#I hope she knows though that I meant every word

[mononijikayu]

triassic love song — gojo satoru.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.” The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile.  “They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation au!;

WARNING/S: edo japan era, nsfw, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, engagement, hurt, physical touch, implied character death(s), natural disaster(s), mourning, pain, grief, happy ending, depiction of natural disaster(s), depiction of suffering, depiction of character death(s), depiction of violent destruction, depiction of grief, depiction of suffering, mention of implied character death(s), mention of death(s), mention of suffering, mention of destruction, mention of earthquake-related destruction, fiance! gojo, fiance! reader, reincarnated! gojo, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.6k words

NOTE: this song has ruined me beyond understanding. paris paloma, your album was just insane like im sorry. the fact that she wrote a song about the triassic cuddle inspired me to write something similar and i just??? i can't help myself. ive been so crazy about this song that i just decided, you know what. this is great. this is just something i would in fact like to bawl my eyes out writing. and i did. i did that. and i hope you cry with me and enjoy it. anyway, i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IT WAS ENJOYABLE TO BE TOGETHER. IIt was forbidden to be together at this time, with the curfew in place, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when it came to him. The world outside was still, bound by rules meant to keep order, but within the quiet sanctuary of your family estate, the constraints of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant. Inside, warmth and anticipation filled the air, thick as the lingering scent of incense that wafted through the halls. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the room in a warm light, casting shadows across the delicate shoji screens, and reflecting off the polished wooden beams and traditional tatami mats beneath you.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, his presence magnetic as always, but tonight, something was different. His signature smirk still played at the corners of his lips, and his bright, sparkling eyes glimmered with mischief. But beneath that playfulness was an undeniable depth, a new layer of emotion that wasn’t there before—an unspoken excitement, a shared understanding that you were no longer just childhood friends.

You were now betrothed.

Bound by the ties of engagement that your noble families had arranged, it felt as though a long-awaited dream had finally come true. And though you had known each other all your lives, this new bond between you carried a weight of its own, something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. The happiness you felt was undeniable, shared in the way Satoru’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, in the subtle glances that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re quieter than usual, don't you think?" Satoru remarked with a teasing lilt, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, as if daring you to speak first.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his intense scrutiny. “I could say the same about you, hm?” you replied, trying to match his teasing tone, though your voice betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling within you.

Satoru chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “Well, it’s not every day you get engaged to your best friend!” he said, his tone light, but his expression softened as his usual bravado gave way to sincerity.

That sincerity took your breath away, and for a moment, the reality of the moment hit you fully. You weren’t just sneaking out to spend time with him as you had countless times before. This was different. This was a promise, one sealed by the love you’d always shared but never fully acknowledged until now.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know?” you admitted quietly, your eyes meeting his. “For us to be more than just... childhood friends.”

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened even more, a rare seriousness taking over his expression as he reached out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, and the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Me too.” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For a long time.”

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still and silent, but inside this room, the air seemed alive with the energy between you. The gravity of the situation settled in—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something much bigger, something that both excited and terrified you.

“You always did like breaking the rules.” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Staying out past curfew, sneaking into my room like this...”

Satoru grinned, his usual confidence returning. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?” he quipped, though the softness in his gaze lingered. “Besides, how could I stay away from you tonight? Our first night as an engaged couple... I had to be here.”

You laughed, but it was a soft, breathless sound, the kind that came when words failed to fully capture the emotions coursing through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Satoru.” you whispered.

He smiled, that warm, heart-melting smile that was reserved just for you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations placed on you by your families, not even the looming responsibilities of your engagement. It was just you and him, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

“I brought something for you.” Satoru said after a brief pause, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a small bundle of paper. “I wrote these for you.”

You blinked in surprise, watching as he carefully unfolded the papers. “Poems?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, something you rarely saw from him. “Yeah, don’t laugh!” he added quickly, though the look in his eyes told you he trusted you completely. “I’ve been working on them for a while...”

You took the papers from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. The sheets were neatly folded, each one carefully written in his distinct handwriting. It touched you deeply to know that he had taken the time to craft these for you, that he had poured his heart into something so personal. Something for you, with all his love.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I could never laugh, my dearest.” you said softly, your voice sincere. “Thank you, Satoru.”

"I made these for you, my beloved." he whispered, pulling out one of the carefully folded parchment from your grasp and unfolded it. "Listen to me, alright?"

His slender fingers traced the delicate paper before he began to read softly, his voice like a gentle breeze:

"Beneath the cherry bloom, I wait  

for you, a light that never fades.  

In silence, your name takes root in my soul—  

a promise written long before time."

His tender words wove into your heart, each syllable filled with the love he had always held for you, now finally given shape. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat that matched your own excitement. The future felt certain, and the night was perfect. You kept listening to his voice, letting it guide you into the tender slumber of the night.

Satoru leaned closer to you, watching your expression, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and affection. Your orbs gazed at the tender strokes of his writing.

His calligraphy had always been so beautiful, but to form such words in order to capture not just the feelings he had for you, it was even more beautiful. And to have him read it with such affection, such love — for you and only you…..what could be more beautiful? What could be more perfect, more delightful?

But then, the ground beneath you shifted, a low rumble reverberating through the tatami mats. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, the shaking intensified. It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the lanterns flicker.

Satoru paused, his brow furrowing. Before you could ask, the ground shook violently, and the delicate house groaned under the pressure. Screams erupted from other rooms, echoing through the halls as the tremor grew stronger.

"Satoru?" you whispered, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, not from love, but from fear.

He was already moving, his hand gripping yours tightly. “Stay with me, my beloved.” he commanded, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with a seriousness you had never seen before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room shuddered violently as the earthquake hit full force, and you could hear the distant crashing of objects falling in other parts of the house. Screams erupted outside even louder—voices of your family, the servants, all caught in the chaos of the sudden disaster. And then all the sudden, it was eerily quiet. And that made your heart drop to your stomach 

For a moment, you thought that it would finally be over. But then, the earth beneath you trembled once more. You squealed as Satoru let his body encompass your own with the enveloping of his whole body on yours as the world crashed against you both. The walls were swaying left and right, the roof tiles were shattering one after another. It was chaos.

"Hold on to me. Don’t lift your eyes." he said, his voice calm but firm, even as the world quaked around you. “I’ll protect you.”

You clung to him, your heart pounding in fear as the floor shifted beneath your feet. His grip was unyielding, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, shielding you from falling debris as the shaking intensified.

“I’ve got you, my beloved.” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “D–don’t worry.”

You feared when he stuttered, that he had gotten hurt. But he did not falter. His fingers gently stroked your back, trying to calm your trembling as the earthquake raged on. You could hear the distant crashing of porcelain and wood, your ears ringing from the harsh sounds of the destruction. But in his arms, you felt an odd sense of safety amidst the destruction. Because it was your Satoru holding you, protecting you. Because you’re together. 

As the tremors finally subsided, Satoru’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. His breath was shaky, and when you looked up at him, you saw a rare flicker of fear in his usually carefree eyes. He swallowed hard before giving you a small, reassuring smile. You were still stunned, your head shaking as you tried to make sense of the world.

"Seems like the earth itself wanted to remind us of its power." he joked softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He was just as afraid, perhaps even pained by some injury he would never show you. “We’re….we’re alright, my beloved. Don’t worry.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still clutching his robes as you pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was no longer perfect, but in that moment, with Satoru holding you close, it felt like nothing could tear the two of you apart—not even the earth itself.

The earth, which had momentarily stilled, seemed to shift again beneath you, this time more violently.More catastrophic, more angry and volatile. You screamed as you held tightly to him, his body wrapping itself against you once more. The walls of your room groaned, beams creaking as the tremors returned with a vengeance, fiercer than before. The floor shook so hard you could barely keep your balance, even in Satoru's arms.

He pulled you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t let go.”

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath his robes, his usually easy going demeanor replaced by something more protective, almost desperate as his entire body forced itself to become a shield against anything against you. What remained standing of your ancestral home rattled more easily around you, dust falling from the ceiling in thick clouds. Outside, the screams grew louder, more frantic as the destruction worsened. Perhaps, it wasn’t even your family any longer. Perhaps it was the town, perhaps it was a neighboring village. You do not know anymore. And that’s what frightened you even more.

You could hear the unmistakable crash of something heavy—perhaps a roof beam—collapsing nearby. Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The wide, elaborate shoji doors rattled on their frames before they were blown open by the force of the quake. Your own room felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece. One of the wooden beams above groaned under the strain and, without warning, splintered and fell, hurtling toward the two of you.

Your beloved Gojo Satoru reacted in an instant, pushing you down and covering you with his body just as the beam crashed into the floor where you’d been trying to stand. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of earth and shattered wood filled your lungs, choking you. You shook as your eyes slowly opened to see your fiance pinning you down with his body shielding you.

“Satoru!” you gasped, your hands gripping the front of his robe, desperate to make sure he was unharmed.

“I’m fine, my beloved.” he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice. His arm was still braced above you, shielding you from any further debris. His other hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into the crook of his neck. “We need to move. The house isn’t going to hold.”

You nodded against him, heart pounding in terror. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. The childhood home that had always felt so safe, so untouchable, was crumbling around you, and the only solid thing left was Satoru. He was all you had, you think. Everything…Everything was gone. Your body was shaking. 

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you toward the door, but just as you reached it, another powerful tremor sent the ground pitching beneath you. You fell forward, and Satoru caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as the floor buckled and cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the splintering wood beneath your sandals, the whole structure of the house breaking apart beneath the relentless force of the earthquake.

“Satoru, we need to get out—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by the sound of another beam collapsing behind you, followed by a sickening crash from outside the room.

“I know, I know.” he said, his voice tight with focus as he scanned the surroundings. "We’ll find a way out. I promise."

He led you toward the door again, but just as you stepped forward, the entire room seemed to tilt. The floor caved in with a horrific crack, and suddenly, you were falling. Satoru’s grip tightened as you both plummeted into darkness, the floorboards and debris collapsing into the space below.

“Are you hurt?” Satoru’s voice cut through the chaos, his hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you close, checking for injuries in the dim light. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear he usually kept hidden so well.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, though your body felt battered and sore.

He exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment, his breath shaky. “We need to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Even now, with the world collapsing around you, his determination didn’t waver. He pulled you to your feet once more, and together, you began to make your way through the rubble. The house was a maze of fallen beams, shattered walls, and debris, the once-beautiful estate reduced to ruins in a matter of minutes.

The aftershocks still rumbled beneath your feet, making every step treacherous, but Satoru kept you steady, his arm around your waist, guiding you through the wreckage. The air was thick with dust, and the distant screams of those outside continued, filling you with dread for what might await you once you escaped.

As you neared what used to be the outer courtyard, the quake hit again, this time more violent than any before. The very ground seemed to split open beneath you, and with a loud, earth-shattering roar, the outer wall of the estate gave way. You barely had time to scream before the floor cracked beneath your feet, and you fell into darkness once more.

This time, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, and you felt his body pull you against him, sheltering you as the ground gave way entirely. You hit the ground hard, the pain radiating through your body, but before you could react, you felt the warmth of Satoru’s arms around you, shielding you from the worst of it.

“Don’t leave me.” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tighter than ever. “I won’t let anything take you from me—not this, not anything.”

In that moment, as the world continued to crumble around you, his words were the only thing that kept you grounded. No matter what happened next, as long as you were with him, there was still hope. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes, as the tremors finally began to subside, leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage, but together.

You landed hard, the wind knocked out of you as your back hit the ground. The tatami beneath you was torn, and debris scattered everywhere, yet Satoru still held onto you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, as though his grip alone could shield you from the crumbling world. The force of his embrace had absorbed much of the fall, but the impact still left you breathless. For a moment, everything was a blur—dust and darkness clouded your vision, and the deafening roar of collapsing beams filled the air.

Your body throbbed with pain, and panic surged in your chest, but even through the chaos, the warmth of Satoru’s body against yours anchored you. His presence, solid and unyielding, kept you grounded in the midst of the chaos.

"Satoru..." you gasped, your voice barely audible, but he heard you.

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely, his voice steady despite the tremors still shaking the earth beneath you. His breath was ragged, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His white hair, now disheveled and covered in dust, clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—remained focused on you. “Are you hurt?”

You tried to shake your head, but your mind was still reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The earthquake raged on, though the initial violence of it had passed. The ground trembled beneath you like a sleeping beast disturbed from its rest.

Satoru shifted, pulling you up as carefully as he could. The house around you was nearly unrecognizable—wooden beams had collapsed, shoji screens were shredded, and parts of the roof had caved in. The once peaceful and warm room where you had shared your engagement was now in ruins, littered with broken objects and torn memories.

The sound of screams echoed from outside, faint but piercing. Servants. Family. It was hard to tell who, but the urgency in their voices cut through the haze of shock that clouded your mind. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you once more.

“My family... my parents.” you muttered, scrambling to get up, but Satoru stopped you, his hand on your shoulder, firm yet gentle. “Satoru—”

"Wait," he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of authority. "We need to get out of here first. It’s not safe."

He tried to keep you calm, his steady hands guiding you through the debris, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was on high alert, his senses sharp as he glanced at every unstable beam, every shifting pile of rubble. He was scanning for danger, but more than that, he was trying to protect you from seeing the worst of it—the destruction, the death.

But as you stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been your home, you couldn’t avoid the horrors that surrounded you. Bodies. Littered through the halls, some crushed beneath fallen beams, others lying still in the open. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world spun around you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away from his protective hold. "Where are they? My parents... my siblings?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting around, trying to keep you moving forward, away from the bodies, away from the worst of it. But you knew. The silence was louder than any scream. You could feel tears fall from your face and that broke his heart to see.

"Satoru!" you cried, your voice breaking as your legs buckled beneath you. "Where are they?"

He knelt beside you, his hands cupping your face as he gently forced you to look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with an overwhelming sadness, but he tried to hide it, to be strong for you. He had to be strong. He had to. He can’t be weak, not right now.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to go. We need to find shelter. I’ll take you to my family home. They’ll know what to do.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t fully sink in. Your body was moving on autopilot now, your mind numb to the world as Satoru pulled you back to your feet. With every step, the destruction around you became more apparent, more real. The walls were crumbling, the air thick with dust and smoke, and the scent of burning wood filled your nostrils.

Together, you navigated the ruins of your estate, stepping over debris and through the remains of lives that had been lost in the quake. GojoSatoru kept a firm grip on your hand, leading you with a determination that seemed almost impossible given the circumstances.

But even he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched when another body appeared in your path, forcing him to shield you from the sight.

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IT WAS A CHALLENGE, TO GO AND LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION BEHIND. The sky deepened into a somber shade of dusk as you and Satoru finally reached the estate’s edge. The once proud gates, symbols of security and honor, now stood twisted and mangled, crumpled by the sheer force of nature’s wrath.

Beyond the gates, the town stretched out in a nightmare of ruin—buildings reduced to heaps of rubble, streets fractured and littered with debris, and the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke and dust. The cries of the wounded and the wails of those searching for lost loved ones echoed through the broken streets, a chorus of despair that filled the silence left in the wake of destruction.

“Keep your head high,” Satoru urged, his voice low but firm as he tightened his grip on your hand. “Don’t look. Just… don’t.”

But it was impossible not to look. How could you not see the devastation, shared by all? Every corner of the town had been touched by this catastrophe, and every person who remained alive carried the weight of loss. It was a destruction understood by all, but none more deeply than you at that moment.

The memory of your home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and the presence of family—now lay in ruins. Your parents, your siblings… their fates were unknown, swallowed by the chaos. You hadn’t seen them, and the hope of finding them alive was growing fainter with every passing moment. Satoru’s words rang hollow in your ears, even as you clung to his hand for strength.

He guided you through the crumbling streets with a fierce determination, always positioning himself between you and the worst of the wreckage. The buildings, once grand and vibrant, had become tombs of stone and wood, each step revealing more of the town’s shattered soul. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some half-buried in rubble, others left untouched by the debris but claimed by the quake nonetheless. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Every time you stumbled, your legs trembling with fatigue and grief, Satoru was there, catching you before you could fall. His presence was like an anchor, keeping you steady amid the storm of devastation that swirled around you. His hand never left yours, his touch a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to face it all by yourself.

The survivors—those who had managed to escape the collapse of buildings or who had emerged from the wreckage—followed behind you, a somber procession of hollow eyes and ashen faces. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of shock. No words passed between them, no cries for help—only silence and the occasional sob as they moved like ghosts through the streets, trying to find some semblance of safety, of life, in this broken world.

Your heart ached for them, for their pain, but your own grief consumed you. The memory of your family’s voices, the warmth of your home, felt so distant now, like a dream you had just woken from. And yet, with each step you took beside Satoru, you realized that this nightmare was real, and there was no waking from it.

The earth beneath your feet still trembled occasionally, aftershocks reminding you that the worst might not yet be over. Each tremor sent a fresh wave of fear through your body, your grip tightening around Satoru’s hand. He responded in kind, his hand strong and reassuring, though you could sense the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. His family, too, was somewhere in this mess. Their fate hung in the balance just as much as yours.

As you made your way through the gates, leaving behind the wreckage of your estate, you couldn’t help but glance back one final time. The place where you had grown up, where you had shared laughter, joy, and the news of your engagement just hours ago, was now unrecognizable. In the span of mere moments, everything you had known had been reduced to rubble, leaving behind only echoes of the life you had once cherished.

“Satoru…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name, the words barely audible over the distant cries. He stopped, turning to look at you, his eyes softening with concern.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall unnoticed. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll make it through this. We have to.”

His resolve was unshakable, but you could see the grief hidden behind his determination. He was trying to be strong, not just for himself, but for you. His family’s estate lay ahead, yet you both feared what you would find when you arrived.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, you continued onward, the fire of Satoru’s presence the only thing keeping you from sinking into despair. The path was treacherous, littered with fallen beams and shattered stone, but Satoru led the way with careful, deliberate steps. He kept you close, his arm around your waist now, guiding you over the broken streets as you navigated what felt like the remains of the world.

Every glance revealed more heartache—broken homes, toppled lanterns, and the pale, lifeless faces of those who hadn’t made it. But Satoru never let you linger, gently urging you forward each time your gaze began to drift toward the horror around you.

Finally, you reached his family’s estate. Or what remained of it. The grand structure that had once stood proud and formidable was now a heap of collapsed roofs and shattered walls. The once beautiful garden, where you had shared many moments of happiness, was now a twisted, chaotic mess of uprooted trees and scorched earth.

Satoru stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the destruction with a silent, composed fury. The pain was etched into his expression, though he quickly masked it as he turned to you, his voice low but firm.

"We’ll make it through tonight," he said. "We have to survive, no matter what."

In that moment, even as the world crumbled around you, there was no fear in his eyes—only determination. For now, all you could do was follow him. Follow him through the darkness, trusting that somewhere, beyond the destruction, hope still lingered. 

As you finally reached the outskirts of the Gojo estate, the enormity of the destruction hit you again. The town below had not been spared either. Smoke rose in the distance, and the ground was littered with rubble, buildings half-collapsed, and people wandering aimlessly, searching for loved ones.

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pulled you forward, his grip never loosening as he led you through the streets toward his family’s home. But when you arrived, the sight that greeted you was even more devastating.

His family estate, much like your own, had been reduced to little more than a broken shell. The grand gates had collapsed, and the once beautiful gardens were torn apart, now little more than mounds of earth and stone. The house itself had fared no better, with parts of the roof caved in and walls shattered.

Satoru’s face paled as he took it all in, his hand tightening around yours in a desperate attempt to remain calm. But you could see it in his eyes—the grief, the disbelief. This was his home. His family. And now, it is gone.

For a long moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on the destruction before him. His breathing was shallow, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. But then, with a sharp breath, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As you both began your journey toward the Gojo family estate, the weight of the day settled heavily on your shoulders. But Satoru’s hand never let go of yours, a silent promise that even in the face of unimaginable loss, you would survive this—together.

When you and Satoru finally reached the outskirts of his family estate, the sinking feeling in your chest returned with full force. What should have been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the horrors you had just fled, was nothing but devastation. The Gojo estate, once majestic and proud, had fallen to the same fate as your home.

The gates were twisted and mangled, barely hanging from their hinges, and the walls that had once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble. Smoke rose from what remained of the manor, a bitter scent of burning wood and stone hanging in the air. The destruction was so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very earth had swallowed everything whole. The silence was deafening.

Gojo Satoru froze at the sight, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurt. You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his usual brightness dulled to a vacant stare. His family, his home....everything he had known, everything he had grown up with. All was gone. Nothing was left but the earth where it all once stood.

You tried to say something, to offer words of comfort, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. More tears could only pour out of your eyes from then on. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he would feel your silent support. He didn't need to hear your words right now; he just needed to know you were there.

For a moment, he stood motionless, his blue eyes scanning the destruction as if trying to comprehend it, trying to find any sign of life among the wreckage. But there was nothing. Just like at your estate, the earthquake had consumed everything.

Finally, Satoru exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. But even in his grief, he didn’t break. He couldn’t—not with you depending on him. He glanced down at you, his eyes softening with a kind of sadness you had never seen in him before. 

Satoru stopped for a moment, turning to you with a look of determination in his eyes. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “We’ll get some place safe here, and I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. You hear me?”

You nodded, though the world felt unsteady beneath you. The future that once seemed so bright, the engagement that had filled your heart with hope, now felt overshadowed by the tragedy that had befallen your lives. Still, with Satoru’s hand wrapped securely around yours, you knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“We need to stay warm tonight.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark. We’ll make a fire here, and then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do.”

He led you to a relatively clear patch of ground, away from the worst of the rubble. The sky was darkening, and the air had grown cold, a biting wind cutting through your torn clothes. Satoru quickly set to work, gathering what dry wood he could find, his movements steady and focused despite the grief that must have been tearing him apart inside.

You watched him in silence, too exhausted to help, too numb from everything that had happened. When the fire finally sparked to life, its warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold that had settled deep into your bones. You sat beside him, huddled close to the flickering flames, the only source of light in the endless night.

Your Satoru didn’t speak for a long time. He simply stared into the fire, his expression distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t fathom. His hands, usually so relaxed and playful, were tense, gripping his knees as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But then he turned to you, his gaze softening when he saw the exhaustion written on your face. Without a word, he pulled his outer robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around you, tucking it gently against your chin. He tried to do it, smiling like nothing happened. As though to comfort you even in all this suffering. And yet, you could see it all in his eyes. He was exhausted, he was in pain. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Sleep, my beloved.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep watch.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he needed rest just as much as you did, but your body betrayed you. The exhaustion, the grief, the sheer weight of everything you had been through—it was too much. You nodded weakly, laying your head against his shoulder as you curled into the warmth of the robe.

Satoru shifted slightly, easing you into a more comfortable position so you could lie down near the fire. His hand rested on your arm, a protective gesture that reminded you of his earlier promise. Even as the world fell apart around you, Satoru Gojo was still there, watching over you.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if he were afraid to pull away, afraid that something might take you from him if he let go.

“I’ll keep you safe, my beloved.” he whispered against your hair, his voice trembling with the weight of his vow. “No matter what happens. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but his resolve was unshakable. He couldn’t save everything—his home, his family—but he would save you. That much, he was certain of.

As you slept, Gojo Satoru remained awake, his eyes scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of danger. The devastation around him was complete, but his focus never wavered from you. You were his world now, the one thing he had left in the midst of the ruin.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, but Satoru didn’t move from his spot by your side. Even as the grief gnawed at him, even as the weight of everything he had lost threatened to crush him, he stayed strong. For you. Because no matter what came next, no matter how uncertain the future had become, Gojo Satoru had made a promise—and he would keep it.

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THE YEAR 2018 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR FOR DISCOVERIES. You remember reading about it in the newspaper on your way to university—the discovery of two lovers found in an eternal embrace, huddled together in a shoreline cave, their bodies preserved for three hundred years by the elements that had claimed their lives. 

The volcanic eruption, the earthquake, and the tsunami that had ravaged Japan centuries ago were some of the worst disasters the country had ever known, obliterating entire villages and swallowing countless lives in an instant. And yet, even in the face of such unimaginable destruction, these two had remained together, their bond undisturbed by the passage of time.

Standing quietly in front of the memorial, you felt the weight of their story settle around you. The air was still and somber, carrying with it the distant hum of waves crashing along the shore. The stone monument before you was simple yet profound—a silent marker of the love these two souls had shared, a love that had endured in the most unimaginable of circumstances. Their bodies had been found in the ruins of a household long buried by the mud and debris, a household much like the ones surrounding this coastline, now reduced to scattered memories.

You had followed the story from the beginning—the day the archaeologists uncovered them from the earth, the painstaking care they took in revealing the remains. The headlines had drawn attention, not because of the tragedy alone, but because of the story those two bodies told.

There were no names. No clues as to who they had been, what their lives had looked like before the disaster struck, or even how they had ended up in each other’s arms when the end came. But it didn’t matter. Their identities weren’t needed to understand the significance of what had been found. What mattered was that they had faced their final moments without fear. They had faced the end together, with love.

It was that thought—the resilience of love in the face of overwhelming disaster—that had touched you most deeply. In a world where so much is fragile and fleeting, the strength of their connection had remained, even after centuries had passed. It was as if their love had transcended the destruction, as if they had chosen to defy the disaster by holding on to one another in their last breath.

You stepped forward, placing your hands together in silent prayer. You wished them peace, a kind of peace that transcended the tragedy of their death, that honored the love they had shared.

You prayed that their spirits had found rest, and that wherever they were now, they were still together, watching over the place where they had once stood. The offering you placed at the memorial was simple, a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, symbolizing purity and remembrance.

"I pray that you'll always be together, the two of you." you murmured, your voice soft, barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the trees around the monument. "Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace, and that your love is still as strong as it was in those last moments."

You stayed there for a while, the silence of the memorial surrounding you, offering its quiet comfort. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene, a contrast to the deep sense of loss the place carried. But you didn’t feel sadness. Instead, there was something almost beautiful about it—knowing that even in the face of disaster, these two had been together, and their love had transcended time. As you prepared to leave, footsteps approached from behind. You turned slightly, curious to see who else had come to visit this quiet, forgotten place.

A man with striking white hair and bright blue eyes under the rim of his glasses stood at the edge of the memorial, his head bowed in silent prayer. He was tall, his presence commanding even though he moved with a quiet grace. His features were sharp, but softened by a kind of deep, unspoken sorrow. He knelt down beside the monument, laying a single white flower on the stone, his fingers brushing the surface with reverence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though you couldn’t quite place it. The way he stood there—tall and composed, with an air of quiet reverence that just seemed to draw you in.

There was something almost ethereal about him, as if he was intrinsically linked to the story of the lovers you had come to honor. The connection felt deeper than mere coincidence, as though his presence was a significant part of the narrative that had touched you so profoundly.

His white hair glowed softly in the fading light, and his posture was relaxed yet dignified, embodying a calmness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil you had felt as you reflected on the lovers’ fate.

His eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene, as if he was offering a deeply personal tribute to the souls who had been found together in their final moments. The sense of connection was so strong that you could almost feel it emanating from him, a silent bridge spanning the centuries between his presence and the lovers' tragic end.

You hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of solitude. Yet, there was something compelling about the situation—an unspoken invitation to acknowledge the shared significance of this place and the story that bound them all together. Your curiosity and empathy drove you to speak, despite the quietude that hung between you.

“Excuse me.” you began softly, breaking the stillness of the memorial. Your voice was gentle, barely a whisper against the backdrop of the crashing waves. “I couldn’t help but notice… There's something about you that feels so familiar, so connected to this place. I… I’ve been deeply moved by the story of the lovers found here, and I can’t shake the feeling that you share a connection with them.”

The man turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful and measured. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this conversation, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“Oh.” Gojo Satoru whispered back, his cheeks tinged with a flush of surprise, as if your words had caught him off guard. He seemed momentarily at a loss, his usual confidence replaced with a bashful vulnerability. “Yeah, I… I saw the news, and I thought, I just had to come. It felt… it just felt right, you know? To come here and see them off, to wish them well.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a raw honesty that struck a chord. You could see that this wasn’t just a casual visit for him; it was something deeply personal, a moment of reflection and respect that went beyond mere curiosity.

“I see…” you mumbled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A smile slowly spread across your face, touched by his heartfelt gesture. “That’s kind of you to do.”

Gojo Satoru shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. “Ah, not… not really,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “If anything, I think you were more kind. You brought them white chrysanthemums and everything. You probably had more of a proper prayer for them than I did.”

You waved off his comment with a small laugh, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the memorial. “Oh, not at all. I think… I think your intention was purer than mine. You came here just on a feeling, an instinct that something was right about being here. I was… I was interested historically before I was here emotionally, you know?”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “I guess we both had our reasons,” he said softly. “But in the end, it’s the connection that matters. Whether we came here out of personal feelings or historical interest, it’s our respect and acknowledgement that count.”

You nodded, feeling a shared sense of purpose in your conversation. There was something profoundly meaningful about how your paths had crossed at this place, driven by a mutual respect for the story of the lovers and a desire to honor their memory. The distinction between your reasons for being here seemed to dissolve in the face of a greater truth—that both of you were here because of a deep-seated respect and a wish to pay tribute to the enduring power of love.

“So……” Gojo continued, a slight smile returning to his lips, ���I’m glad we met here. It feels like the right place for this kind of encounter, don’t you think?”

You agreed, feeling a warmth in his words. “Yes, it does. It’s like the universe brought us together in this moment to remind us of something important.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, something like that. It’s nice to know that even after so much time, and despite all the changes and challenges we face, there are still moments that can bring people together in such a profound way.”

You stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared understanding settling around you. The memorial continued to stand as homage to the lovers’ eternal bond, and in that quiet, sacred space, you felt a connection that transcended all the limits given by the bountiful universe.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.”

The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile. 

“They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

There was something in his tone, a weight to his words, that made you wonder if he was speaking from experience. You gave him a respectful nod, choosing not to pry into the emotions that seemed to flicker beneath his calm exterior.

The two of you stood there in silence for a while longer, both paying your respects to the nameless lovers who had defied death with their love. The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the memorial. Finally, the man rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes before turning to you.

“Take care, stranger.” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sorrow that had lingered moments before. Then, with one last look at the monument, he began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light like a beacon.

As you watched him go, something tugged at your heart. You didn’t know who he was, but in that moment, you felt as though you had shared something important with him—an unspoken understanding of love and loss, of holding on to someone even when the world falls apart around you. 

Somehow, there was something stirring within you—a feeling that you couldn’t let him just walk away, not without knowing more. There was something about him, an invisible thread connecting you, as if fate had brought you both to this quiet place for a reason.

"Wait! Hey, mister!" you called out softly, taking a few steps toward him. The man paused, turning back to face you, his expression curious but calm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, with a gentle smile, you extended your hand. "I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is……"

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether to reciprocate. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he took your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, and comforting in a way that felt strangely familiar.

"I'm Gojo Satoru." he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with something deeper, as if his name carried a history he didn’t fully reveal.

The name hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of recognition. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. You smiled politely, though something about the way he said it, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you, made you feel like there was more to his introduction than simple formality.

"It's nice to meet you, Satoru." you replied, feeling a strange sense of ease as you spoke his name. There was something about the way it rolled off your tongue, as if you'd said it a thousand times before.

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp, crystal-blue eyes studying you with an intensity that was both disarming and oddly reassuring. It was as if he could see beneath the surface, understanding more than what was immediately apparent. Yet, instead of feeling exposed, you felt a sense of comfort, a silent acknowledgment that he grasped the depths of your emotions and thoughts.

With a gentle, almost shy smile, Gojo Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you. “Put your number in,” he said, his voice tender and inviting. “I think… I think you know more about this story than I do. I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his smile compelled you to act. With a nod, you took his phone from him and began to enter your contact information, a small flutter of excitement rising in your chest. There was something intriguing about the prospect of continuing this conversation, of sharing more about the story that had brought you both here.

When you handed his phone back to him, a playful grin appeared on your face. “It’s your turn,” you said, taking out your own phone and extending it toward him.

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looked at your phone. “Well, alright.” he said, taking it with a mock sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

As he entered his number into your phone, the atmosphere between you shifted from one of solemn reflection to one of friendly connection. The small act of exchanging numbers felt like a bridge, linking your shared experience at the memorial with the potential for future conversations and deeper understanding. Maybe, just maybe — you’ll understand life the way these two in front of you did. Just maybe.

When he handed your phone back to you, he looked at you with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sharing this moment with me. It’s been… meaningful. I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that came from more than just the shared experience. “I’m glad too. It’s not every day you meet someone who understands the significance of something like this so deeply.”

Finally, Satoru spoke again, his tone lightening slightly. "Well, I should be going. The train is leaving soon. But... It was nice meeting you." He paused, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we’ll see each other again."

You smiled, feeling the same unspoken connection. "I’d like that."

With one last look at the memorial, Satoru turned and began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light of the day. You watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over you.

As you stood there, the weight of the lovers' story still fresh in your heart, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you would see Gojo Satoru. Something told you that your paths would cross again, in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the memorial, you whispered one final prayer—not just for the nameless lovers, but for yourself, and perhaps for Satoru too.

"May we all find each other, in every lifetime."

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter four of four!

wc. 3.2K

↳ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

The beach house had settled into a rhythm. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi had kept the energy alive with beach games, bad jokes, and playful arguments. Even you had begun to relax, finding moments of peace between the tension that still occasionally surfaced between you and Gojo. But for the most part, the trip was turning out to be just what you needed—a break from everything that had happened, a chance to breathe.

It wasn’t until the third day, when the sun was high in the sky and the others were down by the shore, that Gojo’s phone rang. He was lounging on the deck, sipping something cold, when the shrill sound of his ringtone broke the lazy quiet. He glanced at the screen, surprised to see Shoko’s name flash across it.

He raised an eyebrow but answered, casually leaning back in his chair. “Hey, Shoko. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Shoko’s voice came through sharp and annoyed, a tone Gojo didn’t often hear from her. “Are you out of your mind, Gojo?”

Gojo blinked, sitting up straighter at the edge in her voice. “What’s this about?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Shoko sighed, her frustration palpable even through the phone. “You know what this is about. You dragged them— her —to your beach house? For spring break?”

Gojo frowned, confused. “Yeah, we needed a break. So what?”

“So what? Gojo, are you seriously that oblivious?” Shoko snapped. “Or are you really trying to make her fall in love with you all over again?”

Gojo froze, the words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “What? No! That’s not—” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. Was that what he was doing? Was that why he’d invited everyone here? Why he’d made sure you came along?

Shoko’s silence on the other end was damning. She let out a frustrated huff before continuing. “Gojo, you might be the strongest sorcerer in the world, but when it comes to this, you’re clueless. Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re putting her in the same position she was in before the surgery.”

Gojo stood up, moving to the edge of the deck, his hand running through his hair. “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he insisted, though even as he said it, doubt began creeping in. “I just… I wanted to figure things out. With her. With all of this.”

“Figure things out?” Shoko’s voice was laced with disbelief. “You don’t get it, do you? She almost died because of how deeply she loved you. And now, after all that, you’re bringing her here, spending time with her like this… What do you think is going to happen, Gojo? She’ll just magically fall in love with you again? And this time it’ll be fine because you’re paying attention?”

Gojo clenched his jaw, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything—he hadn’t meant for this trip to turn into some kind of emotional trap. But now, hearing Shoko lay it out so plainly, he couldn’t ignore the truth.

Was that what he was doing? Trying to pull you back into his orbit, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’d fall for him again? He hadn’t even realized it, but now that Shoko had said it out loud, it was impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t…” He trailed off, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shoko said, her voice softer but still firm. “You’ve never been good at thinking about the emotional fallout, Gojo. And I get it—you’re used to being able to fix things with power or clever words. But this isn’t something you can just fix by inviting her to a beach house.”

Gojo leaned against the railing, staring out at the ocean, his mind racing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t realized how deeply he was still entangled in everything that had happened between the two of you. But now, with Shoko’s words ringing in his ears, he couldn’t deny the truth. Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, he had started wanting you to love him again.

He didn’t even know when it had started—maybe it was when he had seen you for the first time after the surgery, standing there with the weight of your love for him gone. Or maybe it was when you had told him, with fear in your voice, that you were afraid of falling for him again. Either way, it was there now, lingering in the back of his mind, in every look, every word.

Shoko’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Look, Gojo… I know you care about her. But you need to be careful. If you really want to help her, if you really care about her, you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about what’s best for her.”

Gojo let out a slow breath, his grip tightening on the railing. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt her, Shoko.”

“I know you weren’t,” Shoko replied, her tone softer now. “But just be honest with yourself, Gojo. Are you really ready to face what happens if she does love you again? Or are you going to make the same mistake and push her away when things get complicated?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away, his mind spinning with everything Shoko had said. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But now, standing here, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he had been hoping for something. Something he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself until now.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice quieter, more serious than before. “I don’t want to hurt her again.”

“Good,” Shoko replied, her voice gentle but firm. “Because if you do, Gojo… this time, it might be too late to fix.”

They said their goodbyes, but Gojo didn’t move from his spot on the deck. The weight of Shoko’s words hung heavy over him, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He wasn’t used to this—feeling unsure, feeling vulnerable. He wasn’t used to caring this much about someone. But when it came to you, everything felt different. Messy. Complicated. And now, standing here in the soft light of the evening, he couldn’t help but wonder: What was this? What was he doing?

And more importantly: What did he want?

Because whether he liked it or not, Shoko was right. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to make the same mistake all over again.

And this time, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

Gojo stood there, the ocean stretching endlessly before him, but his mind was elsewhere—caught in the tangled mess of emotions and half-formed thoughts that had been brewing since the moment Shoko’s words hit him. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to questioning himself, to feeling so unsure about what he wanted or what to do next. But now, he couldn’t avoid it.

What do you want, Gojo?

That question had been lingering in the back of his mind for days, ever since this whole beach trip started. He had thought, at first, that it was about giving you a break, giving all of you some time away to reset. But if he was being honest with himself—and maybe for the first time, he really was—this trip had never just been about a vacation. It had been an excuse. An excuse to be near you, to figure out what this thing between you two was. He had wanted to get closer, to understand why you still lingered in his mind, even after the surgery had erased the love you once felt for him.

But now, after Shoko’s call, after that blunt, almost painful clarity she had given him, he couldn’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t about curiosity. It wasn’t about guilt or responsibility, either.

He cared about you. Not just as a student, not just because of what had happened. It was something more. Something deeper that he hadn’t realized until now, until the idea of you falling for him again was no longer a distant possibility but something that could happen. Something that he wanted to happen.

Gojo exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched the waves roll in, his thoughts swirling like the tide. He had never been one to care about these kinds of things. Feelings, relationships, love—it had always seemed messy, complicated, something he wasn’t built for. He was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, someone who lived on the edge of power and responsibility, always just a step removed from everyone else.

But with you… it felt different. He wasn’t standing on the edge anymore, wasn’t watching from afar. He was right in the middle of it, tangled up in something that he couldn’t just ignore or brush off.

Shoko had been right. If you fell in love with him again—and he knew it was possible, even probable—it would be different this time. Because now, it wasn’t just about your feelings. It was about his.

He hadn’t noticed it before. He hadn’t wanted to. But now, with the question staring him in the face, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Gojo wanted you.

Not in the simple, surface-level way that he sometimes joked about with others. This wasn’t about charm or attraction, or the way he could so easily draw people in with his confidence and smile. This was deeper. He wanted you in his life, in a way that felt grounding, like maybe for the first time, he wasn’t floating above everything but was anchored to something real.

He wanted to be there, for you and with you—not just as your teacher or some distant figure in the background, but as someone who mattered. Someone who could be a part of your life, not just someone you admired from afar.

And if you fell in love with him again?

He wasn’t going to push you away this time. He wasn’t going to let fear or uncertainty stop him from trying. Because now, he understood that he had been waiting for something like this—for someone like you. Someone who made him feel… human, in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Gojo smiled softly to himself, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him. It wasn’t a grand revelation or some huge, life-altering moment. It was quiet. Simple. But it was real.

He wanted you. And for the first time in his life, Gojo wasn’t afraid of what that meant.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Yuji and Nobara had managed to drag Megumi back to the house, exhausted from the day’s activities, and the house was filled with the usual banter and noise that came from having them around. You had retreated to the kitchen, helping yourself to a glass of water, when you felt his presence behind you.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was light, but there was something different in his tone—something more grounded, more focused.

You turned to face him, surprised to find him standing closer than you expected, his usual easy grin absent, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes, usually hidden behind his blindfold, were uncovered, bright and intense as they met yours.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly feeling nervous, like there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Gojo leaned against the counter, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative. “About everything. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the word us, and you swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was going. “What about us?”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “I know things have been complicated,” he began slowly. “And I know I haven’t exactly been great at… dealing with all of this. But I want to be honest with you.”

You stared at him, your pulse quickening. “Honest about what?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he spoke. “About what I want. About what’s been going on in my head since all of this started. And the truth is… I want you around. Not just as one of my students, but… more than that.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. Your heart was racing, and you could barely breathe. “More than that?”

Gojo smiled, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. I’ve realized that… I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to pretend like none of this matters. It does. You matter. And I want to figure it out—whatever this is, whatever it could be—together.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. Gojo—Satoru Gojo—was standing in front of you, telling you that he wanted you, that he wanted to figure out whatever was between you. The fear that had been gnawing at you since the surgery, the uncertainty of what would happen if you let yourself care for him again, all of it seemed to melt away in the face of his quiet sincerity.

For the first time since everything had changed, you felt something new. Something fragile, but real.

Hope.

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “What if I fall for you again?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady.

Gojo stepped closer, his smile widening, his eyes soft but full of that familiar spark. “Then it’s all good.”

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid of what came next.

A few months had passed since that conversation at the beach house, and everything had settled into something new—something real. The fear, the uncertainty that had once weighed heavily between you and Gojo, had slowly faded, replaced by something more stable, more grounded. Life had moved forward, but now, it did so with a quiet ease that you hadn’t expected.

Your relationship with Gojo had evolved, and though it hadn’t been without its bumps and awkward moments, it had become something solid. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic, like you might have once imagined. There were no grand declarations of love, no sweeping romantic gestures. Instead, it was quiet and slow, built on the foundation of friendship, trust, and mutual understanding.

It felt like you had both found your footing, like you were learning how to be in each other’s lives without the fear of repeating the mistakes of the past.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the weather was warm, the sun shining down as you and Gojo walked through the school grounds. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi were off training somewhere, and the two of you had decided to take advantage of the quiet. Gojo had a bag of snacks slung over his shoulder, and you had your hands tucked into your pockets, enjoying the comfortable silence between you.

“What’s the plan for today, sensei?” you asked, giving him a teasing smile. It had become a running joke between you—calling him "sensei" even though the dynamic between you had changed so much over the past few months.

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy still very much intact. “Oh, you know, the usual. Thought we could go somewhere quiet and you watch me be awesome.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You mean watch you eat snacks and avoid responsibility?”

“Exactly,” Gojo said with a wink, falling into step beside you. “See, you’re catching on.”

The banter between you had always been there, but now it was different. There was a lightness to it that hadn’t existed before. You weren’t constantly second-guessing yourself, wondering if Gojo was thinking about the past or the surgery or the complicated feelings that had once consumed both of you. Now, things just… were.

You weren’t in a rush to define the relationship, to label it. The love you had once felt for him had changed—it wasn’t the same overwhelming, suffocating force that had bloomed inside of you like the flowers that had nearly killed you. Instead, it had grown into something healthier, something that didn’t demand all of you but existed alongside you.

And Gojo? He had changed, too. He wasn’t the same distant, untouchable figure he had once been. He still had that easy confidence, that charm that made everyone around him smile, but there was something softer about him now—something more vulnerable. He had let you in, and though it hadn’t been easy for him, he hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t run.

You found a quiet spot under a tree near the edge of the training grounds, and Gojo flopped down onto the grass, pulling a snack out of his bag with a dramatic flourish. You sat beside him, leaning back against the tree and closing your eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face.

“So,” Gojo said after a while, his tone more serious than usual. “How’s it going? You know… with everything.”

You opened your eyes, glancing over at him. It wasn’t like Gojo to ask questions like that—he wasn’t one for deep conversations unless they happened naturally, but when he did ask, you knew it mattered.

“It’s going,” you replied honestly, offering him a small smile. “Better than I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Better how?”

You sighed, resting your head back against the tree as you thought about your answer. “I’m not afraid anymore. Of being around you. Of falling for you again.” You turned your head to look at him, and his expression softened. “And I think… I already did.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. He didn’t tense up or act surprised. Instead, he smiled, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “I know.”

It wasn’t a grand moment, but it didn’t need to be. You had fallen for him again, slowly, gradually, and this time it felt right. It felt safe. It wasn’t the kind of love that demanded too much or threatened to swallow you whole. It was something that grew between you, steady and unforced.

And Gojo? He was right there with you.

You hadn’t talked much about what your relationship was in specific terms. You didn’t need to. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to figure it out together. There was no rush, no urgency. Just… time. Time to grow, to understand each other, to learn how to love in a way that wasn’t destructive.

Gojo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he gave you that easy, lopsided grin you had come to know so well. “I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he said softly. “No matter what happens. We’ll figure it out.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you. “I know.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves overhead and the distant laughter of the others in the background. It was peaceful, quiet, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe—like you had found something worth holding onto, not because you needed it to survive, but because it made life better.

And that was enough.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass, Gojo shifted beside you, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, we never did figure out what this is,” he said, gesturing between the two of you with a lazy wave of his hand. “Maybe we should give it a name.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Does it need a name?”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. “Nah. I guess not.”

And in that moment, you realized that it didn’t matter what you called it. What mattered was that you were here, together, and that the love between you—whatever form it took—was real.

And that was more than enough.

notes: now everyone says "thank you shoko ieiri"! writing this was so much fun, thank you so much!

tag list: @lily-of-my-dreams @sunnyx07 @3zae-zae3 @sashisuslover @kingshitonly @bvuckleybby @laviefantasie @r0ckst4rjk @minkyungseokie @tw0fvced @f1sheeee @laviefantasie @f1sheeee @spindyl @itsjustnikkixoxo @springsoltice

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[sleepynoons]

Locked Eyes

Jing Yuan finally returns from his Grand Tour, but by the bounds of society's customs and traditions, you cannot marry him. This is a romance story told through letters exchanged, secret rendezvouses, red silk embroideries.

jing yuan x afab!f!reader, regency!au, sfw

word count: ~15,300

cw: explicit language, slight suggestive content

notes: the regency era is too complex, and i got lazy with my research, so this is not accurate!!! best read on desktop because there are some long paragraphs... would also appreciate reblogs + comments!!!

infinite thanks to @staraxiaa, for always being a fantastic and incredibly insightful beta-reader, and for watching me lose my sanity over the past 1.5 weeks. and to io, wherever you may be, this is for you. you made this piece possible, and even if we do not talk anymore, i hope you are well and happy. every day, i am so grateful we met, and i hope you can enjoy even bits and pieces of this story.

YOU HAD met Jing Yuan in your early years, by chance, peering at each other through the relentless beating of the sun’s rays and the glittering of the sea’s many jeweled crests. At the time, the boy had, you thought, equally dazzling eyes, as golden as the chains that adorned your mother’s neck and wrists, the same in reflecting your curious, admiring gaze.

Now, the gold is shades darker, matured and cured, a reflection of his much more grown state. Even from across the room, past the rotating crowd of other noble families, where you peer at him over the top of your lace fan, you can deduce his transformation, his broader, fitted shoulders and chest, inappropriately loose, long hair, tall stature that dwarfs those lingering near him. Most importantly, though, you cannot help but smirk at the flicker of red when Jing Yuan adjusts the collar of his tailcoat. The flash of color is meant to be discrete, though to observant eyes, it might as well also serve as a challenge.

For now, this will do.

A call of your name from your older brother pulls you from your watchful perch. Beside him is another man, another introduction, another attempt at your mother’s instruction. Your foxy satisfaction melts into your typical countenance, and you curtsy as the two gentlemen approach you. You know this conversation will result in nothing, but you entertain your brother and the baron he has brought over anyway.

–

You have never been the daughter your mother wanted. Perhaps, when you were once little, you were on course to becoming favored, but you have grown, enough, at least, to develop a pointed sense of your own being. Your brother says you think too much, that you are unable to see the bigger picture, and perhaps that is why your mother does not take too kindly towards you. After all, why would anyone favor another that watches, observes, judges their every move?

Even now, as she sits across from you, informing you of the baron and his lineage weeks after your introduction to the man, your mother is aware that while her directions may escape your memory, her movements do not. The shuddering of her fingers, an instinct that comes with age; the adjusting and readjusting of the pleats of her nightgown, a glean into her deep-set fear of abandonment; the twitching arch of her brow, the permanence of her distaste and disappointment in you.

“Mother,” you interrupt, “I suppose you are willing to sacrifice the nobility of our family name in order to satiate your sole desire to marry me off?”

She harrumphs. “Incorrigible.” The word is equivalent to being spat on. You give her some reprieve by pulling out your handkerchief and dab at your forehead, as if she really did. “You dare to claim you exhibit even an ounce of the dignity and lavishness you have been raised in?”

“Not at all.” You cease your acting, slipping the cloth away, and stare straight into your mother’s eyes. The briefest thought, that it is your fearlessness, a lack of tact, that your mother wholly detests you for, flickers in your mind before you extinguish it effectively. No matter. You say, “But we must not forget I still bear your husband’s last name. Regardless of your personal feud,” and you raise your chin towards her, “your husband would never allow even the likes of a woman such as myself to tarnish the family’s honor.”

You can see the tightening, working, grinding of her jaw. She grits, “You must have someone in mind, do you not?” She throws down her fan, the lacquered wood snapping in half when it collides with the ground, and rises on her haunches, towering over your seated figure. “You whore. Who is this man that you are seeing? Do you not understand what a scandal –“

You tilt your head, less than impressed. “There is no other man. That is your job, to find your only female kin a suitable proprietor. I would never do something on your behalf.”

Your response simultaneously placates yet enrages her further. “See yourself out now. And do not appear in my sights again tonight.”

“Of course, Mother.” You finish the last sip of your tea before standing to curtsy and exit the drawing room.

You pad through the darkening halls of your father’s manor with purpose. Instead of returning to your bedroom, you make your way to the third of four floors, veer towards the right end of the hallway, and knock on the last door.

The door cracks open before you can identify yourself.

“I am no postman, My Lady.”

“Oh, Fu Xuan!” You giggle and clasp her hands in yours, holding her fingers up to your cheek. “You are absolutely wonderful to me.”

“I would prefer if you kept your correspondences to a minimum. The servants are already gossiping about the frequency in which letters are delivered to me, and in due time, your mother will begin to pry into this matter.”

“Please, it is only every fortnight!”

Fu Xuan huffs, retracts her hands, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You would not believe how bored your servants are.”

“Well, then, I do apologize. Perhaps I should have a more extravagant fight with my mother next time? At least she might knock over a teapot or something. That should occupy the maids for a day or so.”

“My Lady, if I may presume, it seems you will no longer have to meet that baron?”

You flash a wide grin at your governess. Born in an unconventional household, Fu Xuan is educated, beginning her academics at the age of no less than three, and prepared her whole life to work as a teacher. At first, your mother was against employing Fu Xuan because you were already struggling to conform to the set of traditions and expectations she had placed upon you then, but after meeting the young academic for a brief hour one morning, Fu Xuan and her adept way with words convinced your mother otherwise.

To you, Fu Xuan is more than your governess. She is also your closest confidant, similar enough in age to understand your perspectives yet more than practiced to offer wisdom when required. Though she was shaking her head as you proposed your strategy, Fu Xuan nonetheless agreed to help send and receive letters on your behalf to avoid the hawkish gazes incessantly monitoring you, to deprive them of another chance to pierce and tear at your person.

You walk over to her desk, cleared of everything except for a paper envelope and a small butter knife. You pick the former up, running a pointer finger across the wax seal, and release a soft, muted sigh. “You have always been so keen, Fu Xuan. How could you tell?”

“My Lady, your strengths have never lied in deception.”

“Oh, please!” You feign offense, dramatically setting the back of your hand to your forehead with faux urgency. “I am always excited to see you!”

“Please read the letter, so I may rest.”

Fu Xuan pulls out her desk chair for you to sit in, and you take the small butter knife in your unoccupied hand. Carefully, you prod the tip underneath the seal, gently pushing and easing its grip, until the wax plucks off neatly.

The envelope is thin this time, slimmer than many of the previous letters you have received, and you feel a pang of disappointment, resounding and clear in the hollows of your chest. You pull out a single sheet of paper and unfold it carefully, as if it might tear and dissipate into dust if you so much as brushed a finger a degree too harshly against the fiber.

Dear Lady,

I would like to foremost extend my condolences regarding your father’s condition. Word has reached the far edges of my relatives’ stays in Bath, and when I had visited a week ago, my family had discussed the news over lunch. I should have returned for a brief stay by the time this letter arrives in your hands, and do give Lady Fu Xuan my utmost thanks. I believe I shall see you at the dinner party that is occurring in just a few days time, and, if the chance arises, I will see to it that I am introduced to your brother.

Regarding your question in our previous exchange, my thoughts on the matter vary. Perhaps we may reach an impasse on the issue, but it is an overwhelming hurdle to pass such aggressive tax revisions without unanimous agreeance from many of the other men on the Royal Council; this is hardly achievable in the current instance, and I would advise My Lady and myself to not fancy ourselves with ill-conceived hopes. However, I do concede that your suggestions come from willful intent and are what is best for the common people, and therefore, I will do my part and pass on word to my father and his heir. I sincerely apologize that that is the extent of my powers. I am also aware that this writing may be shorter than before, and I hope My Lady is not discouraged, though, it may be presumptuous of me to assume My Lady would ever have such moments of wavering.

Once my tour has been completed, I can assure that there will be plentiful recounts of my journeys and more debates to be had about the state of affairs I come across. I bring your embroidery with me at all times.

– Your most faithful friend  

Jing Yuan, ever thoughtful, always considerate, never one to miss a single detail. Jing Yuan has always been thorough, that has been clear ever since you witnessed those dense, molten golds, and you are glad that he actively reciprocates your efforts in conversation, despite how inexperienced and eloquent you may be in comparison. On cue, Fu Xuan pulls out a drawer to grab a quill, a sheet of paper, and a well of ink, setting them beside your dominant hand. A maid will come to check on you very soon, judging by the rising of the moon, so you must write with precise decisiveness.

Sir,

Many thanks for your condolences to the Marquess. He is recovering and should be able to return to his post in a few morns. I did, indeed, witness you at the dinner party, and I am a little dimmed at the lack of correspondence between you and my brother. Instead, I was subjected to quite a drawling meeting with this baron from somewhere in the South, and the Marchioness has been encouraging his affections for me since. I managed to escape the impending engagement, after inciting a fit from her, but good Sir, while I do not mean to expedite our efforts unnecessarily, I would prefer if we could bring our exchanges elsewhere soon. Paper simply does not compare to the excitement and passion one feels in speech and gesture. Miss Fu Xuan is also beginning to fall under scrutiny, and I would never put her in harm’s way.

As for my simple questions regarding the rumored tax revisions, I thank you, truly, and can only implore My Lord to use the full extent of your ability, despite slim chances at approval. I hope your travels are safe and felicitous, and do write to me next month. I will be awaiting your full return.

– Your most affectionate friend

There is very little time for you to look over your reply. Quickly scanning, you pause only for any glaring errors, and at the lack thereof, you set your quill down and fold the letter in half.

“I must go now,” you tell Fu Xuan as you stand.

“I shall see you tomorrow, My Lady.” The two of you share a soft embrace, cheek to cheek, before you creak the bedroom door open and traverse with light steps to your own chamber. You make it in time, already shuffling into bed when one of the servants arrives to snuff out the candles lighting your room.

–

You remember the soft pulses of warm wind against your arms, the crisp, slightly briny scent of the sea and sand the breeze wafted to your nose. There were many families, children and women and men alike paddling in the sea, while others lied underneath umbrellas on the shore. If there is anything you and your mother have ever agreed on, it is that the beach is truly a healing, almost spiritual location.

Although your mother forbade you from wading into the waters, in fear of the sun burning your visage and hands, you did not mind staying behind on the sands in the first place. The feel of the dirt and grains and cracks of shells felt foreign against your palms, your nerves much more accustomed to the smooth, flat texture of grass blades and rough cobblestone. The beach sands were harsh, sometimes sharp, sometimes rounded from years of natural erosion and other children’s curious touches. You also took delight in the colors of the shore, glittering hot white and beige and speckled pink, winking at you as you scoured for conches and clams. The large sunhat you were wearing kept perturbing your digging, constantly sliding down your forehead and obscuring your vision, yet every time, you would pull it back into place and continue shoveling with curled fingers, until the sand transitioned into wet, moist sediment.

Your mother could not prohibit your burrowing for she was under another umbrella with her acquaintances, and you took much delight in being able to cause some mischief right in front of her without repercussion. But more than petty vengeance, you wanted to find a memento to bring home. Though young, you were already aware of some rift between you and your parents, and you were not guaranteed attendance on such trips in the future. The only way you could comfort yourself was by digging for that perfect shell, with its spirals and grooves and gradient of pearlescent white and baby pink, the ones described in the simple novels Fu Xuan lent you.

But the area around your feet offered little reward, and you were dissatisfied by the chips and scraps remaining in your palm as you sieved through the sand with your fingers. You gave up a little saddened and frustrated, as children do before they lose interest. Then, suddenly, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder, and you peered over to see an outstretched hand with a piece of something bright and orange. You glanced up, and that was when you first laid eyes on Jing Yuan.

“What is this?” you asked, voice muted and withdrawn in the face of a stranger.

“A piece of coral,” he answered. His voice was light and energetic, warm and welcoming, what you imagined playing and frolicking in the sea might feel like.

“What is coral?” He grinned wide, and you decided then that you liked this boy with wild white hair and generous hands. He did not shun you for speaking in questions, did not criticize your lack of knowledge, did not comment “little girl” under his breath.

“My mother says it is a type of rock, found on the ocean’s floors.”

“How did you get it?”

His grin softened into a gentler simper. “She gave it to me. She has these beautiful coral necklaces, and one broke two nights ago. She and her maids could not string it back together, so she gifted me the beads.”

The way he spoke so adoringly, lovingly, about his mother was foreign to you. But even then, you knew how important this woman was to him, and you could not understand why he would give you a present that was meant for him.

“Should you not keep this bead for yourself?”

He shook his head adamantly. “I can share.”

“But this is not something to be shared, yes?”

He paused for a moment, considering his response. He cocked his head to the side, rubbed at his temple with a knuckle, carefully stringing and knitting together the words he wanted to say.

“I want to,” he decided, with a tone of finality. “That way, I will not be the only one to remember my mother.”

You would later find out that Jing Yuan is the illegitimate child of one of the honorable dukedoms. Your brother had informed you but elaborated no further. It was then that you learned that it is customary for those of different castes to separate themselves from each other.

–

Jing Yuan listens to you well. You receive his next letter exactly a month later, timed intentionally no doubt, during a luncheon with Fu Xuan. Your father was still recovering in his chamber, and your mother was away for the weekend to spend some time with her younger sister. It has been a while since the last time you could so openly indulge yourself.

Dear Lady,

I believe I must offer my condolences to both Lady Fu Xuan and My Lady herself; I hope this report is delivered not even an hour too soon. Alas, I am also deeply perturbed at the notion of you being engaged to a baron, of all potential suitors. Though I will not fault the Marchioness, for you are of age and she must feel the pressures from the Marquess and other prying persons, it truly is deeply troubling that she has had to resort to such dire methods. Rest assured, however, that I will do my best to build an alliance with your brother.

I am to complete my tour before the New Year, in time for the coming Season, leaving us ample time. I only pray that the Marchioness does not rush My Lady into another introduction in the meanwhile.

“My Lady,” Fu Xuan interrupts, “your countenance is slipping.”

Without removing your gaze from the letter, eager to continue reading, you simply reply, “He will be back in less than two months.”

I am eager to see the familiar fields of the Duke’s estate when I return, but more than that, and I hope My Lady does not take my affections so lightly, I am delighted to reunite with you. As of this writing, I have only just arrived in Rome, with its famed colonnades, brilliant masonry, and fine arts. If my travels allow, I shall ensure that I bring some trinkets back with me to present to you. I will say no more regarding my tour, as My Lady and I will have more than sufficient time and space to discuss all that I have seen and experienced in the past three years.

However, this is where I have to mark the end of good news. My communications with my father have been unsuccessful, and the revisions we have agreed upon will not even reach the table of the Royal Council. The Duke has made it clear in his returned correspondence that he will speak no further on the issue, and therefore, that is the limitation of my influence. While this outcome may be discouraging, I hope My Lady’s interest in the politics and machinations of our nobility will not wane, and I will continue to improve upon myself to aid in seeing your efforts to fruition.

Before I forget, I must say that I had arrived late to that evening party and could not identify you or your brother at the hall. Next time, I will be more vigilant. Do tell how My Lady is faring, and perhaps we are only a letter or two away from being able to speak to each other in person.

– Your most faithful friend

You do not even bother to respond to Fu Xuan’s calls for you to finish your meal. Rushing out of your seat, you head straight to your brother’s study to write your letter in answer. Fishing through the drawers, you manage to find a dwindling well of ink along with an old, ragged quill, but they shall suffice.

Sir,

How excitable that My Lord is to return so soon, but surely, you jest. Upon the conclusion of your tour, you will have met many characters of people, and therefore, will not feel a need to see such a lively creature as myself. If I had the privilege of my own tour, I know I would lock myself in my room upon its finishing for three days or longer, with no disturbance, not even from Lady Fu Xuan, to record and digest all that I have experienced. There are also the remnants of your mother’s garden; though they may be bare in the midst of the winter snow, I am sure the winding branches and thick brushes are welcoming, familiar sights.

That said, I will hold My Lord to his word and shall comment no more on the matter of our formal introductions. I will continue to educate myself, to silence any hesitation or doubt you may have of my fancies towards academics. It pleases me to know that My Lord has such adoring concerns for me, as I to you.

– Your most affectionate friend

Just as you seal your envelope, waiting for the wax of your family seal to harden, a knock comes from the door.

“This is your own room. You ought to walk in and out as you please.”

Your brother laughs, always amused at your quick wit, and pads over to the front of the desk.

“You behave as if this room belongs to you. It looks like someone has ransacked my drawers for ransom and treasure.”

You roll your eyes. “There are none of such wares here. Your most pitiful sister could only employ an abandoned quill and a leaking pot of ink.”

“But you finished writing, nevertheless. To whom may I inquire?” He attempts to peer at the back of the envelope, hoping to catch a glimpse of a name or an address, but you slide it off the table before he can see.

“A friend.”

You know this answer will not satiate your brother’s endless curiosity, one of your many similarities. “Do I know of this friend?”

“You will,” and you wave at him to dismiss his other queries.

Unwavering, he says, “I see my ‘most pitiful’ sister has tricks up her sleeve. I am eager to see what surprises you have in store for me.” You nod cheerfully in agreement.

Aside from Jing Yuan, your brother is the only other male figure in your life that encourages your willingness to explore and learn. In the first place, he distastes the act of patronizing or critiquing you, and only provides guidance when even Fu Xuan cannot convince you of your wrongs. So when he brings up the debates and discussions that have occurred at the Royal Council, you are ever grateful for his generosity.

“I am sure you have heard recent word of the revolts happening in the slums. Such news has reached the ears of those in the Royal Council, and the Dukedoms have unanimously agreed to patiently wait for silence to befall the common folk.” He glances at you to see if you have anything to say. You blink, urging him to continue. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly, leans forward, bending at his waist so you two are now nose to nose. In a hushed voice, he says, “In fact, in the upcoming Season, they plan to raise the taxes again.”

You huff, frustrated. You mutter, “Relentless, they are.”

Your brother echoes your sentiments, wearing a solemn expression as well, and mumbles, “Indeed. How cruel, too, to decide the fates of so many right before the New Year.”

“I am confident Father agrees?”

“Regardless if he does or not, a Marquess cannot possibly rebuke the demands of a Duke.”

Both of you can only sigh. Without lingering for too long, though, you rise, preparing to send off your waiting response.

“Be well,” your brother says as he accompanies you to the study door, “for I have heard this winter will be sinister.”

Rather than feel a chill in your bones, though, your blood rushes with renewed warmth and vigor. An initiative, a motivation to take action, something you have never experienced before, appears in your mind, burning into your thoughts so you will never forget. This is a chance, you think. An opportunity I will never be bestowed again.

–

In and out, through and through, back and forth. You wet the tip of the thread with a flick of your tongue and string it through the silver of the needle. In and out, through and through, back and forth. You tie a small knot at the end of the thread. In and out, through and through, back and forth. 

Stitching did not come naturally to you. If one studied the pads of your fingers at length, one could discern the faint scars of scratches and pierces of the tender skin, remnants of your debacle with the needle before you learned to seamlessly wield it. Now, after many years of practice, you have come to enjoy the meticulous process of creation, watching as each push, pull, and tighten amounts to a stroke of an image.

At first, it began with tambouring, straightforward enough for a young girl to grow accustomed to the pricking and stringing motions of a needle, decorating spare handkerchiefs and old dresses that you could no longer fit in. Then, when you received some canvas and a circular wooden frame from Fu Xuan for your birthday, you transitioned to the needle and began to acquire knowledge of the many different types of stitches and patterns. From there, your practices extended beyond the frayed edges of cut cloth. From lace trimmings of your skirt to the cuffs of your brother’s shirts and coats to the reticules your mother had long abandoned and forgotten about, your work started to resemble that of the many renowned seamstresses in town. Of course, many did, still do not, look favorably upon this talent of yours. Embroidery is considered a lower form of art, incomparable to the ways of music or sketch or paint. But, still, you seek comfort, when your mind is much too tense and worn, in the rhythm and coming together of fabric and lines.

“What is it?” Disinterested, convinced that whatever you have conjured up is of no importance, will always never be important, your mother looks outside of the window panes, more content to watch flakes of white drift from the graying sky.

You are not swayed. You clear your throat and say, “We are mother and daughter. Occasionally, the blood that binds us does show in our behaviors.”

Your mother sighs. “Out with it, foolish girl.” She casts a glare at you before her eyes flick back to the scenery outside. “I require total peace, so hurry with your speech.”

“I simply want to request a tea party with a few of the other ladies.”

Eyebrows furrowed, your mother peers at you as if you have sprouted the Devil’s horns atop your head. Incredulous, she asks, “Why such a change in heart and mind?”

“Well, to ease some of your concerns, I think it is best that I learn from those you deem proper enough. Further,” and you stare at her intently now, “your dearest son has informed me that this winter will be particularly harsh. How can we entertain our guests when we are all inside for so long?”

“Is the usual routine of games and food and good laughter not sufficient?” Your mother is fully facing you now. Inwardly, you chuckle with much delight.

You speak slowly, stretching out the silence between each phrase to heighten pressure and suspense. “Fair,” you muse, “but all of our fathers are getting older, too. See your husband, Mother, his state is faring worse and worse. Perhaps... us ladies can spend the time more wisely.”

“I see.”

All you can do is wait as your mother mulls over the idea, letting your suggestion sink, ruminate, digest. You cannot push anymore, so you bid a good night and return to your room. Even without the tea party, even if you have to bear the burden yourself, your work awaits you.

The next morning, you are surprised to find one of your mother’s maids carrying several letters outside.

“What are these messages for?” you ask.

The maid does a brief curtsy before answering, “The Marchioness is sending out invitations for a tea party, My Lady. It is set to happen immediately, a week from today.”

The outcome is even better than you had anticipated.

You rush to the morning room, where your mother is eating bread and chocolate. 

“Mother, thank you,” you say, a hand over your heart as you bow.

She huffs and finishes chewing her bite. Dusting her fingers, she replies with arrogance, knowing you owe her a favor, “I have also gone ahead and asked for layers upon layers of cotton, linen, and wool to be delivered to the estate. Let this be a reminder that you owe everything to your noble upbringing.”

You are much too giddy to smartly reproach her.

–

The tea party is loud and boisterous, filling the usual silence of your family’s manor with tall tales, news on the men’s recent fox hunts, and scandalous romantic couplings. You hear that a baron was caught with his mistress of several months. A Duke’s son fell off his horse because he was severely inebriated, but thankfully only broke his dominant arm and nowhere else. An older earl and countess were blessed with another daughter. 

You sit in a rocking chair and let the conversation float freely in your mind. For once, your mother has truly outclassed your expectations, presenting you with an occasion, an opportunity, so bountiful that you are almost compelled to forgive her historical grievances towards you. You sew together sheets of linen, piling in wool and cotton, before closing the seams. The other ladies also work with unparalleled diligence at having been given a purpose.

“What a wonderful idea!” one praised with joy. Another said you were “incredibly thoughtful.” You smirk within your thoughts, concealed by a pleasant countenance on the outside. Even the accompanying men nodded approvingly at your intentions.

At the beginning of the party, you announced to the many guests, “Please, do enjoy your time here at the manor. I am incredibly gracious towards you all for making the cold journey to this distant estate. However, I urge all of the ladies present to work as quickly yet dutifully as your hands can, for we need to make as many coats as possible. There is no such thing as too much warmth in this never ending cold.” Everyone agreed with solemn expressions before breaking for Chinese green tea, gingerbread, and walnut cake, filling the air with festive cheer.

You pause for a brief break. As you curl and uncurl your fingers, stretching out the strained joints, you glance over at a couch. In a day’s work, the couch is covered in layers upon layers of coats and thicker shirts. Some are small, others are longer, few haphazardly put together, but all will still do. Then, you look around the room, passing your eyes over the faces of all of the guests. The women, more than there usually are at such parties, sit in armchairs around the room. The men stand in between, wherever there is space, holding onto glass cups of wine and emptied coffee cans. Though you have never felt like you belonged in such groups and communities, you cannot help but find today’s gathering rather agreeable and successful. Is this what it feels like to start something and see it through to the end?

Well, not that you are at the end. You count in your head and conclude that there is still a month before Jing Yuan returns. When he does, then you will be able to see your work to completion.

At the thought of him, though, you feel a faint flicker of concern. It has been a month since your last letter, and you have yet to receive one in return. You try to comfort yourself with reminders that Jing Yuan is busy and there is always the possibility of mail getting lost or delayed in transaction. But, in that case, you must try again.

Later that evening, when all of the guests have dismissed themselves and the drawing room brims with clothes, you slip to Fu Xuan’s room and draft a quick message by melting candlelight.

Sir,

My sincere apologies for disturbing your journey. As I have not received a reply since my last letter, I wanted to send another one to let you know that I am, at least, faring well. Winter is rapidly approaching, and I hope My Lord is not experiencing any disorder or illness yourself, that is, if Rome is experiencing such volatile weather as well, I would not know. If possible, since you insist, shall we wait in your mother’s garden when you return, as we did years ago?

I patiently await My Lord’s presence.

– Your most affectionate friend

–

A knock on your window wakes you from your restless sleep. Already half-awake from tossing and turning, you hear the curt raps against the glass pane and slowly blink awake. The person is patient and remains silent, as if knowing you would require a few minutes to get dressed and prepared. 

You pull on another two layers of gowns and a thick shawl. You also grab one of the coats you sewed. Finally, you grab two pairs of gloves, one much larger than the other, and pad over to open the curtains covering your windows.

The sky is overcast, large clumps of clouds blocking the moon and stars from your vision, but occasionally, faint streaks of light pour through the cracks of the grim overhang. And right as you see him, a single ray casts its brightness over the man waiting outside, as if to anoint him prince or king or some holy spirit. His hair gleams the purest silver, and he adorns a coat, one that is seemingly a little too small for him, with floral patterns adorning the length of its sleeves. He flashes a close-eyed smile, and you cannot help but also beam at him.

Firmly, you hold the top sash of the window while pushing the bottom panel up. As soon as the bottom panel is lifted even slightly, a gust of biting air enters your rooms and flurries around your figure. You shiver at the chill but continue to lift until the window is fully open and slip through.

Holding onto your arm with one hand and your waist with the other, he helps you out of your room and onto the tiny balcony with him. When you stand, you two are pressed chest to chest, but by now, the streak of moonlight has disappeared and you can only make out faint traces of him.

“Good day, My Lady,” the man whispers.

You take a deep breath, basking in the sturdiness of his frame against yours and the ticklish sensation against your ear from his breath. “Should it not be ‘good evening,’ My Lord?”

“The day is anew, so I shall be the first one to greet you in this early morn.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness, his features come into clearer view. The strands of each hair, the creases of his lapels, those molten golds. You cannot stare for too long, lest you blaze and melt as well.

“I will go down first,” he says, “and be there to catch you when you jump down.”

“Yes, yes,” you agree, though, not without a tinge of sarcasm. “As we have done before.”

He nods, maintaining his grip on your waist for another moment, before he releases you, leaps into a nearby tree, and swiftly climbs down to the ground. You, on the other hand, pull yourself up to sit on the balcony railing, and when he motions with waves of his hands, you take a deep breath, feel the pounding of your heartbeat against your ribcage, and propel yourself off with a push of your legs, holding onto your belongings. He catches you, arms knowingly finding their way around your waist and under your knees, as if he did not simply perform a feat of great strength and balance.

“Jing Yuan,” you gasp.

“Oh, now we are using names?” he jests. You are still too excited to reprimand him, and he laughs at your awestruck state before saying your name. He carries you over to where his horse stays, neighing and nosing at the ground, and helps you get on. By now, you have recollected your breath and can say much more.

“Jing Yuan,” you call out. “Your coat is much too small for you. Wear this one instead.” You toss the one you have been clutching onto this entire time, along with the larger pair of gloves, into his arms. “It may not be as comfortable, but it should keep you warm.”

“It seems My Lady has become quite cold-hearted in the years we have spent apart.”

“No, I know why My Lord chooses to wear what he has adorned. But I cannot have you falling ill on me. I need you.” The sound of your last three words seem to soften something in Jing Yuan because when he looks up at you, his gaze is full of longing and yearning.

“Then, we must leave here immediately,” he replies as he mounts onto the horse, sitting in front of you. “Hold on tight.”

And with a tug of the reigns, the two of you are racing through the fields and roads that surround your family’s estate. You bury your face into Jing Yuan’s back, feel the scratch of the linen against your cheeks, and submit to the roaring of the wind in your ears.

Three long years since you have been on the back of this very horse, holding onto Jing Yuan as so. Mimi, a most peculiar name that Jing Yuan imagined, was only a young mare at the time, but she could at least withstand the weight of your younger selves, quite strong for both her sex and age. In the past, the two of you often made such arrangements, every fortnight or so, him greeting you at the window as he did this evening, you leaping into his arms, the two of you escaping to the safety and privacy of his mother’s garden.

You do not know how long it takes to reach his estate from yours, but Mimi must have gotten faster because you arrive before you can fully adjust to the jostling of horseback. With a tip of his chin, the gatekeeper of Jing Yuan’s manor obeys and cracks the gate only enough to let your party slip through. Mimi’s hooves clop against the gravel of the driveway as Jing Yuan slows her down to a slight gallop and guides her towards the left side of the estate, where one can enter his mother’s garden after jumping past a few evergreen hedges.

He gets off first before helping you down. From above, you can see the tips of his reddened ears and scoff, frustrated.

“What is the matter, My Lady?” he inquires, attentive to even the smallest shifts in your disposition.

“I must apologize, My Lord. I should have brought a tippet.”

“Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters. Yanqing has already prepared warm clothes and food for us.” He sets you down and guides you to an open space nearby that is hidden behind granite pillars and dry rose vines, where, on top of a picnic sheet on the floor, lay two oil lamps that illuminate a spread of covered tableware and articles of muffs, coats, and blankets. If you recall correctly, this area used to host a small table and two chairs, allowing Jing Yuan and his mother to nibble on biscuits and talk about the day’s events during spring dawns and summer dusks.

“Yanqing must have grown considerably,” you say as you take a seat. Jing Yuan nods, sitting right beside you, and drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

“Much has changed,” he muses. “He is at my shoulders now. He has taken great care of Mimi.”

“You did not bring her along with you?”

Jing Yuan tilts his head, as he always does when he is about to tell an interesting story. “I had to travel by boat several times throughout my tour. There was no way to bring Mimi, for she is terrified of the ocean.” You perk up at and listen intently, eager to drink in all of the details of his travels.

Jing Yuan speaks of meeting the British envoys and French royals. He recounts the myths behind the statue of the Tiber. He speaks of the many hurdles he experienced as he made his way from one country to the next, once needing to barter with a driver over ten cents for an additional mile, another time having to locate a luggage that slipped into a raging river. He describes the cuisines he ate in masterful language, the fragrant breads, seasoned fish, decadent pastries, hearty stews. He lists cultural differences, how the Austrians bond over musical theatre and opera, the way Italians pore over their massive collections of literature, the Portuguese’s peaceful lives separate from war and political strife.

“I wonder how Portugal does it,” you mumble.

Jing Yuan leans down to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “My Lady,” he mutters, “there is no such thing as a complete utopia in this world.”

“But did you not just prescribe their land as such?”

He hums, tracing his finger from behind the shell of your ear, down to your pulse point at your neck, back up to the under of your jaw. “A Grand Tour is still only a tour. One does not visit the slums or the rural villages or the dirty outskirts of cities, if it can be avoided. We will never fully see or understand how the common people live. How they survive.”

You can feel the intensity of his stare. He is testing you, urging you to look back, to taste the raging of flames and anger and frustration in his golden eyes. But you cannot, or rather, you should not. It would be too presumptuous of you to act like you still know how he thinks, understands, perceives the world.

“You are right, My Lord,” you manage to croak, throat somehow parched, despite the cup of warm milk you only just finished. “We will never truly know.”

You want to say more, but you do not know if you should. Instead, you shut your mouth and lean against Jing Yuan’s shoulder.

Unexpectedly, he shrugs you off. He even pulls away from you. Then, he taps at the middle of your spine, causing you to sit still and upright.

“Speak,” he instructs, voice low yet stable, as if he is waiting with bated breath, patience wearing thin. “I know you have your own thoughts, so speak your truth.”

“My Lord, I…” You falter. It has been a while since you have been allowed to speak so openly about such serious matters, and you are no longer accustomed to late hours past your curfew, neither of which aid you as you attempt to string together some semblance of eloquence. “In reality, I… I will never have the chance to know. To know how it feels like to go without food or shelter. Or to withstand this severe weather in the barest of threads. Or any degree of suffering and hardship, truly. But…” You take one hand out of the muff and place it on top of his gloved ones, running the pads of your fingers over the glazed leather. “But I cannot sit idly by and do nothing, no?”

Jing Yuan interlaces his fingers with yours and asks, “What can you do?” It is not an admonishment or an ironic jab, but instead, a genuine question with hopeful intentions.

“Jing Yuan.” The punctuated way you utter his name alerts him, and he tightens his grasp on you to let you know he is listening. “Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps, I have found a way. Your coat.” You nudge your chin towards his chest, and he finally examines the thick wool keeping him warm.

“Did you make this?”

You nod. “And many other ladies. I hosted a tea party a few weeks ago where we gathered together to make many. Though they may not be lined or hemmed properly, they should last a few winters.”

Jing Yuan shuffles to look around at the coat that he is wearing. You watch as his eyes dart from the collar to the sleeves to the buttons. As if coming to some sort of internal agreement, he nods and releases an interested hum.

“I wonder how you convinced such noble families to partake in charity?”

You chuckle, shaking your head before resting it on his shoulder. This time, he does not shake you off. “They do not know that it is for charity. I simply requested that we do it under the guise of my father’s illness, and bless their hearts, they agreed to assist in making as many winter pieces for the noblemen as they could. My Lord, women can be quite determined if given a meaningful task.”

Jing Yuan laughs at your last comment. “That I know well, for My Lady is a prime example of such fortitude. But will they not realize some of the clothes will be missing?”

“Oh, of course, I addressed that as well. I told them I would be sending the pieces we made to the seamstresses to get it properly fitted, which would require some time and patience. My Lord, you ought to know that, while many noble ladies know how to embroider, that is the extent of their talents. None of them even know how to put together a dress for themselves! At the very least, they can do rudimentary work in sewing together large pieces of fabric and stuffing cotton. Regardless, in the meantime, I will continue to sew as many as I can to substitute for the missing amount, and I will be sure to distribute the coats to their intended owners before the New Year. Speaking of which…”

You nudge at his chest with the point of your elbow. It takes Jing Yuan a second to react, the exhaustion beginning to penetrate and muddle his senses, before he realizes. 

He chuckles again, softer, quieter. “I understand why My Lady said she needed me earlier this evening.”

“Would you be willing to support such an endeavor, My Lord?”

Without a single word, he brings his arms around you and sets his head atop of yours, embracing you with comfortable tightness and security. “Of course, anything at your behest. Let me know when, and I shall act upon your instruction immediately.”

“On Saint Thomas’s Day. Visit as many families as you can, especially those with children.”

“Then it shall be done.”

With that, silence fills the space around you. You should be even a slight bit cautious and careful, with the way Jing Yuan surrounds you whole. You both are much more grown, after all, and if someone, anyone, were to see the intimacy the two of you are sharing, it would tarnish your reputation irreparably. But three long years it has been since the last time you felt his touch. Three years since you could feel his hair graze against your cheek, his fingers hold at your waist, his chest press against your back. And more than anything else, these past three years have cost you the sound of his voice. He sounds different now. More worn and fatigued, yet simultaneously confident and articulate. You have been deprived of his lips ghosting your ears, his hot breath trailing against the lines of your neck, each of his words sending tremors through the flesh and bones of your body. 

“Are you warm, My Lord?”

“Yes, much due to this coat of yours.”

You huff. “You should not have worn such an ill-fitted coat in the first place. It does not fit you anymore.”

He strokes at your side and banters, “My Lady, I truly do hope that you are not, in reality, ignorant as to why I chose to.”

Of course, you know. The way the coat stretched to accommodate Jing Yuan’s growth is only another sign, in testament to how much he has transformed since your last encounter three years ago.

You still remember doing, undoing, redoing many of the countless florals that are strewn across the expanses of the sleeves. The red thread is bold, in contrast to the crisp white of the article’s linen, and you remember how, at the time, you were embarrassed by your brazenness to choose such a distinct color. You had wanted to change it to something else, perhaps a muted blue or yellow, but it was too late, and you had to see Jing Yuan off before his tour.

Seeming to know where your mind is wandering off to, he says something that steals your breath and sets your heart ablaze. “I wear this coat whenever I can.”

You can only roll your eyes, and you are grateful that your frostbitten nose and ears do not give away the warmth in your face. “You foolish man, Jing Yuan.”

Somehow, his hold on you becomes stronger, and you feel as if he is swallowing you, overwhelming all of your senses with only him. “I think it is romantic. It is My Lady’s first gift to me, after all.”

That is true. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be coddled, and think back to when both of you were much younger and even more so naïve, not yet fully aware of fate’s unfoldings.

After your encounter at the beach, you did not meet the boy again until a few years later at a party. Your parents were unacquainted, but as soon as you saw him, you escaped your mother when she was too busy meeting other guests and pulled Jing Yuan aside to say your much belated thanks. When he was younger, Jing Yuan was mischievous, feisty, energetic. He delighted in your spontaneity as well, and as children do, the two of you decided to meet up after he learned to ride. There was no discussion of details or logistics, only an intangible promise that somehow carried more trust than any vow or oath. 

Yet, he found you. And he brought you over to this very garden, to a small shed where his mother was awaiting the both of you.

You remember his mother in vivid detail. One could describe her as the embodiment of the nobility. Her posture exuded dignity and discipline, her choices in fashion tasteful and elegant, a woman of such gentleness and compassion that you had wished many times she was your blood mother as well. Jing Yuan’s mother was also responsible for introducing you to embroidery. Had she not, you are sure you would never have touched the needle and string in this lifetime. You practiced so diligently, hoping to impress and astound her with your talent. But truly, regardless of what came of your fastidious efforts, she always caressed the top of your head and praised you, repeating honeyed words and phrases until you almost believed them. Jing Yuan would watch the two of you work and occasionally try his hand at your activities, though he was never much good, too impatient and easily irritated as young boys are.

But then, in the spring of your twelfth year and Jing Yuan’s fifteenth, she was gone. There were no more traces of her, and the shed no longer stood where it once was. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. The tulips, pansies, and hyacinths his mother labored over were in full bloom, yet she would never see those sun-kissed petals and brilliant green stems. She would never witness Jing Yuan’s rapid improvements in the sword or your ability to peruse a text meant for grown men. She would never see the two of you grow up to become the man and woman the two of you are today.

And Jing Yuan did not cry when he told you. But you could see the sorrow and emptiness hang from him, outlining the lines of his face, scenting the tear stains on his button-up, creaking in his joints. You stood behind him, watching as he raised his head to look up at the sun, so bright and gleaming and proud. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. And he told you everything, answering all of the questions you never voiced or had.

His mother was the mistress of a Duke, making Jing Yuan an illegitimate child. But because his father was a Duke, no one batted an eye, and it never caused a stir, simply a passing comment made as the nobles greeted each other over mealtime before moving onto more extravagant rumors. And, as Jing Yuan described, he did not suffer much either. The Duke still gave him the education and training befitting of a high-ranking noble’s child, and he was granted unrestrained freedom and privileges. But the one thing Jing Yuan deeply, wholly wanted his whole life was never satisfied.

Although Jing Yuan was allowed to do whatever it is he wanted with no dispute, his father maintained distance and never showed much of an interest towards him or his mother. His mother had always been sickly and was often in isolation, yet despite the circumstances, the Duke only slipped farther and farther away. Jing Yuan had longed for a complete family, but to no avail. And his mother passed away, accompanied only by a physician and two maids, when Jing Yuan was away for a hunt. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully.

Afterwards, the two of you became an inseparable duo. You visited more often, almost once or twice every week, and though you never cared much for, or rather, did not know much of, affection, you began to let your fingers linger on his shoulders as he helped you down from Mimi and to sit in a way such that the cap of your knee would brush against his. And when you were not in the presence of each other, the two of you established a line of communication via letters. These letters would bridge the physical gap between the two of you and proved extremely useful when Jing Yuan went on tour.

Aside from letters, when he was away on tour, Yanqing would deliver some clothes to your estate, hiding a bag of shirts or tailcoats in a bush, of which you would collect when you and Fu Xuan would return from your afternoon strolls. These were articles prepared for Jing Yuan during his brief returns, usually due to some family emergency or duty for the Parliament. At this point, you fully embraced the color red and its flare and passion, choosing to take on the burden of a crimson so bright that you are left with no choice but to ensure that every stitch is perfect. You adorned his clothes with the subtlest of details, only meant to elevate them around the collar or cuffs or pockets.

And that is how those three years passed. Now that he is beside you, the time apart feels both painfully enduring yet incredibly effortless. Though he was not by your side, it never felt like he was far away, definitely not across oceans and mountain ranges and plains with names you have never heard of. Regardless, all that matters is, in the present moment, Jing Yuan is truly here, and you are with him.

–

The events leading up to Christmastide and the holiday itself flurried by. As planned, Yanqing had come to collect the coats you and Fu Xuan had left in bags behind a bundle of trees, and on Saint Thomas’s Day, Jing Yuan went out to deliver them, spending the day outside and reporting to you promptly when he returned home later that night. Through the grapevine, you heard of the countless praises the nobles showered upon Jing Yuan and his father, and from Jing Yuan himself, many of the common folk were at a loss for words, shocked that the son of a Royal Council member would dare to tread into their territory.

The end of such festivities also signaled the beginnings of the new Season. January was spent preparing the finest laces, silks, ribbons, jewelries you would be donning at the never ending series of parties, picnics, hunts, and other gatherings for the next few months. This time, though, you were eager, hounding all of the maids, Fu Xuan, even your mother to assist in the wake of your unprecedented enthusiasm.

Presently, you are en route to your first ball. You and your mother are in a coach, while your brother rides on horseback. It is dark outside and the snow is incessant, but the ambience is full of excitement, the hopeful chattering between young ladies and lords, as well as the charming music from the band playing inside, drowning out the howls of the wind. As your party nears the assembly room, you can clearly see the size of the gathering, dozens of middle- and upper-class families present and attendants rushing about to answer calls for help.

Your coach stops near the edge of the driveway, and your brother takes your hand as you step out.

“I heard from Mother that you were fervently awaiting today,” he says with a smirk, brushing off the snowflakes collecting on your shoulders. “This is your third season, so what could possibly be so unique about tonight’s party?”

You open your fan, concealing everything below your eyes, and shrug. Behind the fan’s ribs, though, you are smiling widely, unable to feign even an ounce of indifference.

“I simply hope this is your sister’s final season,” your mother remarks as she exits the carriage.

As soon as the three of you step into the hall, your brother is hounded with warm greetings and impatient requests. Your father had fallen ill once again, and given his series of absences, many have turned towards your brother as the patriarch of the family.

“I shall tend to these matters. Do enjoy your time, dear Sister!” your brother calls as he gets pulled away.

You and your mother walk over to a group of ladies, many of whom attended your tea party and took part in your ambitious project. One lady in a pale pink gown, in particular, seems to be at the centre of the conversation, as all the rest are peering at her with palpable expectation. You can hear bits and pieces of the conversation as you approach.

Another in tea green pokes at her. “Miss, please share! We are begging you to tell us how!”

The lady blushes deeply, fanning at herself. “Friends, there is no how! I simply met the man at a closed gathering the week before.”

“What is his demeanor?”

“Is he of your rank or above?”

“Have you garnered affections for him yet?”

Questions are flung at her, and she simply responds by closing her fan and tapping at one of her cheeks at each query.

When the arguably most important question is asked, whether or not she wants to be engaged to the man, she places the tip of her fan against her right cheek, and everyone breaks into surprised gasps and delighted murmurs.

Then, as if staged, the music in the room diminuendos until the band tapers into silence. There is a brief shuffling of sheet music before the musicians break into the first country song of the evening. A gentleman comes over, a son of an earl from a glance, and bows in front of the lady in the pink, holding his right hand out in search of her left. The other ladies, you and your mother included, watch with intent and rapture, and follow the extension of her elbow as she lets herself be taken. As the pair slip away, mutterings break between the remaining women before they, too, are asked, one by one, to dance with other single gentlemen.

As usual, you excuse yourself to the corner of the ballroom, finding a seat that ensures an adequate view of the dancing attendees. There are rumors that you do not participate because you are not well-trained, but truly, it is only because you have very little interest in dancing with men you have never met before. 

From here, you can observe the subtlest of details without disturbance. You notice a younger boy slip into the room with refreshments, bound to gorge himself on bread and butter even though dinner is scheduled in two hours or so. An old couple stands at the tailend of the dancing line, half a beat behind everyone else, chuckling to themselves as they attempt to keep up with the steps they know by heart. The mothers of many of the debutantes are lined against the walls, their eyes not on their respective daughters but rather on the many potential suitors in the room, cherry picking the perfect son-in-law. 

And then, a flash of red. You see it at the edge of your periphery, and your head whips to the left. You do not see the red again, but instead, a dense cloud of white. You are about to leap up and pace forward, but you catch yourself and hurry to rearrange your expression to one that is more neutral and acceptable.

Jing Yuan comes to stand before you, followed by your brother.

The latter says, “Dear Sister, this is Lord Jing Yuan.”

You bite at your lip to prevent yourself from reacting to the comedy of the situation, and curtsy towards Jing Yuan as he bows to you.

“Pleased to be in your presence, My Lord.”

“I should be thanking My Lady.”

Your brother chuckles. “The two of you are too stiff. Sister, Lord Jing Yuan has just returned from his Grand Tour and is the son of Duke…,” and he prattles on, listing facts and details you are already aware of. Jing Yuan is also amused and glances at you every so often, but you avoid returning such stares and focus your attention on the sound of your sibling’s voice.

However, soon thereafter, the Master of Ceremonies interrupts all activities, including your trio’s brief exchange, and calls for mealtime. Jing Yuan dismisses himself, returning to his step-brother’s side.

Suddenly, your brother grabs you by the shoulder. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shake your arm in response, urging him to loosen his grip.

“What a miracle!” he exclaims. You furrow at him with confusion. “Sister! Lord Jing Yuan himself rushed to greet you. That is unheard of!”

It takes you a second to understand, to remember that there are customs and traditions in society’s place, and the oddity of the situation finally dawns on you. “Brother,” you respond, “tell me how you encountered him.”

“Well, I paid the Duke, his father, a quick greeting on behalf of our family, and Lord Jing Yuan was there as well. When I was about to take my leave, he followed after me, and asked if I had any time. Can you believe it? He asked if I had time!”

“Yes, yes, please proceed.”

“I was worried I had done something imprudent in front of him and the Duke. I began saying a flurry of things, but he simply asked if I knew of any ladies that are seeking engagements, as he is in a rush to get married himself. I should have asked why –”

“Brother.”

“Ah, dismiss that thought. Anyway, of course, I had to say that you are of age, and he requested I direct him to you. I resisted, because as our father is only a Marquess and him a part of a Dukedom, it is only proper that I bring you to him, but he said he needed to be somewhere quieter and hurried us off.”

Your brother takes a deep breath and waits for your response. With much effort, you remain stoic.

“How peculiar,” you muse, with as even a tone as you can muster.

“Dear Sister, perhaps…” The two of you share a quick look, his expectant, yours knowing.

After a lingering moment of silence, you can only sigh. “We shall see.”

Ecstatic, your brother takes your shoulders with renewed vigor, lightly shaking you back and forth. “How auspicious! Of course, I will miss you, but Sister, you would be much happier away from our estate! You must seize this chance!”

You go along with his antics and incessant chattering, making slow progress towards the dining hall.

–

The third month of the year promises a multitude of changes. Primarily, fox hunting ends in March, therefore the men are rushing to organize their final hunts. As the men are occupied during their outings, the women pass their leisure time inside, rather impatiently, too, for Easter and the height of the Season, which will be at full throttle within a few weeks’ time. For noblewomen in particular, they also have the option to accompany the hunts, and on this late morning, you and your mother stay in a carriage to support the participants from afar.

Today’s hunt is small, exclusive to a few select Dukes and Marquesses of the nobility. Your father, now recovered, and your brother are present, and you notice Jing Yuan and his step-brother are also members among the group. 

Truly, Jing Yuan stands out amongst the crowd. Again, you are reminded of his towering and broad stature, and even when he is not speaking, he carries a solid aura of authority and a command for respect such that the other attendants do not dare to mention, let alone mock, his birthright. At the moment, he is running his hands through Mimi’s mane, and even his trust and care for her alone are superior to the mediocre handle the other men have of their horses.

The hunters seem to be strategizing, plotting out routes and dividing themselves into smaller groups, and with each passing second, your interest dampens, and it seems your mother is also growing disinterested.

With a flick of her wrist, glass-beaded bracelets clinking and clanking, she speaks, “The white-haired man, is it?” 

You nod.

She huffs through her nose, but she is not unhappy. She is silently beckoning you to question her.

And so, you inquire, “Mother, what are your judgments of Lord Jing Yuan?”

She leans towards the window and narrows her eyes. “A man of benevolent nature… Quite handsome as well… But a bastard child, is he not?”

You shrug. “What does it matter? His father is a Duke.”

“It does not change that he is born from the womb of a wicked woman.”

A striking flash of anger and urgency erupts in your gut, and you are close to hurtling uncouth insults at the woman sitting before you, but there is no need because your mother finishes her thought before your outburst can materialize.

“That brings me great pleasure,” the absurd woman says, with a twisted snark, “for you do not deserve happiness in your marriage. While I may be gone, misfortune shall always befall you. You will always suffer from your ill nature.”

Without a word, you swing the door of the carriage open and step out, in need of space. You strut to a group of barren trees, sparkling with melting dew, and lean against the trunk of one, looking off at where the hunters and their hounds are racing after the scent of foxes.

The biting cold does nothing to cool your raging internal heat. The echoes of your mother’s spiteful words act as fuel, a permanent well of dark, staining oil, spinning and stubborn in your mind. In fact, you become more bitter and sensitive at their persistence, and if anyone were to say one wrong phrase or make one wrong move towards you at this very instance, they would, for sure, catch your ire. 

How dare she. Even in your most distant memories, the thought of Jing Yuan’s mother brings warmth, a tight embrace, an affirming kiss on your forehead. In comparison, your own blood parents have done nothing more than bring you into this world. Even the jewels, fabrics, food, shelter they provide you are done out of obligation; given the option, they would abandon you without hesitation.

The taste of acid and iron surprises you. You are usually tame, capable of extinguishing any sign of anger or disappointment, so to find yourself so outraged that you have bitten open the inside of your cheek serves to worsen your temperament. You refuse to let that woman, only bound to you by blood and flesh, grate at your nerves, but it seems, this time, she has poked at your most sensitive vulnerability.

Suddenly, a loud neigh from a horse rings through the field, and you turn your head just in time to see Jing Yuan, a crumpled body, and Mimi leap through the air and land near you.

“Jing Yuan!” you cry, hands clutching at the sides of your skirt, annoyance and frustration set aside.

He tugs at Mimi sternly, and with a kick of her front legs, she rears to a halt. You rush over as Jing Yuan hops down with a man on his back, the latter wearing a deep-set frown and releasing low groans.

“What happened? Someone, please –”

Jing Yuan intervenes with a call of your name, shaking his head. “No need for your people. I shall bring the Marquess to his carriage and stay with him till he reaches his estate.”

You could care less about the injured man. “And what about you? Are you injured, Jing Yuan?”

He nods. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “Careful, for we are being watched. But thank you.” Something in his eyes glitter, a light diamond yellow, a new color so beautiful and mesmerizing. You force yourself to tear your gaze away. “I am fine, My Lady. Please, take care.”

You clamp your mouth shut. With that, he paces away, doing his best to carry the injured Marquess steadily.

You do not see him again for the rest of the day. But his heroics, over the course of an evening, become the talk of the town.

Two days pass, and for the first time, Jing Yuan and you meet during the daytime, accompanied by Fu Xuan. A nearby promenade has been kept cleared, as more and more folks spend time outside, and it is only proper that the two of you extend your public interactions beyond simple greetings, primarily to discourage and drive away any suitors who still retain hopes in having your or Jing Yuan’s hand.

“My Lord has certainly come under scrutiny,” you say, playful and amused in tone.

“Ah, the nobles do love their entertainment, I suppose.”

“Do not be so bashful, My Lord! I have heard of everything, and what you did during the hunt is truly an accomplished feat.”

“Tell me, then, My Lady, what you have heard.”

You switch your parasol to your other shoulder and tilt it up so that you can better see in front of you. There are other prospective couples, as well as their respective chaperones, but all eyes seem to be on you and Jing Yuan. With no fan in hand, it is difficult to signal to your partner, but he, too, already seems aware of the prying stares.

You begin to tell, “I much prefer the noble ladies and their recollections. Their recountings began before the hunt even started.

“You were steering the conversation, as if you were a general and the others your cavalrymen, planning every possible move and route.”

Jing Yuan stifles his fit of laughs with the back of his hand, and you do as well.

Resuming, you say, “Then, the group broke into partitions of four or five men each. The hunt seemed already destined and fated for success, with you in charge. However, many of the noblemen are elderly, yes? So as you and Mimi galloped so freely under the blue sky, the other men in your group struggled to keep up, and one Marquess with very little talent in horseback did not jump over a jutting root in time and came tumbling down with his English thoroughbred.”

Jing Yuan claps when you finish. “I am surprised you know what a thoroughbred is, My Lady.”

“I do not. To me, a horse is simply a horse. But, more importantly, what does My Lord think of my rendition?”

You glance up, only to see that he is watching you, and immediately, you turn your cheek the other way.

“I think,” he muses, “that My Lady is an excellent bard.”

“A bard?” You feign shame, because you already know how hyperbolic the noblewomen are in their gossiping.

“Indeed.” He continues to tease. “My Lady seems unmatched in her lyricism, rhythm, and most importantly, exaggerations. A true bard in nature.”

You cackle out loud, at which Fu Xuan shoots you a swift glare. You calm yourself and ask, “Exaggerations? A bard only makes songs of tales they hear from their journeys. My Lord, then, must tell the truth himself, as he is the protagonist of this one.”

“It pains me to say, then, that the story would no longer be as interesting.”

“My Lord does not aspire to be a bard or a court jester, so please speak.”

He sighs. “I did no such leading or commandeering. I simply listened from the side. Though the noble ladies are not wrong that it was an older Marquess who felled, it was not due to his own carelessness. Rather, one of the younger hounds must have caught the trail of a fox, and ran in front of the Marquess and his horse. His Lord was only trying to protect the little one, but injured himself in the process. I happened to be riding behind the Marquess and assisted him in returning him home.”

Jing Yuan, ever observant, always humble. You do not know if he is dismissing the finer details of his saving the Marquess, but you cannot even pinpoint where to press him further.

You settle with a simple platitude. “My Lord’s kindness knows no bounds.”

He does not say anything, only closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the winter-spring air.

“What plagues My Lord?”

“My Lady, tell me another story, one from your childhood.”

You still, and he takes two steps forward before he pauses as well.

You turn around to face your governess. “Fu Xuan, shall the three of us sit somewhere?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Fu Xuan replies. “There is a bench around the bend.”

Between you and Jing Yuan, neither of you speak until you both sit down. Fu Xuan finds another spot, a shady patch underneath an old willow, to supervise from afar.

Your bench is located beside a fountain, a large stucco vase with carved borders, emblems of flowers and reeds, gilded bronze around the circumference of the bottom. The water splashes past the rim, wetting the surrounding pavement, amusing the toddlers that belonged to some of the lounging women.

It is not rare for Jing Yuan to ask about yourself, to request to learn more about who you are in the moments when he is not by your side. While it is not always enjoyable, especially when you reflect on the less joyous memories, you do like that he is the only person in the world that knows so much about you, your strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, fancies, displeasures.

But on occasion, he asks you to share because he does not want to speak about himself anymore. Today, as you judge the crease between his brows, the white of his knuckles, his hair free of its usual braided cord, this seems to be the case.

You speak of the many sleepless nights you had in December, how you had pricked the pads of your fingers several times from trying to sew by dim candlelight, hurrying to finish as many coats as possible, lest the noblewomen became suspicious. You speak of the shelf of books your brother had lent you when you were only ten years of age. You finished the literature within a fortnight, and your sibling was shocked, jaw agape, from your intellect and efficiency. Lastly, you speak of the morning of Jing Yuan’s departure, how you refused to come out of your room because of how distraught you were from bidding goodbye, needing to lie to the maids that your tears were only a result of a gut-wrenching stomach ache.

The entire time, the two of you sit side by side, shoulders brushing against each other, staring straight ahead, never at each other. But you do not need to see to know that he is listening with rapt intent to each and every one of your words, and you feel empowered to continue and please him with whatever he wants to hear.

Many hours pass, from high noon to late afternoon, finishing well past lunchtime. The atmosphere has relaxed, and Jing Yuan himself seems more at peace, and you are grateful that you have an eternity to indulge him.

When the three of you retrace your steps back to your family’s coach, he grips onto your hand as he assists you into the vehicle. His grip is tight, restricting you from sitting down, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his forehead against the back of your hand, nose brushing against your fingertips.

“A fortnight,” he mutters, loud enough for only the two of you, and promptly releases his hold.

You bring your hand, the one Jing Yuan held moments ago, to your cheek, basking in his lingering, escaping warmth, and nod in understanding.

You repeat, “A fortnight,” and he closes the coach door behind you.

– 

It is uncharacteristically cold for April. Frost forms a thin sheet over all of the foliage and herbage, the rabbits and woodchucks still slumber in their dense burrows, the moon silvery and thin in its wake.

You tuck yourself into Jing Yuan’s hold, where he sits behind you with his legs propped on either side of your figure. He grabs another blanket and lays it over your knees down to your feet, and sets his chin on your shoulder.

“I wish your mother’s shed was still here,” you admit through gritted teeth.

A little sleepily, he agrees. “I, as well, but please bear with our conditions for tonight.”

You are grateful, though. The worst of winter is past, and there are no clouds to conceal the stars or moon, meaning outside, you can make out his features and expressions with little effort. Before, you would have to strain and squint at his visage, but there is no need anymore and you think Jing Yuan appears softer, younger under the placid moonlight.

“My Lady,” he says, “if it is not inconvenient, I have an inquiry to make.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Why is it that you never look at me?”

You startle, jumping in your skin, not expecting such a jarring interrogation at this hour and place.

“Of course, I look at you. What can you possibly be insinuating?”

If you sound offended, you do not mean it. Rather, you are, to a minor degree, disgruntled at being caught. Internally, you have been well aware of your sudden shyness towards Jing Yuan. Before his departure, you had no such fears, but since his return, upon seeing all of the ways in which he has transformed and grown, you can no longer allow yourself to be so bold. You cannot look at him with wholly pure intent.

“Apologies. I meant that My Lady does not seem to look me in the eyes anymore, as we used to. Have I done or said something to deserve such avoidance?”

“Do not be foolish, My Lord.”

“And what is with the use of ‘My Lord’?”

“Do you not refer to me by ‘My Lady’?”

“Only because you seem so insistent on such etiquette. If I had a choice…” He takes a sharp inhale. “I would call you by your name all the time.”

The chill of the atmosphere does not seem so acute anymore. You feel a rush of heat, from the crown of your head all the way down to the lengths of your toes.

“How improper,” you mumble.

He laughs. He knows you could care less.

To drive his point further, he enunciates your name, rolling the letters and phonetics out with the curve of his tongue and a caramel sweet, taffy-stretched tone. He then whispers, “You seem to only use my name when you are quite agitated or excited.”

You swat at his arm. “Jing Yuan!”

Your reaction causes him to bark out true laughs, ones from the gut and stomach, and he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. You want him to press further into you, to bite and nibble and mark at the tender skin, to meld into you so you always have him with you. You need more of him, all of him. Being by his side as a confidant in public, a lover in private, for eternity will never satiate your greed.

“My Lady, you never cease to entertain me! You are absolutely darling.”

“You are totally arrogant.” You shrug his head off of your shoulders, to your own disdain, only for him to place his chin on top of your head, entrapping you once again.

“My Lady, I believe I am not so arrogant. Rather, my actions are demonstrations of my affections for you, and the latter seems to grow at an astounding rate with every moment we spend together.”

He utters your name again, so sincere, full of unconditional respect. This time, you are forced to look at him, scooting yourself forward and twisting your back halfway around to soak in those melting, incandescent golds, brimming and spilling over with unfiltered love, loyalty, trust. You cease, completely bewitched and spellbound.

Slowly, he leans forward until the peaks of your foreheads touch. He is still staring at you, you are still unable to breathe. His hands have come up to cup your cheeks, and by sheer instinct, yours grasp weakly at his sleeves.

“Finally,” he breathes, “you are looking at me.”

Shuddering, you try to nod, but his hands keep your head in place. Regardless, he knows.

Jing Yuan, ever knowing, always understanding. He can see through you at all times, and you do not mind that it is him. In fact, you want it to be him, always him, and you have been waiting for this moment. Since you saw him on that sandy beach, with the orange coral bead and crystal clear waters and damp earth. Since you saw him standing alone in the garden, his back turned to you, tearless yet grief incarnate. Since these three long years, where he was seas and mountain ranges and plains separated from you, only brief moments of respite when he would return for business, yet never to interact.

You, who have waited this entire time, can finally see him again. You have no reason to disallow yourself. You have an eternity to indulge him, and an even longer infinity to indulge yourself in him.

The oil lamps flicker no more. The hawks and owls no longer cry. The vines and stems of the flora no longer sway in the wind. 

The only movement is from Jing Yuan, when he purses his lips and takes a deep breath.

He whispers your name, as if it is a prayer, an oath, full of promise and reverence. He says it once more, twice more. Then, he closes his eyes briefly before looking up at you again, a fire and determination now smoldering in bright gold.

“I have kept you, yet you have patiently, without any complaint or excuse, waited for me. You, the only person in the world who has witnessed me a mischievous child, a brooding boy, and now, an older man. I cannot fathom being with another, and this has been true since I first met you.”

You can only gulp, and staring wide-eyed, anticipate his next words.

“You cannot imagine how many times I begged my mother for permission to visit you during the day. At the time, I could not understand her unshakeable refusal, and even now, I am still resistant in some ways. Did you know I became jealous of my mother? I have never been adept with delicate work, and at one point, I was convinced you only came so you could sew with her. I would leave the shed to shake off my anger with the sword. And then my mother was gone, and I thought you, too, would disappear. But, of course, in light of all of my deepest fears, you stayed.”

There are traces of tears in his eyes, but he is more preoccupied with brushing away the ones that stream down your face. You do your best to cease the trembling of your lower lip, the blur of your vision, the cries that threaten to spill out. 

“I was frightened once again, when my father announced the beginning of my Grand Tour. I knew you would come of age as soon as I was scheduled to leave, and I wanted to propose right then and there. But my father does not know who you are, and not even the illegitimate child of a Duke could get away with marrying someone of a lower caste. A coward I was, am, indeed. Yet, we maintained correspondence, and we wrote to each other at length. Many times, I wanted to abandon my Tour, but your curiosity and eagerness convinced me otherwise. 

“It has always been because of you. I am who I am today because of you and your endless affections. And it is my turn, now, to let you know that my love for you goes beyond words and actions. My existence is solely yours.

“May I?”

You nod vigorously, desperately, longingly.

He presses tender kisses to the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips. After, he takes your hands in his palms and kisses at your wrists and knuckles and joints and fingertips.

Finally, he sits up, and you raise your chin to follow his eyes.

He says your name, this time firm, grounded, determined. “I love you. Please, let us never part again.”

–

The Season has reached its peak, and at long last, June permits enduring hours of sunlight, hot, humid evenings, a myriad of blossoms of all distinct shades and colors. Your brother guides you into the ballroom, your mother trailing behind the two of you, feathered fan concealing her rather displeased disposition.

“I still cannot believe it,” he gasps with incredulous wonder.

“No? Will I have him come to ask for your permission again?” you reply, indifferent, more concerned with identifying Jing Yuan amongst the crowded halls.

“No, no, no need for that, Sister! I am, well, rather, well –”

“See, Brother! There he is!”

Adorned in a handsome cream ensemble, Jing Yuan stands near a table of refreshments, collecting two glasses, one of which you presume is yours. You rush to his side, your brother in tow, and curtsy when he notices. And, as you suspected, he bows and hands one of the cups over to you and the other to your brother, already turning around to grab another for your mother.

Your brother takes a nervous sip before exclaiming, “Lord Jing Yuan! Good evening!”

“Good evening!” Jing Yuan greets, festive and light-hearted.

“I wanted to give you my thanks, again, Lord Jing Yuan. I have never thought my younger sister would marry anytime soon, but you have truly done her a wonderful service. How could I –”

Your mother coughs and interrupts your brother. “Son, cease with your rambling. I could hardly stand the fuss you are making, let alone imagine how exhausted Lord Jing Yuan must be.”

Jing Yuan shakes his head and intercepts. “Not at all. Brother-in-law, I understand that our engagement has only been newly confirmed, so your surprise is inevitable.”

The boisterous chattering and guffawing seem to quiet down, passersby slowly redirecting their attention to your quartet.

Your mother seems to notice as well and fans at herself. “How could the son of a Duke possibly have taken an interest in the daughter of a Marquess?”

The encompassing crowd falls into a hush. All are thinking the same question, almost bloodthirsty in their intrigue to know the answer, and they flit their eyes between you and Jing Yuan, wondering who will speak first.

You, for one, have no interest in such public or dramatic gestures. You put your glass back down on the table and comment, “Mother, Brother, My Lord, the dancing is about to commence.”

Someone whispers that they have never seen you dance before, adding another layer of suspense.

Jing Yuan extends an arm out, and you take it without a shred of doubt or hesitation.

But before the two of you leave, you pause to speak with your mother. “Oh, Mother, please, take my fan!”

She glares at you, and you smile back, taunting and urging her to keep watching you, to see what you can and will do.

You can imagine the way the room will uproar with shock and rage as soon as you step out. You know your mother will splinter your fan in her wrenching grip, and your brother will have to figure some way to placate her. You know you and Jing Yuan will reminisce on this memory with much jest and delight.

And so, you do it.

Committing to putting on a show, everyone watches the flick of your wrist, the extension of your index finger along the frame of your fan. You direct your gaze to Jing Yuan, who is already looking at you with unreserved adoration, and slowly draw the fan across your cheek, dragging out the moment for as long as you can.

You hear the gasps, the cries, the confused mutterings. But the Master of Ceremonies, always in a timely fashion, calls for everyone’s attendance in the ballroom, and you drop the fan in your mother’s upturned hand before Jing Yuan whisks you away.

Now everyone knows you and Jing Yuan are lovers, to be married in a little over a month. Though you would prefer to be married already, you remind yourself that your shared happiness has already begun, and nothing will change that. 

Hand in hand, you and Jing Yuan, along with many other couples, approach the middle of the ballroom, taking your positions in the dancing circle.

“When was the last time My Lady danced at a party?”

“Never before, actually.”

“Then, I must be blessed to have your first dance.”

“And many more, of course.”

“How many more? And just dances?”

You raise your head to stare at him, right as the Master of Ceremonies gestures at the band to begin. Jing Yuan’s eyes shine a brilliant gold underneath the glow of the chandeliers, clear and proud in their affections for you. Jing Yuan, always loving, forever yours.

As the waltz begins, you rise en pointe, and he clutches onto you so that your chests press together and your faces are only a breath apart.

You speak, the words you articulate only for him to hear.

“My existence is entirely yours.”

[cinnaleaf]

Wildflower | One Shot

Anon Request: Trent x best friend!reader "Wildflower - Billie Eilish" | MASTERLIST

genre: pure angst wc: ~1.6k a/n: thank you for all your requests, i hope my interpretation fuels your angsty little hearts!

You never meant to love him like this.

Being his best friend wasn't supposed to hurt this bad. You were always in the background, like the wildflowers that grow on the side of the road. Delicate, yet resilient and waiting to be seen. You were always right in front of Trent, ready to give him everything but he kept looking past you and you hated it. Why were you still standing there, loving him when he already chose someone else?

Zoë.

You didn't hate her even though you really wanted to. She was pretty much everything you weren't. Her presence lit up any room, like a sunflower basking in the sun, drawing everyone's attention without doing much at all. Then there was you..a little wildflower growing in the shadows. Unnoticed. It wasn't Zoë's fault Trent treated you the way he did and you knew that, but you couldn't help feeling a little jealous every time you saw them together. You tried to ignore it, but you could feel Trent pulling away from you. He was being cold, distant, and mean. You didn't understand why and it hurt.

“I dunno why you're still here, Y/N,” Trent muttered in a sharp tone, pulling his hoodie over his head as he glanced at you. You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone like you always did. The two of you grew up together and were practically inseparable, until now.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” you asked, feeling knots in your stomach. “You're always around,” he said, his gaze not quite meeting your eyes. “like I need you here or something.” His words slapped you in the face. You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “If you want me to leave..just say that. You don't have to be so damn rude about it.” Trent scoffed, running his hands over his face before looking back at you with cold eyes. “I'm saying it now, yeah?”

Something had changed, and you didn’t understand why.

“I know you don’t mean to hurt me, so I’ll keep it to myself” was like a mantra you kept repeating to yourself, willing yourself to believe it. You wanted it to be true so badly. You loved him but you wouldn't date admit it to him, especially not now.

You didn’t know he loved you just as much as you loved him. He tried so hard to avoid the feelings he had for you, even if it meant pushing you away. It wasn’t something he was ready to tackle yet. He was dating Zoë in an effort to distract himself from the way he felt about you. 

A couple of weeks later, you were at a random bar. It wasn't your usual spot, but Zoë invited you for whatever reason. She was sitting next to you, stirring her drink with a paper straw that was clearly getting soggy. You weren't close to her like you were with Trent, but she asked you to meet up and curiosity got the best of you. She was complaining for the last fifteen minutes, but you weren't really listening until something she said cut through the noise in your head.

“I don't know what's up with Trent,” Zoë said, sounding frustrated. “He doesn't even touch me like he used to anymore. He's there but he's not at the same time. I don't get it. He'll kiss me but then it's like his mind is somewhere else. It's so frustrating.” You froze as your fingers tightened around the glass in front of you. Every time Zoë told you something about him, it stung. He had been pulling away from you for months, but why was he pulling away from Zoë? Your heart did a stupid little flip, thinking maybe the reason he was acting so weird had to do with something else and not you.

“It's weird though,” Zoë added, not noticing the way your face went stone cold. “Sometimes he'll be staring at me and it's like he's trying, but then he just...doesn't.” Her words lingered in the air, you hated how much they made you yearn for something you never had. You wanted to know what it felt like to be held by him the way she did. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, his hands on your waist. You wanted him to really see you. But you weren't her. You weren't the sunflower in his life and it was crushing you.

“Maybe he's just stressed with the season? He gets intense sometimes…” you offered, knowing that probably wasn't it. All of you were lying. To yourself, and to each other. There was no good answer for any of this. Zoë nodded, continuing to swirl her drink as she pondered. “Maybe,” she sighed, resting her chin on her hand. “I really miss how it used to be when he’d come home from a match and kiss me like I was the only thing he cared about.” 

The thought of Trent kissing her and holding onto her like she was everything he needed made your chest tighten. You spent years being his best friend, hoping for scraps of affection just to not get any at all. Meanwhile, Zoë got all of it, even if it seemed to be fading.

It wasn't fair, but life never is. C'est la vie.

You stood in the stands of Anfield, surrounded by cheering fans. You shoved your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket. It was cold but Zoë's words still swirled around in your head, making you shiver. You didn't even know why you were at the match, but you were. You always went to every single one. Watching Trent move across the pitch was fun to look at any other time; he was a force out there. Would he even acknowledge you or look in the crowd for you like he used to? Or would you just be another face lost in a sea of red? You caught sight of Zoë a few rows in front of you, looking picture perfect as always. She was laughing with her friends, showing not a care in the world. Maybe they fixed things?

For the next 90 minutes your mind kept drifting, not focusing on the match at all. You wondered what it would be like having Trent come home to you, kissing you and telling you how much fun he had on the pitch. You used to be that person, albeit not in the way you wanted to be because there were never any kisses shared. Suddenly, it hit you in the middle of the match. You weren't jealous of Zoë, you were jealous of the version of Trent that was open and affectionate toward her. The version you never had and probably would never receive.

The crowd erupted into cheers after Liverpool secured the win. You should've been celebrating along with them but instead, you felt hollow. Your eyes followed Trent as he jogged off the pitch, he was in celebratory mode, joking with the team and laughing. He glanced at the stands for a quick second, and you thought maybe he was looking for you. Your heart did that stupid little flip again, even though you knew better. His eyes landed on Zoë and your stomach dropped. 

You couldn't do this anymore.

Without taking a second to think, you slipped out of your seat and headed to the exit as the noise of the stadium faded into the background. You didn't want to be there when he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. You can't look. Not tonight. Not ever again.

Your phone pinged as you made your way through the crowd but you ignored it. It was probably just a group chat about the match or a text from someone checking to see if you were still at the stadium. It really didn't matter anymore because you weren't coming back. You pushed through the exit, walking for what seemed like forever. You didn't want to stop because stopping meant thinking, and you did not want to think about Trent right now. He was never going to see you the way you saw him and you were done waiting for it to happen. Did he even notice that you were gone?

He noticed. 

The seat you always sat in was empty. He got used to scanning the crowd for you, it was his usual routine. You would always give him a smile or a thumbs up, but tonight there was nothing. 

Zoë was next to him talking about dinner plans, but he wasn't really listening. He couldn't stop thinking about you, and he knew he messed up. Something in his heart tugged, it was a feeling that had been there for a couple of months now. He kept ignoring it because it was easier that way. Pushing you away and acting like nothing changed was easier than admitting he loved you. And now you weren't there.

He glanced at Zoë, who was on her phone posting a picture they took post match. She didn't notice he was quiet, but he knew you would've noticed. You were always there through everything. The good, the bad, the ugly, the wins, and the losses. You were his rock, his constant. But he was so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he was scared to admit you were more than a friend to him. 

You were his wildflower, always there, waiting for him to see you. For the first time he realized he was too busy chasing the sun to notice the beauty growing that was right beside him for years. 

You were his everything, and now you were gone.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 75

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

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Saturday, March 26th; 10:00 AM - Lucy and Ona’s Apartment.

"Come on, call her. You’re not going to stare at that phone all day, we’ve got other things to do," teased Lucy, who had just come out of the bathroom.

I groan to show my displeasure, but eventually, I dial my mom’s number. It was time to handle it, and I couldn't keep putting it off. The ringing tone echoed... for a long time... When it stopped, I was ready to speak, my mouth open, but I got her voicemail instead. My heart relaxed at this. I don't know why, but I felt relieved. I immediately hung up.

"I got her voicemail."

Lucy laughed. She definitely noticed my reaction.

"Well, better luck next time. Go get ready, or we’ll be late."

"You’re the one who spent forever in the bathroom."

"Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh?" she laughed as I was already heading down the hallway. "Remind me, who didn’t want to get out of bed?" she shouted so I could hear her.

"At eight-thirty, I had every reason to stay in bed!" I yelled back from the bathroom.

I could hear her laughing as I started putting on my makeup. It was the last thing I had to do. Lucy had wanted to take a shower, so I couldn’t access my things earlier because I wanted to give her some privacy. She needs to understand that weekends are sacred too. Not all of us are motivated to go jogging in the morning. I’ll never understand her on that. We’re supposed to grab brunch with our friends before heading to the gym. It’ll be good to all be together again. Aitana and Beth are supposed to join us later in the day, according to Lucy. I was finishing my makeup with mascara when my phone rang. I groaned seeing my mom’s face on the screen. Lucy came over at that moment, already making fun of me.

"Answer it, or I will."

"Definitely not."

I rolled my eyes, picking up my phone from beside the sink. She’s been pushing me to do this since yesterday, and I have to admit, she’s right. Otherwise, I’d never do it. I answered the call and held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while finishing my second eye.

"Hello?"

"Ona! Did you try to call me? Is everything okay?"

"Hey. Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Am I disturbing you?"

"I just got out of surgery. I operated early this morning. Well, more like last night. I’m about to grab some coffee. Are you sure everything’s okay? You rarely call me."

I smiled despite myself. I’ve always admired my mom for her work, even though it cost her a lot in terms of family life. It takes a lot of mental strength and confidence to perform surgeries. She’s a general surgeon. When Mapi needed surgery, she wasn’t the one to handle the case, but I know she made sure to be involved in every procedure for my sake.

"I’m fine, really. I just wanted to call to apologize, that’s all."

"Apologize?" she whispered. "For what?"

"For my behavior last time," I said plainly. "We left without me getting a chance to talk to you again. So yeah, I’m sorry. My reaction wasn’t directed at you."

"Oh... You don’t need to apologize, Ona. I completely understand."

I smiled like an idiot. She really thinks Mapi didn’t tell me how worried she was. From what I’ve heard, she was scared to death, yet here she is acting like nothing happened.

"No, it’s important. I need you to know my anger wasn’t directed at you," I said, smiling at my girlfriend, who finally turned around when she saw everything was fine.

"Alright... well, thank you for calling."

"I also wanted to let you know that we’ll definitely be attending your wedding, in case that wasn’t clear."

"Really?"

"Of course. We wouldn’t miss it."

"Will Lucy be coming?"

"Yes, that’s who I meant by ‘we.’ I hope that’s not a problem?" I teased.

"Oh no, no. We’d be delighted and honored!"

"Great... So, when is it again?"

"June 18th. I... Ona?"

"Yes?"

"I know it’s not the kind of thing you ask over the phone, and I’d understand if you say no, but... I’d like you to be my maid of honor, if you agree. You don’t have to answer right away, it’s just that—"

"Mom," I interrupted. "Calm down. I..."

I took a deep breath. This was hard for me, but I was doing it to keep my promise to my dad. He wanted me to be there when it happened.

"I accept. No problem."

"Really...?"

The surprise in her voice was obvious. A small smile formed on my lips.

"Yeah, it seems so," I teased.

"You know, if you’re feeling obligated or anything..."

"Stop. I accept, that’s it. Don’t make me change my mind."

"It really means a lot to me, Ona, truly."

"I figured."

"I’ll make sure to pay for your dresses, for both you and Lucy. We’ll pick them out together, so they’ll match."

"Whoa, slow down," I laughed. "We’ve got time."

"Can you come during your vacation? You know you’re always welcome at home, even though you’ve chosen to live with her in Manchester."

"I know, but we won’t be around this vacation. We’re visiting Grandpa and Lucy’s parents in Portugal."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "She’s from Lisbon too? You’re meeting her parents?"

"She’s from Porto. We’re doing one week with Grandpa, then one week with her family. I still need to call him to see if he can host us."

"Oh, knowing him, he won’t say no. He’ll be thrilled to meet Lucy."

"Yeah, I’m not worried about that."

"Don’t be afraid to meet Lucy’s parents either. I’m sure it’ll go well."

"We’ll see," I sighed. "I should hang up, we’re supposed to meet for brunch," I said as Lucy reappeared, tapping her wrist.

"Oh really?With who?"

"We’re meeting our friends at eleven."

"Oh, well, I won’t keep you then. Have a great day, and let me know when you’re coming back to Barcelona."

"No problem, I’ll talk to Lucy, and we’ll keep in touch. Have a good day."

One last goodbye, and I hung up. Lucy immediately came over as I was putting away my makeup.

"Talk to me about what?"

I laughed, shaking my head. She looked so innocent, but I was sure she had listened to the whole conversation.

- Going back to Barcelona.

- Again? she groaned. That’s all we ever do!

- Oh, don’t complain. We’ve only been there twice together. And I think I just agreed to be her maid of honor. I don’t know what came over me.

Lucy laughed and wrapped her arms around me from behind, kissing the top of my head.

- Well, I’m proud of you. I assume everything went well?

- Yeah... she acted like everything was fine, as if nothing had happened. That’s a first.

- Well, that’s good, then. And why do we have to go back to Barcelona?

- She wants us to choose our dresses with her... and be matching.

- Wonderful, she teased.

- Hey, I said, turning towards her. Don’t make fun of me! I wouldn’t mind matching with you.

- That’s not the problem. It’s that I’ll have to endure another shopping session with the mother-daughter duo.

- Well, I have to meet your parents for the first time in a few weeks, I laughed in return. We all have our challenges, babe.

- That’s true, she replied, giving me a playful smack as I walked out.

I’d learned my lesson from last time, so I didn’t react to her playful gesture. We’d moved past that, and she didn’t catch me off guard this time.

- Did you remember to bring your design ideas?

I froze mid-step and turned back around.

- What would I do without you… I mumbled, making Lucy laugh.

I headed back to our bedroom to grab them. She wanted me to bring my ideas since she hadn’t had a chance to look at them this morning. After grabbing them, I got dressed to go out, and we left to meet our friends downtown. We’d noticed that the little Italian restaurant next to the gym offered brunch, so it didn’t take us long to decide to try it out today. The renovations were coming along great. We had time to finish up the locker room prep before the furniture arrived next week. Someone was coming to check if the plumbing was usable as it was. If so, Lucy said it would leave us with a little extra budget, though she wasn’t too hopeful. The place was pretty old and had been heavily used. When we arrived, I wasn’t surprised to see we were the first ones there. Lucy’s an early riser and hates being late. I’ve been on the receiving end of that before, and once was enough for me.

- So, when’s the wedding? You didn’t tell me the date.

- Oh, right. Uh, June eighteenth, I think.

- You *think*? she teased.

- It’s definitely the eighteenth. Are you done now?

She laughed as I playfully hit her shoulder. Looks like she’s in a teasing mood today.

- Oh, relax, I’m kidding. Maybe we can go after your exams, yeah? We’ll be on vacation, so we might as well enjoy it. It’ll take your mind off waiting for your results.

- Really? But what if I have interviews? And what about the gym?

- We’ll make sure you have a school and a gallery lined up before you leave Camp Wiegman.

- Easier said than done...

- Are you done complaining yet? I heard from behind. We can hear you from the other end of the restaurant.

- Oh, shut up! I snapped playfully at my best friend.

- Hey, cutie pie.

I smiled as I stood up to hug her. I’d missed her. It’s about time she moved here so we could properly catch up.

- Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve heard that nickname.

- No kidding!

I greeted Ingrid as well. Mapi sat beside me at the head of the table, and Ingrid across from me after greeting my girlfriend too. Mapi and I exchanged goofy smiles. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who missed this connection.

- So, Miss "I’m stressed about my exam," how’s it going?

- I’m fine, I chuckled. Are you mocking me?

- Oh no, she laughed. It’s just funny. You weren’t like this in high school, and I never imagined you’d turn into this.

- Well, people change, what can I say, I responded with a genuine smile.

- What’s new since I’ve been gone?

- Not much.

- Really? she raised an eyebrow.

- Yeah, honestly, nothing major, I said, glancing at Lucy. Everything’s going well. I’m looking for a gallery, we’re working on the gym, and I’m studying for my exam... that’s about it.

- So, what’s the update on that interview you had? The big gallery, she probed.

- Fields hasn’t changed their mind. I don’t think I’ll accept, but for now, I haven’t heard back from the other galleries, so it’s tricky...

- Stop worrying.

- I’m a month away from taking my exam and I’m without a school. I have every reason to worry, I replied.

Lucy rolled her eyes. It’s been a bit tense between us regarding this. She takes it so lightly that I wonder if she’s hiding something from me again. Luckily, Alexia and Jenni arrived at that moment. We greeted them and ordered right after they settled in. We didn’t want to drag things out since we had a lot to do today.

Saturday, March 26th; 1:00 PM - Gym

It was just Ale, Mapi, and me in the break room, finishing up stripping the wallpaper. There was one wall left, and the goal was to have it ready for painting tomorrow. Our girlfriends were in the locker room since the others hadn’t shown up yet. The plumber finally arrived, and Lucy wanted to be there for the assessment. I didn’t mind. It was nice to hang out with my friends. The atmosphere was great, even while working.

- So, notice anything? Ale asked Mapi with a mischievous grin.

- Notice what?

I gave Alexia a wide-eyed look as she smiled slyly. She knew Mapi wasn’t up to date on the progress of my relationship with Lucy. I turned bright red as Ale motioned towards me with her head. Mapi, who was between us, stared at me.

- Well? What don’t I know yet?

Alexia burst out laughing. I didn’t find it funny. There’s no need to make a big deal out of every milestone in my relationship.

- Your best friend became a grown-up last weekend.

Mapi gasped and smacked my arm hard.

- Ouch! I exclaimed, rubbing my arm.

- And you didn’t even tell me!? When? How? You better tell me everything to make up for it!

Alexia was laughing hysterically. I couldn’t help but follow suit, despite myself. This was exactly why I didn’t want her to know. She always has to give me the third degree.

- You couldn’t help yourself, could you? I scolded Ale.

- Nope, I had to share! It was too memorable and funny to keep to myself. You should’ve seen her, covered in hickeys and grinning ear to ear the next morning, she told Mapi.

They both started laughing. Okay, maybe I was on a high at the time. Hearing how she described me now made me feel really embarrassed.

- So, how did it happen?

- It just... did.

"It just did"? Do you think that’s a satisfying answer for me?

Stop. Seriously, it wasn’t planned at all. It just happened, that’s all. And it was good. She was really great with me. That's it. You won’t get more details.  

I stuck my tongue out at her when she groaned.

"I can’t believe you hid this from me again!"

"Hid what?" Lucy asked, just walking into the room.  

Oh no, that’s all I needed. We all know how she reacts to Mapi in these situations.

"Oh, nothing. You just need to know how your girlfriend is so mute and stubborn," Mapi pouted.

"Hmm… I think she’s improving. At least with me."  

I smiled as Lucy wrapped her arms around me from behind, rocking me gently. I leaned into her embrace.

"Can you come with me? I need your help," she whispered in my ear.

"Really? Well, sure, if you want."  

She let go, and I took her hand to follow her. It was the perfect time to be honest. Maybe Mapi would forget about this whole thing… though I’m probably being too hopeful. Before we left, my girlfriend added:

"By the way, we’re thinking of going out to a bar tonight with the others. So, if you're not up for a night at The United, now's your chance to have a girls’ night."

Her suggestion surprised me, but of course, my best friend jumped at it.

"Oh, that’s a great idea!" Mapi exclaimed. "What do you think? Since I’m already here."

"Yeah, why not," Ale agreed.

"We’ll talk about it when I get back, to figure out whose place we’ll go to," I said.

The girls agreed before I left with Lucy. She led me to the main room.

"So, what about the guy? Did he give you a rundown of what’s working and what’s not?"

"Yeah. We could keep the plumbing, but he can’t guarantee it’ll last another three years, so instead of taking the risk and redoing everything later, we’re just going to replace it now."

"Ouch... That’s a shame."

Lucy shrugged and gave me a small smile.

"It’s fine. We anticipated this. He’ll give us a quote to see how much it’ll cost since we’re not doing it ourselves."

"That makes sense. Painting and demolishing is one thing, but this is more complicated."

"Exactly."

We reached the main room, where I noticed the guys had arrived, along with a woman I didn’t recognize. I slowed down when I saw that she was holding my sketches, the ones I had given to Lucy earlier in the day. She was tall, about Lucy’s height, with a normal build and heels. She was charismatic, with long, silky black hair and lightly made-up blue eyes. Lucy smiled at me, seeing my hesitation.

"Don’t be shy. Come on," she said, pulling me forward.

"What’s this about now?"

"Oh, here she is," Beth said when he saw me. "Hey Ona."

"Hey..."  

I went around, greeting everyone, including the woman holding my drawings. I quickly returned to Lucy, who had opened her arms, letting me snuggle into her.

"Let me introduce you to Grace," Beth said. "She has an art degree, but she mainly works as a street artist. She’s the one who did the decoration at my paintball place."

"Wow," I said, remembering the place. "Well, congratulations. You’re really talented. I loved what I saw."

"What she means is, she was completely blown away by it," my girlfriend embellished.

Grace laughed, shaking the papers in her hand.

"Thank you, I’m flattered. I could say the same about you. You’re very talented."

"Thank you," I replied, blushing.

I smiled shyly, sinking further into Lucy’s arms. I don’t handle compliments about my work well since I’m not used to people looking at it. Lucy smiled at me, kissing my temple.

"I imagine you’re not here for no reason?"

"No, indeed," Grace smiled. "Beth and I recently reconnected, and he’s been talking about you and how hard you’ve been searching for a gallery. It just so happens that I recently opened one myself to start working more seriously after all these years."

I listened carefully. No… Don’t tell me...? I glanced at Lucy, who was grinning mischievously. I couldn’t believe it! She surprised me again.

"It turns out I was supposed to collaborate with a friend who backed out at the last minute. The gallery’s already open, but I’m not keen on hiring someone when I’ve just launched it."

"You mean…"

"I’d like you to come work with me. As an apprentice, of course. You’d cost me less, and based on what I have in my hands, you’re talented. Our styles are very different, but I think we could complement each other. Plus, with your management degree, you’d be a great help to me."

"Oh, I’m not sure you should rely too much on that degree..."

She laughed heartily. I guess I’ve said enough times that management isn’t my strong suit.

"Well, what I mean is that your résumé is interesting to me. So, if you're up for it, we could do a trial at my gallery to see if you like it. Of course, the condition is that you need to get your diploma first… Although, to be honest, I’d take you anyway, but your girlfriend here doesn’t seem too fond of that idea, from what she just told me."

I smiled broadly. I playfully hit Lucy’s chest, pushing her away slightly. She laughed.

"You hid everything from me again! You’re unbelievable!"

"Hey, I didn’t know," she defended herself. "Beth just told me this morning that she was bringing someone for you today."

"Is that true?" I asked her.

"Yeah," Beth replied, amused.

"I hesitated a lot," Grace admitted. "I hope you’re ready to work because there’s no shortage of it."

"I’m not afraid of that."

"Good, then there won’t be any problem," she said. "Lucy told me you’re going on vacation soon, but if you’re up for it, you could visit the gallery one weekend and do a trial run, like a day or two, to see if it works for both of us."

"Yeah, we’ll arrange that," Lucy agreed. "Maybe we could exchange contact info to stay in touch?"

"Sure," Grace said with a smile. "I’ll handle the arrangements with your school. I’ve got some former professors who might be able to help you secure a spot."

"Thank you so much. I really don’t know what to say."

"Oh, don’t thank me. You’ll be just as helpful to me, so I’m happy to help in return. I hope this will turn into something good for both of us. Who knows, maybe if the sales go well, I’ll be glad to keep you on afterward."

I was thrilled and incredibly relieved. A huge weight was starting to lift off my shoulders. We exchanged contact information and promised to keep in touch. She left shortly after, and I kissed Lucy deeply without hesitation. I really hoped this would work out.

"Oh my God. I can’t believe it’s real. Thank you so much, Beth."

"No problem," she replied. "I’m glad I could help. It wasn’t even planned. We just happened to reconnect, and I mentioned you. She immediately showed interest. From what I just saw, it looks like she likes you too."

"Same here. She’s really cool. Nothing like Fields, for example."

"Oh, definitely," Lucy agreed. "So, are you good now? Can you relax?"

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She laughed heartily. Unlike me, she had never doubted, and honestly, it felt good. Even when I couldn’t believe in myself, she was always there to remind me that anything was possible. And today, I had proof. I’d found a gallery. This was going to be the new driving force in my life. In our life. I no longer had to consider Fields’ offer, and I was so happy. I could finally turn it down with no regrets.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, should we get back to work?"

"Yep."

"Come with me. Let’s go over your sketches and see what we can come up with."

I smiled, following her to the back rooms. I couldn’t wait to start this project. Even though they were just small images without much cohesion yet, I was sure Lucy’s imagination would help bring them to life. And so, our day continued.

[clowningaroundmars]

thanks to the amazing @starcut-sand for the inspo, i now present to you all... a new multi-chapter adventure! this time featuring our beloved gwen stacy and miles42 :)

no, it's not a ship fic lol but i hope to keep you all entertained nonetheless

this one will update much faster since i've plotted it all out and have drafts written already. so stay tuned for new updates coming soon!

general content warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, kidnapping, drugs, poisoning, death, bullets and explosions, teenagers being teenagers

without further ado, let's get into it!

part 1 of 4 >>

Gwen woke up in a small, dark room not knowing how much time had passed since she was knocked out cold.

And she knew she was knocked out cold, of course, because even she knew never to take a cat-nap in the middle of a mission.

That she was on currently… if memory served her correctly.

Slowly, painstakingly-- with knives in her ribs and her left shoulder still sore from her earlier encounter-- she sat up. Flicked through her watch to make double-sure that the migraine throbbing in her brain wasn’t tricking her into a vivid hallucination of some kind.

Earth-42 stared right back at her, bright green digital letters dancing and blurring in and out right before her very eyes. When she reached up to touch her forehead in a spot that itched, her glove came away with a bit of dried blood on the white fabric.

Shit.

Gwen could not let Jessica down under any circumstances, especially since this was her first mission since… well, since Miles Morales from earth-1610 came in and single-handedly caused the collapse of the Spider Society as everyone knew it.

Which wasn’t really a bad thing in the end, but it did mean that poor Jess had to step up as the leader shortly after Miguel was forcibly dethroned.

“I’m the interim leader right now,” she would say to anyone who called her “boss” or “CEO” or any variation of the word. The poor woman already had enough on her plate as it was with a newborn and a new family life to tend to, so Gwen understood 100%.

It was also why the pressure was on her shoulders to complete this one tiny, manageable task that was given to her.

Gwen wasn’t stupid. She knew she was on a sort of probationary period after her first blunder on earth-1610. And the fact that she turned her back on the Society to break a couple of rules, help Miles, save the multiverse... well, all of that didn't help matters much.

She ignored the looks cast her way every now and then by other Spiders when visiting HQ, but she knew. She tallied up those glances whether anyone knew of it or not.

But then there was also the stupid feeling of… sentimentality hanging in the air, keeping her chained to the Society when most of her other Spider friends had already abandoned the group.

Yeah, her relationship with her father was… repaired, for the most part. But damn it if she didn’t take a liking to Jessica Drew, too! Sue her.

So here she was, on a mission to visit earth-42 and investigate an anomaly that seemed to threaten the very fabric of space and time. Again.

Gwen was already starting to regret her very dumb, not-very-well-thought out decision to volunteer for this one, though.

No time to complain right now though. We’ve got a problem to solve, Gwen mused, forcing her annoyance, frustration, and panic deep down for the moment.

Her aching brain switched over to Work Mode once again, and she immediately slid into compartmentalizing and sorting every bit of detail that she could manage to remember in the present moment.

Her head was bleeding and throbbing, which meant she sustained a brain injury of some kind. She wobbled unsteadily to her feet, wiggling them and checking on her balance. Her head complained louder, but she seemed to be able to walk just fine.

Okay. Good. It wasn’t a bad injury-- and if it was, it seemed her enhanced healing factor already took care of the majority of it in her sleep.

Alright, time to examine her surroundings now.

While she did so, she found it pretty irritating that while her injury didn’t put her out of commission, it seemed to wipe her entire short-term memory instead.

She eventually sat down on a crate in the corner of the room that she was imprisoned in and with her head in her hands, started sorting even harder through her mental files.

… Nothing.

Well, nothing past the memory of flying through the designated portal she opened back in Jess’s office shortly after receiving her mission assignment. And then landing on top of a familiar-but-not-so-familiar building on earth-42's Brooklyn.

She vaguely remembered the late evening sunset, almost choked out by the various plumes of smoke reaching up to the heavens from the fires that still raged on in parts of the city.

... And then? Nothing else.

Gwen remembered how it was like when earth-1610’s Miles-- her Miles-- ended up in this strange world for the first time, a time that seemed like it was eons ago to Gwen, but couldn’t have been more than a few months ago. The fires were much more numerous, news helicopters everywhere and crime seemingly never-ending.

She couldn’t speak on the crime rates per se, but the place looked a little bit less like the mess she and her Spider Band stumbled into at first.

She distinctly remembered thinking to herself-- before swinging down and heading towards the reports of the anomalies-- that she was glad that the Prowlers seemed to get some things under control. If it was them battling the crime in the first place, that is.

But now there was no time for such thoughts. Wherever the Prowlers happened to be now, they were most likely nowhere near her location. Calling Miles-42 up on her watch would be… distasteful, especially this early in the game.

Especially when she had no idea if he was even available or not. Hm. Maybe she should’ve let Jess ping him and let him know of her arrival as per the usual protocol, but. Oh well.

Too late for that now.

So she stood up again, massaged her shoulder and rolled her neck, and blinked the stars out of her eyes. Time to get to work, for real this time.

She eventually happened upon a door that seemed to lead to the outside, which was really well-hidden against the four walls that enclosed her inside.

The room she was held in wasn’t very big, but it was dark. There was only one tiny little window high up near the ceiling that offered a glimpse up into the night sky beyond.

So it was well past sunset… better than not knowing anything at all, right?

The exit was seemingly hard to get out of, unfortunately. Try as she might, Gwen’s strength alone couldn’t get the giant metal door open. She pushed and pulled on the edges, tried sliding it left and right, tried kicking at it. It didn’t budge.

Whoever trapped her in this… storage closet seemed to know exactly what they were doing, who they were dealing with… whoever they happened to be.

Sinister laughing echoed in the back of her mind as she recalled her run-in with the bad guy but… couldn’t for the life of her remember who he was! So frustrating!

Still, this was earth-42. The baddie could’ve been anyone at all, anyone from the Sinister Six Cartel that she knew still held power on the streets here.

Even with their power slowly slipping from their collective grasps, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that one of those assholes still owned a high-security compound out in the middle of nowhere. It also wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for one of them to have enough tranquilizers to knock out ten elephants, and use that drug on her to drag her out here.

For all Gwen knew, she was probably miles and miles away from Brooklyn, too. Just great.

No time to despair. Time to concentrate.

Okay, so she couldn’t really get past this gigantic metal door that seemed to be made of some titanium alloy or whatever. That left the small space up high on the wall that probably served as ventilation for the room, only sporting thick metal bars to prevent things from getting in… or out.

Gwen quickly scaled the wall and eyed the dimensions of the space before deciding that if she got the metal grating off of the concrete wall, she might be able to squeeze her shoulders through and possibly achieve freedom.

Assuming as well, of course, that the security in this building was easy to get past.

But she would rather take her chances with evil police-drones and bumbling goons than sit another minute in this prison waiting to see who exactly captured her.

Gwen got to work, using her super-strength to painstakingly detach the grates corner by corner, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She bent a few bars in the process, but what was a little property damage to a Spiderperson? No big deal.

If the bad guy who kidnapped me wanted his compound to be spotless and damage-free, he shouldn’t have kidnapped me in the first place, Gwen reasoned.

After what felt like hours, the grating was off. She was free! Now all she had to do was--

Gwen’s heart almost leaped out of her throat and into her mask when glowing purple and white eyes suddenly came into view. They narrowed into slits.

“Jesus Chr--!!! What the…” her brain fully booted up this time, taking a second to stare right back into the glowing eyes of...

“Miles?” She gasped, once it hit her.

The glowing eyes blinked once before finally nodding at her. He raised a metal claw to his mask’s mouth in a universally-recognizable gesture.

Shhhhh.

Gwen’s own giant white eyes blinked back at him before shifting out of the way to allow Miles to extend a begauntleted arm into the room through the window and shoot out… something.

A spark of purple lit the room up, and shortly after, a clattering of glass and plastic resonated through the room before the place fell deathly quiet once more.

“There was a camera in there with you, most likely recording audio, too,” Miles offered as an explanation.

“… Oh. Well, thanks.” Gwen said awkwardly.

So she was wrong. Somehow, in the middle of the night in this odd prison she woke up in, Miles Morales happened to find her anyhow.

She wasn’t used to… this other Miles, and they hadn’t spoken much after their first meeting months ago.

He would join the Spider Band on their own missions sparingly. As far as she knew, only 1610’s Miles hung out with him with any sort of regularity. The kid was a complete mystery to everyone else otherwise, and whenever he was brought up around 1610, the topic was usually brushed off as casually as possible.

Gwen had no clue why 42’s Miles didn’t seem to take a liking to any of the members of their little motley crew. She figured he probably had a hard time keeping up with super-powered heroes and just left it at that, even though from what she could see of their encounters-- however far and few between they were-- the kid seemed to have talent. He was able to keep up with them on most days without barely breaking a sweat.

So all in all, a total mystery to her. Even if this guy shared the same face as her best friend and ally Miles Morales, he... moved differently. Acted differently. Like Miles Morales, but in a different font.

He started to shimmy his shoulders into the room to get past the tight constraints of the window. Gwen stared at him with a cocked head the entire time.

He used his sneakers to cling onto the wall for a little bit, reaching right back out of the window once inside. He pulled in a backpack through the opening and promptly dropped down onto the cold hard floor of the room.

“Uh, hi? Wait. Weren’t we supposed to both escape through that window instead of you, y’know, coming inside?”

Miles-- well, 42--shook his head as he threw his pack back on in one swift motion. “I checked the perimeters, and we’re a long, long ways away from the city. Even if we managed to get past the millions of goons and cameras everywhere, they got dogs doing night shifts out in the woods.”

Gwen’s heart sank. Shit. Her earlier thoughts were coming true. They were far away from Brooklyn, which complicated their escape plans even more.

“I mean… ugh, I-- we can climb the trees! Right? If we just--”

“The guards, Gwen. They got guns loaded up with bullets. But you know what I got? A plan.”

Gwen blinked back at 42 yet again. “You do?”

42 took confident steps back as he put some distance between them and then triple-tapped the side of his mechanical mask. Gwen watched with awe as the front of the mask sectioned itself up and off of his head, revealing a laser-focused expression on Miles’ handsome face-- er, his regular, normal, totally-not-good-looking face!

From somewhere on his mask, a bright purple hologram was projected between them, suspended in mid-air. The lights cast the entire room in a hazy purple glow.

The hologram projected a 3D blueprint-like map of the entire building-- all 5 stories of it. Each floor was meticulously detailed, down to the various entrances and exits and relative dimensions of the many, many rooms the building held.

42 tapped his mask again, this time on the chin, and a maze-like structure materialized, all of it hovering on top of each other and weaving themselves in between the floors… a maze-like structure that seemed very, very familiar.

“Vents!” Gwen snapped her fingers once she recognized them. “You have the blueprints of all the ventilation shafts in the building!”

42 nodded, the projection bobbing along with his movements. “Yeah, I do. I’m a Prowler, right? We always stay prepared.”

Gwen squinted at him. “I guess...? How’d you get stuck in this place if you’re always prepared, then? Did you get kidnapped too?”

“Nah,” 42 answered easily, a corner of his mouth quirking up for a split second, “I followed you here.”

Gwen blinked at him for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. "What."

42 sighed. “You got knocked out by this dimension’s Doctor Octopus. He threw you into the back of a van and ordered his goon squad to bring you back up here, to a secret location he’s got surrounded by energy dampeners and signal blockers. Most likely? He knows you’re not from this dimension and wants to experiment on you. But me? I’m here ‘cause me and my uncle have been lookin’ for this place for months. It’s… top-secret, this compound. Classified.”

“Oh. How did… how did you know he’d bring me to the place you and your uncle have been looking for this whole time? What if he brought me to another building?”

42 smirked, the purple lights of the holograms twinkling in his eyes. “Doc’s assets are being… uh, slowly compromised by us with the underground resistance. Not many places for him to throw his unwilling science experiments into nowadays.”

So it wasn’t just Gwen’s imagination. This dimension really has been steadily cleaned up by the Prowlers and their freedom-fighting allies. Well, that was good to hear. Still didn’t provide much relief for their current situation considering this was Doctor Octopus they were talking about here, but it was still nice to know.

“Well. That’s great to hear, then. What’s the rest of your plan, after ducking out of here through the vents?”

42’s mask re-formed back onto his face and the glowing purple and white eyes came back online. “We’re not ducking through the vents. Well, yet. I came here on my own mission and I gotta complete it before leaving.”

Gwen sighed softly. “Which would be...?”

Getting the whole story out of this version of Miles was like pulling teeth! Was it always going to be like this? Because if so, this wasn’t going to be a very easy mission to pull off after all.

“I can get you out of here first, if you want,” 42 glowered at her, voice distorting behind his mask’s voice-changing technology. His tone seemed impatient, too. “I can stay behind ‘til I’m done.”

Gwen shifted her weight onto one leg. “No, not a chance. I have to stay here and make sure Doc Ock doesn’t turn you into minced meat. Plus, you’re the one who has all the blueprints and cool glowing tech thingies. I’m sticking with you until we can both get out of here!”

This seemed to satisfy 42, because he gave her one unreadable nod in her direction. “… If you’re sure, then let’s go.”

He moved swiftly, much more gracefully than Gwen was used to seeing a Miles move. He walked almost silently, crouching down near one side of the wide metal sliding door thing that Gwen was trying to unsuccessfully pry open earlier.

He reached back into his gear that was saddled on his back and pulled out what seemed to be a small metal object with tiny purple lights on the outer edge. It attached itself onto the door and then 42 was sliding a hidden panel that Gwen had completely missed.

Gwen eventually sidled up to him and clasped her hands behind her back. “I see we’re sticking real well to the branding here. Purple lights, purple holograms… very cool,” was her lame attempt at lightening the mood.

“Yeah, it’s a family thing,” 42 muttered as he worked on… what seemed like some electrical circuitry built into the door. It glowed a soft green. “Been passed down for a couple of generations.”

Gwen hummed. “Oh, I see.”

A beat of silence as 42 continued his work.

Gwen checked her watch once more as she leaned on a wall. “Soooo… should I be doing something while you… y’know…?”

“Yeah, you should be quiet.” 42 answered.

“Ouch.” Gwen replied back as flatly as she could. “Look. I don’t wanna step all on your toes or anything while you do this whole… Prowling thing, but we’re a two-man team here! I’m at the very least trying to make conversation,”

“Okay, sure,” 42 replied easily, never taking his eyes off of his task. “Why are you in my dimension in the first place? Since you like to talk so much, maybe you can tell me that.”

Gwen sighed loudly. Great. Here she was trapped in a bad guy’s compound in the middle of who-knows-where, with the meanest Miles in the entirety of the multiverse. Just her luck.

“I was sent here on a mission. By Jessica. You know, the other other Spiderwoman? Who’s now in charge of the Spider Society, by the way? Yeah, we detected anomalies here in this dimension and she sent me to check it out. But… well, I kinda already screwed that up so I guess I can go and kiss my Society membership goodbye for good this time. Happy?”

42 glanced up at her then, his mask as unreadable as ever, the darkness enshrouding much of his body language. He slowly stood up and backed up, silently gazing at Gwen all the while.

She stood there glaring at him with her arms crossed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” 42 finally replied coolly. “Now keep quiet, we don’t know if there are guards out here on patrol. My mask is still calibrating its infrared heat sensors so I can’t see ‘em yet.”

Infrared heat sensors? God, is this kid packed to the teeth with high-tech spy gadgetry or what?

Gwen begrudgingly did as she was told, taking a couple of steps back as 42 lowered the brightness of his mask’s glow.

The door rumbled open with a mechanic hum, and that’s when it hit her; Gwen couldn’t have possibly gotten the door open by herself, because it wasn’t just locked… it was hooked up to a main power source and sealed that way.

Damn. Looks like she really did need to rely on this guy to escape this place, after all.

Well then.

They poked their heads out of the dark room and quietly surveyed the expansive maze-like hallways of the compound. Pipes running the entire length of the ceiling as far as they could see told them both everything they needed to know.

42 took a quick step back to update his mask’s digital blueprint and map out exactly where they were.

Gwen glanced back at him. “What’re you doing now?”

“I'm marking where we are...” He then drops his voice to a near whisper, eyes still methodically scanning the area around them. "This compound's built into the side of a steep hill, which is how I climbed in. We must be on the north side, then."

He tapped his mechanical claws on the tip of his chin and started thinking aloud. “Which means… what I’m lookin’ for has to be underneath the ground, towards the south. I’m lookin’ for a room not on the blueprints. And... and I think I know exactly where to start.”

“You think you know? I thought you had a plan!”

“I do,” 42 threw back. “An escape plan. But you’re stickin’ with me, so now we’re gonna do some Prowlering. Unless you changed your mind?”

Oh, right. This game. Well, this kid wasn’t getting rid of her that easily, that was for sure.

“Oh no, no. Just making sure you’re capable of getting out of here, is all,” she offered innocently.

42 might’ve rolled his eyes behind his mask, but it was hard to tell.

Together, they moved through the halls as silently as possible, straining their ears for any sign of human life-- or robot life, really-- as they quickly made their way down several wide corridors.

All of the halls started blurring together since they all looked completely identical to Gwen, save for the numbers on the various doors they passed by changing and getting smaller as they advanced.

After several minutes had passed, Gwen wanted to open her mouth and ask 42 where exactly they were heading to since it didn’t seem like their trip was even coming anywhere close to an end, when he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her around a corner they had just walked past seconds earlier.

Gwen made a slight noise of confusion and then sucked in a breath when the sound of metal clanging and machines whirring echoed all around them. 42 was closest to the corner, head turned over to where she suspected the intruders were coming from.

Sure enough, a pair of heavy work boots stamped gracelessly down the halls and the casual back-and-forth between the men that suddenly came into view could be heard more clearly.

“… Can’t believe he’s got us down here working doubles now, man! Sucks,” one of the men grumbled as they made their way past the two vigilantes and opened yet another giant metal door with a keycard.

Gwen’s vision zeroed in on it as the man reached behind him to tuck it back into his pocket, and her split-second reflexes allowed her to time her web just right.

She snagged the card and held a breath as the door whirred shut right behind the men, both of them none the wiser.

“Whew,” she said after a second of tense waiting, and smirked at 42 who held a metal claw out for the keycard. “Look who’s got a plan now! Aren't you glad I stuck around?”

42 chuckled, the sound warbling slightly under his voice modulator. “Yeah, that was pretty cool. I can admit that. Now that we got this, we might be able to use it to get into the room I wanna get into once we find it.”

“Right,” Gwen pipes up once they continue their descent deeper into the bowels of the compound, “about that. You never told me what it is that you came here to find. In fact, you’ve been pretty cagey this entire time. Like, about everything.”

42 made an undecipherable sound. “Uh, yeah. This is my recon mission, not yours. You’re not even from this dimension, this doesn’t really concern you.”

Gwen grunted. “Gee thanks. If that’s how you feel, then I’ll be having my keycard back!”

42 shook his head and laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that, man. I meant… just don’t worry about it. It’s info we’re looking for to eventually take down Doc Ock. If I said it out loud here, it might jeopardize this whole thing me and Aaron have planned. I'm in work mode right now, I'm sure you get it,”

Gwen relaxed a bit more. In a way, she did get it. She even understood 42’s hesitance to have her aboard to work with him, since working on group projects wasn't exactly on her own list of top ten favorite things… especially when the project itself concerned the very fabric of the space-time continuum.

Gwen was a solo hero, and maybe since 42 was here on his own, he finally graduated into being a solo hero, too.

Actually, on that topic…

“Does your… does your uncle know you’re here, then? If he does, maybe he can help us get out of here?”

42 helped himself to a healthy pause. “Yes, and no. Aaron’s not… here, near the compound. But he does know I’m out on a mission.”

Gwen stared at him. “Sooo… call him? I’m sure he can get past security, right?”

42 laughed yet again, shaking his head. “Guess you didn’t hear me back in the other room when I told you there are blockers all over this compound, huh.”

Gwen cocked an eyebrow at him and their lenses met.

“What I mean is,” 42 continues, “tech down here doesn’t work very well due to all the interference the Doc’s put up to conceal this place. Again, top secret. Super classified. My own mask took a little while to come back online, and some stuff is still… coming back online. Kinda."

“And your communicators wouldn’t happen to also be on the fritz, would they?” Gwen asked, fully knowing the answer she was going to get.

“Mmnnyep, communicator’s offline. I dunno what the hell Doc’s got this place running on, but it’s not electricity. I’m not too concerned about the details, though,”

Here, they came up to a wide metal door marked in bright caution-tape stripes with several warnings plastered on its surface.

“... ’Cause I got my eyes on the prize,” 42 finished, swaggering up to the door’s keycard panel and successfully getting the thing to slide open.

They both fell into fighting stances in case anything behind the door leapt out at them and attacked, but… there was no one and nothing in the spacious cave-like room beyond it.

Nothing except… a humongous collider!

Gwen gasped as she lowered her fists and advanced forward, making her way over thick wires and past computers to get closer to the giant dimension-ripping machine in the center of the room.

It looked… not quite as high-tech as the one in her dimension, or Miles’-- er, 1610’s collider, that is-- but it was completely unmistakable. The form never changes, neither through space nor through time. It was indeed a collider built by none other than the infamous Doctor Octopus, even if it didn’t quite look as close to being complete.

There were still various wires draped on ladders near the edge of the lab, scissor-lifts located below the platforms parked for the night, and several components were missing that seemed to lay underneath odd-looking bulgy sheets on top of several tables nearby. Gwen made her way over to a computer and woke it up, balking at the password-locked screen in front of her eyes.

Damnit. Damnit! It wasn’t just an anomaly that the Society managed to detect… it was the energy signals from this collider, most likely having gone through some initial tests before advancing to this final stage of construction.

If this was it, then Gwen needed to get back to Jess with this information ASAP!

She fiddled with her watch a bit, but it still looked to be on the fritz somehow, not letting her switch to any other dimension or access the other features Hobie had installed into it. Weird.

She straightened up and glanced behind her, hoping that 42 had some kind of tech or knowledge that would help crack this computer open so she could take a look through the files to gauge just how far along this little pet project was… only to find that she was alone.

... Alone?

"Miles?"

Silence. Her heart jumpstarted a bit and started hammering away in her chest as she hurriedly made her way past rows of tables, science equipment, and computer screens of all sizes, only to find a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a weird car-shaped machine set aside in the corner of the gigantic lab.

She stood there for a bit with her hands on her hips, quieting her thoughts and watching as 42 tinkered away at whatever the hell he was tinkering away at.

She eventually kicked a purple Jordan gently and smiled bemusedly at 42 shuffling his way out from under the machine.

“Having fun down there?” She said as casually as she could manage.

42’s mask was off slightly, still framing his face, but now Gwen could see his slightly exasperated expression in full view.

“Yeah, actually, I was.” He gave her a full view of his snarky attitude too, while he was at it.

He laid back down and pushed his way underneath once more.

“Is this gigantic collider in the middle of this room not a huge concern to you at all?”

“Not really.” 42 answered from under the machine.

“Can I ask why? You do know that if the Octopus gets this thing done and booted up, that your entire dimension is at risk of collapsing just like every other dimension that’s had a collider in it before?”

“Really? Ya don't say,” 42 replied sarcastically, clinking and clanking away. The machine rattled a bit. “That’s nowhere near done right now and I gotta prioritize my priorities. I’m getting to root cause of the problem rather than just climbing in here and smashing stuff up.”

“… Are you now?” Gwen deadpanned.

A mighty metallic scraping sound jolted its way through her eardrums suddenly, making Gwen jump slightly. After a second or two, 42 slides out once again with a big sunny grin plastered onto his face, holding up what looks like a small motherboard with a bunch of metal wires still attached to the metal casing it was screwed into. He only wore one gauntlet, she noted.

He quickly took his pack off and got to work inlaying the computer part into a panel in his pack that she had never noticed before.

A total tech marvel that thing was, really. Even Gwen had to make a noise of approval when with a few purposeful jabs and swipes, the whole pack disengaged and unfolded itself open, much like his mask. No tools required.

He made quick work of the task at hand, using one metal gauntlet as a makeshift toolset, his other gloved hand working to set the entire component into the rest of the pack’s inner workings.

Once that seemed to be done, all of the circuitry glowed purple for a beat before going dark once more. 42 tapped at his gauntlet, bringing up more info on the inside of his wrist, which he seemed to approve of.

“All set?” Gwen probed, still standing a little ways away from him, watching as he seemed completely engrossed in his little side-mission.

He reached back under the machine and pulled out his other gauntlet, springing back up once it was in his hands.

“Yeah. Better than all set, ‘cause now my pack’s online! I can use my climbing gear again.” At this, 42 unlatches a reel of rope from behind him, his grappling hook dangling on one end as he swings it in circular motions through the air. “Hell yeah,”

Gwen stared at him once again. “Your climbing gear wasn’t working? How did you climb into my window, then?”

42 gave her a bit of side-eye. "I got other gear besides my rope, you know that, right?"

Gwen huffed, clearly annoyed. "No, actually I don't. I've been following you this whole time and you haven't really been saying much at all,"

42’s mask slid back into place as he rolled his shoulders and readjusted his pack. “You ask too many questions,”

“You don’t provide too many answers,” Gwen bit out dryly. “Seriously, dude, we are in the middle of giant evil lair of some kind with no way to communicate with the outside world and you’re swaggering through this whole ordeal like it’s a walk in the park,” she huffs. “Why can’t you just tell me like, anything?”

They’re both face-to-face now, mask-to-mask, very obviously frustrated with each other if the electricity in the air was as thick as it felt.

Two teenagers butting heads in the middle of a giant lab, trapped in the lair of their greatest enemy… it would embarrassing if it wasn’t so absurd, but here they were, glaring each other down anyways.

“I am telling you things, you just don’t listen! Probably ‘cause you think your powers make you all-powerful and omniscient or something, that you think you don't need to listen to a word I'm saying,” 42’s words dripped with venom. “Seriously, staying with me to make sure I don’t get myself killed? Gimme a damn break. If sticking with me is soooo boring and you know more than I do, you can get yourself up out of here, then.”

Gwen bristled. “Listen here, jerk. I never said that I was better than you. Kinda telling on yourself there, don'tcha think?” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I was perfectly capable of letting myself out before you fell in here and got us all turned around! I had it on my own, I could've gotten myself out of here ages ago!"

“And who’s stopping you?” 42 threw his hands up in the air. “Use your little spider powers to bust up out of here, and just leave!"

Gwen stepped back, seething. With fists clenched by her sides, she shoots 42 more daggers his way, hoping her mask’s lenses would convey the message.

Wordlessly, she turns around and shoots a web up to one of the ventilation grates high up in the cavernous room, sticking to the wall.

She works the grating off while 42’s Jordans pace right out of the room and into another side room, leaving the lab completely silent.

Fine. If that was how things were going to be, then fine. This was hardly the worst situation Gwen’s ever found herself in, and it most likely wasn't going to be over anytime soon. But she’s gotten herself out of stickier conundrums on her own, so this was just going to be yet another one of life’s little tests. Just a bump in the road.

A small, insignificant little bump.

As Gwen quietly seethed and crawled her way through the ventilation shafts (completely blindly, since she didn’t really bother to memorize the absolute maze that was whatever 42 showed her earlier) she came upon a vent opening that overlooked a room filled with monitors and… guards.

It looked to be a security room not too far from the collider room, and the men inside were armored to the teeth, only slipping off their helmets and masks to chat some shit over takeout containers and coffee cups.

The rest of the room was covered in tv monitors that showed various different CCTV camera feeds, all of them stationary. Most of them were pointing to the outside, though, hardly any of the screens showed views from the basement level’s numerous corridors, curiously enough.

Gwen doubted 42’s earlier claim that this building ran on some other form of power, since she didn’t think it would be very economic on the Octopus’ wallet to buy so many cameras and monitors and computers that ran on alternate power sources.

Maybe… if he was wrong… then maybe she could even use her watch to open up a portal in an empty room somewhere and just peace out!

Tell Jess what she found, because by now she’d pretty much done her job. Leave the rest to a more capable task force put together by the Society and just go back to her normal, boring, definitely not eventful life.

But then… as tempting as the thought was… she’d be leaving 42 behind. 42, sure, but a Miles nonetheless… a friend.

From what she could gather, the poor guy had very few friends, if any at all. If he wasn’t communicating to her properly, maybe isolation from his vigilante work was to blame, rather than a fault of his character.

Gwen propped up her chin in one hand and ruminated on all of these thoughts, arguing with herself over whether she should stay or go. She glanced at her cobbled-up watch, a permanent reminder of her best friend Hobie Brown, and laid on her back to mess with it one more time.

Her thoughts sunk down into the bottom of her stomach as she fiddled with it, continuing to get error messages as she tried to scroll through the various dimensions she knows she’s saved to her little watch, coming up with nothing even when she dared to try and open a portal in the middle of the vent shaft.

Nothing, nada. No dice. No portal whatsoever happened to materialize. It gave small sad beeps instead, really hammering home that… she really was on her own this time.

Damn.

Gwen didn’t know why, but this thought kind of depressed her.

At least on previous missions and patrols in her dimension, she was always acutely aware of how much rested on her own shoulders. She always went in with confidence and some sort of game plan, content enough to just let her quick thinking and powers get her out of any fight, any problem.

But ever since landing here on earth-42, she seemed… discombobulated, not entirely in her element. Everything in this dimension seemed to work against her at every single turn.

She’d have to bring that up to the other Spiders, ask if they’ve ever felt anything like she was feeling before.

If she could get out of this building in the first place, that is…

A loud, jarring alarm jolted her violently out of her wandering thoughts, and she almost hit her head on the ceiling of the vent, rolling over quickly to peer down into the room below her.

The guards were pulling helmets and masks on, scrambling up from their previous positions and pouring out of the security room door as quickly as they could.

In the midst of the sudden chaos, Gwen’s wide eyes honed in on one particular screen, which was pointed directly at the collider room’s interior…

... And directly at earth-42’s Miles Morales himself.

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 20 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur finally find solace in a town and in each other, breaking down every last wall that remains.

Author’s Notes: Sexual content in this chapter. Chapter twenty of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Twenty: The Power of a Name

Word count: 6609

She really thought I would leave her here. What nonsense, especially after what happened in the last town and how much it haunts her. I suppose I’ll be seeing this journey through to the end. Either that, or long enough for her to tell me to get lost. Surprisingly, that ain’t happened quite yet, though I ain’t holding out hope that it won’t after how much of a fool I been towards her. We shall see, I guess.

~

It had taken ten more days to get back to civilization. The town of Ogallala was small but growing fast due to the rail built through it. Arthur knew it made you nervous to be around this many people again, but the law in this town was sparse, and the two of you kept your heads down well enough and found a hotel tucked away to stay hidden in in the meantime. If anyone came through looking for you, they’d have to go door to door to find you, and many of the townsfolk weren’t local besides. That meant no real reason to turn in two people folk hadn’t really noticed in the first place. That left Arthur calm enough not to worry over your safety like he had been the past week and a half. And that left him more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

It turned out you were nervous about more than just the law and the local population—he’d had to wriggle it out of you, but Arthur finally figured out you thought the local train station meant his departure. Your final destination wasn’t far, and you had thought he was impatient enough to get back to his gang that he would take the first train to Denver and leave you here to fend for yourself. He couldn’t begin to explain how wrong you were and had instead led you to the hotel without a word, a little miffed you thought he cared that little about you. Then again, he hadn’t outright expressed much reason for you to think otherwise, and he was starting to think it was time to. You’d immediately collapsed onto the bed upon arrival, worn from all the hard travel, so he didn’t have a chance to speak his mind anyway. Later, he told himself. Though he was in denial about the fact that very soon, there wouldn’t be a later.

Arthur sat on the floor beside the bed and chewed on a bit of cooked deer meat Beth had insisted the two of you take, looking over his journal to pass the time. Really, he wondered what to say to you. He wasn’t the best with words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He thought of writing it down but had come up with his pitiful new journal entry instead, cowardly as ever. Then, annoyed, he turned back a page, knowing exactly what he would find. He didn’t know why it surprised him. But there you were, laid out on that bed in that barn, half-naked save for his coat. And underneath, your name. Your real name, written out after he’d finished every last gentle curve and arc of your body. He never thought knowing a name would be such an honor, but he realized that it had been your way of expressing to him what he had yet to express to you—how much you cared for him. It was obvious he felt the same, obvious in the few stolen kisses he’d gotten since what had happened in that worn down barn. But maybe the pair of you hadn’t come together like that since because he was the one holding back, not you. And that left him shameful.

Arthur looked over at you on the bed, your back steadily rising and falling in sleep. You were faced away, so he couldn’t see much of you apart from your hand draped over the bedside. Even that small glimpse of you had him thinking of how little time there was left between you and how precious this closeness was. It was time for him to admit things he never normally would or risk letting them fester within him, nothing more than regret that would chafe like hell the farther away he got from you.

Arthur stowed the deer meat and went back to studying the drawing of you. One thing he liked most about it was the look on your face—the smile. Upon first meeting you, he never would have thought someone so heartbroken could eventually be so willful again. That smile was catlike, just for him. It turned him on a little. And the rest of the drawing didn’t make matters better, nor did the thought of what the two of you had done together to cause that smile.

Arthur thought of other ways you had surprised him, as you continued to do every day. How good of a shot you were, for one. Hell, just the thought of you being so good with a gun you’d snapped that noose clean in half had him hard. Then his mind drifted to your hands wrapped around a gun, and just like that, he was lost.

Arthur’s eyes followed the curve of your breast in his coat as he thought of how argumentative you were, the way you snapped at him without fear time and again. He was used to being intimidating enough to make everyone else hold their tongue, but not you. You let him have it.

And your mouth. The way you kissed him despite not quite knowing how—it was unfair to be so good at it. Unfair to be so innocent yet so arousing. Timid yet wild, broken yet strong. All of it.

Arthur let out an annoyed breath at how aroused he had become, setting his journal aside and turning to look at you. He wouldn’t leave you again, but he was suddenly desperate to take himself in hand, something he would rather not do in front of you, asleep or not. But, he considered, you had just fallen asleep. It could be hours. You weren’t a very heavy sleeper, but he could be quiet. He could…shit. He shouldn’t be considering this. But he thought of you waking up and catching him in the act, and that made things immeasurably worse. How would you respond? That put a smile on his face. You’d never seen him naked, nor any man if he had to guess. He loved seeing that shy, surprised look on your face his overly confident words brought, and he had no doubt the sight of him pleasuring himself would make you go so red it would leave you speechless for once. Or maybe it wouldn’t, and maybe you would be curious enough to crawl off that bed and come over here, crawl in his lap and-

“Christ,” Arthur whispered, in the same sorry state he had been in that bath, thinking then of what he would do with you on the first bed you’d shared. Only now, he had no reason to feel guilty over wanting you like that. He had half a mind you wanted the same from him. Or he hoped you did, at least. If how you had responded to his touch the last time was any indication, you certainly did.

And then Arthur was thinking of what he knew he shouldn’t be, because it would lead to his hand drifting downward when he really shouldn’t allow for such things. He thought of his fingers between your legs, all those perfect sounds you made. He thought of your whispered fervor, the words don’t stop cutting through him worse than any bullet. He wanted that again. By God, he was desperate enough to wake you for it. But he wouldn’t. He would let you rest and have what little peace he could offer. Because what he was considering wasn’t quite peace so much as it was demanding, outright gratification. A desperation he could no longer tame and one he hoped to drag from you right alongside him. But again, as much as it killed him, he would wait for your desire to match his. And as he pulled another cigarette out of his ever-dwindling stash to distract him in the meantime, he knew what he felt for you must be real—nothing had ever nagged him so bad as to make him more honorable. And there was something to be said for that.

~

Two months and fifteen days. You woke up to the ceiling of yet another rented room, plagued by the thought of your parents’ deathdate. Your mother had been keeping up with the days, if only for some way to pass the time, and here you were doing the same two and a half months later, nearly to the day. It had been a Wednesday. The ninth of September. And now it was nearing the end of November, and all you could hold onto was how much you regretted not marking their graves with their birthdates and deathdates. With crosses bearing names you were proud to display but couldn’t bear to part with at the time, just like your own.

You looked to the windows lining the wall, noting the gray sky beyond. It was snowing again. It had been for nearly the entirety of the past week, though part of you wished it would give. There were many things you wished would give, namely the ache in your chest at the constant absence of your parents’ guidance. As far as you had come without it, you knew you could survive on your own, but that guidance was a crutch you would have loved to feel one last time. Comforting in its surrender.

Your eyes flicked to the man propped up against the wall, one leg bent at the knee and hat slung low over his eyes. He was either asleep or resting, and you didn’t want to disturb him either way. He didn’t allow himself to do so very often after the two of you had gotten so tangled with the law, but he deserved this. He was toughened, hardened by a life you would never have come out of alive. It made him strong in a way you wanted to grant respite to. Strong in a way you knew he never would himself. Stubborn, more like, but you couldn’t deny you recognized that only because you were the same.

Turning on the bed, a loud creak resulted that had Arthur raising his hat brim to look at you. Part of you wanted to pretend to be dozing anyway like you used to do as a child, but you met his eye instead. Held that stare until it turned contemplative. Until you were both looking beyond the eyes into the soul beneath.

“Didn’t want to sleep up here?” you said softly.

Arthur looked to the window, like of all things, that was what finally made him meek.

“You needed some sleep. And didn’t leave me much room besides.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. When he turned back to you, all you could say was, “It’s snowing again.”

“Yeah,” he said in a manner that made you recall the secret he had bestowed to you—something no one else knew about him. Your very own piece of him.

“And you don’t like the cold, do you?” you teased.

He scoffed. “No.”

Stubborn and gruff. You were grinning as you said, “That’s too bad. Guess I don’t have to face my shortcomings quite like you do.”

“Meanin’?” he said, annoyance in his voice though you knew he was curious enough not to drop it.

“The postman,” you admitted. Then he was letting out a laugh.

“I guess not.” He shook his head and looked back to the gray light of the nearest window. And something about doing what you had just done to ground yourself made you ache for him.

“Come up here.”

The words were out of your mouth in a second. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in you, not even when he looked to you with questioning eyes.

You scooted back and patted the bed in front of you. He didn’t make a fuss about it—just rose and walked over, his spurs jingling with each step. He swiped his hat from his head and sat, holding your eye as he folded his lumbering frame down on the bed beside you. You lay facing each other when he set his hat on your head, an action so fond you nearly choked up with it.

He smiled at you, likely because of the way his hat was much too big and sat crookedly, covering one of your eyes completely. You had the sudden urge to give him yours, but it was on the floor behind you, and you wouldn’t move enough to ruin this perfect moment with him. He was never so…tender. Especially not with the way he looked at you. Like it was a privilege to do so.

You tilted his hat so you could see him out of both eyes and smiled at him. “What?”

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. “Just…”

He took a moment. You would have given him all the time in the world to know what that look was for.

“You,” he admitted on an outward breath. “Ain’t what I expected.”

“How so?”

His eyes flicked away then, like he wasn’t used to this kind of talk. He obviously wasn’t, as you’d never gotten this much from him before, but it still softened you to see him so nervous over it. Like he was trying hard to get the words right.

“I didn’t expect you to be so…alive.”

Blue eyes met yours on the last word, and they nearly took your breath. Because he understood you in a way you hadn’t realized. You’d never been so proud to be called such a mundane thing. But it meant the world to you.

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

He made a huff of surprise. Or maybe disbelief.

“I mean it,” you told him. “As much as you like to grate on my nerves, I think you’re good for me.”

“Am I?” he said, a tease in his tone.

“You are.”

“Well, I…” He trailed off, his gaze averting again. His breathing quickened and grew heavy. You were willing to bet he would kill for a cigarette right about now. But you let his words hang, hoping he would finish. Hoping he would voice what you already felt.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said lowly. “You’re pretty damn good for me too, and I ain’t just saying that because you saved my neck.”

You chuckled. “No?”

He shook his head, those blue eyes flashing. But your gaze was suddenly drawn to his throat, to the subtle line you hadn’t noticed before. He had remnants of that noose on his skin, a slightly reddish-purple scar on his throat. It looked to be healing still, like he may rid himself of it yet. You hoped he did. That was a grim reminder of something he hadn’t deserved.

Without really thinking, you reached out and touched his skin, running your thumb over the edge of the mark. He flinched but didn’t push back.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

He shrugged this off, catching your wrist and tugging it away. “Ah, I’ll survive yet. Besides, look at you now. You would have been fine without me.”

“No.” You met his eyes, needing him to know how serious you were. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

He stumbled a little over your hard gaze but went on. “I have no doubt you could have made it to your folks without me by that point.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Again, he hesitated. Just watched you.

“I would have been heartbroken all over again, Arthur.”

This shocked him. Surprisingly, after everything the two of you had been through and blatantly felt for each other, he was still taken aback to hear that you cared so much.

“I couldn’t—can’t—do this without you.”

He studied you for a beat. Then, a little gruffly, “Me neither.”

It was your turn to be shocked.

“I mean…” he went on, trying hard to get his words right. “I don’t want to.”

And there it was. Just what you had been hoping so deep down that you wouldn’t even admit it to yourself—how much you wanted him to stay. How badly you hoped he would pick you over his old life.

“Me either,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked back and forth between yours, his hand finding the side of your face. You thought he would speak again, but instead he leaned forward and brought his lips to yours. It was all you ever needed to know, better than any word he could speak.

Within seconds, you moved into him, closing the space between your bodies. The kiss was slow but loving, just like the two of you. Slow to admit anything to each other but sure of it once that fondness was shared.

You broke away from him, finally finding your courage. “When we get to North Platte, I’d like you to consider staying. With me.”

The look he leveled you with was devastating. Pure shock. Awe at being so adored.

Instead of answering, his strong arms came around you and pulled you down, turning you beneath him as he kissed you. He kissed you hard, and you returned it. The act was plenty answer enough about how he felt.

Before you had even a measure of your fill of him, he broke away. But then he moved down, his mouth finding your throat just like it had in that old barn.

This, you thought. This, with him, was all there was. And you wanted all of him.

“Arthur,” you breathed, his lips like fire lighting your skin. He stopped and met your eye. “Teach me.”

His gaze went dark, but he asked anyway. “Teach you what?”

“All of it. I want all of you.”

He studied you. Then, quietly, “You sure?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

His mouth crashed to yours. His hands skimmed against your sides until he grabbed your hips and pinned them flat to the bed. Then he was moving down again, fervent. Deliberate as he started with your boots, just like the last time. You were a bundle of anticipation as you watched him, felt him. But this time, you wouldn’t stand for him to do all the work himself.

Once he had your shoes off, you came forward and pushed him down to the bed instead. You knelt over him and started taking off his boots, unbuckling his gun belt. You didn’t care that you hadn’t done this and didn’t know what in the hell to do other than copy what he had done to you the last time. You shed your own coat and leaned forward, kissing him as you ran your arms through the sleeves, shedding the burly garment. And you kept kissing him as you brought his coat over his shoulders, letting him lean up as you pulled it away from his back and arms. Once he had one arm free, he wrapped it around you and pulled you tight against him as he kissed you hard, landing you right in his lap. His tongue was desperate against yours, and you could feel every inch of your arousal explode at the feeling of him so close. Of what was to come.

Eventually, the two of you parted enough for him to get more of your layers off. But your focus was never so sharp as it became when you went to undo the buttons of his shirt and union suit. Each inch of skin revealed was a gift. He was muscled and broad, with hair lining his chest and scars on his slightly freckled skin. One jagged pink line just under his collarbone drew your eye, and you kissed it. Your mouth was never so addicted to someone as it was when you started kissing his chest, moving upward, toward his neck. Then, finally, his mouth. Nothing was ever so perfect. He let out a satisfied breath and laid back down, content to let you kiss him. You were just the same. You suddenly wished you could draw like he could so that you could record this moment in your memory forever—what it looked like. You on top of him in nothing but your chemise and pants, sure as you kissed him. Him splayed below you, perfectly content to be there, his broad body encompassing yours and his shirt and union suit halfway off. That was doing things to you that you couldn’t explain. Your barely covered breasts were pushed up against his bare chest, and the heat and friction it brought was pure pleasure. Not to mention his mouth and how fully he took you, exploring every inch of you. One of his hands had fallen to your backside and was squeezing you with the slightest pressure but over and over again so that your bodies moved together. It was so good you needed more.

Finally finding the will to back off him again, you took his shirt and threw it aside before beginning to unbutton his pants. His head fell back to the bed, and he let out a low groan when your hands worked over what you were willing to guess was the most sensitive part of him. The anticipation to see his bare body ate at you so that you sped up, slipping his pants from his long, muscled legs. All that remained on him was the bottom half of his union suit, and the material was thin enough for you to see the outline of a hard bit of muscle running alongside his thigh and toward his belly. You knew next to nothing about a man’s anatomy but knew this was how one differed from a woman. So, without really thinking, you laid your hand on him there. He let out a groan so arousing you wanted this to happen already, wanted to feel that pleasure he had wrought from you so easily before.

You moved back up his body and started kissing him when he flipped you again, laying you underneath him. The sight was, again, something you’d never forget. Those broad, strong shoulders your gaze kept snagging on shifted and flexed as he worked the buttons of your pants. His chest did too, every scar moving under his strength. His arms were equally distracting, and you knew then it was no wonder people were easily intimidated by him. But you weren’t. And you admired every inch of him you could see as he slid your pants off and made to push your chemise up your chest.

“I’m making the same deal with you as before,” he said lowly as he admired your body. “You don’t like anything about this, and you tell me. I’ll stop.” His eyes met yours in their sincerity.

“You know I won’t stop you,” you breathed, the words coming out feminine and needy.

“We got a deal?” he said anyway.

You nodded. And because you remembered he preferred you to say it aloud, “Yes.” Then he pushed your chemise up and over your breasts, over your head and arms until he was dragging it all away. All your hesitation and inexperience, gone. All of it lost in the wake of his want of you.

He immediately brought his mouth down to your nipple, the feeling of warmth it brought just like last time. You’d forgotten how perfect it felt. You brought your hand to the back of his head, playing with the short strands as your mouth fell open in pleasure. He was moving against you this time, his heavy body lining against yours in a way that drove you mad.

You let out a moan at a particularly harsh swirl of his tongue, then did it again when his free hand found your other breast. God above, you could feel this for an eternity and never tire of it. But this wasn’t just about you.

Your hand slid down his muscled back, down until it reached the edge of his union suit. You wanted it off. Wanted him bare, completely.

You started to tug at the fabric when Arthur’s hands shifted, and his mouth moved away just enough for him to get his balance as he stripped his remaining clothes away. You watched him in awe. You watched as he turned slightly to get the union suit over his feet, the sight of his bare side so muscled and strong like the rest of him wholly distracting. But it wasn’t until he turned back toward you that your gaze caught and held. You could feel his eyes on you, could sense his amusement in his resulting chuckle, but you didn’t care. What you had touched before between his legs was now free of any clothing, a hard line of muscle just like the rest of him that stood erect against his body. The sight alone swallowed you in arousal.

He clambered closer, beginning to speak. “You-”

Your hand was around that proud length before he could say another word. He hissed a breath at your touch, and you quickly let go, thinking you’d done something wrong.

“Christ, woman,” he mumbled, nearly falling on top of you in his fervor to kiss you again.

“I’m sorry,” you said into his mouth, not knowing what it was you’d been trying, only that you couldn’t resist.

He pulled away and looked into your eyes, his gaze full and heavy as the smirk beneath it. “Shit, don’t apologize. I’d prefer you did it again if it wouldn’t cut this meetin’ so short.”

You were more confused by that than anything but didn’t respond, especially when he leaned down to kiss you and you felt that length against your thigh, hard and impossible to ignore.

You moaned into his mouth, feeling his hand begin to skim down your side. His fingers brushed over the bumpy, scarred skin near your ribs and hesitated. He broke away, looking down at the scar he had mended back together himself. His fingers ran across it, caressing it. A wordless apology for what had happened to you. The touch made conflicting emotions fight to be free from deep within you. Because the scar was a painful reminder of what would never go away, a loss so potent you could cry over it even now. But you wouldn’t, because you were equally as enthralled with Arthur’s loving touch, with how he had stitched you back together both physically and emotionally. He was still doing it to this day. And the touch was a tangible reminder—how much he would surrender himself over to you just to make you somewhat whole again. Something you’d never thought you would be gifted by him but, you were beginning to learn, something he did naturally. Kind, selfless man.

Arthur brought his mouth down to your side and pressed a kiss to that scar, tender and patient. It nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, needing to put your thoughts elsewhere. Needing him to put the pieces of you back together again one more time.

He obliged you. All sadness was lost as his hand drifted downward and between your legs, a blazing heat taking its place. Just like before, he worked his fingers against you as a slickness gathered there, urging you to rock against him. And you did, a bundle of anticipation over waiting for what you had felt last time—his finger sliding inside of you. But he took his time and circled his thumb around those nerves again, making you arch into his touch.

After enough of this, it turned into a pleasurable sort of torture. You broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you warned, though it sounded more like begging. And perhaps you were.

He let out a low laugh that caught on every inch of your arousal. “Just making sure you’re ready for me. Don’t want to hurt you, darlin’.”

Darling. How endearing. Now that was a nickname you could grow used to.

You considered what else he’d said and remembered that slight feeling of discomfort at his finger moving inside of you, like your body wasn’t used to such things. But you also remembered how good it felt to get beyond that feeling, that and his chosen nickname enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him back down in a kiss. He let out a low noise this time, more of a satisfied breath. And it was enough to have your tongue finding his as his finger dipped inside of you. You froze, completely focused on the feeling. Arthur took control of the kiss, of everything, as he moved his hand against you. You were breathing heavy in seconds, the feeling beyond satisfaction.

After enough of this for that curling feeling to take hold deep within you, he slipped another finger into you. You were wrong before. That was beyond satisfaction. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you couldn’t kiss him anymore as you rocked against his hand, completely caught up in those thick fingers moving so persistently. He didn’t miss a beat, his mouth going to your neck instead, pressing hot kisses to the spot just below your ear as you panted for him.

The feeling from before, that explosive feeling you so wanted to experience again, was nearing. “Please,” you whispered, desperate for it. But before Arthur could drag it out of you, his fingers were slipping away. You nearly whimpered at the loss, looking down to see why he’d stopped. Your heartbeat pounded through you, right between your legs, when you saw where he moved. He was settling between your legs, the hard length of him running against the inside of your thigh. And you understood then exactly what this was, what you had asked of him and what he was about to do. To be fit together so perfectly, so completely, that there was no beginning or end between you.

He met your eyes, boxing you in completely beneath his heavy body. “You sure you want this?” His voice was rough with his own arousal.

“Desperately,” you breathed.

That made him smirk, the look of it so perfect on his face you wanted to kiss it away. But he beat you to it, his mouth coming down on yours. And in seconds, his full weight was against your body, and he pushed his hips into yours until you felt the head of his length slip inside of you. You moaned, your head falling back to the bed with how perfect and full it felt, and Arthur grunted as his hands found your head and he devoured you in a kiss, his hips moving slowly and carefully, in and out as shallowly as he could.

You couldn’t get air down but didn’t care as the feeling of him moving inside of you stretched you wide. He went deeper with every rock of his hips, the small bout of pain returning like it had before, but you didn’t stop him. Wouldn’t dare. It was more pleasurable than it was harsh, and besides, it was doing things to him, not just you. Things you wanted to hear and feel from him every moment. He was as lost as you were, beginning to pick up his pace as his mouth on yours became distracted.

You were soon both panting, both riding on pleasure so full and growing fuller the deeper he rocked into you. He finally broke the kiss, bearing all focus on where your bodies met. By now he was so deep inside of you it was impossible to think of him never not being there, like he belonged there. And the thought alone of him taking you like this, making you his, was forcing that tension deep within you to ratchet up at every thrust.

You whined his name. He groaned low and rough in response, shifting his hands to your hips to hold you steady beneath him as he thrust hard. It felt so good you knew you would be unraveling again in seconds. And, to add to that perfect build, you brought one leg up and hooked it around him, making for a better angle for him to sink into you. It was immediately euphoric.

“Y/N,” he groaned, a desperate plea.

And that—the power in that utterance, your name on his lips—was your undoing.

You let out a small cry as your pleasure snapped in two.

He cursed a filthy word, and your world constricted to the feel of him inside of you, rocking those beautiful hips, pulling every ounce of pleasure your body could give. It shot through every part of you. It tore you apart and put you back together all at once. Just like his fondness for you did.

You were letting out one long whine for him when your senses came back. And, you realized, he was saying something. Your name. He was saying your name like a prayer. Never in your life were you so proud for someone to have it, for someone to use it in this way. So reverent and honored by it, like it was a gift to know it and a privilege to speak it.

You loved him then. You were sure of it.

Arthur’s pace stuttered a moment before a breath rattled through his chest and he pulled back, sliding out of you. He half-collapsed on top of you, something warm and wet meeting the skin of your stomach as he groaned like a man utterly unraveled. You knew then he was experiencing the same pleasure you just had. Knowing you’d both felt it, together, because of each other…you were so proud that the feeling fought to be free from your chest.

Arthur drew in each labored breath above you, only propped up by one strong forearm now. The other fell lazily over you as he held the side of your face like he would never release you again. His hair fell over his gaze, and only when he looked up at you did you smile. Just for him.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, running his thumb along your cheekbone as he went back to attempting to control his breathing.

You blushed under those words but pushed through the flattered feeling it brought you and said what you couldn’t resist. “Was that- was I…okay?”

He scoffed a laugh. “You kidding?”

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing-”

He cut you off with a less than innocent kiss and pulled back with that smirk on his face. “You were perfect.” He rolled to his back beside you, the bed creaking with his weight. Still, he sucked down air like he couldn’t catch it. That proudness of yours reared its head again at the sound. “So perfect,” he continued, “That I’m gonna need to do it all over again just to be sure it’s as perfect as I remember.”

Now that, you could get behind. Those muscles low in your belly were already tightening at the mere mention of again. But before you could turn to him and coax him into repeating the act, he was leaning over the side of the bed, his strong back flexing with the movement. The sound of his satchel opening and shutting filled the room, and then he had a black cloth in his hand and was touching it to your belly. Right—you’d forgotten about that wetness from before, and now you watched as he wiped whatever it was away.

“What’s that?” you had the courage to ask.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to yours, and that incessant smirk returned. “‘Course,” he said, swiping the last of it away and tossing the cloth aside. “Forgot you knew as much about this as I do about living up in them mountains.”

“Very funny.”

He snickered. “It’s…well. When a man finds his pleasure, that’s what happens.” His expression filled with amusement as he shifted to his side, propping up on an elbow. “You don’t know nothing about this, do you? About being with child?”

You shook your head. “I figured sex leads to pregnancy, but I’ve never really thought past that.” And suddenly, the very idea had worry blooming sharp and fierce within you. “I won’t…I’m not going to get pregnant, am I?”

He snickered again and shook his head more with amusement than any sort of affirmation. “No, you won’t.”

“How are you so sure-”

“Relax,” he teased, drawing the word out. “The only way that could happen is if I’d done that inside of you.”

You felt Arthur’s smirking stare like a brand then, because just those words had your arousal flaring. Did part of you…want that?

You must have made a face, because Arthur pushed you on it. “What?”

“Nothing,” you insisted.

He chuckled, the sound making you turn away or risk admitting that particular genius.

“Can’t lie to me, darlin’.”

There was that word again. You turned back to him, finding you were watching his mouth of all things. “You finally landed on a decent nickname, then.”

“You like that one?”

God, his smile. The way he said those words. You were a mess of fondness over his annoyingly handsome face when you quipped, “Much better than the others.”

“What, nameless or sweetheart?”

You swatted at his bare chest and immediately regretted it when your hand met with hard muscle. “Damn you,” you muttered, but you were smiling as you said it. Stupid, perfect man. He smiled right back.

“At least you never have to call me nameless again,” you offered.

His smile turned thoughtful. Content. “No. I don’t.”

You remembered then how he had said your name before. It ate you up inside to think he had only used it in the moments that mattered most. The first time being when you’d offered it to him, something that led to your walls coming down right alongside his. Then moments ago, giving up the last pieces of yourselves to each other. And maybe that’s what that utterance had been to him—a surrender. The damning truth that you both felt too strongly to shy away from it any longer. There was no more space for reluctance to stay. There was no more time for it either.

You recalled your request before all this, asking him to stay with you. He’d never answered, but when he said your name with so much care, any worry about the matter vanished. Because there was love in that word. He felt for you just as you felt for him. And that was more answer than anything else he could have said because he had used the perfect word to make you understand—the word most important to you of any of them. Not a yes, but a confession. Not an acceptance, but a name. The one word you had left to hold dear. And looking at him now smiling down at you, you felt that fondness and understanding from him better than you’d ever felt it from anyone.

Instead of any response, you kissed him. Acceptance in your own form. And just as soft and supple as a yes on his lips, he kissed you back.

_________

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage @marygillisapologist @formula1mount @oziozzioslo @lunawolfclaw @c1gs-coffee

[chibelial]

.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Someone's tiny child drew a Something and they put it in their box saying the kid drew it for me. Which is cute, I guess. My mom did stuff like this when I was a small child who was obsessed with the arrival of mail. It's in the route's case to be immortalized forever.

Now to figure out how to read the drawing so I can find what I assume is treasure beyond my wildest imagination.

[13lov]

tethered. | jjk

Love notes were slipped into your locker on a daily basis. Variations of messy, boyish handwriting on yellow sticky notes stacked upon themselves by the end of each school day. Every Friday night you were invited out with the promise of "You'll have fun, just give it a chance."

You could have any guy you wanted, no doubt about it. Yet somehow, the only one you do want is the tattooed, gothic one that lives a few doors down from your best friend.

✰ pairing. — emo!jk x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 7k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, partying, mentions of drinking/drugs, friendship betrayel (?), smut [virginity loss, teasing, fingering, soft dom!jk, "i've waited so long for this" type shit], reader and jk are both 18+, minors dni.

✰ a/n. really love this pairings and would love to have drabbles with them in the future, so pls lmk if u guys would be interested in that! thanks for all the love on the teaser, hope u enjoy! &lt;3

✰ taglist. @ahgasegotarmy116 @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @littlestarstinyseven @skzthinker

Two monumental events had been etched into your brain for eternity, the first being sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet up with your friends at the community pool. The second is fifteen minutes upon arriving at the pool, seeing your best friend's older brother emerge from the chlorine-scented water as if he were Poseidon and realizing you were utterly infatuated by him. 

Jeon Somi isn't blind to this, immediately pulling you away from the crowd to question the longing gaze on your face. "Out of every fucking guy here with us, you're making eyes at my brother? You do know that Jungkook is completely gross, right?" She was so furious, you're surprised no steam was blowing from her ears.

Deny it all you want (and you certainly did within that fifteen-minute interrogation); Jungkook very clearly had a hold on you that lasted many years following that fateful night. He wasn't even your usual type; he wouldn't be caught dead around the guys you're typically drawn to. He had a rebellious side; maybe that's why getting him out of your head was nearly impossible. 

Of course, the eternal guilt of falling for your best friend's older, dumbass brother is also difficult to get out of your head.

It can't be helped, really. Anytime you'd visit their home, your eyes would automatically wander through the crack of his doorway as you'd pass by. Whether he was messily cutting his dark hair while blasting Pierce the Veil from his speakers or giving himself a new Stick-and-Poke tattoo as he waited for a CD to finish burning, you long to break away from Somi for a moment to speak to him. Ask him about his day or if his band had any upcoming gigs. You'd even talk to him about paint drying if it meant you'd get to be in the same space as him. 

So it's safe to say you were completely heartbroken when he left for college. Somi, however, is over the moon. Or so you think.

"… He's your brother, though. You don't think you're gonna miss him at all?" You ask, watching Somi delicately paint your fingernails a pretty shade of purple.

She shrugs, "I mean… it's definitely gonna be weird not seeing him around the house every day, but he'll still visit sometimes. Maybe."

Deep down, Somi knows Jungkook won't visit much. He'd been craving freedom and independence from their parents for ages, and moving away for college gave him the perfect opportunity to live as he pleased. They weren't fond of the clothes he wore or the friends he had, and absolutely couldn't bear the music his band makes. They criticized every little thing about him, and he'd finally be getting a break from them.

As you're about to ask Somi if she's okay, she stands from her bed, screwing the nail polish closed. "I'll be back. I have to let Bam out." Her voice is shaky, and she doesn't look at you as she exits the room.

You take the opportunity to make your way down the hall and to Jungkook's door, which he has conveniently left wide open as he scrolls on his desktop. His knees are pressed against his chest as he's heavily focused on editing his Facebook page. There's a rock song playing lightly from another tab that you can't quite identify; he uses his free hand to gently tap along to the beat of the music.

His room is covered in cardboard boxes, soon to be packed into his parents' minivan and making their way to the University of San Francisco dorms.

Your knuckles tap on his wooden door, your heart fluttering when he turns around, and you realize he's changed the ring on his lip from black to silver.

He nods at you, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just know you're leaving in the morning, and I wanted to say bye. And wish you good luck, of course." You're not sure why you're so heartbroken. It's not like the two of you were ever a thing. It's not like this would be your last time seeing him. Why were you so upset?

"Cool, thanks." You assume that was his way of indirectly telling you to get out until he reaches into his desk drawer and says, "Catch," before tossing something towards you.

Careful not to mess up your manicure, you easily catch the item, unfolding what appears to be a purple bandanna. "What's this for?" You ask, inspecting the material in your palms.

"To remember me by, duh. Plus, it matches your nails.”

It'd be silly to tell him you genuinely don't need this because there was no way in hell you could ever forget about him. Instead, you clutch the bandana tightly in your fist and make a silent vow to keep it with you at all times; have a piece of him with you at all times.

You thank him and tell him it's nice, but all you can wonder is why he even wants you to remember him in the first place. Maybe you're overthinking. He probably just didn't care for the useless accessory anymore.

When you turn to leave, Jungkook stops you with a gentle call of your name. He turns his head in your direction, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything." You whisper back, praying you don't sound overly desperate for a more extended interaction with him.

A beat of silence passes, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, Somi is stomping up the stairs and belting out your name. You gaze away from Jungkook to glance behind you, listening as his sister shouts about doing each other's makeup.

"Never mind, actually. It's not important." Jungkook interrupts, and you physically feel your heart sink to the floor.

You're about to be annoying and pry a response out of him until your eyes dart to his floor, and you see it. What slipped out from his drawer when he tossed the bandana at you. 

A condom wrapper. An empty one, at that.

It's embarrassing how quickly your vision becomes glossy, salty tears threatening to release with each passing second. Of course, he's fucking someone. Of course, that person isn't you. Of fucking course.

You shouldn't be surprised; he's probably more into girls with a similar aesthetic. She's probably covered in tattoos and piercings, just like him. She's probably older than you and may even have her own car, unlike you, who still had to catch rides with your parents or older sister. 

It's odd, though. You're not entirely naive; you know Jungkook definitely flirts with you here and there, catching his eye when his gaze lingers on you for a second too long. There's a noticeable tension between the two of you that even your parents have teased about. And this whole time, he's been screwing someone else?

Jungkook hangs out with so many girls it'd be useless to even attempt to uncover who this mystery person is. It's none of your business, anyway. 

So you leave.

You tell Somi you'll get grounded if you're home past curfew, and with tear-stained cheeks, you run home.

The following day isn't any easier.

Somi posted a photo on FaceBook of herself and Jungkook posing together, arms wrapped around each other, with the caption "c u l8r alligator XD". The comments are already flooded with responses wishing Jungkook farewell, some from family members or friends of the siblings.

"Don't 4get abt me!!!!!! >:( "from a girl with red hair catches your eye because it's the only one Jungkook responded to. You can't bring yourself to read his full reply, fingers moving to quickly close the tab after seeing the word 'Never.'

It's probably her, you think to yourself, the one he's sleeping with.

Maybe it's for the best that Jungkook's moving away; it'll give you some time to get over him. 

And you most certainly did.

The only time he ever crosses your mind is when Somi brings him up (which she rarely does) or when you pass by his empty bedroom. Deep down, you know you'll always care for Jungkook on some level, but time away from him was just what you needed. You were too attached to him for no fathomable reason, rejecting any guy interested in you with the premise of being loyal to a guy who didn't even want you. He'd probably been sneaking girls in through his window, with you a few doors down doing magazine quizzes with his sister; blissfully unaware of what was happening down the hall.

You’re better off without him.

That's what you've been telling yourself daily until now. It's the start of summer vacation, and Jungkook's been summoned home to spend it with his family before Somi (and you) transfer to the University of San Francisco. 

Jungkook was hesitant about coming home, as he always is. In constant fear that his parents have some elaborate plan for him to change his major or set him up with someone they deem acceptable, nothing like the girls he hangs around and probably invites back to his dorm.

It took days of convincing until Jungkook finally agreed to come home, under the premise that his parents' intentions were pure and that they simply wanted one last summer together before Somi moved away for college. They also hoped he'd be able to house-sit and watch over Somi for a few days as they took their annual anniversary trip to San Diego. That, however, took some bribing and the promise of gas money on their end.

He's not due to arrive until tomorrow morning, and you've convinced yourself there's no reason for you to see him right away. You'd be fine if the next time you saw him was in a few months as you're moving into your dorm. After years of longing, you've finally moved on from him.

Some of you have debated telling Somi about your past feelings for her brother, but there's no point. It was a one-sided relationship with absolutely zero depth, nothing worth discussing. So when she nudges your side and asks if you're interested in anyone, you reply with a shake of your head.

Somi has no reaction to this; she can't remember the last time you've been into anyone despite having the entire male population at your school practically throwing themselves at you. "Maybe you'll meet someone tonight."

She's referencing the house party you're going to, which she practically had to drag you out of your room to attend. Parties are different from your scene, especially on a day like today when you were hoping to have a girls' night with Somi. She had other plans, however.

"Maybe," you respond, sighing as the house you're attending is finally in your viewpoint. "We're not staying long, right? It looks packed."

Cars are parked throughout the street, one house, in particular, being the center of attention with loud music and drunk people decorating the front yard of a suburban-looking home. Somi looks as ecstatic as ever, looping her arm in yours and picking up her pace. She doesn't respond. It doesn't matter. Her response would've disregarded your concern.

One car catches your eye as you enter the unfamiliar house; it's parked towards the end of the street, and you swear you've been in it before. You're not able to dwell on it for too long, though, because Somi has to practically yank you through the front door.

Your nerves are at an all-time high. The music is entirely too loud, and there isn't a single sober person in sight. You're not sure how Somi even found out about this party, but you really wish she would've left you out of it. You'd go now if it were acceptable, but Somi would've stayed regardless, and you refuse to leave her alone. So, you push your feelings to the side and take her hand as she leads you towards the kitchen. 

"Thirsty?" Somi questions, forcing a red solo cup into your hand.

"Not at all," you respond, sighing as Somi pours something into your cup.

"It's just ginger ale," she reassures you, "I don't think either of us should get drunk here." For once, she's being reasonable.

Somi suggests you do a lap around the house in hopes of running into people you may have gone to school with. And to your surprise, a decent amount of your past classmates have decided to attend. You feel more at ease with them around, a bit more comfortable now that you're around recognizable people. Although you initially hesitated to show up, you're glad you did. 

"Anybody catch your eye yet? Or are you still breaking hearts?" Your old classmate, Yeoreum, questions.

You shake your head, about to explain that you're not interested in dating right now, until she gestures behind you. "That guy is pretty cute."

You shift on the couch, looking around until you spot who Yeoreum had been gesturing towards. You locate him finally, and she's right; he is cute. He just seems so familiar.

That's when it hits you.

"Oh my God," you whisper, eyes locked on him, and you slowly rise from the couch.

It's Jungkook. And the car you recognized was his. He's here. What is he doing here? He isn't due to be back until tomorrow morning.

You almost don't realize it's him until you spot the mole under his lip. He's grown his hair out and stopped dyeing it, the slew of tattoos that decorated his arm (God, did he start working out, too?) nicely connected, now creating a sleeve, and he's given himself an eyebrow piercing. Your feelings for him come rushing back in full force.

Panicked, you reach for Somi's hand, but she's nowhere to be found. Careful not to be seen by her brother, you bow your head slightly, passing through a crowd of sweaty bodies until you finally spot her kitty heels. She's leaned against a wall, swirling around her cup while flirting with some guy you'd seen around school a few times.

Creating some much-needed distance between the two, you tug Somi towards you. "I think I just saw your brother."

"What? No, he won't even be in the city until tomorrow morning." 

Frustrated, you quickly search the crowd until your eyes land on him again. You ignore the fact that he's now speaking to some girl with red hair and tattoos scattered across her arm and point in their direction, "Well, then that guy looks just like him."

Somi squints her eyes in disbelief at the boy in question until the doubt becomes confusion, and the confusion becomes realization. "Oh my God! The fuck is he doing here?" She turns towards you as if you're supposed to have the answer.

"The fuck should I know? You said he wouldn't be here until tomorrow morning!"

"Because that's what he told our parents! How was I supposed to know he was gonna be here? I never would've come if I knew!"

"What are you guys doing here?" A voice you haven't heard in so long interrupts. You don't even want to turn around.

"What are you doing here?" Somi throws back, and the two stare at each other in angry silence for a moment until Jungkook steps to the side. "Upstairs," he says, nodding towards the staircase.

"But—"

"Go."

Somi's clearly aggravated but makes her way towards the stairs. You remain in place with your arms crossed, raising a brow in confusion when Jungkook looks at you. "What?"

"You too."

"I'm not—"

"I'm not asking again," he says simply. You convince yourself that you only take his command because you don't feel like fighting. Definitely not because it's interesting to have him boss you around.

Trudging up the stairs behind Somi, you wait with her in the hallway until Jungkook arrives. "Come on," he says, entering a bathroom and turning the light on. Neither you nor Somi protest; there really isn't any point.

As soon as the door is shut, Somi is yelling at the top of her lungs. "What the fuck are you doing here?! You said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning! Mom and Dad had to push their trip back just to give you more time to arrive, and you're already fucking here?! The fuck is the matter with you?!"

"I'm not gonna respond if you're gonna be yelling like this." Jungkook says calmly, leaning against the sink, "Let me get my questions out first, then I'll answer any of yours, deal?"

Somi glances over at you, sitting on the bathtub's edge, and you nod. She returns her attention back to Jungkook, takes a deep breath, then agrees. 

"Now, what are you guys doing here?! How'd you even get invited?! And you're drinking?!" The calm demeanor from earlier slips away in a matter of seconds, clearly a hoax just to get Somi to calm down enough to let him speak.

"It's just ginger ale, and we've barely even had any! We were invited by our friends, okay? We have just as much right to be here as you do."

Jungkook scoffs, clearly unamused. "Right, and I'm assuming Mom and Dad know you're here then, huh?"

Somi nervously tucks a hair behind her ear. You wonder why you even have to be in here with them. It's not like Jungkook is your brother, anyway. 

"We told our parents that we were going to a birthday party at a friend's house." Somi mumbles, barely able to look Jungkook in the eye.

"And what did they say when they dropped you guys off?"

"They didn't drop us off," you interrupt, "we walked here."

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell him that." Somi glares at you, it takes every bone in your body to not to laugh at her.

You're so over this. You didn't want to attend this dumb party in the first place, and seeing Jungkook flirting with some girl who could've been his female counterpart was the icing on the cake. It doesn't matter if your feelings for him were gone before tonight; every little emotion you'd felt for him over the years had returned (as if they ever left).

"And how exactly did you two geniuses plan on getting home?"

"Same way we got here."

"Can you please just let me handle this? Jesus Christ…" Somi shoots another frustrated glare at you, and you can't help but roll your eyes at her. She turns back towards her brother, "Can you answer my questions now?"

Jungkook's eyes anxiously dart around the cramped bathroom, landing on you a few times before he's slowly nodding his head. "Alright, Mom and Dad basically forced me to spend the whole summer here, and I kept asking myself why they were so persistent about it. They finally told me they needed me to watch over you and the house for their stupid trip. I had plans too, you know? That I had to derail for them. My band could've spent this summer touring, making real money, and now we can't. So, they wanna inconvenience me? I'll inconvenience them right back."

"…Inconvenience them by doing what?" Somi asks the exact question you had.

Jungkook shrugs, "By telling them I'm gonna be arriving a day late, duh."

You and Somi exchange an awkward glance at one other before silently agreeing not to tease him about it. If this was his badass way of retaliating, who were you to rain on his parade?

"Are you gonna tell anyone you saw us here?" Somi questions, a noticible tremble in her voice.

"As long as you guys don't tell anyone you saw me."

It's a fair trade, you accept it. You're even more delighted when Jungkook says he's taking the two of you home. Somi, however, isn't too happy about this, claiming there were so many people she didn't get to speak to, and how'd this be the last time she'd get to see them before moving away for school. You're not sure if Somi is really good at getting what she wants, or if Jungkook was tired of hearing her complain, but he finally gives in and grants her ten more minutes to socialize before meeting him at his car.

"If you're not at my car in ten minutes, I swear to God I'm calling mom." Jungkook scolds, holding the bathroom door open as the three of you finally exit.

A loud, drunk voice suddenly shouts, "Woah, Jungkook! Two girls at the same time!? You fucking beast!"

"They're my sisters, you fucking pervert!" He shouts back.

You can't even dwell on how disgusting the original comment was, only being able to focus on the fact that Jungkook just reffered to you as his sister. As conceited as it may sound, you're not used to rejection or guys putting you in the friend-zone. Whatever little game Jungkook had been playing with you over the years was completely new territory. And right when you think things couldn't possibly get any worse, he calls you his sister.

What the actual fuck.

The next ten minutes go by in a blur; Somi has ditched you for a second time that night to talk to the guy from earlier. When it's finally time to leave, you find her Sat on his lap with her arm hung across his shoulder, laughing at an unfunny pickup line he'd used on her.

"It's time, Somi," you interrupt, helping her stand.

"Wait, wait, wait," she persists, directing her attention back to the boy, "tomorrow at five, right?"

"And not a second later." He sends her a disgusting wink that makes your skin crawl.

Somi is so love-struck you're surprised there isn't an arrow lodged in her back. She can barely form a proper sentence, erupting into a fit of giggles every few seconds as you make your way to Jungkook's car. "Wasn't he just gorgeous?"

You shrug, linking arms with her. "He was alright."

Stunned, Somi gasps at you, "Just alright? He was literally like a Greek God."

"I'm not saying he's unattractive; he's just...not really my type."

"And what is your type, Miss. Never-Has-Been-Interested-In-Anyone?"

Now, there's the question of the hour. You have to word your response very carefully; don't be too obvious about the fact that your ideal type is her older sibling. 

"I guess I prefer guys with an edgier look to them, you know? Tattoos, piercings..." Despite your attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible, your heart is beating out of your chest from the mild confession.

Somi snickers, then playfully groans. "It sounds like you're describing my brother."

Now, you really have to test the waters.

"Since you brought him up, would it be so bad if I did like Jungkook? Hypothetically speaking, of course." You're not sure what prompts you to even ask this. It's not like he's even interested in you; he literally just referred to you as his sister.

A beat of silence passes as Somi gathers her thoughts, then she says, "No."

"What?"

You've finally reached Jungkook's car at this point, beating him there. You sit atop the trunk, feet hovering above the ground as the cold, nighttime air swirls around you. Somi shakes her head, "Obviously, it wouldn't be the ideal situation, but I guess I wouldn't mind as long as you talked to me about it first."

"First?" You mimic.

"Like...assuming you'd wanna date him or something. Just so I'm not blindsided, you know?"

This is the last thing you would've expected your impulsive, hotheaded (yet oh-so-loveable) best friend to be reasonable about. Mainly because she lectured you for nearly twenty minutes when she first suspected you had a crush on Jungkook. 

You go to respond, but Jungkook, finally arriving at the car, captivates both of your attention. He finishes off his can of Pepsi before crushing the aluminum and tossing it to the ground. "Ready?" He questions.

There's no point in giving him a speech about littering; you're just ready to go home.

He fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car door; Somi opens the backseat and jumps in before you have the chance, sprawling across the aged leather. "Move over," you nudge her foot with your knee; she pulls away from you.

Jungkook calls your name, "Just sit up front. She's not gonna move."

Now, this is new. You've ridden in the backseat of his car with Somi more times than you can count; he'd never allow either of you to sit shotgun with him; typical annoying older brother bullshit.

Don't make a big deal out of this, you say to yourself, climbing into the passenger seat of his car.

Somi and Jungkook bicker the entire ride to their parent's house, partially out of annoyance with each other, but you also get the feeling that neither of them were genuinely ready to leave the party. You're surprised Jungkook even enjoyed parties; he spent most of high school either working, hanging out at skate parks, or practicing with his band in their garage. College must've really changed him, and you're unsure how to feel about it. 

Jungkook parks a few houses down from their parent's house and unlocks the doors, "Get out," he says into the backseat.

"Where are you gonna spend the night?" Somi questions, stretching her arms outward.

"I checked into a motel this morning. I'll be back here tomorrow around noon. And, hey," Jungkook turns around, pointing a finger at his sister. "Don't tell them you saw me."

Mockingly, Somi points a finger right back at him. "Telling them I saw you would be exposing myself, cock-sucker. Leave me alone." She angrily begins to climb out of the car, annoyed at how little trust Jungkook had in her.

You turn to go, but Jungkook's cold hand on your bicep stops you, "Where you goin'?"

"I'm gonna walk home from here. It's only a few minutes away," you respond.

Jungkook shakes his head, "I'm dropping you off. You haven't moved since I left, right?"

"No, but it's fi—"

"Then your house is on the way to my motel. We're going in the same direction; might as well ride together."

It truly does make more sense to ride together, and rejecting his offer any further surely would raise suspicions. You don't want either of them to believe you'd feel uncomfortable being alone with Jungkook because that couldn't be farther from the truth. You're perplexed about your feelings now, and you don't want to do anything you'd regret just because of the confusion.

"Okay, then." You glance over your shoulder at Somi, "Will you need any help getting ready for your date tomorrow?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Somi shushes you, gesturing that Jungkook is literally right next to you and would prefer that he didn't hear about her dating life. Jungkook genuinely couldn't care less and is instead patiently waiting for his sister to get out.

She does finally, and Jungkook resumes his path to your house. He turns the radio on, switching between stations until he stops on one that's playing a song he's familiar with. You drive silently for a few minutes; the only sounds being heard are the distant noises from the car's motor and Jungkook humming along to the radio.

He breaks the silence by saying, "I was surprised to see you back there. You never really seemed like the type to enjoy parties."

You chuckle, "I could say the same for you; I don't remember you attending any in high school."

"That's 'cause house parties weren't my thing," he explains, "I went to raves or parties that would happen at the skate park. I don't really like being at someone else's house for too long; it feels too intimate."

Now that you think of it, skate park parties and raves seem much more like his scene.

"Well, I only went because Somi was going, and I didn't feel comfortable with her being there alone. Otherwise, I never would've gone." You admit, resting your head against the window.

"Thanks for looking after her, by the way. You're a good friend."

"I'd do anything for her." Your voice is barely a whisper now, getting quieter with every word you say.

Silence passes, and he says, "Did you know your guys' dorm room is gonna be right under ours?"

"Seriously?" You respond, genuinely curious.

"Mmm-hmm. My roommate, Mingyu, and I are gonna be the worst upstairs neighbors ever." He teases as you roll your eyes. Your mind can't decipher whether this banter is playful & platonic or romantic. Everything Jungkook does confuses you.

"If that's the case, I'll be sure to move to an entirely new building."

"What, so you can have your boyfriend protect you?"

Pause. Boyfriend?

You nearly give yourself whiplash from how hard you spun around to look at Jungkook. "Boyfriend?" You ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I just assumed you'd have one by now. Do you?"

There he is again with his mind games. What the fuck was he talking about?

After letting out a very frustrated sigh, you mumble, "No, Jungkook, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Good. Focus on school."

Now he's pissing you off. You wish he'd shut up for the rest of the car ride. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

Holy shit, you feel like jumping out the window.

"Yeah, great seeing you too. Oh, there's my house. I can walk from here." You make quick work of undoing your seatbelt.

"You sure? I can drop you off at the door."

"No, no. It's best if my parents don't see you so they don't accidentally tell your parents that they saw you." You lie, racking your brain for any excuse imaginable.

He nods, deciding it's best to drop you off a little further from your house. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"What?" You stop dead in your tracks, one hand clutching the door handle.

"Aren't you coming over tomorrow to help Somi get ready for her…thing? I'll be back home by then."

He's right; you'd be back in his house, and he'll be there this time. It's no big deal. You'd only be there for an hour (at most) to help her prepare, and then you could go the whole summer without seeing him again.

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

The following day, Somi is back to her unreasonable self, expecting you to wait at her house for her to return from her date.

"Please? We're just going to get pizza; we won't even be gone that long." She pleads, adding the finishing touches to her makeup.

You'd already spent over an hour helping her prepare, and now she expects you to do nothing but await her return. You know her heart's in the right place; she just wants to be the first to hear all the exhilarating details about her date. Still, a phone call would suffice. 

"What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to come back?" You whine.

"Just hang out here! Watch a movie or something!" She suggests, trying her absolutely hardest to sound enthusiastic. Her phone buzzes in her hand before she has the chance to continue, eyes lighting up as they flicker across the bright screen.

Somi clutches her phone, locks eyes with you, then rushes towards the door. You're faster, though, quickly capturing her wrist before she's barely reached the hallway. "I'm going home."

"No! If you stay here, I'll bring you back pizza, and we can have a girls' night like we were supposed to yesterday! Come on, please?" She begs, pouting her lips.

You go to reply, but the bathroom door swings open, and Jungkook strides out. Just to your luck, he's shirtless; water droplets descend from his hair as he towel-dries it. As he enters his bedroom, he mocks his sister's high-pitched whine, earning a lethal glare and a slew of swears thrown at him.

Perhaps you should stay.

"Fine, but you're lending me your pajamas." You give in, earning an enthusiastic shriek from your best friend. 

Somi wraps you in a brief, yet tight, hug before shouting, "Be back soon!" Then she's rushing down the stairs and out the front door. It's not often that Somi makes you wait for her return, but you absolutely despise it whenever it does occur. She's never back by the time she promises and gets upset when you try to call and check up on her.

And speaking of calling, you're sure your phone is dead by now. You insisted Somi bring her's along just in case, so you're left with one option.

Jungkook's door is wide open (as usual) when you go to knock. He's fully clothed now, pairing his black sweatpants with a matching black t-shirt. His hair appears mostly dry now, chaotic as ever, but dry. You don't think he's ever looked this good before.

He's sat on his bed, flipping through the latest copy of Rolling Stone when you arrive. He glances over at you and lets out a dry chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You ask.

"You're dressed like Bella Swan." He responds casually, eyes raking up and down your body. 

"Who?"

"From Twilight. You know, that new movie that came out?" He seems genuinely surprised that you don't seem to know anything about this movie, not even the name of (who you suspect to be) the main character.

You lean against the doorframe, "Haven't seen it."

"It's a great movie, seriously. Some friends and I are seeing it in a few days if you and Somi wanna come." He suggests, flipping another page in the magazine.

You let him know you'll ask Somi if she's interested before remembering why you came to his room in the first place and ask if you can borrow his phone charger. Jungkook directs you to where it's plugged up by his desk, and you finally have the chance to stroll further into his room. You can't recall the last time you've been in here, but you know it looks much different than before. Many of the band posters that decorated the room were gone, his random trinkets and piles of clothes were gone, and not a single piece of his CD collection was in sight. It felt so lifeless, so unlike him. No wonder he always dreaded returning home; it probably didn't even feel like home to him.

"So," you say, attempting to break the silence, "you're here for the whole summer, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He mumbles, "Gonna try and go by sooner, convince my parents I have to sort out an issue with my dorm or something."

"It's nice to have you back, though." You admit, watching as Jungkook's gaze locks on yours.

"Yeah? It is?" He questions.

You shrug, "Of course. We practically grew up together; it was weird to not see you all the time."

He sits up now, closing the magazine and tossing it on his nightstand. There's something on his mind that he isn't saying; you can tell from the way his brows knit together and how he's anxiously tugging on his lip piercing. "It was weird to be gone," he mumbles and leaves it at that.

"By the way, I'm sorry about last night." He apologizes.

"For what? Calling me your sister?"

He laughs at this, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to do that on purpose, by the way. That guy was just...so weird, I kinda blurted out the first thing that would've made him feel weird for even thinking that."

Oh. That makes sense. You definitely overreacted. 

"I meant," he continues, "I'm sorry if the whole boyfriend assumption thing upset you."

"Oh," you dismissively wave a hand at him, "that was nothing."

Jungkook raises a brow at you, "Are you sure? 'Cause you seemed pretty upset afterward, you were practically running out of my car."

There's no point in lying now, considering you weren't even the slightest bit discrete the previous night.

"If I'm being completely honest, I just felt a little awkward. But that's it, I swear." You assure him, moving to lean against the bedside table.

"Awkward about what?"

God, this was so embarrassing. Is he really going to make you humiliate yourself like this?

"Because I've never actually had a boyfriend before."

Jungkook looks genuinely shocked at your confession, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he examines yours for any sign of deception. "You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure. I only assumed you had one just based on how crazy guys were about you in high school. Not to mention you're, like, fucking gorgeous."

What?

"I'm what?" You ask, not entirely sure if you heard him correctly.

He repeats himself again, and you make him do it a few more times until he's too embarrassed to say it again. You somehow manage to get back on the topic of never having a boyfriend before when Jungkook asks you another question. "Have you ever...?"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. You know what he's asking.

You shake your head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." He berates himself, and you assure him it's no big deal and that it shouldn't even be a shocker to him.

After a half hour of talking about whatever comes to mind, you wind up sitting opposite Jungkook on his bed, legs perched up underneath your body as you go back and forth, questioning one another. 

"So, when are you gonna admit you had a crush on me?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"I never did." You lie.

"Really? That sucks?"

"Why?"

He shrugs, leaning his back against the headboard. "I just always thought that maybe you and I would've ended up together at some point."

You don't remember who leans in first; it doesn't matter; all that matters is after years of longing, your lips are finally intertwined with his. He must've smoked today; you can taste the nicotine on his breath. But it doesn't matter; you don't make the slightest move to pull away. Neither does he, placing his hands on the small of your back to guide you onto his lap. 

Your body is moving on autopilot, limbs moving to do whatever feels right as you silently pray not to ruin the moment. Jungkook can spot your nervousness from a mile away and stop you, "We don't have to do—"

"I want to," you pant, breathless, "I've wanted this for so long."

"Do you trust me?" He asks.

"More than anything."

He kisses you again before adjusting your current position, slowly twisting yourselves until you're lying flat on your back. He moves his lips down towards your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his path as he settles between your legs.

You reach up to grab a handful of his hair, nearly jumping out of your skin as his delicate fingertips creep up your inner thigh, inching closer and closer until his ghosting over your clothed pussy. "This okay?" He mumbles.

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Cute," he replies, "you're already so wet." His fingertips stroke your clit through your damp underwear; you don't think to wonder how he managed to get to it so quickly, all thoughts leaving your brain as he makes small circles using his middle and index finger. 

"Jungkook…" You moan, pleading for him to do more.

"I know." He assures you, using a single finger to pull your panties to the side, making just enough room for him to slide a finger into your aching cunt. "Am I really your first time?"

You nod again out of fear that a moan would slip from your lips if you even tried to speak. His eyes are locked on yours, studying your expression as he coaxes a finger inside you. You're embarrassed at how quickly your wetness coated his finger, but Jungkook doesn't care. He likes it, makes him feel fucking amazing knowing the effect he had on you. 

"Take your shirt off." He says, and you do as told, pulling your top up and off your body and tossing it to the floor; making quick work of undoing your bra before he even has the chance to ask.

His lips are back on your neck instantly, trailing down to your collarbone until he reaches the curve on your breast. He halts his actions momentarily before your pitched nipple is caught between his teeth and your back arching off the bed from how overstimulating everything feels.

You curse under your breath, and Jungkook makes another comment about how cute you are, though you feel far from it. He apologizes by lapping his tongue around your nipple, easing the pain slowly as he inserts a second finger into your cunt.

You can feel his bulge against your thigh, though he doesn't even care about getting himself off. He moves over to your nipple, licking and sucking until it's completely hardened, leaving himself breathless. The two fingers that had been working your cunt had picked up the pace now, and there was an unfamiliar feeling in your gut that you couldn't identify.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" You groan, legs trembling.

Jungkook is all too familiar with these actions and asks, "You're already close? I've barely done anything to you." He teases, chuckling to himself.

You know he's being lighthearted, but you can't help but feel embarrassed at the tears forming in your eyes from how good everything feels.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out of you, and now you feel like crying for a different reason. You go to protest but stop to watch as he takes his shirt off. If you weren't sure then, it's obvious now he'd started attending the gym. 

He makes quick work of tugging his sweatpants down his legs, tossing them into the abyss before reaching into his bedside table and retrieving a condom. "You're okay?"

You nod.

"Use your words."

“I’m okay, Jungkook.”

"You're still okay with this?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

Jesus fucking Christ, the saint this man is.

"I'm positive." You assure him.

You move to pull down your skirt and underwear, but Jungkook catches your wrist. "Leave them on," he says. There are so many things going on that you choose not to question.

He pulls off his boxers in the meantime, hardened cock slapping against his abdomen with precum leaking from the tip. Though you had nothing to compare it to, Jungkook was obviously slightly larger than average. You shouldn't be surprised; it's always the guys that you'd least expect.

He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, retrieving the rubber inside before tossing the remains to his floor. Despite being fully erect, he fists his cock a few times before sliding the condom on.

He crawls over you, left arm at the side of his head, while he uses his dick to nudge your panties to the side. "This still okay?"

"I already told you—fuck!" He cuts you off, the tip of his cock slowly making its way inside you. You feel so stretched out from this alone you don't know how you'd manage to fit all of him into you.

Jungkook must be feeling the same, swearing under his breath and commenting about how tight you feel around him. Second by second, he coaxes himself into your pussy until you feel like you could split right open. "Are you all the way in?"

"No, can't take anymore?" He asks, leaning his head down against your ear.

You're embarrassed to admit he's too big to handle on your first time, but it's the truth. You don't want to overextend yourself just to please him and end up hurting yourself.

"You can move, just…not too much. Please."

Jungkook nods, "Whatever you want, angel."

He pulls his hips back and rocks himself back in, being sure to ask if you're okay with his pace. Once you confirm you feel fine and want him to keep going, he continues his movements; his eager hips snapping against yours and his cock hitting your G-spot with each deep stroke. You feel like you're on cloud nine, hands tangled in his hair as he swallows your moans.

That unfamiliar feeling from earlier returns; you feel it through your entire body this time. A moan of his name escaping your lips lets him know you're close. How he can always sense these things is beyond you; it's not worth overthinking. 

"Close?" He asks, and you nod frantically.

Jungkook picks up his speed slightly, careful not to overwhelm you, but just enough to reach your climax, until finally, the bundle of nerves in your abdomen snaps, and your back is arching off the mattress as you come around his cock.

He's only a few seconds behind with his orgasm, erupting in a loud grunt when he finally reaches it. The two of you lay in silence for a moment before Jungkook finally pulls out of you and slides the condom off, tying it in a knot and tossing it into his trash bin.

"Are you okay?" He asks for what feels like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." You respond, and it isn't a lie. Physically, you feel terrific; mentally, it was an entirely different story. "Are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

As much as you would love to lay naked with Jungkook in his bed for the rest of the night, you know Somi will be home anytime soon. "I think I'm gonna go wash up."

He nods, crawling under his covers once you stand from his bed, tugging your skirt to its proper length as you search for your remaining clothing. "Oh, it's um…your shirt, it's over there." Jungkook awkwardly gestures towards a pile of clothing by the end of his bed.

Almost as quickly as you shred yourself of them, you snatch your clothing and bundle them up against your chest. 

"Listen, I know right now isn't really ideal, but I meant what I said about liking you, and really think we should talk." He says nervously, barely even able to look at you.

You almost want to laugh at how cute he is; instead, you agree to talk to him about it soon. You're about to head out into the hallway when Jungkook reminds you about your charging phone over by his desk.

You retrieve it and scan the area again, ensuring you haven't left anything else behind. When everything seems clear, you stand upright, but your eyes fall toward the trash bin near his window with the discarded condom. You're embarrassed to even look at it until you realize something seems off. It looks…empty. 

Now, you're no sex expert, but imagine that if Jungkook had finished, there'd be something to show for it in the condom. Right?

Did he fake his orgasm? Was this another one of his fucked up mind games you'd been subjected to? 

You don't know what to think as you step into the bathroom; your emotions are all over the place, and all you really want to do is go home. But you promised Somi you'd be here when she returns, so you stay.

The next time a Jeon sibling asks if you're okay is twenty minutes later when Somi finally arrives and asks why your eyes are so watery.

"I'm fine." You respond, and you're lying for the first time that night.

[heirofnight]

finally

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.6k - this one's a doozy, buckle up.

based on this request: Hi hi can I get an angsty Azriel x fem!reader fic. Basically they’re mates but they don’t have the best relationship for whatever reason. Rhysand sends them on a mission somewhere and somehow Azriels mind gets taken over and he attacks reader. She doesn’t want to leave Azriel even though he begs her to before he lost control because despite everything she did love him. Reader ends up getting hurt but was thankfully able to reach out to Rhysand in time. Rhysand then clears Azriels mind from whatever was done to him. Azriel ofc beats himself up over it, but then they kiss and makeup.

content warnings: talk of death, reader gets attacked, choking

a/n: this was a TRIP to write. for all of you requesting angst, i'm serving it on a silver platter. i hope you love it! first time writing a fic based on a request, so i hope i did it justice. let me know what you think! as always, lightly edited. pls ignore any mistakes <3

"are you serious?", you spat out, scoffing in disbelief. you crossed your arms across your chest immediately, your body language depicting just how frustrated you were.

azriel stood next to you, keeping way too much distance for a male that was apparently, allegedly your mate.

some mate, you sneered within your swirling mind. you'd both still refused to accept the bond, and if anything, it had just made the already avoidant relationship between the both of you even worse.

you were convinced that this was some sort of divine mistake, there was simply no way that azriel was your mate. we have absolutely nothing in common, another brief thought that had you glancing at him from the corner of your peripheral - just to find him standing in the exact same stance that you currently held. arms crossed, body language defensive, expression stoic.

you cleared your throat and quickly dropped your arms to your sides, straightening your spine before meeting rhys' violet gaze once more. his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing exactly what you were thinking. whether you were that transparent, or he had actually caught you with your mental shields down - you didn't know. the wards within your mind were the least of your concerns right now.

"i am absolutely serious, i'm afraid", rhys smirked, enjoying the entertainment of watching both you and azriel spiral towards an inevitable juvenile skirmish. especially at his own hand.

azriel huffed a frustrated breath, his shadows becoming more frenzied as they ebbed and flowed around his body. you glanced at him once more, noticed the way his wings had drooped in defeat. you found yourself beginning to admire his side profile, his sculpted, pretty features calling to you in a moment of weakness. you quickly averted your gaze.

you'd never claimed he wasn't attractive, that much about him was painfully obvious. and since he was - unfortunately - your mate, there were moments where it felt as though every fiber, cell, and atom of your body were screaming for his. you'd wondered if he ever felt the same.

"rhys, this is ridiculous. there is no reason for her to join me. i never have help on missions - i never need it," his words grew more strained as he spoke, his last words ending in a near-snarl.

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, throwing your hands up in exasperation before letting them slap against your thighs. "oh, i'm so sorry, azriel. how could i possibly offer any significant knowledge or assistance with this job, when you're already the most wisest, skilled, and capable male ever gifted by the gods? how can any of us forget - we pale in comparison to the all-feared shadowsinger," your tone was mocking as you turned towards him, cheeks reddening in exasperation.

azriel met your gaze, eyes narrowed as he deadpanned, "most wise".

you narrowed your own gaze to match his, "what?", you scoffed out.

"you said most wisest. that makes no sense. i believe you meant most wise," he stated dryly, tone emotionless.

your cheeks reddened further, expression twisting into one of pure anger. it didn't help that you heard rhys struggling to hold back a bark of laughter.

"okay, honestly, fuck yo-", you began, ready to spit pure venom straight into his veins with your words.

"enough," rhys commanded, voice booming. you froze, huffing out a breath before looking over at the high lord - he was now standing, his hands braced against the surface of his desk. his eyes held no amusement, no laughter. he was fed up.

"you are to both deploy on this mission. you are to both work together to track down this rebel group of daemati, and you are to both report back here with your findings. you keep each other safe. you work together. and you stop this childish bickering," rhys stated, his tone taking on a quality of pure nobility.

he looked between both you and azriel with striking violet eyes. "you leave tomorrow. am i clear?", the high lord questioned, and you knew he required an answer.

"yes," you and your mate replied at the same time, in the same brooding tone. rhys quirked an eyebrow at that, smirking slyly.

"great. have fun, you two," he gave a swooping gesture with his arm in dismissal.

the next morning, you and azriel departed right after breakfast. it was a shared - albeit silent - meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him behind the rim of your glass every single time you took a sip. you didn't know it, but azriel was sparing you the same glances as he ate his porridge.

the rebel group of daemati were last known to be located near the northern edge of the day court's borders - nearing the court of nightmares. the plan was to teleport close to the border itself, and you and azriel both knew that you'd more than likely have to track them from that location to wherever they were now.

you'd left from the house of wind's balcony after eating - azriel reluctantly placing a large hand on your shoulder before teleporting you both in a blanket of darkness and swirling shadows.

once the shadows dissipated, you'd found yourselves in a chilled, heavily wooded patch of forest. you blinked a few times, gaining your bearings. before your eyes had even fully focused on where you were, azriel was stalking off to your left, already on the prowl.

you rolled your eyes, jogging after him in order to catch up. "is your plan to 'accidentally' lose me in the woods?", you sneered, your legs burning as you tried to keep up with his long strides. you crouched down hastily to avoid a low-hanging branch that almost collided with your cheek. you'd been too busy glaring at the side of azriel's head to notice it.

he huffed, his boots crunching against fallen leaves. "keep up, and you won't get lost," he offered, his shadows darting out ahead of him to scout the surrounding area for traces of your target.

you grumbled, eyeing his smoky tendrils as they swirled in different directions. "prick," you said under your breath, pushing another branch out of your path.

you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips quirk upward at your comment, an action that you would have almost found endearing if it weren't for the current situation you found yourself in. as much as you didn't want to admit it to yourself, you were nervous. you'd never been on a mission, especially not one that felt as high stakes as this one. daemati were dangerous. able to enter, control - and if trained enough, completely shatter - minds without so much as blinking. sure, as a scholar, you'd had brief knowledge on how to handle their kind, but coming across one daemati was rare - much less an entire pissed off group of them.

this could end terribly. and you did not want to be the one to sabotage this outing.

one single coil of shadow darted back towards azriel, whispering against the shell of his ear. "this way," he pointed to your right with a scarred hand, and you adjusted your path accordingly. you found your gaze following his hand as he lowered it to his side once more, and azriel glanced down, noticing where your eyes had landed.

he felt his pulse quicken, not sure what to make of your sudden interest in his hands. it was already an insecurity of his, and he knew that you'd not be shy to prey on that fact.

he cleared his throat, running that same hand through his hair in order to break your gaze. you inhaled a sharp breath, realizing you'd been caught. you opted to stare straight ahead instead, the normal silence between the both of you now feeling awkward.

should you say something? you didn't want him to think you'd been looking at the skin of his hands in disgust. it was the furthest thing from the truth. and while you weren't the hugest fan of his, you would never think poorly of him in regards to his trauma.

"i -," you started, clearing your own throat now. he glanced over at you from the corner of his eye, not urging you to finish.

"i've always thought they were beautiful - your hands," you said sincerely, voice nothing more than a whisper that you were certain a gust of wind could carry away on a breeze - never to be heard.

he took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose harshly.

"thank you," he said softly, nodding once.

a lifeline, that's what it felt like.

my mate, he thought to himself, trudging forward.

you'd both continued on in comfortable silence for the next few hours. the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach was beginning to unravel, and you had to admit: you felt safe with azriel. not that you'd assumed he'd leave you for dead at any point during this mission - at the very least, rhys had commanded he return you to velaris safely. even if azriel somehow personally wanted you dead, he wouldn't defy his high lord's orders.

regardless, you were beginning to feel safe alongside him on your own accord.

a few times, you'd attempted to speak. pointing out various birds that you'd seen perched in the high branches of trees, or remarking on types of flowers that you'd walk past - many of which weren't native to velaris. azriel would notice the way your voice perked up as you spoke of them, noticed a certain kind of wistful joy that crept into your eyes, widening your pupils.

his own gaze began to soften as he observed you, finding your wholesome awe endearing. he listened carefully as you passionately explained each finding. cute, he'd thought briefly, warming up to your company. your hair whipped around you on a stray breeze, a strand catching right across your nose. his hand twitched, the urge to effortlessly brush it from your face filling him to the brim. but before he was able to build up the courage to do so, you'd beat him to it, and his hand stilled.

you were just about to point out yet another bird flying across the dusk-dusted sky when a familiar tendril of shadow approached azriel's ear.

"silence," he whispered in a hushed tone, halting his steps. he tensed up alongside you, his wings pulling in tightly at his back.

you closed your mouth, swallowing what you'd meant to say. you froze in place slightly behind him, waiting with shallow breaths for his next order.

"up ahead," he whispered, nodding his chin towards what looked to be a plume of smoke rising into the chilled air. your eyes followed the path of his gaze, and you squinted to make out the scene before you.

azriel crouched next to your still-standing form as he attempted to get a better look from a different angle.

it appeared to be a campsite of some sort - whoever was stationed there had clearly decided to stop traveling for the evening. the sun was quickly lowering behind the mountain range in the distance, and the air was even more frigid than when you'd both begun your trek. you felt a shiver wrack through your body, and azriel glanced up at you, frowning slightly.

he watched as you studied the growing fire before the both of you, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. you looked down at him, your eyes meeting for the first time all day. your breath hitched at the eye contact, and you faltered for a moment.

"so do we-", you spoke quietly.

"let's just-", he spoke at the same time.

you smiled warmly, dropping your head and huffing out a laugh.

he smirked, grabbing your wrist gently to pull you down to his level. "my shadows picked up on a few daemati tracks. i'm assuming its a small group - they must have decided to stop here for the evening. i'm guessing it's four, maybe five of them," he explained in a hushed tone, his eyes finding the campsite once more.

you thought for a moment, observing him.

"so, what's the best way to go about this?", you asked, voice soft.

he was about to reply, but his body froze, mouth poised to speak but nothing emerged.

there was a momentary pause before his expression transformed into one of pain, pure agony. he grunted, bracing his arms against the ground beneath him. his eyes were screwed shut in pain.

you startled, falling back onto your butt as you took in the scene before you with wide eyes.

no, no no no.

you supposed your brain knew what was happening before your body could react.

and that's when you felt it, a stifling, world-ending level of pain - unrelenting pain that felt so real, so true. but it wasn't your own pain. it was azriel's, through the white-hot golden bond that tethered the two of you together. until this moment, azriel had made sure to keep his emotions sequestered from you - you had done the same. out of pure spite, disdain for the cauldron's decision to fuse the two of you together for eternity.

until this moment. when azriel opened the floodgates of his own mind, letting you in. warning you.

"az," you breathed out, moving to rest a hand on his shoulder in gut-wrenching fear.

he gritted his teeth, letting out a horrible groan of distress.

"leave," he gnashed out, his voice strained. he let out another roar of pain.

you shook your head, eyes wide and pained.

"no, azriel. no. i'm not," you said sternly, voice watery.

"y/n," he forced out, nails digging into the dirt beneath him as he fought the intrusion of the daemati.

"y/n," he repeated, groaning once more, "it has me. it's going to make me hurt you," he strained, "you have to go. contact rhys, and go," he fell onto his side, wings flaring in exertion.

you scrambled towards him, placing a hand on his forehead. your heart was beating so rapidly, you were half-expecting it to leap from your throat and join azriel's form on the dampened ground.

all you could do was shake your head, over and over and over.

"no, no, no," you whispered, eyes filling with tears. you felt a fear so absolute, wholly understanding right then the pure agony that crawled into every crevice when the person on the other end of that golden rope was in danger. you couldn't leave him, you refused. every fiber of your being rebuked the thought. you peered down at his writhing form, his face pinched in pain. he was still the most beautiful male you'd ever seen.

you let out a gutteral noise of distress. you wasted so much time - so much time resenting azriel. fighting with him. throwing jabs at him. hating the gods, the cauldron, for linking the two of you. for what?

all that time wasted, and now his mind was no longer his. you would never get to express your love for the male before you - never get to experience the love that the both of you so immensely deserved.

"azriel," you choked out, pressing your shaking hands to every part of his body you could possibly touch. you glanced up, surveying your surroundings quickly. that's when you saw him, the daemati.

he'd kept his distance, but you made out the shape of his dark form within the trees. you couldn't even see his face, but you could clearly see the way his head tilted to the right, unnaturally slow. he was using his powers to fully infiltrate azriel's mind.

but your mate was putting up a fight. your strong, powerful mate.

azriel was doing everything within his power to not succumb to the daemati's will, his body feeling like it was going to split in half. the pain, the unrelenting, bone crushing pain, was enough to make him wish he could somehow force himself completely unconscious.

and still, through it all, he could not tear his thoughts away from you. a dangerous game, as he was dealing with a species of fae that was literally able to break into the walls of his mind, utilizing his deepest fears against him.

and right now, his biggest fear was losing you. hurting you.

he roared out, blue siphons blazing, vibrating against his skin.

one singular mantra stamped itself through his mind as he attempted to fight off the daemati clawing at his iron-clad wards long enough to convince you to flee, to leave him there to suffer alone - just as he always had:

my mate, fight for your mate, keep her safe, fight for your mate, keep her safe, my mate

you froze, mesmerized by the form that was tearing azriel's mind apart chamber-by-chamber.

then, it happened, and it happened quickly: azriel, now fully under its control, lunged toward you. he tackled you backwards, into the dirt and leaves beneath the both of you.

you screamed, bracing your hands against his chest. you dared to look into his hazel eyes, orbs that were no longer his own.

what you saw terrified you. pupils blown wide.

death himself.

a large, scarred hand found its way to your throat, and you thrashed wildly beneath him. he was unphased by the fight you tried to give him - he was too strong, and you were too scared.

rhys, rhys please, you chanted into your mind, hoping somehow he'd be able to hear you. it was a long shot - you knew that. you'd never once communicated with rhys mind-to-mind, but it was your only chance.

you were going to die at the hands of your mate. and it all felt so ironic, since azriel hated you anyway.

rhys, please, your pleads grew frantic, and azriel's hand gripped tighter around your neck.

the edges of your vision began to go dark, and you grabbed azriel's chin, peering into his eyes with all of the strength that you could muster. "azriel. it's me. it's y/n - it's your mate. please, az. i'm so sorry for everything," you strained against his grip, throat tightening. you wouldn't be conscious for much longer. if there was any chance that he - the real him - could hear you, you had to try to get through.

"i'm so, so sorry, az," you spluttered out, eyes growing heavy.

you sent one more plead to rhys through your mind before everything went dark.

your eyes fluttered open slowly, a groan leaving your throat before you were even fully awake. your neck ached, the skin there burned. your whole body felt tense, tight, and stiff.

you blinked, eyes heavy, trying to take in your surroundings. you recognized the ceiling above you, knew that the soft sheets pulled up to your chin were the ones adorning your bed at the house of wind.

you were home. you were alive.

the events with azriel, the forest - the daemati - came rushing back at full-speed, leaving you breathless. you tried to sit up, but your entire body screamed with the sudden movement.

fuck.

"there she is," you heard a familiar silk-coated voice. rhys. you glanced over towards the sound, and found the high lord perched in an armchair next to your bed.

"rhys," you spoke hoarsely. he stood then, approaching your side with feline grace.

he smiled down at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"quite a fan of the dramatics, aren't you, y/n," he teased soothingly, taking a seat on the side of your mattress gently. "you had all of us frightened half to death," he added, surveying your face as he took note of your current state.

you groaned quietly, raising a hand to feel at your throat. it was obviously bruised - you didn't need to see it to know that.

"azriel," you whispered hoarsely, shaking your head to yourself. you were safe, so surely azriel must be too ... right? the thought of anything otherwise had your stomach lurching. you felt for the bond, felt for azriel's presence, and were met with emptiness - just like you had been until the daemati attacked.

"azriel is just fine, y/n," rhys spoke gently, a knowing tone in his voice. "i heard you, that day in the forest. i arrived just in time. it took a few days, but...," he trailed off, moving a strand of hair from your face, "but i was able to completely heal az from the damage the daemati caused," he finished, letting out an exhale.

you felt tears springing to your eyes immediately, unable to control your reaction to the news. "i'm so sorry, rhys," you choked out, a shaky breath escaping through your nose.

"now, now," he soothed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "none of that, none of that at all," he continued, eyes softening as he met your broken gaze.

"you did nothing wrong, y/n. you stayed at the side of your mate, even in the face of lethal danger. you summoned me," he paused for a moment, watching you.

"you didn't allow him to experience that alone. and while you staying there may not have been the ... most wisest ... thing to do," rhys teased, referencing your last conversation amongst the two males, "i still commend you. i, myself, have not made the smartest decisions where feyre's safety is concerned," he wiped another tear threatening to cascade onto your sheets.

you let out a watery laugh at his teasing, shaking your head.

"he hates me, rhys," you whispered, eyes finding the ceiling once more.

rhys let out a dry chuckle at your statement, sighing to himself.

"on the contrary, y/n, i think you'll find that az feels the complete opposite," he whispered, voice lilting.

you met his gaze, eyes narrowing.

just then, there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door. one that was made with the intention to not disturb your sleeping, healing form.

the door opened, and azriel crept in, wings pulled together against his back in order to avoid jostling any of your shelved belongings. he was trying to be as silent as possible, not yet aware that you were awake.

"i brought a glass of water, rhys, just in case she wak-," his words caught in his throat once his eyes made their way to yours. your opened, very awake, eyes.

"i have some very important paperwork to attend to," rhys spoke. "numbers to run, high lord duties - things of that nature," he grinned slyly, removing himself from your beside and strutting towards the door. he turned back towards you before leaving, bowing his head once. "i'm glad that you're okay, y/n. please let me know if you need anything," he said gently, before making his exit.

azriel still stood off to the side, frozen. his eyes were fused to the bruise that spanned your throat - a bruise that was in the shape of his own hand.

"hi," you whispered hoarsely, clearing your throat.

"i'm so....- i am so fucking sorry, y/n," azriel whispered, stunned. his grip tightened around the glass of water in his hand, and you were momentarily concerned that it may splinter under the pressure.

"az," you began to speak, scooting your body up against the row of pillows propped behind you. "we both know that none of this is your fault. you fought it, i saw-," you pleaded, eyebrows cinched.

"no," he cut you off, voice stern, but quiet.

"no," he repeated, stepping towards you. "i should have never allowed rhysand to send you out on a mission this dangerous. there is no excuse. i could have killed...", he trailed off, approaching you almost hesitantly, as if he were scared to get too close. "i could have killed you," he finished, voice strained and full of regret.

you shook your head, reaching for him now, and he approached you. a moth to a flame. he set the glass of water down and allowed you to take his hand. the same one that was wrapped around your neck just days ago.

"this hand, a hand that i find so beautiful, this hand that belongs to you - my mate - would have never done this to me. and i know that," you whispered, tearing up once more.

he dropped his head, wings drooping - the very tips touching the floor.

he squeezed your hand once, sitting on your bedside dejectedly.

"i heard you," he whispered after a short pause. "i heard you begging me to stop. i just couldn't -,"

"i know," you cut him off, not wanting him to spiral into a pit of despair that would engulf him entirely.

his shadows began to lazily twirl around him, a few breaking away from his body in favor of worrying over you instead.

he loosed a deep breath, staring at the floor for awhile. you allowed him to ponder, think through all of the horrible events of the last few days. as awful as your attack was, you couldn't begin to imagine the toll it took on azriel. his mind was infiltrated, ripped apart, and his body was no longer his. you could not even fathom it.

"the daemati made me attack you because he knew we were mates. he sensed the bond. and ...-," he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief, "he knew how important your safety was to me. he got into my head, and into my thoughts. he saw how important you are," he whispered, finding your eyes.

your eyes shut, a tear escaping from the corners. he reached out a hand, a sure hand.

he wouldn't allow another moment to pass where he wanted to touch you, but held himself back.

you felt him wipe the tears away, his touch so gentle, it made your chest ache.

"i am sorry, you know," you whispered, sniffling. "i'm sorry for all the shit i've given you. i truly never resented the mating bond as much as i let on. it was just-...", you shook your head, eyes fluttering open once more to find his honeyed gaze. "it was a defense mechanism, because i knew you didn't want the bond, didn't want me, and i didn't want to look stupid - pining after a male that was ashamed of me," you rushed out, cheeks tinting pink at the confession.

his brows furrowed, and he huffed out a breath as he shook his head slowly, "y/n," he started, letting out this dry ghost of a laugh - although it lacked any humor. "no, that's not it at all. i was ... elated, to learn that you were my mate. but i thought that you wouldn't want me. after all this time, i'd come to terms with the fact that i would never ... never find my mate. our paths wouldn't cross, or i'd somehow get myself killed before i could find her," he paused for a moment, shaking his head. "but, no. i was ecstatic. especially because it was you. so full of fire and strength. beautiful - agonizingly so. your excitement for life radiates from your very core. i was, and still am, so proud to have been paired with you. i couldn't have chosen anyone better," he admitted, his eyes soft and full of adoration.

you were absolutely crying now, and your grip on his hand tightened as you let out a soft sob.

"we're such idiots," you croaked out, a hand coming up to cover your eyes.

he let out a soft laugh then, his own eyes becoming watery.

"perfect for each other. two idiot mates," he offered, a real, true smile spreading across his dimpled cheeks.

you laughed along with him, bringing his scarred knuckles up to your lips to nuzzle along them softly. the action made azriel still for a moment, and you felt an overwhelming wave of full, adoring emotions and bright, fizzling warmth hurdle directly into your chest. his emotions. he'd opened his side of the bond once more, but this time, for a very different reason. your wide eyes found his, and you returned the sentiment. you sent every ounce of love, unbridled and true, right into his chest. his breathing became ragged, his bottom lip quivering at the feeling. he was so loved, and gods, so were you.

you tugged on that golden string that was directly connected to the pit of his chest, tied right around his heart. he leaned towards you on instinct, and he knew at that moment that he would follow wherever you led him.

"my mate," he whispered, reaching down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

you tilted your head up slightly, your full lips finding his own.

"finally," you whispered against his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his waiting lips.

a/n: well, this one took 3 hours and cracked me in half along the way. if you made it this far, pls lmk what you thought! thanks for reading <3

[thelostconsultant]

A life well lived

pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader

summary: Max has been in love with Charles's twin since they met as kids. When he finally has the chance to tell you how he feels years later, it turns out you feel the same. A wonderful life is ahead of the two of you, and Max couldn't love you and your son more.

note: 9k words + sm posts. I love them so much, I can barely put it into words. I hope you'll like this.

Whenever he was on the track, Max was competitive, and he didn’t lack the confidence he needed to win races. But he wasn’t the only one, Charles was equally good, and he also had everything a great driver needed to succeed. So the two of them naturally became rivals, the greatest of their generation, and despite their hate towards each other, Max couldn’t help but respect him deep down. 

Throughout the years, he got to learn everything about him on and off the track, so he knew about his siblings. And he was painfully aware of his twin sister being there with him at every race, the sweet, lively girl who always had a bright smile on her face as she talked to her relatives. Every single time he laid his eyes on you, he wished he was the one you were talking to, he wished you would finally say more than just a brief hello or goodbye. 

Whenever he did well in the race, Max liked to think your smiles and cheers were meant for him alone. They were always meant for your brother though, he knew that, but his stupid teenage brain assumed the fact you briefly glanced at him while smiling meant you would get married one day. That you were madly in love with him too, that you were yearning for his company just as much as he was. 

If it was up to him, he would have talked to you. He wanted to learn more about you, he wanted to be near you, he wanted to experience the innocent love only a teenager could feel, but how could he do that under his father's strict control? He couldn't even play football on the weekends, how could he have a girlfriend? And then there was Charles who was already giving him death glares whenever they met, if he found out Max had a thing for his sister, who knows what he would have done. It was better not to risk a possible fist fight it would end with.

So he was destined to watch you from afar, letting his imagination run wild to cope with the pain he felt for not being able to talk to you. In his mind you were sitting next to him on top of a large crate, asking various questions to pass the time, giggling and feet dangling as you listened to him. His brain fed him with the image of you running up to him to hug him after the race, your bright smile being a much better prize than the trophy he had left on the ground.

And then he and Charles ended up in different series, meaning you weren’t there at his races anymore. His race weekends became much colder and emptier, he decided to focus solely on racing, pushing every single thought related to you to the back of his mind. He kept an eye on his rival, of course, he needed to know how he performed, if he was still good enough to one day catch up to him. He also wanted to know if you were still following him around like a shadow, if you still stood next to him on countless photos that he would later share on social media. He just wanted to see you, to know you were okay. 

His mother was the only one who figured out he had a little crush on you. She noticed him staring at photos of you, and she was kind enough to start a conversation about you, giving him the chance to finally give someone a speech about how special you were to him, how nice you were to everyone, how pretty you were, and how much he wished he could talk to you. He didn’t even know why he told her everything without feeling embarrassed, but maybe he was just grateful to have the opportunity to get it off his chest after all those years. His mother told him to find you on social media and send you a message, after all that’s what those were made for. 

But he didn’t do it. His confidence was usually nowhere to be found when it came to you, and even now all he could think about was making a fool of himself. What if you said no? What if you told your brother and he would reappear in his life to give him hell for making a move on you? He didn’t want to risk that, so he just returned to watching you from afar. Sad and lonely, with the kind of pain in his heart that couldn’t be healed so easily. 

When he made it into F1, Max had a new challenge to face, and his head was always in the races, this cutthroat world forcing him to focus more than ever before. He knew it was only a matter of time before your brother debuted in the series as well, he just had to be patient and wait for it to happen, and once it did, you would be back in his life. So he waited and pushed himself, eventually winning his first race, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you saw him, if you were proud of him. 

But then one day he noticed that you suddenly disappeared from social media, all of your accounts were deleted, and he began to panic. Seeing your posts–even though he didn’t follow you–was always the highlight of his day, so what was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to know what was happening in your life? And to make things worse, you were studying abroad, he didn’t have the chance to accidentally bump into you on the streets of Monaco. 

And then it happened. Charles finally caught up with him and joined F1. Max couldn’t have been happier. For one, he finally got his rival back, even a rush of adrenaline flowed through his veins at the thought of continuing their competition, and two, you would surely be back in the paddock. Maybe not at every race, but you would without doubt show up every now and then. So he began to count back the days to the first race of that season, having a feeling that you would not miss it, and then he spent the remaining time checking your family’s social media accounts to see if they shared any new photos of you.

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc and 245,175 others

charles_leclerc: I want to say thank you to my team and my family for the support. It was a great first race with a decent result. I missed my baby sister though, she used to be my lucky charm.

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

arthur_leclerc: Not bad.

pascale.leclerc.355: I'm so proud of you!

yourusername: What baby? I'm literally half an hour younger. That's not the baby category, you muppet.

⤷ charles_leclerc: You're a baby to me.

⤷ arthur_leclerc: You kinda are.

⤷ yourusername: Shut up, fetus.

⤷ charles_leclerc: And muppet? You spend too much time in London. Come back home.

⤷ yourusername: No.

You were back on Instagram apparently, and he had never tapped on a link faster before. His heart was racing from the excitement, expecting to see a bunch of photos of you, ones he hadn’t seen before, but to his disappointment, it was private. He couldn’t send you a request, he didn’t want you to know he was interested in your posts, and it was killing Max, because he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms by now. With your brother being back, he felt like that stupid kid again, which despite your absence came with the crushing feeling of a one-sided love he’d been suffering from for all those years.

Time passed, and he was just waiting and waiting, hoping one day you would show up, but you didn’t. There were posts on your family’s accounts, and you were glowing on every single photo, apparently having a happy life in London. He wondered if you were in a relationship. Did you have a special someone waiting for you? The thought of you being taken was devastating, because in his mind you were his, he truly believed that you were destined to be together.

[Nice to meet you, where you been?]

2023. He had to wait until the 2023 Azerbaijan Grand Prix to finally have you at a race. 

It all started with a burner account he created years ago to keep an eye on the posts from your family and other people connected to them. Just to see if they had any new content about you without the risk of accidentally liking a photo with his real account. It’s not stalking. It’s not bad. Well, not that bad. So that day he checked the posts in the morning while he got ready to leave, and he saw a post from Alexandra that the two of you were having breakfast together before heading out to the track to see your brother. 

His stomach did a flip, his heart rate jumped, and he suddenly felt like throwing up from the anxiety. He had always imagined this day would be easy. He catches you in the paddock, just “accidentally” bumping into you, greets you with a big, friendly smile with a short comment about how long it’s been, and he tells you how proud you must be of your brother. And then maybe they would have to talk about Charles for a while, but once you eased into the conversation, he could start to shift the conversation to you. How are you? Why haven’t you been to his races? Are you seeing anyone? If not, would you like to have dinner with him? 

But now that it was time to actually do this, he felt sick from the thought. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t feel confident enough to talk to you. It felt like he had traveled back in time, turning into a nervous, awkward kid again. How stupid did he have to be to assume you would be interested? Sure, he and Charles didn’t hate each other on a cellular level these days, they could tolerate each other, but they were still each other’s biggest rivals, so why would you be with him? 

Since it was sprint day, Max decided to focus on his job, but when he caught a glimpse of you as you celebrated your brother’s sprint qualifying win, he knew it was a futile attempt. You didn’t even look at him, even though he watched you for a few seconds with a stupid smile on his face and went over to congratulate Charles, which resulted in a kicked puppy feeling. The sprint race wasn’t any better, his head wasn’t really in it, but at least he could see you again. But then, just as he once again watched you with a smile, your eyes locked with his and you smiled back. Unlike back in the day, now he was sure this smile was meant for him. 

He got drunk on this lovely feeling, and as pathetic as it probably was, he found himself lingering around the Ferrari motorhome after the interviews and the debrief. There would be photos and rumors, he was aware of that, but he had to see you. He had to give himself the chance to say hello, to see if you were also interested, if you were willing to talk to him. Deep down he hoped you would be looking at him starry-eyed, giggling like you used to, your bubbly personality coming to the surface as you talked. 

Then he saw you step out on your own, looking around hesitantly as you probably tried to figure out where to go. You looked lost, but Max was more than happy to offer his services as a tour guide, so he walked over to you and stopped with a small smile on his face. “Need help?” he asked.

You turned to look at him with a surprised look, but then your features softened and you flashed the bright smile he missed so much at him. “I’m looking for the exit.”

“I can show you the way,” he offered, and he was surprised to see you quickly nod in response. As you began to walk in the right direction, Max’s brain worked in overdrive to figure out what to talk about, but in the end all he managed to come up with was a trivial question about why you were leaving on your own. 

“I came with Alex, but now she’s going back to the hotel with Charles. I figured I could take a look around the city before dinner, so I won’t wait for them,” you replied as you pushed your sunglasses up to the top of your head.

This was his best chance to ask you out, he knew that, which is why he let out a low hum with his hands behind his back as if he seriously had to think about it. “I can show you around if you’d like. And I know a really good restaurant, one that’s not the crowded fancy kind,” he said as he glanced over at you. 

He didn’t miss the way you blushed at the thought and he had to do his damn best to prevent a proud, cocky smile from appearing on his face. You clearly liked him, you were interested, what more could he wish for? After all those years here he was with you on his side, having a real conversation without your brother’s murderous looks, and on top of it all, he had the courage to ask you out on a date. Because he could tell you knew it would be a date, otherwise you wouldn’t be this shy all of a sudden.

Max came to a halt and gently put a hand on your arm to stop you. “I promise I won’t bite. Come on, just say yes,” he tried. 

“All right, let's do this.”

A wide smile appeared on his face upon hearing this. “Great. Let's get my stuff then we can leave.”

His fingers slowly slid down from your elbow to your hand so he could take it, pulling you after him as he took a sharp turn and headed to the Red Bull motorhome with you by his side. When you were finally on your way out for real, it was you who reached out for his hand, the contact making him involuntary blush. It made you both nervous, unsure of what this meant, but it still felt so natural, like you've been tied to the other by some invisible string.

The two of you spent the following hours walking around the city, with him telling you interesting details he had picked up throughout the years, and you listened to him talk with shining eyes, accompanied by a big smile that sometimes temporarily made him forget how to speak. It was new, it was exciting, and he could have sworn it was just the two of you in the city that night. His eyes always found their way to your face, taking in every little detail as if he hadn’t studied it before as a kid or on the pictures he saw on social media. 

When it was quite late, he took you back to the hotel you were staying in, but neither of you felt like saying goodbye just yet. For a minute or two you were just standing there in silence, waiting for the other to say something, to say what you both had on your mind out loud. He was the first to break under the sweet pressure, all because you nervously bit on your lower lip, a move that drew an almost animalistic growl out of him before he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. 

You didn’t hesitate to return it, getting so lost in it that your hands moved up to his neck, gently pulling him closer as if it was even possible. He only broke the kiss to let his lips pepper small kisses across your face, using this opportunity to tell you something that had been on his mind ever since you agreed to come with him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered to you, his nose pressing against the shell of your ear. 

“A whole twelve hours?” you asked with a delicate little giggle. 

He leaned back to look you in the eye, his big palm resting on your flushed cheek as he flashed a playful smile at you. “More like twelve years,” he corrected you. Your eyes grew wide from surprise, pupils still blown, and he couldn’t help but press a kiss on the tip of your nose. “What can I say, I had a crush on my biggest rival’s sister. And I still have to this day.”

Gulping, you watched him in silence for a while, a reaction that made him worry. Did he say something wrong? He was terrified of the thought of you letting go of him and disappearing behind the entrance of the hotel, leaving him behind for good. But before he could get lost in this spiral, you kissed his chin and went, “Well, I might have had a crush on a stupid blond boy with his stupid blue eyes too. But he never talked to me and I was warned to keep a safe distance from him,” you added. 

This made him kiss you again, and this time he didn’t hold back. He couldn’t care less about standing out on the street where everyone could see him, he couldn’t worry about photos emerging of the two of you. He wanted to claim you as his, making you understand that fate brought you together again, and if he had to do this in front of your damn hotel, then he was more than happy to do it right there with an audience. 

Your safe little bubble was burst by the constant buzzing of your phone, soon followed by the ringtone, and while he wished you would just ignore it, you swore under your breath and quickly answered it. You were speaking with someone in French, upset that they were bothering you right now, but soon your expression and voice changed, mirroring the panic you probably felt, because the moment you ended the call, you began to type furiously. When he gave you an expectant look with a questioning hum, you let out a sigh and showed him the screen. 

He took the device from your hand and scrolled over some posts that could be found under his name in the tags, showing the two of you kissing just a few minutes ago. Considering your brother was tagged in a few of them, it was quite obvious that he was the one who called you, and knowing him, he was probably fuming from anger. “I’m sorry,” he said as he gave you back your phone. 

To his surprise, you just shook your head with a smile, then stood on your toes to give him a quick kiss. “Don’t be. He’ll calm down and people will move on. Also, I’m too happy to care about the fans. Screw them,” you said with a laugh. 

Yeah, screw them. As long as you could think about this so casually, he was happy. Because the last thing he wanted was you being crushed by the pressure, deciding that this relationship wasn’t worth the effort it needed to work. He was willing to do whatever it took to make it work, he was ready to make sacrifices if needed, anything to keep you by his side. He was that lovesick teenage boy again, his brain clouded by a pink fog that affected his way of thinking. Was it wise to put rationality and logic aside? Not really, but he couldn’t care at the moment. 

Not when after all those years he could finally tell you how he felt, and he could hear you say you felt the same. 

“Does this mean you’ll give me your number?” he asked with a grin, already reaching for his phone. Shaking your head, you held out your hand, then typed it in, saving it under your name that you finished with a heart emoji. “Will you come to Miami with me? Then we could travel back to Monaco together and spend some time there until the race.”

You hesitated for the first time that night, looking away nervously as you fidgeted with your bracelet. “I wish I could, but I have to work. Maybe I can go to Monaco, but I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Max,” you told him when you finally turned back to him and saw the devastated look he probably had in his eyes. 

He was so lost in his fantasy world that he failed to consider that you might have had a life back home he knew nothing about. He didn’t know what you did for work, he only knew you lived in London. At least he assumed you still did. What else did he not know? What if you had someone waiting for you back home? Panic took over at the thought of this kiss being nothing more to you than a fleeting memory in a few hours, because he didn’t want to lose you so soon, he didn’t want to be a plaything you get bored of so fast. 

Somehow you picked up on his feelings, because you gently cupped his face to make him focus on you. “I have to be in L.A. next week, I don’t know when I’ll have a little break again,” you told him, eventually flashing a sweet smile at him. “But I’ll try to make it to Monaco on time, okay? I’ll even give ourselves a few days to relax together.”

“Promise?”

You nodded before burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I promise. I should get going, but I don’t want to leave you just yet,” you mumbled against his skin. 

Max buried his fingers into your hair then grabbed a handful of it to gently pull your head back. “Get some sleep. And if you feel lonely tomorrow at the track, feel free to visit me. You’re always welcome,” he said before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Now, go before I change my mind and take you back to my hotel.”

You laughed at this, but nodded nonetheless. “Good luck for the race. I don’t want you to beat my brother, but still. Goodnight, Max.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said as he let you go. 

He stood there for a while, watching you disappear behind the entrance of the building, but once he took a deep breath to calm his heart that was still beating fast from the excitement he felt because of you, he headed back to his hotel. In the taxi he pulled out his phone and sent you a message. Then you replied, and the written conversation didn’t stop until you announced you were dead tired around one in the morning. 

You were his, he could feel it. After all those years, after all those dreams and sleepless nights, he could finally consider you to be more than just a precious memory. You were real. He could still taste you in his mouth. It felt like a dream, one he never wanted to wake up from.

In the morning, as he was heading to the track, Max received a message from his mother. All it said was, “I see you got the girl in the end.” He couldn’t hold back the big smile that wanted to creep on his face at the memory of that conversation they had all those years ago about you. After all that time, here he was, lost in the lavender haze because of you. 

During the drivers parade he didn’t miss the same old murderous looks he had received as a kid, but at least this time he knew he was safe in front of all the cameras. A part of him wanted to discuss this with Charles, but something told him it would be better if he let you do the talking. Even as kids, you had your brother wrapped around your finger, he highly doubted that had changed over the years. 

After the race he saw you congratulate your brother, but he didn’t miss the bright smile that you flashed at him. He considered walking over to you, stepping into Ferrari territory, but in the end decided not to risk it. If you came to a race as his guest, he would have the opportunity to get a tight hug from you before giving you a kiss in front of the whole world. 

They were heading to the cooldown room when Charles suddenly appeared next to him and said, “If you hurt her, I’ll launch us both into the nearest barrier the next time we meet on the track.” 

Max gulped and nodded. It was a fair warning. He was already afraid of fighting him on the track, but knowing he now had a good reason to attack him was truly terrifying. 

In the following week, the two of you talked a lot. Once you even told him that you hadn’t written a word in over an hour because of your conversation, but he still didn’t let you get back to work. He was selfish, he needed to hear your voice to function, to feel alive and know that the weekend before wasn’t some fever dream. He considered suggesting a visit to L.A. after the race to spend some time with you before you traveled back to Monaco together, but he had a feeling that he would be pushing his luck with that. 

The race weekend in Miami didn't start as planned. He was really mad and disappointed in himself after the qualifying, but talking to you made him feel a lot better. Even though you weren't there with him, knowing you cared so much helped him calm down and focus on the race ahead. 

On Sunday morning, a bit over an hour before the drivers parade, Checo asked him to follow him, acting all secretive when he said he wanted to show him something. Max wasn't in the mood for surprises, but then he noticed you standing there in their motorhome and a wide smile appeared on his face. He rushed over to you to pull you into a tight hug before kissing you fiercely, recharging his batteries by doing so.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when he stepped away, although he held your hands and wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. 

You shrugged with that sweet smile on your lips. “Yesterday wasn't the best for you and I could tell you were frustrated. My brother got me a pass, and he decided to ask Checo to sneak me into your motorhome to surprise you,” you explained. 

This was a surprise, sure, but not because you were here. “Charles organized this?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I don't know, ask him.”

“The last time we talked he told me he would push us both into a barricade if I hurt you,” Max admitted, earning a shocked look from you. “Hey, it's okay, I'm not planning on hurting you. Soooo, want me to give you a tour?”

When you nodded, he quickly thanked his teammate for helping your brother with this plan, then put a hand on the small of your back and showed you every interesting corner of the place, telling you different stories from the years he spent here, and conveniently ended the tour in his driver's room so you could have some privacy before he had to leave for the drivers parade. 

Even though you were sitting on his bed with a mischievous smile on your lips, he kept talking about how he got ready for the races, answering a question he didn't realize was a hint until now. Because you were eyeing him as if you were planning to pounce at him or grab the front of his shirt and pull him on top of you.

With a sigh and a knowing smile he stood in front of you, grabbing your chin to make you look up at him. “Later, okay? This isn't the right time or place,” he told you.

“Why, what's the right time and place?”

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Somewhere I can take my time with you. This is not it, trust me.” Nodding, you stood up and gave him a quick kiss. “Will you watch the race from our garage, or will you go back to Ferrari?”

As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you buried your face into his chest. “Where do you want me?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Red Bull it is,” you mumbled against him.

Soon he had to leave you behind to meet the other drivers for the parade, and his heart was beating in his throat from the nervousness caused by the upcoming chat with your brother. Because he had to talk to him, he had to find out if he was suddenly supporting you two, and why he helped him by bringing you here. 

Charles was deep in a conversation with Pierre, but he wasn't afraid to interrupt them. “Can we talk?” he asked the Monegasque.

He nodded and followed him to a quieter corner. “I guess you met her,” he said with the hint of a smile. 

“Why did you do this?”

“Because she was sad. And I don't like to see my sister like that. If being with you can make her happy, so be it,” Charles explained. “I remember how things used to be in our karting days. I remember how much she talked about you, and I remember the way you always watched her. Guess you found each other again. It doesn't mean we'll be best friends now, but maybe we should bury the hatchet.”

Max didn't even know what to say at first, which was new. Your brother's speech surprised him, he definitely wasn't expecting him to be okay with your relationship so soon after it had begun. Nodding, he offered his hand, and Charles shook it without hesitation. 

He wanted to say something, he wanted to tell him how grateful he was for not making a scene or their lives a living hell, but the organizers told them it was time to go. So he waved goodbye and left to find his friends.

Sadly, he didn't have time to talk to you again, he only caught a glimpse of you before getting in the car, and he wanted to focus on the race ahead anyway. He knew you knew that, which is why he didn't feel like shit for not doing anything he could to squeeze in a few minutes to spend with you. 

After he crossed the finish line, Max had a good feeling and he couldn't stop smiling in his helmet. He wasn't happy because he managed to win, no, he was happy because he knew you would be there with the team to greet him in the parc fermé. After all those years he could finally see you celebrate his good result instead of your brother's. 

After he got out of the car, he quickly took off his helmet and balaclava, then ran over to his team to greet a few people before stopping in front of you, watching you with a wide grin as he waited for you to give him the green light. When you finally nodded, he pulled you into a fierce kiss, the adrenaline in his system working wonders. 

“I hope we'll find the right place and time tonight, because post-race you is criminally hot,” you whispered into his ear with a cute laugh.

If it was up to him, he would have skipped the celebration and debrief parts of the day, but the best he could offer now was making everyone hurry so you could get back to his hotel as soon as possible. “We will, trust me,” he assured you eventually before being dragged away for interviews.

[It's you and me, that's my whole world]

Max knew that the Monaco grand prix would be the perfect time to ask you. But he wanted to do this right, and since he had learned in the past year how important your family was to you, he requested a meeting with your mother and Charles to discuss his intentions.

Maybe it was old fashioned, but your brother was a bit overprotective, he wanted to make sure he was comfortable with the idea of having him as a brother-in-law. Your mother wouldn't be a problem, he knew that, because she had often commented on how well he took care of you, and how happy she was that you found someone who was this enamored with you.

So now here he was in your mother's apartment, sitting across from her and Charles as if he was facing the Spanish Inquisition. He took a deep breath to steady his breathing and give himself a moment to figure out where to begin. In the end he decided to be direct, so he pulled out the little jewelry box from his pocket, and placed it on the table between them after he opened it to reveal the ring inside.

Pascale had her hands over her mouth as she gasped in surprise, but soon it was revealed that she was smiling happily when she reached for the box. “When are you planning to ask her?” she wondered as she took a closer look at the ring.

“After the race. Well, since I don't know what Sunday brings, I was aiming for Monday. I'm planning to take her out for lunch, then we would drive to a spot where I can ask her in peace. I already have an event planner getting a party ready for the evening,” Max explained with a shy smile.

And there was that trademark look again from Charles. He watched him with narrowed eyes as he leaned over to take a look at the jewelry in his mother's hand. “And if she says no?” Pascale poked his side with a disapproving look. “What? It's a possibility. They've only been dating for a year. It's too early.”

Your mother let out a sigh as she rolled her eyes. “Don't listen to him, Max, I'm sure she will say yes. She loves you very much. Oh, I'm so happy for you, come here,” she said as she stood up with her arms open.

With a relieved sigh, he stood up and walked around the table to hug her. “Does this mean you have no problem with my plan?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course not!”

“I do,” Charles spoke up, earning a pointed look from his mother.

Pascale put his hands on her hips as she watched her son. “You would have a problem with any guy who tried to ask her to marry him, no matter how long they've been together. I know you want to protect her, but you can't do it forever. You have your own relationship to focus on, and I don't remember her ever having a problem with your decisions.”

Finally, your brother let out a long sigh, then nodded. “All right, you have my blessing. But remember what I told you last year,” he warned him.

“Yeah, I know, the barrier.”

Your mother's eyes moved back and forth between the two of them. “What barrier?”

When he saw the pointed look Charles gave him to shut him up, Max decided to lie. “It's more of a metaphor, nothing worth mentioning,” he said, forcing a smile on his face.

“I see,” she said, although it was clear she didn't believe a word he said. “I'm so happy for you. When will you ask Alex?” she suddenly turned to her son.

Charles almost choked on the water he was drinking. “Really? Just because she's getting engaged, I don't have to copy her right away,” he complained.

A few days later Max had his doubts about the timing. Charles won the race, becoming the national hero, so would it be fair to avert the attention away from him the next day? So he did the only thing he could think of and asked your brother if he would be okay with him going on with this as planned. He said yes, probably knowing two events with this magnitude would make you extremely happy.

Lunch was nice, you joked a lot about Oscar becoming an honorary Leclerc, but you were mostly talking about all the love your brother's been receiving since the race win. He understood that, and he truly believed this was a well-deserved win, one that's been a long time coming. He wished he had a car that could fight theirs, but right now they only had their special moments every now and then.

When you reached your destination and the two of you sat on a picnic blanket with a bottle of wine opened, Max began to feel nervous. He'd been dreaming about this for so long, even as a stupid kid he imagined spending your lives together, but now that he was supposed to pop the question he felt surprisingly uncertain. 

You took a sip of your drink before snuggling up to him, even letting out a quiet giggle when you felt him wrap an arm around your body. He placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head while his free hand reached for the box in his pocket. He hesitated, wondering if this was the right time to do it, if he should give your relationship more time, but as he inhaled your sweet scent, he suddenly realized it would be foolish to waste your precious time.

So he moved his hand to yours and placed the little black box into your palm. You glanced at him with a surprised look on your face, and when he nodded to make you open it, you did exactly that. A small gasp left your lips when you realized what it was, what it meant, so he took this chance to tell you what was on his mind.

“I don't want to wait. I know we will have to sort a few things out, but I'm sure we can find a solution to everything. I travel around a lot, I know that, but if you could work remotely every now and then, we would just have to put effort into making our schedules work,” he said, his voice fading when you put up a finger to stop him.

He watched you examine the ring, taking in every little detail with a warm smile playing on your lips. “Maybe you should say those four words before giving me a speech about logistics,” you suddenly noted.

“What–Oh, right,” he said when realization hit him, then took the ring from you to do this right. “Will you marry me?” 

You let out a low, thoughtful hum instead of answering. Did you really have to think about it? But then you looked up at him with that beaming smile of yours and said yes, making him the happiest man with this single word.

“We're going to our engagement party tonight. I invited everyone who's important to us,” he announced.

“A party? And if I said no?” 

Rolling his eyes, Max let out a groan. “I swear you and Charles couldn't deny being twins if you wanted to,” he said, earning a questioning look. “That was his first question as well.”

The party in the evening was wonderful. Everyone was so happy to hear the news, and they had a lot of fun together. You and your mother disappeared for a while, and soon Charles and Arthur decided to join you in a private room, which gave him some time to talk to Alex. He needed to know what your brother truly thought of this engagement, and she surely knew something.

They sat on a couch next to each other, and she was watching him with a knowing smile over the cocktail in her hand. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

It took Max by surprise, but he was relieved to know she was willing to talk to him. “What does Charles think about this? I mean, really think? I'm sure he told you.” 

“He thinks you're taking her away from him, but that's only because they're so close. Dating someone is one thing, but planning a wedding?” She shrugged, but the kind smile was still present. “Look, he understands that this is what she wants, he knows how much you love her, so he made peace with the idea.”

Nodding, he leaned back and drank some from his cocktail. “So I have nothing to worry about?” 

“As long as you don't hurt her.”

“I'm not planning to do that,” he assured her.

Alex's smile grew even wider. “Then you have nothing to be afraid of.”

Their conversation went on for a little longer, but then it was interrupted by Lando who showed up with shots on a tray, planning to give him a speech while getting drunk together. He accepted his offer with a laugh, and Alex decided to give them space after sharing a drink with them. 

Lando had an arm wrapped around Max’s shoulder after their third shot, animatedly explaining something related to marriage, some weird theory that didn't even make much sense. How much he had drunk before was a mystery, but he was his friend, so he just listened to him with a smile. 

Hours later they all went home, and he was glad to finally have you all to himself. You spent the night talking, sleep somehow avoiding the both of you, but he didn't mind, it was nice to discuss things you were expecting from the wedding. Because you were already planning it in your head, trying to decide where to hold the reception, how many guests to invite, and what kind of dress you wanted.

And then you brought up the date. You were thinking about a month with a lower temperature, maybe in the spring, but he had a different idea. He didn't want to wait until next year. If it was up to him, the two of you would elope the next day, getting married without anyone knowing. But he knew you would want your family and friends to be there, so he was willing to settle with an alternative.

“How about this year? The beginning of September or the first half of October? We have short breaks then,” he suggested. 

You looked surprised, but despite the frown, you seemed to consider the idea. “This soon? Planning a wedding takes time, even if we get help from a professional wedding planner–”

Max smiled at you before leaning forward to give you a quick kiss. “I already took care of that. She said even a September wedding is possible if we're open to a compromise when it comes to the venue,” he told you.

“I'm not even surprised to hear that,” you said with a laugh. “So September, huh? I'll need to start looking for a wedding dress right now then.”

The next few months were challenging when it came to the races, the car wasn't performing the way it should have, but his frustration always melted away the moment his eyes fell on you, whether you were there at the track or during a video call after the race. He was always reminded that he would get to marry you soon, that all he had to do was be patient.

When the time came, he was full of energy, he was as excited as a little kid on Christmas, and he couldn't wait to hear you say yes. The thought of Charles walking you down the aisle made him smile every time because you knew how important that was to you. To the both of you. 

And when he tried to imagine what you would look like, how your dress would hug your body, how your hair and makeup would be done, he couldn't stop grinning. If there was one thing you and your brother had in common, it was the ability to look effortlessly pretty without trying.

But reality surpassed his wildest dreams, because you were breathtakingly beautiful. And his mind began to wander, he was already several steps ahead, planning to do something that could take your relationship to the next level, and his thoughts only returned to the present when the ceremony got the the I dos. 

Before the reception began, he flagged down the photographer to ask for the photos he had taken not long ago, and once you both received the pictures, he immediately posted it on Instagram. He knew he should have waited and posted a photo dump, but he was too eager to share the news of his marriage with the world.

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maxverstappen1: My best friend, my soulmate, my WIFE. I love you, sweetheart.

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Your wedding was truly a celebration of your relationship, of your future together, and the love that tied you to all those people in your lives. He was one of the three people who knew a little secret; a secret he allowed to be announced to you and your family on your wedding day.

So you two and your family members gathered in the room you had gotten ready in, and you all watched Charles who was pale as a ghost, fidgeting with his watch until Alex reached for his hand with a supportive smile.

“I know this is your big day, sis,” he began, giving you an apologetic look, “but Max let us make the announcement today since you're all here.” 

He stopped and looked over at his girlfriend, letting her be the one to get to the point. “I’m pregnant,” she said happily.

Max’s eyes never left you, he was waiting to see your reaction, and he didn't regret waiting, He saw that wide smile that appeared on your face, and heard that adorable happy squeal before you ran over to your brother to give them both a hug. That's exactly the reaction he was expecting from you, this is why he told them to make the announcement that day.

Once everyone left to have a drink while they told it to their friends too, the two of you remained in there alone, and he was quick to close the door and push your back against it before you could walk out as well. You gave him a surprised look, but he turned the lock as he kissed you fiercely, his hand moving down to your waist to keep you in place.

“I was thinking,” he began as his lips trailed along your jawline. “And before you say it, I'm definitely not turning this into some kind of competition with Charles. But remember when we talked about starting the baby project after the wedding? We are after the wedding technically, no?”

Now that you knew what he wanted, you reached up to tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him into another kiss. “We’ll have to be quick if we don't want the guests to notice,” you mumbled when you pulled away for a moment.

He gave you a disapproving look at this. “I don't care about the guests. I will take my time with you. Now, buttons or zipper?” 

“Buttons,” you replied with a quiet chuckle.

With a groan, he stepped back and moved his index finger in a circle. “Turn around,” he said. As he began the painfully slow and annoying task of unbuttoning your dress’ back, he added, “A zipper would have been so much better.”

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yourusername: Little Verstappen in the works.

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pascale.leclerc.355: I'm so glad my babies will soon have their own little families. All the best for you two!

alexandrasaintmleux: Our babies will be the best of friends ❤️

⤷ charles_leclerc: But our boy will be the better driver.

⤷ maxverstappen1: You wish.

maxverstappen1: I love the both of you so much ❤️ I'm lucky to have you in my life.

arthur_leclerc: Congratulations, sis!

[If you approach a Lyon lion hungry you will see teeth]

Max had always known he wouldn't race forever, and with his son in the picture, he always made sure you were okay with him going on. Because he would spend most part of the year traveling, leaving the two of you behind, but you always told him it was okay, that you could go to a few races with him to spend some time together.

When his son became old enough, he took him karting to see if he was even interested. He had grown up watching him in F1, he saw old videos of his races against his uncle, so neither of you were surprised when at the age of six he began to talk about starting to race himself. But it wasn't his idea only, Charles's son was also hell-bent on racing. 

This is how their old rivalry continued with a new generation, although they definitely didn't hate each other off the track. It was truly heartwarming to see them celebrate together, hugging each other after a successful race. Of course, this came with the media's attention, they often wrote about the two being at the top of their category, but neither of them paid much attention to that.

The problems began when his son fell back into the midfield in the new season, because shortly after articles began to appear about his talent. Well, more like the lack of it. Some journalists thought he didn't have what it took to be as good as his father, and Max was fuming from anger every time he read one of these.

“Just don't read them,” you suggested one night after putting your son to bed. 

You sat in his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, and Max put down his phone with a sigh. “It's hard to ignore these idiots. They know absolutely nothing about him, they don't know what's going on with him behind the scenes,” he said before giving you a soft kiss.

It was true. During the break, your nephew proudly showed him an article about the two of them, so he figured he should do his own research. And all he saw were articles where journalists were comparing him to his father, analyzing his every move on the track. It put pressure on him, pressure that he apparently couldn't handle.

He didn't hesitate to take him to a psychologist, knowing perfectly well his mental health came first, but it was a slow process. The two of you did your best to help him, you always told him how good he was, that he just needed a little time to ease back into racing after the break. And you both also assured him that you would love him more than anything even if he stopped racing altogether.

“Did you read what my father said?” he asked you suddenly, and you shook your head in response. “He said that I wasn't pushing him hard enough. I swear he's out of his goddamn mind,” he said angrily. 

You placed a soft kiss on his temple, then rested your chin on top of his head. “You know what he's like. As long as you don't start acting like him–”

“I would never,” he was quick to assure you.

“I know. Limiting contact between him and our son was the best decision we could make. Let's just hope these comments don't reach our boy.”

Max began to place soft kisses on your neck, his hand slowly moving up your back under the shirt. “I love you two so much,” he mumbled against your skin. “I'll discuss what to do tomorrow. I know some journalists have been trying to reach me for a comment, if the team says it's okay to talk to them, I will. Nobody should mess with my family.”

“Just try to stay calm. I know it's been a long time since Mad Max came out to play, but we're doing fine without him,” you said with a short laugh.

He looked up at you as he captured your lips in a kiss. “I can't make any promises.”

The next day the team gave him the green light to comment on the speculations under the condition of every single word being sent via email to have proof later. Though the PR people tried to tone down his harsh reaction, Max wasn't about to let them. He wanted the journalists to know he wasn't about to let them write that bullshit about his son anymore. 

If they had a problem, they should come to him first for comment instead of publishing these pieces so anyone, including his son, could see it. If they wrote something like that, he wanted to have a quote from himself there too, mostly because he wanted his son to know his father was always in his corner.

As he waited for news about the journalists who received his comment from his team, Max saw his phone buzz on the table to signal a new message. When he checked it, he saw it was from Charles, and since he had nothing better to do, he quickly checked it.

Just as he hoped, some of the articles were extended with his comment, or in some cases brand new pieces were published. They visibly toned down the vitriol, probably understanding that they were talking about a kid, not an adult who could protect himself. He even received a message or two in which journalists apologized for the way they handled this topic. 

The perks of including two off the record sentences to make them think. “If it was your child, would you be happy to read this? Wouldn't you worry how it affects them?” he wrote.

When he got home, the first thing he did was hugging his son tightly, telling him how much he loved him, promising to play against him in the sim rig after dinner. You were watching them with a loving smile on your lips, one that drew him closer and made him kiss you softly.

“Have you checked Instagram lately?” you asked him. Raising an eyebrow, Max shook his head. With a smile, you opened it on your phone and navigated to your brother's account before giving it to him. “We can count on our family, no matter what. As long as our son has this support, everything's gonna be okay.”

When he read the caption, he couldn't help but smile. “We should show him,” he said, motioning towards your son who was writing his homework. 

You shook your head as you took back your phone. “He was the one who saw it first.”

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charles_leclerc: Like fathers, like sons. They will carry on our legacy because they are both insanely talented, and we are proud of them, no matter what happens in their careers. We love you, boys!

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yourusername: ❤️

arthur_leclerc: My nephews are badasses, don't mess with them.

user1: Those articles are disgusting, I don't get how anyone in their right mind can write that about a kid.

⤷ user2: No wonder Max finally commented on them. But it's so good to see how much he loves his son.

⤷ user3: Mad Max is back!

note 2: That's all, folks. What do you think? Feedback is always welcome.

[pathologicalreid]

You write fluff and flangst absolutely amazingly and I’m in awe every dang time!

Buuut since you’ve got spring break coming up, a little fic idea that’s in my head that I’ll never do justice! (If you’re interested)

Fem!reader finding out an adorable way to tell Spencer she’s pregnant. I don’t care if they’re dating or married or what - but like she puts together a crossword, or a puzzle and he just doesn’t get it. (If you wanna throw angst in, he leaves without getting it for a case and then realizes it in the middle of the night.)

puzzling | S.R.

trying to tell Spencer you're pregnant, but he's too concerned with your well-being to fill out your custom crossword puzzle

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: pregnancy and misc. symptoms., talk of fainting and blood tests. word count: 1.69k a/n: welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda! i hope this does your request justice and thank you for entrusting me with this idea!!!! <3

you

It was your pride and joy, the collection of folded papers that sat on the kitchen counter, next to a cup of coffee that you had already filled for him.

On your fake newspaper, you had created a custom crossword puzzle. With four very important clues.

Across: “Early stage of life”

Across: “American actress Frances _”

Down: “Must be finished by”

Down: “Veteran’s Day month”

You smiled softly to yourself as you heard Spencer’s footsteps coming down the staircase. Padding over to the kitchen counter, you sat on one of the stools, a cup of tea in front of you.

Before he even looked at the newspaper, Spencer leaned over to kiss you good morning, “You look tired,” he whispered, hooking a finger under your chin as if he were investigating the dark circles underneath your eyes.

“Way to make a girl feel good about herself,” you teased lightly, even though you knew he was right. At least you felt tired.

He rolled his eyes, “You know that’s not what I meant.” Turning to grab his mug of coffee off of the counter, he observed you again, “Are you sure your doctor said nothing was wrong?”

Smiling, you gave him a brief nod. You had gone to see your doctor a few days ago for nausea and fatigue, and Spencer would’ve gone with you had he not been on the other side of the country on a case. “They’re running some tests, but they didn’t see anything blatantly wrong,” the doctor was running a few blood tests, checking your iron levels and HCG.

Using his free hand, Spencer reached over and moved a lock of hair out of your face, “They said your blood pressure was low?”

Low blood pressure, as it turned out, was a pregnancy symptom that was most common in the first trimester. “You’re freaking out over nothing, Spence,” you told him. Really, it was something. A rather large something – or small, depending on how you wanted to look at it. “Come on, it’s crossword time,” you told him, using the end of the pen to tap on the newspaper.

“I worry about you when I’m away. You do know that low blood pressure can cause syncope, right? Did they prescribe you anything for it?” He asked, ignoring your wishes to move on and do the crossword.

There was a small part of you that just wanted to tell him, but frankly, you had worked too hard on the crossword puzzle to give yourself away like that. You couldn’t tell him that they didn’t prescribe you anything because they didn’t know how far along you were. A larger part of you knew that if you just got him to work on the puzzle, he would have his answers in about seven minutes.

Then his phone rang, he pulled the device out of his pocket, and the Caller ID on the screen caused you to slump your shoulders forward. It was Garcia. “Hey Garcia,” he greeted on the phone, “at the tarmac?”

You set your head on the counter and sighed in defeat as Spencer hung up the phone.

“Are you alright?” He asked you softly, tenderly wrapping an arm around your torso.

Humming, you sat back up, ignoring the stars in your field of vision as you did so. “I’m fine, you should go,” you insisted.

Spencer shook his head, “No, you’re sick. I’ll call Garcia back and tell her I have to stay back.” Acting bewildered at the idea that he had been so remiss as to agree to do his job while you were unwell.

You reached out and set a hand on his, “It’s alright, love. I can take care of myself,” you reminded him. Besides the fact that you were wholly self-sufficient, the only reason why Spencer would be asked to meet the team at the tarmac was if they were headed toward a particularly gnarly case – they needed all hands on deck.

“Promise me you’ll check in? Call your mom if you need any help, please,” he requested, pleading eyes following you as you got up to hug him.

Nodding, you wrapped your arms around him, “You should take the crossword with you.” Pulling away, you haphazardly refolded the newspaper and handed it to him.

Furrowing his brow, Spencer inspected the paper that you had given him. “We always do the crossword together on Saturdays,” he found you incredibly helpful on the pop culture clues. “We could save this one and then have two for next week,” he offered.

God. No. Your eyes widened at the idea of having to keep your secret for another week, shaking your head, you shrugged, “No, you should take it. It’ll make me look forward to next week even more,” you insisted.

He folded, and with a sweet kiss to the forehead, he was off to go save lives, remaining entirely unaware of the one growing inside of you.

him

The judgmental Italian behind him was proving to be a distraction, “Did you find something?” Spencer asked, eyeing the evidence board with frustration. Something bugged him about the case, and he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.

“Not right now, but it’s three in the morning,” Rossi said, joining Spencer by the evidence board. “Why don’t you give that big brain of yours a break?”

Shaking his head, Spencer crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I tried. I can’t stop thinking about the case.” Men were popping up dead in a small Missouri town at an alarming rate, and he felt so close to a breakthrough.

Dave nodded like he understood the feeling, that was probably why he had emerged from his hotel room so early, returning to the precinct before the sun peeked over the horizon. “What do you usually do to wind your brain down?”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “Crossword puzzles,” he admitted, any word puzzle would do the trick.

The chuckle from the older man next to him startled Spencer, “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” Rossi looked around the precinct, “I’m sure we can find one around here somewhere.”

“No,” Spencer said, “I have one in my bag, actually.” He refrained from including the detail that you had given him the crossword puzzle, or else he’d never hear the end of it.

Clapping him on the back, Rossi lifted his coffee cup, “Then I suggest you go take the thirty seconds to fill out that puzzle and then get some rest.”

Once he was back in his hotel room, he changed before pulling out the pile of papers that you had sent him off with. Sitting on top of the bed, he filled out the puzzle in approximately six minutes and forty-three seconds. Once the letters were filled in, he skimmed the puzzle – just to check it over.

The only one that might’ve given him trouble was about an American actress – usually he had you to help him with pop culture, but he recalled having the same last name as an actress in Days of Our Lives.

It was interesting that the words “Baby” and “Reid” were right next to each other.

Wait.

Quickly, he calculated the odds that the words “Baby” “Reid” “Due” and “November” were all in the puzzle and when the numbers were put together, they made your anniversary. Spencer just as quickly called you, listening to the phone ringing.

His heart was racing as he waited to see if you answered the phone. “Hey,” your groggy voice came through the receiver.

“Where did you get this crossword puzzle?” He asked you, flipping through the rest of the newspaper for the first time.

You hummed softly, “You’re doing it right now?”

Looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, he dropped his face into his hands. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t even think about the time,” it was just past four in the morning now, making it just past five in the morning in Virginia. “I just thought that…” his voice trailed off. What if it was just a coincidence?

There was silence on your end of the call, and he wondered if you had fallen asleep. You hadn’t been feeling well, and he’d woken you up with his phone call. “You thought what, Spence?”

The teasing lilt in your voice had given you away to him immediately. He knew. Every one of his suspicions were confirmed, “Y/N Reid,” he breathed.

“Spencer Reid,” you countered.

He took a deep breath, “Are you pregnant?”

“Yeah,” you answered simply, with about as much enthusiasm as he expected from you at five in the morning.

It all started to make sense to him. The low blood pressure, the drowsiness, and even the slight caginess when it came to him asking about your doctor’s visit. He swiped away a few stray tears, “I don’t know what to say.” It wasn’t a feeling he was overly used to.

You cleared your throat, “Are you happy?” Nerves clouded your voice, and he could hear you becoming more awake – more alert.

“I am,” he searched aimlessly. Elated. Thrilled. Ecstatic. “I’m so happy,” he told you, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say, I just… God, are you okay?” Dread washed over him, you were alone, sick, and pregnant at home and he was halfway across the country.

Sighing, he heard a ruffling on the other end of the call. “I’m great. I’m exhausted, I had no idea being pregnant was so tiring. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know.” You sighed again, “I’m not making any sense.”

He laughed lightly at your rambling, “You’re making perfect sense. Chances are your energy will return during the second trimester.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” You paused again for just a moment, “I’m sorry if I scared you. With the whole doctor’s appointment thing. They really are keeping an eye on my blood pressure and whole slew of other things, but they know the root cause.”

A giddy smile grew on his face, “It’s because you’re pregnant.”

A soft hum came through the phone, “It’s because I’m pregnant,” you concurred.

[reveluving]

Ok, so Soap and shy wife. We all know he's the definition of sunshine/happy puppy and has the energy of an entire class of kindengarden. Imagine when they first meet the couple and he's all loud and jolly, and wife quietly shakes their hand and says "Nice to meet you" and he INSTANTLY quiets, because he's proud of his Darling to meet his friends/family, also because they're all wondering how she puts up with him🤣❤

LOSING MY MIND AT "they're all wondering how she puts up with him" BECAUSE THAT IS BASICALLY THEIR DYNAMIC 🤧💗💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

You just know this man does not shut up about you every time he meets up with his team for work. 

And then, one day, he surprises them with a “she’d love y’all to come over one day.”

“Didn’t you say she’s a lil’ shy?” Kyle voiced out everyone’s thoughts, so to be offered not by the man himself but the meek lady in question was a little surprising, to say the least.

“She is, yeah, but she’s open t’meeting a few pals o’mine.” Johnny meant it to sound casual, but with his mates knowing him for a long time, it wasn’t hard to catch the hint of care in his voice.

And, well, it would be rude to decline a lady’s generous offer, now, would it?

Johnny’s hyped, no doubt, his friends—no, brothers, and his other half finally meeting in person. They didn’t even have to ask, just by the way he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel or the way he hummed to the radio, likely a playlist the two of you shared.

And with the boys holding some sort of gift for you, just as a thank you for the invite, you greet them by the door as soon as your husband announces his and his friends’ arrival. 

With Simon physically being the closest to you, you wiped your hands on your apron before holding your hand out. Simon nearly struggled with his strength, not expecting your lack of hesitation to greet him, out of all of them.

You introduced yourself, “It’s nice to finally meet you guys.”

Ah, such a sweet voice. So sweet that had Johnny not gone on and on about your shyness, they would’ve thought you were scared of them. But, you weren’t and the proud smile on Johnny’s face says it all. 

Why wouldn’t he? With your warm smile and even willingness to shake Kyle and John’s hands as well. Albeit, you had a habit of looking down every once in a while, especially if they tried to show their respect, i.e. complimenting your cooking, the decor or you in general, it was hard not to find you endearing.

But God knows how you, of all people, manage to put up with his nonsense. 

In the words of Johnny; “Opposites attract, after all.”

And seeing it now, to say Johnny was whipped…. Was putting it lightly.

It’s funny to see Johnny trying his best when it comes to lowering his gruff voice for you, even if you loved it just the way it is.

Though he has a lot of things to tell you, so much love to give you, you have his full attention the moment your lips part.

Each time you open your mouth, he closes his. As if fearing that one word from him would mean talking over you entirely, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. The hearts in his eyes were tough to miss. He’s expressive, too, hanging on your every word like you were giving him a task when it was just you talking about how you learnt to make the lasagna you served for dinner.

‘SHUT UP, MY BABY HAS SOMETHING TO SAY’ type of beat, but it’s the man who’s saying it that has the loudest voice (and the gentlest heart).

But they’d be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy listening to the stories of how you met and how emo Johnny gets when the dates or outings don’t go his way, even though it all went well in the end.

Why wouldn’t they enjoy seeing his soul leave his body when you mentioned his baby pictures that his mother not only showed you but gave some to you as well?

“Johnny, c’mon, now, she’s a part of the family! She’ll need some photos o’you for when you move in together soon.” Says his mother, gifting you probably a stack of them, as if unfazed by the sight of you and Johnny covering your faces, the temperature of your body heat rising that even you feared you might pass out right then and there. He couldn’t even find the energy to stop his sisters from teasing him.

But besides allowing you to embarrass him a little, even if it wasn’t your intention, your home is another.

A small unit, located on the second floor. The candlelight colour, the cute indoor plants in each room, and the seats. 

Oh, the seats.

John nearly passed out just moments after he sat on it. 

Just by the way you maximized the apartment space, it’s no wonder Johnny always looked forward to returning home. Not necessarily the apartment, but to you. 

Dare they say, the visit felt like a ‘cultural reset’ (is that what the kids are saying these days?). Largely because one; they were able to finally confirm that Mrs MacTavish is a real person and two; one cannot simply ignore the dynamic you and Johnny have. It may be eye-roll-worthy to some, but Johnny learns it isn’t something worth fighting about. So long he has you, those people can yap and nag about it all they want. 

Bonus: John’s definitely the type of person to tell Laswell about it like it was some kind of a mission—like it was almost unbelievable to see you, well, you!

“M’tellin’ ya, Laswell. As soon as his wife had something t’say, he shuts up faster than when I tell him to.” He chuckled before taking a sip of his drink.

“Sounds like a keeper to me.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[paradiseprincesss]

the boy is mine | jonathan crane

masterlist

yeah so i wrote this in literally record timing because the music video to the boy is mine is so jonathan crane and his girl coded. i'd like to think i'm keeping u guys fed with all my fics i hope u like !!!

summary: you’re set on doing anything to make that boy yours, and the plan you curated is absolutely purrrfect.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, oral (f!receiving), bondage/tying up, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, stalking, obsessive behaviour, therapist/patient relationship at one point lol

“perfect.” you whisper to yourself as you poured the last drop of the glittery, pink liquid into the small vile, swirling it around as you popped a cork into the top.

you smiled proudly as you sat on the kitchen floor of your apartment, holding up the vile to get a good look at it under the moonlight. it was fool proof — he’d for sure be yours after you forced him to drink this.

some would say you were a little unhinged, but you preferred the term creative. you were a little obsessed with your old therapist, doctor jonathan crane. you started seeing him when you stumbled across his pictures online, and you knew you had to have him. you booked your first session with him roughly nine months ago, and he was there for you every step of the way.

you didn’t actually need therapy (well…), but you still booked sessions with him because he was yours. it was meant to be. you couldn't unsee it. during your first ever session with him, you made sure to put on your cutest, most feminine and dainty mini dress, paired with some matching high heels. you even did your hair and makeup with precision. jonathan didn’t show it on his face, but when you sat there in that leather chair across from him for the first time, his heart started to beat a million miles a minute.

you were jaw-dropping. he couldn’t believe someone could actually possess such beauty, and though he tried to stay professional, it was proving to be quite difficult. every time you spoke, every time you smiled at him, every time you did absolutely anything — he would become more and more infatuated with you.

“i just wish he didn’t leave me, you know?” you say softly, feigning innocence, “it’s been so hard without a man to take care of me.”

jonathan clenched his jaw silently, he couldn’t believe that a man would be stupid enough to break-up with someone like you. be professional, he reminded himself.

“understandably so,” he said clinically, “i can only imagine how difficult it would be to have a relationship like that end so abruptly.”

“it was so difficult,” you say, your eyes watering, “but, i think i’m slowly starting to move on.”

of course, such "ex-boyfriend" did not exist. this was all part of your elaborate act to make him think you were an innocent, naive girl who was heartbroken and needed someone to save her. that someone being him, of course.

he was made for somebody like you.

you only had seven sessions between the two of you before jonathan abruptly reassigned you to his colleague, doctor webber. she wasn’t anything like doctor crane — she didn’t understand you the way that he did.

good things come to those who wait, but patience wasn’t your thing.

“i’m sorry,” jonathan doctor crane said to you, “as much as i want to continue to be there for you and your journey of growth, i believe that my colleague would be better suited to your…needs.”

“what are you talking about, doctor crane?” you asked, trying to to hide the desperation in your voice.

“i have another patient i must attend to,” he says flatly, informing you that your session had come to an end, “but i wish you all the best.”

and with that, he sent you to see doctor webber. of course, you were heartbroken. how could your soulmate do that to you? but jonathan wasn’t doing it because he didn’t want to see you — it was quite the opposite, actually. he knew that feeling this way about his patient was so very wrong, and if he continued to see you, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

really, he did this for you.

as you placed your little love concoction on the kitchen counter, you turned on your tv. jonathan was supposed to be doing a segment with the mayor of gotham tonight about the crime rates in the city, and what him and his team at arkham asylum were doing to solve the issue. as his face appeared on tv, you sighed to yourself. he was so handsome in his suit and tie — and those sexy little glasses?

meow.

the chilly gust of wind made you shiver for a moment, but your latex bodysuit kept you warm enough — well, not really. with your little cat ear headband, you toss your hair over your shoulders as you quietly make your way into the silent home. your black pumps were surprisingly silent against the wood floors, and you crept into the living room where a woman sat on the couch watching tv.

you went undetected as she completely missed your presence. stealthily, you creep behind her until suddenly, you yanked her by her hair. she screamed loudly, and your hand immediately went up to her mouth to clasp down on it; you were getting really good at this.

“don’t scream,” you whisper, “i just came here to tell you to stay away from my man.”

slowly, you remove your hand and she looks back at you with sheer terror, “wh-who’s your man?” she asked with fear laced in her voice.

you hated this bitch — she was one of jonathans patients. there was nothing going on between them, you knew that (plus you would’ve murdered her if there was!), but you had spent the last few weeks…"cleaning up the streets."

these ratty bitches had to go; any woman who was his patient or in his life at all had to go. you even dressed the part with your sexy little cat costume and all. you know what they say — in the eternal game of cat and mouse, there are no winners, only survivors.

“doctor jonathan crane,” you said dreamily, but your tone turned sinister within seconds, “and if you ever go see him again, i will find you, trust me. i've already found you once, and you don't want me to come prowling back around.”

the woman nodded frantically, and you went on your merry way. this was the last one, you were certain. you’d even made a list of all the women to threaten so that you could make sure they would stay away from your man. finally, you made your way home and started to wind down from all the break-ins you’d been making recently. it was hard work chasing down all these…mice.

jonathan noticed that his belongings were going missing here and there over the last few months, and he knew something strange was going on. he wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but something was off.

first, little things such as his favourite pen (yes, he has a favourite pen) went missing. then, a few patient files would seemingly disappear along with some sticky notes he had stuck on his desk the day prior. he didn’t think too much of it until one of his credit cards went missing from his wallet — but there weren't any fraudulent charges made.

he even continued to monitor his bank account and freeze his card, but no charges were ever made on it regardless. the last straw was when his spare house key went missing. even for a man as smart as jonathan, he could not figure out who was doing this for the life of him.

you were still attending your regular sessions with doctor webber, but you deliberately booked your appointments on days you knew jonathan was working. you knew you’d run into him either on your way in or way out, and you also knew he wasn’t that booked up anymore since most of his clientele went…missing.

as you said your farewell to doctor webber, you noticed jonathan walking out of his office. he noticed you immediately, giving you a soft smile as you turned to close the door to doctor webbers office. he said your name softly, causing you to almost choke on your own words as you clutched his house keys behind your back.

“doctor crane,” you say softly, “hey.”

“just jonathan is fine,” he said, but he internally scolded himself for saying that, “how have you been?”

“great,” you say sweetly, “doctor webber is…great.”

“that’s wonderful to hear,” he says, “it was nice seeing you again. take care.”

you two parted ways, and once jonathan was back at his apartment — he was to refrain himself from calling you. god, you looked so good today. with those little dresses of yours and good grief, those sexy, little heels you always paired them with. he grabbed himself a glass of whiskey, neat, and took a swig as he thought about you.

why did you have to be on his mind so much, and dear god, why did you have to be so fucking beautiful?

with a frustrated sigh, he looked at his front door, thinking about his keys that suddenly went missing just a week prior. was he overthinking things? was he just imagining it? did he lose his own keys and forget?

he was a psychiatrist for gods sake, why was he driving himself crazy over this? with so many questions and no answers, he made his way to his bathroom as he flicked his kitchen lights off.

the cold water ran from the bathroom sink as he splashed it on his face after removing his glasses, and he looked at himself in the mirror to get a grip. his pale, icy, blue eyes bore into his own reflection, and-

what was that?

he turned around swiftly, turning the tap off, watching as something, no — someone’s perfectly manicured hand ghosted over the edge of his bathroom doorframe.

he couldn’t see anything — the kitchen light was turned off, and the only thing turned on was his dim bathroom light. the master of fear himself felt a little fearful in this moment as he watched the dainty, feminine hand retract and move back into the shadows and he could've sworn he saw...cat ears?

jonathan had to blink a few times to make sure that he hadn’t spilled a vile of his own fear toxin somewhere and that he wasn’t just hallucinating off of it.

hesitantly, he pushed open his bathroom door only to be met with the darkness of his kitchen. his breath hitched as he flicked on the kitchen lights, but he was met with an empty, quiet space. his eyes quickly darted to the front door, but it was locked shut.

but if the door was locked shut, what did he just see? who did he just see? was the scarecrow himself starting to succumb to silly, little, irrational fears? before his mind could start to wander anymore, he heard a familiar sound.

a certain, distinct, and awfully familiar sound of high heels clicking against the wood flooring — and it was coming right from his bedroom. jonathan went over to his bedroom, swinging the door open unsure of what he might see, only to be met with a sight that made him feel weak in the knees.

you were propped up on his bed, in a latex body suit and high heels, along with cat ears to complete your rather sexy costume. you batted your eyelashes at him innocently, and bit your lip as you showed him the rope in your hands.

“how did you…” he whispered, watching you bite your lip as he trailed off.

“doctor,” you purred, “let’s get intertwined.”

“what the fuck…” he whispered once more, watching you as if in a mesmerized trance.

jonathan couldn’t lie — as much as he should have been terrified and calling the cops, he was awfully turned on right now. jesus christ, that latex cat costume that left absolutely nothing to the imagination? yeah, he was hard the moment he saw you.

“i know it’s simply meant to be.” you say softly, and as if his mind could not control his body, he was making his way over to you on his bed.

“um, what-“

“shh,” you hush him, suddenly grabbing him as you swiftly tie a knot around his wrists, “you don’t need to speak, baby boy.”

in mere seconds you had the scarecrow tied up on his own bed, restrained as you looked down at him. jonathan sat there looking up at you — yes, you were hot but you were clearly also insane.

to be fair, so was he.

he didn't bother trying to get himself out of the ropes. he knew that if he tried to struggle you'd most definitely do something not so pleasant to him. also, if he was being honest — this was hot. like, really hot.

"i just need you to do me a favour, baby boy," you giggle, your high heels clicking against the wood flooring once more, "drink this for me, and know that if you refuse, you won't live to see another day."

you held up a vile of pink, shimmery liquid. jonathan looked at you with a raised brow, and hesitantly nodded.

"...i'll drink it if you answer some questions that i have." he says, trying to bargain with you.

"fine," you shrug, "but make it quick."

"alright, first of all, how did you get in here?" he asked.

"easy, i crawled in through your window. next." you say in an awfully innocent voice.

"are you the one that's been taking my stuff?" he asks, and you nod.

"of course, i needed your stuff for my collection." you say whimsically, biting your lip at the thought of your homemade jonathan crane shrine.

in your apartment, you had a wall dedicated to him. it had cut outs of him, printed pictures, his belongings, his address, photos of him when he was younger — the list just goes on. all just regular, boring, stalker stuff, really.

"no more questions," you huff, "drink up, baby boy."

"what is it?" he asked, to which you rolled your eyes.

"an at-home love potion. i'm going to untie you for this — and if you even attempt to run, i will slice your heart in two." you say with an adorable smile.

jonathan doesn't offer a response, but rather opts out for a simple nod. you slowly untie his wrists, handing him the pink, glittery liquid in the vile. you watch him in awe as he closes his eyes and takes it like a shot, smiling to yourself as you realize that he's finally going to be all yours.

this little concoction that you had whipped up was the real deal — you'd even tested it on other men to see if it did what it was intended to do. it worked on them, bringing these men to their knees for you, but it's not like you really had any trouble doing that without a love potion, anyway.

after jonathan drinks it all, he looks back at you blankly. unbeknownst to you, when you were popping the cork off of the potion, he sneakily grabbed a vile of his fear toxin that was stashed by the foot of his bed — just in case you tried to actually murder him.

his plan was to immediately throw the vile at you and watch you succumb to your fears, but if he was being honest, he wanted to see what this shitty little "love potion" could do. he was a man of science, after all.

"i don't feel anything," he said after a moment, "looks like your potion didn't work after all-"

you cut him off with a small giggle, "you don't feel any different?"

"no."

"i've tested it, i know it works," you giggled, "that means if you don't feel any different from before, then you must already love me-"

suddenly, he lunged at you, making you scramble as you tried to fight back. however, he was much stronger than you, making it physically impossible to overpower him. after struggling for a good minute, he had you tied down on the bed like you had him just moments before.

"you're sick in the head," he says, but you could've sworn you saw him smirking, "you're real fucking twisted, you know that? i could call the cops and have you arrested right now."

"do it," you teased, "i dare you to, baby boy."

jonathan suddenly grabbed you by the neck, "what was that?"

you had you refrain from smiling as he choked you softly, feeling yourself get wet from just a second of his touch. you knew exactly what he wanted now.

"sorry," you corrected, "i dare you, sir."

"there we go." he says as he lets go of your throat.

he rummages through his bedside drawer and pulls out some of his own rope, causing your mind to spin at the idea of what he was going to do to you. you didn't run when he untied your wrists initially, but he took a few moments to tie both your wrists up to his bedposts, essentially tying you up so you couldn't move your hands at all.

"oh," you say with a teasing voice, "i see where this is going."

he smirks at you, admiring how sexy you look all tied up in his bed, with your costume and all. he takes his phone out and shamelessly takes a picture with the flash on, and you could feel that you were leaking your arousal down his bedsheets by now.

it seemed that your love potion didn't work on him because, well, he was already obsessed with you.

of course he was — but jonathan was known for his good work ethic. he only gave you up as a patient because it was only a matter of time before he would give in and most likely fuck you on the couch in his office. he just didn't know it was mutual at the time. if he did, well — that's a story for another day.

"maybe i should punish you," he smirks, making his way over to you on the bed, "you've been so disobedient."

"m'sorry, sir," you whimper, "you just make me crazy."

"i know," he cooed condescendingly, "but i think i can fix that, darling."

"you can?"

"i most definitely can," he says lowly, "it might take a few sessions to cure you, but i have a method i think might work on you. i'm gonna fuck you 'till you can't think anymore, no more thoughts after that. sound good?"

you nodded frantically, "mhm, yes. please, fuck yes."

he smirked at you, his hands reaching towards the top of your bodysuit. slowly, he reached his hands behind and unzipped it, slipping it off of you slowly.

"i like the cat costume," he chuckles lowly, "the ears are a cute touch."

you blushed, biting your lip as he slipped you right out of your latex bodysuit. obviously, you wore nothing underneath — not even panties. jonathan groaned at the sight because seriously, no panties? with your wrists tied up and unable to touch him, you were getting pent up real fast.

"i wanna touch you," you whined, "please."

he smirked, "if only you didn't break into my apartment like a stray."

before you could even formulate a proper response, he was crawling between your legs, spreading them out as he got onto his stomach. without warning, he licked a fat stripe up your already soaking cunt, latching his mouth onto your pussy. your back arched at the feeling, and he continued to lap you up.

"f-fuck, jon," you breathed, "feels s-so good."

"i know." he said cooly against your core, lapping up your arousal continuously as you moaned over and over again.

it was sinful how skilled he was with his tongue — it hadn't even been a full five minutes and you were already on the brink of creaming all over his face. he didn't give you any mercy as he continued to eat you out like a starved man, and your wrists were burning against the rope as you tugged on them.

god, the things you would do to run your hands through his soft, dark, and now tousled hair.

"nnnghh," you whimper, "i'm, ah- gon' cum!"

the coil in your stomach snapped as your release hit you like a freight train, making you scream his name as he made you cum. you were left a panting mess, and he finally released the grip he had on your thighs. after wiping his pink, plump lips along with his chin which glistened with your wetness, he smiled softly at you.

"taste s'good," he commented, "you look so pretty like this, darling. tied up and helpless."

"n-need you," you whisper, "baby, please."

this time, he didn't correct you and demand you call him "sir." maybe it was the heat of the moment or maybe it was the realization that he had finally met a woman who was as unhinged as he was. deep down, he was really loving the idea.

he started to undo his belt, making sure to keep his eyes locked on yours, teasing you as he undid his belt at a painfully slow pace. finally, after what felt like an eternity (it maybe thirty seconds at most), his cock sprung out of his pants, hitting his stomach lightly. it was long, veiny, and thick. how was that supposed to fit inside of you? surely it would split you open.

"cat got your tongue?" he teased as he unbuttoned his white button-down, stroking his cock a few times as your hips bucked into nothing.

"uh-huh." you whispered in awe, biting your lip at the thought of how his size was going to stretch you beyond your limits.

with a low chuckle, he lined his thick cock up with your begging hole, pushing in slowly as you felt him stretch your cunt out fully. he was so big and so long, the feeling of him just halfway inside of you was enough to have you pulling against the ropes again. the way the rope was digging into your wrists was degrading but undeniably hot. it was like a silent reminder of how little control you actually had over this whole situation.

"s-so full!" you squeaked, but he kept pushing himself into your tight, warm hole.

"s'okay, you can take it. and if you can't, i'll make you take it." he groaned, finally bottoming out in you.

you were stuffed to the brim with his cock and slowly, he started to thrust his length in and out of you. desperately, you let out a feverish moan. your breaths were short but heavy, and you were a fucked out, cockdrunk mess for him as he picked up his pace.

"you're so fucking tight, my god," he moaned, "i should've fucked you sooner."

"make me cum," you plead desperately, "f-fuck, yes, feels so good, jonathan!"

"yeah? you wanna cum?" he cooed as he continued to fuck your sopping pussy, "you wanna cum on this cock?"

"fuck, yes." you pleaded.

his cock was pressed snugly up against your cervix, so deep that you could feel him in your stomach. he continued to stretch your little hole out, ruthlessly pounding his thick cock into you more and more as you started to see stars. your walls started to flutter around him, letting him know that you were close without having to say a word.

"close already, darling?" he asked, "are you gonna cum for me again, hm?"

"y-yes!" you moaned, "ohmygod- i'm gonna-"

your words started to melt together at one point as you got lost in the pleasure of your high. soon enough, your soaking cunt was tightening up around his fat cock, and a clear liquid poured out from you.

of course — you were so turned on by the way he was screwing you that you'd squirted all over his bedsheets.

"oh, darling," he moaned, "that was so fucking sexy, jesus."

"j-jonathan, baby," you begged, "i-i can't-"

"you can, i promise," he groaned, "i'm close."

"p-please." you started to beg incoherently, the overstimulation making your head spin as your cunt fluttered around his cock again.

he continued to ram your tight pussy until his thrusts started to become sloppier and sloppier, and you could tell that he was close to the edge.

"cum i-inside," you begged him, "i need to be filled, fuck-"

"okay, okay," he panted as his he gave you a few more deep, harsh thrusts, 'm'gonna fill you up, darling."

you nodded, your head spinning as he finally came inside with a low groan, painting your walls white as he stuffed you with his warm seed. he stilled, staying inside of your warm hole for just a little longer to ensure you got every last bit of his cum, before pulling out his semi-hard cock.

he bit his lip as he watched his cum drip out of you (the sight of him biting his lip almost made you cum again), and he reached over to untie your wrists as you slumped down against the pillows. he laughed softly, pulling you into him as you instinctively cuddled into his arms.

he pulled the cat ear headband off your head, which you forgot you still had on, and tossed them to the side.

"i guess i'm going to have a hard time getting rid of you, huh? stalker." he joked, sighing as he took in all the details of your pretty face.

"you won't be able to get rid of me," you say softly, "i'm obsessed with you."

"good, i don't want you around anyone but me." he says, playing with your hair gently.

"i know," you giggle, "but stupid love potion was useless. i should've known you were already in love with me."

the both of you laughed softly, snuggled up in his bed as he told you all about what he did on the side for work — and all about his plans to fear gas gotham city.

jonathan trusted you with this because he knew there wasn't a line in existence that you wouldn't cross for him.

@ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a @xanaxiii

@seaamonster @nocturnest @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones @oceanstem

@futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @dolleyednymphette @kpopgirlbtssvt @ll4n4

@ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @aprilsfrog05 @wiseyouthinfluencer

@minedofmoria @strangeobsessed

[januaryembrs]

MY BABY, HERE ON EARTH | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [BONUS]

Description: the NINE months of pregnancy

Word count: 10.9k

warnings: pregnancy duh, babies, giving birth, c-section, ummm body fluids? lots of emotions, nausea & sickness, talks of weight gain and stretch marks.

authors note: y'all... there you have it. I will be back to finish their story but until then this is my goodbye piece until I have finished my hiatus to write my own book and start uni (again). I can't wait to take these two (three) on the final lap they deserve but for now.. I hope you enjoy pookies being pookies.

previous chapter | series masterlist |next chapter

MONTH ONE. The one where she finds out.

She hadn’t meant to find out when she did. It had been just a routine implant swap that she’d had twice already in the last six years. 

“Any blood clotting, any pain at all?” The nurse asked, jotting down a few notes on her form as she sat back on the bed and waiting for the numbing cream to take hold. 

She shook her head. “It’s weird as hell to feel and when I think about it too long it freaks me out, but no, no pain,” She said and the nurse chuckled, nudging her glasses up her nose.

“And finally, is there any chance that you’re pregnant?” She asked, no doubt having rehearsed the same script about thirty times that day alone.

Bugsy gave her a flat smile, “Small chance, but I guess that’s what this is for, huh?” 

The nurse looked at her then, as if mulling over the words before she said something, “Small chance?”

“I mean, nothing is a hundred percent effective,” Bugsy tried to weasel her way out of the awkward conversation, because she had absolutely no intention of letting the nurse know her and Spencer had been at it like bunnies since the Hotch had forced them to take medical leave. Who knew having so much time on her hands with her very handsome boyfriend would have that effect? 

The nurse pursed her lips, and already the woman felt like she’d said too much. 

“Alright, we’re going to do a routine test, just need a quick urine sample,” Bugsy felt her cheeks heat, though she was in no position to argue. Her discomfort must have been more obvious than she thought, however, as the nurse went on to explain, “If I give you this implant and there’s a fertilised egg, it can lead to ectopic pregnancy, in which case you’ll need surgery. Trust me, honey, peeing in a cup is your easy option,” 

She gave the practitioner a small nod, wondering if she needed to message Spencer to say she’d be running a little late. She knew he was likely doing the sudoku in the waiting room magazine, since he’d refused to let her come alone. And even though she’d told him she would be fine on her own, he’d seen through it, had even offered to get her ice cream on the way home for putting on a brave face. 

And yet her face was nothing short of horror struck not even half an hour later when the nurse showed her the stick with empathetic eyes. 

“Congratulations,” The woman said cautiously, a fake smile plastered on her face as the girl stared at her, utterly gobsmacked. 

“But, I thought…” Bugsy stammered, running a finger over where the nurse had removed her implant, “But I had everything ready, I never let it get late, I did what I was supposed to,” 

“You said it yourself, honey, nothing is a hundred percent effective besides abstinence-” 

“That’s just what parents say to make sure their kids aren’t banging every Tom, Dick and Harry out there!” Bugsy was near screeching, the worry in her tone clear as a bell and her chest hot with panic. 

Pregnant. She was pregnant, there was no way she could be…

Except there was exactly a way she could be, seeing as she struggled even on a dry spell to keep her hands off Spencer longer than a few days at a time. And he was just as bad.

The nurse huffed, rifling through her drawers for a handful of pamphlets. She passed them to Bugsy whose mouth was still bobbing with more expletives she held herself back from saying, and it wasn’t until she saw the happy couple on the front of the first one, holding a very swollen and round bump that she thought she might be sick. 

Comical timing, she hissed at herself. 

“There are always options, sweetheart. Abortion is legal in Virginia, if that is what you decide, however there is always information and support that we recommend looking into before you make a solid decision,” Her response was professional even though her expression was compassionate, and Bugsy knew she must have looked scared because that was exactly how she felt and she had little to no room to hide it. 

Abortion? Is that what she wanted? Except it wasn’t just about what she wanted, it was what Spencer wanted too. Even if he would argue against that being the case in a heartbeat, even if he would tell her she had every right to be the only one to make a decision, no matter what he thought. But maybe it wasn’t so much about needing his opinion for that reason, and more it was because she had absolutely no clue what to do and Spencer was always good at making sense of the things she didn’t know how to deal with. 

She nodded silently, her mouth dry as sandpaper as she took the leaflets and stuffed them in the bottom of her purse where she hoped Spencer wouldn’t go looking. 

She barely remembered standing on liquid legs, barely remembered the way her chest felt tight and her head spun as she thought of the fact her body had a baby growing inside it. 

No, it wasn’t a baby. Not yet. It was likely the size of a grain of sand, miniscule. That wasn’t a baby, that was nothing. 

But it would be. Eventually. It would be hers and Spencer’s baby.

And she wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him the second she saw him there in the waiting room, his head shooting up the second the door opened and she left looking a little ill and shaken. 

“All done? Everything go as normal?”  He preened, standing immediately as she neared him, his hand immediately weaving around her shoulder to pull her close by. Gently, ofcourse, because she had a big, fat bandage where her implant should have been. 

“Y-yeah,” She stammered, hoping he didn’t hear the shake in her throat. Yet she knew immediately that he did. Because he leaned in to give her a delicate kiss to her forehead not even a moment later, “C-can we go straight home, I’m not feeling ice cream anymore,” 

He looked worried, as anyone who knew her would because Bugsy turning down free pudding was a blaring red siren in his eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” He said, stroking a gentle hand over the side of her head and leading her where he’d parked the car. 

And it was that worry, the same cloud that hung over him for months with Scratch and his mom and the Dirty Dozen and everything else that was put onto his shoulder that made her shut her mouth right then and there. He didn’t need one other thing to contend with, not when he was already carrying the weight of the world. 

And so she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet at least.

MONTH TWO. The one with the scan.

“Spence, would you stop worrying, I’m sure everything will be fine,” She urged in the gentlest tone she could muster. Yet she was a hypocrite, because she felt her hands shaking as she sat in the chair, trying to adjust her sleeves for something to do and Spencer stopped his leg from bouncing. 

Looking over at her, he sighed, holding out a large palm and weaving her fingers in between his and she flicked a look over at him, her own eyes nervous. 

“I’m sorry,” He gave her a guilty smile, “If it helps, it’s half excitement too,”

And she smiled then, shaking her head as he squeezed her hand gently. 

“Me too,” She confessed, looking down at her stomach that didn’t seem all too different than usual. She’d felt a few symptoms up until this point, a bit of nausea but that was nothing she couldn’t handle, headaches here and there. But it wasn’t anything exactly life changing that she’d expected when she’d always thought of pregnancy. 

If anything, none of it felt real quite just yet. Having only been a few weeks since she’d told Spencer, they’d spent the majority of the time searching for houses and appointments and gynaecologists and neonatal care, and whenever they were free, they were trying to get used to the idea of the two of them as parents.

“Did you know they’re around half an inch long by now,” Spencer said, his hazel eyes falling to where her shirt hid her stomach that had yet to change no matter how many times he stared at it, “About a third of that is made up of their head,”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” She shrugged, stroking her thumb along the edge of his pinky finger, “It’s your kid, they’re going to have biggest brain out there,” 

He snickered, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it softly, “If they have even half your brains, we’re going to be raising the next Galileo,” 

“Mr and Mrs Reid,” Their heads shot up at the midwife, Bugsy fumbling for words to correct him as the two of them stood up to greet him with bashful smiles. She didn’t need to look at Spencer’s face to know he’d gone bright red. 

“It’s uh, Prentiss-Reid,” Spencer spluttered as they entered and the nurse looked again at his chart with wide eyes, his cheeks a little pink himself and he ushered the two of them into his office with a smile. 

“So it is, I do apologise,” He said earnestly, holding a hand out to gesture Bugsy to sit on the reclining bed, “I hate to stereotype, but usually when dad books the appointments, its because their wives are already doing a hundred other things,” 

“It’s okay, it happens,” She said with an awkward chuckle, avoiding Spencer’s eyes because they still hadn’t had that talk. Even though she knew her mother would frown at her grandchild being born a bastard, she didn’t care much for Elizabeth’s opinion. It wasn’t like marriages had ever led to good things for her mother anyway. 

She hopped up onto the examination cot, her heart quivering just the slightest in worry because the smell of bleach and rubber made the whole thing real. Until then, having a grain of rice growing inside her seemed like a fever dream since she’d only had a handful of side effects, throwing up could have easily been passed off as bad chicken, the head aches could have just been her eyes straining from using her computer too much. 

“Okay, everything feels okay, Mom? Nothing concerning at all?” And then the midwife said things like that, mom, and the part of her that almost forgot she was pregnant came to a screeching halt. 

She’d be a mom. Someone would call her mom. The thought of it made her suck in a breath.

“Uh, no.” She cleared her throat and felt Spencer grab her hand, “Morning sickness is kicking my ass, but nothing worrying,”

The nurse chuckled, and she felt Spencer rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm, his eyes burning into the side of her head. 

“Well, if it’s alright, I need you to lift your shirt up a little so we can have a see what’s going on,” He said with a kind smile, and she realised then he’d slipped latex gloves over his hands, and brandished a bottle of gel. 

She nodded absently, doing as he said and lifting her shirt to sit under her breasts, drawing the hem of her skirt down so he had a space to apply. And the second he did she sucked in breath through her nose, the cold of the air conditioning chilling her to her marrow, and she tried telling herself that’s why her hands were shaking. 

She felt Spencer’s fingers curve through her hair, and she reminded herself to breathe, looking over at him with nervous eyes she hoped he didn’t see straight through. But judging by the way he scooted the chair forward and gave her an encouraging smile, she guessed he’d seen the flicker of doubt in an instant. 

“It’s okay, it’s going to be fine,” He murmured, his own fear buried deep somewhere she couldn’t see anymore the second she had been the one to look to him for help. She knew she wanted this, knew she’d always dreamed of Spencer and her having their happily ever after. She knew whenever she’d let herself think of a little boy with chocolate curls and hazel eyes that she wanted all of that and more. 

But it was all so… real. Like seeing a movie come to life, and she was starring centre stage. Her body wasn’t a disposable shell that held thirty plus years of stupid mistakes and regrets and tattoos she’d decided she hated now. Her body had a whole other human inside it. 

The midwife clicked the machine on, the transducer wand ready in his hand as he gently put it on her lower stomach, barely a few centimetres from her panties, and she wondered why they showed the wand roaming over the woman’s belly button on tv shows since that was entirely wrong and not nearly as embarrassing. She let out a shaky breath, and Spencer stroked her head again, forcing her to give him an unsure look, like she was trying to calm herself for his sake but couldn’t.

His eyes were anxious though he squeezed her again with a smile and she saw it immediately, like he too was trying to be brave for her. 

She had never loved him so much. 

“Apologies for the shock, I know the gel can be a little cold,” The nurse said with a grin, and it was only then she realised the screen had lit up with a black and white image, one she’d seen a thousand times when she’d studied neonatal procedures for her degree. 

She knew that was her womb lining, and that was the amniotic fluid and that right there-

Bugsy froze, and judging by the way Spencer’s hand tightened around her own, he had too. She felt her mouth drop with a laugh of shock, and she sat up slightly to take a closer look at the monitor. 

“And there is baby,” The midwife said, his expression warming as he watched Spencer’s stand up to lean over the bed, not once letting go of the woman’s hand, the two of them utterly enraptured in the screen, “Probably about the size of a raspberry,”

And Bugsy laughed, her eyes lined with tears as she looked up at Spencer’s equally wetted hues. He was grinning from ear to ear when he looked down at her, and it wasn’t long before he brought his lips to her forehead, his nose and throat burning with a held cry. 

“Do you hear that? A whole raspberry already?” She said, her voice wobbling and he giggled, sitting back in his seat and rubbing his cheeks with his sleeve. “I am good at this cooking thing, might as well call me an easy bake oven,”

Spencer shook his head with another chuckle, his eyes trailing back to the little blob on the screen that looked more like a toy alien than anything else, and held her hand between both of his like he was in prayer. 

Because Spencer never believed in anything sacred and divine until he met Bugsy.

MONTH THREE. The one where they tell everyone.

“What are you doing?” Bugsy jumped out of her skin as JJ all but materialised behind her. She looked over her shoulder guiltily, her hand still half way through pouring out her mug of coffee Derek had handed her before he left to get lunch. 

She turned to see the blonde with her own steaming mug of decaf in her hands. She’d been taking the lack of caffeine much better this time around since having a second baby to breastfeed, considering she was nothing short of evil when she’d had Henry, which had been Spencer’s words not Bugsy’s. And it wasn’t as if the woman could blame her. She was grouchy when she didn’t get her regular dose even before being pregnancy, Derek had once gotten a kick to the shin when he’d disturbed her on a day she’d been too busy to grab one on her way to the office. 

She was a fiend for the bitter god. And everyone knew it. Which was exactly why JJ’s eyebrows were all but raised into her hairline seeing the girl who would usually be in the stages of withdrawal by now tipping the drink away. 

“Uh, the milk tasted funky,” She excused, though the way JJ narrowed her eyes at the poor excuse told her it hadn’t passed by a mile. 

“Right, the milk that Hotch picked up this morning?” JJ pursed her lips, sliding her own mug onto the side and jutting her hip. 

And as if he were summoned, Hotch sidled up to the kitchenette, Rossi and Tara hot on his heels as they flicked through some paperwork, and his head shot up the minute he heard his name. 

His eyes trailed to where the girl flipped her mug upside on the drying rack, and his brow furrowed. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked, and she huffed in response, wiping her hands on her jeans. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” She grumbled, shaking her head, “I don’t know what you’re all so wound up about, it’s not like I’m dying, I just don’t feel like coffee today-”

“Oh my god,” Penelope gasped where she crept behind Hotch with her very favourite octopus mug in tow, one that was nearly thrown to the floor when she heard the words pour from the girl’s mouth, “Are you sick? Like in the body or in the head? Rossi, check her pulse, I’m going to get a thermometer-”

“Pen, I’m fine,” She said unconvincingly and she tried to skirt past the group that seemed to have her surrounded. Seeing Spencer pulling up the rear in search of lunch she felt herself sigh in relief, because he would think of a much better excuse than she ever could. 

She had barely been able to keep her mouth shut for the months they had been secretly dating, and had relished in the peace it brought her when everyone knew. But the midwife had said it was common to keep things under wraps at least until the first trimester was over. Apparently the million of questions that were sure to be heading their way would cause her unnecessary stress, though she’d argue having to sneak to the sink every morning and dispose of a delicious looking coffee was torture enough. 

“What’s up?” Spencer asked as she ducked towards him, his hand consciously wrapping around her waist, and she huffed again, looking to him with a silent plea.

“They’re profiling me,” Bugsy said, and he felt his gut knot because he should have known it wouldn’t be long before they caught on. It was their job to pick apart out of the ordinary behaviour, and Bugsy going teetotal on caffeine was definitely something of a head turner.

“I told you that diet would cause a stir,” He joked, hoping they bought his pathetic attempt of an excuse, as he gave her side a gentle squeeze, and hoped that he could lead her back to her desk like she was a lost little lamb being prowled upon by nosy wolves that rarely took no for an answer. 

And it almost worked, almost, until JJ snapped her fingers and pointed at his wandering hand. 

“See that, that is the fourth time you’ve been all touchy and weird this week,” The blonde surprised, her brows furrowing, “Bugsy hates PDA, usually by now she would have whacked you over the head and called you a perv,”

Bugsy smashed her lips together because she couldn’t exactly disagree with her. That’s exactly what she usually did. Usually would tell Spencer to stop being so horny in a place of work even if she felt her cheeks heat at the delicate grabs of her stomach fat. 

But whether it was the little bean now around the size of a small lemon that had made her mellow and affectionate, or whether the lack of caffeine really was making her feel vulnerable, she wasn’t sure. And the whole thing was only made worse by Hotch’s eyes burning into the side of her, and she felt the trail of his gaze head straight for her stomach. 

“Come to think of it, I only saw you with a lime and soda at Savannah’s birthday last week,” Rossi pointed out, wagging his finger in her direction, his brown hues widening in thought, “When Penelope asked if you wanted tequila you said-”

“I’m all tequila-ed out,” Penelope chimed in with the same frown, “But that can’t be, when have you ever been tequila-ed out, that’s like impossible, even that night we had to help Spencer get you in the shower because you’d thrown up everywhere you were demanding more,”

She felt her cheeks heat thinking about her twenty ninth birthday, or atleast the parts of it she could remember of it before the rest of the gaps were filled with black spaces of time that she guessed had been robbed from her by the shots she piled on. 

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like tequila, can a girl not live in the moment?” She tried to rebuttal, only Penelope gave her a blank look that told her to try again because the Bugsy she knew would slap her for saying something so dumb. She opened her mouth to correct her again, but Hotch beat her to it. 

“You know Hayley got really affectionate a couple months into being pregnant,” The man said, his eyes swirling with something proud and warm when he saw Bugsy’s head flick to him like she’d been caught red handed, which they had. “Though, if you ask me I think she was just a little sorry for herself that I took the coffee away,”

There was a beat of silence, and the room held its breath. Even Tara, who had only known them the best part of a few months raised her hand to her mouth in shock, and Bugsy shot a look at Spencer in utter defeat. 

“We tried,” She said with her shoulders shrugging, and it was then that the office was filled with a piercing scream that turned a fair few heads and the infamous octopus mug was thrown clear across the kitchen floor, one of his tentacles snapping clean off. 

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE? YOU’RE PREGNANT?” Penelope wailed like a banshee, and Bugsy couldn’t help but break into a smile, nodding at the woman who screeched again and yanked her in for a tight hug, “Oh my god, there's going to be three of you, three geniuses, three little einsteins that I want to smush together and kiss all over-” 

“Garcia, I think she needs air if she’s going to make another little genius,” Rossi said, and the tech analyst pulled away aghast, cupping Bugsy’s face that was still grinning ear to ear with a chuckle.

“Oh my god, I didn’t hurt you did I? Or the baby- Oh my god there’s a baby in there!” 

Hotch wrapped a rare yet tender arm around Spencer’s shoulder, giving him a little pat and a “Congratulations” while Rossi smiled knowingly between the couple and JJ had her turn smothering Bugsy in a tearful hug. 

And by the time Derek had walked into the office with his everything bagel hanging between his teeth and a tea in his hands, his onyx hues fell to Penelope, JJ and Bugsy exchanging weepy words while Tara handed them tissues with her own sparkling eyes.

“What fresh hell did I miss?”

MONTH FOUR. The one where she starts looking different.

She huffed, her fingers gripping the edge of her jeans and yanking them up her thighs as far as they would go. She felt like everything had shrunk in the wash, or like she was trying on a doll’s wardrobe. Surely she hadn’t gained that much weight in just a few months, but then again she’d been all but living off chocolate pudding cups since the Bean decided it wanted sugar, sugar and more sugar. 

She grunted in annoyance, her arms and back aching where she was leaning over to pull at the infernal things. She barely had a second to pout childishly, before kind hands were wrapping around her stomach and a mouth kissed at her neck tenderly. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” His voice was honey sweet, thick and goopy with love overflowing as he pulled her to his chest, his hand caressed the bump that seemed to be getting in the way of her and her favourite jeans. Spencer knew she tried to ignore the symptoms that almost every woman felt during pregnancy, he knew she compared herself to how JJ had handled both pregnancies gracefully and looked better than ever even as a mother of two. He knew she hated complaining because she didn’t want him to think she was miserable carrying their kid, but god was she getting sick of her clothes pinching her in.

“I’m getting fatter,” Bugsy grumbled, her eyes darting to the vivid lines that had deepened into the crease of her hips within a few weeks and she winced, “I’m not even halfway, how does this kid want to eat pudding all the time?” 

Spencer frowned, shaking his head slightly because he refrained from telling her what a silly statement it was, knowing it would only make her feel worse, and instead pressed delicate kisses to her jaw, squeezing her closer. He’d noticed the stretch marks, just as he’d noticed her face and hips gathering weight a bit more than usual, and was just grateful there was even more Bugsy to love. 

“You’re eating for two, you’re literally growing a whole life inside of you. I think that is more than enough grounds to eat whatever you want,” He murmured, biting the inside of his cheek when she sighed as though she didn’t believe him, “Honey, clothes are replaceable. What your body’s trying to do is create a little bubble around you and this little pudding fiend so you can feed them when they’re out here,” 

Bugsy knew he was right. She’d spent well over a hundred hours researching hormone levels and how pregnant bodies are changing all hours of the day to accommodate the foetus, she knew it was normal for things to look different. Had it been on anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye. But it didn’t make the sting of seeing her body morph into one she didn’t recognise any less harsh.

“I know,” She hummed somewhat defeated, turning in his arms to press her face in his neck, “I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast is all,”

Spencer smiled warmly, because every day he thought she had gotten impossibly prettier. He hadn’t believed in ‘pregnancy glow’, in fact he’d chalked it down to some sort of innate scientific survival tactic that associated a vulnerable woman with looking angelic, at least not until he’d woken up to see her stomach protruding from her pyjama top in a clear curve shape and he thought her face looked like she should be in some Monet painting, dozing in a field like a wide eyed doe. 

“I know, it’s a lot for anyone to go through. But you know I’m so grateful for you,” Spencer said, and he felt her smile without even seeing it. Her fingers wove into his hair at the nape of his neck, kissing a trail up his chest because he suspected she looked somewhat embarrassed. “Besides, I’m not complaining. It means I get to do this,” 

She felt two large hands grab at the fat of her bum cheeks and she squeaked in surprise, even though she heard him laugh in her ear at her reaction. That had been another thing she’d noticed, and how could she not. Penelope said just the other day that she was ‘baking a bun in the oven and cake in the trunk’ with a little wink, and she’d had to excuse herself quickly for lack of a response. 

And Spencer wasn’t lying. He wasn’t complaining with any of it, not by a long shot. 

MONTH FIVE.  The one with the mood swings.

“So you guys really don’t want to know the sex?” JJ asked, sipping on her tea as she chatted with Bugsy who was balancing biscuits on top of her now protruding stomach. It was as if overnight the baby had stretched out enough to make themselves a damn penthouse suite in Bugsy’s tummy. 

“We want it to be a surprise, either way we’re going to love the little bean, even if they do keep kicking my bladder at four am,” She said, balancing the tenth cookie on the tower she’d made, reaching over carefully for another one, “I swear if the bean kicks my cookie tower I’m giving them a hideous name,”

“It’s good to feel the baby kicking at this stage, it helps develop their joints and bones so they’re stronger when they’re born.” Spencer inputted helpfully as he slid a fresh mug of decaf tea over to her desk.

“Next time the baby kicks your uterus walls, Spence, gimme a shout and we’ll discuss how great it is,” Bugsy said with a small smile and he paused, looking at JJ as if he was caught in a trap, suddenly well aware of his mistake. 

“Point taken,” He conceded quietly, and JJ chuckled because she’d seen Will just as hesitant to piss her off in both of her pregnancies. And she knew Bugsy would never hold it against him, that Spencer’s head just ran away from him sometimes. 

She halted her little game and carefully leaned over to draw the mug to her lips, too impatient to wait for it to cool down fully and she barely spotted Derek swooping around the corner of the desk.

“Good morning, Mommies and Daddy Genius,” He greeted in that chirpy tone, his hand snatching up the top cookie and scarfing it down before she could protest. 

Bugsy shared her snacks all the time, it was a no brainer that they took a bite here and there out of each other's goodies before they could get a smack to the wrist. And Derek had certainly noticed a few of his Rolos missing the last time he bought a pack, and a particularly cheerful Bugsy smirking at him over her desk. 

It wasn’t a huge deal, and yet Bugsy sat up in a gasp, and the entire biscuit tower fell to a crumbling mess on the floor. 

“Well done, princess, Hotch is going to-” Derek stopped mid sentence when he saw her sniffle, and his eyes widened at the sight of her eyes glistening with tears, “Bugsy- are you okay-”

“My cookies! Derek!” She whined pitifully, and she buried her face in her hands, “My cookies, I was so going to eat the shit out of those, they were gonna be so good, Derek,” 

Morgan looked gobsmacked, his head whipping between the woman leaning against the desk with an understanding smile and Spencer who was already rubbing her shoulders with his lips smashed together, trying not to laugh. 

“Honey, it’s okay, he didn’t mean to,” Her partner tried to coo, though he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the way Derek scrambled to draw out his wallet. 

“I’ll get you more, Bug, I swear, they sell them by the deli down the street, right?” He asked, jittering in his bones because he’d never made her cry before. He worried or a moment Hotch might just put him on sabbatical leave for such an offense. Emily would probably fly to Virginia just to cave his skull in, “I’m sorry, I’ll go get more, I’ll even get you strawberry milk-”

“Chocolate milk,” She wailed, and JJ slid a box of tissues over to the pitiful girl with a silent snicker. She remembered all too well the feeling of unexplained emotion crashing over her, and she didn’t doubt that the tough faced Bugsy would be back to normal any moment soon.

“Chocolate milk, got it,” Derek said, with a nod, and he all but darted for the elevators, in a hurry Spencer somewhat suspected was down to the fact he feared for his life if Penelope got a whiff of what happened.

Bugsy sniffled for a moment, drawing a tissue out the box and dabbing her eyes sullenly, her feelings slightly worse for wear even if she had a small inkling of doubt that she was really so torn up about the cookies as her body made it seem. 

But she had been thinking about them all morning; made herself promise she would only eat them once she got the stack fifteen high at least. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Spencer asked, his gaze empathetic as she snuffled her sobs into the palm of her hands. He wasn’t too worried, even if he hated seeing her cry just as much as anyone else did. And it wasn’t that he didn’t take her seriously. But when she’d been crying just that morning because her shower gel spilled on the floor and tipped almost all the way out, or even when she’d stepped on a snail walking into the building and smushed it into the ground, effectively killing it, he seemed to be getting used to her mood swings. 

She sniffed woefully, “I was really looking forward to those, and now I think I was too mean to Derek and…” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, and the sight of it made Spencer sigh, leaning forward to kiss the side of her head because it must be difficult being so out of your usual self for nine months. 

“And what?” He prompted softly. Only she burst out crying again, reaching forward to drag him into a hug that told him she was feeling extra sorry for herself.

He wouldn’t blame her. Would sit through every weep and sob and tantrum if it meant he got to show her even more times over that he loved her endlessly. 

However he did have to hold in the giggle when she wailed; “I think I really do want strawberry milk,” 

MONTH SIX. The one with the false labour. 

She had been in Hotch’s office when she felt it. 

Embarrassingly so, her first thought was trapped gas. She’d gotten a lot of that considering the baby had decided it craved spice, and had been planning to excuse herself when it felt like her whole abdomen seized as if she’d been hit with a particularly nasty period cramp. 

Her hand flew to her stomach where she sat with Hotch reviewing her latest reports, the same quarterly check the whole team was mandated to have with their boss since Cruz became section chief. Hotch didn’t miss a beat, the folder in his hand hitting the desk in an instant as he tensed, looking at her with caution. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, and she held her breath for a moment. Spencer was out with Rossi giving a lecture in Washington DC, JJ had the day off for her mom’s birthday, Penelope and Morgan were taking Tara to lunch to show her a few more of their regular spots. It was just them and Anderson in the office for the next few hours, possibly the worst time out of any to have an empty floor. 

“Yeah- I just, woah,” Her stomach gave another lurch of a painful twist and her hand slapped on the table to keep herself steady. She breathed through the pain, because she’d had much worse only that wasn’t what was making her heart race. It was fear. Because she wasn’t due for another twelve weeks at least, and while she’d heard of baby’s being born as premature as six months, she knew premy babies suffered major complications later on, let alone the stress their body goes under during the actual birth. 

Bean, as the team had affectionately named the baby since the couple had firmly decided they didn’t want to know the sex, was about the size of red cabbage, tiny in the scheme of things even though it felt like just a few minutes ago they were a grain of rice. 

“Okay, it’s okay, stay calm,” Hotch said in a smooth voice, gentle yet reassuring as he rounded his desk in a flash and put his hand on her shoulder, “Do you feel like you need to use the toilet? Any back ache or irritability?” 

Bugsy breathed out through her nose as her lungs jittered with nerves, “N-no, I don’t need the bathroom, why would that matter?” 

Aaron stroked a large kind hand down her spine, watching her face scrunch in pain for a second time, and he slowly began directing her towards the door, taking small steps so she wasn’t rushing. “Needing to use the bathroom is an early sign of labour, it’s your body's way of helping expand your pelvis to accommodate the head. Any back ache or frustration at all?” 

He didn’t care that he’d had to repeat himself, not even when he was usually so against it, because he could feel the own unease rising in his throat like bile even if he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. 

He would be damned if he let her see how worried he was, and so he swallowed heavily, holding his other hand out for her to take when they approached the stairs. Anderson was on his feet in seconds when he saw his unit chief leading the woman with a tightly concealed frown, fumbling around for his phone. 

“Agent Prentiss?” He exclaimed, darting around the mess of chairs and paper and desks to approach them, “Would you like me to call Dr Reid? An ambulance, perhaps?” 

“She's alright, I’m driving her to the ER, thank you Anderson,” Aaron responded politely, his hand still resting on her back, and the agent nodded, digging around for his keys. 

“I can drive, if you’d like to ride in the back with her,” Grant offered with worried eyes as Bugsy’s face crumpled in agony again, and Hotch’s head whipped to her, and his composure crumbled for a moment. 

“Bugsy, hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay, honey,” He cooed, and Anderson was quick to open the glass doors, “Did you pack a bag at all-”

“No, Spencer told me I should but I said it was too early, why is that man always right,” She grumbled, her footsteps weary and jittery as the three of them got into the elevator. 

Hotch fought a smile, trying to remember everything he’d memorised before Hailey had Jack. The 5-1-1 rule blared through his head, and he glanced at his watch for a fraction of a second, and he wondered for a moment if he was going to have to write off a company vehicle for the fact his youngest agent gave birth in the back seat. 

“I’m afraid that’s just how Reid operates,” Hotch said, pulling his phone out to dial the man in question and let him know where they were headed, “It’s probably nothing, Hailey was getting cramps all the time once she reached her third trimester, but we’ll get you checked out to be safe,” 

“Really?” She looked at him with pitiful eyes and he nodded with a tight smile, committing to his illusion of calmness even if he swore he hadn’t felt so scared in months. 

Because it wasn’t just Bugsy anymore, it was Bugsy and her baby. Her and Reid’s baby. The two people who deserved their happy ending more so than anyone else he knew. 

And he felt her hand slip into his then as she accepted his answer, in fact she didn’t let go the entire time she waited on Spencer and Aaron was in no rush to leave her side. Even when she lay back on the table and had the midwife checking everything over, he stayed by her head (no doubt to avoid a very awkward conversation), stroked her hair when she fretted through a few more cramps, even when Spencer burst in through the door with Morgan at his heels looking like the two of them had just ran a marathon.

“Is everything okay- what’s wrong- do you need fluids- do you need ice-” Spencer rushed on his odd breath, his chest puffing with inhales, and he pretended he wasn’t seeing stars floating across his vision. 

“I’m assuming by your reaction you’re dad,” The nurse said, pulling off the blue gloves and dropping her mask from her mouth.

“Yes, he is, he’s dad,” Morgan filled in for him as Spencer all but fell back against the wall, because he really should have drank something other than soda and coffee this morning. He was close to swaying on his feet when he stepped over to his girlfriend, and she took his hand in the her own, or atleast the one that wasn’t occupied by Hotch’s tight hold. 

“Don’t worry, everything is alright with mom and baby,” She said, noting down a few things on her chart and the four of them took an audible sigh of relief, “Braxton Hicks contractions are very common in your final trimester, it probably felt like a lot because your baby is moving to into the anterior position ready for birth,” 

Bugsy’s head flopped back against the pillow in comfort and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths, willing her heart rate to go back to normal. Braxton Hicks, she should have known. Her head had been fuzzy the past few weeks as it was, but she supposed the moment she’d thought there might be something wrong with the Bean, all of her logic had flown out the window. 

But at least she’d had Hotch to keep her level headed, and-

“Oh my god, Anderson,” She jolted up, her legs stuck in the stirrups the midwife had place her into while she examined everything, “We need to tell Anderson, the poor guy was so worried,”

Hotch chose not to tell her he’d seen Anderson go as white as a ghost the second she’d turned her back, and instead patted her leg as Spencer went to speak to the midwife a little more, no doubt picking apart every single symptom she’d presented in that huge, worried head of his. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Anderson is fine, honey,” He said earnestly, and she looked at him like a kicked puppy, entirely sorry for the panic she’d caused, “Let’s just get you your underwear back, huh?”

MONTH SEVEN. The one where they decorate the nursery.

“What about Elias,” 

“Veto,”

Bugsy pulled a shunned expression as she carefully rolled the wallpaper up the wall. 

“Mason? Niko, stop,” She proposed, one hand on the wall while using the other to push the nosey feline away from the wet paste she’d been brushing on the wall. 

He sat politely at her chide, blinking at her with those big eyes as he watched her work with a twitching tail, almost entertained at the woman who had ballooned up in just a few weeks struggling to do a relatively easy task. 

“Hmm, Mason can go on the bench,” Spencer responded where he was sitting at the other end of the wall doing the same thing only much faster, though she’d argue it was a little easier since he wasn't carrying a large coconut strapped to his stomach.

They’d left the apartment just two weeks ago. Derek had been the one to help them cart their small amount of furniture into the modest house on the outskirts of West Springfield. It was large by Spencer’s standards, even if Bugsy had seen what grandeur looked like in her own childhood homes, but it didn’t matter. Because walls and floors and fancy grand pianos had never bought her love. Yet the first evening they’d spent in their new home they had slept on a mattress on the floor, the list of things to do the following day rattling around their heads. But they had a home. They had the picket fence with the nice school down the road and the bus stop within eyesight of the kitchen where their kid would one day walk to their door with a book bag and glasses like Spencer’s. 

She had never felt like she belonged somewhere until she had a home with him. 

“What about Ada for a girl?” Spencer called over his shoulder, where he had almost caught up to where she was still working on the small patch of wall. The paper was proving frustrating for her swollen fingers, considering the entire thing, when put together, made up a mural of little woodland creatures amidst a forest and left zero room for error, “Named after Ada Lovelace, the woman who pioneered computers,”

Considering it for a moment, she nodded, “That’s pretty. Ada makes top ten,” 

Flipping the last part up to stick against the thick glue, she ran her hands over the seams to be sure it aligned perfectly with the rest of the picture. Satisfied when it matched and a little fox stared down at her, she smiled, tilting her head up where Spencer was standing over her, watching her concentrate. 

“All done!” She chirped, and he bent down to give her a kiss to her puckered lips, sliding a hand beneath her arm to help her up. 

“Looks perfect, you’re really carrying the team honey,” He mused as she got to her feet with a little whine, wrapping her arms around his middle in a proud hug. 

“I know, what would you ever do without me?” 

He laughed, looking at her with an adoring gaze.

The light cracked through the open window, laying over her face delicately. The house was still bare, still in need of carpets and a good dusting, still had leaky pipes and ants in the pantry. Yes, they had a pantry now. But it was a start. It was a home. 

“I say we leave the cradle for another day, baby is calling for frozen grapes again,” She said, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly button and he smiled. Spencer could have sworn he was the luckiest guy in the world when he called her his friend. He thought maybe he should have bought a lottery ticket the same day she told him she loved him. The day she became his girlfriend he thinks he may have died and the past three years have been purely a dream. 

But watching the breeze kiss her cheeks and stroke her hair, watching her eyes rove over the room that would keep their baby safe and warm in just a few weeks, even seeing her smile at him like he had handed her the whole universe in a box when she was the one growing a whole human inside her; Spencer felt like his life was so much better than he ever hoped it would be. 

“Frozen grapes, coming right up,” He said, slipping his fingers in between his to help her down the winding staircase which had been a winner for her immediately. It’s like we have a castle, Spence. “You or the baby could ask for a whole damn ox and I’d give it to you.”

She laughed, holding onto the bannister as they headed downstairs to the kitchen that was in dire need of fresh paint. 

“What if I said baby wants a holiday to Cancun and another cat,” 

“I’d say baby is onto something there,” Spencer said, sweeping her from the final step and giving her a wet kiss to her head, “But first, grapes.”

MONTH EIGHT. The one where she gets cranky.

“Oh my god,” She groaned as she threw herself into her wheely chair, her button up shirt barely accommodating her stomach that was well and truly ready to pop.  

Derek Morgan loved her, he truly loved her like she was one of his sisters, dare say he had loved her since that day he’d carried her out of the church she was held hostage in by Cyrus. He had seen her at her rock bottom, had seen her graduate with flying colours, had even put his job on the line for her; covered her back from a stupid mistake at a bar when she popped a little molly on government pay. 

Derek loved her. He did. But the moment he saw her slump into her chair, her face scrunched up in frustration, he was collecting his mug of coffee and all but bolting for the door and heading straight for Penelope’s lair. 

“Back pain again?” JJ asked, flitting past a very frantic Morgan and heading towards Rossi’s office with a stack of papers in her arms. Bugsy let out something close to a growl in return, and JJ took it as a yes.

“I swear I have been pregnant for years,” She huffed, barely reaching over to where her keyboard sat at her desk. Tara nudged it forward for her to grab, because it seemed like she was on her breaking point enough as it was, and received a brief nod of thanks “I can’t remember a time when my back didn’t hurt, or my boobs were aching or my head wasn’t all fuzzy and weird and- OH for the love of god SWITCH ON YOU PIECE OF SHIT,” 

JJ’s brows raised as the keyboard mouse went flying off the side of her desk in protest, rolling straight past where Hotch and Spencer were strolling through the office, her boyfriend carrying the biggest Strawberry Milkshake he could find on this side of town. 

If Hotch wanted to say anything about her damaging property, he thought it smarter to keep his mouth shut as she swivelled to face the two of them, her expression already irritated by the worried stare they shot her way. 

“What?” She said with a bite, and Spencer raised his hands in surrender, which left her gaze to slide to Hotch. 

And Hotch loved her too, loved her more than he would ever admit. But he swore he the second her eyes clamped on his, Aaron Hotchner considered an exorcism might be necessary. 

“What, what are you staring at me for?” She snapped, throwing her hands out like a bratty teenager, and Hotch cleared his throat before he spoke, something embarrassingly close to fear shaking his vocal chords.

“Have you given any more thought to maternity leave, yet?” He asked and her eye twitched, and it was as if he saw the stapler was next on her list of things to send flying off the table, preferably straight at his head. “I would be more than happy to pull some strings so you take longer off after the baby is born, maybe even Spencer could start his paternity early-”

“What?” She said for a third time, like she was a broken record. And she knew she was being unfair, perhaps even cruelly so. But she would make it up to them later, when she was in a better frame of mind. Her underwear rode up and pinched where her uterus had begun to drop, her trousers itched for whatever reason, her face was hot from just walking from the elevator to her chair and that was just since she’d entered the office. She hadn’t got much energy for showers anymore and so washing her hair became some ugly affair where Spencer got in with her and did it for her, only last time he put a little too much product on and got the suds in her eyes and they had spent twenty minutes rinsing her face, naked and dripping wet, over the sink. She felt awful, awful for how she was being so irrationally rude, but it was like every inch of her being was uncomfortable. And there was still another month to go.

“Good god, man, don’t poke the bear,” Tara hummed as she passed, taking her own half full mug to the kitchen to escape whatever was rumbling in that hot head of hers. 

Hotch swallowed heavily, noticing how Spencer stayed deadly quiet no doubt because he’d learned his lesson in trying to force Bugsy into doing something when she was like this, “I’m saying I think it would be good for you to take some time off, you’ve both worked hard enough as it is and with the baby being so close, it would be good to take it easy for a few weeks-” 

She pressed her lips together, because she knew he was probably trying to help, probably trying to be considerate, and yet the heat of annoyance bubbled up inside her all the same like a kettle on the precipice of boiling.

“If you want the big scary pregnant lady out of your way just spit it out, Hotch,” She snapped, scowling at him in a way he remembered Hailey doing when he so much as sneezed too loud.

And he couldn’t find it in him to be mad at her. Because anyone with eyes saw she was uncomfortable, he knew if she was anything like his own ex-wife then she wouldn’t be sleeping nearly as much as she should, that more than likely their kid would be already kicking with long, scrawny legs to get out and show the world what they were made of. 

Hotch was saved from the firing line when his guess was proved almost immediately, and she groaned with a hand to her abdomen. 

“Spencer, would you tell your kid they’re not a linebacker and that my kidneys aren’t the damn ball,” She complained, and her partner flashed her a brave smile, leaning over her to rub where she was caressing her battered organs. 

“Actually, right about here will be your spleen since the baby has pushed everything around at this stage-” And with that Hotch darted towards his office because Bugsy looked ready to clip someone around the ear, and he didn’t have the heart to write her up for it.

Although for the sanctity of his team, he rushed her documents through the same afternoon and gave her an extra four weeks pay in lieu of a truce. 

MONTH NINE. The one with the birth.

It had been fourteen hours already when the doctor mentioned the word caesarean. 

“Caesarean? We never planned for a C-section,” Bugsy’s eyes widened where she was intermittently sucking down gas and air, Spencer patting her forehead down with an ice wet cloth. 

But then again she supposed she had never planned to go into labour when getting the laundry off the washing line while Spence painted the porch. 

He looked at her with nervous hazel hues where her face sparkled with sweat and water, her hand squeezing him tightly as another contraction hit. 

“I’m afraid we have few options left, Miss Prentiss,” The midwife said, a woman around her age that was already masked up after prodding around her cervix for a few hours, “Fourteen hours is rough on anyone and we’re not seeing any movement past your pelvis. Any longer and you or your baby might be at risk,”

And it was the truth, but it was a harsh one, and tears sprung to her eyes hearing those last few words. She had never had any delusions it would be easy giving birth, it was revered as the most painful thing anyone could go through, but she had assumed on a hope and a prayer that things would go smoothly. 

“I know it’s scary,” Spencer found his voice after a second, their hands clasped tightly together because there was more chance of snow in hell than there was he was letting her do this alone, “But, baby, you’re doing so well, and you’re almost there,” He said in a watery sweet tone, dabbing at her brow once more and the two of them exchanged a teary look, “It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, they’re going to numb you for the whole thing and when it’s over we’re going to have our baby, huh?” 

She smiled ruefully because he was trying desperately to cheer her up, even though it sounded like he was reassuring himself just as much as he was her.

And she nodded, because she knew he was right, and more than anything she wanted their baby to be safe, even if it meant having her insides scooped out like she was some russian nesting doll. 

“O-okay, yeah, c-can Spencer stay with me?” She asked nervously, and the midwife smiled, pressing a button to call for the anesthesiologist.

“Ofcourse, honey. Just try to relax, we’re going to arrange an epidural for you,” She said in a voice that told Bugsy she’d practised staying calm in an emergency a thousand times. 

Bugsy breathed through her nose, feeling Spencer swoop in to wipe the lone few tears dribbling down her cheeks. 

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay,” He said, his voice bustling with nerves and she wanted to tell him the same, wanted to tell him she loved him more than ever for trying to put a brave face on for her sake. But she couldn’t, so she nodded frantically, leaning her forehead against his cheek and taking a few more deep breaths. 

–

“You’re doing great, honey, you’re being so brave,” Spencer reassured in his biggest voice, his hand carding over the side of her hot face gently. There was blood, there was so much blood, and the sound of her monitor was the only sound that was constant and not at all worrying with its steady heart beat. 

The midwives were flitting around the room, the lead obstetrician making careful incisions and handing various things Spencer didn’t want to see over to his co-workers. Because he loved their baby already, couldn’t wait to meet the mini him he’d been dreaming about since he was a boy himself, but Bugsy needed him first. She was his everything, his whole life, his whole universe fading between clear consciousness and a slightly loopy gaze as she relaxed on the table. 

“Is it over? Are they here, are they okay?” She slurred, looking over at him where his hair was covered in a blue scrub cap, his entire body wrapped in protective uniform to minimise the risk of infection on her body. 

He cradled her face again, shaking his head, “Not yet honey, you’re doing so good, it’s nearly over,” Spencer said, pressing his brow against hers because he had a mask over his mouth and couldn’t kiss her properly, “I love you so much, I swear I’ll try every day of my life to repay you,” 

“You’re being mushy, you’re freaking me out,” She joked as if she was her regular self, because the midwives had all warned him that the sedatives would take the edge off her nerves. And he chuckled, even if he was worrying enough for the two of them, sniffling behind the stuffy mask he had to keep on until she was in recovery. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I just want you to be okay,” Spencer said earnestly, and he pressed a kiss to her head anyway even if she wouldn’t feel it with his mask, “I’m gonna get you so many milkshakes when this is-”

There was a wail behind the curtain they had draped over her stomach, and both their breaths stopped in their chests. 

“Is that…” Bugsy started, her eyes wide and alert even if seconds ago she had been almost drunk, “Is that it- is that them?”

And another scream resounded around the room as if to answer her. 

Spencer swore he had never felt tears well in his eyes so fast until one of the midwives brought a wriggling, wrinkly bundle around the curtain, and within seconds he felt his cheeks sodden with tears. 

“Oh my god,” He said his smile reaching his eyes as the little creature was put on Bugsy’s chest, and it was only then he realised she was weeping too and he resumed his position stroking her head, “It’s a-”

“It’s a girl! Spencer, we have a girl!” Bugsy’s grin went from ear to ear, her eyes round and adoring at the ugly, scrunched face still screaming at them, her eyes closed and her skin covered in a white goop, “Oh my god, she’s so beautiful,” 

“I told you she’d take after you,” Spencer said, not minding the nurses sewing Bugsy up as they stared at their little girl, Bugsy’s arms holding her body weight delicately though she didn’t quite know what she was doing. 

Spencer was quick to remove the mask once they cleared him to, and the second he was freed he pushed his lips to his girlfriend’s, their mouths equally as salty and sodden as one another with the way their cheeks washed with tears. Pulling away, he looked at her in the eyes, the same eyes he’d always loved, the same eyes he’d know in any life, in any world, in any fog, and their smiles were damn near blinding. 

“I love you so much, I swear I’m going to make it up to you, anything you want,” Spencer said, kissing her again, his hand resting over hers where she held their baby girl on her bare chest. 

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she already had everything she’d ever wanted right there with her. 

“I love you so much more, Spencer,” She said quietly, the two of them pulling away when the little girl squealed again and they chuckled, quickly rushing to calm her cries as they looked at her as if they had yet to realise she was real and she was theirs, “Oh my god Spencer, you’re a daddy,”

“Bugsy, you’re a mommy,” He said with raised brows and she gasped, giggling with glee as her free hand flew to grab his face and pull him in to kiss her again, “We’re a mommy and daddy,” 

The two of them burst out laughing even though overjoyed tears lined their eyes again, and Spencer trailed a large finger down her chubby cheek softly, her skin shrivelled and pruney like she’d been submerged in a bath for too long. 

“Spencer, she’s perfect,” She said after a moment, her breath completely stolen when she took her in, the small head completely covered in dark hair, which she had already suspected would be there from the amount of times she found herself itching at her stomach. Her tiny fists waved in the air as her sobs subsided, beginning to warm up to the skin on Bugsy’s chest, and Spencer audibly choked in a cry of his own when her eyelids slowly blinked open and revealed forest hues damn near identical to his own. He pushed his temple to Bugsy’s again as she carefully swayed her from side to side.

“I’m never going to let anything hurt you,” He murmured, his breath warm on her collarbone and his baby girl stared back at him like she understood, even though he knew that was pretty much  impossible, “Either of you,” 

Bugsy sniffled with a wobbly smile, her hands shaking as she held her daughter up, “Do you want to hold her?” 

Spencer looked ready to wail all over again, not that she would ever hold it against him. The two of them had been weeping all day, and their kid was a real tear jerker to look at with her thick lashes and wide eyes. 

He was quick to pop open his shirt, holding his hands out nervously as she placed the baby in his arms, his fingers supporting under her head the whole time he brought her to his chest. 

Bugsy smiled, the midwife checking in with her for a moment before they were ready to wheel her into the other room to rest up, while Spencer looked entirely enamoured with the little bundle in his arms. 

He was a dad. He had made this beautiful, perfect little girl with the woman he loved more than anything in the world, and somehow she had given him even more reasons to feel so lucky. 

“Hello, you,” He said through bleary eyes, smiling through a chuckle when he saw just how tiny she looked in his arms, and he had never seen anything look so fragile, “I’m going to try be the best dad you could ever have, okay? I’m gonna be there for all the lame parties, and the sleepovers and the big games and every single time you need help on your homework, I’m gonna be right there with you.” 

“What name are we putting on the chart?” The midwife asked as Bugsy watched Spencer murmur to the sweet face that looked up at him in wonder, “Or is it just Baby Girl Prentiss for the moment?” 

“It’s Reid,” Bugsy said with a smile, as Spencer poured even more of his gentle heart out in promises she knew he would keep until the day he died. And she knew without checking with him the name they chose weeks ago was perfect; the one they’d decided on just a few days after the nursery was finished and she had yet another bowl of frozen grapes to chow down on while they admired their work. 

One for his mother, one for Emily. 

“Ana Emilia Reid,”

–

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