair, he allowed a couple of tears out, rubbing his eyes off any others that dared to hang around.

“Are you sure?” he asked, breaking the prolonged silence with a raspy voice. Moving your head from it’s place buried on your knees, your eyes looked at him with a pain he’d have thought he’d put a knife on your back. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he told you softly. “I just want to be sure.”

Straightening beside him, you stared at the cat worriedly looking up at the two humans occupying the sofa. You fiddled with your fingers, pulling at the fabric of your leggings.

“I took a test,” you started to explain. “Three nights ago. And my period was late, and it’s never late. And it’s not like we were careful when we…”

“Not at all.” Jason shook his head. You weren’t careful at all.

The room fell into silence again, the only sounds coming from the cat, now playing between his legs, unaware of the turmoil you’d just caused in his life.

“I’m sorry,” you said, resuming your sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Jason kept saying. He turned on the sofa, sitting in a position he could easily wrap his arms around you once again. “No, Yn. Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he soothed.

“Jason,” you called him, your voice broken. “How there’s not? I’m fucking pregnant!”

Jason held you tighter. But the truth was, he might’ve been just as scared as you were. A baby meant a new life, responsibilities. And he was still getting used to being an adult and the responsibilities that came with that. It was all going to change. And he had plans…

The two of you stood there until your sobs had quieted down. You didn’t know how long, but you were grateful he was quiet for the entire time. You were thankful he was quiet instead of telling you any of the things you’d thought he would. And you were also thankful he didn’t close his door on your face.

“Have you thought…” Jason tried to speak, but his voice kept on breaking. “Have you thought… of all possibilities?”

He hoped you understood what he meant, because he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was a hard thing to ask, but he had to. He didn’t want you to think he was pushing you to it, but he needed to know if it was a possibility too. Jason remembered hearing some friends saying they had their girlfriends do it, that they basically forced them. But Jason would never.

He felt you moving on his chest, pushing yourself away from his body, and his breath halted. “It’s your call,” he whispered. “I’ll be there for any of them.”

You had sat back up, hands tugging at your leggings again while you thought. It took you long to answer. Too long for his liking. But he understood your pace, everything was happening way too fast. You needed to think things through. For some reason, his stomach took turns, making him feel sick as he waited.

“I don’t think I could do it,” you stated, staring blankly at your legs. “I don’t think I could end it.” Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A lightness on his chest he could not name. He nodded, as words didn’t make it out of his lips.

Leaning back on the sofa, you felt his shoulders hit yours. He let out another breath, it was long and you found it hard to read his emotions through it. He was silent beside you, making it even harder for you to guess what was going through his mind.

That’s it, he’s gonna tell you he can’t do it either. He’s gonna leave you alone.

“You just took one test?” he asked after a while. You just nodded. “We should go to the hospital,” he suggested, head turned to watch you. “Get a proper test, just to make sure.”

His suggestion made you hurt. The fact that he doubted you, the fact he thought you’d go to him if you weren’t a hundred percent sure, caused you a pain you did not expect. However, on the other hand, you knew he was right. You had to be certain. False positives happen, right? You could be wrong.

“Okay,” you agreed weakly, turning to face him after all. “I’ll do it.”

It might have been the uncomfortable chairs or the freezing air conditioning, but the time didn’t seem to pass. It was well over an hour since you’d arrived at the hospital, and you’d stopped counting how much you’ve waited for your test results to come out. They said between thirty minutes to an hour, but you were sure it had been longer than that.

While you remained seated for most of your wait, Jason was restless. He stood up and sat down more times than you remember, and he was seriously starting to piss you off with his pacing. Stopping in front of a snack machine, he put some dollar bills in it and took something with him before walking back to you.

Stretching his arm in front of you, he offered both a granola and a Snickers bar. In no mood to be healthy, even though your possible new condition sort of demanded that from you, you took the chocolate gladly.

Jason dropped down on a chair beside you with a huff, and took a bite of the granola bar with a certain annoyance. You were both tired of waiting, that was for sure. The agony you’d felt earlier had simmered down, but you too now sat restless, one of your legs shaking incessantly.

It was involuntary, but Jason’s hand on your knee made it stop. It lingered there for a while, fingertips gracing over the thin fabric and tugging at it just like you had been doing before. You saw his head move, and so did yours, catching his eyes.

Your expressions had been everywhere tonight. The whirlwind of emotions you had gone through justifying each and everyone of them. But this time, his eyes bore into yours much softer, sweeter than they’d been before.

“Yn,” he called your name as if you hadn’t been staring down at him for what seemed like forever. “Whatever happens. Whatever the results say. I’ll be here, alright? I won’t leave you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your eyes tearful once more, but this time you managed to hold them in. You gave him a soft smile, and you were really glad he was here with you now. Putting a hand on top of his, he flipped it over so you could interlace your fingers, caressing its back with your thumb just like he was doing to you.

It was then that your name was called, both of your heads snapping in the reception desk’s direction. Jason stood up and walked over, grabbing a single piece of paper before walking back to you with even taking a glance at it.

When he sat back, he offered you his opened hand. You intertwined your fingers, and held his with both your hands, taking it closer to your heart this time. You couldn’t deny the tiny bit of hope lingering inside you that, just perhaps, you were actually wrong. You weren’t pregnant. But, over the hours, you’d also grown accustomed to the idea. He opened the results with between his thumb and pointer finger, and both your eyes fell on the big letters found on top of it.

Positive. Again. It was positive. You were truly pregnant.

You let out a sigh, closing your eyes to stop the tears from returning. Jason’s hold on you tightened, and you could sense the tension on him returning. He buffed some air out through his mouth, taking another deep breath before doing the same thing again.

“That’s it,” his voice was shaky. “You’re really pregnant.” He forced himself to smile, and you tried to do the same. To no avail. His eyebrows furrowed. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly. “I just wanna go home. It’s been a long night.”

“Okay,” he said softly, standing up and walking with you hand in hand till you left the hospital.

The parking lot was almost empty, and you found Jason’s car sitting isolated far ahead. The silver Toyota Supra shone under the faint light of a lamp post, and you remembered how surprised you were to find him driving it. It finally occurred to you that other than his name and his gym membership, you knew nothing about the man you were about to have a baby with.

He didn’t know you either. Gosh, you didn’t know a thing at this point. About him, about pregnancy, about babies and having children. He asked you ‘what now?’ and you didn’t even have an answer. How the hell were you going to do it?

When he felt your fingers leaving his, Jason immediately turned to face you. Frozen in place and flooded eyes.

“I don’t think I can do it,” you said breathlessly. “Jason, I don't think I can do it. I never wanted kids. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it. I didn’t want it now. I wanted to do it all right. This is not it.” You cried once again, rambling the words that left your mouth. Jason had walked over to you, trying to calm you down and wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t know anything about babies. I’ve only babysat before, but they were much older. And even my nephew, I didn’t meet him until he was, like, six months old. And I don’t know shit about pregnancies. I hated biology. I slept a lot during classes.”

“How can we do it? I barely know you. Gosh I don’t even know your surname, Jason. You’re what, Jason fucking Linetti? How can we have a baby together without knowing each other? We’re supposed to build a family together. A family. My family… I-I never had a family. Not really. I didn’t want a family, Jason. Not now. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, stopping your rambling. He cupped your cheeks with both his hands, holding your face. His forehead rested on yours, forcing you to stare him in the eyes. “I also don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do. For fucks sake, Yn. But we have time. The baby is not gonna come tomorrow. We’ll figure things out. Together. We have each other, alright? You have me. I’ll be here, with you, all along. You don’t have to worry. We’ll learn how to do this together, and with time. Okay?”

Jason’s dark eyes passed you enough confidence to have you thinking that, maybe, possibly, he was right. You could actually do it. The baby isn’t coming tomorrow, you have time. You’ll figure things out. With Jason. Together.

Slowly, you nodded. You could do it, right?

Jason sighed, relieved you actually believed him, because as of right now, he himself was struggling to do so. Giving your head a long kiss, he pulled you into a hug before pulling away to open his car door to you to enter. Dropping on the driver seat beside you, you desperately waited to get back home.

“I’m Jason Peter Todd. I’m 22 years old. A leo. I work as an exercise physiologist, but I want to be a doctor someday. So I’m working on getting into med school soon. I love motorcycles, they are fucking cool and driving them makes me feel free. I have probably over twenty tattoos and my favorite book is probably Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.”

“What was that for?” You gave him an amused smile.

“You said you didn’t know me or my surname. Now you do, and you can say you know a little. If you want my social security number too, it’s 108…”

“It’s okay,” you laughed, softly, for the first time in three days. “I guess knowing your surname is fine for now.”

He gave you a smile, but raised one eyebrow at you. Confused, you frowned, trying to understand what he meant until he pointed at you with his head, leading you to do the same as he did.

“Okay,” you started. “I’m Yn Sn. I work at Runaway Magazine as Sandra’s assistant, but I really want to be a journalist. I don’t have any tattoos because I’m afraid of needles, and I can’t choose a favorite book because I like too many.”

“Nice to meet you Yn Sn,” he greeted, extending his hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you too, Jason Todd. Now can you please take me home. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright,” he gave you a smirk. “Do you remember the address this time?”

He insisted on walking you to your door, wanting to make sure you actually got home safe. You didn’t know where he thought you could disappear to between the sidewalk and your apartment door, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t starting to enjoy his company.

The elevator ride was silent, and neither of you spoke as you tried to unlock your front door.

“Thank god,” you said. Relief spread through you as the door opened and you got into your home. Immediately taking off your sneakers, you placed them by the door so they could keep it open for you. Looking back at Jason, who still didn’t dare step inside your apartment, you managed to give him a thankful smile. “And thank you too, Jason.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s not even the least I can do, it’s my responsibility now.”

“But still, thank you. There were many ways out for you, and you took none,” you explained, resting your shoulder on the door frame.

“Yn, you didn’t make this baby alone” he began. “I saw your state when you knocked on my door, and I also made you a promise. I don’t usually break them.”

For a brief minute, you two stood in silence again. Eyes lingering over each other. A recognizable tension in the air. You averted your eyes from him, as warmth engulfed your cheeks, the painted nails on your toes suddenly a lot more interesting to you.

“I’ll be going then. Call me if you need anything, alright?” he said, already halfway to the elevator.

“Jason,” you called and he turned back. Hopeful. “Do you even have my number?”

He stopped to think, and a dumb smile appeared on his face upon realizing he had never asked you for your number, nor did he ever give you his. Taking his phone out of his sweatpants pockets, he handed it to you. “If you don’t mind. I think I really should have your number.” He combed a hand through his hair.

You typed in your phone number, trying to think of what to write your name as, but concluding your name would be just fine. You gave yourself a call so you could save his too later, and returned him his cellphone.

He awkwardly waved you goodbye, and called the elevator that opened up instantly, not having left your floor since you had gotten home. You watched him as the door began to close, head hanging low and a tired demeanor.

“Jason?” you called again, and he put his hand on the door just as it was about to fully close. It opened again, and he placed his hands on each side of the door frame. “Thank you,” you said softly.

“Stop thanking me,” he laughed and now allowed the door to close.

You stood there, dumbfoundedly watching the closed door as you swiftly repeated the entire night in your head. Every moment of pain, despair and torture morphing into nervous expectation of the future that was about to come.

You didn’t allow yourself to think too much about it. An entire day was already enough, you needed rest.

A rumbling beside you grabbed your attention, and your head turned to your friend’s door. Nessie poked her head out, clearly surprised to see you there.

“Weren’t you on a trip?” she asked, and you shook your head, leaving her a lot more confused.

“There’s so much we need to talk,” you sighed, allowing your weight to fall on her as you engulfed her in a tight hug.

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