#yeah part of me would love to write this out

[staseras]

crash landing on you — Clark Kent

summary: what if after being defeated by ultraman, superman crash landed in smallville and you were the one to find him? word count: 5.3k content warning: blind! reader, open ending, injured clark, softness, domesticity, reader has a guide dog, takes place in smallville after clark's defeat against ultraman, clark develops a crush, secret identities, first kiss notes: i'm back!!! omg, this is a little scary, i'm like what if everyone forgot about me bc i didn't post for two days lol. also maybe i will write a part 2 because i wanna write more about reader and her myserious past. also idk felt cute, might delete later... pls be nice </3 not beta-read, but i hope you enjoy this

THREE MINUTES AGO, Superman lost a battle for the first time.

THREE SECONDS AGO, Superman crash-landed in Smallville as he tried to retreat for safety in his Fortress of Solitude. 

THREE HOURS LATER, Superman wakes up to his face being licked by a friendly dog and someone mistaking him for a squirrel.

Clark Kent couldn’t move a single muscle. For the first time in his entire life, he’d tasted defeat. For the first time in his life, he found out what it meant to not be the strongest anymore, the one who couldn’t be defeated. 

His eyes looked up to a familiar sky and a familiar sight. He hadn’t meant to crash here, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it now. He could barely twitch his fingers; his entire body was frozen with a feeling he’d never had to deal with before. Not that he thought himself above it, it just… didn’t happen to him. 

He heard them before he saw them. Soft footsteps coming his way, two heartbeats. One dog, one human. The dog stopped at his eye level before he started licking him all over his face as if he was a particularly tasty treat.

“Krypto? Why did you stop? Did you find a squirrel? How many times do I have to tell you that squirrels don’t like dogs?” The human voice asked before they fell on their knees next to their dog.

You were… pretty.

“I’m not a squirrel,” Clark replied, almost offended. Not that there was anything wrong with squirrels, he just wasn’t one. Clearly. 

You jumped, eyes flying towards the source of his voice. Your eyes were glassy. “Jesus! What are you doing here? This is private property. Why are you on the floor? Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

Oh. You were blind. 

Your dog was still enthusiastically licking his face, and Clark had no idea how to stop him. He hoped you would get your dog to back down, even if Clark really loved dogs, especially friendly ones. He supposed this was better than having Krypto breaking his ribs over and over again with his excited kicks. 

“Uh…” Clark wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say. Should he say he was Superman? Honesty was the best policy after all. “I know this is crazy to say but I had a little accident. I’m… Superman.”

You snorted. “Yeah right, and I’m Catwoman.”

“Why not?” he replied. 

“Tell me the truth. Did you get drunk yesterday night and found yourself here after waking up?”

“No, I can’t even get drunk.”

That’s when he felt fingers mapping his face. Your fingers traveled down until they stopped on his chest and they started feeling out the emblem etched onto the fabric. “Oh,” you said. “Either you’re really telling the truth, or you’re into cosplay.”

He couldn’t help it. Clark laughed. “What should I do to convince you I am Superman?”

“Take me for a spin in the air,” you replied quickly as if you’d waited your entire life for this.

“I promise, as soon as I can control my body again.”

You frowned. “You’re sick? I thought Superman didn’t get sick.”

“No, not quite. I’m… injured.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me you were Superman. You’re doing a terrible job at that.”

“I promise, I’m usually better than this. You just… caught me at a bad time.”

“Why are you injured? Aren’t you invincible? You need sun, right? To heal? Why aren’t you healing?”

You were still on your knees, hand on his chest. Your dog was sitting now, looking polite. “You’re a Superman fan?” he asked, a smile blooming on his face without meaning it to. He wasn’t teasing you, per say.

“Shut up,” you said with a blush. 

“He doesn’t even look like Krypto. And he’s way too well-behaved.”

“Do you want me to help you or not?” you asked. 

Clark’s smile turned softer. “Yeah, actually. That would be really nice.”

“Do you think you could walk if I helped you?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to… crush you.” 

“I’m stronger than I look. I grew up in a farm, and it’s not that far from here.”

“Well… okay. Thank you so much, kind stranger.”

You looked away at his gratitude. “Krypto, come on, let’s go home, okay?”

Krypto the nice dog barked excitedly and got on his four legs and started turning in circles excitedly. He must be your guide dog, but he didn’t have the proper equipment for it. He just had a normal leash that you’d wrapped around your wrist. 

Clark was usually the one to help people, not the opposite. It felt weird, to be so vulnerable, at the mercy of anyone. But he didn’t mind it so much. It was good to be reminded once in a while that you were still human underneath all that power. 

“Where’s your arm?” you asked, feeling his body with your hand until you found it, and lifted it around your shoulders. Clark focused so he could lift his upper body, knowing that however strong you were, he still weighed a lot more than any normal human.

Finally, they managed to make it work. You were a lot shorter than him, but it didn’t bother him, even if he had to crouch down low to lean against you.

You were right. You were strong. 

Krypto took his job very seriously, and he only got distraction once or twice. 

“You have a cape,” you said. 

“Superman does.”

“So you’re just a cosplayer?”

“Why would I be cosplaying Superman while heavily injured?”

“I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”

He huffed a short laughter. “Yeah. I lost my first battle today.”

He didn’t know why he said it, only that it felt good to. 

“You’re definitely not Superman then,” you replied, but he could tell you were just teasing him. 

“Hey, even metahumans are allowed an off-day. Or two,” he whined. 

You giggled, and the sound warmed his chest.

“It sucks that you had to pick the least sunny week of the year to crash here,” you said. “Will you still be okay?”

Despite your teasing, you were actually concerned about him, and it made him smile. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you ever since he saw you. There was something about you that drew his eyes. 

“Yeah, definitely. It’ll just take me a little more to recuperate, but I should be fine.” 

He thought about explaining how his cells actually worked, and while he could tell you were a fan, he wasn’t sure you would appreciate the infodump on Kryptonian biology. 

“Okay, that’s good. Do you see a farm house with a blue roof?”

“Yes.” He did, just a few meters away.

“Good, we’re almost there. How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” he replied honestly. “But a lot better than three hours ago.”

“That’s good. I have to say, this is not how I expected my day to go when I decided to take a walk.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Krypto trying to befriend geese again, only for him to be bullied again and then act all sad for two hours before he forgets and moves on.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your plan,” Clark said, trying to sound sincere but his eyes were dancing with mirth.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me, won’t you?” you replied easily, and it took a few seconds for Clark to realize you weren’t flirting.

“I will,” he said, and Clark never broke his promises. 

“Do you eat? Like, human food? Should I sacrifice a goat for you?”

He spluttered. “Sacrifice? Who do you take me for?”

“Aren’t you a God?”

“No!” he was laughing now. “Where did you get that idea from? I’m human, like the rest of the world.”

You jutted your lower lip in disbelief. “Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”

Krypto barked having reached the porch. You navigated with ease the steps, as if you’d done this route a thousand times, and Clark realized you probably did. You must know this place like the back of your hand.

“Let me,” he said, and opened the door for you. It barely creaked under his fist.

“Thanks,” you replied. “Well… this is home. My bedroom is downstairs so lucky for you, you won’t have to walk any stairs.”

“Lucky me.”

Clark looked around. It was a quaint, cozy house. The kind you found in Smallville by the dozens. He felt a pang of nostalgia for his childhood home. He should visit his parents as soon as he can move without needing help. 

Realizing his duties were off now, Krypto ran around the house. He was such an excited dog, it was cute. Golden retrievers were known for their kind and friendly personalities. 

You led him to a door. You opened it yourself. “My bed will probably be a little small for you, I haven’t changed it since teenagehood but it should do the work.”

“Thank you, really.” 

Clark wouldn’t have cared if you’d made him sleep on the floor, but he was grateful you sacrificed your bed for him. You were right, it was on the smaller side, but Clark didn’t mind. It still looked so comfortable.

“They have names?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The teddy bears on your bed.”

“Oh, I didn’t know those were still there,” you said with a furrow of your eyebrows. “Don’t mind them.”

Clark didn’t press. He sat down gingerly on the mattress and the platform creaked underneath his weight. “If I break it, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll pay for it.”

You waved his concerns away with a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” he said, but he would worry about it, and would pay for it back if he broke it. “It’s really soft. Better than my bed.”

“Superman uses beds?”

He laughed as the back of his head hit the pillow. “You’re funny. Where do you get all of these assumptions from? First I’m a cosplayer, then a God, and now I’m too above beds?”

Now that you weren’t holding him up, you crossed your arms over his chest. “I do a lot of thinking about everything and anything,” you replied with a shake of your shoulder.

“Your mind must be a good place to be,” he replied. 

You laughed. “When you lose your eyesight, all you pretty much still have are your thoughts.”

So you weren’t born that way, he thought. It wasn’t his place to pry, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Thinking is your hobby, then.”

“Somewhat.”

He smiled, even though you couldn’t see it. “Well, thank you very much again for saving me, kind stranger. I’ll be out of you and Krypto’s paws as soon as I feel a little better.”

“Don’t forget your promise,” you warned him.

He often missed flying again, but never when you were there. It was strange, really. How one day he was fighting someone, and the next he was in a stranger’s home whose name he didn’t even know yet. Krypto had taken a liking to him too, and often scratched against the doorframe to get inside, until he realized he was smart and learnt how to open it himself by standing up on his hind legs and using his front paw to turn down the knob. 

You’d tried countless times to get him to stop, but it turned out that Krypto’s namesake was just as disobedient when he wanted to be. Clark didn’t mind. It was funny, and familiar. 

So he often woke up to him laying on his chest, his eyes staring at him with a tilt of his head. 

By the third day, Clark could finally move. 

He knocked on the living room’s wall door before entering so he didn’t startle you. You looked at ease in there, sitting on your couch, legs tucked underneath you, an open book on your lap, reading from it with your fingers. 

“Hey,” you said first. “You’re up.”

“Yeah,” Clark replied. He didn’t know why he felt so shy. He’d been sleeping in your childhood’s bedroom yet going out there felt so much more intimate, especially with you reading and looking at peace, and Clark felt like he was intruding. “It’s thanks to you.”

“Your cosplay is done washing,” you told him, and he can see the smug teasing smile on your face.

“Just in time for my cosplay convention. Thank you, kind stranger.”

“You really ought to stop calling me that,” you replied. 

“I would, but you still won’t tell me your name. Can I take a seat?”

You patted the space next to you. “Not that. Kind. I’m not kind.”

He pretended to be surprised, but took a seat anyway. “You’re not? You certainly could have fooled me there.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just part of my extensive machiavelic plan. I’m just buttering you up so I can have my wicked way with you.”

He was amused now. “Oh is that so? And what would that entail?”

“Haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Well, make sure you let me know once you do.”

You turned to face him, and smiled. “Maybe you really are Superman.”

“Oh, what changed your mind?”

You went back to staring ahead of you. “You’re really kind.”

“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to say. It was true that he always worked hard to be kind, and to be a kind hero who brought hope to everyone else, so it shouldn’t surprise him coming from you, but it did. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Mhm.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, even though he knew he was being annoying. 

“Something,” you replied. 

He laughed. “Should have known, my bad.”

He felt better already. “Oh, thanks for the clothes too.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m really upset I can’t see you in clothes that probably don’t fit you,” you replied, deadpan. “Tell me at least whether the shirt fits like a crop top.”

Clark looked down at his exposed stomach. “Actually, yeah. Like a really tight croptop.”

You snickered. “Could you describe yourself to me? I’ve never actually seen Superman. I lost my vision a little before he made his debut.”

“Well… you can already tell, but I’m tall. I’m 6’4, I’m… big. Like, freakishly big, I guess.”

“I could tell, when I was lifting you.”You were smiling and staring at his vicinity as if it could help you see what he was describing. “Are you a redhead?” 

“Is this another one of your assumptions?”

“Yeah. Everyone says you’re a brunette but I refuse to believe it until I see it for myself.”

“Ah, I guess you won’t believe me either when I tell you I have black hair.”

“Fat chance of that. Continue.”

Clark never really had to think about his appearance so much, and he didn’t necessarily spend a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror, but he thought about it for you. “Well, I have what people would say a strong jaw, and a strong nose. I have dimples that show up sometimes.”

“Can I touch it?”

Clark was speechless for a few seconds, a soft breath leaving his mouth. “I… sure.”

Your fingers started from the bottom, trying to find you before they traveled up to his face. They were light as feathers against his lips before moving to his cheeks. 

“I don’t feel the dimples.”

Clark smiled wide. It came easy, looking at your slightly displeased frown.

“Oh, I feel it now,” you said. Your index fingers were over the craters of his cheeks. “It’s cute. And you have one on each cheek.”

Clark stayed quiet, eyes riveted on your face. His mouth was slightly agape, caught in a trance. 

You were devastatingly pretty, and Clark wasn’t even sure you were aware of it. The frown of your eyebrows as you focused on something, your eyes fixed on his face even though you couldn’t see it. 

Your fingers grazed his lips again and Clark swallowed soundly. “Why aren’t you talking?” you asked. “Do you want me to stop? Sorry, it’s just that I use my fingers to see. I guess they’re my eyes.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” he said, and he didn’t care that he sounded so breathy and desperate. He just wanted you to keep touching his face the way you do, like he was something precious, something worth discovering. “I don’t mind.”

You smiled gratefully. “You are pretty,” you said. “I can feel it. And you’re right,” you said, tracing a finger over his left jaw. “You do have a strong jaw.” Your fingers stopped on his chin. “Oh, you have a cleft chin too. Oh you must be devastatingly handsome.” Clark blushed, and he hoped you couldn’t feel how his skin warmed over at your compliment. “I bet you get tons of fan love letters.”

“I… no, I can’t say I have.”

“Really? I don’t believe you.”

“You’re a pretty distrustful person, aren’t you?”

You shrugged. “And you’re too trusting.”

Clark supposed you weren’t wrong. “Touché.”

“What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

“Is it true they can shoot laser beams?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you said. “Have you ever used them for something other than a fight? Like maybe lit a fireplace?”

Clark laughed. “No, but that’s a good idea. I don’t usually use my powers outside of… work. Well, except maybe my super strength. It comes in handy.”

“I bet. Can I touch your hands?”

“Sure.”

And then his large hands are being cradled so softly by yours. 

“Oh my, what big hands you have.”

“Are you— are you quoting Little Red Riding Hood to me?” 

“It seemed fitting. Your hands are huge.”

“Well I guess it’s so I can hold the world more safely.”

You’re tracing over his calluses now, born from both manual labor at the farm when he was younger and from fighting as Superman. “And who holds you?”

He knew you weren’t trying to be deep or emotional about it, but it still hit something tender inside his chest. “I hold myself.”

“Ah, the lonesome hero who doesn’t need anyone else. How unexpected.”

“That’s definitely not true. I needed you, didn’t I? And you saved me.”

“I guess. I suppose I’m the one who held you this time.”

Before you, only his parents had held him. It felt unfamiliar, but not unwanted. Not when it was you. 

He wanted to flip his hands on top of yours and hold your hands. They were smaller than his, not that it was such a surprise. Sometimes, it felt like everyone else was smaller than him. He just wanted to feel your weight in his hands. 

It’d been a long time since he’d felt such an instant attraction to someone like this. He was so busy with being both Clark Kent and Superman that he never really had time to think about love or romance or what person he found pretty. 

But that was before he saw you, before he felt your fingers trace the symbol on his suit. Before he realized you liked Superman but at the same time, you didn’t really care that he was Superman, and that you let him have your own room, and that you brought food to him every meal when he still couldn’t move a lot, and you ate with him.

Before you called him handsome and kind, and held his hands in yours as if he was something breakable, and not the world’s strongest man. 

He rubbed the back of your hand mindlessly, and he felt, rather than saw, your shiver, and heard the quickening of your heartbeat.

“I… I have to go feed Krypto,” you lied, your heart skipping a beat.

He smiled. “Okay.”

It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one affected by the other. 

Clark went to visit his parents as soon as he could. It was in the middle of the night, and he was wearing his suit again because he didn’t want to show up at their place looking like his clothes had shrunk in the washer, but it also meant that he had to be even more discreet so that no one saw Superman walk into Martha and Jonathan’s house like he belonged there. Well, he did, but they didn’t have to know that. 

His dad almost cried when he saw him, and of course his mom had to make fun of him, even though she was a little bit teary eyed as well. 

“My sweet little boy,” she said, when he bent down to her height so she could hug him properly. He kissed the top of her head, feeling a little emotional too. It had been a long time since he visited them, and he carried that guilt with him every day. 

He had gone without telling you, not wanting to spark suspicion or worry you, and he hoped you didn’t notice his disappearance. 

“Where have you been, son?” Jonathan asked him. “How come you’re sneaking inside our place like you’re coming back from sneaking out?”

Clark smiled bashfully. “I’m having a very late teenage crisis,” he joked, before explaining what happened to him, and how he’s been recuperating at someone’s house after they found him in their fields, just like his own parents did thirty-three years ago.

“Who is she?” his mom asked.

“I… I don’t really know actually,” Clark laughed derisively. “She won’t say her name, but she’s really kind. She lives close to the corn field, a little in the outside of the town.”

His parents both knew exactly who he was talking about. “Oh, that poor girl…” Jonathan said, shaking his head, and Clark frowned. 

“What do you mean? Did something happen to her?”

For some reason, that thought made something uncomfortable churn at the pit of his stomach. The thought of something happening to you that was so bad that his parents reacted this way made him want to crush something in his hands — preferably whatever caused you pain.

“Well, I don’t think it’s our place to tell, she’s a very secretive girl. Secretive but kind. She recently came back to Smallville after… well, after almost a decade, and she’s been living like a recluse. Everyone knows of her, but no one knows her, you know?”

Clark tried to smile but it came out wrong and wonky. “Yeah, she’s really kind.”

How did he not realize that something was going on with you? He’d easily noticed that you were lonely, but he didn’t think too much of it. Did something happen that made you come back? Would you have preferred not to come back at all if you could?

“Take care of her, son. But I know I don’t need to tell you that. You’re a good boy, Clark.”

“Thanks, Ma,” he replied, grateful.

Even later that night, he came back to your place with a bag full of clothes that actually fit him, and another bag filled with food that his mom had given him. Share with her, she’d said. Tell her it’s a gift. 

And Clark couldn’t really say no to that. Not to his mom, not to gifting you something.

You were still asleep when he came back; he could hear your heartbeat, slow and deep. He could also hear Krypto’s, who was asleep next to you. He couldn’t see you, but the idea of you both asleep together was really endearing.

He was going to bed too. 

The next morning, he made breakfast. He didn’t know exactly what you liked, so he just prepared a little bit of everything with what he found in your kitchen, making sure to replace everything he use and to not disturb your carefully laid out kitchen tools and ingredients. Krypto had been woken up by the sounds of the kitchen, knowing it meant that food was being cooked. Clark boiled an egg and gave it to him. 

“Superman? Is that you?”

It felt weird to be called that when he was just being Clark Kent — although he didn’t have his hypno-glasses with him so there was no risk of him being recognized — but he liked it coming from you. He wished he could tell you the truth, but he knew it was a bad idea because it hadn’t even been a week since he met you, and he didn’t want to put you in danger, especially not when you were already dealing with personal stuff. 

He guessed it explained why your house was half-lived in, half abandoned, but he couldn’t tell why exactly.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Did you make breakfast?”

“Yes. I wanted to make myself useful around here.”

You smiled. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. No one’s ever made me breakfast in a really long time.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

The promise he made you was still in the back of his mind, everpresent, always making itself known. He was getting stronger by the day, and it meant that he won’t have a reason to stick around. The moment he took you for a spin, he would know it was time to leave you behind and go back to Metropolis where he still had unfinished business, where he had his entire life. 

He wondered if you dreaded the day he had to leave too. Looking at you right now, bathed in the morning light, expression open and serene, you looked happy, and he didn’t want to ruin that. 

“Please sit. I made you some eggs and toast and bacon, and I brought some croissants. Hope you enjoy them.”

Your face lit up, and you took your usual seat at the kitchen table. “You did? That’s so sweet, thank you.”

Clark both loved and hated how easily impressed you were. Loved it, because he could easily make you happy and hated it because it meant that you weren’t used to people doing nice things for you. 

He wished he had more time with you, just to fix that.

He sat down in front of you at the table, and your hand instinctively found his across the table, like you’d recently started to do. You said it helped you know you weren’t alone and Clark let you. It was as much for you as it was for him too. 

“This is really good, where’d you get it from?” you said, finishing the butter croissant.

“A bakery in the downtown area,” he replied. “I think it was called Mimi’s Bakery.”

You hummed and grabbed another one and Clark watched you happily. 

“Wait, did you go out as Superman? Or did you just go with the crop top shirt?” you asked, laughter in your voice. “Oh how I’m mad I wasn’t able to see it.”

“I… I have my ways,” Clark replied bashfully. 

“You’re being mysterious.”

“I’m afraid it comes with the territory of being a superhero.”

You gave a chortle. “Sometimes I forget I literally have Superman living in my house. Though I’m still not a hundred percent convinced you really are Superman. I’m still waiting for you to make good on that promise.”

“So skeptical,” Clark tutted. “And speaking of your promise, I’m ready when you are.”

“Really?” you asked, looking up towards the direction of his face. “You’re all healed up?”

“Enough to go for a flight,” he replied.

He was really dreading the day he could no longer make excuses to stay here just a little bit more. 

“Should I dress for the occasion? Maybe a long, flowy dress for the dramatics?”

“I think you’re perfect the way you are right now, kind stranger.”

“Then, let’s go.”

It was his first time flying in a long time and doing it with you only made it more special.

You fit in his arms as if he were made to hold you, happy and excited and eager. 

“You better believe me after this, okay?” he whispered to you in your backyard.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He laughed. “So… never?”

“Superman!” you laughed gleefully, head thrown back in mirth. “I can’t believe you just made fun of my blindness. I thought Superman was supposed to be wholesome,” you chastised, but you were only pretending to be offended.

“I’m sorry! It came out of nowhere,” he said, eyes looking up to the sky in pure mortification. “That was of really bad taste, I’m sorry.”

“No, I liked it. It was funny, and I’m pretty sure I already made a joke like that once. It makes me feel less alone when people don’t shy away from it, you know?”

“So… what I’m hearing is that you want me to make jokes about your blindness.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re being purposefully obtuse.”

“Let’s see who’s being obtuse once we’re in the sky. You ready?”

“Yes, as ready as I’ll ever be. Because you’re obviously not Superman. You’re just a cosplayer.”

“Oh, is that so?” Clark’s face broke into a mischievous smile. “Would a cosplayer be able to do this?”

And then he was in the air without even needing to propulse himself, and you shrieked, wrapping your arms and legs tighter around him, as if you were truly not expecting him to actually fly.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I promise you a spin in the air, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m never gonna let you down.”

Your forehead was pressed against his chest, heartbeat in a frenzy inside your ribcage. “Wow,” you said. “You really are Superman. Or just a really good cosplayer with good special effects.”

Clark rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You refuse to believe me, do you?”

“It’s in my nature. I wouldn’t be me if it weren’t for my cynicism and skepticism.” 

“Oh, is that so? So all this time, you’ve just been lying to me?”

“I never lie. I always told you I would believe it when I see it. I didn’t lie.”

You were being so endearingly annoying that Clark just wanted to kiss you. He’d been fighting that urge for the past two days now whenever he saw you, or when you held his hand, or tried to ‘see’ his face. 

“God, you make me crazy, kind stranger.” They were still going up higher in the air and you didn’t let go of your death grip on him. “Do you want me to do barrels?” 

He would do anything you asked him.

You shook his head. “No, I think I’m good,” you replied, breathless. “But there’s something else I want to try.”

Clark’s breath left his lungs. “Yeah?” he said huskily. “What is it?”

“I want… to kiss Superman. Can I?”

Clark’s heart did somersaults in his chest, as a stupid, goofy grin broke free on his face. “Aw, that sucks,” he teased. “How are you going to do that? There’s no Superman around here after all, remember? Just me, the Superman cosplayer.”

“Oh shut up,” you said, gently swatting him at the chest. “You know what I mean. And I think you want to kiss your kind stranger too. So why waste time?”

Clark’s smile softened. You were right. There was no reason for them to waste any more time, especially when their time together was already so short.

He kissed you first, and your arms finally let go of their grip, trusting him to keep holding you, and your hands buried themselves in your hair as you deepened the kiss. 

It was the greatest kiss he’d ever had. 

“Wow,” you both said at the same time. You laughed.

“I guess… I guess I’m thoroughly convinced now, Superman.”

“Oh thank God,” he replied, feigning relief. 

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

He happily obliged.

It was obvious from the way the mood had sobered up when you both came back to your place that you were thinking about the expiration date on whatever it was between the two of you.

Clark couldn’t pretend anymore. Despite the lack of the sun, he’d been getting stronger steadily and his body no longer hurt. Soon, he would have to go back to his real life.

But part of him knew that it wanted you part of his life too. He didn’t want to have to choose between the two; he wanted you in his life, but he knew he could never make you do anything you didn’t want. He liked you far too much to ever want to put you in a cage.

You guys were eventually going to have a talk, but not yet — not at this instant.

For now, the world could wait. You both still had a few days before having to face the music. 

masterlist ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi

[nerdycheol]

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

pairings: mingyu x f!reader wc: 20k (forgive me please) genre/warnings: fake dating, slow burn, themes of manipulation(bets/hidden motive), mild angst, too many cringey nicknames, how to lose a guy in 10 days inspired (too many similarities 😔), mentions of mingyu's abs 🫦 (a/n): this is for the caratboxd collab by svthub, thankyou for giving me an opportunity to write this! I'm very sorry for the wc, i didnt think it would get this long. this is one of my all time favorite movies so i hope i did justice to it. please lmk how it was :)) a big big big thanks to luna (@belovedgyu) and daisy (@flowerwonu) my love for beta-ing this, y'all are the best <3 (if the paragraphs are in a weird format, I'm sorry, tumblr was not allowing me to post fic this long so I had to try smth)

You hate mornings in New York. Not because of the city. The city is the only part you still like—how the early sunlight slices between high-rises, pooling gold on the sidewalks, the corner bagel carts already open, the air already sticky. No, it’s not the city. It’s the job. Writing the same celebrity gossip over and over, making silly how-to lists no one needs, staying up late for headlines you don’t even care about. You work at Viva, a glossy lifestyle magazine that used to mean something before the internet sucked the life out of print. Now it’s all clickbait headlines and viral content, and you’re one of the many underpaid writers tasked with making that happen. Lists, quizzes, recycled relationship advice—you’ve done it all. You didn’t go to journalism school for this. But dreams don’t pay rent in Manhattan.

So here you are, iced coffee sweating in your hand, weaving between suits and tourists in Midtown as you mentally prep for another pitch meeting. Another round of trying to convince your editor to let you write something that actually matters. Another day of swallowing the frustration when she doesn’t. Your phone buzzes. jinnieee: heads up. bosszilla is in a mood.

Great. That’s going to go well.

You finally swing into the elevator of the Viva office building, adjusting your blazer. The doors slide open to reveal the chaos of the open-plan office—half glass, half noise. Your desk is a corner near the window, not glamorous but close enough to the skyline to pretend you’re important. You’re barely halfway through your iced coffee when you slump into your desk chair, Yunjin already perched on the edge of it like she’s been waiting for gossip. She spins lazily side to side, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s about to ask.

“So? How was your hot date?”

You glare at her over the rim of your cup. “Don’t say hot.”

“That bad?”

You sigh, tossing your bag under the desk. “Worse. He spent twenty minutes talking about his investment portfolio. Then asked if I wanted to see his home gym—at midnight.” Yunjin cringes. “Ew.”

“I know.”

You toss your phone down, face first. “God, I wish there was like… some foolproof method to get rid of a guy. Like a guaranteed way to make him lose interest so I don’t have to ghost him.”

“You want to invent man-repellent,” she snorts.

“I’m serious. If there was a handbook, I’d buy it.”

Before Yunjin can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the chatter of the office.

“Glad to hear you’re both hard at work.”

You both freeze. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Vivian—your editor-in-chief, heels clicking as she approaches.

You sit up straighter, scrambling to look busy. “Morning.”

Vivian stops by your desk, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Morning. How’s that next pitch coming, by the way?”

You freeze. Shit. That was due yesterday.

Yunjin senses your panic and jumps in. “Actually,” she chirps, “we were just talking about that!”

You whip your head toward her, puzzled, but she keeps going, voice a little too chipper.

“Yeah, we were just saying how... it gets really frustrating with men sometimes, you know? Like, you want to get rid of them, but you don’t want to do the actual dumping—you want them to do it for you. It’s a whole thing.”

Vivian raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Yunjin gestures vaguely, thinking fast. “And… what if someone documented that? Like—how to make a guy break up with you. Step by step.”

You stare at her, then at Vivian, who just blinks. Waiting. Impatient.

Yunjin claps her hands together. “Right! How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. That’s what she’ll be writing.”

Your mouth falls open. You shoot Yunjin a look that screams are you kidding me, but Vivian’s gaze is fixed on you now, her interest visibly piqued.

“Is that real?” Vivian asks. “You’re actually doing that?”

Your pulse jumps. You glance back at Yunjin, who nods encouragingly like this was your idea all along.

You clear your throat. “Uh… yes.”

Vivian’s lips curl into a slow grin. “Interesting. I’ll want a draft by Monday."

Then she turns on her heel, striding away with the confidence of someone who’s just assigned Pulitzer-worthy work.

You turn to Yunjin, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

Yunjin shrugs, unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

—

Mingyu barrels out of the elevator, cursing under his breath as he weaves between interns and assistants in the hallway, coffee sloshing in his hand. The meeting started ten minutes ago. His phone is buzzing nonstop, and he knows it’s Seokmin texting “where the hell are you!?”. But there’s no time to check.

He swings open the conference room door just as the lights dim, a giant screen lighting up the space with sleek mockups and bold campaign slogans.

There’s one empty chair at the far end. He sinks into it quietly, catching his breath, pretending he’s not half-sweating through his shirt. But then he hears it—the pitch. The voice narrating his idea, the one he stayed up all night refining, the one he was supposed to present today.

“Wait,” he says, sitting up straighter, hands splayed in protest. “Hey, hey, wait. This is—this is my idea.”

The presenter pauses. Everyone turns. Mingyu’s boss, stationed at the head of the table, stares at him with an expression that borders on exhausted amusement.

“Mingyu,” his boss says flatly, “you can’t even show up on time. How am I supposed to take you seriously?”

“I’m serious,” Mingyu insists, chest heaving lightly. “I’ve been working on this for weeks. I—look, I’ll do anything for this account. You know that.”

There’s a pause, a brief flicker of attention shifting across the table.

“Anything?”

From halfway down the table, Jeonghan leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs with the kind of grin that always means trouble. He and Mingyu are friends—or as close as anyone can be to a guy who thinks mild chaos is a form of affection.

Jeonghan tilts his head, his smile curling like he’s already thinking three steps ahead. “Good to know.”

Their boss chuckles low, shaking his head. “We’ll see how serious you really are, Mingyu.”

The meeting moves on, the presenter picking up where they left off, but Mingyu barely hears any of it. He can still feel Jeonghan’s gaze lingering—not unkind, not friendly either. Just curious.

The party’s already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin get there—music low and bassy, laughter echoing off tall glass windows, strings of lights crisscrossing above heads like someone tried to make the rooftop look effortlessly cool. Everyone’s holding a drink, pretending not to network, but you can tell by the practiced laughs and the way people scan name tags like they’re memorizing stats. You weren’t even supposed to come. But Yunjin had insisted, saying it was “half-business, half-fun”, which really meant you’d both spend the night judging people’s outfits and deflecting finance bros. You find a corner to loiter in, drinks in hand, and you both start your people-watching commentary whispered between sips, rating strangers’ flirting techniques, or lack thereof. It doesn’t take long before the first guy drifts over. Then another. And another.

One tries the classic “you look familiar, have we met before?”, another just awkwardly lists all the rooftop bars he likes. None of them land. But when the next one approaches—tall, well-dressed, with the kind of easy smile that looks practiced—you give Yunjin a subtle nod. This one.You step away, smoothing your dress, weaving through the crowd until you’re standing in front of him. He looks up from his drink, eyes flicking to yours, clearly waiting for you to speak first.

“Let me guess,” you say, crossing your arms, “you’re in real estate.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Consulting.”

“Close enough.”

He grins, and for a second, you think maybe this won’t be terrible. But then your gaze drops—to his hand lifting his glass—and there it is. A wedding ring. Bold, unmistakable, like it wasn’t even meant to be hidden. You pause mid-sentence, then just shake your head, backing up a step. “Right. Of course.”

He blinks, confused, but you’re already turning on your heel, retreating to where Yunjin waits, leaning coolly against a column with her glass half-empty and one eyebrow raised.

You don’t say a word. You just hold up your hand and point to your ring finger. Yunjin’s lips curl, half in pity, half in amusement. You sigh, already exhausted, and plop down on the nearest barstool, resting your elbows on the bar island. The cold marble feels good against your arms, and you almost consider ordering something stronger. “You’re really killing it tonight,” Yunjin teases, sliding onto the seat beside you.

“Shut up.”

You groan, head dropping to your arms. This night couldn’t end fast enough.

On the other side of the party, Mingyu lounges on a low velvet couch, nursing a drink while Jeonghan and Seokmin argue about something. Their boss sits with them, swirling his whiskey, looking more entertained by the banter than involved.

Jeonghan leans forward, eyes skimming the crowded bar area. “You know, picking up a girl at a party like this isn’t the same as making her actually fall for you.”

Mingyu scoffs, sitting back. “What, you think I can’t make a girl fall for me?”

“Exactly, bro.”

“First of all,” Mingyu mutters, “I’m not your bro. And second, I don’t have those concerns. There’s no girl who wouldn’t fall for this face.” He gestures vaguely to himself, grinning. Jeonghan laughs under his breath, swirling his glass. “This’ll be good. If you pull it off, I’ll give the pitch back to you. Consider it… proof of commitment.”

Mingyu squints at him. “That’s blackmail.” “I like to call it an incentive,” Jeonghan grins.

Their boss hums, tipping his glass lazily. “Frankly, if you’re this persuasive in love, I’ll know you’re persuasive enough for clients. Win-win.” Mingyu clicks his tongue, but the grin is already creeping in. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Okay, which one?” Jeonghan’s eyes scan the room, his smirk widening when he spots you. “That one,” he says, pointing. Mingyu follows the direction of his finger, eyes landing on the girl in the green dress—Yunjin. His nose wrinkles. “The one in the green?”

Jeonghan laughs. “No, no. Behind her. The blue one.”

Mingyu’s gaze shifts—and that’s when he sees you, leaning on the bar, looking borderline done with the night. You don’t even look like you’re trying to enjoy yourself. He sighs inwardly. Great. Still, he shrugs, finishing the last of his drink. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Seokmin watches him warily. “Gyu, you don’t have to listen to him, you know that, right? This is gonna come back to bite you in the ass.”

Mingyu grins as he gets to his feet, adjusting his jacket. “Nah, I’ve got this.”

Their boss lifts his glass. “If you crash and burn, at least entertain me while doing it.” Mingyu just shakes his head, heading off toward the bar with Jeonghan calling after him, voice laced with mock encouragement, “Go get her, Romeo.”

As Mingyu disappears into the crowd, Seokmin watches after him, then turns to Jeonghan, incredulous. “Did you really just ask our friend to ask a random girl out?” Jeonghan shakes his head, sipping leisurely from his whiskey, eyes still trained on the bar. “Not just any girl.”

Seokmin frowns. “What?”

Jeonghan finally glances over, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “She works at my cousin’s magazine. Apparently, she’s writing some column… ‘How to Lose a Guy’ or something like that.”

Seokmin stares, confused. “So?” “So,” Jeonghan smirks, tapping his glass, “I want to see how long he holds.”

You’re hunched over the bar island, elbow propped up, eyes fixed on the rim of your glass when a shadow looms at your side. Someone slips into the empty stool next to you in a not-so-very-subtle way. You glance sideways, expecting another finance bro. But the guy sitting there is—unfortunately—ridiculously attractive. Tall, sharp jawline, hair slightly messy in a deliberate way, and he’s already smiling like he’s got the upper hand just by showing up. “Hey,” he says, voice smooth and casual. “You look like you’re one bad conversation away from throwing yourself off this rooftop.” You blink, caught off guard, before a small laugh escapes you. “What gave it away?” “The sighing. The dramatic slump. And the way you’ve been glaring at your drink like it said something offensive.”

You huff, lips curving despite yourself. “Observant.” “Years of practice,” he grins, swiveling his stool slightly to face you better. “Mind if I sit?” “You’re already sitting,” you deadpan. “Right,” he chuckles, hands up in mock surrender. “Then... mind if I stay?” You eye him, skeptical but amused. “Depends. Are you married? Engaged? Secretly in a long-distance relationship with someone who thinks you’re loyal?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “None of the above. Single. Fully unattached. Zero entanglements.” “Hmm,” you hum, leaning on your palm. “You’ll forgive me if I ask for proof.”

“I’ll do you one better,” he says, patting down his jacket like he’s checking for a pen. “I’ll write you a resume right now. Skills include: great with dogs, decent cook, tall enough to reach things on the top shelf, not married.” You shake your head with a soft chuckle. Yunjin, who’s been silently watching the exchange, leans in just then and murmurs, “I’m gonna find the bathroom. Or maybe someone hotter. Don’t die.”

“Not planning on it,” you mutter, as she walks off with a wink.

“Coworker?” the stranger asks, watching her go. “Yeah,” you nod. “And my best friend.”

“Lucky her,” he says smoothly. “Getting to work with you all day.” You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays you. “Does that line usually work?”

“I’ll let you know in five minutes,” he says, grinning.

You finally sit up straighter, giving him a more thorough once-over. He’s annoyingly handsome and somehow worse—charming. “What’s your name, charmer?” “Mingyu,” he says, sliding his hand into yours. His grip is warm, fingers curling around yours just enough to make it noticeable. “And you are?” You give him your name, and he repeats it back with a smile, like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, still not letting go right away. “I had a good feeling about tonight.”

“Did you?” you smirk.

“Yeah. And now I’ve got proof.”

He watches you laugh, clearly pleased with himself, then leans in a little, voice easy. “You wanna get out of here? Somewhere quieter?”

You give him a look, brows raised. “That’s literally what every kidnapper says.” Mingyu chuckles, placing a hand over his heart. “Swear I’m not a creep. Zero kidnapping experience. Cross my heart.”

You stare him down, unblinking. Just to be sure. “Okay—how about just a walk?” he suggests, nodding toward the terrace doors. “Public space. Lots of witnesses. If I try anything shady, you can scream. Real loud.”

You squint, pretending to think. “Screaming does sound fun.” “See? Win-win.” He grins. “And if you survive, I’ll buy you another drink.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. You slide off the stool and look around for Yunjin. You see her dancing with a blond guy, arms wrapped around his neck. You give her a look, notifying her that you are leaving and she just winks at you. Mingyu laughs, stepping aside to let you go first. “See? Trust. We’re building it already.” The night air outside is cooler, the city lights turning everything a little gold, a little blurred. “So,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “What’s your excuse for being there? Networking? Or do you just like suffering?” You smile. “Coworker dragged me. She said it was fun.”

He huffs. “Was she wrong?” You glance sideways at him, pretending to think. “I guess not entirely.” He laughs, bumping his shoulder gently into yours. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what do you do when you’re not charming strangers at parties?” you ask. “I’m in advertising,” he says, gaze flicking to you. “Account exec. I’m the poor guy who has to make products sound exciting.”

You hum, unimpressed. “So you’re the reason my social media is cursed with ads for shit I talked about once.”

“Guilty,” he grins. “And you?” “Journalist.” You sigh, then correct yourself. “Writer, technically. At a lifestyle magazine.” “Nice,” he says, genuinely. “Anything I’d know?”

You snort. “If you’ve ever wondered which Taylor Swift song you are based on your breakfast choices, that was probably me.” He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Essential work.” “Vital,” you deadpan. “But it pays rent. Mostly.” He looks at you a beat longer, then says, “You’re too smart to write that stuff forever.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity. You look away first.

Eventually, after the chatter softens, he says, “Wanna head somewhere quieter? My place isn’t far.” The walk winds past closed storefronts and street vendors packing up. You’re halfway through a story about your worst date when he stops in front of an apartment building, tilting his head toward the door. “I live here,” he says.

“Ooh! Fancy.” you tease nudging his arms. He laughs. He unlocks the door, holding it open with an exaggerated gentlemanly gesture. You follow him up a few flights until he pushes open his door—a surprisingly tidy place, some plants, warm lighting, a skyline view from his living room window. “Not bad,” you murmur, taking the cold beer he pulls from the fridge and popping it open with a satisfying hiss. “Thanks,” he says, watching you curiously as you start wandering.

You take your time strolling through his apartment, peeking into the living room, eyeing the art on his walls, tapping the edge of his dining table, pretending to judge the place like a critic. When you push open the door to his bedroom, he follows with an amused smile tugging at his lips. You let out a pleased hum and toss yourself onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a grin. You pat the spot beside you, eyes flicking to his.

“C’mon. Sit.”

He laughs, shaking his head, settling instead on the couch across the room. Takes a sip of his beer and pats beside him.

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but you get up, dragging your beer with you. For a while, there’s just the low hum of the city outside, your quiet sipping, his gaze occasionally flicking to you.

Then you shift. You straddle his lap without a word, your beer clinking faintly as you set it aside. His eyes flash wide for a second before your mouth finds his—warm, exploratory, a little tentative at first. You taste the cold beer on his tongue, your lips pressing, pecking, teasing. Mingyu lets you take the lead for a beat, his hands hovering at your hips. Then he leans back slightly, breath catching. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Let’s not go too fast, hmm?”

You blink, lips parted, incredulous. “Yeah,” you scoff, climbing off with a huff. “Okay.” You pick up your beer, taking a slow sip. But then his hand finds your waist, curling firm and deliberate, tugging you back in. He’s looking at your mouth again. His eyes flick to your lips—then the space between you vanishes. He kisses you, properly this time, deeper, hungrier. Your hands thread through his hair, his lips warm and urgent, his palms smoothing down your sides. Between kisses, he lifts you effortlessly, you laugh into his mouth as he carries you to his bed, still kissing between breaths.

He’s on you immediately, his body heavy, his mouth tracing your neck, the scrape of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, up your back—like he doesn’t know where to settle. But just as it starts to blur—heat, breath, friction—you push a hand to his chest, panting. “Wait,” you manage, your pulse thudding. “We’re going too fast.” He stops instantly, chest heaving. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, his expression wrecked—like he’s hanging by a thread. “I want you to respect me,” you add, half-laughing but breathy, like you’re still catching up with yourself.

Mingyu swallows hard, gaze flicking between your eyes, your mouth. He nods, lips pink and swollen. “I respect you.” Then he adds, “I want you to respect me.”

You snort, dropping your head back against the pillow. “I respect you for respecting me.”

His grin widens. “I respect that.” You both stare at the ceiling, chests rising and falling. He glances sideways, a smile still playing on his lips. “Wanna stay?” You shake your head, lips twitching. “No. But thanks.”

He chuckles, sitting up to grab his jacket. “Let me drop you.” The ride back is quiet but comfortable, his knee brushing yours, neither of you moving away. Now, parked outside your building, he watches as you gather your things. You pause at the door, facing him. “Thanks for driving me,” you say. Mingyu shrugs. “I’m just making sure you get home safe. Like a gentleman.” You roll your eyes as you get out of the car. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t drive off. He stays, waiting, eyes following you until you make it up the front steps. When you turn back to glance at him, he’s still there, arm resting on the steering wheel, grinning. You purse your lips, then blow him a dramatic, lazy flying kiss from the top step. Mingyu catches it mid-air, just to play along, his grin widening.

“I’m going to make you wish you were dead,” you mumble to yourself, waving your hand in a half-hearted goodbye. Mingyu catches the gesture, eyes crinkling with a grin as he mutters to himself in the car, “You’re already falling in love with me.” You roll your eyes, watching his car pull away before finally turning to head inside, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

The first thing you see when you settle at your desk is Yunjin, already swiveling in her chair to face you, eyes glinting with expectation.

“So?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in that don’t-play-dumb way.

“So what?” you reply, feigning innocence as you power up your laptop.

“The hot guy from yesterday. What happened? Did you fuck?”

You grimace, nose scrunching up. “First of all—ew. You’re disgusting. Second, I left him a little something. If he’s smart enough, he’ll pick up on it.” Yunjin’s about to ask what you mean, but right then, a delivery guy appears at your table, arms full. A massive bouquet—vibrant wildflowers mixed with deep red roses and soft pastel peonies, wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with twine—lands right in front of you, stealing both your attention. There’s a small note tucked into the blooms. Good morning, pretty lady.

Yunjin practically squeals. “Ooh! Is it from him?” You don’t answer—mostly because you don’t get the chance. Your phone lights up with an incoming call from an unknown number. Yunjin leans over your desk, eyes wide. “Is it him?” she whispers, grinning. You shrug, fighting back your own smile and swipe to answer. “Hello?” “Good morning, m’lady,” a familiar, too-smooth voice says on the other end. You bite back a laugh, phone pressed to your ear. “Um… who is this?” Yunjin immediately leans closer, eyes wide, and whispers, “Put it on speaker!” You swat her away with a glare, but she just grins, wiggling her brows in encouragement. With a sigh, you roll your eyes and tap the speaker icon. On the other end, the voice chuckles. “Wow. Forgotten already? It’s Mingyu. Tall, handsome, potential kidnapper? Ring any bells?” Yunjin gasps silently, mouthing “it’s him!” while barely containing her squeal. You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hmmm. Vaguely familiar.” “Harsh. And here I thought my bouquet would earn me some points.” You glance at the flowers, pretending to sound unimpressed. “I’ve seen better.” Yunjin slaps your arm lightly, giving you a ‘don’t be a menace’ look.

He laughs. “Good thing I’m not a florist, then. But I am pretty decent company. So—what do you say? Want to see me again? Maybe a proper date this time.” You twirl your pen between your fingers, letting the silence stretch for just a second longer. “Depends. Are you going to send flowers every time you ask?” “If that’s what it takes,” he says, amused. “Tell me where and when, pretty lady.” You hum, pretending to think. “I’ll let you know... if I’m free.” “I’ll wait for your yes, pretty lady.” “Damn girl! You have him wrapped around your finger.” Yunjin lets out a laugh. You just laugh, twirling the note between your fingers.  When Mingyu texted you the name of the place, you had to double-check the spelling—then double-check the location. It was one of those restaurants. The kind with tall glass windows, black-clad valets, and a dining room that looked like it belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine. The air smelled faintly of wine and expensive things you couldn’t name. You almost dressed up more, but then decided if he was going to play rich and charming, you’d at least make him wait. You show up fifteen minutes late, just because you can. And because you’re curious how long he’ll wait before texting some passive-aggressive “on your way?”

But when you finally walk in, the first thing you see is Mingyu sitting at the table near the window, a glass of wine in front of him, scrolling through his phone with his bottom lip jutted out. Pouting. When he looks up and sees you, the pout drops immediately into a grin. He stands, all tall and annoyingly good-looking in a black button-up that fits a little too well. “You’re late,” he says, pulling your chair out for you. You shrug, dropping your coat onto the back of the chair as you slide in. “You looked like you needed to practice waiting.” Mingyu laughs as he sits. “I was starting to think I got stood up. Again. Painful for my ego.” “Oh?” You tilt your head. “Has that happened before?” “Once,” he grins. “But I didn’t send her flowers, so maybe that’s on me.” You roll your eyes, fighting a smile as the waiter approaches to pour you wine. “So what? You just wait fifteen minutes and give up?" “I was giving it five more before I started posting sad Instagram stories,” he deadpans. “You’re lucky.” You laugh, taking a sip. “Oh yeah? What were you gonna post? ‘Can’t trust anyone these days’ over a black-and-white selfie?”

“Exactly,” he smirks. “Then maybe a poll: ‘Will I ever find love? No or No.” You shake your head, lips curving as you pick up the menu, though you’re barely reading it. He watches you, chin resting on his palm, a lopsided smile on his face.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing. Just glad you showed up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re easy to please.”

“Not always,” he shoots back. “But when it comes to you... maybe.” You snort, covering your smile with the menu. The conversation flows easily after that—him trying to guess your favorite food and getting it wrong every time, you making him describe the most embarrassing date he’s ever been on (which involved an allergic reaction and a bathroom window escape), and him teasing you for being ‘the mysterious blue dress girl.’ When the mains arrive, you pretend to feed him a bite, only to pull your fork back at the last second. He pouts dramatically. “Wow,” he mutters. “A thief and a tease.”

“Gotta keep your guard up,” you shrug, popping the fork into your mouth.

You rest your elbow on the table, chin in your palm, watching him nurse his wine with a smile that’s almost innocent.

“So,” you start, voice light, “what’s your love language?”

Mingyu looks up, eyes crinkling. “We’re talking love languages already?”

“I like to be efficient,” you shrug. “I need to know if we’re compatible.”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained. “Okay, um… physical touch, maybe. Quality time.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Mine is gifts.”

“Gifts?” he repeats.

“Mhm.” You nod, swirling your wine. “I like nice things. But I don’t like asking for them, you know? I like when people just know.”

Mingyu grins, biting back a laugh. “Okay, noted. Any particular preference? Designer bags? Jewelry?”

You tilt your head like you’re actually thinking. “Honestly? A promise ring would be cute.”

He almost chokes on his wine. “A promise ring?”

“Yeah, you know. Just so it feels serious,” you say, keeping a straight face. “Like, I don’t want to be that girl who’s wondering what we are after a few dates.”

Mingyu raises his brows, both impressed and horrified. “You give a timeline for that too?”

“Three days,” you answer without missing a beat. “If it takes longer than that, you’re wasting my time.”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. But you just sip your wine, expression calm, eyes locked on his.

“Oh,” you add, as if remembering something, “and I get jealous. But like... cute jealous. Like ‘who’s that girl in your Instagram likes?’ kind of jealous.”

“Noted,” he grins, resting his chin on his hand. “Anything else I should be warned about?”

You press your lips together, as if seriously considering it. “I’d need your location sometimes.”

Mingyu’s laugh bursts out before he can stop it. “Wow.”

You shrug again. “It’s for safety.”

“My safety?”

“Exactly.”

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

“Only a little,” you smile sweetly.

The waiter comes by, offering dessert, but Mingyu waves it off, eyes still locked on you. “I think I’m full on surprises.”

“Already? It’s only the first date,” you tease.

“I know,” he chuckles. “What a ride.”

When the check comes, he insists on paying. You don’t argue, just watch with an amused grin as he signs the bill.

The city’s quieter by the time he’s driving you home, the glow of streetlights painting gold streaks across his dashboard. The windows are cracked just enough to let the night air in, mingling with the faint sound of the radio playing something soft and forgettable.

You don’t say much. Neither does he. But it’s not awkward—just easy. 

When he finally pulls up to your building, he shifts into park, glancing at you with that grin that still hasn’t faded since dinner.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks, voice low.

You just smile, pushing the car door open. “If you’re lucky.”

You step out and disappear up the stairs, not bothering to look back—but you know he’s still watching. And he is. He waits until the front door closes before sighing and resting his hands on the steering wheel. He’s about to drive off when he catches something in the corner of his eye—your jacket, forgotten and draped on the passenger seat. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Smooth.”

The next day, Mingyu asks if you want to go to the fair in your neighborhood. Normally, you would’ve said no—fairs were sticky and loud and full of screaming children—but tonight, they were playing a re-run of The Notebook on the big outdoor screen afterward. And more importantly… you figured a little more time with Mingyu wouldn’t hurt.

(It will help with your article, you reasoned. Get to know him better. Make the piece more interesting.)

Just as he promised, Mingyu picks you up that evening. The ride to the fair isn’t long, but you spend most of it arguing over which carnival game you’ll beat him at—and him insisting that you’ll obviously lose because “I’m tall. That’s an advantage in everything.”

When you reach the fair, the air is warm and loud, music spilling from every corner, neon lights flashing and flickering. Mingyu parks the car and quickly jogs to your side, waving at you to stay put as he opens the door with a dramatic bow.

“Your chariot, madam.”

You roll your eyes but step out with an amused grin.

Inside the fair, it’s a whirlwind—he insists on winning you a stuffed toy at the shooting game, which he fails miserably, but redeems himself by completely destroying the basketball hoops. He buys you cheesy nachos, and you buy him candied apples in return. Every few minutes, someone bumps into the two of you in the crowded lanes, but Mingyu never lets go of your hand—like he’s afraid of losing you to the crowd.

Eventually, you find yourself walking toward the ferris wheel, sharing a big cloud of pink cotton candy between you, your hand still tucked in his.

“You want some?” you ask, pulling a fluffy piece off and holding it up to him.

“I’m good,” he says, chuckling.

“You sure? It’s really good,” you tease, waving it closer to his face.

He tilts his head, eyeing you playfully. “Well, since you’re insisting so much…”

Before you can react, he leans forward—not toward the candy, but toward you—and presses a soft kiss to your lips, just enough to taste the sugar there. You freeze, the candy still in your hand, eyes wide.

“Mhm, sweet,” he mutters, licking his lips with a satisfied grin.

You blink, your mouth opening but no words forming. “Wha—why—I—” you stammer, pointing weakly at the cotton candy.

“You told me to taste it,” he says coolly, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh no, did I make you uncomfortable?” he asks quickly, his expression softening.

“NO—” you clear your throat, heat rushing to your face. “No, I was just… surprised.”

His shoulders relax, a relieved smile tugging at his lips. He squeezes your hand gently then tugs you toward the ferris wheel.

“Come on, before the line gets longer.”

The ferris wheel is slow and creaky, but the view from the top is worth it—the whole fair stretching beneath in a glittering, chaotic sprawl. At one point, your cart rocks slightly, and you grab Mingyu’s arm out of instinct, which only makes him laugh.

“Scared?” he teases.

“No,” you lie, keeping your grip tight.

By the time you make it to the open-air movie, the park is already buzzing. People are everywhere—camp chairs, blankets, couples tangled like noodles, toddlers tripping over popcorn bags. It’s like half the city decided to show up and watch Ryan Gosling cry in high definition under the stars.

“This is a disaster,” you mutter, clutching your popcorn and surveying the crowd. “We’re not going to find a spot.”

“Not with your height, no,” Mingyu smirks, standing on tiptoe like he needs it. Then, with a triumphant little point, he spots a patch near the front. “There. Come on.”

He grabs your hand and maneuvers through the crowd, murmuring apologies as you squeeze between couples and families until you reach an empty space. It’s barely wide enough for two, but you drop down onto the blanket with a relieved sigh, brushing popcorn crumbs off your jeans.

Just in time. The screen flickers to life. The Notebook.

Mingyu's eyes are on the screen, a small frown of concentration between his brows. He’s invested.

You glance at him, then lean in, your voice soft but probing. “So, who is it?”

He doesn’t look at you. “What?”

“The girl you’re thinking about,” you say, eyes still on him.

A guy behind you groans. “Can’t hear.”

Mingyu flicks a glance toward you, confused. “No one.”

“Oh, please,” you whisper. “You can’t be watching Rachel McAdams for two hours and not think about some girl. So, who is she?”

He exhales slowly, then flicks his gaze to you. “It’s you.”

Your lips twitch threatening to smile but you control yourself. “What about me?”

“I’m thinking,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip, “how ridiculously beautiful you look sitting next to me. How unfair it is that I get to do this with you.”

You blink. Then your face melts into a sugary, over-the-top grin. “Awwww, my sweetcheeks was thinking about me,” you coo, pinching his cheek and planting a dramatic kiss on the other one.

Another annoyed grunt from behind. “Now I can’t hear and I can’t see.”

You whip around. “If you don’t shut up, my boyfriend here is going to handle you.”

Mingyu chokes on his popcorn. “I—what.”

The guy behind scoffs. “Keep her like a dog. One that doesn’t yap every time you go out.”

You both freeze.

Mingyu turns slowly, expression darkening. “Hey,” he says, voice low. “Don’t talk to my girl like that. You wanna settle this?”

The guy stands up, massive and broad. “Sure,” he growls. “Let’s settle it.”

By the time you can stop him they are already gone. You jog to Mingyu and tug on his hand. “Gyu. No. That man wrestled bears in another life.”

But Mingyu’s already standing, determined. “No one talks to my girl like that.”

Before you can say anything else—boom. One punch. No words. Just fist-to-face. Mingyu hits the grass like a sack of potatoes, groaning.

“Mingyu!” You scramble beside him, horrified.

“Nobody messes with me.” The guy wipes away a single tear, sniffing. “Now I’m going back to watch Rachel McAdams kiss Ryan Gosling in the rain.”

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter, turning to Mingyu. “Are you okay?”

He groans something unintelligible.

You cup his face gently, inspecting the forming bruise. “Gyu, I think we should take you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“No, you could have a—” you stop. He’s rubbing his cheek against your chest. A very specific part of your chest.

“…Gyu,” you say, trying not to laugh.

He shifts again, nestling closer. “Oh yeah. That’s… starting to feel a bit better.”

You let out a laugh, louder now. “Kim Mingyu!”

“What? It’s therapeutic.”

You gently push his shoulder. “You’re fine. Get up.”

He stays on the grass, dramatically sprawled.

You stand, brushing off your knees, then extend your hand toward him with a smirk. “Come on, big boy. Let’s get you up before someone else thinks you need CPR.”

He takes your hand with a groan, milking it for all the drama he can. “I better get another cheek kiss for bravery.”

“Only if you don’t get punched again.”

“No promises.”

You’re halfway to the car when you hear a tiny, sharp-pitched bark.

You both stop in your tracks. At first you think it’s your imagination—maybe it’s a child’s squeaky toy—but then it comes again. A pitiful little whine.

Mingyu squints toward the alley. “Is that a…?”

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

There, under a crooked lamppost and beside a half-tipped trash can, is a scrappy, wide-eyed, dirt-smudged puppy. Small, trembling, the color of burnt toast and sadness.

“Oh my god,” you repeat, already crouching.

“No, don’t—” Mingyu reaches out instinctively, but you’re already scooping the fluff ball into your arms. It immediately curls against your chest, shivering.

“Look at him!” you gasp, already baby-talking. “He’s so tiny. And dirty. And emotionally neglected.”

Mingyu leans in. “Or he’s a sewer rat in disguise. You don’t know.”

You clutch the dog closer. “His name is Sir Barksalot and he’s ours.”

“Barksalot?”

“Because he barks a lot.”

The puppy sneezes.

Mingyu pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs, then—very carefully—reaches out and scratches behind the puppy’s ear. The dog lets out a happy sigh, tongue lolling out. He’s won over in three seconds.

“…Shit,” Mingyu mutters.

You grin. “You love him.”

“I tolerate him.”

“You’re already attached.”

“I don’t even know this dog.”

“You just gave him a head massage.”

Mingyu shoots you a sideways look but doesn’t argue. Instead, he gently plucks a leaf out of the puppy’s fur. “If we’re keeping it—him—he’s getting a bath. Like, twice.”

Then he glances at you—the way your eyes crinkle when the dog licks your hand and he smiles without meaning to.

—

“Damn, dude. That looks bad.” Seokmin squints at Mingyu’s cheek like he’s trying to diagnose it with his eyes alone.

Mingyu shrugs, unbothered, passing a crumpled bill to the hot dog guy. “Honestly? Getting punched in the face sucked. But being nursed back to health by a cute girl in the grass under the stars?” He gestures to his hot dog like it’s the moral of the story. “Could’ve been worse.”

Jeonghan takes a dramatic bite of his own. “Florence Nightingale syndrome. Classic.”

“Don’t feel bad,” he adds, voice half-muffled because of the food, “If I had a nickel for every time I got into a fistfight during a chick flick…” Seokmin looks at him. “You’d have… how many nickels?” Jeonghan just raises a finger and wipes mustard off his lip. “More than I’m proud of.”

“You want me to tape the Knicks game for you tonight?” Seokmin asks, nudging Mingyu. “Y’know, assuming you’re off the grid, being spoon-fed soup or whatever.”

“No need, my friend.” Mingyu turns to face them, walking backwards now with way too much swagger for a man who was recently decked. “I’ll be watching the Knicks game from the comfort of my house tonight.”

Jeonghan swallows his hot dog. “How’d you swing that?”

Mingyu gets in front of them, walking backwards. “What’s coup de grâce? Heavy weight?”

Jeonghan snickers. “You’re making the lamb?

“Voila!” Mingyu winks. “Every woman loves a man who can cook.”

Jeonghan claps him on the back. “Bringing out the big guns. Respect.”

You’ve always believed there’s a special place in hell for people who mess up lunch orders. Right next to the ones who chew with their mouths open and the ones who say “calm down” when you’re already calm.

So when you peel the tomato off your sandwich—despite very clearly asking for no tomatoes—your mood sours instantly.

“I still can’t believe you got that guy knocked out,” Yunjin says, stealing a fry from your tray.

“Only for a few seconds,” you say breezily, turning in your chair to face her. “He was the most adorable unconscious man I’ve ever seen.” You take a victorious bite of your burger.

Yunjin hums. “So. Plans tonight?”

“Yup.” You wipe your fingers, already smiling. “Dinner. His place.”

Her eyes widen. “Ooh. Taking it to that level already, huh?”

You grin, tossing a fry at her. “Don’t get too excited. For all I know he’s going to open a can of beans and call it rustic.”

Yunjin leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “You like him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m observing him.”

“Uh-huh. Observing how?”

“Through casual social experiments and occasional light emotional manipulation.”

She laughs. “Sounds like the start of every good love story.”

You grab your drink and shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “It’s not a love story. It’s research.”

“Mm-hmm. Just try not to fall too hard.”

You arrive at Mingyu’s place like a woman on a mission—both arms full, bag handles digging into your elbows, dog leash tangled around your wrist, and a precariously cradled houseplant balanced on your hip.

“Hi,” you say sweetly, greeting him with a quick peck on the lips the moment he opens the door.

Mingyu stares—not at you, but at the absolute parade of items trailing behind you. “Are you... moving in?”

“No, honey.” you laugh as you step in, setting Sir Barksalot down who immediately starts sniffing every corner of the apartment,

“Tadaaaa!” you sing-song, hoisting the potted plant directly into his face.

“This,” you announce with the flair of a talk show host, “is a Love Fern.”

He blinks. “You brought a plant... wow.” An awkward laugh escapes him.

“Not just any plant,” you correct him, placing it gently by the biggest window. “This symbolizes our love. If it thrives, so do we.”

He lets out an unsure laugh. “Wow, that's… beautiful.”

You beam, “I know!”

“Make yourself at home,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual as he heads toward the kitchen. “I’ll just check on dinner.”

You follow close behind, peeking around him as he lifts a pan. “Whatchu cookin’, handsome?”

“Do you like lamb?”

“Ohh, I love lamb.”

He exhales, visibly relieved. “Thank God, because I don’t have anything else prepped.”

You both laugh, and just as things start feeling... almost normal, you grab your toiletry bag. “Hey, can I use your washroom?”

“Yeah, of course. Down the hall, first door on the right.”

And with that you vanish.

His bathroom is exactly what you'd expect—gray towels, one sad bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo-conditioner-body wash, and a toothbrush that’s seen better days. You waste no time. Pink towels? Hung. Your rose-gold toothbrush? Propped in the cup next to his. Hello Kitty slippers? Placed sweetly by the door. You scatter a few face creams on the counter, casually drop a few fashion magazines on the back of the toilet, and step back to admire your handiwork. You smile proudly at your work and return to the kitchen. 

Mingyu is stirring something fragrant, looking adorably domestic. You glide up behind him and loop your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back.

“So,” you hum sweetly. “I was thinking we could have a June wedding. Not too hot, not too cold. Maybe Tuscany? Or something local, for the grandmas.”

He nearly drops the pan. “Wedding?”

You nod, now holding his hand and dragging him to the couch. “And our house—I saw this listing with a pool and a pink double-door fridge, it screamed us. Three kids. No, wait—two. I don’t want to lose my waist. And I already have a Pinterest board for the nursery. Want to see?”

Mingyu freezes mid-stir. “Kids?”

You nod brightly. “We already have Sir Barksalot, but I figured we should give him siblings.”

“He’s a dog.”

You gasp, stepping back like he just slapped you. “Oh my god,” you whisper, hands flying to your chest. “Do you… do you not want a future with me?”

Before he can say a word, your bottom lip trembles. Your eyes well up dramatically—almost too fast.

“Wait, are you crying?” he asks, panicked.

“I just—” Your voice breaks as you force out a breathy sob. “I got us a love fern. I thought—I thought you loved me.”

He blinks. “Loved?”

You sniff loudly, wiping a tear that may or may not be real. “Past tense. It’s okay. I get it. Not everyone wants love. Or children. Or a Pinterest board titled Our Forever Home.”

He panics, hands held up like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “No, no, no, baby—I want love! And—and Pinterest! Show me the board! I want to see the board, please.”

You sniff again, peering up through damp lashes. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” he says with the resigned tone of a man who just agreed to raise two imaginary children with a stranger.

You dramatically collapse onto the couch and pull out your phone. “Okay, so this is the nursery with the cloud wallpaper. This one’s the ‘boho-chic Montessori learning nook.’ And here’s our wedding venue if it’s Tuscany, but if we go Grecian, then obviously we’ll need new color swatches—”

Just then, Sir Barksalot hops onto the pool table and lifts a leg.

You shriek with laughter. “Aww, do you think he thought it was grass?”

Mingyu groans, pinching the bridge of his nose before wordlessly retreating to the bathroom. A splash of cold water hits his face. He looks up into the mirror, exhales, and turns to dry off—only to find himself staring at a hot pink towel. And matching face cream. And magazines. His eyes slowly drift to the Hello Kitty slippers.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes.

Then he walks out calmly and calls your name.

“Babe, I don’t think we can do dinner tonight. Or the game. Uh... something came up. Work. Urgent.”

You don't question how his phone nor his laptop is anywhere near him.

“Really?” you pout, “but I got us tickets to the real game.”

“What?”

You shrug, backing toward the door. “I mean, if you’re really busy—”

“Wait—no, no, no. I mean... work can wait. You come first. Always.” He reaches for his jacket. 

You light up, leaning in to kiss him. “Aww. My snookums.”

When you arrive, the stadium buzzes with energy, the air warm and sticky with excitement. You grab his hand without thinking, dragging him toward the entrance like you’ve done this a hundred times before. He just lets you, a pleased look on his face.

The first quarter, you’re subtle. You gasp dramatically whenever the other team scores, clutching Mingyu’s arm like it’s personally offensive. When he cheers for a good play, you shush him with wide, disapproving eyes.

“Whose side are you on?” you whisper, scandalized.

“What? Our side!” he laughs.

“Then don’t cheer like that,” you pout. “It stresses me out.”

He laughs but doesn’t argue, his eyes crinkling as he watches you with a kind of bewildered fondness.

By the second quarter, you ramp it up. Every ten minutes, you’re pressing snacks into his hands—a pretzel, then popcorn, then a hotdog.

“Eat,” you insist, pushing the food in his mouth. “You’ll get low blood sugar.”

“I’m fine,” he laughs, but takes a bite anyway.

“Good,” you nod, wiping his chin with a napkin like he’s a child. “I can’t have my Baby Gyu fainting in public.”

At that, he pauses mid-chew. “Baby Gyu?”

You blink innocently. “Aren’t you my baby?”

EWW. CRINGE!! Why would you say something like that?

He groans, throwing his head back, but he’s laughing all the same. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously caring,” you correct, squeezing his arm.

You don’t stop there. Whenever the opposing team scores, you shout “No! Not my man!” loud enough for the people around to glance at you. Mingyu turns red from laughing, trying to pull his cap lower to avoid attention, but you’re relentless.

Somewhere in the third quarter, while you’re mid-rant about how the referee must be secretly paid off, the arena lights dim just slightly and the big screen flickers—zooming in on couples in the crowd. A bubbly voice announces, “You know what time it is! Kiss cam!”

You glance up, half-interested, until the camera lands on your section. Mingyu is busy popping popcorn into his mouth when the screen lands directly on you two—your faces taking up the entire jumbotron.

The crowd around you erupts into whistles and cheers. Mingyu freezes with a kernel halfway to his lips.

You blink. Then, with the most devilish grin, you nudge him. “Well? Everyone’s watching.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “Wait, for real—?”

You don’t give him time to process. You cup his jaw with both hands and pull him in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s way softer, way sweeter than you planned.

For a second, Mingyu just sits there, stunned—but then his hands land on your waist and he kisses you back, smiling against your mouth like he can’t help himself. The crowd around you cheers even louder, someone behind you shouts “Get it, man!” and you can’t help but laugh into the kiss.

When you pull back, his cheeks are flushed, lips pink, eyes still trained on you like you’ve knocked the air out of him.

By the fourth quarter, Mingyu’s laser-focused—elbows on his knees, eyes sharp, barely blinking. The score’s close, the arena tense, but he’s dead silent, jaw tight and brows furrowed like he’s the one playing. 

Now’s the time.

You lean over to Mingyu with an exaggerated sigh, your head flopping onto his shoulder.

“I’m thirsty,” you groan, dragging the word out like you’ve been stranded in a desert. “Can you get me a coke?”

Mingyu laughs, eyes still fixed on the court. “Can’t you wait? There’s like five minutes left.”

“Baby,” you whine, drawing out the nickname in the most saccharine tone. “I’m parched. My throat’s so dry I can feel it cracking.”

He glances at you, incredulous. “You seriously can’t wait five more minutes?”

You sigh, patting your throat dramatically. “It’s okay. I’ll go get it myself—if I pass out, I pass out.”

Mingyu groans, running a hand down his face. “No, no, sit. I’ll get it.”

“Really?” you beam, eyes wide and sparkly.

“Yes, really,” he mutters, standing and stretching his legs like a man on a mission. “What do you want?”

“Diet Coke,” you chirp. “Extra ice!”

He grumbles something under his breath, but when you flutter your lashes, he just shakes his head and jogs up the stairs, weaving through the packed aisle.

Now’s the time.

But at the concession stand, the universe seems to conspire against him. The server is painfully slow, his every move exaggerated like he’s preparing the last Coke on earth.

“Regular or diet?” the server asks in a bored tone.

“Diet,” Mingyu replies quickly.

“Crushed ice or cubed?”

“Dude—any ice is fine.”

“Lid or no lid?”

“Just—anything!”

By the time Mingyu snatches the Coke from the counter, he’s practically sprinting back to your seats, dodging people and mumbling apologies. He slides into the row, breathless, just in time to shove the drink in your hands.

You sip it, then immediately scrunch your nose. “This isn’t diet.”

Mingyu stares at you, chest rising and falling. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You shake your head, making a face. “It’s too sweet.”

He groans loudly, but before you can say anything else, he’s already up and running again, weaving through the crowd like his life depends on it.

At least I’ll catch the ending on the screen, he thinks, sprinting down the hall. But by the time he reaches the TV monitors, the buzzer goes off, the crowd roaring inside the stadium.

He stops in the middle of the hallway, hands on his hips, catching his breath. The game's over. He missed it.

By the time he gets back to you—diet coke in hand, chest still heaving, you’re already on your feet, clapping and cheering along with the crowd, a smug little smile playing on your lips.

You turn to him with wide, excited eyes. “Oh my god, this was so fun,” you gush, barely hiding your grin. “You should’ve seen the last basket, babe. It was crazy.”

He says nothing, just nods.

You loop your arm through his. “Gyu,” you say, voice soft, eyes peeking up through your lashes, “you must be angry at me, right? I made you miss the ending…”

You pout, your bottom lip sticking out just enough to look apologetic, even if your eyes are glinting with amusement.

He glances down at you, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. “You’re trouble,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“But cute trouble?”

“The cutest,” he sighs.

The last thing Mingyu expects on a Wednesday morning is to look up from his monitor and see you in his office doorway—dressed in suspiciously soft pastel tones, hair a little too perfectly curled, grinning like you hadn’t just broken ten HR rules by being here unannounced.

And pushing a stroller.

His heart stops. “Hey… what are you doing here?”

“I come bearing a gift!” you sing, wheeling the stroller right up to his desk and—God help him—onto it. “A precious little bundle of joy.”

Mingyu leans forward slowly, brow furrowed. “Is that… a baby?”

You lift the stroller’s covering like it’s a grand reveal on The Price Is Right, and sure enough—a baby. Real, pink-cheeked, and already trying to eat its own socks.

Mingyu blinks. “Oh my god. Whose baby is this?”

You beam, like this is the most normal lunch drop-off in the world. “My niece!”

He doesn’t move. “Okay. So. Your niece. Cool. Why is she… here?”

“Well,” you say, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt, “my sister had this last-minute doctor’s appointment, and she dropped the baby at mine, but then I remembered I had this super important client meeting—so I figured…”

You gesture toward the baby. “You’d watch her.”

There’s a long pause.

“I’d… watch her,” he repeats slowly, as if he’s translating an alien language.

“Yes, thank you so much, baby, you’re the best.” You lean down and kiss his cheek before he can process anything. “I knew I could count on you.”

Mingyu’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “I—wait, no. I have calls. I have a meeting. I don’t know how to care for a baby!”

You’re already halfway to the door. “She’s super chill! Only cries when hungry, or tired, or scared. You’ll be fine.”

“I—I’m not even—do babies eat solid food? Can she choke on air?”

Before he can spiral further, Jeonghan pokes his head in the office. “Hey, Mingyu, that client from LA just—” He stops. Blinks. Then looks at the baby. Then at you. Then at Mingyu.

“What the hell,” Jeonghan says, voice flat.

“Hello, we’re meeting for the first time, right?” you introduce yourself.

“Jeonghan,” he nods. “Is that yours?”

“No, she’s my niece.”

“And she’s… here. Why?”

“Mingyu’s watching her while I go to a meeting.”

Jeonghan blinks twice, then looks at Mingyu, who is standing completely frozen behind his desk.

Just then, Seokmin walks in holding a coffee cup and immediately trips over the baby bag lying on the floor.

“What the—? Did someone bring a baby to work?” he exclaims, catching himself on the wall.

You perk up. “Hi! Yes, she’s my niece. And she loves music. Sing to her sometime.”

Mingyu looks at him, desperate. “You sing well. Babies love music. Can you stay for five minutes?”

Seokmin holds up both hands. “I’m not legally certified to babysit anything with motor control.”

The baby lets out a happy squeal, kicking her sock off entirely.

Mingyu groans. “She’s already losing clothes. This is a disaster.”

“Don’t worry!” You’re already heading toward the door, waving like this is just any other Tuesday errand. “She’s really chill. Text me if she eats something weird. Or like, vomits. Or stops breathing.”

“WHAT?!”

“Love you, honey! You’re the best!” You blow a kiss and disappear down the hallway.

The room falls into stunned silence.

Jeonghan looks at Mingyu. “This is what happens when you date women who make Pinterest boards for their dream wedding after one week of going out.”

Mingyu groans and drops into his chair, rubbing his face. “I swear to god, this is karma for something. I don’t know what, but I’ve done something to deserve this.”

When you return that evening, the sun’s dipped low, the office lights are flickering on, and the lobby security gives you a look that says, ‘you again?’ But you stride in with a smile, toting a tote bag of baby supplies in one hand and a half-empty bottle of formula in the other. 

You step into Mingyu’s office and stop short.

The stroller is tipped over. Baby wipes are stuck to the wall. The clean carpet now has something that looks like mashed banana smushed into it. And Mingyu—sweet, handsome, completely falling apart Mingyu—is sitting on the couch, staring into space.

On his lap sits your niece, face smeared in something orange, hair in total disarray—but she’s laughing.

“Hey,” you say, blinking at the scene. “You two look cozy.”

Mingyu turns to look at you. Slowly. His expression is a mix of exhaustion, trauma, and something dangerously close to pride. “She threw up. Twice.”

You smile sympathetically and walk over, plucking the baby from his lap with practiced ease. “That’s nothing. She once peed on a priest mid-baptism.”

Mingyu doesn’t react.

“I fed her mashed carrots,” he mutters.

“Oh no,” you say, gently bouncing the baby. “She hates carrots.”

“I know that now.”

You laugh and lean over to kiss his cheek, right where a tiny handprint is still faintly visible in dried banana goo. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

Just then, Jeonghan appears in the doorway, holding a towel like he’s just stepped out of a war zone. “If I ever have kids, I’m moving to a cave.”

“She seemed to like you,” you laugh, setting the now sleepy baby back into her stroller and adjusting the blanket. “She only screams around people she doesn’t trust.”

Jeonghan scoffs. “She screamed for an hour.”

Mingyu stands, brushing carrot flakes from his lap. “Are you taking her home?”

“Yup. Sister’s done at the clinic. I’m just here to grab her.”

He walks you and the baby down to the lobby. As the elevator doors close, you look up at him with a grin. “You did good today, Gyu.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You kiss his cheek again. “You passed the test.”

“The test?”

You step into the elevator, holding the stroller like it’s a designer handbag. “The Dad Test. You aced it.”

The doors begin to close. He watches you disappear, a stunned expression on his face.

Jeonghan, beside him, crosses his arms. “You know what they say.”

Mingyu sighs. “No, what?”

“You raise a baby with her, you marry her.”

Mingyu turns to him slowly. “Shut up.”

His whole body aches. His dignity’s in shambles. He’s never been more sleep-deprived without staying up all night. And he’s still got five more days of this ridiculous arrangement left.

Five more days of chaos, surprise visits, weird emotional whiplash, and your stupid, perfect smile that makes him forget how absolutely unhinged this situation is.

He drags a hand down his face and groans.

“Just five more days,” he mutters under his breath. “Five more days and then I never have to babysit anything again.”

Jeonghan claps him on the back. “You’re so in love, it’s gross.”

Mingyu glares at him.

“No, really. Shut the hell up.”

The conference room was buzzing with low voices and the gentle shuffle of papers as the team filtered in, laptops snapping open and coffee cups being nursed like lifelines. Vivian stood at the head of the table, pristine in her cream blouse and perfectly poised with her iPad already in hand.

“So.” she says scanning the room, “how’s the dating piece coming around?”

Your pen stills. “It’s still on track,” you say. “Still in the setup stages, but I’ve got the angle figured out.”

“Good,” Vivian replies, barely glancing your way before turning her attention to the next person. “I want punch, stakes, emotional chaos. We want people yelling at their phones in the comments section.”

You smile politely. You can do that.

The meeting crawls forward with a few more half-hearted pitches and a painfully long tangent about formatting. Eventually, Vivian claps her hands once and stands. “Alright, let’s get to work, people.”

Chairs scrape back. Laptops snap shut. Everyone starts filing out.

You gather your notes slower than necessary, waiting until the room clears a little. Then you approach Vivian near the head of the table, still composed but with a hopeful edge.

“Vivian, can I talk to you for a moment?”

She looks up, distracted but listening. “Sure. Walk with me.”

You fall into step beside her. “So, um—about the piece I emailed you last week. The draft on inflation and how it’s affecting single-income households—”

“I remember.” She doesn’t stop walking.

“I was wondering if, after this dating piece wraps, I could shift back to that. It’s something I really want to explore. Maybe even long-form.”

Vivian slows just enough to glance at you, then places a hand briefly on your shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later.”

That’s it. No yes, no no. Just the vague, practiced nod of someone who’s mastered the art of deferring without denying. She keeps walking. You just stand there for a second, lips pressed together, then sigh softly and gather your things.

Back at your desk, you flop into your chair and start shutting down tabs you don’t even remember opening. Yunjin rolls her chair over, sipping an iced coffee, looking far too cheerful for a Monday.

“Wanna hang out later?” you ask without looking. “I need a drink. Or seven.”

Yunjin pouts. “Can’t. Going to the game with my boyfriend.”

You pause. “The game is today?”

She nods, slurping through her straw. “Knicks.”

You go quiet, staring at your screen for a second—then slowly, a mischievous little smirk curls onto your lips. You lean back in your chair, already plotting.

Yunjin narrows her eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

You just smile, shaking your head as you pull your laptop back toward you. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s the perfect idea.

The plan is simple. Dinner at a cozy little Chinese restaurant tucked in a quiet street, just the two of you. Romantic, right? You pick the restaurant carefully— low lighting, vintage wallpaper, red paper lanterns,  and not a single television screen in sight. When you suggest it over text, you toss in a cheerful “craving dumplings” as if it’s a spur-of the-moment idea and not part of your grand master plan to make him miss the Knicks game tonight.

“Wait,” Mingyu says as he opens his menu across from you, “isn’t the Knicks game on tonight?”

You blink innocently sipping water. “Oh, is it? I had no idea.”

“It’s okay, I can catch it on the highlights later.” he smiles at you.

Dinner starts out normal enough. You order your favorites—stuff you know takes longer to cook. You stab at your dumplings, chew very, very slowly, nodding along as he tells you about his day. Then, right on cue, you place a gentle hand on your stomach and wince.

“You okay?” he asks, mid-bite.

You give a tiny, pained smile. “Yeah. It’s just my stomach… I’ll be back in a minute.” You slip out of your chair and head toward the back, offering a brief “excuse me” to the server before darting through the swinging kitchen doors. Inside the kitchen, chaos. Fryers hissing, cleavers thudding, steam clouding every surface. But above the prep counter? A tiny, dusty TV mounted in the corner, just visible if you tilted your head.

Bingo.

You linger in the shadows, eyes glued to the screen. It was already the second quarter — tie game. Barett-one of the players had just missed a layup, and you hiss under your breath.

“NO!”

A chef glances over, confused. “You with delivery?”

“Yep,” you lie, eyes never leaving the screen.

Five minutes, max. Then you sneak back to the table, cheeks flushed and breath quick.

Mingyu looked concerned. “Better?”

“Ugh! Stomach’s acting weird.”

He watches you cautiously, “maybe eat slower?”

You nod, stabbing your noodles halfheartedly, and just when you think you’re in the clear, he waves over the waitress.

“Hey—any chance you know the Knicks score?”

The waitress blinks. “Do I look like someone who knows the Knicks score?”

“Oh,” Mingyu laughs, taken aback. “No—I mean—just figured—”

She rolls her eyes and turns to you, all attitude gone in a flash as she coos, “Honey, you’re not eating. Is something wrong?”

You sniff, eyes wide and suddenly shimmering. Around you, the clink of plates slows. Conversation dims.

“My boyfriend…” You pause, lower your gaze, then cry out loud, “My boyfriend thinks I’m fat.”

Mingyu chokes on his tea.

“What?! No! That’s—wait—what?! I never said—”

The waitress’s jaw drops. She looks him up and down like he just confessed to a war crime. Two older women at the next table audibly gasp. Someone near the entrance mutters, “Men.”

“I just need a minute,” you say softly, pushing back your chair like your heart is in pieces. You press your napkin to your mouth and turn dramatically for the bathroom—but really, you’re beelining back to the kitchen.

Inside, the Knicks are down by one. You watch the next two plays, clutching the counter like it’s sacred. Then you slip back to your seat, eyes slightly red for effect.

Mingyu, mortified, is still fidgeting with his chopsticks.

“Hey,” he starts gently, “I swear I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you say with a sad little smile, grabbing a dumpling. “I overreacted. It’s probably just the soy sauce talking.”

When the check comes, he practically throws his card at the server. You don’t offer to split—it’s the least he can do after publicly humiliating you, right? Back at his place, he looks a little more relaxed. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the door and slumps onto the couch, grabbing the remote.

“I just wanna check the highlights real quick.”

You flop beside him, fighting back a grin. The screen flashed to a final-minute play. Barrett had the ball, wide open, heading toward the basket. Mingyu leans forward, eyebrows up. “Come on, come on…” “He’s gonna miss it,” you mutter. He doesn’t respond, just keeps watching, jaw tight. Onscreen, Barrett went for the layup and the ball bounced clean off the rim.

“No!” Mingyu shouts, hands flailing as he flops onto the couch beside you like someone had shot him in the chest. “How did you know he was gonna miss that?”

You wave him off, eyes not quite meeting his. “He always misses it.”

He sighs. “He never misses it man!” You don’t answer. Instead, you crawl into his lap and start undoing the buttons on his shirt. He blinks, caught completely off guard. “Whoa—what are you—”

“Let’s not talk basketball,” you whispered, lips ghosting over his abs. “Let’s talk about how unfair it is for one person to have this many abs.”

Your hand slides lower. He groans. Then you whisper in a sultry voice, “let’s see what Madam Jiggle’s working with.” “Woah—woah what,” he pushes you off, getting off the couch. “Madam what?” “What?” you blink innocently.

Mingyu let’s out a disbelieving chuckle. “You can’t name someone’s dick that.” He’s wearing his pants back. “Would you prefer General Wiggly?”

“I—what—no??” You peeked at him over the pillow. “You’re not into naming?” “No! No.” Mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh. “Darling, I’m getting tired. Come on, I'll drop you off.” He doesn’t even let you respond and is already out of the door. You smirk, tossing the pillow aside. 

The morning drags like wet cement. Yunjin took a day off today. You’ve already pretended to work through two emails, spun around in your chair just for the fun of it  and rearranged your desk succulents by height and mood. Now you’re reclining with your feet tucked beneath you, twirling the leaf of your office plant like it’s the stem of a long-stemmed martini.

With a cheeky smile, you pick up your phone and dial. It rings once, twice—

“Hello?” Mingyu’s voice comes through, low and distracted. There’s clattering in the background. He sounds… busy.

You immediately drop your voice into your most syrupy sweet tone. “Hey, munchkin,” you purr, drawing lazy circles on the desk with your fingertip. “How are you today?”

There’s a pause. A little exhale. “Uh… good. Just a bit caught up. What’s up?”

You grin at the ceiling like you’re the heroine of your own rom-com. “How about a date tonight? Just you and me.”

“Ah, babe—I would. But the guys are coming over tonight. Game night. I totally forgot we planned it last week.”

You tsk softly. “Oh well,” you say, not sounding disappointed at all. “There’s nothing we could do then, huh? Tragic.” You sigh dramatically and flick at the leaf you were tormenting.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, sounding apologetic.

You hum. “You better. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up and set the phone down gently. A moment passes. Then you smile to yourself.

Game night, huh?

Mingyu’s apartment is hazy with cigarette smoke, half-empty bottles of beer scattered around the coffee table. Jeonghan and Seokmin are hunched over a pool table, arguing about the rules, while two other men shuffle a deck of cards at the couch.

Then the door opens.

“Hey, honey!”

Every head turns.

There you are—standing at the door with a massive canvas bag slung over your shoulder like you live there, and Sir Barksalot tucked securely in your arms. Mingyu freezes mid-sip, his beer halfway to his mouth. You smile sweetly, set the dog down and kick the door shut behind you.

Seokmin blinks slowly. “She has a key?”

Wonwoo murmurs, deadpan, “Is that… legal?”

Mingyu opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Babe,” he calls out, loud enough to reach you who had disappeared into the kitchen, “I wasn’t expecting you! How’d you get a key?”

You pop your head out. “Oh, Ben—your super—made me a copy!”

Mingyu stares at his beer. “Ben, huh?”

You come out and slide up next to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “You’re not mad, are you, Gyu-gyu?”

“…No. I’m not mad,” he says slowly, eyes darting to his friends as if to gauge their reactions.

You beam like the sun and clap your hands together. “Great!”

Mingyu clears his throat and gestures around. You know the guys—Jeonghan, Seokmin, you’ve met. That’s Wonwoo and Seungkwan.”

“Hi guys!” you chirp waving with exaggerated sweetness. “So nice to finally crash one of your boy nights.”

Jeonghan mouths help to no one in particular.

You return to the kitchen and come back with a plate. “I brought some healthy-healthy snacks,” you announce, just as Jeonghan was biting on a pizza slice.

You stride up, pull the slice out of his mouth mid-bite. “Yucky, Hannie. Yucky yucky, pizza,” you coo, swapping it for a cucumber sandwich. “Here, try this. Yummy sandwich.”

Jeonghan, stunned into silence, accepts the bite like a toddler being fed by his overly enthusiastic aunt.

You place the plate on the table, proudly. “See! Isn’t it better?”

The guys awkwardly grab sandwiches. Mingyu takes one from the plate too, trying to play along, and reacts with a thumbs up.

They resume their game, lighting up fresh cigars. You let out a long exaggerated cough. 

Everyone turns. You look at Mingyu directly, fanning your hand in front of your face and coughing louder, pointedly glancing at the cigarette between his fingers.

He raises an eyebrow, confused.

You give a little wheeze and mime at him to stub it out. 

Mingyu sighs and stubs it in the ashtray. 

You blow him a kiss. “Thanks baby!” “That goes for you too, cutie.” you said to Seokmin, who reluctantly puts it out like a scolded schoolboy.

You casually drift behind Jeonghan and peer at his cards. “Ohhh, I see what you’re doing! Play the king next. Definitely the king.” 

The boys exchange glances with each other. You just smile at them and make your way back to the kitchen. 

Now what? Your eyes scan the kitchen searching for anything you can use now. 

Bingo. Your eyes land on a box of tissues. Pulling out a couple, you head back to the living room and hold it in front of him.

“Blow.”

Mingyu blinks. “What?”

“Come on, Mr. Sniffles.”

Mingyu lets out the deepest sigh of the night, leans in, and blows into the tissue.

You examine it like a proud nurse. “Such a healthy boy.”

Everyone watches in stunned silence as you fold it and toss it away. Then your eyes drift to the window and lock on something.

“Oh no,” you whisper, horrified. “No, no, no.”

You dart over to the plant on the window. “Our love fern!” you cry. “It’s dead!”

“It’s not dead,” Mingyu tries to reason. “It’s… sleeping.”

You spin around, holding the withered pot to your chest. “You let it die, Mingyu.” Your voice cracking. “Are you gonna let us die too?”

When no words come out of Mingyu’s mouth, you give him a look and make your way back to the kitchen.

Wonwoo leans in, “is she okay?”

“God, I hope so!” Mingyu exhales loudly, pointing to his temple and spinning his finger in the universal crazy gesture.

Unfortunately for him, you return at the exact same time.

“Are you saying I’M SOME SORT OF MENTAL PERSON?” Everyone freezes.

You grab your bag, yank the love fern out of its tray, and hold it dramatically in one arm.

“I’m taking our love fern with me.”

You spin around and march out the door.

“What the hell is a love fern?” Seungkwan whispers.

Mingyu turns his head to see all the boys looking at him. “Hang on.” he points to them before following you.

“Hey! Hey, hey. Ho ho!” he stops  you in front of the lift. “What the hell just happened in there?”

“Look, this is getting really creepy, all right?” he continues. “You’re acting completely insane.”

“Oh, so now I’m insane?” “No! You’re acting insane.” 

Right on cue, Sir Barksalot starts barking like he’s backing you up. Mingyu shoots the dog an exasperated look. “Shut up, you stupid dog.”

You gasp, offended. “He’s an animal!” “Exactly, he’ll live just fine. I’m talking to you.”

“I don’t know if I can be with somebody who doesn’t like animals and thinks I’m mentally unstable.” You roll your eyes getting into the lift.

“This is what I’m talking about.” He holds the elevator doors. “Where’s the sexy, funny, cool you that I knew?” “The one who wanted to be a serious journalist, huh?” he points at you. “You’re up, you’re down. You’re here, you’re there. You’re like a freaking one woman circus!”

“So I guess this means we’re over.” you lean back on the wall. “I guess so.” Mingyu moves back, letting the elevator doors close.

You roll your eyes with a sharp scoff, tilting your chin up as if daring the empty elevator to challenge you.

Mingyu walks back to his house, holding the dog. “It’s over.”

“No! No!” Seokmin and Jeonghan drag him into the kitchen. “It’s over man. It’s over.” “No! Four more days.” Seokmin smacks Mingyu’s shoulder, encouragingly. “Dude, you just saw what happened.” “Yea I did, and I thought it was sexy.” Jeonghan states. “It was not sexy, okay?” Mingyu rolls his eyes.

Seokmin sighs, “yeah, you’re right. It was not sexy.” He leans onto the counter and looks at Jeonghan. “You think the intern would like his new office?” “HEY!”

Jeonghan agrees, “yeah, he’s also gonna get like a really good douche campaign.”

“Okay fine! Fine. What should I do now?”

“Couples therapy.” Seokmin points. “Every time my wife says she wants a divorce I suggest a session of couples therapy.”

“Therapy?” Mingyu raises his brow. “Couples therapy.” Jeonghan corrects him.

“Couples therapy” Mingyu repeats.

“COUPLES THERAPY! COUPLES THERAPY!” they all shout in unison.

Mingyu runs to his balcony, jumps on the emergency stairs and starts running down. Jumping on each floor.

Just when you reach the main exit, you hear his voice call out your name. Your eyes widen. How the hell did he get here so quick?

Mingyu skids to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath. “Listen, sugar plum, can you please forgive me?”

You stare as he drops to his knees right there on the pavement. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking, okay? I’m sorry.”

“I was completely out of line, baby. Just—just give me one more chance.”

“Haven’t you had enough?” you deadpan.

“I’ll do anything.” His eyes are big, sincere, and desperate. “Anything, honey.”

“Get up.”

“I am getting up.” He slowly rises like a soggy piece of bread. “Look, what do you think about… couples therapy?”

Your eyebrow shoots up. “Couples therapy?” “Look, Seokmin knows this hell of a guy—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice dry. “I know a therapist who’ll work wonders on someone like you.”

“Yes! That’s what I need,” Mingyu nods fervently.

“I’ll call and schedule an emergency session.”

“Baby whatever it takes!” “A kiss?” 

He pauses, then leans in very carefully and plants a soft peck on your cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m the luckiest man alive to have such an understanding girlfriend.”

You smile tightly. “I love you, Gyu… but I don’t have to like you right now.”

And with that, you turn and walk away—leaving him standing there.

The second you’re out of sight, Mingyu groans, spins in a circle, and punches the air in frustration.

“Damn it!” he mutters, pacing in a tight little angry circle. “Fucking hell!”

“If you’re really going to commit to this,” you glance over your shoulder at Mingyu, “you’re gonna have to open up. No holding back.”

“I’m trying!” he says. “But this is a lot.”

“You know this is our only chance to fix things,” you deadpan as you knock on the door. “Deep-rooted issues need deep, emotional excavation.”

The door swings open.

A woman appears—late thirties, glasses perched low on her nose, hair in a tight bun, crisp white blouse, professional air. Very no-nonsense therapist. Very qualified.

Mingyu straightens a little.

You blink at her outfit. You hadn't seen your sister dressed like this ever. Now that’s commitment.

“Come in,” she says in a calm, practiced tone.

Mingyu steps in, scanning the minimalist living room filled with therapeutic clichés: a Himalayan salt lamp, a tiny bonsai tree, throw pillows that say ‘Feelings First’ and ‘Namaste in Bed’. The scent of sandalwood is aggressively calming.

You both settle on the couch. She sits across from you, legs crossed, clipboard in hand.

“Before we begin,” she says gently, “let’s talk logistics. How will you be paying?”

You smile sweetly at Mingyu. “Sweetie?”

He coughs. “Uh… how much is the session?”

“Three hundred dollars,” she says, without blinking.

“Three—” He lets out a stunned laugh, looks at you in disbelief, then sighs, pulling out his wallet. “I mean… whatever it takes. For us.”

She smiles. “Good. So… how long have you two been together?”

“Seven days,” you say proudly.

“…Seven?” Her voice is perfectly neutral, but you swear her left eye twitches.

“Is that too soon for therapy?” Mingyu asks cautiously.

“Gyu, seven days isn’t, like, a lifetime or anything,” you say casually.

“It’s a week,” he mutters.

You immediately whip around and gasp. “Did you hear that tone? That’s what I’m talking about. How are we supposed to emotionally connect when he speaks to me like I’m customer service?”

The “therapist” scribbles something down. “Interesting. Let’s explore that. How are things between you… sexually?”

You let out a dramatic “Ooohh!” and tsk. “You see, Mingyu here has little problem.” you say, pinching the air between your thumb and forefinger. 

“No! No— we haven’t— I don't have a problem.” “Yes you do…” you drag out.

“Alright look,” he turns to your sister, “the one time we were even close to having sex, she decides to nickname my…” he points down.

“Penis?” your sister continues.

“Yes…she named it Madam Jiggles.” “I thought it was cute,” you argue.

Your sister hums sympathetically. “And when did you first realize you liked men?”

Mingyu does a double take. “Wait—what?”

You gasp theatrically. “Oh my god. That’s what this is about?!”

“No—what?! No, I don’t like men.”

“I mean, it’s okay if you do,” your sister says kindly. “We’re in a safe space.”

“I’m very much into women!” he protests. “Extremely! Chronically!”

You lean toward her and stage whisper, “Methinks the man doth protest too much.”

He shoots you a look. “This. This is exactly what I mean.”

“Mingyu, I’m hearing a lot of latent anger,” your sister says gently, jotting down nonsense. “Have you considered where that might be coming from?”

“I’m not angry!” he insists.

She reaches out and places a calming hand over his. “Just breathe. Let it out.”

“Would you two like to be left alone?” You scoff, “should i leave?” “What?” Mingyu turns to you.

“You’re hitting on our therapist. Oh my god!”

“No I’m not”

“Yes you are,  you are a pathological flirt!” you snark.

“Why would I need to hit on another woman when you’ve got more than enough personalities to keep me occupied?”

“That hurt,” you clutch your heart.

Your sister, completely unfazed, turns to him. “Mingyu… are you ashamed of her?”

He blinks. “No! I—what? Of course not!”

“Of course he is! He doesn't want me—” you sigh.

“He doesn’t want me around his friends or family,” you accuse, crossing your arms. “He wants to hide me from his world like I’m some dirty secret!”

“Okay, you know what?” Mingyu throws his hands up. “It’s my fault for dating someone like you.”

You freeze.

“It is my fault for dating the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I get jealous. Okay? I get insecure. The idea of someone else taking you away from me drives me nuts.” You blink.

“Oh,” you say softly. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. My friends, my family—hell, I’ll take you to my childhood pediatrician if that helps.” Your sister gasps. “Now that is a positive idea!” “It is?” you ask, sniffling, eyes glassy. “Yes! Go meet his parents! A mini getaway… bonding… beautiful.” You slowly turn to her with narrowed eyes, the what the hell are you doing look only a sister can decode. Mingyu turns to you, smiling stiffly. He reaches for your hands. You give him a small smile in return.

You’re standing outside his parents’ house less than 24 hours after the ‘therapy’.

Because, apparently, Mingyu doesn’t take suggestions lightly — especially when they come from a woman in a cardigan with a clipboard and a very convincing clinical psychology degree from “Stanford.”

And now, here you are, blinking up at a quaint two-story home with climbing ivy, flower pots by the windows, and an iron gate.

“You nervous?” you ask, adjusting your blouse. 

Mingyu exhales through his nose. “Why would I be nervous?”

You glance at him. He’s bouncing one leg, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shirt tucked in like he’s going to a job interview.

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “Maybe because you’re bringing the love of your life to meet your family?”

He shoots you a sideways look. “You don’t have to keep saying stuff like that.”

“What? I’m just playing my part,” you smile sweetly, smoothing his collar with both hands. “This is what couples do, right? They fight. They see therapists. They meet the parents.”

He looks like he might turn around and run.

Instead, the door swings open.

Too late.

You loop your arm through his. “Smile, baby. We're about to make memories.”

The door opens to reveal a woman with warm eyes and a familiar face. You know instantly it’s his mother.

“You must be the girlfriend!” she says, arms already outstretched. You walk into her hug like a seasoned daughter-in-law.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” you say, sugar dripping off every syllable.

She pulls back to look at Mingyu. “She’s prettier than you said!”

“Even a prettier personality,” he mutters.

As you step inside Mingyu’s dad greets you with a handshake and a dad joke.A framed photo of baby Mingyu stares at you from the mantle.

You’ve been the perfect guest all day—attentive, respectful, charming.

Everyone has migrated to the living room by now, half the family squeezed onto the couch while the rest are perched on mismatched chairs. Conversation drifts easily—small town updates, neighbor gossip, the kind of comfortable chatter that doesn’t need much from you beyond a polite smile and the occasional nod.

The front door clicks open again, and Mingyu’s sister steps in, balancing a baby on her hip and a diaper bag over her shoulder. The room lights up instantly—his mom coos, his dad leans forward to make silly faces, and you catch the way Mingyu’s whole face softens.

It’s all going great until a soft, unmistakable sound breaks through the moment. 

Silence. The baby blinks up at everyone, wide-eyed and innocent.

His sister sighs. “Okay, poop alert. I’ll—”

But Mingyu is already standing. “I got it.”

She freezes mid-step. “You what?”

“I’ll change him,” he says easily, holding out his hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mere, little man.”

Everyone stops. You could hear a pin drop.

“Mingyu?” his mom blinks. “You… you know how to change a diaper?”

He holds the baby like a pro, walking toward the hallway.

“I guess someone trained me,” he says, shooting you a look.

Everyone turns to you and you just offer a sheepish smile.

His mother laughs, “I don’t know what you’re doing but keep it up.”

Lunch is a quiet kind of lively—everyone gathered around the table, chopsticks clicking against plates, the air filled with the smell of home. His mother has made the kind of spread that makes you wonder if she’s been cooking since sunrise: bubbling kimchi jjigae that steams up ones’ glasses, glossy japchae glistening under the light, crisp pajeon cut into neat squares, little banchan dishes scattered everywhere. You eat until you’re full but somehow still craving more, his mom slides extra side dishes your way with a soft, “Eat, eat.”

After the lunch, most of the family drifts off to their rooms, the house falling into a comfortable hush. You find yourself in the kitchen beside his mom, sleeves pushed up as you rinse dishes at the sink. She dries them, but mostly she talks—little stories about Mingyu when he was a kid. How he used to climb the tallest tree in their yard to rescue his cat. How he once tried to cook ramyeon for the whole neighborhood when he was seven and nearly set the stove on fire. You laugh at every one, and she tells them with that fond exasperation only mothers have.

Then she suddenly gasps, eyes bright. “Have you seen his childhood photos?”

You grin. “The one on the mantle?”

Her eyes widen like you’ve just insulted her. “Oh honey, that’s nothing.” She sets down the dish towel and loops her arm through yours, tugging you away from the sink.

As you’re stepping out of the kitchen, Mingyu walks in, still clearing the table. His mom doesn’t miss a beat. “Mingyu, wash the rest of the dishes.”

He freezes. “Huh?” His gaze flicks between you and her, as if he’s just been betrayed in real time. But you’re already being whisked into the living room.

“Sit here,” his mom says, patting the sofa before disappearing down the hall.

She returns with a thick, slightly worn photo album and settles beside you, flipping it open with a triumphant little smile.

The first page reveals a naked baby Mingyu in a towel, looking deeply unbothered about his lack of clothes. You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Oh, he was such a chubby baby,” she says fondly, turning the page to a shot of him in a watermelon-printed hanbok, grinning with his two front teeth missing. Each picture comes with a new story—his first day of school, his awkward middle school haircut, the summer he refused to take off his Spider-Man costume for a week.

“Mom?!”

You turn, startled, to see Mingyu standing behind you, looking horrified. In two strides, he’s at the sofa, snatching the album from his mother’s lap.

“Why would you show this to her?” he asks, voice halfway between outrage and disbelief.

“She should know what you looked like before you got tall and smug,” his mom fires back without missing a beat.

You try to smother your laugh, but Mingyu catches it. “Don’t encourage her,” he says to you, pointing accusingly, though his ears are turning pink.

His mom just rolls her eyes. “Go take her around the place.”

Mingyu takes you around the neighbourhood, pointing out his favourite places.

“That café? Best waffles in the city,” he says, nodding toward a corner shop. “And that bookstore over there—don’t go unless you want the owner to judge your taste in novels.”

You laugh, putting your hands in your backpocket. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

The tour is messy, unplanned. He forgets half the street names and cuts himself off mid-story when something else catches his attention but you’re smiling more than you want to admit.

At a tiny basketball court, he picks up a ball someone’s left behind. “Okay, watch this.” The shot goes nowhere near the hoop.

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. “Wow. Inspirational.”

“I’m just warming up,” he protests, hands raised. “My glory days are still ahead of me.”

By the time you reach the ice cream stall, your cheeks are already sore from all the grinning and laughing.  Mingyu orders two cones—one pistachio, one strawberry and hands you the pistachio.

The scoop barely touches your hand before it slides off and splats unceremoniously onto the pavement.

“Nooo,” you gasp.

Mingyu looks at the melting mess, then at you, then sighs. “Here, take mine.”

You shake your head immediately. “No, you keep it. I’ll be fine.”

He watches you for half a beat, then without warning lets his cone slip from his hand, hitting the ground with the same tragic splat.

Your jaw drops. “Why would you do that?!”

He just shrugs. “Now we’re even.”

You groan, half-annoyed and half-fond, and shove his arm as you start walking again. He grins, hands in his pockets, like the chaos was worth it.

The two of you wander aimlessly, stopping to peek into store windows and bicker over which bakery smells better. You lose track of time until a sudden drop of moisture hits your cheek. Then another. And suddenly, it’s pouring.

“Run!” Mingyu grabs your wrist, both of you breaking into a sprint. Rain pelts down so hard you can barely see, your laughter mixing with the sound of water splashing under your shoes.

By the time you tumble through his front door, you’re both dripping and breathless. Mingyu doesn’t even pause and heads straight for the bathroom, tugging you along.

“Sit,” he orders, nudging you onto the closed toilet lid. You’re still catching your breath when you glance around and notice a small stack of your magazines on the bathroom shelf.

You point at them. “Are those mine?” He follows your gaze, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

“Why are these here?” you flip through the pages.

“I don’t know.” He grabs a towel from the rack. “Guess someone was really eager to meet you.”

He steps closer, draping the towel over your head. His fingers work gently through your hair, squeezing out water, brushing against your cheeks now and then. “You should shower before you freeze.”

“You too,” you murmur, meeting his eyes through the folds of the towel.

Mingyu doesn’t move right away, just keeps towel-drying your hair with slow, distracted motions. The rhythm falters until the towel rests against your head, forgotten. His fingers brush the side of your jaw as he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

You meet his eyes for a beat, neither of you saying anything. Then he leans in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

“Shower?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Shower.”

The moment you agree, Mingyu grins faintly, tugging his soaked shirt over his head and tossing it into the hamper. Water-slicked skin and the faint lines of his abs catch the bathroom light.

“You’re staring,” he says without looking at you, turning the shower knob until steam begins to fog the mirror.

You scoff, leaning back on the toilet lid. “I’m literally not.” He glances over his shoulder with that ‘sure you’re not smirk’, water running over his hand as he checks the temperature.

Then he steps closer, crouching slightly so he’s level with you. “Up.” You raise a brow but stand, his hands brushing against your arms as he straightens your shirt hem. It’s a simple touch, but it sends warmth crawling under your skin.

“Still freezing?” he asks. “Little bit.” He hums, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost against your jaw. “We can fix that.”

You’re half ready to shove him into the shower first just to get some space, but when you try to step past, he gently catches your wrist. 

He chuckles under his breath, and before you can say more, and leans in again—this time kissing you deeper, his hand sliding to the back of your neck.

When you part, your pulse is loud in your ears. He grins, the playful edge still there. “Come on,” he says, stepping into the shower first and holding the glass door open for you.

Steam curls around both of you as you step inside, the heat hitting your rain-chilled skin. Water runs down his shoulders, catching in his hair, and you can’t stop looking. He notices. Of course he notices.

“What?” he asks, pretending innocence. You shake your head. “Nothing.”

You’re still towel-drying your hair when you wander into the dining room, the cotton of Mingyu’s oversized T-shirt hanging loose on you. The rain outside hasn’t let up—it lashes against the windows, blurring the garden into smears of green.

His mother appears from the kitchen carrying a tray with two steaming mugs. “Oh—tea,” you say, straightening a little.

She sets the tray on the table, smiling like she’s been waiting for you. “Ginger. Good for the cold weather.”

You wrap your fingers around the cup she offers, letting the warmth sink into your palms. “Thank you,” you murmur.

She takes the chair opposite you. “The rain won’t stop anytime soon,” she says, glancing at the windows. “You should stay the night.”

“Oh, no, I—” You shake your head quickly. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Bother?” She waves a dismissive hand. “You’re barely a bother. I insist.”

You glance toward the hall, where you can hear Mingyu moving around upstairs. “I really appreciate it, but—”

“No buts.” She leans in slightly, lowering her voice like she’s letting you in on a secret. “If I send you out in this weather, I’ll never hear the end of it from others.”

That earns a soft laugh from you. 

Her smile widens. “So stay the night. You’ll have your own room—fresh sheets, extra blankets. And breakfast in the morning.”

There’s a beat where you weigh politeness against the fact that your socks are still damp and the rain sounds like it could go on for hours. Finally, you nod. “Alright… if you’re sure.”

She reaches over and pats your hand. “I’m sure.”

Upstairs, you hear a muffled, “Ma! Where’s the spare charger?” followed by the sound of him stumbling into something. She sighs fondly. “You’ll get used to that part.”

You smile into your tea, the steam curling up between you and the sound of rain wrapping the whole house in its own kind of hush.

You find him in his room, halfway through straightening his sheets, hair still damp from the shower. He glances up when you step in, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.

“Welcome,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the bed like he’s unveiling something grand, “to my humble abode.”

You snort. “Humble? You have, like, half the trophies in this town.”

“Hey,” he says, plumping a pillow like it’s part of the tour, “hard work and natural talent.” You wander further in, eyes scanning the framed photos on his wall—little Mingyu in oversized jerseys, his arm slung around teammates, medals around his neck. Then something catches your eye: a large cardboard box jammed into the top of a shelf, a few old toys and bits of fabric spilling out like it’s too full to close. “What’s that?” you ask, pointing. He follows your gaze and waves it off. “Nothing much. Just some of my childhood stuff.” You tilt your head. “Can I see?” He pauses, one eyebrow lifting. Then he shrugs. “Why not?” Before you can step forward, he’s already behind you. His arm cages you in for just a second longer than necessary, the warmth of him making it hard to focus on anything except how near he is. His chest brushes your back as he reaches up to pull the box down, his arm grazing yours. “Careful,” he says, his voice low near your ear. “It’s heavier than it looks.” You take it from him and sit cross-legged on the floor beside his bed, leaning back against the frame as you start pulling things out—a scuffed action figure, a baseball glove clearly too small for him now, a tangled friendship bracelet. “Wow,” you say, holding up a lopsided clay mug. “This is… beautiful. Is it modern art?” He groans. “That’s from fourth grade ceramics, thank you very much.” You laugh, setting it down carefully. “So sentimental.” He drops down beside you, knees bumping yours, and for a while you sift through the little pieces of his younger self, trading stories and teasing each other. There’s a kind of easy quiet between the laughs, the kind that feels warm instead of awkward. Eventually, he stands and stretches. “Alright,” he says, glancing at the clock. “Goodnight.” You blink up at him. “Wait—you’re not sleeping here?” His mouth curves into a soft smile, his eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary. “We have more time for that.”

You’re not sure if he means tonight, tomorrow, or something much bigger than either, but before you can ask, he turns and heads for the door. He lingers for a second, gaze still on you, then slips out, closing it gently behind him.

The smell of something sweet and buttery drags you awake before the sun can fully find its way through the curtains. You shuffle into the hallway, rubbing your eyes, as the low murmur of voices leads you towards the kitchen.

Mingyu’s mom is at the stove flipping pancakes, his dad is slicing fruit, and Mingyu… is standing at the counter, sleeves pushed up, whisking something in a bowl with unnecessary enthusiasm. His hair’s still damp from his shower, sticking up in random directions, and there’s flour dusting the front of his shirt.

“Morning,” you say, voice still husky from sleep.

Three heads turn toward you—his mom instantly lights up. “Good morning! Sit, sit. We’re making breakfast before you two leave.”

You slide into a chair while Mingyu sets down a glass of orange juice in front of you. “This one’s mine,” he says, before adding, “but you can have it.”

You roll your eyes but take a sip anyway, the tang waking you up.

Breakfast ends up being a full spread—fluffy pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and a small mountain of fresh fruit. Mingyu’s mom keeps sliding more food onto your plate no matter how many times you say you’re full.

“This is so good,” you tell her, cutting into your pancakes. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“Nonsense,” she says with a wave of her spatula. “You’re our guest.”

Mingyu smirks from across the table. “Guest? Mom, you basically adopted her overnight.”

She swats his arm with the dish towel. “Better her than you.”

You laugh, nearly choking when his mom starts telling you about the time Mingyu tried to make pancakes in elementary school, forgot the sugar, and cried because no one wanted seconds. Mingyu groans, “Mom—seriously?” while you grin at him, loving how he looks both embarrassed and resigned.

As you both pack to leave, his dad hands you a bag full of strawberries he bought from the farmers market, which he had cleaned and packed last night and his mom sneaks you a small jar of homemade jam. “So you’ll think of us when you eat breakfast,” she says, patting your hand.

At the door, Mingyu leans down so only you can hear, his voice low and a little smug. “See? Told you… they already like you more than me.”

You glance at his parents over his shoulder—they’re both watching you with quiet fondness. “Maybe,” you murmur back, “but I think they’d miss you more.”

His eyes flick over your face for just a second too long before he straightens up and grabs your bag.

The drive back from his parents’ place is quieter than the ride there. The late afternoon sun spills through the car windows, painting the dashboard gold. You’re still carrying traces of the day—his mom’s cooking in your clothes, the faint, sweet scent of his sister’s baby on your hands, and the warmth from how easily you’d been pulled into his family’s orbit.

Mingyu hums along to the radio, one hand draped over the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. Every so often, his gaze flicks to you, like he’s making sure you’re not lost in your own thoughts for too long.

By the time the skyline starts breaking through the horizon, the quiet has turned comfortable.

By the time Mingyu pulls up in front of your building, the streets are their usual blend of honking cars, chatter, and the smell of food from the corner deli. He puts the car in park, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“They liked you,” he says simply, his mouth curving like that fact is both surprising and not surprising at all.

You laugh, push open the door, and sling your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll text you later.”

You’ve just stepped into the lobby when you hear him call from behind you. “Hey—wait a sec.”

You turn. One of his hands is scratching his head and the other is in his pocket.

“Umm,” he starts, a little hesitant, “there’s this party tomorrow night. I kinda closed this big deal and the company’s celebrating me for it.”

Your face lights up. “Mingyu! That’s great.”

He pauses, licking his lips like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I was wondering if you’d wanna come with me… you know, as my plus one.”

You lean on one leg, biting back a smile. “Is this you asking me on a date, or do you just need someone to distract you from boring speeches?”

“Maybe both,” he says, a hint of a smirk in his tone.

You pretend to think it over, drawing it out. “Well… I guess I could be convinced.”

“You guess?” he says, feigning offense. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ll be there,” you finally say. “What’s the dress code?”

“Anything that makes you look good.” Then, after a beat, “So… basically anything you own.”

When you turn again to leave you hear him call you once again. 

“Just sealing the deal,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a quick, warm peck against your cheek. His lips linger for half a second too long before he steps back with a lazy grin.

“See you tomorrow, plus one,” he says, heading back toward his car.

You stand there a moment longer, smiling to yourself before slipping inside.

The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the city noise. You kick off your shoes in the hallway, dropping your bag on the console table before making a beeline for the kitchen. Your phone is still warm in your hand from holding it too tight, but you’re already scrolling for Yunjin’s name.

She picks up on the second ring, the background noise of some Netflix show spilling through before her face fills the screen. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite suburban escapee,” she says, curling up on her couch.

You laugh, propping your phone against the coffee maker as you pour yourself a glass of water. “I just got back. Figured you’d want the debrief.”

Her eyes light up. “Obviously. Start from the beginning—no, actually, skip to the good part. How was it?”

You lean against the counter, smiling without meaning to. “Honestly? I had such a good time. His parents are the sweetest people. Like, genuinely so welcoming. His mom even made me tea last night and tried to convince me to stay over—”

“Wait,” Yunjin interrupts, grinning. “You stayed over at Mingyu’s parents’ house?”

“Yeah,” you say, already knowing where this is going. “It wasn’t a big deal. He gave me his room—”

She raises her eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“Not like that,” you clarify quickly, though your cheeks warm a little. “Anyway, they were just… nice. The whole time. And Mingyu—”

“Ah, there it is,” she cuts in. “That tone shift. You said his name like you’re about to recite poetry.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it, taking a sip of water to buy yourself time.

Yunjin narrows her gaze. “Okay, be honest—are you in love with him?”

You freeze, glass halfway to your lips. For a second, the hum of your refrigerator is the only sound in your apartment. “I—”

“Oh my God, you are,” she says, grinning like she’s just won something.

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, setting the glass down.

“You didn’t have to,” she teases. “Your silence said it all.”

You shake your head, but your lips curve anyway. “Well, if I were, hypothetically… he did just invite me as his plus one to his company’s big celebration party tomorrow.”

Yunjin’s eyes go wide. “Shut up. That’s huge. This is your moment. You should totally confess.”

You blink. “At a company party? You think?”

“Yes!” she says without hesitation. “Nothing says romance like champagne, low lighting, and him in a suit.”

You snort, but your chest tightens a little at the mental image. “I don’t even know what I’m wearing.”

Her mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. “Girl. No. We’re not doing this. Turn your camera toward your closet.”

You laugh and carry the phone into your bedroom, flipping it to show the open wardrobe. “Alright, stylist. Have at it.”

You dump half your closet on the bed while Yunjin sits cross-legged on video call, sipping wine like she’s judging a runway show. “Too corporate.” You toss the navy dress aside. “Are you going to feed ducks or what?” The beige one is out of sight in a second. After seven failed attempts, you stand in front of the mirror in a slinky yellow satin dress—the back open, straps crisscrossing, the fabric catching the light. Yunjin’s jaw drops. “Oh my god… that’s it.” You turn, smoothing the dress. “It’s a little… too much.” “Exactly,” Yunjin says, smirking. “If he hasn’t fallen for you yet, he will now.” You bite back a shy smile, trying to hide it by folding the dress over your arm. “You’re ridiculous.” “And you’re welcome,” she says, leaning back on her couch like she’s already secured the happy ending.

The doorbell rings just as you’re clipping your earrings in.

When you open the door, Mingyu’s standing there in a perfectly tailored black suit, holding a bouquet of fresh lilies and tulips. His mouth parts slightly as he takes you in.

“Wow,” he says, almost under his breath. “You look… you’re beautiful.”

“Oh, Mingyu, you didn’t have to…” You glance down at the flowers, cheeks warming. “Thank you, I love them.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, still looking like he’s not entirely over the sight of you.

“Let me put these in a vase. Come in.”

While you arrange the flowers in a vase in the kitchen, Mingyu wanders in like he’s already at home, loosening his tie just enough to get comfortable. When you return, you sling your purse over your shoulder.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod, locking your arms with his.

The venue is buzzing when you arrive, lights bouncing off crystal glasses and polished marble floors. You enter arm-in-arm, turning heads in your direction. It’s not long before a few colleagues swoop in, pulling Mingyu into congratulatory handshakes and claps on the back.

“I’ll be right back,” he says with an apologetic smile.

“Go,” you wave him off, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

You’re taking in the space when someone slides up beside you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jeonghan says, giving you a once-over that’s more admiring than he probably means it to be. “You clean up nice.”

You smirk. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Before you can say more, a tipsy man in an expensive suit slides in between you, practically leaning on the bar for balance. He takes your hand and presses a damp kiss to your knuckles. You freeze.

Jeonghan’s smile tightens. “She’s Mingyu’s date.”

“Aah,” the man says, brightening. “Man of the hour!”

You give a polite, awkward smile, hoping he’ll take the hint and move along, but he barrels on, words spilling faster than his brain can keep up.

“You know,” he says, pointing a swaying finger at you, “if it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have closed this deal.”

Your brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on.” He laughs like you’ve told a joke. “The bet! The whole thing about—”

Jeonghan straightens instantly, his posture tightening like a string pulled too taut.

“What bet?” you press, your voice low but sharp.

The man is oblivious, still talking, each word feeling heavier than the last. You’re not sure whether to dismiss him as a rambling drunk or take him seriously—until you catch Jeonghan’s expression.

“That boy said he could make any girl fall for him in ten days—close the deal and win the client, all in one go. Thought it was just him talking big, but damn, he actually pulled it off.” He chuckles, nearly spilling his drink. “Guess you were the lucky test run.”

It’s not denial. It’s panic.

You turn fully toward him. “Is this true?”

“I—uh—I mean—” Jeonghan stammers, eyes darting everywhere but yours.

“Jeonghan,” you say again, more firmly this time. “Is it true, what I’m hearing?”

And his silence is enough to tell you everything.

Across the room, Mingyu is halfway through explaining the final numbers to a client when a tap on his arm pulls him away.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a tall brunette says, smiling like she already knows him. “You’re Kim Mingyu, right?”

“Uh—yeah,” he says politely. “And you are…?”

“Friends of the firm,” she replies vaguely, gesturing to the woman beside her. “We’ve seen you around. Didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”

He gives a small nod. “Work thing. I just closed a deal with—” He glances around for you, spots you near the champagne table, and points. “That’s my date, actually.”

The two women follow his gaze. One of them raises her eyebrows, then looks back at her friend. “Oh,” she says, her tone somewhere between surprised and amused. “She’s still doing it?” Mingyu frowns. “Doing… what?” The friend gives a little laugh, as if she’d been caught gossiping but doesn’t care enough to stop. “That article she’s writing. The ‘how to lose a guy’ thing? We assumed it wrapped days ago.” He blinks. “Article?” “Yeah. We work at the magazine.” She tilts her head. “You really don’t know?” Mingyu feels his mouth go dry. “Why would I?" She gives a shrug that somehow looks both apologetic and smug. “Guess I thought you were in on it.” Before he can push further, the emcee’s voice booms over the sound system, calling Mingyu to the stage.  The emcee beams as he joins them, handing him the mic. “Good evening,” Mingyu says, his smile practiced but his eyes already scanning the crowd. “Tonight’s about celebrating wins—and the people who helped us get here. Because none of this happens without trust… honesty… and the right partners.”

His gaze snags on you across the room, and something flickers in his expression.

“Partners who don’t… pretend to be someone they’re not,” he adds, his voice smooth but laced with an edge only you would catch. “Because at the end of the day, the truth always comes out. And when it does, you find out who’s really on your side.”

You shift uncomfortably, and he watches as you turn away, edging toward the exit. The rest of the room fades for him.

He hesitates mid-sentence, jaw tightening. “You know what—uh, excuse me a second.”

He hands the mic back to the emcee without explanation, hops down from the stage, and weaves through the crowd—ignoring the puzzled looks—until he’s out the doors and right on your heels.

Mingyu catches you just as you’re heading for the coat check, his smile a little too tight, his voice dipped in honey but laced with steel.

“Leaving already?” he says, tilting his head. “Guess the party’s not good enough for you?”

You plaster on your own sugary smile. “Oh no, it’s great. Free drinks, free food, free… revelations about my date. Couldn’t ask for more.”

His laugh is sharp. “Right, I’m the one who’s been hiding things. As if you weren’t treating me like some test subject..”

Your smile falters. “Excuse me?”

“You did, didn’t you? Used me for your little magazine project. God, you even made me miss the big game for that.”

You cross your arms. “I’m sorry, I made you miss it? No, Mingyu, you did that all on your own—between the staged dates and your ego the size of this fucking building.”

You turn sharply heading for the door.

He takes a step closer, the party inside muffling into background noise. “Oh, so now you’re running away?”

You spin toward him, heat rushing to your face. “I’m not running away. I’m walking away from you. You used me to get ahead in your work, you arrogant, backstabbing jerk.”

“Yeah? And you nearly drove me insane just to get your precious article.” His voice hardens. “That’s what I was to you? A guinea pig? Somebody you could test your theories on?” You blink, once, twice, the words catching in your throat. “And… and I was just a girl somebody picked out at a bar.” He laughs without humor, shaking his head. “Yeah, you know what? Big deal. You can put it in your article—make it the plot twist. People will eat it up.” You force a smile. “It’s a good idea. Maybe we should bet on it.” Something shifts in his face—his jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. He leans in just enough for you to feel the words when he says, low, “You did a great job! You wanted to lose a guy in ten days. Congratulations. You just lost him.” He turns to go, but you call after him. “No, I didn’t, Mingyu!” Your voice wavers, but you don’t stop. “Because you can’t lose something you never had.” He freezes for half a second, just long enough for you to see his expression falter, then keeps walking, disappearing back into the party, leaving you in the quiet hallway with your chest heaving and your heart pounding.

The morning after the party, the air in the office feels heavier. Not tense exactly—no one’s talking about what happened on stage. But every greeting, every passing glance feels like people are keeping their voices low for a reason.

Mingyu has buried himself in work, sleeves rolled up, pen scratching over notes with mechanical focus. He hasn’t checked his phone since last night. He hasn’t even made coffee. He’s just been… pushing through, like if he stays busy enough, he won’t have to think about you.

But then, when he reaches for another file, something catches his eye.

A magazine, left crooked on the edge of his desk, probably from yesterday’s mail drop. He pulls it closer, idly flipping through—until a headline stops him cold.

Your headline.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

You can lose a guy in 10 days—it’s not hard. Push too much. Pull away at the wrong time. Say things you don’t mean, and hold back the things you should have said. You can follow every silly rule in the book, and yes, you’ll lose him.

But what I didn’t expect was to find someone I didn’t want to lose. Somewhere between the ridiculous stunts and the games we played, I stopped playing. I forgot the rules. I forgot my “assignment.” I forgot everything except him.

And in the end, I didn’t lose him because of what I did wrong. I lost him because I wasn’t brave enough to tell him the truth. That I love him.

So maybe this isn’t an article about losing a guy. Maybe it’s about how to lose your heart. And how, if you’re lucky, you might just get it back.

He reads the first line. And the next. And then he’s gone, pulled into the rhythm of your words, tracing every sharp observation, every precise choice of detail. His jaw is tight at first, almost bracing for a jab at him hidden in the subtext. But the further he reads, the more his expression shifts.

By the time he reaches the last sentence, his pen is on the desk, forgotten. That tightness in his jaw is gone. In its place is something far more dangerous.

Determination.

He pushes the magazine away, stands so fast his chair rolls back into the wall. Jacket. Keys. He’s not going to let you walk out of his life without a fight.

Minutes later, he’s shoving through the glass doors of your office building, the echo of his steps cutting through the hum of conversation. Heads lift from desks, a few whispers ripple across the room, but he doesn’t slow down. He’s scanning every corner—your desk, the hallway leading to the conference rooms, even the break area. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

Across the room, Yunjin is seated at a small table, a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. Mingyu strides straight toward her, ignoring the curious stares following him.

“Where is she?” he asks, voice low but sharp enough to make her blink up at him.

“She quit,” Yunjin says carefully. “She’s moving to Boston for a new job.”

That’s all he needs. He’s already spinning on his heel, pushing through the doors, ignoring the confused look she throws after him.

The roar of his bike splits the city noise as he speeds toward your apartment, weaving through traffic like nothing else matters.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing by the curb, hauling your suitcase into the trunk of a yellow taxi. The wind tugs at your hair, and for a second, his chest aches like he’s already too late.

He shouts your name but the city swallows his sound. 

He speeds up, trying to close up the gap but a bus pulls right in front of him, blocking his way. By the time it lumbers past, the taxi is gone. Or… not gone exactly. There are now six of them in a row, all identical, taillights glowing in the distance.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t blink. Just swerves between lanes, scanning every backseat, ignoring the blaring horns behind him.

There you are.

He’s at your window in seconds, one hand gripping the handlebar, the other rapping hard against the glass.

“Mingyu? What—what are you doing here?” You turn, startled, eyes going wide. “Since when do you own a bike?”

“Pull over!” he shouts over the wind.

“Mingyu, are you—” You glance at traffic ahead, panic rising. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Yes!” His voice is raw, unwavering. “If that’s what it takes—pull over.”

“Sir,” you exhale. “Could you— could you pull over, please?”

The taxi eases toward the curb. Mingyu keeps pace on his bike, eyes locked on you like if he looks away for even a second, you might vanish again.

You step out of the taxi, the door slamming harder than you mean it to. “Mingyu—what the hell was that?”

He’s already off his bike, helmet tucked under one arm, the other holding up something you instantly recognize. The magazine. “Is this true?” His voice is sharp, urgent.

Your eyes flick to the glossy cover, then back to him. “Gyu… please—”

“Is it true,” he presses, “or was it just to sell copies?”

The lump in your throat is instant. “I meant every word.”

“Then why are you running away?”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m not running away. I’m—moving on. I have a job there.”

“Bullshit!” he snaps. “You tell the world you fell in love with me. And then you just… leave?”

You turn away, eyes on the skyline stretching beyond the bridge. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand,” he cuts in. “Explain how you can write that and still get in this cab like I don’t matter.”

Your chest tightens, the pressure of unspoken things pushing to the surface. “Because I thought I had already lost you.”

Mingyu’s eyes soften but he doesn’t move away. “You didn’t. You were just too busy telling yourself it was over to fight for it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Just the steady hum of traffic and the hard thump of your heartbeat. Then he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm against your cold skin.

“If you really want to go,” he says, “I won’t stop you. But if you’re in that taxi because you think this can’t work, you’re wrong.”

The words lodge in your chest, heavy and aching. Ten days. Ten stupid, messy days—and somehow they’d changed everything. Your eyes sting. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

A slow, almost relieved smile tugs at his mouth. “Then don’t.”

Before you can reply, he closes the distance and kisses you—hard enough to steal your breath, desperate enough to make your knees go weak. His hand cups the side of your face, warm and steady, while your fingers twist into the front of his jacket, clinging like you might fall without him. 

When you finally break apart, your breathless laugh trembles. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning that boyish grin you fell for, “but I’m your kind of insane.”

[interstellarissue]

It was also a period of time with some of the most insane experimentation artistically. One of my favorite examples is Grant Morrison's Kid Eternity. The writing isn't my favorite, especially compared to the insanity of the Ann Nocenti run right after it, but the art by Duncan Fegredo is absolutely freaking stunning.

Another visually striking comic from this era was Bill Sienkiewicz's Stray Toasters (1988), published by Epic/Marvel comics. I know it's technically an 80s comic, but it has the correct vibes and is close enough to be considered a part of this era to me. Just look at this, man.

Last example I want to show off is the Mister E solo, mini-series published in 1991. Illustrated by John K. Snyder.

The way that these comics would lay out their panels and do these huge splash pages. The water colors and the heavy stylization. I'm not saying there aren't comics that do this now, but goddamn are they rare. Especially now that indie creators are so limited in their online formats, too. Yeah, it's easier than ever to post your comic to somewhere were someone can see it, but goddamn is it hard to do stuff like these wide splash pages. Especially with vertical scrolling formats like webtoon. Then there's the fact experimentation like this isn't economical to those companies. It all goes back to corporate greed. They're not making the comic for a love of the game, they're making it to make a movie. To sell a movie. Lastly, I want to note that there was also experimentation writing wise too. Vertigo was publishing some of the most deranged shit, and sometimes it really worked. They weren't afraid. They gave people like Ann Nocenti a pen and she said, "let me make a Longshot solo where Mojo is an allegory for the nuclear bomb and fallout." And you know what? Most terrifying Mojo ever. Bring that back. I want to read a comic and come out changed, for better or for worse. Then there's her Kid Eternity series. Frankly, it took 10 reads to comprehend at first, but god did I enjoy it every single time. Not, "well. Yeah, it was a comic. I liked one guy in it." AND I WILL SAY! 90s comics had some god awful opinions sometimes. 90s comics also have fumbled a lot of my favorite characters (usually it was Neil Gaiman fumbling. Head in my fucking hands), but still, man.

Why were the comics running in the 90s so fucking good???

[ineedhands]

EMOTIONALLY YOURS ~ S.R

pairing: s2!spencer reid x bau!reader

synopsis: when spencer considers the reality that he’ll be spending a late night at the office, you came to his aid, offering sweet words and lingering touches that make him all the more aware of his growing feelings for you. Though this time, his night ends a little differently.

content: slightly insecure!spencer, gn!reader, mild swearing, kissing, mostly fluff, spencer has some slightly explorative hands (nothing too much for this part👀), no use of y/n.

w/c: 3.2k

authors notes: guys i’m free from my shackles it took me an hour to figure out that HTML shit for gradient text. i tried to use app tumblr for it when desktop ver is sm easier. anyways! first actual fic! ofc i had to name the fic after a bob dylan song cmon now. nervous af to post so please allow any rustiness you may find. proof read but mistakes can and will slip under my radar i’m tired as hell💔💔 part 2 anyone?

It had been 332 days, 14 hours, and 10 minutes since Spencer had fallen head over heels in love with you. From the moment you’d walked into the BAU, not long after Elle’s departure, he was awestruck. By the way you knew how to make his coffee exactly right, which was just two thirds sugar — though you never complained or commented on his sugar intake — to how you’d lean on him in the jet after a case, once furrowed eyebrows now relaxed, your lips parted to allow soft, shallow, sleepy breaths in and out. He thinks, knows, he could write a thesis about you. From your pretty face, to your excellent mind, and to your beating heart, that loves and cares so deeply for others, and thrums with compassion.

He adored your eagerness for knowledge. Always indulging him and his long-winded tangents about the filming process of Charlie Chaplin’s work, and the average number of bacteria in colony-forming units on a human hand. Which is why you’d always ask him for help on your crosswords. You honestly didn’t even need the help half of the time; you enjoyed listening to him talk, watching him light up as he not only gave you the correct answer but also an explanation to go with it. 

“Spence?” You mumbled, chewing on your pen. “Hm, yeah?” Spencer looked away from his files, spinning his chair to face you. God, you were gorgeous, looking over at him with a subtle smile. “Crossword puzzle for you,” You began, “The clue is ‘art and a cost’ for nine letters.” Spencer thought for a moment, pondering the clue, his fingers tracing shapes into his desk as he scoured through his wide vernacular to find a word to fit the criteria. “I believe it’s ‘castrato’.” Spencer smiled. Scribbling in the word with a grateful nod, you closed the book of crosswords, clearly happy. It must have been the last word you needed. “What’s a castrato?” You inquired, wheeling closer to him, and knocking some papers in the process. He immediately reached down to help you, but kept talking, “Castrato is a word of Italian and English origin. It was coined sometime in the 16th century and defined a male singer who was castrated during his childhood. The practice of castration then ensured that their high-pitched voices would carry through to their adulthood, and would remain unchanged by puberty.” 

Spencer let the words flow out of him as if it were second nature to possess all this knowledge (well, to him it was, but not to the majority of the people around him). As the last of the paper was placed onto his desk, his hands were finally free, and thus he began gesturing in very Spencer-like motions, as they did when he was sharing his knowledge. He felt other members of the team sometimes enjoyed, and other times put up with, Spencer and his chronic case of know-it-all-itis. But with you, oh, Spencer didn’t feel that way with you. You listened and hung onto his every last word, constantly returning gratitude with every definition or solved math equation. It made him feel seen and, most definitely, appreciated. You were so sickeningly sweet on him, not that he or you minded, of course. Since knowing you, Spencer had felt more sure of himself. Sure that his limbs weren’t too long or that his glasses weren’t dorky, and sure that at least someone didn’t find his random facts and supposed oddities weird, or annoying, or any negative connotation, for that matter.

“Man, getting your balls cut. Can’t imagine that’s too painless.” You cringed, pulling a slight face. You weren’t one to mince words, something which he’d grown to love about you. He laughed and gave a nod of agreement, “Yes, I’d imagine it would be quite painful.”

As he sat back down in his chair, he glanced at the stack of past case reviews he had yet to finish, and he sorely regretted procrastinating on them, convinced the issue would magically disappear if he left them long enough. He drew in a breath, exhaling it with exhaustion for the night ahead. “It’s 10 PM.” Spencer listened to your words, glancing up at the clock. “Yes, it is. So…” He replied evasively. He knew what you were getting at, “So…you’re usually packing up by now, and I’m, y’know, driving us home?” You were clearly not impressed, looking at him pointedly, brow raised and arms crossed. After finding out Spencer’s commute to and from work meant he had to wake up a whole hour earlier and wait for 30 minutes to get the subway, you had been picking him up since. Besides, he lived a 15-minute drive from your house, which would save him from being late or being sleep-deprived, and you from being lonely in the car. “Oh, I’m just gonna stay late. I have some work to finish.” 

Oh hell no. You weren’t letting him get the subway so late.

“What is it?” You asked, putting your coat onto the back of your chair again. “Just some post case reviews—“ You nodded to the pile of files by his elbow, “Hand me some.” He raised a brow, “What?” Spencer wasn’t above asking for help, but he felt bad for making you stay, though he knew it was of your own accord to do so. You held out a hand expectantly, “You heard me, boy wonder. Pass the papers. The quicker we finish these, the quicker we can both head home.” 

With a grateful nod, he reluctantly handed you a small pile, attempting to sneakily leave himself with the majority of the work so as not to burden you too much, yet you’d noticed almost immediately. 

“I'm not blind, you know. You’ve given me like 15% of the workload. That’s not fair math, Spence.” Spencer attempted to interject, but you were already reaching for more files, and he just let you. He knows how you’d get sometimes, which is very, very stubborn. “It’s fair in my eyes. You shouldn’t have to pick up my slack—“ 

“Spencer.”

Your voice was sweet, soft, his name thick and honeyed on your tongue, heavy with understanding. “I want to. I wanna help. You would do it for me.” His cheeks felt a little warm, though you said nothing. He knew you were right. He would do it for you, ‘it’ being almost anything. It spooked him a little, the depth of his care for you, considering they had only worked together for just shy of a year. “Besides,” you grinned, "The car ride would be too silent without your questionable music choices and endless tangents.” 

“My music taste is not questionable! Not every song needs lyrics. Studies have shown that listening to classical music stimulates focus, which is useful for tasks that require it for long periods, such as driving.” He defended his choice of classical music, and that only made your smile widen and your tone became even more teasing as you wheeled over on your chair to sit next to him, “Ah, so you’re saving me from getting distracted by playing it? Doctor Reid, my hero.”

As you operated at the same table, Spence felt so natural beside you. He pondered a proposition that would ensure all work would be completed like this, shoulders rubbing, arms touching, sharing fleeting glances and timid brushes of hands as one of you reached for another case. When he felt your foot nudge his under the desk, he bit back a smile and glanced back down at his work, but of course, he nudged you in return. The back and forth was a childish one, the reciprocity between each movement, with even a few ‘ow’s and irritated looks, which were laughed off in jest.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The two of you had wrapped up working at around 11 PM, offering a friendly wave and a goodnight to Hotch on the way out, the man still sat at his desk, chipping away at his seemingly ceaseless load of work as Unit Chief. The walk to your car was one spent in casual conversation, one that didn’t involve work. You had set a rule about work, it was never to be discussed, unless necessary, when they weren’t on a case or in the BAU headquarters. While you were distracted fastening your seatbelt, Spencer began digging through the mixed pile of CDs you kept on hand, most of them yours, but a select few were his; the collection of Chopin’s best works, along with Tchaikovsky and Bach. As he looked, he noticed a Bob Dylan CD sat at the bottom of the pile, and looked up at you, “You listen to Bob Dylan?” You turned your head around to check behind you as you reversed out of the parking space, “I don’t. I got it as part of a CD bundle and just never got rid of it.” He made a face of understanding, before opening the case and taking the CD out, “You mind if I play it?” He asked, not wanting to play it if you weren’t feeling it. You, however, just nodded, humming affirmatively.

Spencer inserted the disc and allowed his head to fall back against the headrest, his eyes beginning to wander. He always liked your car; it was so you. From the scent of the fresh linen car freshener, to the blue turtle charm dangling from your rear view mirror, and the egregious number of CDs you had stashed in every compartment of the car. It was a new familiarity, one that was forged through long drives and comfort after tough cases and slowly sharing intimate parts of your life with one another.

As it played, he felt your eyes glancing over to him every so often, whether they were at a stoplight or on a quieter road, “I didn’t know you listened to Bob Dylan. How’d that start?” Your tone was curious, wanting to know who or what got him listening. Spencer fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke, “My mom, actually,” he explained, “She listened to him a lot when I was younger, I know most, if not all of his songs by heart.” Spencer was smiling by the end of that sentence, a wistful sort of smile that yearned for the years with his mother before he had to have her committed to Bennington Sanitarium. “Yeah? That’s cute. He’s got a really talented voice,” He nodded and laughed at her sincere tone and toothy smile, “I'm glad you think so, and yes, he does. That’s a big reason why she loves his music.”

Spencer always felt so at ease talking to you about his personal life; however, he’s a private man by all definitions, and selectively shares things about himself, controlling the perception of himself to others - something he had always been conscious to maintain from a young age in hopes of reducing the bullying and teasing he’d receive at school, and a habit he carried long into adulthood. The rest of the ride was spent in relative silence, spoken only with soft glances and reassuring smiles, and the gentle hums coming from Spencer’s lips as he matched the melody of Dylan’s voice.

The apartment complex came into view, the familiar sight making Spencer’s body relax and anticipate a nice, quiet night cosying up in bed. “Thanks for dropping me off.” He smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door. You didn’t want the interaction; the closeness with him to end, so in a moment of confidence, you glanced up at him, “Want me to walk you to your building?” 

“I’d like that. It’s your fault we couldn’t park closer anyway. You owe me.” He teased with a smile, and you scoffed indignantly, snowballing off of his playful nature. “Can’t believe you’re blaming me. You’re the one who lied and told me there was a shortcut.” He slid both hands into his pockets and watched you as you walked round to his side of the car, and slowly fell into stride with him “There is a shortcut. Maybe you’re going blind.” He reached a hand out, resting his buckles against your temple, using his thumb to raise your brow to mock-inspect your eye. Swatting him away, you chuckle, and Spencer feels so proud. He’s like the cat that got the cream every time he made you giggle. It was the only thing infectious that he would actively put himself within proximity of.

As the two of you made it towards the door to the building, Spencer turned to you, his expression a mix of gratitude and mild embarrassment at what he was confessing. He wasn’t used to anyone going out of their way to help him outside of work, so it took him a moment to gather the words to express his appreciation. “Hey, um, I just wanted to say thank you.” You tilted your head at him, raising your brows slightly, “For what?”

“Y’know, for..everything, really. You’ve gone out of your way to help me a lot since the day we met.” With a wave of dismissal, you spoke, “It’s nothing. You’re not that out of my way.” Spencer, however, held up a hand and begged to differ, “You give me a ride to and from work, despite my route delaying your ETA to work by 15 minutes. You’re always willing to cut my load of work, and you actually listen to my rants without getting annoyed at me or giving me that look to shut the hell up…and you remember what I say. That’s no small feat. It’s more than what most people do, honestly.” His voice was soft and held a hint of self-deprecation, but he maintained eye contact, and he’d confessed how much you meant to him (more or less), so a win is a win in his eyes.

“I love being around you, Spencer. You’re so fucking amazing, and funny, and you teach me things without making me feel like I’m dumb, and help me on my stupid crosswords when I get stuck.” You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, hoping the closeness would amplify the meaning of your words. This, of course, took him by surprise, but by no means was he about to refuse something like this. His cheeks flushed rosy red as you gushed about him, with such genuine affection. He’d spent so much of his life feeling weird and ‘unique,’ a pariah in social situations, yet here you were, hugging him and praising him. You were warm, arms wound around his body like vines around a trellis. A somewhat dumbfounded grin broke out on his face, the pinkish apples of his cheeks making him look giddy. All he could say was a gentle “You... think so?”

“I know so, pretty boy.” 

Spencer nearly lost his mind. The nickname, coined by none other than Derek Morgan himself, felt different in this context. Not fuelled by an incessant need to tease, but by the idea that you truly believed that’s what he is. He chuckled, the sound light and slightly shaky, “You sound like Morgan.” 

“He’s pointing out the obvious.” You simply stated with a shrug, pulling away from the hug to properly face him. He was so pretty. Like picture-perfect pretty. Button nose and doe brown eyes and those fucking glasses that sat perched upon his nose, except for when they didn’t, and you’d watch him push the frames back up the bridge of his nose. You observed his furrowed eyebrows, Spencer knew Derek teased him relentlessly, but he always dismissed it as being all in good, playful humour. But the idea that Derek was simply pointing out the obvious point that he was attractive hadn’t crossed his mind. “Obvious?” He repeated back to you, as if to affirm that was what you had said. “Mhm.” That was the only sound that left your lips as he watched you move closer to him.

“Wait, really? Like, you think—“

He didn’t have time to ponder where his train of thought was going because your lips were on his. You were kissing him! Was this even real? Was he dreaming? He pinched his leg a few times, and yep, this was the real deal. 'Okay, Spencer, chill. Just kiss her back.’

You pulled away after a moment of no response, scrambling for an apology, “I-Im so sorry! I don’t even know what came over me. I'm gonna go, um, goodnight.” Idiot! You’ve ruined a good friendship, all because you let stupid feelings get in the way! You turned and almost skidded on your heel in your attempt to get back to your car, but Spencer’s voice had you halt in your tracks.

“Wait! I’m sorry!”

The almost shout even shocked Spencer, the words shaky and full of emotion. You could barely get your words out through the upset rising in your throat. You were not gonna cry. You were so much more than this. You could take a simple rejection…right?

“Don’t apologise. It was my fault, I…”

“I, I didn’t know what to do! You shocked me. I want to..Can I have a do-over…? Please?” He pleaded, but you haven’t a clue as to why. You would’ve given him a million do-overs if it meant being able to kiss his lips again and again.

“Yeah.”

Relief rolled off of Spencer in waves as you agreed. He had a second chance. He tugged on your wrist, pulling you back to assume your previous position in front of him. He raised his hand, ignoring the slight tremble in favour of cupping your face. “Can I kiss you? Properly this time.”

“Please do. The first one was a mildly painful experience for me.” You lightened the mood with a sniffle, making Spencer huff out an embarrassed laugh. He felt bad that he gave the impression he didn’t want to kiss you, because, quite frankly, it’s what he thinks of more often than any co-worker and friend should. “I promise this one will be better,” he whispered, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. And with that, he leaned in, eyes closed, his nose lightly bumping your cheek as his lips connected with yours.

Kissing Spencer was a whole experience you weren’t prepared for. At first, it was timid, shy, the hand that wasn’t on your face resting very innocently on your hip. But the feeling of the pillowy plush of your lips, and the small, near inaudible noises you were making had Spencer’s confidence climbing. Thus, he began to kiss with more confidence. You were practically on your tiptoes, begging silently for more of his lips, more of him, pushing your eager body into his wanting arms. And he was glad to deliver. For a mild-mannered man, he was kissing so greedily. Respectfully, though. Soft hands roamed your hips and settled dangerously close to your ass, thumbs hooking into your belt loops to keep you snug against his body. Spencer felt hands slide into his hair, mussing the laid-down strands and pulling him deeper into the kiss. He wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he was sure he could die like this and be happy, using his last dregs of oxygen on kissing you. He gently pulled back for a moment, his breathing erratic against your lips, “Better?” 

“Better.” You beamed, pushing his glasses up to sit right on his nose bridge. 

creds to @saradika-graphics for these cute ass dividers!!!!

[swiftjay23]

Can you write the enha guys getting a blowjob for the first time?

My mind just keeps replaying down bad Enha and getting their dicks sucked. Like, constant praise. Who holds the hair or out pushes the head. Who sits still or who face fucks?

My brain as thoughts 🥴

ohhhh anon you came so real with this one 😵‍💫 Im down bad for enha (and this request) so here you go madam. Thanks for requesting!

Enhypen’s First Time Getting Head

MDNI (18+ STRICTLY)

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Oral sex (receiving), First-time blowjob/inexperienced receiving, Praise kink, Hair-pulling, Light degradation from praise, Deep groaning/moaning, Gagging, Messy / pre-cum, Dom/sub undertones, Possessive/feral energy, Teasing / slow-burn, Overstimulation / shocked reactions, Hips bucking/rutting into mouth, Face-fucking, Smut / NSFW content

ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ

You hadn’t planned on this. You hadn’t planned on how his pants would be at your knees in less than thirty seconds, or how his cock would be hard and straining against your mouth before you even had a chance to think. But there he was, Heeseung, leaning back on the couch, eyes dark, lips parted, fingers tangled in his own hair like he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

“You… you’re really doing this?” he choked out, voice thick with disbelief. His hips twitched involuntarily, and that little groan that escaped made your stomach tighten. You just nodded, hands reaching for him, your fingers brushing over the tip before your lips followed, tasting the pre-cum that had already gathered.

He hissed sharply, a sharp inhale, one hand shooting down to tangle in your hair. “Fuck… don’t—you don’t have to be gentle. God, don’t stop—just—fuck, just like that.” You obeyed immediately, letting your mouth close around him, lips soft but deliberate, swirling the tip with the flat of your tongue. He moaned, loud, unrestrained, something like a growl, and it was enough to make your cheeks burn. Heeseung’s fingers gripped the roots of your hair, tugging lightly, sending sparks of pain and pleasure up your spine. “Yes… yeah, that’s—shit, don’t—you’re so good… I can’t—I can’t…”

He bucked against you, and you had to choke back a laugh at how utterly unhinged he was. This was Heeseung, the guy who normally had that cool, teasing edge, the one who could charm a room with a glance, and now he was groaning your name like it was a prayer, teeth biting his lower lip, eyes dark and glossy with need. You couldn’t help but praise him, whispering, “So big… feels so good… God, I love how hard you are,” and each word made him shiver violently. His other hand found your shoulder, gripping, holding you in place. “Don’t stop talking. Don’t—you’re killing me, baby, you’re… yes, just like that, don’t—fuck, don’t stop.”

Heeseung’s hips stuttered, then pressed fully into your mouth, a mix of desperation and greed written on his face. Every little swirl of your tongue, every slide of your lips, had him moaning, gasping, trembling. You realized he wasn’t just enjoying this, he was addicted to it already, completely undone by the sensation and the way you made him feel.

“Holy shit… you—you’re incredible. I swear… I could—God, I could come just like this. Fuck, don’t—you’re killing me, don’t stop, please…” His voice was rough, broken, and you could feel his urgency building by the second. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling you closer as his hips jerked, some of his load spilling into your mouth. You swallowed, obedient, moaning softly around him, tasting everything, feeling the absolute chaos of his first time melting your control. And he wasn’t done. He groaned, muttering your name like a prayer, face flushed, veins prominent along his neck and arms. “So fucking good… my God… don’t stop… you’re mine, baby… yes… just like that—fuck…”

By the end, he was trembling, breaths ragged, hips still stuttering against your mouth. He pulled back slightly, chest heaving, eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over, lips parted in a lazy, exhausted smile. “Fuck… you’re insane… how… how are you this good?” You grinned, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “I told you,” you whispered, “I’m good at this.” Heeseung groaned, dropping his head back against the couch cushions, still unable to believe it. “Yeah… yeah, you are… so good… don’t ever stop,” he murmured, fingers brushing absently over your arm, still trembling from the intensity of his first time.

ᴊᴀʏ

Jay’s hands hovered uncertainly over the edge of the bed, his fingers tapping nervously as if he could will himself to stay calm. “Are… are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, voice low but steady, well, steady-ish. His pulse was fast, evident in the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, and the hint of pre-come glistening at the tip of his cock betrayed his attempt at control. You just smiled, leaning closer, and he caught a whiff of your scent, warm, inviting, and his knees practically buckled. “Yeah,” you whispered, reaching for him. “I want this.”

That was all it took. Jay’s hands gripped the sheets, trying to stay composed, but the moment your mouth closed around him, he let out a sharp inhale and froze. Wide eyes met yours, then rolled back almost immediately as his hips twitched against you. “Fuck… oh God… holy—” He tried to stop himself from groaning, tried to hold onto that “cool, composed Jay” act he usually wore like armor, but it was no use. Every small swirl of your tongue, every soft pressure of your lips against him made him tilt his head back, letting out little whines that quickly turned into full moans. “You… you’re… fuck… shit, you’re so good…” You hummed around him, lips moving with just the right pressure, and he could barely form words. One hand found your hair, fingers threading through the strands, pulling you closer as if the tiny tug could somehow anchor him. “God, don’t stop… don’t—oh my God… I can’t—fuck, you’re amazing…”

Jay’s hips started to move in little, desperate jerks, and he swore when you adjusted the angle slightly, taking more of him into your mouth. “Shit… shit, yes… just like that… you’re so… you’re unbelievable, baby… fuck…” He was trying so hard to stay in control, to keep that composed demeanor, but every second, every flick of your tongue, every gentle suction made him crumble. He let out a strangled laugh between moans, fingers tightening slightly in your hair. “I… I wasn’t ready for this. I thought I could handle it, but—fuck, no—I can’t—just, please, don’t stop…”

You hummed around him, letting him feel the pleasure build, letting him lose himself to it. He was trembling now, hips bucking against your mouth, mouth open, whines spilling out uncontrollably. “Oh my God… you’re… you’re insane… I—shit—holy fuck…” Every praise you whispered, how good he felt, how hard he was, how much you loved it, sent him spiraling further. He was a mess of moans and gasps, overwhelmed by just how intense it felt. Jay’s usual composure had completely vanished; in its place was raw, greedy need, a desperate craving for more.

By the end, he was clutching at the sheets, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as he rode out the waves of pleasure you’d coaxed from him. “Fuck… God… that… that was… you’re unbelievable…” he groaned, voice shaky, fingers still tangled in your hair as if letting go would somehow make it all vanish. You smiled, brushing a hand over his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, lips parting for a soft, shaky sigh. “Yeah,” you murmured, “I told you I’d make it good.” Jay’s head lolled back, a lazy, exhausted grin spreading across his face. “Yeah… you definitely… made it good…” His hands slid off the sheets to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, still trembling from the intensity, still muttering soft praises under his breath.

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ 

Jake’s hands were restless, tangling in the sheets, bouncing against the edge of the bed. His cock was already hard, slick with pre-come, and the way he kept glancing at you made it clear he was half excited, half terrified. “Are you… really gonna do this?” he asked, voice low and breathy, trying to act casual. You just leaned closer, brushing your lips over the tip teasingly, and that was all it took. His eyes widened instantly, breath hitching. “Holy—shit…” His hands froze mid-motion, and you could see his body tense, hips twitching as if every nerve ending was lighting up at once.

The second your mouth wrapped around him, Jake groaned, deep, guttural, almost unrestrained. He tried to stay composed, tried to act like he could handle it, but the instant your lips pressed fully against him, his knees buckled, hips jerking involuntarily. “Fucking… oh God… shit… you—fuck, you’re amazing…” He practically lunged into your mouth, one hand tangled in your hair as if pulling you closer could somehow anchor his swirling thoughts. “Yes… yes, just like that… oh my God—don’t stop… don’t—you’re insane… shit…” His voice cracked mid-pleasure, groans spilling out faster than words.

Jake was too enthusiastic. Every swirl of your tongue, every little suction made him gasp, whine, buck. He even pressed his hips forward a little too eagerly, and you had to adjust instinctively, but he didn’t slow down. “Oh fuck… oh shit, yes—just like that… you—God, you’re so good… fuck, don’t stop…” He moaned your name between frantic breaths, muttering “thank you, thank you” like he couldn’t believe how good it felt. His grip on your hair tightened instinctively, tugging gently when he felt himself losing control. “Fuck… holy shit… I can’t—shit, don’t stop… please, don’t…”

You hummed around him, letting him feel the pleasure build, letting him lose himself. Jake’s entire body was shaking, hips bucking, fingers clutching your shoulders, neck, anything in reach. He groaned, voice deep and messy: “Oh my God… you—yes, fuck… you’re incredible… I can’t—shit… I’m gonna…” His first time completely unraveled him. Jake was all groans, moans, and desperate gasps, utterly consumed by how good it felt, how good you made him feel. Even after he shuddered and came, trembling against you, he couldn’t stop murmuring praises, pulling you close, burying his face in your hair. “You… you’re unbelievable… thank you… God, you’re insane…”

And the grin that spread across his face after he caught his breath? Complete chaos. “Yeah… that… that was everything…” His hands roamed, still eager, still shaking from the intensity. “Don’t think I’m ever letting you do that again without warning, but… fuck… I loved it.”

ꜱᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ

Sunghoon sat back, one arm braced against the headboard, chest rising and falling slowly, trying to keep himself calm. His cock was already hard, straining, glistening with pre-come, and the way his eyes tracked your every movement made your stomach flutter. “You… you’re sure you want to do this?” he asked, voice low and measured, but the twitch of his hips betrayed him.

You nodded, stepping closer, letting your fingers trail lightly over his thighs before brushing the tip of him with your lips. His breath hitched immediately, a sharp, startled inhale that made him flush. “Fuck… oh… yeah… just like that…” he murmured, one hand settling in your hair, guiding you gently at first. The second your mouth closed over him, Sunghoon froze for a heartbeat, eyes locked on yours. You felt the intensity there, the way he watched you, memorizing every flick of your tongue, every glide of your lips. “God… you… you’re—shit… yes…” His hips twitched, a slow, controlled rut against your mouth, trying to hold himself steady but failing with every passing second.

You hummed softly, lips working in deliberate circles, and he groaned, low and deep, voice rough. “So… so good… fuck… don’t stop… you—just like that…” His hand moved to your shoulder, holding you close, while the other tangled lightly in your hair when he couldn’t stop himself from moving against you. Sunghoon wasn’t reckless; he wasn’t frantic, but there was a slow, deliberate greed in the way he bucked, each movement measured yet needy. “I… I can’t… fuck… God, you feel so… so good,” he muttered, jaw tight, lips parting as he struggled to contain the groans that kept escaping.

Your praise made him shiver, soft words about how hard he was, how good he felt, how much you wanted him, and it drew out a low, possessive growl. “You’re mine… so good… don’t stop… I’m not letting you… stop…” His voice was husky, edged with control, yet every word was soaked in need. He bucked slowly, letting you set the pace but pressing insistently, hips rolling just enough to keep the pressure, eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah… just like that… oh my God… don’t stop… keep going… you’re… yes…” His groans were steady now, not frantic, but full of raw intensity, like he could lose himself entirely in the rhythm you were setting.

When he finally came, it was slow, deep, controlled yet trembling all the same. His hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you flush against him, eyes half-lidded but locked on yours. “Fuck… that… you’re… unbelievable… my God…” His voice broke mid-word, full of awe and heat. You pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face, and he let out a soft, exhausted laugh. “Yeah… that… that was… perfect,” he whispered, fingers brushing over your cheek, eyes dark with something possessive and satisfied. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Even after, he held you close, chest pressing against yours, still trembling slightly, still murmuring soft praises under his breath. That slow, intense burn, the kind that lingers long after, is Sunghoon’s trademark, and you could feel it radiating from him, claiming you in the quiet aftermath.

ꜱᴜɴᴏᴏ

Sunoo froze the second he saw you leaning closer, eyes wide and incredulous. “Wait… are you—really?” His voice wobbled, a mix of disbelief and excitement, and you could see the flush creeping across his cheeks. His cock was already hard, slick with pre-come, straining against the waistband of his pants like it had been waiting for this moment. You just smiled, brushing your fingers over him lightly, teasing, and that was enough to make him let out a strangled gasp. “Oh… oh my God…” His knees practically buckled, and he grabbed the edge of the bed like he could hold himself together if he clung hard enough.

The second your mouth closed over him, he froze, wide-eyed, then let out a shocked little whine that quickly became a full-throated moan. “Fuuuck… oh… oh my God… you’re—shit… wait… you’re amazing…” He tried to stay calm, tried to act like he had some control, but it didn’t last. Not one bit. His hands flew to your shoulders, then tangled in your hair, clutching desperately as his hips jerked instinctively, pushing into you with needy little stutters. “Don’t stop… don’t… oh God… don’t stop… you’re so good… shit, yes…” His voice was high, breathy, utterly undone by the sensation and the thrill of having you on him.

You hummed around him, lips and tongue working just right, and he gasped, head falling back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. “God… oh my God… I… wow… yes… just like that…” His hands roamed, grabbing at your arms, the sheets, anything he could reach as he tried to ground himself. Every little praise you whispered, how good he felt, how hard he was, how much you loved it, sent him spiraling. “Oh fuck… you’re insane… holy—shit… keep going… please… don’t stop…” His hips rolled against you, desperate, eager, and his groans became shaky little whimpers of overstimulation.

He was completely undone, shivering, moaning, breath hitching, whines and soft curses spilling out uncontrollably. “God… you’re… so good… don’t stop… oh my God… fuuuck… I can’t…”

By the time he came, it was messy, loud, and chaotic. He shuddered, fingers still tangled in your hair, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded in disbelief at just how good it felt. “Holy…shit… that… that was… wow… you’re unbelievable…” His voice was high, shaky, soft, and full of awe, punctuated by soft whines and little giggles that escaped between pants. You pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face, and he gave you a breathless, stunned smile. “Yeah… that… that was insane,” he whispered, still trembling, still clutching at you or the sheets, still whispering soft praises. “I… I didn’t think… wow…”

Even after, he stayed close, still shivering a little, still overstimulated, still muttering “so good… so good…” over and over, completely wrecked by the experience but grinning like he couldn’t believe how much he loved every second of it.

ᴊᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ

Jungwon leaned back, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, the other brushing through his hair as he regarded you with a teasing, almost smug smile. “You really want to do this?” His voice was calm, casual, but the faint twitch in his hips betrayed him. His cock was hard and glistening with pre-come, standing out like a demand, and the look in his eyes made it clear he was curious, and impatient.

You didn’t answer, just leaned closer, lips brushing over the tip teasingly. That was all it took. His breath hitched, a sharp, surprised inhale, and he let out a low, ragged groan. “Fuck… alright… yeah… yeah, that’s…” The second your mouth closed over him, he froze for a heartbeat, pretending to keep his cool, but the soft gag and swirl of your tongue drew a deep, pleasurable groan from him. “Shit… that’s… yeah… oh, wow…” He tilted his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded, lips parting as he tried—and failed—to hide how good it felt. Jungwon’s hands moved almost instinctively, one settling gently at the back of your head, guiding your angle just so. “Easy… like that… yeah… just like that…” His voice was calm, measured, but each little moan that escaped betrayed the heat simmering just beneath his composed exterior.

You hummed around him, lips soft but deliberate, and he let out a shaky breath, hips pressing forward in tiny, controlled bursts. “You… wow… you’re good at this… shit… yeah…” His other hand found your shoulder, fingers brushing lightly, grounding himself as he tried not to lose control completely.

Every soft praise you whispered, every subtle encouragement, made him shiver and tilt into you. When you gagged a little around him, he smirked, half-teasing, half-hungry, letting a low groan rumble in his chest. “Mm… yeah, that’s hot… just like that… don’t stop…”

His hips began to stutter slightly with need, small, deliberate movements, testing how much he could let himself feel while still keeping that calm exterior. “God… you’re… fuck… so good… wow…” Each word was punctuated by a deep inhale, a soft groan, a gentle tug at your hair—never rough, just enough to keep you connected, keep himself tethered to reality as the pleasure built.

By the time he came, it was a slow, steady release, his hips pressing against your mouth while his hands held you gently, controlling yet tender. He groaned low, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving, muttering soft praises through ragged breaths. “Yeah… that… that was… incredible… you’re… amazing…” You pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, and he let out a shaky laugh, smirk returning, still flushed and breathless. “I… wow… definitely didn’t expect that,” he whispered, fingers brushing your cheek, eyes glinting with warmth and amusement. “You… you’re really good at this.” Even after, he stayed calm, collected in appearance, but every now and then you’d catch a subtle shiver, a small groan, or a whisper of praise that betrayed just how much he’d loved every second.

ɴɪᴋɪ

Ni-ki didn’t bother with pretense. The moment he saw you lean closer, his chest rose sharply, cock already straining, glistening with pre-come. “You… you’re really doing this?” he asked, voice low and rough, eyes darkening as need instantly flared. His hand shot to your head before you even touched him, tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. You nodded, brushing your lips over the tip, teasing, and that was all it took. His hips jerked, a sharp inhale tearing from him as he growled your name. “Fuck… yeah… don’t—shit, don’t stop…” His voice was rough, feral, deep, almost vibrating with need.

The second your mouth closed around him, Ni-ki lost control entirely. He bucked, pressing into you, groans breaking free in low, guttural waves. His grip on your hair tightened instinctively, tugging gently, but enough to let you know this was his. “Oh fuck… oh God… yes… yeah… just like that… don’t stop…” He pushed forward suddenly, a little too eagerly, and you had to adjust, but he didn’t slow. Not one bit. “Shit… you’re mine… so fucking good… don’t—don’t stop… mmph—fuck…” His groans rattled through his chest as he leaned into you, eyes dark, hooded with a wild intensity that made your knees weak.

Every swirl of your tongue, every lick and suction, made him tremble, bucking uncontrollably. “Yes… oh God… yes… just like that… shit… you’re insane… mine…” He muttered possessive things under his breath between deep, messy groans, hips stuttering as he pressed further into your mouth.

Ni-ki’s entire body shook, desperate, needy, and utterly consumed by the sensation. He groaned loud and low, one hand still in your hair, the other clutching your shoulder, pulling you flush to him. “God… you’re… so fucking good… oh shit… I—fuck—don’t stop… you’re mine…”

When he finally came, it was explosive, messy, and raw. He shuddered, breath ragged, chest heaving, hips still pressing into you as if he couldn’t get enough. Deep groans and muttered praises spilled from him uncontrollably: “Fuck… yes… you’re mine… so good… holy shit… you’re insane…” Even after, he held you close, pressing you flush against him, still trembling, still murmuring possessive praises, letting you feel the intensity of how much he’d been undone. His dark eyes finally softened slightly, but the feral heat lingered, a promise that he’d never forget just how good you’d made him feel, and that you were completely, utterly his.

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee,  ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,  ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies, ⟡ @numberoneheeslut

[sunfells]

Hey! Can i request an angst where Clark finds out Reader had been married before and never told him?

Love ur writings by te way <3

i'm so sorry, this was supposed to be angst, but i found out i can't write angst without a happy ending. i will keep trying to push myself and hope to keep getting better! thank you for the request and kind words beautiful anon <33

day-by-day.

— ⭑₊˚ pairing: clark kent x reader — ⭑₊˚ word count - ~1.4k — ⭑₊˚ cw: - more angsty than anything i've written, sfw, no use of y/n, established relationship — ⭑₊˚ notes: i loved this request!!! i'm trying to get better at writing all kinds of stuff and this was so much fun.

For the most part, being loved by Clark Kent felt like the easiest thing in the world. He was devoted and protective and kind - always concerning himself with anything in his control that could make life better for you and the world around you. You'd had to let your guard down, kick down some walls to fall blissfully in love with this man.

You loved how he would find ways to push through his own clumsiness to be a steady presence for you. The way he always had to be touching you, holding your hand in public, his own scarcely leaving yours or the small of your back.

But nothing could prevent the little prick in the back of your head - that tiny but undeniable voice of doubt that wouldn't go away. Sure, what you had was good, beautiful even. Clark had made sure of that. But no amount of good could truly take away the hurt you had felt before.

You were sitting on the couch in your shared apartment one night, head in his lap as he played with your hair.

"I've always loved your hair. Was one of the first things I noticed about you," You let yourself melt into his touch - grounded to this moment, to each other.

"Really…when you were saving me from a falling tree?" you quip in reply. "Can't imagine it looked any good."

"You'd look good anywhere. Everywhere. Any situation," Clark says, hands wandering to caress your cheek, gooseflesh arising from where he trails his touch down to graze over your arms. He makes his way down to your hands, taking one in his own before beginning to gently massage it with his fingers.

"Mm…been working overtime. Guess I never realized how much working all day messed up my hands." You moan a little as he rubs a particularly tender spot, bringing it to his mouth to lay a kiss on your palm.

Clark's head is in the clouds, taking in your soft presence, curves pressed up against his body, completely tethered to this moment - to you.

"I've been thinking…", he begins, then pauses.

"Yeah? About what exactly?" You say as your eyes flutter shut, enjoying his ministrations, the feel of his warm, pillowy lips on your hand as he presses kisses, his thumbs beginning to caress each individual digit, stopping at your left ring finger.

"About us. I think..I think I'm ready to take the next step. Or at least to talk about it,"

Clark's voice trails off as he feels your body noticeably stiffen.

"What?" you ask. Hoping, praying he doesn't mean what you think.

"I wanted…hoped to talk about us. Our future together." Oh no. No no no.

It was like sirens wailing in your ears - persistent and unyielding. You had made peace with where you were. Focused on the present. You were safe here. Safe from the threat of whatever tomorrow held. Of him changing his mind and leaving you forever.

"Clark, I don't know…don't you like the way things are now?" Your own voice trails off as you struggle to rein in your thoughts as they run a mile a minute.

"I love the way we are right now. I love you. That's why I want this. To take this next step and start our lives together," he insists, voice booming with undeniable passion and love that felt like a constricting boa.

"We already have a life together, Clark", you shoot back.

"You know that's not what I mean…" he begins.

"This is why I don't think things like this", you pull your hand free, gesturing to him, your surroundings, your life together, "-work out for me. They just don't".

"What do you-"

"I can't do this, Clark."

The air is heavy as you take a breath.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to get hurt again."

–

When you get up off the couch to hide in your room, door slamming shut behind you, Clark is left alone on the couch with his feelings, unease, and silence almost drowning him.

What had he done wrong? He thought things with you were going great - you were the best thing that'd ever happened to him.

"Again", you'd said. "Hurt again". Clark had not been a stranger to the way you insisted on taking it slow. How you sometimes stiffened, worrying your bottom lip or shaking your leg when you thought he wasn't noticing. If he's honest with himself, the thought of you in another's arms made him want to do unspeakable things.

The idea of someone else enjoying your laugh, the laugh he's gotten so accustomed to ringing out and bouncing off the walls of your shared place. The way your eyes would so joyfully widen, mouth slightly agape, as he took a bite of your (frankly awful) cooking, waiting to see his reaction. Clark's fists tightened as he felt at war with himself, this possessiveness and insecurity that had risen to the surface, but also the concern: who'd had the nerve to hurt someone like you? There was an unpleasant taste in his mouth even at the thought of it.

And he wanted nothing more than to make things right. To hold you in his arms and tell you he was here for the long haul.

But he'd give you some space to feel - not that he had much of a choice.

–

The next morning, you hear a knock at the door.

"…Mm?"

"Can I come in?" You exhale. "Sure."

"I made you some breakfast…you didn't have any dinner last night", he says as he steps around the plate of food he'd set outside your door, fresh plate in his hands.

He sets it down on the bedside table at your nod.

"Look, I'm sorry if it was too much from me. I just love you. And I want a life with you. But this person before…" Clark's voice trails off as he struggles with what to say next.

You bite your lip, unsure of how he'll take the next words.

"I was married before, Clark."

The sirens in your ears return as the words leave your lips, and the silence roars in the empty room as you take in the way his eyes widen, mouth dropping open.

"You... you were married?" You see Clark process this information in real time, taking steadying breaths, hand clenching, and unclenching.

"Why didn't you tell me?" escapes his lips as he steps away, momentarily going to face the wall as he struggles to make any sense of the words that were leaving your mouth. It wasn't that you were married, at least completely. How was he only finding out about it now?

"I'm... It's embarrassing." You feel tears beginning to well up in your eyes. "We had a fight one night, and I woke up in the morning and he was just gone. The next I'd heard from him was from his lawyer - all the divorce legalese".

You take a deep breath before exhaling.

"I just don't think I could survive going through something like that with you, Clark. I think that would break me."

Clark turns back around to face you, sees the way the tears have begun to fall, your lip quivering. He approaches the bed where you're curled up, kneeling down on the floor beside your bed, arms coming to rest on it, positioned to take you in them, whenever you are ready.

He reaches out a hand, thumb wiping the tears as they fell from your eyes.

"I'll be honest, the idea of you with some other dude makes me…" he puffs out a breath, almost comically.

"But I'm glad I know now." He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Listen, if this is gonna work, we need to trust each other. We're a team, right?"

Your eyes meet his, those pretty ocean blue depths behind black frames.

"And I need you to know that I don't see you as something broken that other..other prick left behind. To me? You're everything I could ask for."

The tears continue to stream down your face, and he continues to wipe them away.

"I love you. And we can take it day by day. But I need you to know, I'd be lying to myself if I didn't say I wish those days could last forever. And I'm sure of that."

You would be lying if you said his words fixed everything. Got rid of years and years of doubt and distrust and feeling like waste thrown by the wayside. But this wasn't that night all those years ago, nor was it that morning you had woken up alone.

You were here, with Clark Kent. And day-by-day never felt more right.

✉️

[semiheartss]

ok concept!!

nam-gyu's guilty pleasure is visiting your bunk after lights out - coming out of that literal high during a game to a bittersweet low. touches, talks, everything in between. but there is no way thanos or anyone else is finding out, because the next day you’re just ‘that bitch’ again.

(honestly this could be taken as a req or a yap!)

i loveee this concept anon. this was meant to be a little drabble but i can never just be normal and write something short so uhhh. pillow talk ensues lmao

18+, fingering, humping, dirty talk, jealous and lowkey possessive nam-gyu, love/hate, banter, crumbs of yearning. 0.9k

It was like clockwork.

Every night, after lights out. You lay curled under your sheets, your lids heavy with exhaustion and your limbs weary and aching with it. Your mind would turn over the horrific events of the day as you listened to the quiet, muffled sounds of your fellow players getting to sleep around you.

Before long, you would hear him sidle up to the side of your bunk, feel the bed dip and creak as he swung his legs up onto the mattress and settled himself in next to you, a little bit too comfortably. Usually he didn't bother with a greeting. Tonight, it was an offhand, "You asleep?"

During the day, he barely looked at you. Didn't speak to you unless it was to make some biting, smartass remark. Didn't mention you unless it was a muttered comment about "that bitch" to Thanos.

But after dark, it was different. Maybe it had something to do with being away from prying eyes. The idea that what didn't happen in the light of day didn't quite count. It was beyond you, but for whatever reason, you didn't tell him to get lost. Had started to welcome his nightly uninvited appearances.

You made a noncommittal sound in response, not bothering to open your eyes.

"That fucking asshole really tried it today. Did you see how he jumped Thanos like that? Skinny bastard like him, too." He began rattling off without preamble. He wasn't high tonight—you could tell just by the sound of his voice. He was less erratic, his tone flatter and more subdued.

"Who?" you muttered, only half following.

"That scammer prick. Fucking MG coin." He let out a quiet scoff under his breath.

"You mean the poor guy you ganged up on and beat to a pulp?" You'd seen the fight break out from where you'd been sitting with your teammates on the far side of the room. You'd merely shaken your head in disgust and turned away, feeling a bit of sympathy for the guy.

"He deserved it. What, you feel bad for him or something?" Nam-gyu asked a bit more sharply. When you peeled open your eyes and turned to face your right, where he lay next to you, you saw that he was already looking at you. You couldn't make out his expression in the dark.

You shrugged a shoulder. "Just didn't seem like much of a fair fight to me."

He just turned his eyes back to the bunk above you, gave a short exhale of breath that wasn't quite a real laugh. "Whatever. That's not the point," he muttered. Then, after a pause, "If you like him so much, why didn't you run over and comfort him earlier? Go suck his dick, while you're at it." His voice was low, laced with a hint of bitterness.

Now it was your turn to scoff. "Don't be an idiot."

Your eyes flicked back to his face. They lingered over the few scratches scattered across it, caught the faint shadow of a bruise along his jaw. Part of you itched to reach over and brush your fingertips over them. You didn't dare. "You're looking pretty rough, too, you know."

He glanced sidelong at you. "Yeah? You should see the other guy," he quipped with a small flash of his brows. He wore an utterly stupid grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes in response and promptly rolled back over on your side, facing away from him. Sleep was pulling at you, and you didn't have the energy to keep up with entertaining his usual bullshit tonight.

It was only a moment before his hand began to wander over your body under the covers, as it so often did. Dragged over your thigh, your hip, your chest, firm and hungry like it belonged to him. He pulled you back into him so that you could feel the warm press of his body against you, his breath at your neck.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, the way his hand travelled straight between your thighs. Neither was the way you were already wet for him when he pushed two thick fingers inside you, knuckle-deep inside your pussy.

He murmured low in your ear as he curled his fingers inside you, slow enough to have you grinding your hips needily against his palm, breaths stuttering against the pillow. "This cunt missed me, huh? Look how fucking wet she is. Mph, fuck..."

The heel of his palm ground against your clit, the squelching of your pussy audible as he worked your pleasure higher. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and soft moans fell from your parted lips.

“Who does this cunt belong to? Tell me,” he growled. You felt his half-hard erection pressing into your ass. He was rocking his hips forward subtly, breaths heavy against your neck. “Hm? Fucking tell me.”

You breathed his name on a moan, gave him what he wanted. He drank up each needy sound that slipped from your throat, pumping his fingers into you faster, harder.

“Gonna… haah… c-come,” you all but whimpered, and then you were stifling your moans into your pillow as your hips stuttered against Nam-gyu’s hand. He fucked you through your peak, groaning as you came around his fingers.

By the time your hips had gradually stopped their twitching and the last waves of pleasure left you feeling heavy and exhausted, you’d hear Nam-gyu roll back over and slip from your bed without another word.

Tomorrow you’d avoid each other’s eyes, act like nothing had ever happened. But then night would come, and you’d seek comfort in each other again.

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Vixen's Final Refrain

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Mal's Notes: You guys, I'm so sorry this one took so long, life has been... crazy. I haven't had near the same amount of free time to write that I normally have... It's been nuts and this fic spiraled out of my control. That being said, at some points you may be asking, "Mal, is that even physically possible? Does physics allow for that?" I can assure you, the answer is yes. 😏😉

Love,

Mal ❤️

P.S. Please excuse the massive text blocks throughout this... tumblr hates me and only allows 1000 text blocks per post.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, DDNE (for violence), Canon typical violence, eventual smut (it's in there I promise), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, Oral sex both F and M receiving, shower shenanigans, interesting positions, unprotected sex... (i think this might be considered a breeding kink) angst, so much angst, fluff,

Additional Tags: Happy Ending.

Credits: Thank you so much to the loves of my life, @theghostofcosmichorrorpast @cringeiknow @snailsinamarchingband You make life so much funnier, especially in the comments of the beta doc.

WC: 25.3k

AO3

Mal's Masterlist

Not knowing was killing him. 

Not knowing where you were, or what you were doing. Not knowing if you were safe at any given moment, or if the next time someone came into his office they’d be there to tell him you were dead. He flinched every time his phone rang, every time Strauss called him to her office, or she came down to his. 

Aaron was miserable. 

But he lived and breathed for your letters. 

The first one was short and sweet, just two paragraphs. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I’ve made it to my first nest. They told me I can spruce it up as soon as they get my finances all sorted out. It’s cute, a little bare, but cute. I don’t know when you’ll get this, but I miss you already. This sucks. I keep thinking about how long this could take, and I have to remind myself that our friends accomplish the impossible on a daily basis. Maybe I’ll be home before Christmas… Who knows? They tell me I can’t sign or address any of these letters. No names, locations, times or dates. Just in case. So code names it is. 

I have to cut this short, the Marshals are literally sitting here waiting on me to finish this letter before they leave. I already made them stop on the way here so I could buy paper, a pen and an envelope… So I feel like I’m being an inconvenience. (Also I made a big deal about being hungry a few miles in because Strauss interrupted dinner.) I just wanted you to know that I’m safe, the place I’m staying is nice, and I miss you so much already. Tell the others I’ll write them the next time I get a chance. 

  Missing you, 

Sweetheart

He’d gotten it a week after you’d left, so it didn’t bring him much comfort as you’d been on your own for that long. The Marshal who’d brought it to him had apologized that it had been so late, but she’d assured him that you’d made every check in call on the burner they’d given you. In fact, she’d just spoken to you that morning. She had the compassion to sit there and wait as he wrote a response. She’d even explained that you and she had worked out a dead-drop system so that people wouldn’t see you together so much. So that had become his life, wake up without you, smile for Jack (who was once again his only reason to do so), go to work, work this case like his life depended on it, work other cases like normal, field questions from the team, and wait for your letters.  

By your eighth letter, you’d been gone for two months. 

Two months of not knowing where you were, how you were doing, if you were truly okay or just talking a big game for him in your letters. 

Hey there Tomcat,

I took up running this week just to get out of the nest, I know what you’re thinking, ‘You, running? Yeah right!’ Well you’d be wrong. I am, in fact, doing it. Figured I should get my stamina up so I can keep up with you when I come home… would be embarrassing to be outlasted by an old man. Even one as fit as you. That and boredom does funny things to a girl. 

Like last night, I got bored… and restless. So I ran out to the corner store and made a purchase—of the fun variety—don’t worry I was packing and the sun hadn’t gone down yet. When I came back I put that purchase to very good use while thinking about the twenty four hours we spent holed up in my apartment. It only made me miss you more. The purchase doesn’t make me see God like you do. Truly a travesty. Alas, I will survive. 

I watched a documentary about whale sharks a few days ago, it was very interesting. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from The Good Doctor in the next few days. I recommended it to him in my recent letter, and you know him… He’ll watch it, just so he can respond to me about it. Then he’ll educate the rest of you with fun facts for the next week. You’re welcome! *Evil cackle here* 

I miss you all desperately, I find myself doing things just because it reminds me of you all. I did find an MMA gym, like you told me to, being there reminds me of DM. I go out for retail therapy every weekend, I rarely buy anything but it makes me feel closer to the girls. It still doesn’t taste as good as his, but I make Papa Pasta’s recipe every Sunday night. He sends me a new one in every letter, but the one he gave me when I left is still my favorite. 

Did you know that I absolutely abhor cooking? Hate it! Baking? Sure! You mix some things together and throw it in the oven for a given time. No guess work. But cooking… ughhh. I suppose I’d have to learn eventually and now is as good a time as any, I did intend on having children someday. Fast food and take out is probably not very nutritious for little bodies… (or grown bodies but I’m not that concerned about it) 

I might get a job, just to stave off the boredom. Maybe waitressing or something? I really only have the skill set for two jobs. Neither of them is a good option for me right now though. Both of them got me into this mess. So here we are. 

Oh, I have to go! I forgot I made a hair appointment! The Marshals said it would be good to keep changing my appearance. I was blonde last month. I’m thinking I might go red this time. Like natural red, not stripper red. However… no I’m just kidding! I was actually thinking of going dark and adding silver highlights throughout to make myself appear a bit older. I’ll let you know how that goes! 

Love, 

Sweetheart

He’d been so busy laughing at your antics, that he’d almost missed it. 

Love. 

You’d signed it with love.

It wasn’t quite the same as I love you, but it was enough to make his heart race. 

Your fourteenth letter had come when you’d been gone almost four months. 

Hey Tomcat, 

Missing you a bit more today. I am so lonely here. I can’t wait to come home. Tell me something good? I could really use a pick me up.

Got the blues, 

Sweetheart

It was more of a note than a letter, and it worried him. 

Then you’d gone quiet for weeks. 

The team had caught him checking suspicious deaths and homicides all over the country, even though he knew the Marshals would notify him if you were hurt or killed. They hadn’t judged him, in fact, they'd made a map. Each of them had a region of the U.S. to check for any sign of you. They each checked daily—religiously—but nothing. For six weeks everything was clear and there was no sign of you. No sign was a good sign. But then one day Spencer made such a commotion in the bullpen that it could have only been about you. 

“Hotch!” He yelped, “Hotch!” 

He stood up so quickly that his chair had rolled halfway across the room and slammed into Anderson—who just happened to be walking through—then he tripped over his own ankle and stumbled into Morgan who stabilized him quickly. Once righted, he was running through the bullpen and up the stairs. Dave had come out of his office, the others were all standing and even Penelope made an appearance. He came stumbling up the stairs and caught himself on the doorframe where he panted briefly before he began to stutter, a string of syllables that didn’t make any sense when put together. 

“Reid.” Aaron said sternly. “Breathe.” 

Spencer took a gasping breath, and then another. 

“Now talk.” 

“I think I found her.” Spencer breathed. Aaron felt the whole world cave in around him. He stood on unsteady legs. 

“Is she…?” He didn’t really know how to finish that sentence. 

Dead? Alive? Hurt? Safe?

God he was clinging to the words safe and alive like a life line. Desperate for them to be true. 

“I don’t know.” Spencer answered. “I’m not even sure if it's her but… I found an article from a local news station in Alabama. There was a triple homicide in a small town, the police are claiming gang violence…”

“But?” Aaron asked nervously. 

“But, witnesses claim a young woman—who has yet to be identified—had been living in the house where the bodies were found. The deceased are all men, late twenties to mid thirties. They’re not from the area, and they were killed with a nine millimeter weapon. Two of them didn’t even make it past the threshold of the home before they were killed, the third was found in the kitchen. Several hand guns with their fingerprints and DNA were found with the bodies. A woman who’d been walking her dog at the time of the shooting said she saw the young woman who had been living in the house flee the scene on foot. Unharmed.” Spencer explained, “But there’s no description of the woman because the police deny her existence.” 

“When did this happen?” Aaron asked. 

“Five weeks ago…” Spencer murmured. 

“It’s her.” He confirmed, “It has to be. I want everyone on this, we don’t stop making calls until we have answers, I don’t care if we have to fly out to Alabama. We don’t rest until we know she’s okay.”

Five weeks earlier…

Apparently, rock bottom had a basement… 

And you were living in it. 

They’d found you. 

You’d seen the first of them at a coffee shop, then again at the grocery store and that time he had a friend. You’d next seen them both while out for your run that night at the park. With a third man. 

Once is chance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern. 

You were being followed. 

You did everything Emily had taught you—used every trick in her playbook—but you couldn’t shake them. 

You knew that if they’d been following you all day, they knew where you were staying. So you weren’t hurting anything by going back there, to give yourself an advantage. They were standing across the street, next to a charcoal grey 4Runner that you’d not noticed before. 

Upon closer study, you recognized one of them. He was a known enforcer for the ring. They were definitely there to kill you then. They were probably only waiting for the sun to go down. 

That was their mistake. 

You may have been alone, but you weren’t helpless. 

You barricaded the doors at different strengths to create a time delay, just in case they all came through a different door. You pushed the couch in front of one, a dresser in front of the second and simply hooked a kitchen chair under the knob of the third. Emily had taught you to put something breakable on the edge of whatever you used to barricade the door. So you had put a plate on each one, balancing them precariously so that the slightest movement would send them crashing to the floor.

 The house was laid out in such a way that you could see all three doors from your spot behind the long island in the galley style kitchen. You were using the island itself as cover, crouching behind it, with every weapon you had laid out on the floor in a neat line next to you. There were four; your Glock 19 service weapon, and two more nine millimeters that Aaron had insisted you take with you—which you were so thankful for now—and your own back up, which was a small caliber pocket sized semi automatic pistol.  

You had sent the Marshals an SOS with the burner they’d given you… but you knew there was no way they’d make it to you in time. 

You were on your own.

For the next hour you watched the sunlight drag across the floor, waiting as the shadows grew long and dark. 

Then night fell. 

You didn’t know when they’d come for you. If they would wait until your neighbors were long asleep, or if they’d come now, when everyone was too busy with dinner, showers and other evening routines to notice three men sneaking around in the dark. 

It didn’t matter.

Your hands trembled as you checked each gun one last time, which made it significantly harder. 

You went over your plan, step by step, every possible outcome, situation, and variation. 

It was a plan you’d formed by asking yourself exactly what each member of your team would do, then you’d taken the answers and meshed them all together. 

You just prayed that it’d work. 

The silence was almost suffocating as you waited… but when you heard the tell tale scratch of a lock pick, you nearly jumped out of your skin. 

Your heart pounded so loudly all you could hear was the drumming of it. 

“Listen to me for a second.” Aaron murmured, taking your chin in his hand and looking you in the eyes. “If the time comes when they find you, and running isn’t an option, your fight or flight response will kick in. You’ve never been through something like this before. It isn’t like facing an unsub, it isn’t going to feel the same… There will be no one to protect but yourself, and you will be all alone facing people whose sole purpose is to kill you. You don’t know what your response to that kind of stress will be until it happens. If you start to freeze, I need you to remember how to snap yourself out of it.” 

You could hear him as clearly as if he were there with you, see him in the back of your mind—with the earmuffs and dorky looking safety glasses he’d had on in the shooting range—looking at you so intensely you thought lasers might’ve come out of his eyes. 

“First, If you’re in a situation where you don’t have time for anything else, you cause yourself pain if you have to. Shock your system into reacting differently.” He instructed, then put his hand on your abdomen, just over your diaphragm. “If you’ve got more than a minute, you breathe deep—from right here—in through your nose and you hold it, out through your mouth after four, repeat, and your head should start to clear. Go over everything you know to be true about the situation inside your head and find the easiest solution. Walk yourself through it, step by step, your brain won’t have time to panic if you give it a job to do… Do you understand?” 

You nodded, that yes, you did understand. Then you started to pull away, to go back to the repetition of drawing from your ankle, then your thigh, then your waist and your chest. He held you firm. 

“Promise me that you will shoot to kill. They will not spare you, so do not spare them. You do what is necessary to survive.” He demanded. 

You stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Aaron…” You hesitated, the last—and only—time you had shot another person—an unsub—you hadn’t shot to kill, only to injure, to subdue. The guilt had haunted you for weeks. 

He knew that.

“Promise me.” He had seemed desperate, there was wild unchecked fear in his eyes where only a moment before there had been determination. “You cannot afford to do anything less.”

“I promise.” You whispered. 

“Good.” 

His words were what brought you back to yourself. 

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs until you felt your diaphragm start to burn as it stretched—1, 2, 3, 4—in through your nose, and—1, 2, 3, 4—out through your mouth.

The facts were that you were alone. You came to terms with that as you took another deep breath and reached for your service weapon, gripping it firmly in your palm. 

There was nothing you could do to change that. 

Three men were about to break in and they would try to kill you. The only thing you could do about that… was kill them first. You turned to face the door where the sound had originated from, and took another breath. 1, 2, 3, 4.

It was the door with the kitchen chair. 1, 2, 3, 4. 

Your gun was aimed and ready when the door knob turned. The chair gave you an extra 30 seconds. 

1, 2, 3, 4.

The plate fell to the floor and shattered with a crash. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

The door flew open, he’d kicked it in. 

Gun. He had a gun. 

You pulled the trigger seven times.

He dropped to the ground, half of him inside the house, the other half not. 

You looked away.

The others knew you were ready for them now and they were done being subtle. 

A rock flew through the window next to the second door, smashing the glass. Then a booted foot kicked in the rest of it as a man climbed through. 

You saw the shine of gunmetal in his fist as his upper body came into view. 

That was all you needed to see. 

You emptied the mag on him, pulling the trigger until it clicked and the slide locked in the open position. 

He fell across the window sill, hanging there limply like a ragdoll. Blood was dripping to the floor… he was dead. 

Your ears started ringing, your chest was tight. 

Breathe. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4.

Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

Wait. 

Where was the third man?

Something stung your arm and glass shattered in the cabinet slightly in front of you. 

Turning around you saw that the third man had snuck in—stepping over the body of the first—and was waiting just inside the door with his gun pointed in your direction. 

You went to fire, but realized you were empty. Ducking behind the counter just as he pulled the trigger, you grabbed your second gun and steadied yourself. 

Bullets peppered the other side of the counter, which–luckily–was thick enough to protect you. You picked up the other two guns, stuffing the smallest one into your bra and the second one into your waist band. The empty one you left on the floor. 

From his position, he couldn’t see as you crouched and made your way out of the kitchen–carefully avoiding the casings strown around you–and into the adjacent dining room, where you took up a position behind the wall. Just beside the doorframe. 

You were panting, your heart was racing, blood rushing in your ears. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

You closed your eyes. 

Crickets were chirping in the yard, the wind was blowing—you could hear it in your neighbors wind chimes—but inside, the house was silent. 

Until you heard the floor creak, then the crunch of broken glass, the click of a fresh mag being loaded, the slide and snap of a round being chambered. 

He was coming. 

You heard his footsteps–light, but not silent–making their way through the living room and toward the kitchen. 

He didn’t know you’d moved, didn’t know you had three more guns and extra rounds… but if he were smart, he’d count on it. 

The dining room connected to the hallway your bedroom was in, which in turn connected to the living room. 

Your feet were silent as you crept through to the hall and waited there until he was nearly in the kitchen. Then you ducked into the living room and crouched behind the recliner. You could see him now—as you peeked around the side of the chair—his back was to you, and he had almost made it around the island to your former position. 

“What the fuck?!” He hissed as he realized you were no longer there. 

You stood from your crouch and took aim. 

But you would not shoot a man in the back. 

“Over here, fucker.” 

He whipped around in your direction, and it was the last thing he ever did.

Before you did anything else, you checked all three bodies… just to be sure they were really dead. When you were certain of that fact, you went to the room you’d considered yours for the last five months and grabbed your bag. The one you’d never unpacked, the one that sat just inside the door, ready to be taken at a moment's notice. It held clothes, shoes, a new burner phone, and the manila envelope JJ had given you. As well as the letter’s from your team. Then you made your way back to the kitchen, picked up your empty service weapon and put it in the bag. You called the Marshals as you walked out the door, stepping over the first dead man as you went. 

“I’m alive.” Was the first thing you said when your contact answered. “They’re not.”

“We’re almost there, just fifteen minutes out.” She responded, “Are you hurt?” 

You didn’t actually know the answer to that. So you took a moment to check for injuries that the adrenaline was still concealing. Blood had bloomed on your sleeve. You pulled your sleeve up and saw that it was just a graze. 

“I’m fine.” You answered her. “Tell my team that I’m okay. I’ll make contact when I’m sure I’m safe.” 

“Agent, stay put. We’ll be there to get you in just a few minutes.” She instructed. 

“I can’t do that.” You disagreed. “I don’t know if there are more of them, but they know where I am. That may not be the program’s fault, but if it is… I’m safer on my own.” 

“Agent! Don’t-” You hung up on her, mid sentence, and dropped the old burner on the side walk. 

Then you disappeared into the night.

Aaron was going to lose his mind. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST HER?” 

Derek was shouting at the Marshal on the other end of the line. 

“We didn’t lose her. She went off grid… on purpose. We’ve been looking for her for five weeks… apparently she’s really good at disappearing.” The man said. 

“Five weeks that we could have been helping you look for her!” Prentiss chimed in. 

They were both irate, the whole team was. Aaron most of all. Not that you’d gone off on your own, he understood why you’d done it. Or he understood the way your mind worked enough to put together your reasoning… If you were the only person who knew where you were, then the only person who could give you up was yourself. Not to mention they’d given you everything you needed to pull it off. He was almost proud of you. Garcia had been looking for hours and there was no trace of you. You’d pulled all the money from your actual bank accounts while still in Alabama, everyone already knew you were there. There was no harm in that now. Then you’d gone completely radio silent. Using cash for everything, and never leaving anything of yourself behind. It was like trying to find an unsub… An unsub?

An Unsub!

“I’ll be in touch with your superiors.” He said and hung up the phone. 

“I was not through with them yet!” Derek complained. 

“Neither am I, but I just realized we’re doing this all wrong.” Aaron muttered. 

“What do you mean?” Emily asked. 

“We know her, we know her as a person and an agent. But not a victim. Or… an unsub.” He said.  

“You want us to profile her?” JJ asked. “That feels… invasive.”

Everyone turned and looked at her with various degrees of incredulity. 

“But given the circumstances…” She murmured. 

“Okay, if she were an unsub, where would we start?” Rossi prompted. 

“Well usually we’d start with victimology… but she is the victim.” Reid pondered that for a moment before continuing. “Unless we treat the men she killed as victims… but we can’t because they’re the aggressors here. So we treat her as if she is a victim.” 

In the last several hours they’d gained access to the actual crime scene reports from the safe house in Alabama. The pictures were splayed out on the round table. 

“The question is, why did she run? In Alabama, the stand your ground law makes everything she did perfectly legal. They had weapons they kicked in her door and broke her window. Even if the police had arrived before the marshals got there to clear everything up, she would have been fine. Safer even! Especially if she’d had her creds laid out where the cops could see them! I don’t get it.” Morgan grumbled. But Aaron knew the answer to that question. 

“She ran to protect us, and the case. She knew after that happened—and she clearly was no longer safe in WITSEC—that we would try to bring her home and protect her ourselves. Which she believes would be too dangerous and jeopardize the case.” He murmured. “What we need to figure out is where she would go. Where would she feel safest and in control? She only had about three thousand in her account before she pulled it all out, that won’t last long. Not if she’s using it for travel, food, shelter and everything else she might need. Reid, how long would that last her?” 

Reid barely thought about it for a couple seconds. 

“Assuming she’s been staying in hotels, she’d already be out.” He stated, “However, if she were able to find an apartment to rent that takes cash under the table, bought cheap food and utilities… She’d make it about three months, maybe four before she had to get a job or give up and come home. She’d be safer on her own if she kept moving though, so I am going to say hotels make more sense. Especially since she’d want to get out of Alabama and get as far away as possible.” 

“Well, she can’t leave the country, not without us knowing about it. JJ had Penelope cross all the flight records with the identities she gave her. She didn’t take a train either. Cabs would be too expensive… So a bus line would make sense. She could travel from coast to coast in just over two days without having to stop overnight.” Emily pondered, then asked, “Reid, how much would that cost her?” 

“Anywhere from two hundred to six hundred dollars, but she’d go as cheap as possible so I’d guess at two hundred.” He rattled off. 

“She wouldn’t go anywhere she knows the ring has a presence.” Rossi said, “So we can rule out any city that came up in our investigation before she went undercover.” 

Aaron had this nagging thought in the back of his mind, and it took him a minute to pin it down.

“I might get a job, just to stave off the boredom. Maybe waitressing or something? I really only have the skill set for two jobs. Neither of them is a good option for me right now though. Both of them got me into this mess. So here we are.”

You wouldn’t… would you? He thought about it for a long minute and came to the conclusion that yes, you would. You might even do it for fun. 

If it kept you off the street… he wouldn’t complain. 

“We need to check the strip clubs.” Every head in the room turned his way. 

“What makes you say that?” Derek asked. Aaron sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Something she said to me in a letter… about only having the skill set for two jobs.” He shook his head. “And if she’s going to need money soon… what better way to get cash without a digital trail?” 

“She’s qualified for way more than either profiling or stripping…” Emily scowled. 

“I’m well aware of that.” Aaron scowled back at her. “She meant it as a joke… I hope. However, stripping is the only thing she has experience in that doesn’t require a social security number, a degree and a W-4. There’s anonymity in it.” 

“How am I supposed to track that?” Garcia asked. “If she’s left no digital trace of herself I can’t find her.” 

Aaron didn’t have an answer to that, he didn’t have an answer to any of this. 

“Aaron…” Dave said gently from across the table, getting his attention. “You told me to remain objective… and that's just as hard for me as it is for everyone else—except you—but those were the orders you gave me. Would you like to hear my objective professional opinion?” 

No… He already knew what Dave was going to say… and he was feeling a little petulant about it. However, Aaron knew he’d assigned him this role for a reason. He gave a slight nod of confirmation. 

“We are not going to find her until she wants to be found. You remember how hard it was to find Emily when she went AWOL…” Dave hedged. 

“I worked for Interpol though, undercover on an arms dealer bust. That’s a whole different playing field and I had a lot of training, she only had a day.” Emily reminded him. 

“Yes, but the circumstances were different. You had a different goal than she has. You wanted to end things before the rest of us got caught up in it. But we got her caught up in this… and while she probably feels like she’s protecting us… her main goal is to disappear and wait it out.” Dave disagreed. “And you taught her how. You all did. She said she’d make contact when it was safe for her to do so… let’s give her the chance. We know she’s alive. We don’t need to know where she is, that only puts her in danger.”

He was right.

Aaron hated that he was right—and so it seemed, did everyone else.

“So what?” Spencer asked apprehensively, “We just work the case until we make the big arrests and we can bring her home?” 

The room was silent. No one wanted to answer. 

“That’s exactly what we do.” Aaron murmured. 

He spent the rest of the day in his office, scouring over every single detail of every piece of evidence they had. Just trying to put something together, anything that would lead them to the ring leader. 

He didn’t leave the office until nine. 

He stopped briefly in the lobby of his apartment building to pick up the mail, it’d be bills, and nothing more so he didn’t bother to look through it. Just made his way upstairs and quietly let himself inside. Jess was sitting on the couch watching the nine o’clock news, which would be going off soon. Jack was already in bed. Dinner was on the table. Jess was a saint.

“Was Jack good today?” He asked as he made his way into the kitchen. 

“Isn’t he always?” She quipped, turning to rest her arms on the back of the couch. He barely found it in him to smile. 

“I guess he is.” He murmured. 

“Bad day?” She asked. He just nodded. 

“Wanna talk about it?” She offered, getting up and following him to the table. 

“I do actually… but unfortunately it's classified.” He sighed, tossing the stack of mail down on the table where it scattered slightly, then sinking down into his chair. 

“Oh… well, if there were something else… that’s not classified… I’m a very good listener…” She hinted. 

At what? Aaron didn’t know, and he wasn’t in the mood to sort it out, so he started shoveling food onto his plate. 

“Like what?” He asked anyway, humoring her because he knew she would continue whether he asked or not. 

“Like what happened between you and that girl you were seeing?” She pried. 

He groaned. 

“We’re… still together… but I can’t talk about it.” He shrugged. 

“Oh don’t you dare try to tell me your love life is classified, Aaron!” Jess exclaimed in mock outrage. “You’ve been moping around here for five months! I’m worried.” 

He laughed then, a broken, awful sound that had Jess shrinking in her chair. 

“It is classified, actually. She is currently classified. Legally. She’s in witness protection—or she’s supposed to be—and I’m living a nightmare all over again! And you are the one person I actually want to tell, because you’d actually understand, but I cannot tell you anything because it’s fucking classified!” He ranted frustratedly, his voice hardening to a tone he never used in this home. Definitely not with Jack and Jess. She was staring at him—wide eyed—from across the table.

“Jess…” He murmured, softening toward her and reaching a hand across the table. “I’m so sorry, I’m… it doesn’t matter, there’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. No matter what I’m dealing with.” 

She took his hand. 

“It’s alright Aaron.” She said quietly, forgiveness in her eyes. “If it ever becomes unclassified I’ll be right here, ready to hear you out.” 

Aaron felt like he might cry. So he looked down at his plate. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. 

“She’ll be okay…” Jess whispered back. “I mean, I don’t know the details, obviously. But I have to believe that the same horror won’t strike twice. So she will be okay.” 

He nodded. 

“She can take care of herself, and there is no one there for her to protect but herself. That gives her an advantage that- that Haley… didn’t have. She’ll be okay.” He said, and he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. 

She let him eat in silence for a long while before she spoke again. 

“That’s strange…” She muttered, almost to herself. 

“What’s that?” He asked, looking up. 

“This letter.” She said, holding it up to the light. “Someone must have misaddressed it, and there’s no return address.” 

“I don’t know…” He shrugged, going back to his food. 

“I wonder who Tomcat is?” She murmured curiously. Aaron dropped his fork, the rattle of it against his plate startling Jess. 

“What did you say?” He breathed. 

“I wonder who Tomcat is??” She repeated herself. Confusion all over her face. Aaron was around the table and at her side in seconds. 

“I need that.” He said, gently slipping it from between her fingers. 

“Okay?” She intoned. 

“It’s her. The letter is from her. I’m Tomcat, it's an inside joke… I… I’m sorry I really need to read this. She’d been missing for five weeks.” He mumbled. Saying more than he should in his haste to read your letter. 

“Oh my God.” Jess gasped. “Go ahead!” 

He made his way to the couch and tore into the envelope. 

Hey there Tomcat,

I know you must be… pretty mad at me right now… and I’m so sorry. I hate knowing that you’re probably worried sick over me, but I couldn’t afford to make contact until now. There was a fourth assailant, he never made it into the house. He followed me half way across the country before I lost him. (Do me a favor and give my tutor a raise or something, she earned it.) 

I’m safe now. I tricked the fucker and he got on a bus to New York, a bus that I was not on, I went the other direction. I wish I could tell you where… but you know I can’t. I can tell you that I’m settled, I spent the last of my cash on a cute little apartment, a lot like mine at home. Don’t worry, I have a plan and I intend to enact it tonight. (I can feel your brow furrowing from here, I said don’t worry you big softie. I’m fine.) 

I miss you everyday, I promise to keep writing letters. Even if you can’t write any in return. I’ll keep telling you all about my little adventures, because writing to you makes me feel like I’m actually talking to you. Like you’re really here somehow. 

I’ll be watching the news every chance I get, waiting for it to be safe for me to come home. I can’t wait to come home to you… I watch old press conferences of yours just to hear your voice. To see your face. I get excited when a new one pops up on the internet when I search your name. It's weird but it brings me comfort. I can’t wait to hear you tell me to come home. It’ll be the best day.  Be safe, I’ll write again soon.

Love, 

Sweetheart

This was dated a week ago. You were okay. 

You were alive. 

“She’s alive.” He whispered, barely louder than a breath. 

And then his shoulders were shaking, his hands trembling. A tear drop landed on the page. He was overcome with relief. A hand lit softly on his shoulder. He covered it with his own and let Jess offer him silent comfort as he sobbed. 

You missed Aaron. 

His letters had been the only thing you had to look forward to. Now you could only reread the old ones. You’d memorized them by now, and you could call them to memory as easily as Spencer recalled medieval poems he read once ten years ago. 

Dear Sweetheart,  

I miss you too. Work is quiet without you. I never thought a quiet office would feel like a bad thing… but it does. The fact that boredom has driven you to running concerns me. I like your other solution though… I can just hear the way you say my name as you fall apart. 

As for the Whale Sharks… There will be pay back for that, because you’re right, Reid did in fact regale us with facts about them… for days. It was so bad, Morgan actually went home and watched the documentary so that he could annoy Spencer by finishing his sentences correctly and taking the fun out of it. I’ve had to referee the two of them at least ten times this week because of it. 

Rossi asks me every week which recipe he should send you next. I’ll tell him he should make his instructions extra detailed from now on. I actually enjoy cooking, of course I have Jack so I did have to learn, but I do agree. Baking is easier, and more fun because Jack likes to help. I can’t wait for the day you get to meet him, as more than just a colleague of mine. He’ll adore you, I’m sure. 

Your past job experience may have gotten you into this mess… but you sure did look good doing it. I wouldn’t mind seeing you reprise that role in the future. As for your hair, stripper red would look great on you, red always looks great on you. However, I am of the opinion that it doesn’t matter what your hair looks like, or whether you have any at all. You’ll always be the prettiest girl in whatever room you’re in. Especially to me. 

Love, 

Tomcat

That one had been your favorite. Though you’d memorized them all, he always managed to make you smile and laugh… even on paper. You missed hearing from him more than anything. 

Speaking of reprising the role…

You were stripping again, this time though… it was to make ends meet.

But if this night got any worse… you swore you’d quit. 

There was another club just down the road, a club that would gladly take you on. You’d had just about enough of the bouncers here. They didn’t take care of the dancers, didn’t care to, they had nothing to hide. No illegal operations in the back rooms. Just the occasional stripper trying to make a few extra bucks in the parking lot, but as long as it wasn’t in the building, it wasn’t any of their business. They didn’t even care about the things that went on inside to be truthful. They only cared about the money, and about the customers the girls brought in. 

“Hey Kit?” Someone called, but you didn’t register it. “Kit Kat, you okay?”  

You were too busy trying to get your hair untangled from the rhinestones on your bra strap. 

“Ughhh! This fucking bra!” You cursed under your breath. 

“Here let me help.” A hand took your elbow and guided you over to a chair in the dressing room. You glanced up at Cinna, the most senior dancer at the club. (Cinna Buns if you were wondering… they liked food themed personas in this club for some reason.)

“Thanks, I hair-whipped a little too close to the sun I’m afraid.” You joked, and she gave a soft laugh. “I tried to get it out, but I only made it worse…” 

“You sure did…” She murmured, shaking her head as her fingers deftly separated the tiny tangles. She worked in silence for a few minutes, then… “You seem upset tonight…”

You sighed. 

“Had a bad interaction with a customer, nothing I can’t handle.” You muttered. 

“Is that all?” She asked. 

“No… but… It’s complicated.” You murmured, shrugging. 

“Well, on the bright side… It’s two o’clock, we’ve got an hour until close, and it’s Saturday night. Which means we aren’t open tomorrow!” She said cheerfully. “Don’t be so glum Kit Kat!” 

You hated that nickname. 

The identity you were using in this town was Kathrine Kittridge. You’d decided to use Kit as a Stripper persona because it was cutesy and a kit was a term for a fox pup, which reminded you of Vixen… which reminded you of Aaron. But the other girls had taken to calling you Kit Kat when you’d introduced yourself… It was the bane of your existence. 

And you’d been dealing with it for five months. 

That’s right, another five months had passed and you were still stripping in a small po-dunk town in the middle of nowhere Wyoming. You’d been the shiny new toy, and all the patrons couldn’t seem to get enough of you. They’d start making jokes about taking a bite out of you, and saying how Kit Kats were their favorite candy… 

Needless to say, it’d been a long five months with no end in sight. 

You could always pick up and move again. There was no point though. You were safe here. That’s all that mattered. Even if you hated it.

And you did hate it. 

“Yeah… that makes it so much better.” You muttered sarcastically. 

“Why don’t you go on home… Just sneak out the back, if anyone asks I’ll tell them I sent you home cause you got sick.” Cinna offered. 

“You would do that?” You asked. 

She nodded. 

“Girl, it's really not a big deal. Just go. Maybe Monday night will be better– Woah… What is going on there?” She was looking up at the tv mounted in the corner. 

A red banner was scrolling across the bottom of the screen that was playing a body cam clip of a SWAT team kicking in a door. Then it cut to a blonde reporter in a blue suit dress, she was standing on a sidewalk with a large group of reporters behind her. They were surrounding a podium. 

The banner read:

“Breaking News: Joint Investigation With DEA And FBI Lead To Major Raids in Connecticut.”

Your heart stopped. 

“Oh my god, turn that up! Where’s the remote?” You scrambled for it when you saw it laying on a vanity across the room. You turned the volume up to an ungodly volume, determined not to miss a single word.  

“Ladies and Gentleman, we’re coming to you live from the scene as The FBI is about to give a press conference in regards to several major raids they executed tonight in coordination with the DEA. Oh, here they come.” The reporter said, and the camera zoomed in on the podium. 

There he was. 

Looking exhausted, but every bit as good as the day you left. 

Aaron stepped up to the podium, JJ at his side and cleared his throat. 

“Early this morning, my team from the Behavioral Analysis Unit, along with a team from Organized Crime, and a team from the DEA made several key arrests in connection with a drug trafficking ring that we have been actively investigating for a little over a year now. That's all I can say at this time.” He said, and then he walked away. 

“Wait! Agent Hotchner! Agent Hotchner!?” The reporters called out. 

“We can’t answer any questions at this time. This is still an active case until trial, there will be an update once dates are set. For now we have witnesses to protect.” JJ said and then she followed him. 

“Oh my God…” You whispered. 

“You okay Kit?” Cinna asked. 

“No… yes? I- I don’t know…” You muttered. “Ya know what… I think I am gonna head out.” 

You hurried to put on street clothes and gathered all your things and then you made your way across the street and two blocks down. Where your apartment was located. 

You’d picked it specifically for its proximity to the club.

When you locked the door behind you, you leaned against it and sank to the floor. 

It was more important now than ever for you to lay low. All the initial arrests, and evidence would get thrown out without your testimony. Without those arrests and evidence… 

There was no case for the arrests made tonight. 

Which meant all someone needed to do to stop the trials… 

Was to kill you. 

It was time to move again. 

It had taken five more months but they’d finally done it. 

They’d gotten the confessions, signed affidavits, critical evidence and arrest warrants they needed to bring the ring to its knees. Now that they’d made the actual arrests…

He was one step closer to bringing you home. 

The only problem was, after the raid was over and they’d been sorting evidence, they found a dossier. 

A dossier about you.

They were still looking for you, and they’d done their research. 

They knew where you’d grown up, where you’d gone to college, where your apartment was (you wouldn’t be going back there now he’d make sure of that), the car you drove, and everything right down to the color of your eyes. 

And they’d put a hit out on you.

Not a public hit… which he would think was a good thing.

Except… 

They’d hired a professional. 

A career hitman. 

With way too many confirmed kills for Aaron’s comfort… and he’d never been caught. 

Apparently, after you’d killed three of their men so easily, and evaded the fourth as simply as you had, they’d decided you were worth the money this guy cost. 

He had a reward for information on you posted on the darknet. It had pictures of you from your time at the strip club. 

Garcia had taken it down multiple times… but he just kept putting it back up. So, she had started sending him random tips. 

The team had been looking for him for a week when Aaron had gotten a letter from you. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I got your message and I’m taking the appropriate measures. I think someone is after me. They were really close too… I don’t know how they could’ve found me. I have been laying low as dirt for five months. I’ve left no trace of myself anywhere. Whoever they are…

They’re good. 

I left my little hideaway before dawn the night I saw your press conference. I bought a police scanner when I moved there… out of boredom… You wouldn’t believe how entertaining that can be in a very small town in Wyoming. Yes, I was in WY, it was the most agonizing five months of my life. Anyway, I have a police scanner, and I was listening to it on my way out of town. They called in a structure fire… at my apartment. I’d only been gone for thirty minutes. They must’ve not seen me leave. 

The good thing is, I made it out, and I’m safe now. I made so many stops and so many detours it took me three days to get where I am now. It will not be an easy trail to follow. I still don’t know how they found me again to begin with. I was going by a false name, I didn’t sign anything, buy anything big or register anything to that name. I used cash for everything… I truly don’t know. It can’t possibly be these letters, I don’t ever put a return address. I guess I will just have to get a new place and only leave for food. Setting a trial date shouldn’t take that long? Right? I have plenty of cash, if it only takes a couple months… God I hope it only takes a couple months. I miss you so much. All of you, I didn’t even realize how important our team is to me… How much space they hold in my heart. Tell them how much I miss them? It's been so long… 

I check online everyday to see if trial dates have been set. I’ll be counting the days when they are. It’s getting late, and this hotel bed is calling my name. 

With all my love,

Sweetheart

Aaron had felt panic crawling up his spine, squeezing his heart, and flooding his brain. He took the letter to Dave immediately and the man’s face had paled visibly as he’d read it. 

“That’s too close of a call.” Rossi murmured. “We need to get her back here.” 

“We can’t.” Aaron whispered. “The only way to contact her successfully is to hold a press conference. If we do that, he’ll be watching too. He’ll know she’s coming home and he’ll be waiting.”

Dave threw his arms out wide and looked at Aaron in disbelief. 

“So what, we just leave her out there with no warning of what's coming for her?” He asked. 

Aaron ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. 

“I don’t see what other choice we have. They are both watching everything we put online and on television right now. Everything she has access to, he does as well.” Aaron explained. “The only choice we have is to wait for them both to come to us. She has managed to stay ahead of him this far and she didn’t even know he existed… now that she does? My money is on her.” 

Four months later. 

Aaron’s hands were shaking, his palms sweating, he was so nauseous he felt the urge to swallow every five to ten seconds… and there was still no sign of you. 

Or the hitman out to kill you. 

Court would be in session in 45 minutes and you were the first witness on the docket. 

You’d written him a letter that he’d received yesterday. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I’ve been in contact with the D.A. on a secure line. We’ve gone over my testimony multiple times, and she’s confident that I’ll do well during cross examination with the defense. I wish I could talk to you about it. I’m nervous. I know you’ll be there, but I’m sure I won’t see you until it’s all over as I’ll be sequestered as soon as I arrive. She says that you’re all still worried  about a possible attempt on my life before the trial starts. But I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of anyone suspicious since Wyoming, so I’m not as concerned as I probably should be. I’ll be as cautious as I can getting to the court house, I’ll wear a disguise so good, even you won’t recognize me.

I can’t believe it's almost over. Fourteen months. We had two days and we’ve been apart for fourteen months. I can’t even imagine how it will feel to finally see you again. To hear your voice straight from your lips instead of through a television or a computer. To feel your arms around me, your hands on me. I haven’t heard from you in nine months—I know that isn’t your fault—but I am… nervous. The day I left you said to me that the way you felt with me is something you would wait decades to feel, I hope you were sincere. This has felt like decades to me… 

It seems like a lifetime since someone called me by name, smiled at me with the familiarity of someone who truly knows me, or was able to offer me a true connection… I don't know if I am even capable of maintaining a friendship any more… or something more. 

But then I remind myself that I have written to a man who cannot respond to me for almost a year, with nothing but a hope that he’s receiving my letters and smiling as he reads them. I think… and I hope this is not true… but I think I have fallen in love with the idea of you. See, I know you… as a boss… as a sexual partner… as a friend, but I’m afraid that I’ve built up this perfect image of you in my mind. What if the way I remember you is very different from who you’ve become while I’ve been gone? A person can change a lot in a year. I know I have. 

I’m harder now, I used to be light and soft. Playful. I don’t think I know how to be those things anymore. What if you find that I am not the same woman I was fourteen months ago? What if you don’t like the woman I’ve become? I still miss you everyday. So that has to count for something, right? Even if it is all in my head. 

With nervous anticipation and so much excitement I could die, 

Sweetheart

The letter had wrecked him. 

He lived and breathed for your letters. The wait for their arrival was like purgatory… the worst kind of hell. 

The time between them seemed to stretch into oblivion, because by the time the letters got to him, he knew that you’d been alive a week before. Though, he had no clue if you were still breathing as he read them. 

He missed you terribly. 

And to see you doubt that in any way… it broke his heart a little. 

He knew that you’d had a tough year, it’d been tough for him as well in completely opposite ways. He would just have to take his time convincing you that nothing had changed for him, and he still wanted you as badly now as he had when you’d left. 

“Hotch, I got movement on the roof of the building across the street.” Morgan murmured into his radio, his voice breaking through Aaron’s thoughts. “I’m going up to check it out.” 

Aaron looked up toward the roof in question from where he was standing on the steps of the courthouse, sure enough, there was a man up there. Aaron couldn’t tell what he was doing from this distance, but the fact that he was up there at all was enough to warrant suspicion. 

“Be careful Morgan.” Aaron responded, as he began to scan the crowd more diligently, looking for any sign of you. 

The crowd was thickening more and more as the time drew closer to nine. People showing up for work, people showing up for court, or both. It was getting harder and harder to pick through all the faces and see that they were not yours. Nearly three minutes passed and Aaron kept anxiously glancing to the roof. 

“It’s just a maintenance guy, he’s up here trying to see if he can’t get the AC fixed without having to call an HVAC service.” Morgan finally said into the radio. “It's nothing.”

Aaron relaxed infinitesimally, but he kept scanning, kept studying the crowd.

It was getting louder and louder every minute, the steps were filling up and the line to get through the metal detectors at the door was getting long. Aaron wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his slacks, it didn’t help… but it made him feel slightly less panicky. 

“I think I’ve got something…” JJ murmured. 

“Him, or her?” Prentiss asked. 

“Her.” JJ answered.

Aaron stopped breathing. 

“Where?” He whispered. 

“About a hundred feet to your left coming up the sidewalk on the north side of the building.” She answered. 

He turned, searching through the crowd, but the faces all blurred together. 

“Description?” He murmured, his voice cracking and his heart trying to beat its way free of his chest. 

“Black pantsuit, with a red silk blouse, her hair is jet black, she’s got on sunglasses, the big bugeyed ones like what Prentiss wears.” JJ listed, earning a disgruntled hey from Prentiss. “I’m not entirely sure because her face is obscured and she’s farther away from me than you… but the walk is familiar.” 

Red silk blouse, big sunglasses, jet black hair. 

He scanned the crowd over and over, until he found the woman in question.

“That’s not her.” He muttered. “Wrong height, and that’s not her nose.” 

“Wait.” Reid said, his voice cutting through the crowd. “I’ve got her and I’m positive it’s her. She’s behind you Hotch, already in line to go into the court house. Black pencil skirt, white blouse with flowy sleeves, blazer draped over her arm. She’s wearing a black headband and glasses, real glasses not sunglasses. She’s wearing heels… of some sort. Black tights. About fifty feet from you.” 

Aaron whipped around in the direction of the line and made to stride in your direction, he hadn’t even found you yet but if Spencer was sure… he was sure. 

“Hotch stop.” Prentiss warned. “Don’t go over there, look away from her now and walk away. I’ve got a suspicious man on the roof across from Morgan. Fuck… This one is for real. He’s got a gun.” 

“Can you take him out?” Aaron was already moving… and not in the direction he wanted to be. 

He was headed for that roof. 

“I don’t have a shot.” Prentiss muttered. 

She was on the roof of the courthouse in a sniper nest of her own. Not her usual role… but he had wanted to be on the ground where he could protect you. 

“If you get one, you take it.” He ordered her. 

There were no other teams out there, just them. So there was no chance that this guy was another agent, or a cop. It had to be the hitman. 

“Morgan can you–”

“Not before you, but I’ll be right behind you.” Morgan answered him without even needing to hear the full question. 

“Hurry Hotch.” Emily’s voice was a little bit panicked. “I think he sees her.” 

“Fuck!” Aaron hissed. “Still no shot?” 

He was running now, down the sidewalk to the entrance to the other building, as fast as he could go. 

“I could wound him! Graze his shoulder, that’s about it!” She explained. 

“Take it!” He ordered. “Spencer, use the chaos to get her inside! Do it fast!” 

“Emily, he's seen Aaron, and he’s lining up a shot on her, if you’re gonna do it, do it now!” Rossi’s voice was frantic. 

Aaron felt like he was running through water, every step felt heavy and seemed to take ages. He was running but he wasn’t moving fast enough! Like a cartoon character. 

“Emily!” He called. 

“I’ve got it!” She answered. 

The shot rang out through the street like a thunderclap, and panic ensued. 

“Spencer, get her inside! JJ help him!” Aaron called. 

But he kept running. The faces of people only blurs of color as he went flying by. 

When he reached the lobby of the building the man was on he flashed his badge at the desk worker. 

“Roof access?!?” He demanded. 

The girl pointed to a stairwell, and Aaron flew. 

“I’m a couple minutes behind you Hotch!” Morgan warned him. “I’m coming as fast as I can!” 

“We have her! We’re taking her to the sublevel of the courthouse, no windows.” Spencer explained. 

Aaron felt the ability to breathe return to him and he ran faster. Climbing the steps three at a time. His footsteps sounded like a herd of elephants. The emergency exit signs were washing the stairs in red light. It was ominous. 

There was no way this guy was getting away, not on his watch. Not today. 

You would be safe after today. 

He would make sure of it. 

He stopped—briefly—at the top of the staircase to catch his breath. He could hear Morgan thundering up behind him.

He opened the door, gun drawn, and slipped out onto the roof. 

He didn’t see anyone. 

“Hotch! Look out!” Emily cried. 

Something struck him on the back of the head and his vision blurred. He fell to the concrete of the rooftop, the breath he’d just regained fleeing his chest in a rush. His gun skittering away from him. 

“Hotch!” Emily shouted again. “Morgan hurry!” 

“I’m almost there!” Derek panted. 

Aaron rolled, just as a boot came slamming down onto the concrete where his head had been only a moment before. He kicked out to the side, swiping the man's legs out from under him. Then launching himself on top of the assailant as he hit the ground. Aaron straddled the guy, and did not hesitate as he began throwing punches. 

He didn’t see the gun. 

Not until it was pointed at his face. 

The first gunshot had pulled your attention to the roof of the courthouse. Which is why you didn’t realize it was Spencer who took you by the arm… and why you threw a reactive punch… right to his nose. 

“Ouch!” He yelped. “It’s just me!” 

He doubled over grabbing his nose for a second before he grabbed you again and hauled you forward. Then a blur of blonde was at your other side, covering you. 

“Move!” JJ urged you, pushing you toward the building. Forcing through the panicked crowd. “Get to the door!” 

You didn’t argue, didn’t waste time apologizing to Spencer who was now bleeding. You just made a break for the door, the two of them in tow. JJ flashed her badge to the security guard. “Material witness! She’s the target, let us in now!” 

The man didn’t argue, just opened the door. No one cared that the three of you set off the metal detectors as you crossed the threshold. Spencer was dragging and JJ was pushing as they forced you inside and then Spencer found an elevator. He pushed the down arrow. They crowded you against the door until you were leaning against it, covering you with their bodies, and when the door opened the three of you fell inside together. They didn’t move to get off of you until the doors closed. 

“We have her! We’re taking her to the sublevel of the courthouse, no windows.” Spencer said into his sleeve—where you realized his radio receiver must be—then covered his nose again as blood dripped onto his shirt. 

“What just happened?” You panted, looking at both of them with wide eyes. “Was someone shooting at me?” 

Not that it would’ve been shocking after the year that you’d had… but to do it from the roof of the courthouse. That was insane. 

“No. That was Emily.” JJ muttered, then she held up a hand and covered her free ear. She was listening to something intently.

“Emily?” You asked Spencer quietly. 

He nodded. 

“She shot at the man on the other roof who was about to shoot you.” He explained. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

That was close.

“Shit. Hotch is going up there without back up. Morgan is minutes behind.” JJ muttered. 

“What!?!” You gasped and then you scrambled to Spencer’s side and snatched his ear piece. He didn’t argue. 

“Hotch! Look out!” Emily cried. 

You heard Aaron grunt in pain and the oxygen evacuated your lungs.

“Hotch!” Emily shouted again. “Morgan hurry!” 

“I’m almost there!” Derek panted. 

“What’s happening?!” You heard Rossi demand. 

And then there was a gunshot. 

“Hotch!” Emily screamed. 

Then everything went silent. 

You, JJ, and Reid stared at each other in terror for several seconds. 

“We got him.” Morgan’s voice came through the ear piece. 

But that was not the voice you needed to hear. You grabbed Spencer’s wrist and hauled it up to your face. 

“Aaron?! Aaron Hotchner, you speak to me right this second!” You demanded, your voice cracking as you strangled on barely choked back sobs. It was quiet for a moment longer and panic squeezed your heart. 

“Aaron!” You called again, desperately. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m fine. Take a breath.” His voice flooded your whole body with relief. 

You slumped against Spencer and sobbed. 

“Is she okay?” You heard Aaron ask.

“Yeah.” JJ murmured, a soothing hand on your shoulder. “She’s got blood on her, but it’s Reid’s. She bloodied his nose when he tried to pull her out of the line and into the building, didn’t realize it was him.” 

You heard Morgan chuckle quietly, but you couldn’t get your emotions back under control. The thought that you were so close… and yet you’d almost lost him at the last second. Just when you were finally going to be able to be together. It had wrecked you. 

“We’re taking him in. Stay with her, don’t leave her side until she’s on the stand.” Aaron instructed JJ. “Dave, you stay too. Prentiss you’re with us.” 

The next thirty minutes were a blur. JJ had produced a different blouse from somewhere and helped you get into it, while Rossi and Spencer guarded the door. Your hands couldn’t stop shaking and you could barely breathe. It wasn’t because you’d almost been killed. You’d actually gotten used to that feeling and had learned how to push through it… as terrifying as that was. No, it was because Aaron had almost been killed trying to protect you, and you didn’t think you’d be able to get it together. Not until you saw him with your own eyes, and saw that he was uninjured. Is this how he had felt all these months? Especially after you’d disappeared in Alabama? Like his chest was caving in and the only way to stop it was to see you?

You hoped not. 

You couldn’t imagine doing something so cruel to him. Not on purpose. 

By the time the Bailiff came in search of you, you’d calmed down enough to speak and coherently answer questions. Though that tightness in your chest never truly left. When you took the stand, the Prosecutor didn’t even have time to ask you a single question before JJ came rushing—quietly—into the courtroom. She waved the prosecution over and she listened as JJ whispered in her ear and handed her a file. 

“Your Honor.” The attorney addressed the judge. “Side Bar?” 

“Approach the bench.” The judge rumbled, he was an older man with a jowled neck… He looked like a fat turkey. 

Both the Prosecution and the Defense approached and she handed the judge the file she’d received from JJ. 

“Your honor, this morning before court there was yet another attempt on my witness’s life—this being the third such attempt—the FBI was able to apprehend and take that man into custody. They’ve gotten a full confession and the man had confirmed that the defendants did indeed hire him for the hit. In light of that, the Prosecution moves to add several more charges to the Defendant’s case. Including but not limited to: Witness Tampering, Attempted Murder of a Witness, the solicitation of murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.” She explained. “As well as entering all of this into evidence. The defense can—of course—have copies.” 

The judge nodded and then you kind of blacked out until she asked you your first question. To be honest you didn’t remember much of anything once it was over, but as he escorted you out of the court house and into an SUV, Rossi praised your composure and bravery. Telling you what an excellent job you did. You came out of your daze when you realized you had no idea where he was taking you. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, you were in Connecticut. You’d passed the FBI office on the way in and that wasn’t the way he was taking you. 

“Hotel. Aaron wanted to get you out of there as soon as possible. You must be tired…” He answered. You nodded. 

“Exhausted.” You muttered. “I don’t think I’ve slept a full night since… well, the day I left probably.” 

“That’s not healthy kiddo.” He sighed, “Though I can give you a pass in this situation. You’re safe now though. So rest up okay?” 

“I will.” You murmured. 

Aaron was impatient. 

He’d gotten the text from Rossi three hours ago that said: 

Dave: Got her back to the hotel and settled in her room. She fell asleep before I even left. I had to slip her shoes off so she didn’t hurt herself with the heels in her sleep. Don’t worry. I’m just out in the hall if she needs anything. Drug a chair out there. I’ll stay as long as I need to.

There were just a few more things left for him to tie up here at the field office, Reid and JJ had things under control at the courthouse, and once he left, Morgan and Prentiss could finish their goodbyes to the local Organized Crime unit. All he wanted was to lay eyes on you… 

Then he’d let you sleep. 

In his arms, if you’d allow it but he needed to see you. It’d been so long… and knowing you were so close… It was agony. He’d been just steps away from you earlier. Mere feet. Yet he’d never laid eyes on you. He’d heard your voice though. It was the most beautiful sound to grace his ears since the day you’d left. He was bouncing his knee impatiently under the table as he finished up the last of the paperwork… 

“Dude.” Morgan huffed a laugh, and Aaron glanced up in irritation at the distraction. “Just put your signature on everything and go. Prentiss and I can handle it. You're making a mess of it anyway. Look, you’re smearing the ink worse than usual.” 

He was… unfortunately. He sighed. 

“Are you sure?” He tried not to let his voice sound so hopeful. Morgan and Prentiss shared a knowing grin. 

“Yeah man, we’re sure.” Derek nodded. “Go, before you stomp a hole in the floor.” 

“Thank you.” Aaron whispered, grabbing a set of the SUV keys and putting his suit jacket back on. 

“Go get your girl!” Emily called after him, laughing as he hurried from the room.

He didn’t even have the mental capacity to care. All his energy was focused on getting to you. The drive was a blur, his mind on autopilot. What would he even say to you? He knew that you still felt the same… Your letter had been clear about that, but he didn’t know how to breach the gap that time and distance might have caused. 

Before he knew it, he was exiting the elevator on the seventh floor of the hotel and walking toward Rossi who was sitting in a rolling desk chair in front of a door. 

“She’s still asleep as far as I know…” Dave murmured as he walked up. “But I think she was pretty anxious to see you.” 

The man winked at him as he stood.

“Why am I nervous?” Aaron asked him. “She’s written to me every week without fail… well almost, but her letters were very clear about how she feels. I shouldn’t be this… frazzled.” 

Dave laughed softly. 

“You’ll figure it out.” He murmured. “But it could have something to do with the fact that you haven’t seen her in over a year… and she’s right there behind that door. I’d say you’re more excited than nervous. Right?” 

“I think my heart is trying to crawl up my throat.” Aaron muttered, earning himself another laugh and a clap on the shoulder. 

“Go see her. It’ll make you feel better… I’m certain.” Dave gave him a gentle nudge toward the door. 

“Thank you for staying with her.”

“Of course.” Dave waved him off. “I’ll be a few doors down if you need me.” 

Aaron just nodded and waited for him to disappear into his room. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

He shook his head to clear it… and then he knocked. Four solid raps against the wood. Then he waited. 

Watching the peep hole for any sign of movement, he noticed that the room number was 777. Aaron Hotchner was not a superstitious or particularly religious man, but as a shadow blocked out the daylight shining through the peep hole… he believed in the divine. If only for the day. He was also well aware that there was more than likely a gun leveled at his stomach through the door at this moment, but he would be proud of you if there was. The shadow moved and there was a brief pause before he heard the locks start to disengage. You’d definitely gone to put a gun away. 

Okay… now would be a good time to think of something to say, Aaron. Anything. Fuck… even hi would probably work, just open your mouth and say it.

Then the door swung open and a body came hurtling out into the hallway and launched into him so hard that he stumbled back into the other wall. 

And then you were kissing him. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, and your lips melded against his. 

Okay… maybe words were overrated. 

This was definitely better. 

He carried you back through the door, just before it closed, then put your back against it. Your lips parted for his tongue and you tasted like home. He felt it was maybe a little necessary to say something to you before carrying you straight to the bed. (Which was where he really wanted to take you.) He kissed you until you were the one who finally pulled back to gasp for breath. Your forehead resting against his. 

“Hi.” You whispered, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hi.” He chuckled softly. 

“I can’t believe you're real…” You breathed. 

“I’m very real baby, I promise.” He murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “It’s a good thing too, otherwise you would’ve launched yourself headfirst into that wall.” 

You shook your head slowly. 

“I don’t know if I believe that yet.” You said, “This could be a dream… I was sleeping. What if I wake up in a minute and you're not here?” 

He kissed you again, biting your lip softly. 

“Does that feel real?” He asked. 

“It always does.” You whimpered. “And I always wake up…” 

“How many times have you had this dream?” He wondered aloud. 

“I lost count.” You kissed him again. 

“You won’t wake up alone this time, sweetheart. It's real…” He whispered against your lips. 

“Prove it.” You demanded. 

He sat you on your feet softly, caressing your hips and gripping your waist firmly, pulling you as close as he could get you. You whimpered softly as his lips found your neck, and you began to push him backwards down the short entryway, unbuttoning his shirt as you went. Aaron let his hand find the zipper of your skirt, and it slipped to your ankles, making you stumble into his chest. He bumped into the TV stand, knocking over a lamp that rolled off it and fell to the floor, but he didn’t let you fall. Your breaths were rapid and shallow as he let you push his suit jacket down his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor and his shirt followed quickly after it. Then he lifted you off your feet, turned and sat you up on the TV stand, where the lamp had previously sat. At this height he could better explore you with his lips. Trailing them down to the base of your neck, and tracing your collar bones. Sucking and biting gently as he went. 

He wanted to devour you. 

To taste every inch of your skin until he was sated. Though he knew he’d never get enough of you. 

Aaron’s patience had run out before he’d even gotten here, so the buttons on your blouse were an inconvenience he did not have time for. He needed your skin bare beneath his lips, under his hands.

“Are you attached to this shirt?” He asked, tugging on the hem. 

“No, it’s not even mine. JJ found it for me when I got Reid’s blood on mine.” You said through gasps and moans as he nipped and licked at your pulse point, unable to keep his mouth off of you. “I think she got it out of the courthouse’s charity closet.” 

“Perfect.” He murmured, before he grasped both sides of the collar and ripped it open. 

Sending buttons flying everywhere. 

The sound that escaped your lips had him gripping your thighs so tightly he would have to check you for bruises later… Then he was kissing his way down your chest, as you shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it over his head to the floor behind him. He sucked at the curve of your breast and you tipped your head back. 

“Aaron…” You moaned. 

God, he had missed that sound. His name on your lips was like a balm to his battered heart. Especially when you said it like that. 

He traced his hands up your waist and around your back to the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and freeing your breasts. They were every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it sharply as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Aaron.” Your tone was absolutely sinful. 

He smirked, barely pausing to murmur, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll get there.” 

“Can we get there any faster? I want you, like now.” You grumbled, but there was a hint of desperation in your tone. 

He chuckled softly. 

“Still not an ounce of patience.” He teased under his breath, swapping to the other nipple and earning a whimper. 

“Unless vibrators count, I’ve been celibate for fourteen months, I’m allowed to be impatient right now!” You whined, and then yelped in surprise as he scooped you up off the tv stand and transferred you quickly across the two feet to the bed. “Aaron!” 

“What?” He asked, feigning innocence. “You said you wanted to get there faster.” 

You laughed and the heat in your eyes was enough to make him ache for you. 

“I just wanna know why you still have pants on?” You purred, biting your bottom lip. 

“That is a very good question… Maybe you should help me out of them.” He murmured back, brushing a few wild locks of hair out of your face that had fallen loose from the headband that was still on your head. 

He slipped it off and tossed it to the night stand, then buried his hand into your hair guiding your lips back to his. He felt your hands at his belt buckle, heard it jingle as you undid it, followed by the slide of his zipper and then you were pushing his slacks down his thighs. They pooled around his ankles and he simply stepped out of them, and knelt on the bed with his knees between yours as he slowly—and gently—pushed you down onto the mattress. Your legs wrapped around his waist—thighs squeezing his hips tightly—as he slipped his hand between your bodies, and beneath the waistband of your panties. You whimpered against his lips as his fingers began to explore your pussy. Caressing smooth skin and gathering your wetness, dragging it up to your clit where he began to circle ever so lightly. You arched up into his hand, seeking more friction, and he gave it to you. Pressing more firmly on your clit, and making you moan. 

“Aaron, please…” You pleaded with him, pulling away from his lips to beg with those gorgeous eyes that always brought him to his knees. 

“Please what, Pretty Girl?” He murmured softly, still working your clit. “Tell me what you need.” 

He increased his speed and pressure, making you squirm and whine, “I need you inside me!” 

He smirked at you again, unable to resist teasing you. 

Was he absolutely throbbing for you? Painfully so. Was the way you reacted to his teasing and edging worth it? Absolutely. 

“What part of me sweetheart?” He asked, letting his voice flow out in a low hum. “There are so many options, I’m going to need you to be more specific…” 

He leaned down and began kissing your neck again. 

“Aaron…” You keened in frustration. 

“No, really sweetheart, tell me…” He purred, “Do you want my fingers?” 

He slipped the aforementioned fingers down from your clit to your entrance, teasing at it lightly, before sliding on inside. You were so wet that he met no resistance and earned a moan in reward, but you shook your head and gasped, “Please!” 

“How about my tongue?” He laved at your pulse with it, then sucked, and your pussy clenched around his finger. “Hmm? Would you like that?”

You whimpered, as he used the pad of his finger to massage your g-spot. 

“Come on, honey… All you have to do is say the word…” He teased, “Just one word, and I’ll give you what you want. Fingers, tongue or co-”

He let out a strangled groan instead of finishing his sentence. Why? 

Because you had reached up and palmed his cock through his boxers, squeezing him firmly.

“Fuck…” He hissed. 

“You know what I want Aaron.” You panted, “Stop teasing and fuck me.”  

Any control that Aaron had regained, went flying out the window. 

He was here.

He was actually here, kissing your lips and touching your skin. You had dreamt of how this would go, how you’d feel when you saw him again. How he might take his time, exploring your body the way he had that morning in your apartment… and he had been trying to. But the second you’d seen his face through the peephole… 

You had wanted him desperately. 

So desperately that you didn’t have any need for the foreplay he was trying to provide. You were ready enough. You knew that he had been just as desperate—holding back for your sake alone—because the moment you had uttered the words “fuck me….”

He snapped. 

He hadn’t even taken the time to take his boxers off, or your panties. He’d simply pushed his down and slipped yours to the side. Then he was pushing inside of you. Entering you in one smooth thrust that had him so deep you were clutching at his back for dear life, nails raking across his skin. The stretch burned so deliciously, a strangled moan fell from your lips. He stilled when he’d fully seated himself in your pussy, hovering over you—his hands on either side of your head—his breaths sharp and quick. His eyes were locked on yours, and they were full of pure desire. Your stomach tightened in excitement. 

“Baby…” He panted, “I… I don’t wanna hurt you, but if I move, I’m not gonna be able to hold back.” 

You palmed both sides of his face and pulled him down for a bruising kiss. The kind of kiss that felt like you were trying to join your souls together through lips, tongues and teeth.  Then you pulled back—just enough to look into those hazel eyes that you’d dreamt of every night—making sure he could see just how serious you were when you said, “Don’t hold back, take me however you need me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

He needed no further reassurance. 

Without ever pulling out of you, Aaron sat up and pulled your legs up over his shoulders,  wrapping his forearms around your thighs just below your knees. His first few thrusts were slow, testing, and measured, they had you moaning and arching your back to take him deeper. It was useless, however, because you were nearly immobile in that position. 

But he didn’t leave you wanting for long… 

Because just like he said, after those first few thrusts, he didn’t hold back. Aaron pounded into you, his cock hitting you so deep inside, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart.” He praised, “So fucking good…” 

He took one hand caressing down the length of your thigh and reaching around your leg, then rested his palm on your lower stomach, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it. You were a mess, clutching at the bedspread and tangling your fingers in it. With his other hand, Aaron peeled your thigh highs off one after the other, throwing them to the floor and placed kisses to the inside of your calves. The pace he was setting was brutal… and you loved every second of it. Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough. You wanted him so badly it felt like a compulsion, a desperate, deep, aching need for him. You wanted to be able to feel this long after it was over, you wanted to be sore and bruised… you wanted him written all over your body like a brand. 

“Aaron,” You breathed, “I- I need– Oh fuck.” 

You could barely get the sentence out as his cock hit your cervix and dragged against your g-spot with every thrust. 

“What do you need, baby?” He asked, “Tell me, I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

“Harder.” You gasped. “Fuck me harder. I wanna feel you tomorrow.” 

Aaron pulled out of you suddenly, with no warning and you whined at the absence—the emptiness. Lowering your legs from his shoulders he tapped your left hip, “Roll over for me pretty girl, hands and knees.” 

You sat up and got to your hands and knees without hesitation. You would have done anything he asked of you. Anything. Your trust in him was absolute. When you looked back over your shoulder at him, he groaned. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look… incredible.” He murmured, as he pulled your panties down to your knees, gripping your hips and tilting them to give himself better access as he lined his cock up with your pussy again. “Are you ready, baby?” 

“Yes, please!” He eased back inside you, then took two handfuls of your ass and used it to throw you up and down his shaft as he thrust into you with a bruising rhythm. You cried out, “Fuck!” 

You were breathless, the tension in your body was rapidly building to a crescendo as he railed you. You could feel every inch of him as your cunt squeezed him tightly. The pressure of his finger tips digging into the muscle of your ass cheeks, was both pleasure and pain. The mixture was pure bliss. And then he reached around to find your clit, his finger seeking it out with ease. You thought you might black out. There were too many sensations going on at once, all making that familiar ball of tension grow and grow. He let go of your ass cheek, and planted a hand in between your shoulder blades. Pushing you down to your elbows and making your breasts touch the bed, your nipples brushing against the sheets. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, taking me so well.” He praised, “I can feel you getting close, pretty girl. Are you gonna come for me?”

“Oh God, Aaron, please!” You moaned. 

“Please what, baby?” He kept pace while he talked and the sound of his voice was driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop talking to me, I’m so close.” You pleaded, you’d missed the sound of his voice so much. 

“You wanna hear my voice while you come on my cock, pretty girl?” He purred, leaning closer to you so he could murmur right into your ear. “Want me to talk you through it, hmm?”

“So bad..” You whined

“I can do that for you, baby. Just relax and let me make you fall apart.” His voice was low and rough, the rasp in it had your toes curling while he fucked you senseless. “Is my cock better for you than that fun little purchase you made while you were gone?” 

“Yes!” You whimpered. 

“It fills you up so much better, doesn’t it?” His finger was working your clit in such perfect little circles, the pressure just how you liked it. 

“Mm hmm.” It was the only coherent sound you could make. 

“I’ve been aching for this pussy, thought about it every single night while you were gone. In bed, in the shower…” He confessed, “Even in my office.” 

You moaned as an image of him jacking off to the thought of you—sitting at his desk with his head thrown back and his eyes closed—filled your mind. 

“My hand doesn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart… you’re even better than I remembered.” 

You clenched around him and your back arched a little more, as you pressed back into him, taking him a little deeper. 

“Fuck…” He groaned, “Just like that, baby. You’re such a good girl, taking my cock like this.” 

You couldn’t contain your moans and whimpers anymore… It was all too much, and then he was squeezing your hip and ass again with his free hand–the one that had been on your back–and you hoped he left finger prints behind for you to obsess over later. 

“I’m getting close, pretty girl, I need you to come for me.” He ground out, fucking into you for all he was worth. “Come on baby, you can do it… Let go and let me take care of you. Come all over my cock baby, I wanna feel every second of it.” 

But there was something you wanted… something you’d missed the feeling of more than you would ever admit out loud. Although you could be persuaded to tell Aaron about it. Persuaded? Yeah right… You were about to beg for it.

“I- fuck, Aaron, I need you…” You got cut off by a strangle moan that flew from your mouth when his cock hit just right.  

“I’m right here baby, I’ve got you. Just let go…” He soothed. You shook your head. 

“I need you to come inside me!” You panted, pleaded… “I need it so bad, Aaron please!” 

Aaron groaned something under his breath that sounded like pure filth from what you could make out. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, sweetheart. You want me to come inside your perfect little pussy?” He asked. “You gonna come for me if I do?” 

“Yes! God, yes! Aaron, please!” 

“That’s a good girl…” He praised, then… “Shit, I’m- ahh!”

He kept thrusting through his own orgasm and the warmth of his cum spilling into you, flooding your pussy, and dripping down your thighs was the final little push you needed to go spiraling over that edge. 

“Aaron!” You cried, your elbows and wrist giving out—your knees not far behind—but he caught you, pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He murmured in your ear as your vision went all fucked up, you were seeing white with colored spots. “I’ve got you.”

It was a good thing he had you, because you couldn’t feel your legs, so you just relaxed. Going limp against his chest, panting and resting your head on his shoulder. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. You smiled, turning your head so he could kiss your lips instead. Your eyes fluttered closed, they couldn’t see anything yet anyway… The kiss wasn’t urgent… It wasn’t panicked, or needy… It was slow, soft, and sweet. It was full of unsaid words and feelings. 

“I missed you so goddamn much.” You murmured against his lips. “You scared the hell out of me today…” 

“I’m sorry baby… I never want you to feel that way. But I’m okay, Morgan got there just in time, it's just a scratch.” He soothed. 

Your eyes flew open, suddenly your legs worked just fine and you were out his arms and standing in front of him on the bed—tripping over the panties that were still around your knees—he reached out and gripped your waist to keep you steady. You searched his nearly naked body with your eyes frantically. “What’s just a scratch? Rossi said you weren’t hurt! You said you were fine!” 

He stared up at you with wide blinking eyes. 

“Baby… I am fine… it’s just a… a burn…” He said, very carefully. 

“A burn?” You muttered in confusion, studying his face and then a dark pinkish red mark on his temple caught your attention. “What the fuck! Aaron, is that a powder burn!?” 

You grabbed his chin and forced his head to the side so you could look at the injury. 

“Oh my God.” You whimpered, dropping to your knees… You had known that he’d been in danger… but that it had been that close… you felt sick. Tears pooled in your eyes. He took your wrist in his hand and then the other, looking back at you. 

“Hey… sweetheart, don’t… I’m okay… I got checked out. I went to the ER, and I promise I’m okay.” He soothed, but it did nothing to stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. He took your face in his hands and wiped them away with his thumbs. “Baby please don’t cry, it’s all over now.” 

“Hold me?” You whispered. “And tell me how that happened?” 

He nodded, kissing your forehead.

“Whatever you need, baby…” He murmured. “But let's get you cleaned up first, hmm?” 

You frowned at him… squinting skeptically. 

“I promise I will tell you everything.” He swore. “I just wanna take care of you physically first, sweetheart, then we both have some stories to tell, don’t you think?” 

“Okay…” You agreed. 

Aaron didn’t need more permission than that as he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bathroom. A nervous peel of giggles falling from your lips. He was relieved to hear you laugh… He didn’t know how he’d made it fourteen months without that sound. It was vital to him somehow… and he hoped he never lost it again. He sat you down on the bathroom counter and kissed you once on the tip of your nose before he turned around to flip on the shower. 

“We don’t have any clean clothes…” You murmured, filling the silence. It seemed that hadn’t changed in the year you’d been apart, you still couldn’t stand the quiet. He wondered how you’d handled that, being alone for so long.

“My room is the adjoining one to this one.” He answered you. “You can wear some of mine and I’ll call Emily and see if she and Derek can’t go pick up your go bag from wherever you were staying.” 

“I hid it in some bushes outside the courthouse… Just in case things went south and I needed to run again.” You said and he stopped fiddling with the water temperature to look at you. 

“I know that you know better than this, but you didn’t leave any weapons in that bag right?” He asked. You laughed, and his heart skipped a beat.  

“No, they were on me.” You gestured to your body, which reminded him that you were still naked and he got a little distracted looking at you. “They’re all out in the room, hidden under pillows and stuff.” 

“Pillows?” He raised a brow, “Meaning… the pillows on the bed I just fucked you in… that sounds so safe.” 

You laughed again and he couldn’t help but smile. He adored that sound. 

“We didn’t even get close to the pillows… it was fine.” You smirked. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He teased, shaking his head. 

Your smirk grew into a wide, mischievous grin and he knew whatever you said next would be wild.

“You could try to fuck some sense into me… but uh, I’m pretty sure your cock turns my brain to mush so… good luck in that endeavor! Oh, but by all means, give it your best shot.” You joked, and it was his turn to laugh. 

“I think I prefer fucking you senseless, I love that little dazed look you get on your face when your all blissed out.” He shot back, smirking when your cheeks turned pink. He turned back to the water for a second, sticking his wrist in the stream to test the heat. It was slightly too warm for his preference, but the shower you’d taken when he’d stayed the night with you had been so hot that steam had been rolling out from under the bathroom door. He turned and grasped you by the waist, lifting you off the counter and setting you on your feet on the floor. 

“Will that be comfortable for you?” He murmured, nodding toward the water. 

You smiled softly and stuck your hand under the faucet, then nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned against the counter and waited for you to get in, but you hesitated. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, not wanting to be in a separate room, but if that made you more comfortable he wouldn’t object. You shook your head no and your cheeks flushed bright red. He raised an eyebrow at you, but waited patiently for you to get your thoughts together. It wasn’t often that you hesitated to speak your mind, so he was curious. 

“I-” You started and stopped again, then took a deep breath, held it and let it out slowly. 

He smiled. 

“Take your time.” He murmured softly. 

“Will you get in with me?” You asked shyly.

His smile grew till it was nearly ear to ear he was sure. 

“Of course.” He whispered. “Whatever you need, honey.” 

“I just…” You pressed your lips together and furrowed your brow, “It’s silly.” 

“It's not.” He shook his head and reached out, pulling you to him gently by the back of your neck, threading his hand into your hair and kissing your forehead. Then wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you close. “It’s obviously important to you, so it’s important to me.” 

You gave him the strangest look then, your eyes holding so much emotion and yet he couldn’t quite place any of them. 

“I don’t wanna be alone… I’ve been alone for the majority of a year.” You murmured, and his heart broke for you, “But with you specifically I- I just want to be able to reach out and touch you… just to be able to reassure myself that you’re still there.” 

“That’s not silly at all, sweetheart.” He murmured, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m not ready to let you out of my sight yet either.” 

“Really?” You whispered. He nodded and leaned down to kiss you. A chaste, sweet kiss. Nothing more. 

“It was hell, not knowing where you were, if you were safe, or—at some points—if you were even still alive.” He explained. “So yeah, Honey, I’ll get in the shower with you–for completely pure reasons I swear–I’ll stay with you as long as you want.” 

“Thank you.” You murmured, popping up onto your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. “We’re wasting water…”

He had a feeling the two of you would waste a lot more water before this ‘shower�� was over… He didn’t think he’d make it very long–watching you lather up–without touching you. Luckily, he did not think you would mind. You stepped into the shower and he shed his boxers–which never actually made it off his body until this moment–and followed after, letting you have the water first. Watching you tip your head back and let the water run over you was a whole new lesson in patience for him. He was completely enthralled as he watched a stream of water run all the way from your neck, between your breasts, across the plain of your stomach and down between your legs…

“See something you like?” He startled at the smug teasing tone in your voice. 

He’d been caught. 

Clearing his throat, he brought his eyes back to yours… They were nearly sparkling. 

“As a matter of fact, I’m liking everything I see.” He admitted. “You’re… perfect, Sweetheart. I can’t get enough of you.” 

You bit back a smile and he knew that if the conversation continued down this path, there wouldn’t be much ‘showering’ happening at all. He cleared his throat again. “What did you manage to get up to while you were gone?” 

The smile fell from your lips and you shifted anxiously on your feet. 

“Your turn.” You murmured, shifting out of the water and offering it to him so you could lather up.

“Wait a minute… What was that?” He asked, not letting that go so easily. Even as he stepped into the water and cringed at the heat. 

“I uh… I didn’t really do anything fun, I just… worked.” You said. 

Oh. That’s what this was about. You thought he would disapprove of how you provided for yourself. 

“What did you do for work?” He asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew. You got even more awkward. He nodded his head knowingly. “Honey, you did what you had to do…” He murmured. “We… We tried to find you once… after Alabama, because we didn’t know if you were alive… so we profiled you. I profiled you.” 

“And?” You murmured. 

“I came to the conclusion that you were smart enough to know that your best source of income would be something that was untraceable… Like stripping off the books at a club, for example.” He said matter-of-factly. You nodded. 

“And what did the team think of that?” You asked, face blank, ready for a harsh blow.

“They agreed that you were smart enough to have done that and they just hoped you were safe while doing it.” He said honestly and you nodded. 

“I felt like it was my only option…” You whispered, a bit of fear in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart.” He murmured, reaching for you. “I wouldn’t care if you had stripped on live television if it meant that you were safe and had a roof over your head and food to eat… You found a way to take care of yourself, and that’s what matters. What you did was smart, I could never be upset with you for doing something that helped you stay safe until you could come home.”

Relief seemed to wash over you like the water had been before, and you let him fold you into his arms. 

“I was scared you’d be like… mad? Or… I don’t know… jealous?” You murmured. He chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I’m jealous.” He confessed, kissing the top of your head when you tensed up again. “Of everyone that got to watch you… you are… ethereal. I don’t know how you got so good at that so quickly, but watching you is like looking at art.” 

You let out a surprised giggle. 

“Maybe sometime I’ll show you all the new tricks I learned in Wyoming.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him and he laughed. 

“I think you definitely should.” He said with mock seriousness. He was getting a little worked up again just thinking about it. 

“Mmm, I’ll keep that in mind for your birthday or Christmas, whichever comes first.” You murmured. 

“My birthday is in November.” He said, very helpfully, and you giggled. 

“Okay, I can take a hint.” You purred, and your tone… You were gonna have to knock that off or you were gonna find yourself against the shower wall… and that was not the intended purpose of this shower. You untangled yourself from his arms and turned toward the wall mounted bath amenities, pumping some shampoo into your hand, and working it into a pitiful lather in your hair. 

“Ugh.” You groaned. “It’s gonna take my hair a week to recover from this.” 

“From what?” He asked, in amusement.

“Cheap shampoo.” You muttered, then you reached over to catch a stream of water that wasn’t hitting him directly, rinsing your hands. Next you pumped some body wash into your hands and groaned at it too. 

“What? Is the soap not up to par either?” He teased. As far as Aaron was concerned, soap was soap. 

“I’m used to the good stuff, okay. Strippers don’t skimp on skincare, and this stuff will make your skin dryer than the Sahara.” You informed him seriously, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore… He was just a man, after all, and there you were… naked, and lathering up your whole body with bubbly soap… He was just a man… and he was not immune to the allure of bubbles on bare skin. Especially when you were taking so much time on your breasts and… 

Wait. 

He shook his head and blinked a few times, bringing his eyes back up to your face. Caught again… 

You were watching him with a very amused—very heated—grin on your face. He felt his face get very warm. 

“Sorry… I can’t help it… you’re just…” He stammered to explain himself. “So fucking perfect.” 

Your cheeks turned pink again, and he was amazed at how his ogling of your body didn’t phase you, but a simple compliment had you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

“I like it…” You murmured shyly. “The way you look at me… it’s not… I don't know… It’s different. The way you look at me is different from how other men do… there’s more to it. It’s not just blind lust… there’s passion or… something else? I don’t know! I just know that the way you look at me doesn’t make me feel dirty, or like an object. When you look at me, I feel beautiful, I feel like I’m treasured… that sounds ridiculous but it’s how you make me feel.” 

Aaron was pretty sure his cheeks were going to be sore from how hard he was smiling. He was in love with you. It was as simple as that. He had been for months. 

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous… not to me.” He murmured. You both just stared at each other for a moment, the silence was loaded and he was literally two seconds away from confessing, from pouring his heart out to you, when he noticed you were rubbing at a line on your arm. It was pink and puckered. A scar. A very large scar, that had not been there when you had left. He knew it hadn’t because he’d memorized every inch of you. 

“What did that to you?” He asked, all his focus now narrowed down to that one patch of marred skin. “Better question. Who did that to you?” 

You froze and looked up at him, wide eyed. 

“A bullet…” You whispered. “I don’t know, but he’s dead.” 

Aaron took a very deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“Aaron?” You asked quietly. 

“I need a minute baby, I’m not mad at you… I just… I need a minute.” He murmured. 

“Can I rinse off, while you take a minute?” You asked cautiously. He opened his eyes. 

“Of course, Sweetheart.” He tried to smile at you, he did, but he was angry… not at you but at the whole situation. He stepped to the side and let you slide past him and under the water. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry about it when there was nothing you could do.” You murmured, as you tipped your head back to rinse your hair. He realized that you still thought he was mad at you. 

“Baby, look at me.” He insisted, you pushed the excess water out of your hair so it wouldn’t run into your face and then you opened your eyes and looked at him timidly. “I am not mad at you. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I didn’t tell you about the powder burn earlier for the exact same reason. I’m just… upset that you were hurt, and I wasn’t there to help you.” 

“Oh.” You whispered. You were quiet for several moments and he started to soap up while you rinsed off. 

“You saved my life that day… You and the whole team… even if you weren’t there. I used everything you taught me, and it kept me alive…” You said quietly. “But especially you… what you said to me at the shooting range… It saved my life. If I hadn’t had that talk with you I would have panicked, and then I wouldn’t have shot to kill. I would have died. I heard your voice in my head when they came for me, and I used the breathing technique you taught me. It kept me from freaking out, I didn’t stop breathing like that until I was safely on a bus on my way to Wyoming, and as soon as I did I lost my shit… I still cry when I really let myself think about it. I almost died… but also… I killed three people…” 

“No.” Aaron interrupted. “You defended yourself, you had no choice. It was them or you.” 

You nodded your head. 

“I know,” You murmured. “But they aren’t any less dead. I’m not dwelling on it… I’m just… learning to live with it.” 

“Would you like for me to help you?” He asked. He’d killed people on the job before… more times than he cared to think about… You gave him a soft smile. 

“I think that might help.” You nodded. 

“I hope it does.” He replied. 

“Do you still need a minute?” You asked him. He shook his head. 

“No baby, I think I’m good now.” He assured you. “Ready to switch again?” 

You nodded and you both went through the whole song and dance of switching positions in the–not quite big enough for two grown adults–shower. Aaron was so focused on getting thoroughly rinsed off, he didn’t notice that you were eyeing him… at first. He happened to glance over and catch you though. You were studying him, in a manner that was not entirely wholesome. Your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth and your eyes were so full of desire, tracing the shape of his body from the bottom up. At the moment he caught you however, you were staring right at his cock Of course, he would play into it, he had to get a bit of pay back for the little show you put on with the soap earlier. It was already partially erect… How could it not be? What, with you standing there naked, looking like that. He hadn’t stood a chance. But watching you look at it like you wanted it desperately… That had it standing at attention. So he took it in hand and stroked it, firmly and slowly. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head, and he bit back a laugh, instead choosing to clear his throat softly. Your eyes shot up to his, your face turning bright red and you were biting that lip in earnest now. 

“See something you want, pretty girl?” Aaron was surprised at the tone of his own voice, the clear arousal in it was impossible to miss, but he wanted you to know that your attention was getting to him. 

“Sorry.” You whispered, it was barely even a breath. 

“Don’t apologize.” He smirked at you, “I like the way you look at me too, and I really wanna know what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours right now.” 

“I want you.” You murmured, without hesitation and Aaron felt his cock twitch in his hand. 

“You can have me anytime you want me, Sweetheart. You just have to ask.” He murmured, “Fucking you is my favorite passtime.” 

You shook your head and he cocked his to the side in question. 

“I don’t want you to… fuck me… I-” Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips… and he knew. A smile formed on his face. 

“You what, baby?” He asked, letting a slight teasing tone slip into his voice. You didn’t answer… not verbally. You just sank to your knees. 

“Fuck…” He whispered, as you gazed up at him from the floor, water droplets running all over you and clinging to your hair and eyelashes.  “You wanna suck my cock, sweetheart?” 

“Can I?” You asked, a touch of desperation in your voice… and Aaron was done for… wrapped around your little finger… “Please?” 

Oh fuck… He would let you get away with murder… and that was a problem in his line of work, in yours too. He didn’t care though, he was too in love with you to worry about it. 

“You can do whatever you want to me, pretty girl. I couldn’t deny you if I wanted to.” He whispered. 

“Then come here.” You murmured. It was like your voice had physical power over him. He took two steps closer to you, so that the water was only hitting his lower back and not running down his front. So it wouldn’t drown you. He stared down in awe as you reached out and gripped him firmly, a small moan working its way up his throat. You stroked him slowly, three times, making eye contact with him the whole time. And then you licked him, from base to tip on the underside, your tongue had him mesmerized, so pink and warm… He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine, despite the hot water. He was not going to last… But he didn’t think you really wanted him to. When you wrapped your perfect lips around him, he thought he might lose it right then.

“Fuck, sweetheart, this isn’t gonna last long.” He warned you, and you pulled back, just enough to look up at him and smile. “That's okay, I have a score to settle, and right now it’s like seven to four… I’m losing. I can't let that stand.” 

He smirked down at you. 

“Honey, that score is never gonna be even, for every one you give me, I intended to give you at least two.” Aaron promised, shaking his head at your antics. You pouted. 

“Well… I guess I’ll just have fun trying anyway.” You purred and took him all the way to the back of your throat without warning. Aaron had to brace himself with a hand on the wall behind you as he moaned. Then he took the other hand and pushed your hair away from your face. He wanted to watch you. You were a sight to behold, kneeling in front of him with your lips wrapped around his cock, dragging yourself up and down the length of it… Your mouth felt like heaven, and then you looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes, making eye contact from beneath your lashes… He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. You were stunning. 

“Look at you, on your knees for me…” He murmured, running the back of his fingers down your cheek. “So fucking beautiful…” 

The whimper you let out was muffled by his cock, but he was so attuned to you that he heard it loud and clear. You increased the suction around him, the pressure of your lips, and you were doing something with your tongue that was making him want to pin you to the wall and fuck you till you saw stars. But you asked for this, and he would let you have your fun. Then he would have his. Your eyes were watering and any other time your tears would break his heart, but right now they had it racing, his breath quickening, hands shaking. 

“You're taking me so well baby, doing so good for me…” He praised, knowing you loved it when he coaxed you on, though he was starting to suspect that there may have been more to it than just his words. “My pretty girl…” 

You moaned around him at that and he shuddered at the sensation. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He groaned. Your hand came up and gripped the base of him, using it in tandem with your mouth to stroke him. The pleasure was too much and he was walking the edge like a tightrope. 

“Baby, I’m so close… you’re doing such a good job, don’t stop sweetheart.” He ground out through his teeth as he leaned harder against the wall. Needing its support to get through the intensity of what he felt building. “You’re such a good girl, so fucking perfect for me.”

He barely noticed it, caught it by chance more than anything, but your thighs tightened at his words, and you shifted on your knees as though you were seeking any kind of friction… and you found it, grinding against your heel as you kept sucking him like he was the best thing you’d ever tasted. 

“Fuck…” He moaned. “Baby I’m about to come.” 

You didn’t pull away, you just looked back up and maintained eye contact, then took him all the way to the back of your throat. Aaron came so hard his vision went fuzzy and his head ached. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he moaned again, and as his vision cleared he saw you lick him clean. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as badly as he wanted to kiss you at that moment.

He went to his knees in front of you, cupping your face and the nape of your neck in his hands, and pulled you to him until your lips crashed into his. He could taste himself on your lips and it was intoxicating, they parted for him as soon as he prodded at them with his tongue. Yours tangled with his and you whimpered softly into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted to kiss every inch of your skin. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to make you fall apart on his tongue. Aaron moaned at the thought and he couldn’t think of anything else. He was desperate for it. For you. 

Kissing his way down your neck, he thought he’d probably left a mark or two as he sucked and nipped at your skin, but he kept going blazing a trail down your chest to your gorgeous breasts. If he had the patience he could've spent an hour on each one individually, but he was feeling every bit as impatient as you normally were. Water was running down his face and into his mouth and nose but he didn’t care.

“Stand up.” He murmured against your breast just before he lightly sank his teeth into the curve of it. 

“What?” You gasped, distractedly. 

“Stand up for me baby.” He repeated, tugging at your hips. 

He kissed down the plane of your stomach as you rose to your feet and then he pushed you gently until your back was flat against the wall. Nudging your legs apart he scooted forward so that his knees were between your feet and then he grasped your thigh from behind your leg and lifted it up to rest on his shoulder, then did the same to the other. You didn’t question him, didn’t even hesitate, trusting him completely. Just threaded your fingers into his hair with both hands to steady yourself on his shoulders. Which only made him more desperate to have you. He gripped your ass with both hands, to help him balance you and keep you steady as he rose up straight on his knees and buried his face in your pussy. Eating you out like you were his last meal. And he would’ve been content with that had it been true. 

He went straight in with his tongue, fucking you with it without any preamble. His nose was pressed into your clit and he could not breathe, but who needed air when this was the alternative. Your taste was addicting and he couldn’t get enough of it. He licked you from the bottom of your cunt’s opening to the tip of your clit, then sucked it into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head, muffling the sound of your cries.  Which was a shame, because they were music to his ears… Pulling you closer and leaning forward so that the wall took most of your weight–not that he’d noticed it before–he took one hand off your ass and caressed your entrance with his middle finger before pushing it inside. Then added his ring finger as well. He found that sensitive spot that made your legs shake and massaged it slowly as he sucked steadily on your clit. Your hands tightened in his hair and he groaned at the sting, squeezing your ass in response. You were making the most beautiful sounds, his name falling off your lips like a prayer every few seconds. He could feel the walls of your pussy fluttering around his fingers, your thighs were trembling on his shoulders and tightening around his head with every passing moment. He didn’t have to glance up to know that your head would be thrown back, your mouth open in a perfect ‘O’, your cheeks flushed pink, and your eyes squeezed shut. 

“Aaron!” It was nearly a scream, and your body went limp against the wall, but he had you. He would not let you fall. He licked at your pussy until your legs stopped shaking and then he lowered you slowly from his shoulders down to his waist, wrapping your legs around his waist and sitting back on his heels to hold you. 

“Are you okay baby?” He murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. 

“Mm hmm…” You whimpered, then mumbled, “I’m so good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, only a tad bit smugly. 

“Oh yeah…” You murmured back, wiggling closer to his body, and then pausing suddenly. He knew why… but he waited to see what you’d do about it. You giggled. 

“What’s so funny?” He murmured, not insecurely, no. He was amused and wanted to hear exactly what about this situation you found so laughable. 

“You’re hard again already, you just came a few minutes ago. You’re insatiable.” You giggled again. 

“You tend to have that effect on me.” He let his voice drop into a low rasp. “Your pussy is addicting.” 

You shivered and a small whimper fought its way free of your lips. He smiled.

“Tell me something pretty girl…” He murmured, “You like it when I talk dirty to you? Is that right?” 

You sat up a little and looked at him with curious eyes, then nodded your head. 

“Mm hmm.” You hummed. 

“Is it the words that I say? Or is it my voice that gets you excited?” He mused. 

“I’m not sure…” You shrugged, then whispered shyly. “I just know that I like it…”

“Hmmm.” He studied you as he spoke next, letting his voice drift into that same low rasp again. “If I said, you are just as beautiful to me right now—with your hair all wet and messy, with your makeup smudged and nearly gone—as you were on that stage at the club the night this all started… how does that make you feel?” 

You flushed a soft pink and your eyes filled with an emotion he recognized but didn’t dare name. 

“Like the most lucky woman on the planet…” You whispered, smiling at him. “And like I really want to kiss you.” 

He smiled and leaned in, kissing you softly, then pulling away again—just slightly—to watch your face. 

“How about if I said, there’s nothing I want to do more right now than fuck you against the wall of this shower until the only thing you can do is moan my name?” He asked in a tone that wouldn’t have been out of place if he were asking about the weather. You blinked at him for a second, a look of shock and confusion on your face… until what he had said truly sank in. Then you started to blush and your eyes grew heated again. 

“Say it again… but how you said the other thing.” You murmured shyly. He smirked at you, leaned in close so you would be able to feel his breath on your skin.

“I want to fuck you against the wall of this shower until the only thing you can do is moan my name…” He said softly, in that same low raspy tone that seemed to do things to you. 

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your breath quickened and that little whimper made an encore. 

“That answers that question…” He murmured, then he smirked at you and said, “Now… about that wall?” 

Aaron’s arms had been wrapped around you when you’d fallen asleep–in his bed–but they were gone now… that’s what woke you. His absence. You had sat straight up in the bed, and for a moment, this hotel room looked like every other hotel room you’d stayed in for the last year. Your heart had stopped. You were alone again… had it all been another dream? 

“Aaron!?” You’d called out in a panic. And there he was. Charging back into the room and kneeling at your side in an instant. 

“I’m here, Honey. What’s wrong?” He murmured. But the anxiety had set in and you couldn’t contain the tears that rose to your eyes and fell down your cheeks, or the way your chest was heaving and yet you felt like none of the oxygen was making it to your lungs. 

“Shit…” He whispered. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here… I’m here. Hey, look at me, look at my eyes.” 

You did as he asked without question, looking into his eyes. 

“That’s good, sweetheart, now breathe with me. In four, out four.” He coaxed, you nodded. “In 1, 2, 3, 4. Good job, baby, now out 1, 2, 3, 4. Good, again.” 

You breathed with him as he held your hand to his chest. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

“Good girl, you did so good, baby. Can you tell me what happened? Was it a nightmare?” He praised softly and questioned so gently, hold your hands. You shook your head. 

“I woke up and I thought… I thought I was alone again. I- I thought I’d dreamt it. All of it.” You explained. He nodded, and then pulled you to his chest. Sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you into his lap. 

“I’m sorry baby, I just went to answer the door, Morgan and Prentiss wouldn’t stop knocking and I didn’t want them to wake you.” He murmured against your hair, rubbing your arm and squeezing you tighter. “I won’t leave you alone like that without telling you first again, I promise.” 

You took a few more deep breaths and then sat up and looked at him. 

“What did Morgan and Prentiss need?” You asked softly. He smiled. 

“You weren’t answering your door, so they panicked.” He informs you. 

“In our defense… She did just testify against a major drug trafficking ring that has been trying to kill her for over a year.” Derek’s voice floated in from the hall. “I’m pretty sure our freak out was justified!” 

You giggled, and squirmed out of Aaron’s arms, practically bouncing to the door to see them. You’d missed them. No where near as much as you’d missed Aaron… but you’d missed them so much it’d been painful. They were standing just inside the door, in the little entryway to the room. You just hadn’t been able to see them from the bed. 

“Hey there Foxy, you okay?” Derek asked, wrapping you up in a Morgan bearhug. 

“I’m fine now.” You answered, hugging him back tightly and then moving to Emily to squeeze the life out of her. “I missed you guys.” 

“We missed you too!” She smiled as she pulled back to look at you. “I can’t wait to sit down and catch up. We’re way overdue for a girl’s night. We haven’t had one since you left.” 

You almost teared up at that. 

“Girls night, as soon as we get back to Virginia!” You promised her. 

“It’s a date!” She agreed and you beamed at her.  Then your stomach growled… Loudly. Arms wrapped around you from behind, lips brushing your ear before falling on your cheek. 

“Did you eat after you got out of court?” Aaron murmured as he left a kiss there. 

“I came straight here with Rossi and then I went to sleep.” You confessed, peering up at him sheepishly. 

“Why don’t you two go gather the others and we’ll order in and have a team dinner.” Aaron suggested to Derek and Emily. 

“That sounds great!” Emily said enthusiastically. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, you found yourself pinned to the wall with Aaron’s tongue nearly down your throat. When the surprise wore off, you kissed him back vigorously and threaded your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. His hands gripped your ass and hauled you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you over to the bed he walked to the middle on his knees before lowering you to the mattress, only breaking the kiss to keep from falling on top of you as he lowered himself down over you. You let your hands roam… everywhere. His shoulders, his back, chest, neck, you even got brave enough to cop a feel of his ass. Which–to your delight–made him moan, then cup your pussy through your pants in a very sexy form of retaliation. 

“Fuck, Aaron…” You moaned against his lips… And then there was a knock at the door. 

“Already!?” He groaned, in what sounded like despair. You laughed at his frustration. 

“You said the word dinner and you thought they’d take more than five minutes?” You teased him. 

“I thought they’d take at least five minutes… five minutes was all we would’ve needed.” He grumbled, “It’s been two. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you again for hours.” 

You giggled. 

“It hasn’t been that long…” You rolled your eyes. 

“You slept for six hours honey.” He grinned down at you and kissed your nose. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?! I wouldn’t have minded at all!” You told him. “Especially if you woke me up like this.” 

“Sweetheart… you clearly needed sleep…” He murmured, kissing you again. 

There was another knock at the door followed by a muffled. “I know there’s no way they managed to get their clothes off in the two minutes we were gone!” 

You laughed at Derek’s slightly exasperated tone. 

“We better get the door, or they might actually think we’re fucking again.” You joked. 

“We would’ve been if they took the five minutes I’d banked on.” He grumbled. You just laughed again and wiggled your way out from under him, going to the door. 

“Sorry!” You said as you opened it, “We went back into my room to get a take out menu, there wasn’t one in here for some reason.” 

You said the last part over your shoulder, loud enough for Aaron to hear, so he would get up and grab the take out menu off the night stand and play along. What you weren’t expecting, however, was to be tackled as soon as you turned to face them. 

“OH MY GOD! YOU’RE HERE!! YOU’RE REALLY HERE!” it was a–very–high pitched squeal, a squeal that you would have known anywhere. 

“PENELOPE?!?!” You squealed back, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her back, just as tightly. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!” 

“I HAD TO TESTIFY THIS MORNING AFTER YOU DID!! I’VE BEEN DYING TO COME TALK TO YOU ALL DAY BUT THEY TOLD ME I HAD TO WAIT BECAUSE SOMEBODY DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SHARE!!!” She screeched. 

“Aye, my ears…” Rossi complained, “Please take it down a bit my dears, the dogs in the next county over can hear you.” 

Everyone laughed and you pulled Penelope back into the room with you as the rest of them followed. Aaron was sitting against the headboard, takeout menu in hand as you crawled over him—dragging Penelope with you—to the center of the bed. You settle in next to him, with Pen on your other side, then Emily and JJ flopped down together on the end of the bed. While Morgan, Reid and Rossi settled in the three chairs that were in the room. 

“Where are we ordering from?” Spencer asked as soon as there was a brief moment of quiet. 

Chaos ensued for the next ten minutes. Until, finally, everyone agreed on pizza because that was fastest and they could be sure that everyone had an option they would like. The pizza place was also close by and delivered. Aaron picked up the phone off the night stand–instead of using his cellphone, like a normal person–and called the pizza place. While he was occupied, Derek got your attention. 

“Hey Foxy.” He called, and you didn’t mind the nickname at all… You were just glad to have them all back. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in response, looking over at him. 

“Settle something for me and Reid, please?” He requested. 

“Shoot.” You nodded. You should’ve known better. A shit eating grin spread across his face and you felt the urge to roll your eyes. 

“How long were you and Hotch bumpin’ uglies before we caught you?” He asked teasingly. The answer to that question was… embarrassing. You could feel your face turning red just thinking about how quickly you’d been caught and how it had started… 

“Eww, Morgan… bumpin’ uglies??? You couldn’t have phrased it any better than that?” JJ groaned and scrunched her face up in disgust. 

“Yeah!” Prentiss joined in, or at least… you thought she was defending you, until she said, “You could’ve just asked her how long they’d been fucking and it would’ve sounded less gross.” 

You covered your face with your hands, glancing sideways at Aaron to find he was still talking to the pizza shop worker who must’ve been incompetent judging by the tone of Aaron’s voice and the look on his face. He’d not be coming to your rescue then. 

“Oh come on, guys!” Penelope squeezed your arm that was threaded through hers tightly. “It’s clearly more than that! Look at them… they’re in love!” 

You felt your eyes bug out of your head. In love? 

You looked over at Aaron, the way his hand was resting on your thigh protectively, how you had settled in close enough to lean against him without truly leaning, how your leg had instinctively tucked itself under his. Your body was naturally drawn to him. He felt you looking and glanced over at you with a soft smile, then squeezed your thigh affectionately. 

“Just a second, Honey.” He murmured. “I can’t get someone on the phone who understands what I’m asking for. I really don’t think it's that hard. We want two pepperoni, two cheese, and one that’s half supreme and half ham and pineapple because for some reason you and Garcia enjoy that abomination. Hold on, they got the manager.” 

Then he went back to his phone call, none the wiser to the chaos happening around him and the mortification you were experiencing. 

“Awww he called her Honey! See! I told you! They’re so sweet!” Penelope exclaimed. 

“It was pretty cute…” Morgan admitted begrudgingly. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Prentiss interrupted impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for a year to get answers!” 

You looked over at Rossi pleadingly, but he was scrolling on his phone, pretending not to listen. Traitor.

“So when did you and Hotch make it official?” Emily asked, laying on her stomach and propping up on her elbows with her chin in the palms of her hands. She looked almost girlish like this. But you thought about her question, and realized… you didn’t have an answer. 

“We haven’t actually had that conversation…” You murmured quietly. “We’ve never even been on a date…” 

“What?!?!?!” All three girls exclaimed at once. Aaron glanced over with a harsh look, silently shushing them. You bumped his shoulder gently and he softened immediately, giving you a smile. 

“Oh my God, they’re so fucking cute.” Penelope was practically giddy. “But what do you mean you’ve never been on a date!” 

“That’s really not that surprising.” Spencer said, joining the circus. “Lots of relationships start sexually and turn emotional later so many couples find they’ve been together months before they ever actually go out on a date.” 

Everyone but Aaron turned and stared at Reid in various degrees of shock and disbelief. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing…” JJ murmured, “You’re just… not wrong…” 

“How is that, in any way, surprising?” He looked so thoroughly confused. 

“In this case… there are too many ways to count…” Prentiss muttered. 

“Hey, be nice to him!” You protested, scowling at them. 

“You won’t be so protective of him when you hear his theory.”  Derek smirked smugly. Oh boy… 

“What do you mean?” You asked, and immediately knew you’d regret it. 

“We’ve been trying to pin down exactly when the two of you hit it off, and we keep disagreeing.” Morgan explained. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t imagine Hotch being that okay with his girl going undercover as a stripper, especially not when the op was that dangerous. The girls think it started a long time before the op even happened, or at least that you two were tiptoeing around it. Rossi refuses to weigh in–which means he knows the answer because Hotch told him–and he won’t give us any hints either. But Reid… well… Pretty boy thinks it started during the op itself, which makes literally no sense because you two didn’t even have any contact during the op, you were undercover and only talked to us over the burner phone once a week.” Derek keeps explaining his reasoning as to why Reid’s theory is ridiculous, but you weren’t listening any more. Your head had snapped—involuntarily—in Reid’s direction, eyes wide, finding him already studying you closely. 

“I knew it!” He exclaimed after a moment. “I knew I was right!” 

“Right about what?” Aaron asked, finally hanging up the phone. 

“I’ve been getting the third degree for the last five minutes, save me.” You murmured in his ear. He turned his head and kissed the tip of your nose. 

“That’s nauseatingly adorable…” Emily muttered. 

“What is Reid right about?” Aaron asked, ignoring her. 

“You two got together, during the undercover op, yes or no?” Spencer queried, his face set in determination. 

“Yes.” Aaron said easily. 

“What?!?!?!” The girls and Derek exclaimed, at the same time that Reid hissed out an excited, “YES!! I win!”

“That’s why we haven’t been on a date…” You murmured. “We never got a chance…” 

“Wait so, how did that even happen?” JJ asked. “When did you have time to start a relationship while she was undercover?” 

You and Aaron shared a glance, a silent conversation passing between you. We are not telling them that story. You hoped your face conveyed. Agreed. His slight nod told you he understood.

“When he went into the club to tell her about the shipment that we thought was coming in.” Spencer chimed in. “It was the only time that made any sense. Hotch went in on edge, spent an hour with her in a room we couldn’t see into, then came out very relaxed and way too happy, until it wore off and then he was even more rigid and strict than he usually is. He started staying in the van and watching the CCTV obsessively. Like he was afraid to take his eyes off her. It was pretty obvious in hindsight.”

He had? You hadn’t known that. Spencer wasn’t done.

“Then there was the taking turns outside her apartment thing and when we got her out he was never out of arm’s distance from her. He was nearly constantly touching her in some way and I thought it was weird, but then I figured maybe she was just a little shaken up and disoriented and he was using physical touch to ground her. Then I saw the way he was looking at her, it was nearly constant and so concerned, but she would smile at him and he would smile back and relax… I should’ve seen it then.” Spencer said, even though he obviously had seen it. He just hadn’t known what it was until a few days later. You found yourself gazing up at Aaron. Studying him quietly. 

“I was afraid to take my eyes off her, I had just asked her to do something incredibly dangerous and I– had feelings for her, strong feelings, even that early on… I relied on you all so much that last two weeks, that's why I asked you all to weigh in on every decision regarding her, because I was concerned that my emotions would get in the way.” He admitted quietly, but he wasn’t ashamed of it. You had no idea that he’d felt that strongly about you that soon… you had no idea he felt that strongly about you now… 

You knew you had very strong feelings for him. He was the most attentive, caring, sweet man you’d ever been with. He was more emotionally mature than you could believe, he treated you with such respect… but was also capable of ruining you in bed. He knew what made you tic, and he’d learned all of that in such a short amount of time. You couldn’t imagine what your relationship would look like in the next few months… or years? God, you hoped you were still with him in a few years… this was a kind of passion that you didn’t know if you would be able to recover from if it ended badly… 

“Uh oh, Foxy… better be careful… you look like you're all up in love over there.” Morgan’s voice broke through your reverie. 

I think I am… You thought, without ever looking away from Aaron. 

The whole room went silent. Aaron turned his head and gave you the most tender, adoring smile you thought you’d ever seen. 

“You do?” He asked softly, almost cautiously. 

You blinked at him, furrowing your brow in confusion. 

“What?” You murmured, you hadn’t said anything… had you?

“You said you think you are.” He whispered back. 

Oh shit.

“I said that out loud?” You breathed, panic building in your chest. 

He nodded. 

“You did, sweetheart.” He was beaming at you. 

“I-” You didn’t know what to say. You could feel every eye in the room on you, but all you cared about was Aaron, and you wanted to be honest with him. “Yeah… I do.” 

“Just to be sure I am not imagining this… you think you’re in love with me?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, Aaron, I’m in love with you.” You said with the certainty you now felt in that statement. “I know it’s… soon? Kinda… but–” 

He kissed you. 

On the lips right in front of the entire team. 

But as his lips met yours… you forgot they existed. 

It was the sweetest, softest kiss and you got completely lost in it. 

Lost in him.

“I love you too, Pretty Girl.” He murmured against your lips, tucking your hair behind your ear as he pulled away. “I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”

The two of you just stared at each other in silence for a moment, completely oblivious to the fact that you had an audience. 

Until one such viewer could no longer contain her excitement. 

“Oh my God… did that just? Was that?” Garcia sputtered. “Did we just witness their first I love yous?!” 

“Yes, and you’re ruining the moment Baby Girl, chill.” Derek chided softly. 

You giggled, and Aaron leaned in and kissed you once more. Just a chaste peck to the lips, but it melted you. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist and tucked you in close, holding you tightly to his side. You buried your face in his shoulder, not embarrassed, but a little overwhelmed. He just pressed a kiss to the top of your head and squeezed you a little tighter… He understood. 

And so did JJ. 

“Hey so what happened on the roof earlier today!?” She asked suddenly, taking the attention off of you. 

You felt the energy in the room shift, but Aaron’s attention was still on you and as Emily said, “Oh my God, Hotch almost gave me a heart attack is what happened.” 

He leaned in to whisper, “Are you okay, Honey?”

You peered up at him and smiled, “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

He kissed your nose, and since everyone else’s attention was now on Prentiss, you turned to pay attention, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“When I shot the guy, he fell behind the parapet and I lost sight of him. Then Hotch came out of the roof access and there he was, right behind him. He pistol whipped Hotch and made him fall, and then the guy fell, I couldn’t see them after that.” Emily explained.

Aaron picked up the story from there. 

“I kicked his feet out from under him and got on top of him, then I hit him a few times… but I didn’t see the gun, and the next thing I knew I was looking down the barrel of a forty four.” Aaron murmured, and your heart stopped. 

You knew–obviously–that he was fine, but you still didn’t like hearing that he’d been literally staring death in the face just hours earlier.

“That’s when I came out onto the roof, and I made enough racket that it distracted the guy so that Hotch could swat the gun away from his face, then the guy pulled the trigger and I kicked him in the head.” Morgan filled in the rest. 

“Jesus, Hotch, are you alright?” JJ asked, her voice laced with fear and concern. 

“I’m fine, just a powder burn, that’s all.” Aaron murmured, turning his head to show them the small burn. 

“What about your ear?” Prentiss asked, “Did the gunshot re-injure it?” 

That caught you off guard, you jerked your head up to look at him. 

“Your ear?! What about your ear?!” You asked, and your voice cracked. 

“Honey, are you crying?” He shot back, wiping tears away from your face. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying, but you didn’t care, you wanted to know what was wrong with his ear. 

“Nevermind that, tell me about your ear.” You demanded. 

He sighed, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. 

“A few years ago I had a close call with a car bomb, it blew out my eardrum. It still bothers me sometimes, but I’m mostly fine.” He explained, “I asked the doctor about it at the ER and he said he didn’t see any new damage, I’m okay.”

You took a deep breath, nodding your head and staring blankly at the wall for a minute. 

“Okay.” You sighed, relief flooded your body and you relaxed against his side again. 

You realized that the focus was back on the two of you again, soft knowing smiles on all their faces. 

“Oh my god, Reid, how's your nose?” You asked, to get the attention off you for a minute. 

“It’s okay, I’ve had worse.” He shrugged, “I should have known better than to just grab you like that. Especially after a gunshot.You’re right hook is tough though.” 

“That wasn’t a right hook, but thank you.” You giggled. 

There was a knock at the door, and every head in the room turned toward the sound. Then chaos ensued as Spencer and Derek rushed for the door. 

“Do you two even have cash to tip the driver?” Rossi called exasperatedly, as he got up to follow them. 

“I better go referee that before those two mess around and drop the pizza.” Aaron muttered, dropping a kiss to your head and following the rest of the men to the door. 

He was gone for all of two seconds before the girls pounced on you. 

“Okay spill.” Emily demanded. 

“Spill what?” You asked. 

“Cut the shit, we only have a minute before they come back and we know what we heard that night.” She ranted. “You were getting dicked down and from the way you sounded, it was good.” 

You blushed. 

“I don’t know about dicked down…” You muttered, “It was more like… retaliatory head.” 

Prentiss snorted. 

“Retaliatory head?” JJ asked, “What does that even mean?” 

“Yes please, do tell… and spare no details.” Penelope giggled. 

You chuckled quietly. 

“He knew that you guys knew he’d been with me all day and that he tried to lie about it to Morgan that morning, but I didn’t know so I tried to lie to you guys…” You started, and they nodded that they knew that much. “I thought he was asleep. But when I called him… oh what was it… A stubborn mule! Yes, when I called him a stubborn mule he revealed himself to be very much awake. When I called him geriatric… he decided to wage war… with his tongue.” 

“Oh wow…” JJ murmured. “Was it good?” 

“What do you mean ‘was it good?!’” Garcia exclaimed. “You heard her just as clearly as we did! But, for the sake of science… was it?” 

You laughed. 

“Let's just say, we’ve only had five…encounters… but I’ve had ten orgasms… the man is a giver, in every sense of the word.” You teased, giving them just enough to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Shock and awe. That was the only way you could describe their faces. Then, after a long minute of silence, Emily nodded. 

“Ya know what, yeah, that checks out.” She conceded, “Hotch does seem like that type.” 

“What type?” Aaron’s voice came from the entry way as the guys walked back in. 

You all froze and looked at each other for a second, slight panic on all your faces. 

“Uh… The generous type.” You explained cryptically, and not at all suspiciously… Nope, not one bit.

He raised an eyebrow at you, a slight smirk on his lips. 

“They were definitely talking about sex.” Derek grinned slyly as he flopped down in his chair again. 

“Oh, fuck off and eat your pizza!” You grumbled. 

He just cackled knowing he was right. 

“Well… You guys are really cute.” JJ offered softly, “We’re glad to see you both happy.” 

Em and Pen nodded in agreement. 

“Thanks guys.” You murmured, and they got up to go get some pizza that Spencer and Rossi were sitting on the table. Arms wrapped around your waist, and lips traced your neck. 

“I’m generous, huh?” He murmured in your ear, in the tone that made you ache for him. 

“Forget whatever you heard, and I’ll show you how generous I can be as soon as the others go to bed.” You bribed him.

“Oh?” He nipped your ear, “Who’s the giver now?” 

Your face burned bright red. 

“Get a room!!” Emily jeered, playfully and you both glanced up to find everyone watching you with smiles on their faces. 

“You’re in our room.” Aaron reminded her. 

Laughter erupted around the room and your heart swelled. It was so good to be back, to be here with this team–with this family–and to have Aaron’s arms around you again. 

You were home.

Tag List: @beesin03 @marvel-jess @creepy-story-lover28 @thegamingsushicat @zaddyhotch @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @mystargirl-interlude @misaccc @newtomofgods  @arhaenyra @sagereader @lc35732 @oldmanbunnylover @girlnerd116

[w1tchy-b1tch-ideas]

Like he always does (jax x reader)

Trying my hand at writing my own fics. Hope you all enjoy!

You didn't know what happened. One minute, you're chasing gangle and zooble in one of those weird chuck E. Cheese tubes the next you're falling to your doom. You landed in a ball pit, and although it cushioned your fall, you still managed to hit your head and pass out. When you woke up, you immediately started looking for jax and pomni. You ran through the circus, calling out their names to no avail. Just as you thought you couldn't search anymore, you heard voices. As you followed them, you noticed that the talking turned to yelling, and there they were, jax and pomni standing across from each other, but something was wrong. You could feel it. Something had happened while you were out cold. Pomni was the first to speak.

"What would you do if I abstracted tomorrow or y/n?"

"I'd move on... and probably forget about you."

This was a side of jax you never saw before. Sure, he's been a d!#$ in the past, but never this cruel. You couldn't understand what they were saying. Their voices were muffled. You snapped out of it when pomni jumped on Jax and started strangling him. "Pomni! What are you doing? Stop!" You screamed as you pulled her off him, but the jester was surprisingly strong. She elbowed you in the stomach and attacked him again. You watched in shock as she bit, punched, and scratched him while begging him to fight back. Eventually, he threw her off, and you ran to see if she was okay, but before you could get to her, Jax snapped.

"Oh, here we go. You think that because I didn't fight back, that means I secretly care about you? That I'm just a misunderstood little chicken fetus in an egg that needs to be cracked open? Well, I'm not!"

"Jax, stop before yo-"

" Shut up! I don't care about you or anyone else in this circus in the slightest. End of story. You are my playthings, and I get joy out of making you suffer! I'm the one who causes pain for fun! If I led you on, it was just to make this part hurt you more. There's nothing more to me. So, please just stop looking."

You didn't know what to say. Pomni just sat there. You wanted to comfort her and ask her if she was okay, but against your better judgment, you went after jax.

"You know, this is the part where you run away crying." Jax said as her turned towards you.

"I'm not doing that. This isn't a TV show."

"Uh yeah, it's a video game, Isaac Newton." he knocked on your head three times he was probably expecting an echo. You smacked his hand away. "What the f<^% was that?" Jax let out an annoyed groan. "Great, now you're yelling at me." This couldn't be real. Playthings? There's no way you were a Plaything to him, right? He was vulnerable with you, and you were vulnerable with him. You told him everything.

"Please tell me you didn't mean it."

"What I said about everyone being a plaything?"

"Am I just a plaything?"

"Uhhh, I said everyone in the circus that includes you." Jax said as he poked your chest. "But I told you everything! Y-you kissed me! You're telling me that it was all fake you didn't actually -" you stopped yourself. Jax laughed. "What? That i loved you? Don't know what you were expecting. I had to find some way to keep myself entertained." He gently cupped your cheek. "It's cute you thought you were that special, though." If murder was possible in the circus, you would've done it. He turned and continued walking away.

"You want to cut deep? Fine. No one will care if you abstract. I don't even think anyone would care if you died. Everyone would be relieved that you're finally gone, so just do everyone in the circus a favor and abstract already!" Jax stopped in his track. You were surprised at yourself. You didn't think you had that in you. There was nothing but silence. You didn't know what was worse, the silence or the fact that you wanted him to turn around and insult you. Yell at you even. After what felt like an eternity, Jax finally said something. "Heh! Maybe I will." He continued walking away hand on hip like he always did. You started walking in the opposite direction. You didn't want to be alone. You started looking for someone, anyone pomni, kinger, Caine. Hell, you would even settle for Bubble. Anxiety crept through your body like poison. Can you choose to abstract? No. Of course not. He was just f!#$%*g with you like he always does, right?

Right?

[marcuspikegf]

ted garcia x mayoral assistant! reader

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤…𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

wordcount 4.2k | requests are open | about me + masterlist

reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! comment if you want to be tagged! send me asks about this! asks/ideas/anything! inbox is always open :)

summary: i'm calling this one local fifty year old man flirts using outlook except there is a farce. ted garcia answers his own emails, but the mayor of the sister city decidedly does not. or, the one where there’s sister cities, outlook and zoom calls. you are mayor edmund’s assistant in florence, california , a small beach town that had a thriving fishing business in the 70s, that could use some help from it’s sister town now. you do all the busy work for her, organise files and reply to emails (as her of course.) when the mayor of eddington actually emails back quickly, you start an email chain, and it gets long, fast. and somewhere im the notifications you fall in love. based on this post.

warnings: 18+ mdni because of suggestive content! (1 line of horny thoughts from ted), i would rate this mature in ao3 rating terms because of that. just a buttload of fluff tbf. age gap between reader and ted (reader late 20s/early 30s, ted in his late 40s/50) i use like y/n four times??? ummm i tried to…. </3

authors note: yeah…yeah…this one got away from me. i have to write so many emails myself that i started thinking about a fic involving outlook and emails… PFFFF ive been writing nonstop since like 1am yesterday…its 6am now. whoops. like i can SEE the sunrise and HEAR the birds….its BAD. i tried to do some formatting for this fic but like…this is the best i’ll do. guys i love the sound of the birds..the birds. i love the birds….anyway please enjoy this silly. ALSO COMMENT if you want to be tagged in the next part!!! (there IS a next part!!! wow...marcuspikegf actually is posting part 2 of something in the foreseeable future????) i also dont know how to format this...and at this point i am too scared....i was like woah email fic and then turns out i am fighting html text editor every day. this is like my third time posting this im DONE.

other works: harry castillo x single mom!reader | joel miller x single mom! reader | a frankie x wife!reader here <3 (series!!!)

it starts off like this, a day in the hot new mexico heat, stewing in the sun like there is no tomorrow. he’s sitting in his home office, flicking through the paper idly. his phone pings, vibrating against the wooden table.

New Message

Open Outlook to read your message. 

he always trawls through his emails, fuck getting an assistant to do that. if he outsources everything, then what does he have left to do? he doesn’t get too many anyway sent to this email address, the campaign one usually gets complaints and donors. this is another one, internal systems.   

from: mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Good Afternoon Mayor Garcia,

My name is Sophia Edmund, and I have been elected as Mayor in Florence, California for this upcoming term. I wanted to discuss the terms of Florence and Eddington being Sister Towns,as they are quite out of date. Rewriting the terms of the agreement could provide with solid cultural exchange as well as improve business opportunities between us. 

Regards,

Sophia Edmund.

he squints at that, florence and eddington have been sister towns since when now? that was something completely defunct, tried in the seventies and it fell flat on everyone’s faces. there was no use for these sister towns, heck he didn’t even knowflorence, california existed, let alone was eddington’s sister town. except this sophia edmund, who was not forgetting about eddington.

he opens up his computer, to type out a response, humming to himself, what could be the harm in trying? 

from: mayor@eddington.nm.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme

main body:

Good afternoon Mayor Edmund,

I’m delighted to hear that you are willing to review and discuss the terms of Florence and Eddington being Sister Towns. I agree that the terms of the agreement are quite outdated, and need to be fixed to be in line with a shared vision for both towns going forward. I would be delighted to discuss the terms of the agreement next week . 

Regards and well wishes,

Ted Garcia. 

new mexico’s heat is almost unbearable, the desert sapping away every drop of energy in him. even the air conditioner in his home office isnt enough to block out the heat. it seeps into the day, seeps into the sand, every gust of air is hot.

he fans himself with a laminated agricultural advisory sheet, one he’d printed one too many of. his fingers scroll through his inbox with the mouse, this one is empty. there’s not much from the central new mexico government to be sent to towns as small as these, and again, nobody knows about this one.

he can’t bear to open the campaign inbox, full of complaints and donors and sleazy schemes that he doesn’t want to get involved with.

a car passes by, the exhaust sputtering in the dry road. he picks up his phone (to message his son), when he gets distracted by some click bait article, and suddenly it’s been fifteen minutes.

his phone pings again, and he sees another notification for outlook on the top of his screen.

he places the phone down, and peers into the computer monitor, and there’s one red dot on the tab, signifying a new email.

from: mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Good afternoon Mayor Garcia,

Thank you for your email, I am pleased to know that both you and I share the same visions in updating the Sister Towns agreement, as it reflects the shared vision we have for the future of Florence and Eddington.

Next week works quite well for me, as Florence is in California, are are one hour behind MST. Taking that into account, please let me know your availability, and I’ll be happy to arrange a meeting between us to go through the terms together.

I look forward to the discussion,

Sophia Edmund.

you send the email off, and then close your inbox, it’s nearly 4:45pm, and your working day ends at 5. although, both you and mayor edmund know that politics sleeps for no man ( or woman in your case.) you wonder what mayor garcia is doing in front of his inbox at 5:45pm, and then are swiftly reminded that it’s probably not him, but rather an assistant like you.

your eyes drift over to the coast outside your window, before focusing back on mayor edmund’s calender. she’s barely free anytime this week, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go to the meeting. you’ll be armed with her notes and several hours of research, you’re sure of it.

you’re ready to log off, when suddenly, you hear an email.

from: mayor@eddington.nm.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme

main body:

Good afternoon Mayor Edmund,

As we are to be sister towns, I would love to learn more about Florence’s key exports, and the town itself. This information could help me understand how to explore ways in which Florence and Eddington could support each other both economically and culturally.

Regards,

Mayor Ted Garcia.

your eyes read it quickly, it’s short, but strange. he’s asking you about florence? nobody asks anyone anything about florence. it’s…florence. 

your hands fidget with the pen in your hands nervously, and you start writing down things that make florence stand out. there was an obsolete fishing export business, cut away by overfishing and lack of industry to continue. then there was the bus station, that was pretty nice.

florence to you is home, your parents house that called out to you once the thrill of getting a degree fell through and you couldn’t get internships anywhere in dc. florence to you is safety, a net to catch you whenever you fall. god knows they have enough nets in the docks that are barely used these days. 

strange that mayor garcia (or his assistant, or. whatever.) would bother asking about the town.

you’ve jotted down five things on your planner in answer to the question: sea, fishing, knitting, ‘good in summer’, grilled fish.

you sigh, and type out the email on your phone, having shut off your laptop at 5pm.

from: mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Good evening Mayor Garcia,

Florence is a true delight of a town, I’ve grown up here all my life, and only left for college. The town’s exports are usually fish and other seafood, however due to the lack of development in the infrastructure, there hasn’t been much improvement in the industry as of late. But Florence is more than it’s exports, there’s a true sense of community here with the town knitting club that I’m a part of, knitting hats for the community for the winter week s. We also have wonderful restaurants on the pier —

( you pause, thumbs twitching over the next few words, should you mention your parents’ restaurant? then decide against it.)

— as well as in the town center itself. Florence is a lovely town, full of lovely people. Please let me know more about Eddington, which will help me also explore ways for us to connect better economically and socially. 

Best Wishes,

Mayor Edmund.

(sent by IOS)

he sees the message instantly on his phone, his son is back home from school, with the door slamming. but his attention is on the email, and he’s already typing out a response, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

from: mayor@eddington.nm.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme

main body:

Good evening Mayor Edmund,

Eddington is certainly also a sweet town, although there are many people with strong opinions about…just about everything! It makes for —

(and he pauses, frowning at the screen, should he tell her about the conspiracy theorists? no right?) 

— interesting conversations, if nothing else. Our town’s main exports are spare parts, but we’re quite isolated whilst being in the desert and all. It would be good having a sister town to expand our horizons, especially from so much farther away.

Best Wishes,

Mayor Ted Garcia.

he considers not adding his first name there, she isn’t doing it back. but he sends it before he can edit it out, and it sits there. in her inbox.

it’s 6:20pm, and he doesn’t expect an answer from the mayor — you — and you don’t give him one, having probably logged off for the day.

a sigh, and he opens up tinder, having scrolled through his instagram reels half an hour ago. his son says he’s slowly learning brainrot, whatever that means. 

he opens up tinder and then immediately regrets it, someone who he meets at the farmers market for tomatoes every monday is shooting their shot; asking if he could be their “dilf” for the night. tempting offer, but he’s not willing to do “one night stands” or whatever, he needs stability or nothing would work. politics is unstable enough as it is, he can’t be having one night stands to rock the boat. 

then he closes tinder, and thinks about deleting it from his phone. why did his son want him to “find someone”, like this??? what happened to meeting people in real life. 

not that anyone would approach him in real life, he’s the mayor.

he stands up, and smooths his hair down, he should log off too, get out of this office before being a mayor takes over being him. spending time with his son, making tea before some good old tv time. 

his phone pings.

(1)New Message

Open Outlook to read your message. 

he opens it without a second thought.

from: mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Good evening Mayor Garcia,

(you had mulled over that for a while, should you use ted? should you just continue doing what you were doing? you went with the latter because you were scared. you weren’t mayor edmund.)

I’m glad to know Eddington exports a lot of spare parts, this could seriously help with issues surrounding industry.  Small towns do often come with a lot of…characters. The desert sounds incredibly isolating, I am quite unsure of if the temperatures are what lead to the isolation.

Thank You for your time,

Mayor Edmund.

(send from IOS)

the days pass, simple and inconsequential. you’ve booked him in to talk to mayor edmund for next monday , but you can’t help but email him. the chain must be fifty emails long, and you’ve found out more about the town. 

you’re logged into mayor edmund’s inbox on your phone, and so you email back almost whenever you get the notification. it’s pathetic, really, how quickly you reply. but there is nothing for you to do, florence is a small town.

you’d been in sacramento for college, and then worked a job there for quite a bit. the city was full of people, different lives all brought together by the fact that they were in the city. so many things to do, so many new people to see.

then everything had fallen through, and you were here in florence, ca again. living in your old bedroom in the loft above your family’s seaside bungalow. an internship with the mayor, who your parents had known all their lives.   

his emails have taken over your life, just a little. your parents pointing it out may have been a good sign that you were constantly flicking your eyes to your phone.

not even a text; no numbers exchanged. just emails on outlook of all places. 

from: mayor@eddington.nm.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme

main body:

Good Morning,

I’m going over the Sister Towns act of 2004 and there are some discrepancies in the way certain terms are applied and defined, specifically some clauses in section three of the act are outdated and inconsistent with technology being used today with regards to seasonal events. Does the warm weather bring out a lot of social events in the town? 

How does florence deal with the summer, do you like it?

Best Wishes,

Mayor Garcia.

you answer this email from your bed, hair fluffy from how you slept last night, curled up around your phone. it was getting ridiculous, the way you were hanging onto every word in his emails. Mayor Garcia, you’d done your work to look him up. Pretty, he was pretty. With big brown eyes and a sharp mustache paired with a clean shaven beard.

very cowboy of him, you thought, a fond smile on your face, the image of his promotional posters having him in a suit. He looked sharp, sharp, all edges. and yet here he was, asking you how you liked the weather in florence at 9:35 in the morning on a saturday. 

from:mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Good Morning Mayor Garcia,

Florence is usually rather warm in these months, even if the summer is coming to an end. Personally, I quite like it.  The fishing industry usually does quite well during these months too, and we leave with a surplus which ends up being wasteful, it would be quite helpful if we could negotiate a deal between fisheries and electrical parts company you had mentioned in your previous email about surplus?

Thank you for your time,

Sophia Edmund. 

he smiles as he sees the notification for a new email, almost five minutes after he sent his. their chain must be long, fifty emails discussing business negotiations and he slowly finds out that she likes the environment, likes the sea. likes the way the summer never seems to end, even in september. his son had always said to get on a dating app, but outlook was doing him more favours than whatever the hell tinder was. 

he’d had more luck learning about the mayor from another town than he did on tinder. knowing how you liked your ice cream (cookie dough), and your opinions on bubble tea (it’s very good but only the milk teas), but he couldn’t find a single picture of you, since this wasn’t your first term. being voted in every time, barely any campaign posters of you that made it to the internet.

you chew nervously on your bottom lip as you wait for his response, sitting in your own bedroom, a thousand miles away to the west. you’re probably talking to an assistant, there’s no way a whole mayor is sitting there typing away emails so quickly with his own hands. your hair tied back into a ponytail, away from your face. mayor edmund wants that research done by monday ,and you better get started on it.

not even two minutes later, you see the notification ping in the tab you’ve minimised.

 (1)New Message

from: mayor@eddington.nm.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme

main body:

Hi Sophia,

I understand, but I think if you faced a NM summer, I feel like you’d disagree. It gets too hot around these parts, I’m sick of seeing sand swirling around these days, and would absolutely enjoy some ice cream. My son quite likes one creamery in Utah, and we import quite a lot of ice cream from there for the town, we have a tie up with them. I think some sort of negotiation between the fisheries and the electrical parts company can certainly come to fruition, especially with the economy these days. 

Best wishes,

Ted.

you scan it quickly. oh. on a first name basis then? well, his first name basis, he doesn’t know that he’s talking to you…and not sophia. 

you. the assistant, you the one who balances the files and mayor edmund’s schedule. you who deals with the donations whilst mayor edmund makes speeches. 

and yet he talks with such…candidness. like he’s speaking to you directly, sitting across you from the table over dinner.

you’d like that. having him sit across you over dinner.

your hands ghost over your phone screen, and you type out another email.

from: mayor@florence.cal.gov 

subject: Connection request for Sister Town Programme.

main body: 

Hi Ted,

I have not had a NM summer before, truth be told I’m a bit scared of the heat in NM, being worse than CA. The summers in Florence are…nice. I hope you can experience them one day, the sea breeze makes it so that it’s a pleasant temperature here. The tieup with the creamery in UT is actually a perfect jumping point for an economic tieup between Eddington and Florence. The electrical parts could certainly be invested in the fishing industry for a payout in future years

Best Wishes,

Sophia.

(and if you type out your own name, and backspace until it’s off your screen, he doesn’t have to know.)

the meeting is a zoom call, obviously a zoom call. florence, ca is a thousand miles away, and nobody is paying a civil servant like him to get to ca for this. 

he stands in front of the mirror, in his best shirt. he’d pressed it at least three times, enough to smite the creases out of existence. he considers wearing a tie (for a long time), and then decides against it. he’s wearing slacks for gods sake, it’s a zoom meeting where he’ll be sitting down, and he’s wearing slacks. 

business casual. all business and very casual with the way you two have been talking away in outlook.

he’s wearing cologne, and his son had actually laughed at him.

“are you getting ready for a date?” he’d asked, laughing over cereal, and ted had blushed, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. “you know she can’t smell your cologne over zoom.” 

he’d teased him, but he didn’t mean anything, not really.. he’d been less tense these days, less wound up like a tight coil, been able to laugh with his son and not be stressed about the sheriff or conspiracy nuts or anything. 

too busy replying to emails from you, his son would have said. 

he smells of cologne, all woody and musky and he sits in front of the zoom meeting, his name “Ted (he/him)” on the screen before he turned his camera on.

he saw your camera went on first, in the official building, and what he could only assume to be yousitting in front of him. 

“mayor garcia,” the woman smiles, short hair, a grey bob paired with a bold red lip. she’s older than him, her tone is all ice, nothing like the familiarity that he’d come to know of her.

“call me ted.” he says, a grin on his face, “and you must be sophia, i’m guessing?”

her face darkens, and she frowns, “sophia? i’d rather you refer to me as mayor edmund.” 

oh. his heart breaks, what about all the conversations he’d shared with her, all the hours spent talking.

“oh i just assumed, because in the emails…” he rambles, fidgeting with the pen. had he read thing wrong?

“oh, right, the emails.” she gives a tight smile, “i wasn’t the one answering them, sorry about that, that was my assistant’s job.”

assistant.

his heart sinks, so he was just talking to someone he had no idea about? someone who was lying through a screen. he felt catfished, if that could even be a thing in outlook. scammed? phished?

she turns around, and calls out for an unfamiliar name, and zoom call picks up on the sound of stumbling heels against the floor.

he sees the legs first, in a pencil skirt, formal and tight but floral. his mouth is dry, and he feels overwhelmingly guilty. guilt that he didn’t even know who he was emailing, or why he felt himself getting hot for a pair of legs in a tight skirt.

red heels, is the next thing he notices, tall red heels that click against the floor as the figure stumbles into view.

a blouse with a v neck and a lace trim, pretty eyes behind thick rimmed glasses. and lip gloss, shiny enough to be seen through the screen on his mac.

there’s something about this woman, he thinks, hair curled and styled, framing her face. 

“this is my assistant (y/n), she did most of the work on the sister cities project under my name.” mayor edmund pats yourback, “i think she should be talking about this more than i.”

you blush, stammering over your words as she moves aside for you to sit down. “i- mayor edmund, this is highly improper…”

“please, you managed to get us a fantastic sister town and build a good relationship, that’s good work!”

ted sees your blouse more clearly when you sit down, grey with a lace trim. it fits you, he thinks, all ditzy and cute. fits you in the words that you’ve written to him, fits you, the way you get all flustered. 

you bite your lip nervously, and he can see your gloss smudge to the corner of your mouth. he desperately wishes to wipe it away through the screen.

“hey.” he smiles, after a moment, all charm. the mayor charm, white teeth.

“hi…” you say, giving a small smile of your own, biting your tongue. he knows you are the one who told him about the summers by the sea, and your college in sacramento.

“sorry about the email thing.” you mutter, looking young. younger than him anyway, looking for approval in your eyes behind those glasses, “mayor edmund wanted me to…”

“no it’s okay, really.” he sighs, “though we did get on like a house on fire.”

another smile at that, less embarrassed this time, “i would agree with that mr mayor.” 

“it’s ted.” he adds, helpfully. hey, maybe this is salvageable after all. betrayal is one thing, but he cannot lose someone like you. you feel like it a star became a human being, all the warmth in the world, seeping through the damn screen.

“okay then, ted.” you say, clearing your throat and tugging your shirt a little to adjust it, probably for your comfort, but as you move, you lean towards the camera, and he sees your chest a little more clearly, before you sit back again.

he shouldn’t look, but he’s looking anyway. pretty face, prettier if your eyes were glazed and your lips were glossy with spit and not gloss, looking up at him from your knees and —

“ted? you there?” how was he so distracted already, maybe it was because he knew you, your thoughts, your dreams, history everything, bundled into a long email chain.

“i’m there.” he smiles, “no but thank you for doing this sister cities initiative, i think it could bring a lot to eddington.”

you tilt your head and jot something down on your notepad, “no worries, it was nice knowing about eddington…and honestly you.”

he didn’t realise you were as interested in it as he was in you, he’d just assumed that it was part of your job.

mayor edmund rolls her chair back into frame, “(y/n) is a wonderful assistant here, seriously, always jotting notes, i didn’t even realise we’d discussed sister cities until she brought it up in one of our meetings.”

you’re blushing again, shy. your notepad has a picture of a whale on there, and he knows it’s because you love the sea.

he knows that you love the sea, your parents have a restaurant on the pier and you know how much he wishes to visit the sea.

(visit you too, hell, two weeks and he’s fallen this hard.)

through the screen he seems older than he did in his campaign photos, the greys mixing with his black hair that you can see, pixels on a screen.

you listen to him as he talks about the sister cities project from eddington’s side, and he lets you talk about florence’s contributions. his voice is so smooth and sweet, it sounds nicer than the one you’d imagined in your head whilst reading his messages.

after the discussion ends, he pauses, “before you cut the call.”

mayor edmund has left now, it’s just the two of you, the sun is darkening behind you, and he looks so soft in the lights of his house. the past hour he’s been talking with mayor edmund, your eyes keep ghosting over the simple photos of him and his son. a family man, like he mentioned. son who likes ice cream, son who likes castles, son who wants to study political science.

you tilt your head, looking up at him.

“can i send you my number?” he asks, “all this outlook stuff is boring.” and your lips twitch.

“i dunno, i kind of liked it, very old-western.” you grin, but you’re pulling out your phone. your hands are so slender wrapped around that phone, he thinks, he thinks—

“here, i sent my number over the zoom chat.” he typed in the number manually into the phone. 

you copy and paste it onto the messenger on your mac. 

“well then.” he gives a polite smile.

“well then.” you smile back, tapping your fingers against the table. 

“i’ll be seeing you?” he asks, waving his phone. you laugh, what an old man.

“you’ll be seeing me!” you say back, through the screen.

unknown number, florence, ca:

(20:37)

hey ted, this is y/n!

he smiles as he sees the message, and replies in a few seconds. 

ted:

(20:37)

hi :) nice seeing you today. 

THANKS FOR READING!!! any comments are super duper appreciated as always!!! LOTS OF LOVE angieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! (see, a friend yelled at me about updating this fic, and here we are...an update...yell at me about updating the harry fic!!!) my requests and inbox and everything is so open please talk to me about this fic, or any of my other fics for that matter....i am SO SLEEPY...GOODNIGHT.... THE SUN. I SEE THE SUN.

taglist: @holbrk @jxvipike @0h-basic @madpanda75 @honeyedpascal

[minsparrow]

A BIRTHDAY GIFT TIED TO A LOVE CONFESSION › jannik sinner.

› tennis player!reader, fem!reader, established relationship. › i was so worried i wouldn't get something out for jannik's bday because i've had such a hard time writing lately but it's here!!!! on time!!! yay 😊 also i have 100 followers now??? i'm gonna try to put something together for a celebration cause this is crazy to me!! thank you to everyone who has followed me, or even just read & liked what i've written, it means a lot 🤍 › 411 words. — ‶there are many ways to confess your feelings to the man you love, yours just happened to be a bit unconventional.″

navigation. inbox.

"oddio, what is this?" jannik laughs, shocked at what he's looking at – the red and pink fluffy 'love' labubu you got while filming content for the wta's instagram. despite his confusion at the creature, a small smile still grows on his face anyway. "it's your birthday gift," you respond, giddy at the ridiculously gentle way he treats the thing, even if he clearly finds it a little disturbing.

he raises his eyebrows at your statement. "well– it's part of it. i have another, much more serious gift for you. for later," you clear up, watching him nod along. "is it...this is a keychain, yes?" his eyes land on the clasp coming out of the things head before looking at you for an answer.

"yeah, you could put it on your bag, whatever you want." jannik hums, his thumb smoothing over the fur like the thing is his child. "it’s supposed to represent love.” his thumb stops moving once the words hit, and a harsh flush grows on his face.

he giggles; quiet, short. “that’s…perfect.” he smiles at you, eyes shining with adoration at your insinuation. a few months had passed since you and jannik had started dating, and while this was never your original plan of professing your love to him, it felt like a missed opportunity if you didn’t. it was silly, but jannik found it endearing nonetheless. “we should name it. matteo, maybe?”

you snort at his lack of creativity. “if i shoot that down, are you gonna suggest carlos next?” jannik laughs loudly, head tipping back; the version of jannik few people get – the one you cherish. “no, no. i will find something better. give me an hour or two.” darren calls for jannik in that moment, and he hesitates, body frozen in place.

you wake him up with a kiss on his cheek, then a soft pat there as he looks over at you with wide, loving eyes. “go.” he makes a noise in the back of his throat, wanting to stay but a hard stare from darren makes him move. “ti amo, tesoro,” a soft, quick kiss on your lips, “i will see you later? after the match? dinner?”

“go,” you repeat, your harsh tone fading as you laugh, pushing him gently toward where his team has been waiting for him. “ciao!” he walks away, still facing you as he blows you a kiss – the clasp of the keychain hooked on one of his fingers.

i honestly don't even like labubus but i keep seeing the wta giving players boxes to open which is ultimately what inspired this (i never thought i would be including a labubu in what i write but here we are...) 🙃

[yoonigoo]

The Other Woman

Sister's Husband! Fuck boy! Jungkook x Influencer! fm. reader

Synopsis: Jungkook married Younghee, your older sister, after doing him a huge favor that benefitted his financial and social life. Knowing she was in love with him, he proceeded to marry her out of gratitude. However, his old habits don't simmer down even with a ring on his finger. And the worst part? He can't seem to take his eyes off his famous sister-in-law...

WARNINGS: Cheating

WC: 2.2k

A/N: Since this is getting attention I've decided to actually write a lot more than I intended but I do ask for your opinions especially for this chapter because it's more plot than smut... next chapter will be filthy I promise. And like I promised the last time, this is over 1k!!

P.1

P.2

P.3 <-

...

September 1 came.

Jungkook’s birthday.

Younghee organized a simple birthday party at their home. No kids allowed and an all you can drink bar that Younghee will surely swallow whole if Jungkook makes one wrong move. Which he can’t guarantee he can prevent.

And there you were in a beautiful, pink mini-dress and gold stilettos that made your legs look long and sexy. You held a strong presence in Jungkook’s mind. He tried his best to interact with you as little as possible because he felt Younghee’s eyes burning into the back of his skull. When you handed him his present, with a short, congratulatory hug, he fought hard to not pull you in tighter, shut his eyes and breathe in your sweet scent. After that interaction, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. 

So, he’s been speaking to his guests. However, every conversation he held with someone happened to be where he could see you from a peripheral view. Totally not on purpose and apparently not suspicious due to Younghee’s clear absence from the main scene. 

Jungkook looks around before he spots you chatting up one of Jungkook’s co-workers.

Jung Hoseok.

“Hoseok! It’s so nice to see you!” Who invited this lunatic?

“I see you’ve met Y/N! How are we liking the party?” Jungkook grins, licking his lip ring tentatively when he finally gets a long look at your beautiful face. He would do anything for just one kiss.

Hoseok grins from ear to ear and chirps, “She’s been listening to me rant this entire time! I feel bad for her poor ears.” He laughs whole heartedly.

You simply chuckle.

C’mon Y/N. Say something so I can stare at you…

“Your wife is so kind to do this for you, Jungkook. I’m sure it’s a blessing to have someone who appreciates you enough to do little things like this,” he leans back on a piece of furniture behind him and crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing Jungkook up and down.

Clear animosity.

“Yeah, lucky me,” Jungkook tuts bitterly, “You should probably settle down with someone soon. Oh wait, you can’t! You’re an idol!” Jungkook laughs sarcastically, and playfully (not so much) shoves his elbow into Hoseok’s waist.

You can’t hide the small laugh that escapes you and Hoseok can’t hide the glare he shoots Jungkook. 

Jungkook relaxes when he sees your contagious smile and his heart swells for being the cause of it.

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to catch up with you. You want to go get a drink with me?” He completely disregards Hoseok. You nod and Jungkook uses this as an excuse to place a hand on the small of  your back and lead you through the crowd.

When they reach the counter and Jungkook orders two tall beers, you smile whilst your eyebrows knit together.

“How do you know I love tall beers with salt and lemon?”

“Lucky guess,” He purses his lips and lifts his eyebrows, shrugging playfully.

“You’re quite the popular boy, aren’t you?” You tease as you look around to acknowledge the amount of people in the place.

“Oh please. If you threw a party and leaked the address I’m sure this wouldn’t even be a tenth of the people who would show up. Didn’t you just reach a million followers about a week ago?”

“You watch me?” There’s a glimmer in your eye and Jungkook doesn’t know whether it’s of curiosity or it’s all in his mind.

“How could I not? You’re recommended to me for being my contact so you show up on my for you page all the time.”

“Why haven’t you followed me?” You joke.

I already do. I’m your number one gifter.

“I don’t think Younghee would like that.” He jokes back.

At that your face falls and you look around again, “Talking about her– she didn’t invite me and I’m guessing she was in charge of the guest list since you didn’t seem too fond of Hoseok.” She noticed. He rubs the back of his nape and just then the drinks slide over.

“I apologize for the hold up. There’s a long line.” The bartender quickly mutters before rushing back to the front.

You grab your glass and take a hold of the lemon with a salt plate.

“I have no idea why she didn’t invite you. She probably thought she did but didn’t. How’d you find out about the party if you didn’t get the invitation?”

“I asked some friends to hang out over the weekend and they said they’d be here. I was on my way to find them when I bumped into Hoseok and he wouldn’t close the conversation,” you laugh and Jungkook mentally juts a fist into the air at your slight insinuation that you dislike Hoseok.

“You’re nearly thirty,” you cock a malicious eyebrow as you sip your drink. This is what you do at the clubs you attend every weekend. This is what you do behind the camera. Jungkook’s eyes are glued to your lips connected to the glass and he can’t seem to process your words.

“Huh? Yeah, oh yeah.”

“I have to be honest, I’m surprised you ended up with my sister.”

That’s when Jungkook’s ears perk up.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well,” you seem a bit reluctant but still go on, “You were the most popular guy in high school. I entered Freshman year and all I heard from Younghee was Jungkook this Jungkook that.”

“Uhuh,” he urges you to keep going.

“I get that she helped you win certain scholarships and handled your financial situation but let’s be real– Younghee is annoying. She nags a lot. And she isn’t even pretty.”

Were you saying this because of Younghee’s lack of consideration in the invitations? Or were you being honest? Whatever the reason may be, Jungkook was oddly satisfied with your opinion. Did this mean you would understand if he left Younghee? And possibly… pursued you instead?

“It wasn’t even her money. She begged my father to increase her allowance and being the eldest, he didn’t think twice before he gave it to her.”

There’s jealousy laced in your voice. Jungkook’s caught in a trance at your sudden confession. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say. But he doesn’t want this to end. He wants more.

“So, according to you, who did you think I’d end up with?” He nibbles on his lip ring, his untouched drink sitting still beside him.

“Everybody thought you and Irene would be the couple. She was the senior girl every boy wanted and you were the senior boy every girl wanted. It clicked.”

Jungkook’s smile grew a little. It was too late to bite his tongue when he asked, “Did you want me?”

You take a long gulp from your drink, dab a finger into the salt and lick it off the pad of your thumb. Jungkook watches you like he’s never been entertained ever in his life before. Like a deer caught in head lights. Like a predator eyeing its prey.

“Of course I did.” You laugh. “You were the bad boy on a motorcycle. Now you’re the husband of my lame sister.” You roll your eyes. 

“Spend just enough time together and you’ll become equally as lame.” You tease but it sounds serious. Were you drunk already?

“It’s getting kind of loud. You wanna talk in the guest room?” There’s a huge hint in there for you. Jungkook was talking without thinking. And soon, he would be acting without thinking. All you had to do was shut him down.

“Sure.” You get out of your spot and Jungkook leads the way. This time he doesn’t touch you. He knows you’re following. His conscience is telling him to stop and turn around but it’s going in one ear and out the other.

He holds the door open for you and when you enter he locks it. It clicks and you hear it. 

You lay down on the bed and stretch like a cat. Except you’re clearly drunk. But God you’re the sexiest thing Jungkook has ever laid his eyes on. He can’t hide the starved gaze that roams your body, every bit of exposed skin.

“You club so much you’d think your tolerance was higher,” he jokes and approaches you. He watched you for a split second before he sat down beside you and admired your relaxed, calm face.

He wanted to do things to you, obviously. But you’re drunk. And he wants you to remember. He wants to taint you. He wants you to crave him, feel him,

“Do you hate Younghee?” He asks and his arm extends to brush a strand of hair that brushes your nose. You stare at him with your big, dark orbs, mirroring his.

“I can’t say I do. I can’t say I don’t. She always got everything and I was just her little sister. Even now, she’s married and works at a prestigious law firm. I’m eternally single and make money from the dirty men who enjoy watching me spin in skimpy outfits.”

What a dirty world. Jungkook internally chuckles.

“Doo you ever want to get married?” He’s staring at you with so much fondness that it would be awkward if you hadn’t been so drunk and out of your mind.

You don’t move. Then you slowly nod.

“What does your dream man look like?” He softly whispers and runs the back of his hand down your cheek.

You stare at him for a long second before answering, “Someone hot.”

He releases a breathy laugh and his hand trails down your collarbones to your bare arm. He rubs your shoulder and caresses down until he’s at your wrists. He stares down at your delicate, manicured hand before interlocking your fingers and meeting your gaze again.

“Like?”

Your lips are parted and you’re staring back and forth between his eyes, clearly in deep thought. Clearly holding something back. But there are no walls when it comes to you. Especially when you’re this drunk and out of your mind.

“You.”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. And it shows on his face. A second of surprise but he knew it was coming. He knew he had you right where he wanted you and yet he felt like he had just won the world. He stares down at your flushed lips. Plump and soft. Sweet and untouched.

It soon dawned on him, once again, that you are drunk. You could be saying loads of nonsense that will mean nothing to you but everything to him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t prepared for that to happen. 

“Do you love her?”

“No.”

“Then why did you marry her? Was it just for the money? We have the same parents, you know. The same doctor that paid for your degree paid for mine. Is it because I’m younger? It’s only three years of difference. You married so young, I knew one of you was bound to regret it and that someone was not gonna be Younghee–”

He presses his lips onto yours. You’re shut up quickly and your eyes shut slowly. Jungkook lets his own eyelids fall and he moves his lips between yours. You softly sigh and release his hand to bring it to the side of his face.

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You move on your own, pushing him flat against the bed and climbing over his lap before returning your lips on his. You could feel his hard poking at you from below. And just when you’re about to go further–

KNOCK KNOCK

“Who’s in here? I specifically asked people not to hook up in any room in this house!” Younghee yells, clearly irritated.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. Jungkook places his index over his lips and he gets up, looking around frantically.

“I’ll hide under the bed and you answer.” He whispers and you give him a doubtful look.

“Hello? I’m gonna find the key to open the room if nobody’s in there!”

Jungkook dives below the bed and the sound of your heels clacking as you approach the door echo. You open the door and come face to face with your sister.

“Y/N? Why are you in here?” Her eyes narrow and she looks past your figure and pushes past you to get inside.

“I wasn’t feeling well and thought I could rest a bit. I think it’s food poisoning.”

“That’s too bad. Have you seen Jungkook?” She carefully examines your face but you manage to remain stoic.

“Why would I know where he is? I barely even managed to make it to this party because I didn’t get the invitation.” You confront her but she doesn’t show any sort of emotion.

“Must have slipped my mind. I’m going out to find him. If you see him, give me a call.”

She slips past you, shoving her shoulder into yours.

You close the door and Jungkook climbs out the second he hears the click. 

You walk towards him and pat down his shirt from any wrinkles before looking directly into his eyes.

“You better go outside before she rips this house to shreds.”

“Don’t talk to Hoseok anymore.” He pleads.

“I won’t. I’m going home.”

You lean in to lightly press the softest kiss to the side of his lip and smile.

“Call me.” A/N: Tell me... did she give in too easily?

[mydreamyparadise]

SAJA BOYS X IDOL! READER

AUTHORS NOTE: Sup? Decided I'm gonna write this and I hope you like it! Also, this chapter is mostly only to introduce the group and reader's relationship with them. Also, this story will not follow the events of the movie to the line.

CW: Platonic relationships, reader gets called sugarfly and sugarcube platonically, swearing, No Saja boys yet,

The only characters that belong to me are the Strawberry Thiefs.

Dividers by @enchanthings.

JUST ANOTHER DAY

Applauds and screams echoed through the outside of the stadium as reporters asked questions to the numerous fans waiting their turns in line to see a popular Kpop group.

"We're here to see Su-jo!!"

"He's like, suuuuuper closed off to the public, but we're SURE he's a sweetheart in private."

"It's said he and his family don't have a good relationship, which to me it makes no sense like, who doesn't want to be associated with the leader of THE Strawberry Thiefs??"

One of the reporters smiles, even if it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hee-Young, Hee-Young!"

Chants coming from fans were heard making one of the reporters cover his ears.

"Who's Hee? Oh just the most charismatic member of the group!"

"He's also the member who interacts more with fans, that's why he's my bias!"

"Didn't you say he was your bias cause he's Australian like you?"

"Oh yeah and also that."

The reporters chuckle and move to the next group.

"JAE-UN'S THE BEST!!"

"Best member AND best dancer EVERRR!"

"Personally I love when he does cosplay in lives, he just looks SO cool!"

"He was born and raised in Spain since his Mom's Spanish and his Dad's Korean, in Gijón, isn't that cool??"

A reporter nods and walk away to another group of fans.

"JUNSEO IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFEEEEE!!!!!!"

"He's like, the cuntiest member, also the biggest diva!"

"My favorite femboy for real!"

"HE'S NOTA FEMBOY! FAKE FAN!"

Some reporters rolled their eyes as went to another area.

"EDEEEEEEEEENNN!!"

"He's just not the maknae 'cause he was born 10 minutes before his sister, but that makes no sense to me if I'm being honest."

"Yeah but he's the rapper, and I'll tell you, when he raps he goes HARD, dude has supersonic rapping skills!"

"Yeah, like sonic the hedgehog"

"STOP COMPARING HIM TO FREAKING SONIC!"

The reporters quickly get out of the place as the fans start arguing.

"WE LOVE (_______)!!!"

"She's the best maknae of all times!"

"She's also the visual along with Junseo, that's why they always look so fire!"

"And her style? Sure she looks scary but she's the kindest person I've ever met!"

"You.. never met her tho?"

"Shut up."

______

Cheers, screams and cries were heard as the 6 members stepped into stage, people went crazy, some already waving their light sticks and others jumping up and down as Hee spoke.

"Hello everyone!"

"Before we begin, we would just like to thank you for coming!"

Jae said, looking in Junseo's way as he smiled and continued.

"Without you? We'd be nothing! Quite literally."

He whispered the last part as people started throwing things to the stage, flowers, pens, notebooks and more all falling to their feet.

"Now, without more distractions, let's begin."

Su-jo's voice silenced the other members as the soundtrack of their music starts playing, making people even more excited as the members step into place.

"I got it back!"

"(back)!"

"판을 뒤집어, this game, One chance, 바로 지금 이때"

"(that-that)!"

"Like that"

"(woo)"

"짧고 강렬한 escape No next, 나를 따라 쉽게 (하하하)"

"지겨, 지겨워, 지긋지긋 또 이제 기지개, 저기 봐, new world"

"(new world)!"

"지겨, 지겨워, sick and 지끈지끈 또이제 지쳤어"

"(so long)"

"사라지는 emotion (Mmm) 표정은 빛을 잃어가 (ooh-ooh) (Mmm) 웃음은 통제가 되어"

"무감각만 남은 채, no, whoa 참을 수 없어, no more lies 시간이 됐어 shoot the flashing light"

(Make a move)

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 여기저기 울려 퍼져, guerrilla"

"This is how we shout"

"(shout)"

"크게, keep it loud"

"(loud)"

"모두 다 눈뜰 때까지"

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 여기저기 울려 퍼져, guerrilla"

"This is how we fight!"

"(oh)"

"Now we're gonna ride"

"(oh)"

"세상을 깨워, we are, whoa"

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 세상을 바꿀, we are the guerrillas"

"we gonna make it loud, 심장은 원해 마치 터지는 beat and vibe, 외쳐대 'til I die 맹세해 빛과 어둠 걷어낼 때까지 다 성난 태도는 땅을 전부 울릴지어다"

"(ooh)"

"헤쳐 모여, we'll be done"

"(we'll be done)"

"음악이 무기 hooligan"

(hooligan)

"울려 퍼져 guerrilla 어서 문을 열어라 화려하게, make it boom"

" 감정의 눈을 가린 채 산다는 게 너에겐 아무 의미 없는가?"

"참을 수 없어, no more lies"

(no more lies)

"시간이 됐어 shoot the flashing light"

(Make a move)

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 여기저기 울려 퍼져, guerrilla"

"This is how we shout"

(shout)

"크게, keep it loud"

(loud)

"모두 다 눈뜰 때까지"

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 여기저기 울려 퍼져, guerrilla"

"This is how we fight"

(oh)

"Now we're gonna ride"

(oh)

"세상을 깨워, we are, whoa"

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로세상을 바꿀, we are the guerrillas"

"두 귀를 막은 채, 두 눈을 가린 채 똑같은 인형처럼 살 순 없잖아 모두 고개를 들어 마주하라 회색빛 세상을 봐, ooh"

"춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로 세상을 바꿀, we are the guerrillas"

The guerrillas!

(break the wall)

The guerrillas!

(break the wall)

The guerrillas!

(break the wall)

The guerrillas!

(whoa!)

(break the wall)

춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로

세상을 바꿀, we are the guerrillas (All)

(yeah)

춤을 춰, break that wall, 우리 feel로

세상을 바꿀, we are the guerrillas (All)

______

The door of the expensive penthouse is aggressively swang open, the members tiredly step inside heading to the living room.

"FINALLY!!"

Eden yells as he drops to the ground, his limbs spreading on the big fluffy carpet, his face showing a mixture of a sleepy and relaxed expression as Hee looks down at him.

"Damn, you don't even have the energy to go to bed?"

"No."

Hee chuckles as he slips his hoodie off and throws it somewhere behind the couch.

"My legs hurtttt"

Jae cries as he lays next to Eden, his back relaxing as he lets out a content sign with a small smile and rubs his body on the soft mat. Hee drops his body into a man-spreading sitting position onto the couch and throws his head back, his ginger hair hitting the pillows as he closes his eyes and rests both his arms next to his head.

You're also on the couch, right next to Hee with your legs crossed and a tray full of random snacks you fetched from the kitchen and some sodas open on the glass table infront of the sofa.

"How are you already eating? We arrived not even 5 minutes ago??"

"I'm hungry. Can't a girl eat anymore these days?"

"That is not what I said, and you know it. Don't twist my words (_____). Plus, we've been invited to 'PlayGames with us' again intwo days, don't forget like you did last time."

You giggle bitting on another fry and drinking a bit of soda.

"Chill boss, we're the second most popular group anyways, it's not like we'll suddenly fall off the top 5 or something."

"I don't like being number two."

"Would you prefer being number 10 instead?"

"...."

"Exactly"

Eden smirks like a bastard and Jae looks at his black headed leader while raising a brow.

"How are you not exhausted though? I'm basically dying here and yet you look fine?? This isn't fair!"

"I am tired, I just don't show it"

"Don't believe it"

Su-jo signs, his hand massaging his temple as Jae gives him a 'stop lying and come rest' look.

"Tell me you aren't sleeping on the floor again."

"Mmm... Maybe.."

Eden answers already half asleep, rubbing his head on the pillow he grabbed from the couch. Su-jo lightly slaps his own forehead and walks away, to his room you assume, turning off some of the lights in his way.

Meanwhile, there's Junseo looking at his reflection on the giant windows of the room, moving his head in different angles and seeing how he looks.

"Huh.. Even all sweaty and almost collapsing from exhaustion you look so gooood"

He whispers to himself as he turns around and curls into the couch tiredly, you chuckle, grab a soft blanket laying around with your not greasy hand and cover him with it.

"Thanks sugarfly.."

It didn't take long for you to finish all your snacks, that show really did make you hungry. You look around to Hee on your side, still man-spreading but now asleep. You turn to your other side, where Junseo is also curled asleep. You get up holding the tray and look down, both Jae and Eden are also passed out, sleeping like angels, like they didn't almost fall off stage on the show. You step around them and make your way to the kitchen where you leave the tray on the counter and disappear to your room. Leave the dishes for tomorrow. You ain't doing it with the whole house asleep.

You step into your room, the pair of fresh pajamas imperfectly folded you picked out earlier staring at you on top of your bed. You smile and change your clothes in a flash, tossing the concert ones somewhere for you to find in the morning. You hop into the soft covers and get comfortable, quickly finding yourself being embraced by sleep.

______

The rays of sun hit your sleeping form from the curtain gaps sooner than you'd like, you roll to your side, only for your face to be buried in a fluffy thing, said fluffy thing lets out a meow before starting to lick your hair.

You open your eyes-slowly of course- to be met with your tricolor cat, Calypso looking at you with her big doe eyes, like she's saying 'get your lazy ass up ma' with them. You try to roll to the other side, only for it to be covered in sunlight. You sign and sit up, stretching your arms and your back as Calypso rubs her head against your lower back while applying force, something that you've learned to understand means 'I ate everything in my bowl and I'm hungry, feed me'.

"Okay girl I understand you want me to get up!"

And you do. You flip your body for your legs to be out of your bed, your feet reach for the soft slippers on the carpet, slipping them on and standing up, exiting your room and making way to the pantry on the kitchen, Calypso trailing right behind you and standing next to her glass bowl with purple details, watching impatiently as you grabbed a stool to reach the higher shelves where her food was.

You stood on the stool and reached for the sack of cat food, grabbing it and going back down, walking out and filling Calypso's bowl, where she quickly started to eat. You smile and throw the sack back up, walking back to your room and entering your bathroom.

You picked your toothbrush and putting your cherry toothpaste on it, looking yourself in the mirror as you started to brush your teeth. After it you washed your face and went back to your room, right t your bed, deciding to be on your phone before eating, only to see a message from Zoey when you turn it on.

You giggled, and then smiled.

Hanging out with your best friends sounds good, always did.

You, Zoey, Rumi and Mira were trainees together (not to mention that you four debuted around the same time) and a friendship had flourished, even if to other people it didn't really make sense, as your style, the way you dress and talk make you seem like the devil in disguise, like you were too aggressive to be seen with someone so sweet like Zoey, someone understanding like Mira, or someone lovely like Rumi. The amount of people wondering if you were forcing them to be your friends were surprisingly high, too.

But you know what they say, 'opposites attract', even if you're not total opposites. You are as sweet as Zoey when the right people are nearby, you do understand people like Mira does, and when you're with people you feel comfortable with, you are as lovely as Rumi is. You just need to be with people you actually trust. And the same can be said to them. Zoey is just as enthusiastic as you are when excited, Mira is just as acertive as you when someone breaks clear boundaries, and Rumi is just as supportive as you when someone she loves needs support. Of course, most people never knew about that since they refused to talk to you, but now that's not what matters.

You get up and walk to the kitchen, finding Su-jo making pancakes on the stove, a plate full of them on the middle of the table, Eden literally devouring the food in his plate, Hee drinking orange juice while looking out the window, his plate's already empty. Junseo gossiping to Jae as he nods with his face looking waaaay too focused for normal gossiping, especially since he doesn't seem to notice the absurd amount of syrup he's squeezing to his breakfast.

You take your seat right infront of a clean empty plate—something you know Su-jo left on purpose as he always does in the mornings. You put some pancakes on your plate and reach for the place where the syrup usually is, only to remember it's with Jae.

"Yo Jae, mind giving me the syrup please?"

Jae seems to snap out of whatever he was locked in and looks at his hand, opening his mouth as he finally saw the amount of syrup he put on his pancakes, his arm extending in your direction as he facepalms with his free hand.

"The girls are coming to get me in two hours by the way."

You announced while dropping the little rest of the syrup on your breakfast and starting to munch on the fluffy food, Eden's moviments don't stop as looks over at you, opening his mouth to speak while chewing.

"Going where? Triple date?"

"Eden they're four, you idiot."

"And don't talk with your mouth full. It's bad manners and disrespectful."

Eden only rolls his eyes as he's scolded

"Where are you four going anyway?"

"Shopping, Mira burned her pj's while cooking, don't tell her that Zoey told me and that I told you though."

Hee and Jae snort as Junseo looks at you with a dramatically betrayed expression, one that Su-jo sees as he sits down with his plate with a towel of pancakes.

"Here comes the drama.."

He whispers as he starts eating, Junseo puts a hand on his chest and looks at you, eyes half closed and mouth ready to argue with you like he has just been cheated on.

"You- you're going shopping WITHOUT ME??????"

"Seo please-"

"No.. I see how it is sugarfly..I.. I've been REPLACED!!!"

Junseo stands up and puts his plate on the sink, leaving dramatically while singing the 'YOU BETRAYED MEEEEE AND I KNOW THAT YOU'LL NEVER FELL SOOOOOORRY' song as Jay and Eden fall into loud laughter at the scene. Hee presses his fingers on his temples as he laughs along with you, Su-jo at this point just seems done with it for whatever reason.

You quickly finish your plate and put it on the sink, going back to your room and putting on a black hoodie with a red top underneath and some baggy jeans. You look at your phone, 15 minutes until they arrive. And knowing Zoey? She's gonna make sure they arrive in 10, so you don't even waste time, grab your bag and yell a goodbye as you leave the penthouse.

______

You girls arrived at the mall some minutes ago, and by some I mean like almost a hour. You've been through WAAAAAAAAAY more than just sleepwear stores. Mira has at least 10+ pajamas now, and at least 3 are matching with Zoey and Rumi, bags full of dresses that Rumi liked, not to mention the amount of plushies Zoey found cute and got like she doesn't have a room full of them already. And you? You got two bags full of accessories, necklaces, bracelets, clips and more. You were now going back to the parking lot to go eat at a new restaurant that opened in town, a small, not crowded place, perfect for idols or people who simply don't like big crowds.

______

"Oh, I haven't even mentioned, but I LOVED your new album girls! It's literally engraved in my mind from how many times I've heard it!"

"Awwww, thanks sugarcube! We were actually pretty reluctant to release it as we thought it wasn't really good.. but you seem to have a different opinion hihi"

Rumi and Mira smile as Zoey responds and continue chatting as you wait for your orders to arrive, but on the middle of it, Rumi looks down at her arms and her eyes slightly widens, pulling her hoodie sleeves down.

"Sorry girls but I really gotta go to the bathroom! Be right back!"

She warns as she quickly gets up and practically runs to the bathroom, earning a confused

"Huh... That was.. pretty weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah..."

The two other women respond looking at the direction where their friend went, but their preoccupation was shut down due to your voice.

"So Zoey, what where you saying about turtles again?"

"Oh yeah! Did you know that-"

______

AUTHORS NOTE: Sup again? Sorry for the quick end, but I accidentally posted this before being finished and had to rush it or it wouldn't have much views 😔, and to anyone wondering, this is only the introduction chapter, the Sajas will only appear on the next one, as this one was for you to meet the group, your group. Also, random fact but I named the cat after Calypso from EPIC the musical btw. That's it, I hope you liked it!

______

Taglist:

@deputy-videogamer @theairyoubreathe69 @just-kpop-and-kdrama

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Lilies in the Valley : Nightmares

Mom!Jackie Taylor x Reader (post!rescue au)

Masterlist | Previous Part

Summary: Marrying Jackie Taylor was the best thing that ever happened to you. And it seemed to only get better with the additions of your babies. Yet the mystery of Jackie’s past seems to burrow its way into the life she’s built.

A/N: my current baby fever led to this new part LOL i do in fact have plans for this series 😭

your eyes seemed to linger on the horizon where the mountains kissed the sky. It was a bit cloudy today, but the sun still shined through. The little light rays seemed to hit on Lily as she chased after Ranger our herd dog. The giggles and bounce of her curls would pull your attention ever so slightly back onto her as you stood from a distance.

Your ears faintly picked up on the chatter of your brother beside you. He was hauling hay barrels into his truck and explaining how production has been with the herds. You couldn’t hear him fully, it sounded like static at the end of every sentence that made it hard to fully grasp what was being said.

Then a big clap—you snapped your eyes to Issac your eyes wide. Issac gave you an unimpressed expression. Arms on his hips, clearly annoyed. You sigh preparing yourself for a very sassy vent.

Isaac narrowed his eyes at you. “Wow. Love that. I’ve been talking for twenty minutes about feed ratios and you’re just standing there, zoning out like you’re the Queen of England.”

You blinked out of your previous headspace and forced out a chuckle. “I wasn’t zoning out.”

“Oh, please,” he groaned, tossing a glove into the truck bed. “You literally had the face of someone in a toothpaste commercial. I could tell you aliens abducted the herd and you’d just nod along all serene.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from Mr. ADHD himself. Remember last week when you tried to fix the gate and somehow ended up reorganizing Mom’s spice rack instead?”

Isaac pointed a finger at you. “That was a tactical pivot.”

You grinned. “You called oregano a ‘structural hazard.’”

“Okay, well—” He stopped, sputtering, then threw his hands in the air. “You’re the boss around here, huh? All high and mighty, don’t even have to listen to me while I’m breaking my back—”

“Breaking your back?!” you cut in, snorting. “You carried, what, two hay bales? You’re dramatic.”

“That’s two more than you carried!”

“I’m supervising,” you shot back with mock seriousness.

Isaac shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable. Absolute tyranny.”

You laughed, the sound spilling out before you could stop it. For a second, it felt light again, easy.

Then his tone shifted, softer, almost slipping under your guard. “Hey.”

You glanced at him, still smiling.

His arms dropped from their exaggerated pose, and he studied you in that way only brothers could — cutting through the banter with unnerving accuracy. “Seriously… what’s going on with you?”

Your eyes stayed on Lily as she darted after Ranger, her curls bouncing like little springs in the sunlight. You didn’t look at Isaac when you said quietly, “I’ve just been thinking about what Pops said when he first met Jackie.”

Isaac huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he hoisted another bale into the truck bed. “Oh man, Pops. He scared the absolute hell outta her, didn’t he?”

That made you smile. “Yeah. He had her cornered on the porch, grilling her like she was applying for the CIA. Poor Jax was sweating through her sweater.”

Isaac snorted. “And then five minutes later he was calling her ‘kiddo’ and pouring her a whiskey.”

You laughed softly, then sighed, your voice dropping. “He told me… it doesn’t matter about someone’s past. What matters is the future you write together.”

Isaac’s expression softened as he leaned against the truck, eyes on you now.

“I mean, he was right,” you continued, your arms folding loosely across your chest. “It’s just… I’m starting to think the past is more important than he let on.”

Isaac raised his brows, intrigue sparking across his face. “Trouble in paradise?”

You shook your head quickly, lips pressing into a thin smile. “No. Just… with the holidays coming up, it’s always hard. Jackie’s estranged from her family. The kids ask questions.”

That got him quiet. He gave a small hum, nodding, his gaze shifting toward Lily as she shrieked with laughter. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I can see that. Kids are too damn smart for their own good.”

You smiled faintly at that, grateful for his easy understanding.

Isaac smiled, his voice soft but sure. “Well… Jackie’s the best thing that ever happened to you. To all of us, honestly. So I’ll echo Pops and say it plain—don’t fuck it up.”

That pulled a shaky laugh out of you, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, no teasing there. He went on, “Help her get through this season of hard. She’s walked you through when Pops died, even when you were drowning trying to take over the ranch. She’s owed the same level of care.”

You exhaled slowly, the image of Jackie’s shaken look flashing back, the way her eyes had brimmed with something she wouldn’t name. A decision began to form, quiet and resolute. Maybe it was time to look deeper into the parts of her past she kept sealed away, even if she never offered them freely.

“Yeah,” you murmured, nodding like you were trying to anchor yourself. “She’s going to be transitioning to stay at home mom, which I think’ll be good. Take a break from teaching. She’s even gonna start homeschooling Lily.”

Isaac’s whole face lit up. “No way. That’s awesome. You know Eliza and I swear by it—it’s been the best thing for the boys. Flexible, lets them chase what they’re actually interested in, no one burning out.” He nudged your shoulder with a grin. “Lily’s gonna thrive.”

You smiled, letting his excitement soften the moment. “Yeah, I think so too.”

“And especially with your newest addition coming so soon?”

The words landed like a stone in your chest. Your breath caught, body going still, like ice had just slid down the back of your neck.

Because in all the chaos—Jackie’s unraveling, the weight of her silence, your own circling questions—you had forgotten. Forgotten that you and Jackie were trying. That you had another IVF appointment lined up. That you’d missed it.

The reminder hit sharp, cutting through you with a mix of guilt and fear you didn’t know how to voice.

Isaac tilted his head, his grin fading when he caught the way you froze. “Hey,” he said carefully, voice dropping, “what was that?”

You blinked, but the ice in your chest didn’t melt. “What was what?”

“The face you just made.” He narrowed his eyes like he was trying to read you, arms crossing. “Don’t even try to play me. I know my sister.”

A sigh slipped out before you could stop it, heavy enough that your shoulders sagged. You looked back toward Lily, her curls bouncing in the sunlight as Ranger circled her, and the words came out softer than you expected.

“I forgot.”

Isaac frowned. “Forgot what?”

“The IVF appointment.” You rubbed your palm over your jeans, throat tightening. “With everything going on—Jackie, the ranch, the kids—I just… I forgot.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to argue, then he shut it, leaning against the truck with a long breath. He studied you for a beat before saying, “That’s not something you forget.”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt spilling into the open air between you. “I know.”

Isaac softened then, his eyes losing their edge. “Hey.” He reached out, catching your shoulder in a firm squeeze. “You’ve been carrying a lot. More than anyone should. Don’t beat yourself bloody over one missed appointment.”

You swallowed hard, voice unsteady. “It’s just… what if it’s more than that? What if it’s me letting all of this slip through my fingers?”

“Or,” Isaac countered gently, “it’s just you being human.”

Isaac’s hand stayed heavy on your shoulder, grounding. He let out a breath through his nose, like he’d already made up his mind. “Alright,” he said, tone shifting into something decisive. “Next appointment, I’ll take you.”

Your head snapped toward him. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t need to pile this on Jackie right now. She’s already got enough weight on her shoulders. So you let me come with you, sit in the waiting room, crack dumb jokes, steal the free coffee. Whatever you need.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Just a sting at the back of your eyes. “Isaac—”

“No arguing,” he cut in, his grin tugging crooked. “Big brother’s orders.”

You laughed, shaky but real, and swiped quickly at your eyes before the tears could fall. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, “but you’ll show up to the damn appointment, won’t you?”

A beat of silence stretched, then you nodded, the gratitude spilling through your chest like sunlight finally cracking the clouds. “Yeah. I will. Thank you.”

He gave your shoulder one more squeeze before releasing you. “Don’t thank me. Just keep making that blueberry pie I like. That’s payment enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest stayed. For the first time in weeks, it felt like maybe you weren’t carrying all of this alone.

The air was warmer now, the clouds thinning enough to let the late-afternoon sun stretch across the pasture. You and Isaac fell into an easy rhythm, moving hay bales and checking the fencing along the ridge. Neither of you spoke much; the silence wasn’t heavy, just the kind that comes from years of knowing the work and knowing each other.

Ranger barked sharply in the distance, and your head snapped up. Lily was no longer by the oak where you’d last seen her—she was halfway across the field, curls bouncing as she toddled after a butterfly.

“Lord, that kid has no fear,” Isaac muttered, shading his eyes.

Ranger circled her expertly, nipping at the air, herding her back with patient authority. Lily squealed in protest, but the dog’s persistence won, guiding her in a wobbly arc back toward you.

You dropped the fence post you were carrying and jogged forward, swooping her up before she could pout too long. She squealed again, this time in delight, her small hands grabbing at your shirt.

“Where do you think you’re going, little miss?” you teased, kissing her temple. “Butterflies don’t need chasing.”

Lily giggled, arms winding around your neck. Ranger sat at your feet, tail thumping proudly, job done. Isaac grinned, dusting his palms on his jeans. “Dog’s better at corralling than you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shot back, adjusting Lily on your hip. You turned toward the house, already picturing Jackie’s car crunching up the drive. “C’mon, let’s head in before Jackie gets back. Don’t want her thinking we let her kid run wild.”

Isaac smirked, falling into step beside you. “Hate to break it to you, sis, but Jackie already knows.”

You laughed, shaking your head as Lily’s curls brushed your chin, her giggles still ringing in your ear. Home pulled closer with each step.

The gravel crunch of tires on the drive made Ranger perk up, ears sharp. Lily twisted in your arms, squealing, “Mommy!” before you even turned.

Jackie’s car rolled to a stop near the barn, dust rising around it. The door opened, and there she was—hair a little mussed from the drive, eyes tired in that way only you could see.

But the second she spotted you—Lily in your arms, Ranger sitting proudly at your side, Isaac leaning against the fence with a lazy grin—her whole body softened. She froze for a beat, drinking in the sight as though afraid it might vanish if she blinked.

“God,” she whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

Lily wiggled and you lowered her to the ground, letting her run full speed toward Jackie. Jackie dropped to her knees in the gravel, catching her daughter in a fierce hug, pressing kisses all over her cheeks as Lily babbled about butterflies and Ranger.

When Jackie finally looked up at you, she didn’t speak. Her eyes shimmered with something tender and raw, like the sight of you here, steady, grounded, family at your side, was enough to undo her.

You walked over, Ranger trotting alongside, and Jackie rose to meet you. She touched your cheek softly with one hand, as though confirming you were real. Then she leaned in, kissing you slow, lingering, with Lily giggling between you both.

“Baby,” Jackie murmured against your lips, almost to herself, “You’re so perfect.”

Isaac chuckled from behind, deliberately breaking the spell. “Well, ain’t that sweet. Now, you two gonna keep makin’ me gag, or are we heading inside?”

Jackie laughed through a sniffle, her arm looping around your waist as she kissed the top of Lily’s curls. “Ignore him,” she whispered. “I just… I needed to see you like this. Hard day at the school.”

Dinner wasn’t really planned. It started with Isaac saying he’d swing by with Eliza and the boys to drop off some feed, and it turned into “why don’t you stay?” which turned into Eliza pulling a pie from the backseat and you putting burgers on the grill.

By the time the sun dipped low, the yard was chaos—the good kind. Josh, his hair plastered to his forehead, was shrieking with laughter as he cannonballed into the pool after his cousins. The boys had already raided the water guns from the garage, and soon it was all splashes and war cries echoing off the trees.

Lily, too small for the big kids’ games, was more than happy sitting in the grass with Ranger. She wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled as he let her dress him with a flower crown she made from clovers. You stayed close, keeping an eye on her, laughing every time she proudly showed you another “bouquet” for her puppy.

From the porch, Jackie and Eliza sat with their iced teas, their voices low. You caught the soft cadence of their conversation but not the words, only the tone: steady, warm, occasionally catching.

Eliza had that soothing way about her, all practical and kind, nodding along as Jackie spoke. Jackie’s laugh floated out once, too bright, too quick—like she was eager to sell her own confidence. She gestured toward the kids with her glass, talking about homeschooling, about Lily’s curiosity, about Josh being “too clever for his own good.”

But you saw it. The slight twitch of her mouth after the laugh. The way her fingers worried at the condensation on her glass. Jackie was putting on her “perfect capable Jackie” face, the one she had worn since high school, since always—but every so often, a flicker crossed her features. A shadow. A moment where her gaze drifted just a second too long at Josh in the water, at Lily’s small frame pressed against Ranger’s fur.

Eliza touched her hand and murmured something you couldn’t hear. Jackie nodded too quickly, eyes darting away.

You swallowed hard. From anyone else’s perspective, Jackie was glowing—relaxed, surrounded by family, talking about the future. But you knew. You knew the strain it cost her to keep the cracks hidden.

Lily came bouncing over then, tugging at your hand, pulling you toward the porch to show Jackie the new flower crown she’d made. Jackie lit up, kissed Lily’s forehead, and tucked the crown onto her head with practiced gentleness.

Her smile never faltered. But when she looked at you over Lily’s curls, her eyes said something else entirely.

The night carried on, loud and easy. Isaac manned the grill with too much authority, barking mock orders at the boys, while Eliza gathered plates with Lily perched at her side, handing her napkins like it was her job. Josh dashed through the kitchen, dripping from the pool, and you barely caught him with a towel before he made a wet trail through the house.

And Jackie—Jackie floated through it all like she always did. Her laugh was effortless, her shoulders loose, her hand slipping across your lower back in passing. She poured more iced tea for Eliza, teased Isaac about burning the burgers, leaned down to kiss Josh’s wet hair as he ran by.

To everyone else, she looked perfectly at home.

But you saw the little things. The way she kept refolding the dishtowel, fingers fussing like she needed to anchor herself. How her eyes lingered on Lily across the yard with just a beat too much intensity, as if memorizing her shape. How her smile held just a second too long, like she was afraid if she let it drop, the room would notice.

When the kids shrieked from the pool, Eliza laughed and shook her head. Jackie laughed too, the sound clear as glass. But her eyes darted toward you almost instantly—as if needing to check. As if to make sure she was doing it right.

And no one else noticed. Not Isaac, not Eliza, not the kids. Just you.

You caught her hand under the table when she finally sat beside you. Her fingers were cool from the glass she’d been holding too tightly. She didn’t look at you, didn’t break her performance, just threaded her hand with yours like she’d been waiting for you to notice.

You squeezed once, gentle. I see you. And Jackie squeezed back, her eyes never leaving the kids running through the twilight. The house was finally quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and the faint splashes outside where Isaac was wrangling his boys into towels. Eliza had taken Lily to help pick wildflowers by the fence, her little giggles carrying faintly through the open window.

You stacked plates in the drying rack, hip pressed to the counter. Jackie moved beside you, towel in hand, drying each dish you handed her. It should’ve been simple, domestic. Easy.

But you could feel her edges fraying now that no one was watching.

She was quieter—too quiet—her silence weighted. Her movements sharp, like she was holding her body together piece by piece. She set a glass down a little too hard, caught herself, and muttered, “Sorry.”

You glanced at her. “For what? It’s just a glass.”

Her jaw tightened. “Yeah. I just…” She trailed off, staring down at the towel, folding and refolding it the way she had earlier. Her lips pressed together until they thinned.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over hers, taking the dish towel gently. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

Her throat worked, but her eyes stayed on the counter. “I know.” She tried for a smile, but it faltered in seconds. Her voice dipped to something rawer, quieter. “It’s just—sometimes I feel like if I stop moving, stop…performing, it’ll all fall apart. Like the second I breathe wrong, someone’s going to notice I don’t deserve any of this.”

Your chest ached at the words. You touched her chin, coaxing her gaze up to meet yours. “Jackie. Nobody’s thinking that. Least of all me.”

Her eyes shone, glassy in the dim light of the kitchen. She looked at you like she wanted to believe it, like maybe part of her did, but the fear still threaded through every blink.

Then, as if realizing she’d cracked too far open, Jackie cleared her throat, took the towel back, and smirked just faintly. “Besides, if anyone’s undeserving, it’s you. You don’t even know how to load a dishwasher properly.”

You barked a laugh, startled, and she looked relieved at the sound, even if her hand brushed yours again—lingering, needing.

The house had finally quieted. Isaac and his boys were long gone, the echo of their laughter fading with the crunch of tires on the gravel. Lily was tucked into bed, blanket pulled up to her chin, and Josh had already dozed off, his soccer jersey twisted in his sleep.

You found Jackie lingering in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed like she was holding herself together one more time. You stepped close, heart thudding, catching her gaze.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” you teased softly, brushing your thumb along her wrist.

Jackie let out a small, almost guilty laugh, eyes flicking down. “Avoiding you? Hardly. Just… keeping things… under control.”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured, pressing closer, tilting your head. “I think someone needs a little cornering.”

Her breath hitched just slightly. “Oh? And what if I resist?”

You smiled, brushing your lips against hers in a feather-light kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed immediately, melting into you. “Then I’ll just keep trying,” you murmured, voice low.

She sighed, body relaxing against yours. “You’re relentless,” she whispered, teasing, but there was no bite to it.

“I’m dedicated,” you shot back, kissing her again, slow this time, giving her space to respond. And respond she did—wrapping her arms around your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pressing herself closer as though the world had narrowed down to just this, just the two of you.

Jackie pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You always know exactly how to corner me, don’t you?”

“Always,” you whispered, nuzzling her cheek. “And somehow it feels… right.”

Her laugh was soft, shaky, almost a sigh. “Yeah,” she admitted, letting herself linger. “Feels like… maybe it’s okay. For now.”

You pressed one more slow kiss to her forehead, just to anchor her. “It is.”

She melted completely into your arms, small, quiet, vulnerable, and you held her like you meant it—letting the tension of the night fade into something warmer, something that felt like home.

The two of you eased into the bed, the sheets cool against skin still tingling from the hallway kisses. Jackie curled against you, head resting on your chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns across your arm. You pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair, breathing in the scent that was uniquely hers.

“You ever… think about how much has happened?” Jackie murmured, voice muffled against your collarbone.

“Every day,” you admitted, letting your hand thread through hers. “But I try not to let it steal the quiet moments like this. Just us. Just here.”

Jackie let out a soft sigh, a shiver running through her. “Sometimes… I think about the first time I met your family. I was so nervous. I had no idea what to expect… but they just… they accepted me. All of me. Like I belonged there, instantly. I’ve never known anything like that kind of pure love.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand. “I remember. You were so nervous, but Pops had that grin on his face, and Mom made that ridiculous casserole, and you just… fit. You were family before you even knew it.”

Jackie tilted her head up, eyes shimmering as she met yours. “It was… overwhelming. In the best way. I’d never felt that before. That someone could just… love you without question. And that’s how it felt with you too. It’s like I finally… started living when I met you.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “You’ve got me. Every step. Even the messy, scary ones. Even when the world’s trying to remind you of… stuff.”

She melted back into your chest, a trembling smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through her hair. “We’ve got tonight. And tomorrow. And every quiet moment in between.”

For a long while, you stayed like that, just breathing together, whispering the small mundane things—what the kids had done that day, plans for the garden, the little things that made life theirs. Every so often, Jackie’s fingers would squeeze yours, or she’d tilt her head up for a lazy kiss, each one a promise that maybe, just maybe, it really was going to be okay.

The house was silent, save for the soft breathing of the two of you. Jackie had finally drifted fully asleep, curled against you like she always did, and you felt the quiet of the night settle over the room.

But just past midnight, a sharp cry cut through the calm. Jackie jerked upright in bed, pale, eyes wide and unfocused, as if she were back in that endless wilderness. “NO…NO…IT WASN’T ME!!! IT WASN’T ME!!” she screamed, her voice cracking.

You bolted upright, heart pounding. “Jackie! Baby! Wake up!” you shouted, shaking her gently.

Her arms flailed in panic. Before you could react, her fist caught your face, knocking the wind out of you.

You yelped—and then, out of pure instinct, laughter spilled from your chest. It was sharp, nervous, ridiculous, echoing in the dark. Jackie froze mid-breath, eyes wide as she realized what had happened. She was panting, hands trembling, then the tension broke, and a small, sheepish smile cracked across her face. “Oh baby… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, voice rough with the panic still clinging to her.

You rubbed your shoulder, still shaking with the adrenaline and the nervous laughter. “It’s okay… it’s okay, you scared the hell out of me.”

Jackie scrambled out of bed, fumbling toward the freezer. “Ice pack!” she muttered, her voice still a little high from the dream, her hands shaking as she grabbed it and rushed back to you.

You took it with a laugh, pressing it gently to your face while Jackie collapsed beside you, forehead resting on your chest. “I didn’t mean to punch you,” she whispered, finally letting herself relax against you.

“I know,” you said, brushing her hair back, still chuckling. “It’s fine. Really. Just… don’t do that again.”

Jackie’s body trembled as she pressed herself against you, the adrenaline of the nightmare still clinging to her like a second skin. Her forehead rested on your chest, and she could feel the rapid thump of your heartbeat under her ear.

“I—I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw and tight. She pressed a gentle, desperate kiss to your lips, again and again, like she needed to anchor herself in the reality of you, not the ghost of the dream.

You winced at the pressure of her hands on your cheek, but tried to reassure her, brushing strands of hair from her face. Her eyes suddenly widened as she pulled back slightly, tilting your chin to see your face. “Oh… baby… no. Oh no, oh no…” Her hands shook as she traced a line along your skin where a faint bruise was already blooming. “You’re going to have a black eye,” she murmured, guilt piercing every word.

“I’m okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, though you knew the dark purple would mark her punch.

Jackie winced, pressing her lips again to yours, softer this time, lingering in a mix of apology and need. “I feel horrible,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I—You didn’t deserve that. Not ever.”

You cupped her face, feeling her tears wet against your palm. “Jax, it’s okay. It was a dream. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

She rested her forehead against yours, exhaling shakily. “I just… I hate that I hurt you. I hate it.” Her voice cracked. “I need to make it up to you… I’ll do anything.”

You pressed another kiss to her temple, smiling softly through your own lingering tension. “Just… stay with me. That’s more than enough.”

Jackie’s shoulders slumped, finally letting herself relax against you, murmuring small apologies against your neck, lips brushing your skin in soft, lingering kisses that promised both regret and reassurance.

Jackie finally melted fully against you, her breathing even, the tension of the day softening into sleep. You stroked her hair gently, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple, and felt the quiet hum of the house settle around you.

But your body was still buzzing, and not just from the day’s adrenaline. The punch to your face and the sting radiating near your eye reminded you of how shaken Jackie had been. Even now, lying there peacefully, you could feel the faint ache spreading across your skin.

She had been carrying so much—so much fear, so much pain—and it had spilled out tonight, even if she tried to hide it. You thought of her nightmares, the shadow of the wilderness still clinging to her, and the weight of everything she’d survived.

You couldn’t just let it be.

The night was dark and quiet, but your mind lit up with plans, strategies, ways to help Jackie carry what she couldn’t release alone. There were steps to take, small ways to anchor her, to reclaim the safety and peace she deserved. You’d figure it out. You had to.

And all the while, Jackie slept against you, blissfully unaware, letting you hold her, trust her, love her. You pressed another careful kiss to the top of her head, whispering softly against her hair, even if only you would hear it.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, the words for her and for yourself. “I’m gonna figure this shit out.”

You settled back into the pillows, feeling the ache near your eye as a quiet reminder of how deeply she had been shaken—and how fiercely you needed to protect her. Tonight had shown you how fragile she could be, and how you the past staying hidden wasn’t going to work anymore.

[sleepywolverine]

🌕 taking me out of the ordinary 🌕

Pairing: DOFP!Logan x Mutant!Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Length: 1.6K Tags: fluff, angst, smut, reader can transform items via touch (only briefly mentioned), reader was killed by sentinels in old timeline, technically hurt/comfort, oral sex (f receiving), implied unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), pet names, mentioned jean grey, mentioned marriage prospects

This fic is for @rosenclaws as part of her one-year Tumblr anniversary writing challenge this. Prompt was “Tracing your features with their fingertip like you're a sculpture in a museum and they were not supposed to touch you, but god, they can’t help it” with DOFP Logan. I included that… and then went wild. Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

You had a date with Logan.

In fact, you’d been dating him for quite some time now. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe how deeply in love you’d fallen with the Wolverine of all people. And God, was it lovely. Sure, you adored the rest of your fellow X-Men as well; they were your found family, after all, but Logan was your love. Was he grumpy? Yep. Short-tempered? Absolutely. Did you find him smoking hot from his kitty ears—er, hair with its little gray streaks down to his feet? Completely. As far as you were concerned, that man was utterly and undeniably YOURS.

And you were his.

Even though the students at the school would make fun of you two being so sickeningly in love, of the way he’d track you down and follow you around the moment the school day was done, of how he’d unabashedly flirt with you until your cheeks were as red as strawberries, and of the moments when he’d wrap his arm around your waist. What they didn’t see or hear, though, were the moments he’d whisper into your ear the filthy things he’d planned to do to you later once you were alone. That always made your heart race and heat build between your thighs.

You shifted clothes around in your closet, trying to decide what you should wear for your date. Earlier, Jean had told you (without using her telepathy, she had to insist) that she was almost certain that Logan had an engagement ring in his possession. Your head was reeling at the thought.

Your daydreaming about a marriage proposal was halted by the sound of a knock on your door. You walked over and opened it up, and…

It was him.

Logan was standing in the doorway, staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.

To him, you were a ghost. Just not in this timeline.

You were there. In front of him. Alive. And just as beautiful to him as you were on the day he lost you to the Sentinels. He scanned your face, taking the sight of you in for the first time in person, not just in a dream.

He was frozen in place, not saying anything, his hands itching to touch your face, and staring at you.

And you stared back, confused as all hell.

Logan couldn’t resist anymore; a hand came up, his fingers barely grazing your cheek, like he needed to touch you to believe you were real.

“You’re here,” he managed to rasp out, his voice cracking a bit. “You’re really here.”

“W-what?” You asked, still bewildered about why he was acting so strangely.

Logan sighed. “You may wanna sit down, darlin’. There’s a lot I’ve gotta tell ya.”

When he was done, you were speechless for what felt like hours.

Logan was sitting in your bed with you, looking back at you, trying to gauge your reaction to his story before he finally sighed. “Y/N… say something, please…”

“I don’t know what I can say,” you admitted. “I mean, if we weren’t living in a world where I can transform items and you have claws, I don’t think I’d believe you.”

Logan chuckled a bit. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He leaned back slightly, his hazel eyes gazing into yours. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but—“

“I don’t think I could’ve gone on if I’d lost you,” you blurted out.

Your words tugged at his heartstrings. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You could never lose me,” he whispered. “God, I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Logan,” you placed a hand on his cheek. “I love you so much…”

“I love you too, darlin’. More than anything,” he murmured back, leaning into your touch. His hands moved to frame your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. “I missed you so much,” he whispered before pulling you in for a kiss that you quickly melted into.

The kiss started gentle, but it quickly turned heated. All thoughts of any date or marriage proposal went out the window. You were living in the moment.

Logan tightened his grip on you as your tongues got involved. He’d only dreamt about this for far too long—the taste of your lips, the feeling of your body pressed against his—and now it was real.

You could feel a familiar ache building between your legs as you kept kissing Logan, and you couldn’t keep a few soft moans from escaping you, sending shivers down his spine. God, he missed your moans, missed making you feel so, so good like this…

Logan pulled back, a string of saliva briefly connecting your mouths as he turned you on the bed so your legs hung over the sides. He dropped down to his knees in front of you, with his hands on your hips, his gaze hungry.

He then pushed up your skirt, his eyes locked onto the space between your legs. The only thing keeping him from your pussy was your pesky panties, which were already somewhat damp from your arousal.

“I’ve dreamt about this,” he told you in a husky voice that only made you feel more desperate for his mouth on you.

“Y-you have?” Your voice was shaky, your heart pounding. You knew you’d never be tired of being intimate with him, but the fact that he’d dreamed about it and longed for you after you died in the old timeline… You didn’t think you could fall any more madly in love with Logan, but there you were, doing just that.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down and taking in the sight of your pussy for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Every damn night,” he growled. “You have no idea how much I needed you, darlin’…”

“I’m here now,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “And I’m not going to die on you again.”

“Yeah, you’d better not,” he growled again, feeling goosebumps on his arms as he felt your hands in his hair. He spread your legs apart wide enough for the easiest access but not so wide that you’d be in pain as he devoured your cunt.

In a matter of seconds, Logan’s tongue was licking stripes up your slit, savoring the taste of you for a moment before licking your clit as well. When he heard your sexy moans and felt the way you gripped his cowlicks, he closed his lips around the erect nub, his mutton chops scratching so perfectly against your skin.

“Logan… holy shit…” You groaned at the feeling of him pleasuring you with his mouth like a man starved.

And he had been starved of you. For too damn long.

He kept going, his tongue touching every inch of that sensitive bundle of nerves, swapping between long, languid licks and little flicks. His fingers tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he ate you out. Every moan and pant that escaped you only urged him on. He wanted, no, needed to make you come. After all this time, he needed this just as much as he needed air to breathe.

Your moans of his name only got louder as he kept on making you feel good.

He pulled back to catch his breath for a moment, just long enough for him to groan out, “Fuuuuck, baby, you sound so good moaning my name like that…”

When his face dove back between your thighs, his tongue began to circle your entrance before he pushed it inside of you, causing you to grip the sheets as tightly as you could as you could feel yourself already getting close. Your moans of his name turned into desperate gasps.

“Logan… Logan, Logan, I’m so close…”

“Are ya? Good girl,” he stopped to whisper. “You gonna come for me? Missed making you come.” His nose had pressed against your clit as his tongue resumed its licking inside of you, trying to hit you as deep as he could.

And then it hit you like a wave crashing over top of you. Logan felt your legs tremble around his head as you orgasmed, your nails scratching his scalp as you cried out his name one more time and bucked your hips up against his face.

He growled into you again, the sting of your scratches on his head only heightening his own arousal. He slowed his movements, letting you ride out your orgasm before pulling away. When he did pull away, he looked up at you in a way that made you feel like the Eighth Wonder of the World. A thousand emotions swirled around in his hazel eyes: adoration, joy, comfort… there was a solemnness to it.

Logan rose to his feet, joining you on the edge of the bed, cupping your face in his hands.

“I love you,” he whispered softly. “I love you, I adore you, I missed you…”

“I know,” you whispered, leaning in to give him another kiss. When your lips met, you could taste a bit of yourself on him, but that’s not what you focused on. What mattered to both of you the most in this moment is that you were together, and both of you knew you would both do everything in your power to make sure you wouldn’t be apart ever again.

When you broke apart, your eyes couldn’t help but shoot down to Logan’s crotch, where you could see his extremely obvious boner straining against his jeans. He noticed this and began to unbuckle his belt. Then, he got back up from the bed to yank his jeans and underwear down, leaving both of them pooling at his feet. He took himself in his hand, giving himself a few strokes as he looked over at you.

“This what you want, baby?”

You just nodded, feeling yourself getting hot again.

Logan smirked at you as he walked back over to the bed, pinning you down.

“Good, because that’s what you’re getting,” he growled before his lips met yours in yet another hungry kiss.

[luvdixon]

hi bae love u so much

i have a request 😈

i literally fell in love with ur george petplay fic... would u ever wanna write about arthurtv embracing the sub part of petplay? honestly would love to leave the rest to you because i trust your vision.

thanks <3

# HER WAY ★ arthur frederick

word count: 4k. ♡

content: smut, petplay, sub!arthur, dom!reader, autistic!arthur(?), praise, oral sex (f recieving), biting, use of the words "puppy" and "mutt", hair pulling, scolding/degrading, riding, unprotected sex, cumming inside, corruption kink if u squint, mild choking, breeding kink, aftercare but i didnt write it

author note: tbh i’ve been wanting to write this for agesss cause this man is def a sub and ik his brain would scramble as soon as you call him a good puppy so.. i offer u the 3 hours of sleep and the 5 hours of dedication that it took to write this as perfectly as possible. i had a much kinkier idea for this but i wasnt too sure how people would react to it as its a new thing on my blog so lmk if you want me to write that too

Arthur is an independent man. Some may even describe him as dominant. He looks that way; to everyone else, he’s the same old Arthur.

To you, he’s something much more special. You see the parts of him that he’s spent so long trying to hide. You peel each layer of defense away and love every inch of him.

You love him down to his core. He loves you down to yours. Perhaps that is where the trust begins.

You aren’t sure when it happened. Somehow, throughout the years of your relationship, you have managed to break Arthur down into the person he is today.

He trusts you enough to let you see the real him and you couldn’t be more grateful. It’s an entirely different atmosphere when Arthur’s head is between your thighs and his only priority is making you feel good.

It doesn’t happen often due to busy work schedules and the headspaces required, but when it does happen it’s perfect.

Arthur, like today, is usually the one to initiate contact when he wants this. It’s his escape, and you’re always more than happy to give him what he needs.

It’s late in the evening and Arthur is on his way home from a ChrisMD shoot. 

You’ve cleaned the apartment and had a few friends over during the day, but now the sun is setting and it’s quiet in the living room.

A moment of peace to bathe in. A few minutes to miss Arthur.

It’s refreshing to miss him; you spend quite a lot of time together due to similar schedules, so being apart is different.

Not good, not bad, just different.

The door clicks open a few minutes later, the sound of Arthur’s footsteps echoing through the apartment. You twist your head, beaming over at him when he steps into the living room.

He sets his bags down, kicks his shoes off, and immediately rushes over to you on the couch. He collapses onto you, face buried in your neck.

“Hi, baby.” You whisper. He hums against your throat, nosing at your skin as if trying to burrow deep in your scent. 

“Hi.” He says. No petname, no loving tone behind the word.

You arch a brow, pulling away from him slightly. He chases your warmth, shuffles impossibly closer to you.

“Did you have fun?” You ask, fingers curling into his hair. You lightly tug at the locks, hoping to tame and detangle them. 

Arthur huffs out a breath, letting his eyes flutter shut. He rests his head on your shoulder, lets himself be held.

“Yeah.” He replies. “Little bit overwhelming.”

“Poor thing.” You pout, offering genuine sympathy. He squirms underneath the words, resting a hand on your thigh.

Your muscles twitch underneath his weight, conscious of the shift in the air.

“Chris kept changing the rules.” He scoffs.

“No surprises there. He won, I assume?”

Arthur shakes his head briefly. “I did.”

“You’re kidding.” You chuckle, flicking him lightly. He whines, shakes his head. 

“My Arthur won in a ChrisMD video? A football challenge?” Your laugh fades when you notice the annoyed pinch of his brows.

You press a kiss to his temple, pulling his head back gently with your grip in his hair. He moves willingly, lips parted and eyes wide. He looks at you intensely, admiring each feature on your face.

“Well done, baby.” You hum, thumb grazing over his bottom lip. He leans closer, wants to take it into his mouth.

Your breath hitches, and his cheeks flush an embarrassed shade of pink. 

“I’m so proud of you.” You let the tip of your thumb press against his lips, and his tongue comes out to lap at it like he’s starved. You watch him closely; his eyes flutter shut as he enjoys the peaceful moment.

Perhaps the situation isn’t inherently sexual, but your thighs rub together as you watch his mouth work. 

“My good boy.” You breathe. Not quite a whisper, and not entirely a sentence. A mere exhale that Arthur wants to hear more of. 

You love him like this; at your mercy, eager to please and so happy to take whatever you give him. Not only does it help him relax and calm down after a long day but it also gives you some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Arthur.” Your voice is clear and direct; absolutely no room for ignorance. His eyes open slowly and he pulls off of your thumb with a pop.

“Yes?” 

“What do you want, baby?”

He thinks for a moment, leaning into the way your grip tightens around his jaw. “Want you.”

“I know.” You say. “What exactly do you want? Gotta tell me properly.”

He’s never been good at this. Your instructions have to be explicit and firm for him to really understand, but it doesn’t bother you. He’s a good boy, he just doesn’t like to think for himself sometimes.

He whines, and you almost miss it. Thankfully, you don’t; you have to tip your head back to control yourself after hearing such a sinful sound.

“I want—” He swallows harshly, pulling away from you to kneel on the floor. He slips off of the couch so elegantly, you barely even register it happening. He shuffles between your thighs, reaching up to tug at your pajama shorts. “Want this.”

“Yeah?” You smile down at him, spreading your thighs further.

“Yes. Please.” He whines, pressing his face into your inner thigh. His teeth graze over your sensitive skin, and you think he knows better than to bite.

He doesn’t.

His teeth sink into the flesh, and his tongue runs over the mark as if to silently apologise afterwards. You grunt, grabbing his hair to pull him away from you.

He looks up at you, dazed and somewhat guilty.

You offer nothing but a stern look and he knows he’s in trouble.

He pouts. You mock him. 

“Bad.” You scold. He tries to look down in shame, but your firm grip on his hair forces eye contact. “Stupid little mutt.”

“I’m—” 

“No.” You cut him off with a tug of his hair to emphasise. “Quiet. You don’t bite. You know better than that.” 

You wait for the guilt to fully settle in his face before letting go of his head. When he tries to avoid your gaze, you snap once.

He locks eyes with you again and fuck.

He looks so obedient like this; so perfectly crafted and trained for you.

Just for you.

“My poor baby.” You offer faux sympathy, and he laps it up like it’s real. He whines against your knee, nudges his face against your thigh to act cute. “You’re just so needy, huh?”

“Yeah.” He nods, hands squeezing your calves like his life depends on it. 

He looks so pussy—drunk already. Just by the scent of you. It drives you crazy to know the impact you have on him.

“You’ve had such a long day.” You sigh, fingers teasing the waistband of your shorts absentmindedly. Arthur’s eyes never drift away from yours, but you know that he’s looking at your hands in the corner of his eye.

He thinks you don’t notice. 

“And you won. I think you deserve a little treat.” You tilt your head, waiting for his response. It takes him a moment to catch up, but he scrambles closer to your core at the mention of a treat.

He looks up at you eagerly, waits for you to take off the barrier of clothing.

“What?” You ask. 

His gaze flicks between your shorts and your eyes, clearly growing impatient. You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the grin that threatens to peek through, and all that Arthur can do is whimper.

“Stop teasing.” He pleads, nails biting your calves as he inches impossibly closer. 

“You want me to do everything for you?” You almost let a chuckle slip past your lips.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say to that. He shuffles in his position, clearly uncomfortable and irritated by the lack of cooperation from you.

“Okay, baby.” You finally say. “I’ll stop teasing you now. Such a good boy f’me.”

You lift your hips, pulling your shorts and panties down with one swift movement. 

When they reach your ankles, you kick them off completely.

Arthur waits eagerly, breath hot against your core. He can practically taste you without pressing his tongue against you.

You run your fingers through his curls, watching him closely.

“Come on, puppy.” It’s a command. The way he reacts is sinful; he’s been trained to act on your orders without a single second of hesitation.

He buries his head between your thighs, licking a stripe over your cunt. 

It’s electric; the first second of contact always is. He looks so hungry and desperate down there. 

Something sinister dances around in his eyes, and when he looks up at you with those pretty hues you think you’re going to die.

His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue shifts down to your entrance.

Not quite invading.

Teasing. Flicking over every inch of your cunt but never giving you the satisfaction of pushing inside of you.

You groan, tipping your head back slightly. 

“Arthur.” You warn. He flutters his eyelashes, hoping to seem innocent. You scoff, pulling stray curls away from his face.

In lieu of letting the teasing continue, Arthur presses his tongue against you one last time before pushing it inside of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens, and Arthur goes limp against you. He’s lightheaded and visibly drunk on lust but that doesn’t stop him from eating you whole.

He pulls away for a moment, grins against your cunt like a maniac and then takes your clit into his mouth like a fucking pro.

He laps at it like it’s his last wish before death and he bathes in the way your thighs press against his head, trapping him against your soaking cunt.

“Such a good boy.” You coo, watching his reaction closely.

He almost melts into a puddle of nothing on the floor beneath you. His grip on your legs disappears and his hands come up to rest on your thighs instead, nails biting the flesh there.

“Prettiest little puppy ever.” You’re panting, clenching around nothing as Arthur’s tongue works miracles against your pussy.

He’s still in his football attire, but his shorts seem uncomfortably tight and his shirt is halfway up his chest from the sheer hunger behind it all.

He’s a mess. He’s so hot. He’s yours!

If you focus hard enough—which is almost impossible in your current state—you can make out the subtle movement in Arthur’s shaky frame.

The very subtle shift of his hips every so often. 

“Jesus, fuck.” You choke out, pulling at his hair with so much force you worry it might hurt. 

But he likes that. Loves being reduced to nothing under your touch.

He pants heavily between each flick of his tongue and it’s clear that he’s ready to suffocate happily with the taste of you on his tongue.

You wish you could gather enough self control to get through this without shaking but that isn’t the case at all.

Your legs shake against his head and your chest rises and falls at a concerningly uneven pace. 

You’re close and he knows it.

You’re convinced he can smell it on you; the tension that threatens to snap right in front of him.

He lets his eyes shut, concentrating on you completely. 

“Good boy, baby.” You nod, incapable of controlling the words that flow from your lips. “Good fucking boy. Shit—so good, puppy.”

Arthur whines against you. Whether it’s to appreciate the praise or to curse you for making him so needy, you’ll never know.

What you do know is that your hips have grown a mind of their own. You push against his mouth, chasing the pleasure that he offers.

“Gonna cum.” You warn him. He opens his eyes again, needs to see your face when you cum for him. 

A choked sob is ripped from your chest and you push Arthur’s face against your cunt as your orgasm washes over you.

He laps at everything you give him, doesn’t dare to pull away until he hears your explicit order.

Once you come down from your high, you pull Arthur off of you with a harsh grip on his hair. 

His pupils are blown, his lips are slick with the taste of you and he looks perfect. 

He looks owned.

The sight alone is enough to force a high–pitched whine out of you.

Arthur licks his lips, looks at you intensely as if to get a silent point across.

Message received.

“You want to fuck me, baby?” You ask, making an attempt to stand.

He nods, shuffles back to give you space. His knees hurt from the position, but he doesn’t complain. He just sits there, waiting.

“Speak.” 

Arthur looks down briefly, and you think it’s adorable that he has to collect himself before using his words.

“Want to fuck you.” He whispers.

“Have you forgotten your manners, puppy?” You pout, resting a palm against his cheek.

He leans into the touch, shakes his head enthusiastically.

“No.” He says quickly. “No. I’m sorry. Please. Need to be inside of you. Please.”

You click your tongue, weighing the pros and cons of giving him what he wants. You eventually decide to do this your way.

“Up.” You say.

Arthur scrambles to stand up. You press a delicate kiss to his lips, don’t give him time to process and chase it before tugging his shirt over his head.

When your fingers linger over the waistband of his shorts, his hips jerk forward involuntarily.

You have to laugh at how pathetic he is.

You want to take your time with him. You want to drag it out until he’s practically sobbing at your feet, begging for a single ounce of friction.

But fuck. Your thighs rub together and your fingers twitch with anticipation and you just can’t wait that long.

Based on the tears that prick at Arthur’s eyes, you assume he can’t wait either.

You hook two fingers underneath the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down impatiently. He kicks them to the side, waits for you to remove the last layer of his clothes.

You stay still for a moment. You glance down, eventually grazing your fingertips over the tent in his boxers. He almost collapses into you, sensitive and overwhelmed from a simple touch.

“So responsive.” You hum, finally pulling the black briefs down and off completely.

The tip of his cock is an angry red, begging to be touched. It rests against his stomach, leaking and twitching even more with every second that passes.

“Please.” He whispers. His voice cracks, but he doesn’t care.

He just wants you.

You push him back onto the couch, standing tall between his parted legs. He looks up at you like you’re an angel coming to take him to heaven.

He reaches up, grabs the hem of your pajama shirt with so much need. 

“What is it, sweet?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Off. Take it off—baby, please.” Arthur begs, letting go of the fabric when you guide his hand away. You decide to offer a little mercy, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

Arthur’s mouth practically drops to the floor when he realises you aren’t wearing a bra. He’s so used to lacy fabric covering your chest, and he doesn’t quite know how to act when you’re standing bare and beautiful in front of him.

He exhales, glances down to his cock—which has started to twitch against his stomach a significantly increasing amount—and then back up to you.

Without warning, you make the move to sit on his lap. You trap his cock underneath you, but not quite inside of you. 

Just there.

Your tits are practically being shoved in his face and he is holding onto every inch of self control that he has.

Because you haven’t given him an order yet.

You’re just peering down at him with big eyes, hoping to dehumanize him even further.

“Who’s a good boy?” You ask, dragging your nails over his chest.

He shudders, arches his back and leans into the touch.

“Please.”

“I asked you a question.”

Silence falls over the two of you and Arthur spends a long time trying to comprehend the question. Is it a trick?

“Me.” He finally says.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Me. Me. Please.”

“You what?”

A knowing smirk tugs at your lips, and all that Arthur can do is whine like a disappointed dog.

“I’m a good boy.” He whispers, like it’s a secret. “I’m your good boy.”

“Yes, you are.” You hum. “You can touch.”

Arthur wastes no time.

First, his hands roam timidly over your hips, along your sides. Then they shift to your front, nails grazing over your stomach and along your sternum.

He touches you with so much care; it’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll break underneath the weight of his hands. 

He takes one of your nipples and rolls it between your fingers, taking the other one into his mouth to give them equal attention. Your back arches, instinctively leaning into his touch.

You make an effort to roll your hips as subtly as possible, grinding your cunt over his leaking cock. He doesn’t notice the first few times; he’s too focused on you.

When he pulls back for air and you give a particularly pointed roll of your hips, his entire body tenses up and he grips your waist like he’s going to crumble beneath you.

“Holy shit.” He says.

“Good?” You ask.

Arthur looks up at you, personally offended by your lack of awareness.

“Good? Fucking—It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” He looks like he’s ready to cry.

You hum appreciatively. 

“Wanna fuck me, baby?” You ask, shifting the position so that you’re hovering over his lap. When he gives you an enthusiastic nod, you grab the base of his cock and line him up with your entrance.

“Fuck.” He gasps, keeping a firm grip on your hips. Every inch of him wants to force you down onto his cock because shit you’re taking too long and he’s going to die underneath you.

“Patience.” You warn. Arthur curls in on himself slightly, peering down to where your bodies connect. The head of his cock slips inside of you, and you let out a high–pitched whimper at the invasion.

Arthur slumps against the couch, lets you take full control of his body.

So you take the rest of his length inside of you.

It’s quick, swift, but so hard to miss. A sob rips from Arthur’s throat as he twitches inside of you. Your warmth surrounds him and it’s too much but not enough.

“Good boy.”

“Please.” He says. He isn’t sure what it is he’s begging for, but he’ll take anything you give him.

“You’re such a little whore.” Your sinful chuckles soon fade into a string of curses and a series of desperate moans, but Arthur doesn’t stop looking at you like that.

He looks at you with so much admiration because you’re so beautiful on top of him and he’s all yours.

And you’re all his.

And it’s perfect.

You take his jaw in your hand, pulling his head up to inch closer to your own. You lean down, ghosting your lips over his as you begin to roll your hips.

Every moan of his gets lost in your own mouth and soon enough the two of you are exploring the warmth of each other’s taste.

“So good for me.” You whisper against his lips, dragging your hips dangerously slow. His cock twitches inside of you and you clench to emphasise your praise. 

“Always so fuckin’ perfect for me, aren’t you? Taking whatever I give you because you know that it’s good for you. Nobody could treat you like I do, baby. Nobody makes me feel as good as you do.”

You’re spewing utter filth at him and he takes it like he’s meant to. His hips kick up to chase the heat of your cunt, but you warn him with a firm hand around his throat. 

“Yeah.” He tries to nod, but your hand traps both his oxygen and his movements. “Want you. Wanna cum inside of you.”

You let go of his throat, dipping your head to groan into his jugular. 

Because fuck Arthur Frederick and fuck his stupid little mouth.

“Yeah?” You encourage, slipping all the way off of him just to slide back down onto him again with even more force than the last time. He groans, tips his head back before nodding.

“You can cum inside of me, puppy. Just wanna fill me up, yeah?” You’re panting now, mouthing at his neck in between heavy breaths. “That’s what dumb dogs like you do. They take what they’re given and they fill their owners up like good little mutts.

Arthur’s jaw falls slack. He’s unable to form a single thought and doesn’t even want to try and string a few words together to create what most would call a coherent sentence.

Arthur is dumb. That’s the thing. He’s ditzy and lost without your guidance. That’s exactly why he worships you and the ground you walk on.

Because if it weren’t for you he would be a completely different person. You’ve conditioned him to be more confident with this; if it weren’t for you, he would never have discovered this.

And thank god he did.

“Close.” He gasps, messily guiding your hips up and down on his cock. You’re too fucked out to correct him, so you give up some control to let him fuck into you as he pleases.

“Don’t you dare cum without asking.” You snap, making it clear that you’re still the one in charge here. He whimpers, nods his head along to your words.

His thrusts become erratic and his hips eventually start to stutter, and you know that he’s about to cum.

You clench around him, and he almost screams.

“I’m gonna cum.” He slurs, fluttering his eyelashes up at you. “Let me cum. Please. Holy shit, please let me cum. I need it so bad.”

You pretend to think for a moment, forcing him to hold on that little bit longer.

“Please—”

“You can cum.” 

His orgasm hits him like a sharp knife to the heart. A deep moan is punched from the depths of his chest and his hips stay in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. He buries himself deep inside of you, spills into you with multiple moans of your name.

You follow soon after. The warmth of him filling you up is more than enough to push you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your lips part, but no sound falls from them. It hits you all at once and it’s so good but so overwhelming.

“Fuck.” He says. Your eyes open, and he’s staring up at you like he’s watching the stars. You whimper, fall slack against him, and ride him lazily through both of your orgasms.

“You’re so pretty.” Arthur whispers. You press a delicate kiss to his jaw, before burying your head into the crook of his neck once again.

“You’re perfect.” You reply. You feel his skin heat up at your compliment. “So good for me. Best pet I could ever ask for.”

“You mean it?” He asks, hopeful.

“Fuck, baby. I mean it so much.”

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