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gojover · 5 months ago

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GETO SUGURU’S GUIDE ON FRATERNISING WITH THE ENEMY.

geto suguru has been your greatest rival since your first year at hogwarts, always outdoing you in class and always getting under your skin. when he’s picked as the hogwarts champion for the triwizard tournament instead of you, you think you couldn’t possibly hate him more—until he corners you one evening and asks for your help.

pairing: slytherin!geto suguru x gryffindor!fem!reader contains: romance, angst, slowburn, academic rivals to lovers!au, hogwarts!au, profanity, dragons, injuries, fights about blood purity, mentions of underage drinking—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! word count: 24.2k playlist: the course of true love never did run smooth note: big big thank you to @etherealyoungk for making this gorgeous banner! thank you for reading ♡ (read on ao3 here!)

The only thing worse than losing to Geto Suguru is being expected to smile about it.

When the Goblet of Fire coughs out the charred piece of parchment with his name written on it, it feels as though the entire Great Hall erupts around you. Hoots of excitement ricochet off the enchanted ceiling, mingling with groans of disapproval—chiefly from your housemates, who baulked at the audacity of a Slytherin representing Hogwarts. You, however, couldn’t join in either chorus. No, you sit frozen at the Gryffindor table, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to keep your tears at bay.

Geto Suguru stands from his place among the Slytherins, shrugging off his best friend’s arm from around his shoulders. His head turns, and somehow, through the sea of cheering faces, his gaze locks onto yours. There is something almost incendiary in his look—smugness molded into a smile, something defiant in the tilt of his jaw. You grind your teeth, irritated.

Suguru is now the Hogwarts Champion, elevated above the rest of you. You are nothing more than the runner-up—a title no one cares enough about to utter aloud.

“Hard luck,” Utahime, your friend and the Head Girl, murmurs beside you, her hand light as a feather on your shoulder. Her voice is low and kind, yet utterly ineffective against the disappointment you feel. You give her a tight, forced smile, though your silence only seems to amplify her sympathy.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not after years of outpouring your soul into every spell and hex you learnt, every essay you wrote, every late night spent at the library. You had scraped, clawed, and bled for this chance, and somehow, despite all your efforts, Suguru had stepped in and robbed you blind. The betting pool Shoko and Mei Mei had organised suddenly feels cruel in hindsight. Everyone had bet on either you or Suguru—no one else had even come close to being a contender.

Your hands tremble slightly as you push back from the bench. You barely register the names of the foreign champions—Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang, Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons. You don’t care. The Great Hall feels stifling, so you stand up abruptly and begin weaving your way towards the exit.

The cool air of the corridor hits you like a balm, soothing the heat rising in your chest. You walk with no real destination, footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls, until you reach one of the tall windows overlooking the grounds. Moonlight spills across the landscape, painting the Forbidden Forest with silver. You lean against the cold stone ledge, and inhale deeply.

The bitterness simmering in your chest refuses to ebb. You had wanted this so badly, had poured every ounce of effort into proving you were the best, not just to Hogwarts but to yourself. But, as always, Geto Suguru had swooped in and stolen it from you.

“Running away so soon?”

You don’t turn immediately. Instead, you close your eyes and inhale slowly once more. When you finally turn, Geto Suguru stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall. His black hair is tied back neatly, save for a loose strand that falls against his cheek.

“I didn’t realise I needed your permission to leave,” you say coolly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s not as much fun winning,” Suguru says, “if my competition isn’t around to see it.”

“Competition?” You scoff. “That implies we were on equal footing to begin with.”

His smile widens, and he takes a step closer. “You’re not giving up that easily, are you? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.”

You want to snap at him, say something cutting enough to wipe that stupid self-satisfied grin off his face, but the words stick in your throat. He’s insufferable, yes, but you know that’s exactly what he wants—to pull a reaction from you. And Merlin help you, he’s good at it.

“What do you want, Suguru?” you ask, exhaustion finally seeping into your tone. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your house?”

“Of course, but like I said, it’s no fun if my favourite rival isn’t around to see it.”

You bristle at his words. “Favourite rival? You were desperate to beat me, Suguru.”

“So were you,” he points out, and it takes all your self-restraint not to do something horrifically stupid like punch him in the face. “If I’m desperate, it only means you’re worth the effort.”

“Congratulations, Suguru,” you say hollowly. “You’ve won the Goblet’s favour. What do you want, a parade?”

“I want your help.” Suguru steps forward, his movements unhurried, his expression calculated.

You blink. “What?”

“You should be proud,” he says. “You were a close second.”

The words sting more than you would like to admit. You narrow your eyes at him. “Spare me your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he replies. “It’s acknowledgment. You’re good. Maybe even better than me in some ways.”

You suck in a breath sharply, thrown off balance. This is not what you expected—not from Geto Suguru, at least. You ask warily, “Is this some sort of tactic to get me to like you?”

Your rival chuckles wryly. “No, but it’d be stupid to ignore the fact that you’re good. You wouldn’t have been the biggest threat to my name being called otherwise.”

His admission leaves you momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence when it comes to Geto Suguru. You can’t decide whether to feel insulted or flattered, so you settle for glaring at him instead. The torch light softens the planes of his face, casting a warm glow on his cheekbones and the edges of his smile. He infuriates you so much.

“Help me,” Suguru says again.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m serious,” he says, folding his arms. “You’re as competitive as I am, and you hate losing. If anyone understands what’s at stake in this tournament, it’s you.”

“That’s a very pretty way of saying you want me to do your work for you,” you shoot back.

“I’m asking because I know you’re capable,” he presses on, ignoring your jab. “You think I haven’t noticed how good you are at strategising? Or how quick you are to spot weaknesses, whether it’s in a spell or a person?”

You stare at him, suspicious. It’s not the first time someone has acknowledged your abilities, but it’s the first time he’s done it. As much as you loathe to admit it, Suguru isn’t the type to hand out compliments lightly.

“You’re insane,” you say finally, shaking your head. “You want me to help you win the tournament I should have been chosen for?”

Suguru’s expression hardens. “I want you to push me,” he says. “To challenge me the way only you can. And when I win—because I will win—it’ll be as much your victory as it will be mine.”

You consider his words. A small, reckless part of you—the part that thrives on competition, on proving yourself—begins to wonder what it would be like to be a part of this, even from the sidelines. To have your brilliance tied to the triumph of something bigger than either of you.

“Fine,” you say, voice clipped. “But don’t think for a second that this makes us friends.”

“Of course not.” Suguru’s easy grin slips back in place. “Let’s meet at the library tomorrow after dinner. Don’t be late.”

You don’t reply, merely walking past him and heading back into the Great Hall. Utahime is probably wondering where you vanished off to, and as much as you hate her sympathy, you don’t want to worry her, Shoko and Mei Mei just because you were a sore loser.

The fireplace in the Gryffindor common room crackles with a sort of joyousness you can’t be bothered to feel. Its warm glow dances across the walls, a merry flicker that feels utterly inappropriate given your current mood. The plush armchair you’ve claimed for the evening—one that’s usually a source of comfort—is perfect for brooding. You curl into yourself like a grumpy gargoyle, letting your misery seep into the cushions.

Laughter echoes off the walls—the other students are busy gossiping about the Triwizard Tournament. Discussions about the champions and the potential tasks all merge into one unintelligible blur. The Triwizard Tournament is a magical contest held between the three largest wizarding schools of Europe: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, with each school being represented by one champion, chosen by the infamous Goblet of Fire. The selected champions compete in three tasks—each designed to test the student’s magical ability, intelligence, and courage—and the winner gets to take home the Triwizard Cup.

The Durmstrang champion’s brute strength, the Beauxbatons champion’s unnatural grace—it all seems so irrelevant compared to the singular thought lodged in your mind like an annoying splinter: Geto Suguru is Hogwarts’ champion.

You’re still seething about it. Not only has he outdone you in classes year after year, he’s now claimed the one thing you truly wanted. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the boy had the gall to corner you after dinner with a request that still makes your head spin.

You groan and bury your face in a pillow, muffling your frustration. The universe, it seems, has a cruel sense of humour.

“Still sulking, I see.”

You don’t have to look up to know it’s Shoko. She has an unnatural knack for finding you at your most pitiful moments. When you peek over the pillow, you see her leaning against the back of a sofa, her robes askew and her hair half-tied.

“Sulking is putting it lightly,” Mei Mei comments, her pale hair shimmering in the firelight. She takes a seat on the armrest of your chair. “I’d say this borders on full-fledged wallowing.”

You glare at both of them, hugging the pillow tighter. “Go away.”

“No,” says Shoko, simply.

Mei Mei leans in conspiratorially, resting her chin on her hand as she observes you. “Honestly, it’s not the end of the world. So you didn’t get selected—big fucking deal. There’s always next—oh.”

“Next time?” you snap, sitting up straight. “There isn’t a next time, Mei Mei. This was the last chance.”

“Exactly,” she quips with mock cheerfulness. “All the more reason for you to savour your second-place status. It’s a rare opportunity for someone as annoyingly competent as you.”

Before you can retort, Utahime appears, carrying a steaming cup of tea. She sets it down on the small table beside you and gives Mei Mei a pointed look. “Stop tormenting her,” she says, shooing the girl off the armrest.

Mei Mei sighs dramatically but moves to the nearby sofa, lounging on it with her legs hanging off the arm. “Sorry for trying to motivate her.”

“More like antagonising her,” Utahime mutters, taking Mei Mei’s vacated spot. She turns to you, her expression softening. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Shoko rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you lost to someone undeserving. Suguru is very competent. In fact, I’d say he’s as good as you.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful, Shoko?” Utahime hisses. She pats your hand comfortingly. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous that they weren’t even in the running.”

“Jealous? Hardly,” Shoko says. “Can you imagine studying for our N.E.W.T.s while having to worry about whether we’re going to survive these godforsaken tasks?” She shudders, the thought of the end-of-year exams enough to make her lips turn downwards.

You shake your head, exasperated, but her words bring a small smile to your face. Utahime—ever the observant one—notices, and squeezes your hand gently. “You’ll be alright. This doesn’t define you. You’re still brilliant, still one of the best witches Hogwarts has ever seen. And if Suguru doesn’t see that, then—”

“He does,” Shoko cuts in unexpectedly. She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering over to the fireplace. “Trust me, he knows exactly how good you are. Why do you think he asked for your help?”

You gape at her. “How did—”

“Satoru told me. He said Suguru left the Great Hall and didn’t celebrate with the rest because he was busy searching for you.”

You blink. You’d known Satoru, Suguru and Shoko had known each other since they were children—they all belonged to three of the most prominent Pureblood families in the Wizarding World—but you didn’t think they were that close. Evidently, you were wrong.

But that’s one of the main reasons you’re so desperate to prove yourself. You’re a mere Muggleborn, a witch born to non-magical parents, and getting thrust into the magical world so quickly felt overwhelming. All of a sudden, you had an explanation for all the oddities that occurred when you were a child—teacups breaking even though you never touched them, books floating straight out of the bookshelf and into your hands—but it was clear that in the world of witches and wizards and strange creatures you’d only ever read about, you still had to claw your way to the top.

Geto Suguru, because of his privilege as a Pureblood, having grown up witnessing magic firsthand, was already one step ahead of you.

You despise him for it.

Shoko’s reminder of Suguru’s request makes irritation bubble up inside you all over again. “It’s not fair,” you say, fingers curling into the soft material of the cushion. “He doesn’t get to—he has no right to ask me for help after I worked so hard to get here.”

Utahime and Mei Mei stay silent, not willing to come to any conclusions, but Shoko’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes narrowing. “Are you saying Suguru doesn’t work hard either?”

“No, I’m—” You falter, the words getting lodged in your throat under Shoko’s unwavering stare. “I needed this. I needed to prove myself.”

Utahime squeezes your hand again. “If you really don’t want to, you could always say no.”

“Can I, though?” you ask, more to yourself than anyone else. “If I refuse, and he loses, I’ll think it’s my fault for not helping him. And if I help him, and he wins, I’ll have to live knowing I contributed to his victory.”

“Is that really so bad?” Mei Mei chimes in. “I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, but from what I can gather, it feels like Suguru is genuinely asking for your help because he thinks you’re the best person for the job.”

“Listen,” Utahime says, “whatever you decide, it doesn’t change anything about how smart you are, or how strong of a competition you were to him. You’re still one of the top students Hogwarts has ever seen, and one silly competition isn’t going to change that.”

You want to rebuke her words. The Triwizard Tournament isn’t just some silly competition; it’s the one way you thought you could prove that you belong in the magical world just like Suguru and Satoru and Shoko, and the rest of the Purebloods do. But Utahime’s gaze turns imploring, and you know Mei Mei and Shoko’s patience is running thin, so you muster up a smile.

“Thanks, Utahime,” you say gratefully. “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, though not unkindly, and Mei Mei flashes you a grin. “Well, if we’re all done rescuing this one from her lonely little pity party, I’m ready to go to bed,” she says, stretching her arms above her head.

Utahime glances at you questioningly, so you tell her to go ahead and that you’ll come up to the dormitory in a few minutes. Shoko stays behind. When you meet her gaze, she’s already looking at you, brows furrowed in a small frown.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get in,” she says finally, “but don’t—don’t do something reckless or hurtful, okay?”

She turns around and strides up the staircase to the girls’ dormitory before you can ask her what she means by that. The common room is quieter now, the excitement of the champion selection having died down. You stare at the fire still crackling, and push down the sting of rejection that still hasn’t gone away completely.

Tomorrow, you’ll decide. Tomorrow you’ll see what exactly Geto Suguru, the newly-proclaimed Hogwarts champion, wants from you.

Geto Suguru is late.

Are you surprised? Of course not. If there’s one thing he can be relied upon for, it’s his remarkable ability to waste your time. Still, knowing all this doesn’t make it any less irritating, especially when he was the one who sought you out in the first place.

The library is colder than usual, the stone walls and high ceilings doing little to trap the day’s residual warmth. You wrap your cloak tighter around yourself. At this rate, you’re starting to feel like a fool for agreeing to this. The library is otherwise deserted, as it usually is at this hour. It’s just you and the librarian, Madam Pince, as well as a trio of Durmstrang students who have no business being here. They stare at you every now and then, huddled together. Your cheeks burn; if Suguru doesn’t show up soon, you’ll have wasted the evening for nothing—and you’ll have the added humiliation of curious foreign students studying you like they’ve never seen another human being before.

The table before you is cluttered with blank parchment and unopened books, all untouched. The light from the sconces creates shadows that flicker and dance over them. Normally, the library is where you find peace. You can drown yourself in tomes about advanced charms or obscure potions, tuning out the noise of the castle. Tonight, however, the quietness grates on your nerves as you tap your quill against the tabletop impatiently.

The clock on the wall ticks. You glance at it for the fifth time in as many minutes, annoyed.

The doors creak open at last, and Geto Suguru finally strides in. His dark robes billow slightly as he walks. There’s a faint flush on his cheeks, and a stray lock of hair clings to his temple. He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“You’re late,” you say, when he finally stops opposite you. You don’t bother keeping the accusation out of your tone.

Suguru slides into the seat opposite you, entirely unbothered. “I had things to do.”

“Like what? Admiring your own reflection?”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say, little lioness.” Before you can snap at him for the nickname, the Slytherin continues, “If you must know, I was hunting for something important.”

“More important than the meeting you asked for?” you retort, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’d argue they’re related,” Suguru says, and before you can press him further, he pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and spreads it out on the table.

You lean forward, your annoyance eclipsed by curiosity. The parchment is covered in messy, scrawled notes, and the handwriting is illegible in some places, but certain words stand out: fire, movement, creature.

Frowning, you ask, “What is this?”

“Information.”

“About?” you prompt, though you have a sinking suspicion on what it is.

“The first task.”

You blink. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the champions were chosen. Geto Suguru works quickly, you must begrudgingly admit. “Where did you get this?”

“Snuck into the Headmaster’s office and nicked it from there,” he explains. “The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions already know, I’m sure.”

You nod. He’s right. The Triwizard Tournament is more than just a friendly competition between schools—it’s a way for each institution to gain power and prestige. It’s a matter of honour and pride, and a way to showcase each school’s magical prowess. There’s no doubt that the other champions are being helped by their respective school heads.

“Won’t they notice it’s missing?” you ask, scanning the parchment once more.

Suguru scoffs. “Do you think I’m an amateur? I duplicated the original parchment and brought it.”

You clench your jaw, fingers tightening around your quill. The words swim before your eyes, forming a picture you don’t want to see. Fire, movement, a creature—there’s only one possible scenario, and your stomach churns at the thought.

“Dragons?” you ask, voice quieter now, tinged with unease.

“Possibly,” Suguru says. “But it could be something else. They might want to mix things up.”

“Like what?” you press. Different creatures run through your head, each more terrifying than the last. “Manticores? Chimaeras?”

“Too wild,” he muses. “They’d want something dangerous but controllable. Something they can contain.”

You frown, thoughts racing. “A griffin?”

“Unlikely,” your rival says, tapping his fingers on the table, “but not impossible.”

You sit back, arms crossed. Despite all these possibilities, Suguru doesn’t seem fazed. He leans back as well, mirroring your position, eyes flickering to the parchment he stole from the Headmaster’s office. How is he not afraid? Your heart rabbits at the thought. There’s less than a month for the first task to take place; you and Suguru will have to map out all the possible outcomes and prepare for the worst. In a way, you’re grateful—making a to-do list and crossing things off it one by one is one thing you can handle. The rest is up to Suguru, now.

“If it is dragons—or something similar—you’ll need to prepare for fire,” you begin. “A lot of it.”

“Go on.”

“You’ll need protective charms,” you say, scribbling it down on the blank piece of parchment in front of you. “And something to help with visibility. Smoke can be just as dangerous as fire if you can’t see what you’re doing.”

Suguru nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Good points. What else?”

You hesitate, studying him. For once, he seems genuinely interested in your input, not just humouring you. It’s disconcerting, seeing him so serious, so focused. “If it’s not dragons, or any other big creature,” you say cautiously, “then it could be something smaller but equally dangerous. Fire crabs, maybe. Or Blast-Ended Skrewts.”

“Creatures with coordinated attacks,” he murmurs, brows furrowing slightly. “That would be challenging.”

“And if it’s not a creature at all?” you add, mind spinning with possibilities. “What if it’s something more abstract, like a puzzle or an obstacle course involving fire?”

He considers this, shifting in his seat. “Then I’d need to think on my feet,” he says finally.

“You mean you’d need to rely on luck.” You scoff.

Suguru’s placid smirk returns, and you immediately regret opening your mouth. He glances at you, and says lightly, “Luck has served me well so far.”

“Overconfidence isn’t a strategy, Suguru.”

“Neither is pessimism,” he counters sharply.

You bristle at the remark but bite back the retort on your tongue. Arguing with him isn’t going get you anywhere, and despite your frustration, you know he needs your help. If he goes into the first task unprepared, it won’t be just his pride on the line—it’ll be Hogwarts’, too.

You sigh, dropping your quill into your inkpot. “Fine. If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it properly.”

He spreads his arms out, palms facing upwards. “Then there’s only one thing left to do. We have to find a place to practice.”

The Room of Requirement is something of a Hogwarts myth, the kind of thing that people will bring up in conversation only to sound far more interesting than they really are. It’s a concept shrouded in mystery, its existence neither confirmed nor denied, referenced only briefly in Hogwarts: A History as “a chamber of peculiar use, appearing only to those in great need”.

For most students, the idea of a room that appears when one is in great need is nothing more than a charming story—like the rumours about the Bloody Baron’s long-lost treasure, or Peeves the poltergeist’s supposed alliance with the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Pacing up and down the seventh-floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet, you find yourself hoping—reluctantly—that this particular myth holds a grain of truth.

Mei Mei had mentioned it once, offhandedly, when discussing the lengths she’d go to for privacy. “The Room of Requirement,” she’d said. “It’s the kind of place that knows what you need before you do. A bit unnerving, if you ask me.” At the time, you’d rolled your eyes and dismissed it as Mei Mei being her usual cryptic self. But now, with Suguru expecting a place where you can practice in secret—away from prying eyes and endless questions—you find yourself clinging to the possibility of its existence.

You pause mid-step, glancing at the blank expanse of the stone wall. It looks as unremarkable as every other corridor in the castle. “Great need,” you mutter to yourself, feeling a bit foolish. “Right.”

You begin pacing again, focusing on what you need. Your footsteps echo faintly in the empty hall. I need a place to practice, you think. A place where no one will interrupt. A place with enough room to practice spellwork, with everything I need.

On your third pass, something shifts. The air around you seems to hum faintly, and the smooth stone wall ripples like water stirred by some invisible hand. A door begins to materialise, the brass handle gleaming slightly in the torch light. For a moment, you just stare, half-expecting it to vanish as suddenly as it appeared. But it doesn’t. It stands there, solid and tangible, as if it had been there all along and you’d just failed to notice.

Taking a deep breath, you grasp the handle and push the door open. The room that greets you is nothing short of extraordinary.

It’s cavernous, the ceiling arching high above you like the vaulted nave of a cathedral. The walls are lined with shelves stocked with spellbooks, potions ingredients, and various magical artifacts. At the centre of the room, there’s an open space with a dueling platform. You take a tentative step inside. To the side, there is a row of practice dummies, some made of rusty metal and some made of scuffed wood. The door closes softly behind you, sealing you into this impossibly perfect place.

“Sweet Merlin,” you breathe out, marvelling.

You walk slowly around the room, taking it all in. The books on the shelves seem to shimmer faintly, their spines marked with titles like Defensive Charms for Advanced Duelists and The Art of Magical Adaptation. Some of the titles are ones you’ve come across on your rare trips to the Restricted Section of the library, while others are entirely unfamiliar.

Still, a part of you can’t shake the feeling that you’re trespassing. The room feels alive in a way the rest of the castle doesn’t, as though it’s watching you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You turn your attention to the dueling platform, running a hand over the smooth, polished wood. If Suguru has any hope of surviving the first task—and you’re still not entirely sure why you care if he does—this is where you’ll need to start.

The thought of working with him here, in this quiet, secretive space, stirs a complicated mix of emotions. Annoyance, of course—he’s insufferable—but also a grudging respect. Suguru may be arrogant, but he’s also skilled, and you can’t deny the challenge of matching wits with him.

You sigh, glancing towards the door. You’ll have to tell him about the Room of Requirement soon, but for now, you allow yourself a moment of quiet triumph.

The Room of Requirement is real, and you found it.

Geto Suguru is understandably skeptical about the Room of Requirement’s existence, but words fail him when you take him to the seventh-floor corridor and show him. His incredulity crumbles into quiet awe when the door takes shape in front of you both, and you can’t resist the smug grin that forms on your lips.

You push open the door, and, theatrically sweeping your arm out wide, say, “Ladies first.”

“How mature.” Suguru rolls his eyes but steps inside tentatively. His eyes widen when he scans the room, sees the bookshelves and the practice dummies and the dueling platform. A small scoff escapes his lips. “Wow. I can’t believe you found the Room of Requirement before me.”

“I’m sure being the Hogwarts champion means you’re always busy,” you comment, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

The champions aren’t busy—not yet, at least—and a lull in the excitement about the tournament was brought about chiefly by the professors assigning copious amounts of homework and essays. You have an essay on the influence of tea leaf clumping on upcoming Quidditch matches for your Divination class due tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Suguru scowls. “Forgive me for not wanting to waste my time on a wild goose chase.”

“I found the Room of Requirement, Geto. It’s hardly a goose chase if it exists, is it?”

“Tch. This was a fluke.”

“Are you going to continue debating about this room’s existence while we’re in the damn room, or are you going to actually practice?” You sniff disdainfully, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You want me to hex a practice dummy?” His smile returns, faint but just as mocking as ever. “How riveting.”

“No, actually,” you retort, your own lips curving upwards. You step onto the dueling platform and hold out your wand. “I want you to hex me.”

He falters, blinking at you owlishly. “You want me to—”

“Don’t get all worked up,” you interrupt. “It’s a practice duel, not a declaration of war.”

Suguru grins, teeth flashing in the dim light. He shrugs off his robes and leaves it in a heap on the floor. His tie is loose, and his shirt untucked, but he quickly ties his long hair up and clambers onto the platform, gripping his wand tightly. He steps back, adjusting his stance, and gestures for you to begin.

You don’t hesitate. “Expelliarmus!”

He deflects the spell easily, wand slicing through the air. “Protego.”

The red flash of your spell rebounds harmlessly off the invisible shield he conjured, and before you can regain your footing, he counters with a quick Stupefy. You barely dodge it. The jet of light whizzes past your shoulder and strikes the wall behind you.

Gritting your teeth, you flick your wand and say, “Incarcerous!”

The ropes that shoot from your wand nearly catch him, but Suguru is quicker. He steps aside neatly, his wand a blur as he attacks with a Disarming Charm. “Expelliarmus!”

Your wand flies out of your grip and straight into Suguru’s waiting hand. You huff, cheeks flushed with heat and sweat beading on your forehead. Glaring at him, you gesture for him to toss it back to you. He obliges, maddeningly proud, and not a single hair out of place.

“I didn’t realise I’d be dueling someone so… unprepared,” he taunts.

“You were just lucky,” you retort. You step back into position, determination to best him burning in your chest. “Again.”

For the second round, you’re more prepared. Spells fly back and forth, crackling through the air. Suguru is fast, but you’re clever, weaving around his attacks and shooting back with different sorts of jinxes.

“Confundo!” you shout, aiming directly at his chest. Suguru deflects it with a flourish, but his stance falters for a split second. You don’t waste the opportunity. “Rictusempra!” The Tickling Charm hits him squarely, and he lets out an undignified yelp, doubling over with laughter.

“Y-you—” He’s laughing too hard to finish the sentence, face red and eyes watering. Clutching his side, he tries to regain control.

You lower your wand, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “What’s the matter, Suguru? Ticklish?”

He glares at you through his laughter. With a flick of his wand, he casts Finite incantatem, the general counter-spell for any minor jinxes or hexes, straightening up and smoothing out his shirt. “Unnecessary.”

Your smile widens. “Oh, I don’t know about you, but I found this particularly amusing.”

“Resorting to petty jokes now, are we?” Still, you can sense the grudging respect in his tone. “Not bad, little lioness.”

“High praise, coming from a conniving snake,” you say, though the words lack their usual bite.

You enjoyed it, you realise. You enjoyed dueling with Geto Suguru, the one person who you’ve had it out for ever since you joined Hogwarts. Flopping onto the floor and catching your breath, the thrill of the duel doesn’t seem to wear off. Even Suguru fidgets with his wand, mouth set in a grim line. You tear your gaze away and stare at your own wand instead. There is something about being evenly matched with him, the way both of you anticipate each other’s next moves, the way you dodge and attack with equal strength.

“Same time tomorrow?” Suguru breaks the silence.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”

Geto Suguru’s face is on the front page of the Daily Prophet—Wizarding Britain’s newspaper— alongside Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons and Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang. The picture moves, as all photographs in the magical world do, with Amélie in the middle, tucking a strand of her silver-blond hair behind her ear while her light blue skirt billows slightly in the wind. Aleksandar is more serious, thick eyebrows set in a frown with his burly arms crossed over his chest.

In the centre is the bane of your existence himself. His long hair is half-down and pinned back. His robes are neat and pristine, the Slytherin crest and his Prefect badge gleaming. He twirls his wand between his fingers, lips curled upwards in a lazy smirk, though his eyes are as sharp as ever. The headline underneath the picture reads:

CHAMPIONS PREPARE FOR GLORY: INSIGHT FROM THE TRIWIZARD FRONTLINES

The Great Hall is noisy during breakfast, the smell of food and the cacophony of students eliminating all other senses. Your hand tightens around your fork and you stab at your eggs aggressively. Utahime takes the newspaper and flicks it open to the page with the Champions’ interviews.

“‘Hogwarts Champion, Geto Suguru’,” she begins to read aloud, “‘impresses everyone with his unparalleled spellwork and ability to stay calm under pressure.’”

Shoko, halfway through her toast, snorts. “Sounds like he wrote it himself.”

“‘When asked about his preparation for the first task’,” Utahime continues, “‘he credited his regimen to ‘careful planning and focused practice’.’” She pauses, raising an eyebrow at you. “Does that sound familiar?”

You refuse to rise to the bait, though your cheeks warm despite yourself. Two weeks of training in the Room of Requirement—of dodging his spells, practicing wandwork, and biting back your own irritation—have left their mark.

Mei Mei, peering over Utahime’s shoulder, comments, “Oh, look. He also mentioned something about collaboration. About how it elevates one’s abilities.”

“How diplomatic of him,” you mutter. “He really loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?”

“Talking about me again?”

You freeze, the unmistakable drawl sending a shiver of annoyance down your spine. Looking up slowly, you find Suguru himself standing opposite you, flanked by Gojo Satoru. “Morning, Gryffindors,” the latter greets cheerfully, blue eyes twinkling. Suguru, however, merely slides into the seat across from you, his dark eyes not leaving yours. You grab your goblet and take a sip of your pumpkin juice just to have something to do with your hands.

Satoru drops unceremoniously on the bench next to Shoko without invitation, snatching a piece of toast from her plate. “Merlin, it’s lively here.”

“Go away, Satoru,” his female friend replies. “Get your own toast.”

“Sharing is caring.” Satoru bites into the toast with gusto.

“I hope you choke on it,” Shoko says flatly.

Utahime mumbles an apology and leaves when the Head Boy, Nanami Kento, calls her over. They have to discuss something about the first Triwizard Tournament task that will be taking place the next day. Mei Mei escapes to the bathroom, leaving the four of you sitting by the Gryffindor table. It’s a sight in itself, really, because it’s rare for Slytherins to be mingling with Gryffindors so amicably. Yet, Shoko and Satoru remain oblivious to the stares as they continue to bicker over breakfast, while you shift uncomfortably.

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly to the half-folded Daily Prophet near your hand. “Enjoying the article?”

Your stomach twists. “I haven’t read it,” you lie, glaring down at your mutilated eggs.

“Shame. I was curious about what you thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, though the heat crawling up the back of your neck betrays you. “Why would I waste my time reading about you?”

“You’re awfully defensive for someone who doesn’t care,” Suguru says.

“I don’t care.”

Satoru leans over. “Do you think they’ll hex each other before the first task? I’ve got ten Galleons on it.”

“Make it fifteen,” Shoko says, “and I’ll lend you my wand for the counter-curse.”

You glare at both of them, but Suguru’s voice draws your attention back. “Since you’re clearly not invested,” he says, tone light but eyes determined, “any advice for tomorrow?”

You blink. Of all the things you’d expected him to ask, it hadn’t been this. “Don’t get yourself killed,” you say bluntly.

He huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “Noted.”

“Well, this has been fun,” says Satoru, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “But I think I’ve exhausted our dear Shoko’s hospitality.” He swipes her goblet and downs her pumpkin juice.

“Touch my plate again, and I’ll set your robes on fire,” Shoko warns.

With a laugh, Satoru ruffles her hair and saunters off, leaving you and Suguru alone in this tense, uncomfortable silence. “Good luck tomorrow,” you say finally, not meeting his gaze.

“Thanks,” he says, quieter than usual.

When he stands up to leave, you can’t help but feel a pang of unease. The first task is tomorrow, and while you would never admit it, you hope he comes out of it unscathed.

Dragons. Your hunch about the first task was right.

The cold November air is sharp as knives, cutting through the layers of your robes as you grip the railing of the stands surrounding the makeshift arena. Excitement and dread churns together in your stomach, though you’d die before admitting the latter. The stands are packed, students and professors bundled in thick scarves and gloves, all leaning forward eagerly to catch a glimpse of the champions. Amidst the black of the Hogwarts robes, there is also the pale blue of Beauxbatons and the dark red of Durmstrang. The excitement is palpable, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first task. You find yourself crammed in between Utahime and Shoko.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the arena below. The dragons are corralled in an enclosure just beyond the champions’ tent, their massive silhouettes casting long shadows on the frosted ground. Even from this distance, you can hear the occasional growl and the rustle of leathery wings.

“Dragons,” Utahime mutters, rubbing her gloved palms together worriedly. “How can they call this a school competition and then throw dragons at the students?”

“They’ve done it before,” Shoko drawls lazily, though her sharp eyes betray her worry. Satoru stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest and lips pressed into a grim line. You shiver; it’s bad enough that Shoko is worried, but seeing the normally cheerful Satoru so serious makes you anxious. “At least they’re not asking them to fight them barehanded,” she continues. “That would be more fun.”

“Shoko,” Utahime hisses, chiding. “Please stop.”

You don’t contribute to their conversation. Your gaze moves to the champions’ tent, barely visible through the enchanted mist that swirls over the field. Suguru is in there. You wonder how he’s preparing himself—he’s facing one of the most dangerous magical creatures alive, after all. The thought makes worry pool in your stomach.

From somewhere below, a voice booms across the field, magically amplified to reach every corner of the grounds. “Witches and wizards, welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupts into cheers. Utahime wrings her hands beside you, and the most you can manage is a weak clap.

“The task,” the announcer continues, “is as daring as it is dangerous. Each champion must retrieve a ring from the heart of the arena. But guarding the rings are some of the fiercest magical creatures alive—dragons!”

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by excited whispers. Utahime lets out a low groan. “They can’t be serious. This isn’t a tournament—it’s a death wish.”

Shoko shrugs. “They’ll be fine. Mostly. The Ministry of Magic wouldn’t let them die. Probably. They could get horribly maimed or injured, though.”

“Reassuring,” you mutter. You’ve been pretending to be indifferent for ages, but the truth is, you’re terrified for Suguru.

The announcer’s voice booms again. “Our champions will face their dragons one by one, drawn randomly to determine the order. The task is not merely about bravery, but also ingenuity, strategy, and magical skill. The ring holds a crucial clue to the next task—so it is imperative that they succeed!”

Your hands are numb against the railing, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or because of something else entirely. The first task is madness—complete and utter madness. And yet, as the announcer’s voice booms again, calling out Suguru’s name, something in your chest curdles with a chill far worse than the cold.

“First, Geto Suguru, representing Hogwarts, will face the Hungarian Horntail!”

The sound is deafening. Cheers erupt from every corner of the stands, the Hogwarts students roaring loudest of all. Even the Slytherins, with their restrained, cold demeanour—the exception being Satoru, of course—cannot contain their pride.

Geto Suguru steps into the arena, holding his wand loosely in one hand with the other tucked into the folds of his robes. His long hair is swept up into a tight knot. You can’t hear him over the noise, but you swear you see him mutter something under his breath.

The Hungarian Horntail is enormous. Even from a distance, its obsidian scales glint ominously, and its massive, bat-like wings shift restlessly as its amber eyes lock onto Suguru. The ring lies just beyond the dragon, perched atop a precarious pile of boulders. It gleams like a star, a tiny thing that’s almost not worth the effort, you think. But of course, Suguru is just like you, and pride comes before anything else. You’re sure he’s already thought of a dozen different ways to get past the beast—because it’s something you would do, as well.

The Horntail snorts, sending a plume of smoke spiraling into the air. The arena is silent now. Suguru takes his first step towards the dragon.

“Is he insane?” Utahime whispers, voice trembling. “Does he not see the size of that thing?”

“He does.” It’s Satoru’s first proper sentence this morning, and the assurance with which he says it alleviates some of your worry—though not by much. “He’s Suguru. He always knows exactly what he’s doing.”

You remain silent, not taking your eyes off him. He moves slowly, with the kind of deliberacy that makes it clear he’s prepared. No step is wasted, no motion is hurried. He’s in control—or at least, that’s what he wants everyone to think.

“Confringo!” The spell erupts from his wand, creating a fiery blast that hits the ground near the dragon’s massive claws. The Horntail snarls, tail lashing out and gouging deep scars into the earth. The Blasting Curse he used isn’t meant to hurt—it’s meant to provoke.

Suguru casts another spell, this time to conjure a dazzling array of shifting, flickering lights. The dragon’s attention is drawn to the display; it tilts his head and looks up, mesmerised. You clench your jaw. It’s a bold move, because dragons are intelligent, but their curiosity is a double-edged sword.

“He’s trying to confuse it,” Utahime murmurs, clutching the ends of her scarf. “That’s risky.”

Risky is an understatement, you think. Suguru doesn’t stop. He moves his wand, pointing it low, and you see him mouth a spell—Glacius. The ground beneath the dragon becomes a slick sheet of ice. The Horntail’s claws scrape against the surface, wings flaring out as it tries to balance itself.

But it recovers quickly—too quickly. With a guttural roar, the beast lunges towards him, jaws snapping. Your heart thuds in your chest, but Suguru dives out of the way and smacks hard into a large rock. He slumps against it, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You hear Utahime and Shoko gasp beside you, but it’s drowned out by the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears.

Get up, you want to say. Get up and get that bloody ring, Geto. It’s silly—of course he can’t hear you—but there’s a gash on his arm, and his robes have darkened with blood, and it feels like if you somehow think it, Suguru will make it happen. It’s a flimsy mindset, but you’ll take whatever shreds of comfort you can get.

The dragon charges towards him, nostrils flaring and eyes gleaming. Suguru scrambles to his feet, the ends of his robes frayed and face streaked with dirt. He lifts his wand and casts a Protego maxima, a shimmering shield that briefly halts the dragon’s fiery breath. The shield holds for just a moment, but it’s enough time for Suguru to reposition himself, his eyes darting towards the ring.

“Come on,” you say under your breath, fingers tightening around the railing.

“Lumos maxima!”

A burst of brilliant, blinding light shoots out of his wand, illuminating the arena. You let loose an exhale; he’s clearly learnt from the dragon’s reaction to light earlier. It’s a good strategy, you will admit. The Horntail lets out a snarl, massive eyes narrowing against the glare. It thrashes, swinging its tail wildly, but Suguru has already limped away.

The dragon’s claws gouge into the earth once more, its bat-like wings flapping violently as it tries to shake off the distraction. Suguru uses the brief opening to dart closer, his focus entirely on the ring. His wand moves in a tight arc, and the light shifts into a pulsating sphere, hovering just beyond the Hungarian Horntail’s reach. It works. The orb of light draws the dragon’s attention away from Suguru.

“He’s using it as a decoy,” Shoko says, leaning forward.

“Smart move,” Satoru chimes in, hushed.

His blue eyes glitter knowingly at you, though, and you turn away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Suguru must have told him about all the research you did about dragons and their different breeds, and how they’re not so different from cats—if you take out the fire-breath and the wings and the long tail, or the fact that they could eat a human alive in a heartbeat.

Suguru raises his wand again, muttering an incantation. A shimmering net of magical energy bursts forth, wrapping around the dragon’s front claws. The Horntail roars—but its movements are hindered enough to give him the opening he needs.

The ring glints in the faint sunlight, and with a quick Summoning Charm—Accio—it soars straight through the air to him.

The Horntail senses it immediately. With a furious roar, it pounces, its massive jaws snapping shut mere inches from Suguru’s outstretched hand. But Suguru is faster. With a final, desperate leap, he snatches the ring out of the air, landing hard on the frost-dusted ground. He rolls to his feet, the ring clutched tightly in his fist, and sprints towards the edge of the arena.

The Horntail thrashes behind him, but it’s too late. The magical barrier seals shut just as Suguru crosses the threshold. The dragon lets out a frustrated roar that echoes through the stands. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise ringing in your ears. Hogwarts banners wave wildly in the air, and Satoru and Shoko let out a series of loud hoots, while you simply sigh, relieved.

“He did it,” Utahime breathes out.

“Of course he did.” Shoko beams proudly.

You don’t say anything. Your heart is still racing, your chest still tight. He did it. He passed the first Triwizard task.

Suguru hobbles past the stands, dark eyes scanning the crowd, one hand pressed to where the gash on his arm is. You curse yourself for feeling irrational—for wanting him to look at you. He does. His gaze lands on you, and he pauses for the shortest of moments. The corner of his mouth curls upwards in a small half-smile, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the tent where the champions will be tended to.

“He could’ve died,” Utahime mutters, shaking her head as the next champion is announced.

You glance back toward the arena, frosted fingers loosening their grip on the railing. The first task is over, but the dread in your stomach doesn’t subside. The dragons may be gone, but the Triwizard Tournament is far from over.

The Room of Requirement glows faintly in the dim light of the lanterns it conjured up, their golden halos casting long, flickering shadows over the stacks of books and piles of scrolls you and Suguru pulled out of the bookshelves lining the walls. You sit cross-legged on a soft, velvet cushion on the floor. Suguru paces in front of you, the soles of his boots soft against the tile.

The ring, when Suguru gives it to you, is warm to the touch and made out of the same gold the wizarding world uses to shape Galleons out of. A part of the ring is flattened into a signet, engraved onto which are a collection of dots. They look like pockmarks on an otherwise smooth surface. You rub your thumb over them curiously.

“Look inside,” Suguru says. He picks at the ends of the bandage wrapped around his arm, restless and jittery. “There’s something written on the inside of the ring.”

Turning the ring over in your palm, you bring it close to your eyes and squint. The words are tiny, and, for all intents and purposes, make no sense to you whatsoever. The ring’s golden surface glints, the engraving on the signet catching the shifting light. You roll it between your fingers, the faint warmth oddly soothing, though Suguru’s squirrely pacing sets your nerves on edge.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” you snap, squinting at the letters once again. “It’s hard enough to focus without you stomping around like a restless Hippogriff.”

“I’m thinking,” Suguru retorts, though he halts mid-step and folds his arms across his chest. “Unlike you, who’s just staring at the thing as if it’ll start talking.”

“It might!” you fire back. “It’s magical, isn’t it? Who knows what sort of enchantments it’s got?”

“It’s a ring, not a bloody Howler. Let me see it again.”

Reluctantly, you pass it over, careful not to touch his injured hand. His fingers brush against yours anyway, and the warmth lingers annoyingly on your skin. Suguru holds the ring up to the lantern light, tilting it to study the dots engraved on the signet.

“These dots look like they’re arranged deliberately,” he murmurs, tracing the marks. “They’re not random.”

“Well, obviously.” You roll your eyes. “The question is, what do they mean?”

He ignores you, dark eyes narrowing as he turns the ring over and studies the inscription. “‘Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum’,” he reads aloud, the Latin rolling maddeningly smoothly off his tongue. “It sounds ominous.”

“It means something,” you say, leaning forward to snatch a book off the pile in front of you. It’s a dusty tome with Enigmatic Latin Phrases emblazoned on the cover, though you have a sinking suspicion it’s going to be less helpful than you hoped. “It has to. Why else would it be engraved on a magical artifact?”

Suguru plops down onto the cushion opposite you, sweeping away a bunch of scrolls. He places the ring on the ground in between you both. “If it’s a clue for the next task, then it has to be related to the Triwizard Tournament somehow. Something symbolic, maybe?”

“Brilliant deduction,” you deadpan, flipping through the pages of the book. “Didn’t realise you were such a scholar.”

“And I didn’t realise you were such a comedian,” he drawls. “Let’s focus. What do you think it means? The phrase—’I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages’. What does that sound like to you?”

You blink at him. “How did you translate that?”

“Studied Latin and French when I was kid,” he says smugly, in a manner that makes you want to deck him. Wonderful. Another aspect in which Suguru is already one step ahead of you, you think bitterly. “But that’s not the point,” he continues. “What do you think it could refer to?”

You look down, tapping your quill against the edge of the book. “It could be a reference to time,” you muse aloud. “The beginning and end… It's cyclical. Like a clock, or a calendar, maybe?”

“Or a journey,” Suguru adds, tilting his head. “Something that starts and ends with the same person. The champions?”

“Possibly. But it could also be something more abstract—like fear. Everyone’s afraid of something; it’s universal. The start and end of every challenge.”

Suguru picks up the ring again, running his thumb over the dots. “And this?” he says, gesturing to the engraving. “What if it’s pointing us somewhere? A location, maybe? Or a specific kind of task?”

You frown and lean closer. “The arrangement of the dots,” you say slowly, “looks… familiar. Like a pattern.”

“Like a constellation,” Suguru supplies. “You’re right. It’s got to be one.”

The conclusion settles over you both, but it doesn’t offer much clarity. You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering. “If it’s a constellation, then it’s symbolic, right? They all have stories tied to them—myths, legends.”

“Yeah, but which one?” Frustration creeps into his voice. “These dots could be anything. There’s no clear shape.”

“It could be something obscure,” you suggest. “Maybe even something specific to the wizarding world. I think we’ll have to make a trip to the Astronomy Tower some time soon, though.”

“Great,” says Suguru flatly. “So we’re supposed to decipher a constellation in a shape I’ve never seen and an inscription that sounds like it was prophesied by a second-rate Seer.”

“Better than wandering blindly into the second task. Though, knowing you, you’d probably manage to make it out alive. Cockroaches always do.”

He scowls, but his lips twitch upwards by the slightest. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“We weren’t,” you say immediately. The back of your neck prickles with heat.

Suguru rolls his eyes, though not with malice. He stretches his arms over his head. The action causes his shirt to ride up slightly; you avert your gaze quickly. “I’m starving.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” he repeats, standing up. “All this thinking has drained me. Fancy a trip to the kitchens?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” you point out—but your stomach growls faintly in agreement. “And I’m not sneaking around the castle because you can’t stop eating.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug, heading towards the door. “I bet the house-elves have made éclairs for tomorrow’s dinner.”

Well. You’ve always been weak to chocolate. Muttering a curse under your breath, you scramble to your feet and find yourself following him, the ring warm inside your pocket.

The Hogwarts kitchens are a marvel, a hidden oasis of warmth nestled beneath the castle’s chilly stone walls. Suguru finds the painting of a fruit bowl by the Hufflepuff common room, and tickles the pear. It lets out a loud giggle—you cringe, hoping Filch, the caretaker, and his evil pet cat, Mrs. Norris, are nowhere around. The pear transforms into a shiny brass door handle, and the moment the painting swings open, you’re met with a rush of buttery heat and the mingling aromas of chocolate, caramel, and freshly baked bread.

The kitchens are bustling with movement. House-elves dart about with a speed and efficiency that puts magic itself to shame. Pots clatter, ovens hum, and enchanted trays of golden pastries glide through the air.

A small, wiry house-elf with parchment-like skin and eyes like twin garnets appears in a puff of flour and indignation, his thin arms folded over his chest. A neatly pressed tea towel with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on it covers his tiny body.

“Young master should not be here!” the elf scolds. “It is forbidden to disturb the kitchens so late at night!”

“Good evening to you too, Sukuna,” Suguru says smoothly, brushing past the house-elf and into the kitchen. He inspects a nearby tray of éclairs, plucking one up and sniffing it appreciatively.

Sukuna’s bat-like ears quiver, his expression contorting between outrage and resignation. “Master Geto always does this. Always sneaking in like a naughty student. Not even a little bit nice and polite like the young Hufflepuff miss who always comes to say hello.”

“That’s because I am a naughty student,” Suguru says cheerfully, winking raunchily at you; you huff and roll your eyes. He sinks his teeth into the éclair with a pleased hum. “And you, Sukuna, are a saint for indulging me.”

The elf huffs, though his cheeks flush slightly at the praise. His gaze shifts to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “And this one? Is this young miss also here to pilfer desserts?”

“I— what? No!” you sputter, though your stomach growls traitorously at the scent of chocolate and cream wafting from the éclairs.

Suguru leans against the counter, lips tugged up in a smirk as he regards you. “Don’t be shy,” he says, gesturing towards the tray. “Sukuna won’t bite. Probably.”

“Only if asked nicely,” Sukuna mutters darkly, but he waves a hand, and another tray of éclairs floats down onto the counter as though by invitation.

Despite yourself, you reach for one. The pastry is warm, its golden shell yielding easily beneath your fingers. When you bite into it, the rich, velvety chocolate spills over your tongue deliciously.

“Good, isn’t it?” asks Suguru.

You hate that he’s right. “It’s passable,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously.

He barks out a laugh, brushing crumbs off his trousers. “Sure it is. That’s why you’re reaching for another one already.”

You glance down and curse under your breath. Grumbling, you take another bite of your éclair, determined to ignore the victorious glint in his eyes. Sukuna, meanwhile, seems torn between chastising you both and taking pride in your obvious enjoyment. In the end, he settles for clicking his tongue and vanishing to attend to an overflowing cauldron of treacle in the corner. The kitchen falls into companionable quiet, broken only by the distant clatter of utensils and the murmur of house-elves bustling about.

“So,” you say finally, licking a smear of chocolate off your thumb, “are éclairs your usual midnight snack, or is this just an excuse to avoid figuring out the second task?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of eating and thinking at the same time.”

“You’re more a connoisseur of distractions. Very good at distracting yourself,” you say, without any real bite in your voice.

“Distractions are necessary,” he says lightly, gaze steady on your face. “Sometimes, stepping back helps you see things more clearly.”

You chew on that for a moment. “Fine. I’ll admit you have a point there. But the second task does seem to be rather interesting, don’t you think?”

He grins, teeth flashing in the light. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t think so.”

You roll your eyes, but a small part of you warms at the compliment. Across the room, Sukuna reappears with a teapot and two mismatched cups. He sets them down with a flourish.

“If young master and young miss insist on loitering, at least have tea,” the elf says, somehow managing to sound both fond and exasperated at the same time.

Suguru raises his half-eaten dessert in a mock toast. “To Sukuna, the real hero of the Triwizard Tournament.”

The house-elf grumbles something unintelligible, though you catch the faintest beginnings of a smile before he disappears again.

“Are you always this insufferable?” you ask.

Suguru smirks, taking a small sip of tea. “Only with people who make it fun.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile of your own. For all his arrogance and sharp edges, there is something oddly disarming about Suguru like this—unguarded, his cutting wit tempered by the soft glow of the kitchen lights. The two of you sit in silence for a while, finishing off the tea and éclairs. The warmth of the kitchen seeps into your bones, making you feel drowsy and comfortable. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Alright,” Suguru says finally, setting his cup down with a clink. “Don’t fall asleep on me, little lioness.”

“‘m not falling asleep,” you mutter sleepily.

“I think we’re done for the day,” he says. “I’ll walk you back to the Gryffindor Tower.”

“I can walk back on my own.”

Suguru sighs, not unkindly. “I know.”

The Yule Ball is one of the highlights of the Triwizard Tournament—a night where students get the opportunity to dress up and dance, and indulge in the sort of revelries Hogwarts is usually so strict about. Utahime is convinced that some students will find a way to smuggle in Firewhiskey—wizarding alcohol—and is currently stressing out over how to regulate the intake of beverages of the students over a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs.

Nanami Kento, the Head Boy, is trying to diffuse a Situation that’s taking place at the Slytherin table. Some poor Hufflepuff girl (the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, you later recognise) had the balls to ask out Fushiguro Toji, notorious womaniser and blood purity freak, as her date for the Yule Ball. You nearly drop your cutlery when he calls her a Mudblood—a slur meant for people like you, born to Muggle parents. Gritting your teeth angrily, you glare at the back of Fushiguro Toji’s head. What a nasty, vile excuse for a man.

The Situation is diffused when the girl passes out, a ball of yellow fabric clutched tightly in her hands. You have to give it to her; it takes serious guts to publicly ask out someone, though you wonder what sort of curse possessed her to ask Fushiguro, of all people.

“Absolute menace,” you mutter under your breath, stabbing your scrambled eggs with unnecessary force.

Mei Mei turns a page of Witch Weekly with a sigh. “Honestly, these pureblood types are so predictable. Such flair for cruelty, yet so unoriginal.”

“You’d think he’d at least come up with a creative insult,” Shoko adds dryly, her teacup balancing precariously on her saucer.

“Missed me, ladies?” Satoru, perpetually grinning like a Cheshire cat, plops himself onto the bench opposite you. His white-blond hair gleams under the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, and his tinted glasses perch at the end of his nose in a way that makes him look both ridiculous and infuriatingly charming.

Shoko’s reply is swift. “Not particularly.”

Mei Mei grunts out a greeting, and you merely smile politely at him. Utahime, still fretting over the logistics of conducting the Yule Ball, slides out of her seat in a hurry and mumbles something about finding Nanami so they can discuss things properly.

“You wound me, Shoko,” Satoru says, clutching his chest theatrically. “Anyway, I’ve got a pressing matter to discuss.”

“Does it involve you somehow setting fire to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom again?” Mei Mei asks, not looking up from her magazine.

“That was one time,” Gojo replies, feigning outrage. “No, this is much more important. The Yule Ball. Who’s asking who? Gossip is flying around faster than a Nimbus 2000.”

Of course, wherever Gojo Satoru goes, Geto Suguru is bound to follow. He approaches your little group, dark hair tied back neatly, expression as composed as ever. He slides onto the bench beside you with a nod of thanks to Mei Mei, who moved her plate of toast to accommodate him.

“Talking about the Yule Ball, I presume?” Suguru asks, reaching for a slice of buttered bread.

“Of course we are,” Satoru says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s the event of the year, Suguru. Surely someone’s asked you by now.”

Your fork pauses in mid-air. For some reason, you find yourself wanting to know the answer.

Suguru’s lips quirk upwards, the ghost of a smirk. “As a matter of fact, someone has.”

The table collectively turns to him. Shoko raises a curious brow. Even Mei Mei closes her magazine in favour of staring at Geto Suguru like he’s just sprouted a pair of antlers on his head.

“Details,” Satoru demands, grinning wide.

“She’s from Beauxbatons,” Suguru says. “Asked me yesterday afternoon. I said yes.”

A sharp pang blooms in your chest, prickly and unwelcome. You drop your gaze to your plate, pressing your lips together and willing yourself not to react. It doesn’t matter. You don’t care. Suguru could go with whoever he wanted. He isn’t your friend, and he certainly isn’t—no. Absolutely not.

“Leave it to you to snag a Beauxbatons girl,” Mei Mei comments. “They always go for the broody ones.”

Gojo snorts. “Broody? Suguru’s about as broody as a cauldron full of kittens.”

“Are we done analysing my date?” Suguru asks.

“Not even close,” Satoru says, but his attention soon shifts to Shoko attempting to balance her goblet of water on her saucer as well. Mei Mei picks up her copy of Witch Weekly once more and flips through the glossy pages.

You pick at your food, your knife scraping against your plate. The thought of Suguru dancing with some elegant Beauxbatons girl—someone undoubtedly beautiful and graceful and more poised than you could ever be—makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. The image of them laughing together, her delicate hand resting on his shoulder while his wraps around her waist, is as vivid as if it had been etched into your mind.

“You’re quiet,” Suguru murmurs, soft enough that the others can’t catch it.

“Just tired,” you lie, not meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t push further, but you feel his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he returns to nibbling at his toast.

Shoving aside the annoying ache of jealousy, you straighten in your seat and force a pleasant expression on your face. Fine. If Suguru had a date, then so would you. Someone handsome. Someone confident. Someone who would make him think twice before flashing his perfectly polite little smile at you and your date.

“You know,” you begin, loud enough to draw the attention of your friends, “I think I’ll ask one of the Durmstrang boys.”

“Oh?” Shoko says, interest clearly piqued. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Not yet,” you admit, grabbing your goblet and swirling your pumpkin juice absentmindedly. “But there’s bound to be someone suitable. They’ve got that rugged, intimidating thing going on.”

Satoru bursts into laughter, nearly knocking over a plate of sausages. “Merlin help whatever poor bloke you’ve set your eyes on.”

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you’re not exactly the type of person to swoon over a man that’s—what did you say it was?—rugged and intimidating.”

“Well, we’ll see,” you say, lifting your chin defiantly. “Maybe I’ll surprise you all.”

With that, you turn back to your half-finished breakfast, and Satoru launches into a dramatic recounting of his supposed rejection by a Ravenclaw—”Her loss, really”—and you don’t look at Suguru at all. Still, as the meal ends the Great Hall empties, your resolve falters. You can’t help but glance at Suguru one last time. He’s listening to something Satoru is saying, lips curving upwards in a smile.

The pang returns, sharp and insistent—but you ignore it. After all, there are plenty of Durmstrang boys to choose from. Surely one of them would do just fine.

There are many ways to get yourself a date for the Yule Ball. You’ve watched it happen over the last week: dramatic declarations of affection in the Great Hall, quiet notes slipped between textbooks, bashful confessions in various corners of the castle. But this? This is different.

This is not the ideal method of asking someone out. Borderline stalking the Durmstrang champion because you saw him trudge through the snow towards the Black Lake—where the Durmstrang ship is docked—from the window of the Gryffindor common room is hardly what anybody would call dignified. Yet, here you are, braving the sharp, icy wind, and the crunch of snow underfoot, determined to follow through with your ill-conceived plan.

Your goal is straightforward, or so you tell yourself. Aleksandar Ivanov is a handsome man, someone impossible to ignore. His broad shoulders are draped in a thick, fur-lined coat that seems to defy the chill of Scottish winters, and his sleek, dark hair catches the fading light of the afternoon. He looks like something out of an old wizarding tale, that sort of unrealistic hero who was carved out of marble and brought to life.

Aleksandar Ivanov is not your type at all.

No, this has nothing to do with the hulking Bulgarian himself, and everything to do with Geto Suguru.

You hate the way you felt when Suguru mentioned his date. You hate that the image of him dancing with someone else—that faceless girl draped in blue satin—feels like a thorn lodged deep in your chest. Most of all, you hate that you care. So, you’ve decided on a solution: The bold, handsome Durmstrang champion on your arm at the Yule Ball. That’ll show him.

Aleksandar’s strides are long, the dark fur of his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. He’s alone, his hands tucked into his pockets. You can see the faint outline of the Durmstrang ship in the distance, its masts swaying gently as the lake ripples against the hull. The sight fills you with a sudden sense of urgency. If you don’t catch him now, you’ll lose your chance.

“Excuse me!” you call out, your voice carrying over the air. Aleksandar slows, then turns, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you feel rooted to the spot, your carefully rehearsed words scattering like leaves to the wind.

“Yes?” he says. There’s a faint accent to his voice.

You force yourself to take a step closer, and then another, until you’re standing just a few feet away. “Good evening,” you say, forcing a smile. “Aleksandar, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, though it doesn’t become a full smile. “And you are?”

You hesitate. Your name feels oddly small when you say it. The cold nips at your cheeks, and you resist the urge to shove your mittened hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Well, then,” Aleksandar says, tilting his head slightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I…” You clear your throat, cursing the way your voice wavers. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Aleksandar’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. He takes a step closer, and you resist the urge to back away. “Interesting,” he says at last, drawing the word out. “You do know you’re not the first person to ask me to the Yule Ball, yes? You’re very beautiful, but why, exactly, would you want to go with me?”

Your cheeks flush with the heat at the sudden compliment, but your prepared responses—something about his reputation, his charm, his skill in the Tournament—suddenly feel hollow. You can’t tell him the truth, either, that this is about someone else. So you scramble for a suitable response.

“Well, you’re the Durmstrang champion,” you say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to desperation. “It seemed fitting.”

Aleksandar raises an eyebrow. “Fitting? Is that all?”

“Yes,” you lie, though your voice lacks conviction.

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant lapping of the lake’s waves against the shore. Then, to your surprise, Aleksandar smiles—not the cool, detached smirk you were expecting while he brutally rejects you, but something warmer, almost amused.

“Very well,” he agrees, his voice carrying a hint of humour. “I’ll be your date.”

“Really?” The word escapes before you can stop it, and you cringe at how eager you sound.

Aleksandar’s smile widens. “Yes, really. Though I must admit, I am curious about your true intentions.”

“My intentions?” you repeat, trying your best not to sound sheepish. “What do you mean?”

“You see,” he says, “my intentions with you are rather simple. Word travels fast around the castle, and I know you were the closest person to best the Hogwarts champion in claiming the title. Besides the fact that you are very pretty, I think it will also make my competitor waver a little, no?”

You bite your tongue. He’s right. Aleksandar Ivanov is more than just a pretty face and brute strength. He’s also cunning and intelligent. You’re certain he would be a Slytherin if he attended Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang Institute.

“And you,” he continues. “You don’t strike me as the type of person to make bold declarations for the sake of tradition. There is something else, isn’t there?”

The same thing as you, Ivanov. I want to see the Hogwarts champion waver, you think. Instead, you stiffen, and say, “There’s nothing.”

“Hm.” Aleksandar doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Well, whatever your reasons, I look forward to the Ball. I trust you’ll make for an… interesting evening.”

You nod, too flustered to do anything else. “Of course.”

“Let’s match,” he says. “What are the colours of your… house, as they call it?”

“Scarlet and gold.”

“Wear a red dress. Until then, dovizhdane.” Aleksandar turns back towards the ship.

You blink, but manage a stiff nod before walking away. You’ve done it. You’ve secured a date for the Yule Ball. But why, despite everything, do you still wish it was Suguru you’d be meeting on the dance floor?

“Lupus,” you read aloud, from the book Celestial Phenomena And Their Meanings placed on your lap, “is a constellation that is associated with wolves in Greek and Roman mythology. The stars that now form the constellation Lupus used to be part of the Centaurus constellation. They represented a sacrificed animal impaled by the centaur, which was holding it toward the constellation Ara, or the altar.”

Suguru rolls the ring around in his palm, chin propped on his other hand, sitting cross-legged across from you. “Interesting,” he muses. “Anything else?”

The signet catches the light of the Room of Requirement, glinting golden. It wasn’t hard to map out the dots to pictures of constellations and figure out which of the star-clusters was engraved on the ring. The harder part, now, is trying to piece together what it could possibly mean, and how it is related to the Latin inscription on the inside of the ring.

You clear your throat and say, “It says it’s also connected to the founding of Rome and the story of Orpheus.”

He straightens up at that, dragging a hand through his hair. He’s left it loose for the evening, and it spills over his shoulders, long and soft. Your hand itches to smoothen out the top of his scalp, but you bite back the urge and internally scold yourself for being an irrational mess around him.

“Can I have the book?”

You wordlessly pass it to him, leaning back on your arms and stretching your legs out in front of you. The velvet cushion is downy to the touch, and warm under your fingertips. An enchanted fire crackles in the corner, preventing the chill from outside from creeping in.

“It could also represent King Lycaon of Arcadia, who was turned into a wolf by Zeus,” he reads, eyes roaming over the page curiously.

“The question is,” you press, “what does all this mean? Lupus—wolves in general, really—have always been associated with survival, but the myth says it was a sacrificial animal caught by the Centaur. What does that mean? How does this connect to the inscription inside the ring?”

Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages.

“Some great sacrifice, perhaps?” Suguru’s brows furrow in that way they always do, pinched together when he’s thinking hard about something. “But what would we sacrifice?”

“The answer to the riddle?” you suggest.

“Which is, what, exactly?”

You grimace. “I’ve no clue. It could be anything.”

He hums, fingers tracing the signet of the ring. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “if this is a test of more than just knowledge. The Headmaster’s riddles are rarely based on facts alone. He likes to see what’s in people, not just what they know.”

“A moral riddle, then?” You raise your eyebrows, shifting slightly on the cushion. Leaning forward, you peer at the ring once more. The Latin inscription glints faintly, almost as if it’s daring you to unravel its secret. “It could be literal. A physical sacrifice. Or—” You pause, chewing your lip. “Or it could be metaphorical. Something symbolic. The myths about wolves and sacrifices aren’t just about death. They’re about transformation. Survival. Endings and beginnings.”

“Hm.” Suguru tilts his head, his dark hair shifting with the movement. His gaze shifts from the ring to you. “Transformation. That ties neatly with the inscription, doesn’t it? The beginning of the world and the end of ages… sounds rather apocalyptic, don’t you think?”

“Don’t start spinning doomsday theories. We have enough to worry about without you prophesying the end of the world.”

“Not the world. Something about the world.”

“Or… Maybe it does have something to do with sacrifice. An emotion attached to it, maybe?” The question is rhetoric, simply you tossing out whatever unrealistic theories you can come up with, but Suguru leans forward, interested.

“You mentioned fear last time,” he says. “I think that makes sense, but what would the second task be? Dementors? Do they expect us to know how to cast a Patronus Charm?”

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you say. Your shoulders slump, defeated. Your head spins with various possibilities, each more far fetched than the last. “This is annoying me.”

Suguru huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking. “Tired already, little lioness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you grouse.

“Noted.” He grins, all teeth and lips. You look away and ignore the way your pulse quickens. The sight of him like this—long limbs sprawled about, hair framing his face, his shirt creased and tie undone—makes your stomach flip in ways you don’t want to comprehend. “By the way, have you found yourself a date to the Yule Ball yet?”

You blink, disoriented by the sudden question. “Actually, I have,” you admit, face flushing with heat for no apparent reason. “Aleksandar Ivanov.”

“Ivanov?” Suguru’s voice trembles with something that sounds suspiciously close to disbelief. You want to crow with victory—this is what you had wanted, after all—but instead, all you feel is a strange sense of dread growing in your abdomen. “The Durmstrang champion?”

“Yes,” you say, lifting your chin slightly. “He’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Suguru scoffs. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

You glare at him. “What’s wrong with nice?”

“Nothing, if you’re describing a cup of tea or a particularly fluffy cat. But a date to the Yule Ball?” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Ivanov is—”

“What?” you interrupt, your irritation rising. “Handsome? Intelligent? Charismatic?”

“—a pompous peacock with an accent that makes people swoon for no good reason,” he finishes, his voice dripping with disdain.

You bristle, crossing your arms. “You already have a date to the Ball. I don’t see how it matters to you who I go with.”

“It doesn’t,” he says quickly. “I just didn’t take you for someone who falls for shiny boys from other schools.”

You bite back a retort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of riling you up further. Instead, you turn your attention back to figuring out the constellation, rifling through the pages of another book you pick up from the stack in front of you. The silence stretches, and Suguru is the first to break it, tentatively.

“Did you hear about Nanami docking points from Slytherin? Twenty this time. All because of Toji and that Hufflepuff girl.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of Fushiguro. “He called her a Mudblood,” you say bluntly. “She fainted because of it.”

Suguru’s fingers curl into fists, his expression clouding. “Fushiguro’s an idiot, but docking points for something he said? That’s unfair.”

“It’s completely fair,” you say, anger rising in your chest. “He used a slur, Suguru. Against her. Against people like me—Mudbloods, as Fushiguro would say. So yes, I think Nanami was right to take points away.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and cold. Suguru says nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” you bite back, voice rising. “Didn’t mean to defend him? Didn’t mean to make excuses for someone who thinks people like me are lesser than him?”

“I’m not defending him,” Suguru snaps. “I just think punishing the whole house for someone else’s stupidity is unfair.”

“Unfair?” You laugh bitterly. “You want to talk about unfairness? Try walking around this castle knowing there are people who look at you and see something dirty. Try hearing that word every time you walk past a group of pureblooded Slytherins. Try knowing that despite everything you do, you will always, always be ousted by someone simply because they were born into the fucking wizarding world while you weren’t. But, of course, you wouldn’t know what that feels like, would you, you privileged ponce.”

Suguru flinches. You pick up your wand and cloak from the discarded heap on the floor and, anger still simmering in your chest, stride out of the Room of Requirement without a glance back.

As per custom, the selected champions must always enter the Yule Ball after everyone else. After days of gruelling ballroom dancing practice brought upon you and your housemates by your head of house, who did not want you to besmirch the Hogwarts name by acting like a “babbling, bumbling, band of baboons,” you like to think you’re quite the connoisseur of waltzing.

Aleksandar offers his arm to you, the dark red of his dress robes accentuating his cheekbones and eyes. Your own gown ripples with every movement, the deep crimson satin soft against your skin.

You descend the staircase carefully—tripping because of your heels would be an embarrassment you don’t want to experience—and don’t look at Geto Suguru. You’re still furious at him, and you want absolutely nothing to do with him at all tonight.

“You look very beautiful,” the Durmstrang champion murmurs under his breath. “It is an honour to be with you.”

You laugh shakily. “Thank you. And likewise.”

He smiles without teeth. “I believe your champion is glaring at us.”

“Is that so?” You glance sideways at your date. “He should be paying attention to the pretty girl on his arm instead, don’t you think?”

Aleksandar opens his mouth to say something, but before he can reply, the doors to the Great Hall open, and a professor hurriedly begins ushering in the couples.

Amélie, tall and graceful, with her long hair pinned into an elegant French braid, is the first to enter to a smattering of applause from the gathered students. Her peony-blue dress shimmers under the lights of the enchanted chandelier, and she walks with her head held high and her hand tucked into the crook of her date’s arm. Her date is a flustered Hufflepuff boy, someone you’ve seen around the corridors occasionally; he looks like he’s been struck by a Confundus Charm, what with the dazed look in his eyes. (You can’t blame him. The Beauxbatons champion is gorgeous.)

Next, is Suguru. You stare at the back of his head while he leads his date into the Great Hall. His long, dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, held in place by an emerald green ribbon. His dress robes are the same colour, swishing around his knees with every step he takes. And, of course, there’s his date—the nameless, faceless Beauxbatons girl who matches his elegance and grace in every manner possible. You’ve heard her name being tossed around, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Jealousy is a fickle thing, and you are petty enough to succumb to it. They are the epitome of a perfect wizarding couple, you think; something in your mouth sours. The fact that you are still angry at Suguru does nothing to ease your mind.

You snap your gaze away as soon as they enter the Great Hall. Aleksandar nudges you gently, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Shall we?”

You nod, and he leads you forward. The Great Hall is breathtaking, even though you’d seen it earlier when helping Utahime with the decorations. The enchanted ceiling reflects a clear winter night sky, complete with gently falling snowflakes that vanish just before reaching the floor. The tables along the edges of the wall are laden with sweets and drinks. The floating candles that are normally present above your heads are nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with glittering chandeliers. A large space in the centre has been cleared for dancing, and a live wizarding orchestra has set up their instruments in the far corner.

The applause, as Aleksandar leads you out, feels distant, like a dull roar in the back of your head and you force a smile to your face. You can still see Suguru out of the corner of your eye, his emerald robes catching the light while he and his date glide further into the hall. He doesn’t look back, which is somehow worse than if he had.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when Aleksandar leans close to murmur, “You’ve gone quiet. Thinking about something?”

“Nothing important,” you reply quickly, flashing him a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Good,” he says with a wry chuckle, “because I’d hate to think I made you lose interest already.”

The comment earns him a genuine laugh this time, albeit a small one. The Bulgarian seems pleased, though, and gently steers you towards the centre of the hall, where the champions are to open the first dance. The room is full of expectant eyes, students from all three schools whispering and staring. You spot a few familiar faces in the crowd—Shoko with Haibara, looking like they’ve been dragged into something way out of their depth; Nanami with the Hufflepuff girl he’d rescued from Fushiguro, a rare, happy smile on his face; Mei Mei and Utahime laughing at something by the dance floor.

And, of course, there’s Satoru, leaning against the refreshments table with a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hand and a knowing smirk plastered on his face. He doesn’t look the least bit disgruntled about not having a date—a rare feat, considering how much of a drama queen he is. He catches your eye and wiggles his eyebrows at you, mouthing something indecipherable that you’re certain isn’t polite.

“Eyes up,” the Durmstrang champion says, low but not unkind. “You’re with me tonight.”

That’s right, you suppose. You are, so you shake your head and smile, turning to face him and resting your left hand on his shoulder. The orchestra strikes up a slow, elegant waltz, and Aleksandar’s hands find your waist.

The music swells, filling the enchanted hall with a lilting melody. Aleksandar guides you across the polished floor with a confidence that matches the proud poise of his bearing. For all your nerves, you fall into step easily, your waltzing practice smoothing out any initial awkwardness.

“You are good at this,” he murmurs, soft.

“I think I’m just very good at faking it,” you reply, glancing at the other couples. Suguru and his Beauxbatons date are near the centre of the hall, their movements seamless as if they’ve been dancing together for years. It’s a sight that would have been mesmerising—if it wasn’t so maddening in your eyes.

Aleksandar notices the flicker in your gaze but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifts closer, his hold steadying you as he turns you in a spin. The room blurs briefly, the crowd fading into a swirl of colours before you’re pulled back into his orbit.

“You’re distracted,” he says lightly, though there’s an edge of knowingness in his voice. “Is it the crowd? Or is it something else?”

You open your mouth to deny it but catch the quirk of his brow, the faint amusement in his expression. He knows. Of course, he knows. “I—”

“It seems your true intentions were not so different from mine, after all.” Aleksandar smiles, a quick flash of teeth. “I suppose I must try harder to ensure I have your full attention.”

Aleksandar’s green eyes hold a hint of mischief in them. You smile, despite yourself. The waltz continues, each musical note cascading into the next. Around you, students start filling up the empty spaces on the dance floor, twirling and gliding, some with excellent prowess, others with two left feet. Still, your mind lingers on Suguru. It’s infuriating, how he fills up the crevices in your head, his absence from your line of sight louder than the applause once the dance ends.

The song draws to a close with a flourish. Aleksandar bows low to you; you return the gesture with a curtsey, your gown sweeping the floor. When you straighten up, he leans close to you, his voice low enough only for you to hear. “If you need an escape, just say the word. I’d be happy to whisk you away from… whatever it is that is troubling you. Consider it a favour.”

You laugh softly, his offer half-serious and wholly tempting. “Thank you, Aleksandar.”

Before you can say more, you catch Suguru moving from the corner of your eye. You glance up—and there he is. Geto Suguru, standing a few paces away with his date, his dark eyes locked on you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod, doesn’t do anything except look, and it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

Aleksandar shifts, stepping just slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Shall we get drinks?”

“Yes,” you say, far too quickly. “Let’s.”

You let Aleksandar lead you away, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched, his gaze burning into your back long after you’ve disappeared into the crowd. Despite yourself, a small smile graces your lips when you spot Satoru, still lounging against the snacks table. He grins and waves when you catch his eye, and sets his goblet down when you and Aleksandar approach.

“Well, well,” Satoru drawls, ocean eyes roaming over your figure. “Impressive. I didn’t think you’d clean up this well.”

“At least I’m not a lone stag at a couple’s event,” you retort, smile widening despite yourself. Satoru does look rather dashing, however, clad in navy blue dress robes with golden curlicues embroidered all over. “Satoru, this is Aleksandar, as I’m sure you know. Aleksandar, this is my friend, Satoru.”

Aleksandar offers him a polite nod. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard… Well, not much, actually. Though I imagine your reputation precedes you.”

Satoru snorts, unfazed. “Not much? Oh, I’m wounded. Surely the great Aleksandar Ivanov, Durmstrang’s star champion, has at least heard of my devastating good looks.” He flashes his most charming grin, but it only seems to amuse Aleksandar further.

“I’m afraid that hasn’t reached Durmstrang’s halls. Perhaps you should consider advertising.”

You stifle a laugh, glancing between them. “Don’t encourage him,” you say lightly, earning yourself an exaggerated pout from Satoru. “He already has a big enough head as it is.”

“That, I can believe.” The Bulgarian casts a sidelong glance at you.

“Smart guy,” Satoru muses. “I like him.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, cheeks warming. “We were just getting drinks.”

Satoru gestures dramatically to the table laden with butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and other sparkling drinks contained within golden goblets. “Help yourselves. And I would greatly appreciate it if neither of you told Utahime that all these drinks have been spiked with Firewhiskey by yours truly.” He points with his chin behind your shoulders to where Utahime is clumsily attempting to teach Mei Mei how to do the two-step.

Aleksandar grabs a goblet of something orange and fizzy, passing one to you before taking one for himself. It tastes sweet, and slightly sour, and it bubbles deliciously on your tongue before you swallow. The two of you bid farewell to Satoru and venture towards a quieter, more secluded spot. “This is nice, no?” he asks, and you hum in agreement.

“You’re quite popular tonight.”

You freeze, recognising the tone before you even begin to turn. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder to find Suguru standing a few feet away, his date nowhere to be seen. You hate how seeing him alone fills you with a twisted sense of triumph. His expression is carefully blank, unreadable, and for a moment the noise of the Great Hall fades away.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping track,” you reply evenly.

His lips curve slightly, not enough to be a smirk but enough to make your skin prickle. “Of course not. Just observing.”

You tilt your head, offering him a smile that borders on a grimace. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Maybe you should focus on your own date instead of mine, though.”

Aleksandar shifts beside you, but he remains silent. Suguru’s gaze flicks briefly to him before settling back on you. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, you seem to enjoy the attention.”

“I’m sorry—are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” Suguru steps closer, and, voice low, continues, “Just that you seem to be… compensating.”

The jab cuts deeper than you want to admit. “Compensating for what?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence drag on long enough to make your stomach twist. “You tell me.”

Before you can respond, Aleksandar clears his throat, his green eyes darting in between you both. “I think I’ll grab another drink. Excuse me,” he says, and slips away with a polite nod.

“Great,” you mutter, glaring at Suguru. “Now you’ve scared off my date.”

“Oh, please. He’ll come back. He’s too invested in playing the perfect gentleman to leave you alone for too long.”

“And what about you? Where’s your date, Suguru? Or did she finally realise what an insufferable prat you are?”

His eyes narrow. “She’s fine. Unlike you, I don’t need to flaunt her to get a reaction.”

“What, in Merlin’s name, is your problem?” you hiss. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a mix of anger and something else you don’t want to name.

“My problem?” he repeats, a dry laugh escaping his throat. “You, apparently. Always finding a way to needle at me.”

“You’re the one who came over here,” you shoot back. “If you have such an issue with me, why not stay on your side of the Great Hall?”

The Hogwarts champion’s gaze flickers briefly, something shuttering in his expression. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just wanted to see how long you’d keep up the act.”

Your brows furrow; your patience is wearing thin. Placing your half-empty goblet on a nearby floating tray, you cross your arms over your chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That guy,” he says, gesturing at Aleksandar’s retreating figure. “Pretending like you’re actually interested in him.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening at the implication. “Stop it,” you say quietly, steadily.

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you care,” you snap. “You made it perfectly clear earlier whose side you were on. Don’t act like you suddenly care about who I spend my time with.”

The mention of your earlier argument over Toji hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, Suguru looks away, jaw tightening. Really, you’re thankful Fushiguro isn’t anywhere near you both. Knowing him, you think he’s the sort of person who thrives off of attention, no matter whether it’s good or bad. He’d be elated to know that Hogwarts’ beloved champion and the school’s runner-up are locked in an argument over him—but it’s not really about Fushiguro Toji, is it?

“I don’t care,” he says finally, though his words lack conviction. “Maybe I just don’t like seeing you waste your time.”

“Funny,” you reply. “I could say the same about you.”

The words linger in the air, stubborn as static. Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, and he reaches out and grabs your wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to send your pulse racing. “We’re not doing this here,” he says, through gritted teeth, pulling you towards the door.

“What are you—” you start, but he cuts you off with a brisk, “Just come with me.”

You inhale sharply, but follow him down the hallways and up the staircases. You know where he’s taking you before the door to the Room of Requirement even appears. Once inside, the door shuts with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly-lit space. You pull your hand free, glaring at him.

“What the Hell is this about, Suguru?”

“You infuriate me,” he says, voice cutting and low and breathless. “You drive me fucking insane, did you know? I dislike you so much.”

You blink at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “What the fuck? How much did Satoru let you drink?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I’m just angry—and jealous. I’m so envious, Merlin help me.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

A wry, sardonic chuckle escapes his throat. He lowers his head, strands of hair that spill out of the ribbon framing his face. “I don’t know.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” You swallow around the lump that forms in your throat. Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders when a sudden cold draft of wind makes you shiver. “I hate you.”

He lifts his face, then, gaze resting on your lips. His mouth parts slightly, as though to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he takes a step closer, and it feels like the room shrinks around you with each inch of space he eliminates. “You hate me?”

Your heart pounds as you glare up at him, refusing to yield. “I do,” you snap, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Suguru lets out a bitter laugh. “Liar,” he says, so quietly, it almost doesn’t register. His hand moves before you can think to react, cupping your jaw, fingers brushing along the sensitive skin behind your ear. His thumb skims your cheek. “You hate me so much, but you’re still here. You can walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You stay rooted in the spot, and your nails dig into your palms. “Shut up,” you whisper, though it sounds more like a plea than a command.

He doesn’t. Instead, his thumb moves lower, brushing along the corner of your mouth, lips turning up in a half-smirk when he sees the way your eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments. “You’re flustered,” he notes, soft, “but you hate me, right?”

Something inside you snaps. With every ounce of venom you can muster, you repeat, “I do.”

And then you’re grabbing him by the front of his emerald green dress robes, yanking him down until your lips crash against his. It’s uncoordinated, a clashing of teeth and anger and frustration. Suguru freezes for half a second before he groans against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulls you flush against him.

It’s not gentle. His lips are rough, demanding, teeth scraping your bottom lip as if to punish you for every word you’ve ever said to rile him up. But you’re just as relentless, fingers tangling in his hair while you blindly undo the ribbon holding it in place, pulling sharply enough to draw a hiss from his throat.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter against his mouth, breath coming out in short gasps.

“So are you,” he fires back. His lips trail down to your jaw, teeth grazing the skin there. “You drive me mad.”

You don’t bother replying, instead tugging his hair harder, forcing his mouth back to yours. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your dress as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You’re barely aware of the way Suguru backs you up against the nearest wall, his body pressing against yours while his mouth moves hungrily against your own.

“Say it,” he murmurs against your lips, low but somehow pleading.

“Say what?” you breathe out, though you know exactly what he means.

“Say you don’t hate me,” he demands, the words said into your neck, teeth skating over your skin and making you shudder.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you bite back a gasp. “No,” you whisper defiantly.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark and wild, chest rising and falling heavily. “Liar,” he mutters again, before crashing his lips against yours and swallowing any further protests.

(Later, when you stir from sleep, your dress barely doing anything to shield you from the chill, the first thing you notice is Suguru beside you. His head rests against the stone floor, hair unbound and spilling like ink over the cold surface. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know how you ended up so close, your hands almost touching.

When his eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep, neither of you speaks. He exhales softly, gaze dipping to where your fingers nearly meet, and though his lips don’t form the words, the apology is there. You know this because he hooks his little finger with yours, and squeezes.)

For the next month, you do the logical thing: You avoid Geto Suguru at all costs.

This, you’ve decided, is a perfectly reasonable course of action. A brilliant one, even. It takes careful planning—adjusting your usual routes between classes, lingering longer than necessary in the library, arriving at meals either too early, or too late—but you are nothing if not meticulous, and you refuse to let him and your feelings for him become an inconvenience.

You do feel guilty, however, about not helping him out with the second task, but the way you see it, Suguru is more than intelligent enough to figure it out on his own. (You refuse to acknowledge the fact that you spend time trying to piece it out when you can’t sleep at night, staring up at the canopy of your four-poster bed.)

You’re doing quite well, really. Or, you would be, if not for your insufferable friends.

The courtyard is unusually lively today. The air hums with the lingering remnants of winter, crisp but pleasant beneath the afternoon sun. Students—both Hogwarts and not—lounge in clusters across the stone benches and patches of grass, basking in the rare moment of warmth. Laughter carries through the open space like birdsong.

You sit with your friends at one of the broader stone benches, a small pile of books and a stray Golden Snitch hovering in the air beside you (pilfered from the Quidditch supply closet by Slytherin’s star seeker, Gojo Satoru himself). It should be peaceful. It should be, but—

“You’re objectively wrong, and I refuse to entertain this nonsense any further.” Utahime crosses her arms, looking positively scandalised.

Satoru scoffs. “Utahime, be serious.”

“I am serious! You’re the one who sounds like an idiot.”

“I am an idiot,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “But at least I’m right.”

Shoko exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Merlin’s beard, what are you two even arguing about?”

“More importantly,” Mei Mei pipes up, swiping the Snitch from the air, “are we supposed to care?”

“Yes,” you say dryly, “if only to prevent them from tearing each other apart in the middle of the courtyard.”

Utahime turns to you, looking deeply affronted. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know what the argument is about.”

Satoru gestures broadly with both palms. “I’m simply saying that if a Thestral and a Hippogriff were to fight, the Thestral would obviously win.”

Silence. You blink. “That’s what you’re arguing about?”

“First of all,” Utahime says, ignoring your incredulity, “that is completely wrong.”

“Oh, this will be good,” Satoru says, only a tad bit sarcastic. He sprawls onto a patch of dewy grass and leans back on his hands. “Do explain.”

“Hippogriffs are way more aggressive than Thestrals,” Utahime says. “And they have stronger beaks and claws. They’d win in a fight easily.”

“Thestrals literally eat meat,” Satoru argues. “They’re meant to take things down.”

“So do Hippogriffs!” Utahime points out. “Thestrals eat meat, but that doesn’t mean they’re fighters. They hunt only when necessary. They won’t even attack unless provoked.”

“Alright, but let’s say they were provoked—”

“By what, your stupidity?”

Satoru grins. “At least Thestrals don’t try to smite your face off because you bowed down to greet them at the wrong angle. Plus, they have the advantage of being invisible to everyone except those who’ve come face-to-face with death.”

Utahime makes a noise of frustration, and before you know it, the conversation has devolved into a full-blown debate. Mei Mei, ever the neutral one, watches with amusement, and Shoko starts taking sides. She and Utahime argue passionately in favour of Hippogriffs, citing their sheer power and aggression, while Satoru insists that Thestrals are stronger due to their skeletal structure and ability to take down large prey. You are promptly dragged into the discussion, despite having absolutely no opinion on the matter.

“It’s obviously a Hippogriff,” Utahime exclaims, gesturing wildly.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” the only Slytherin in the group shoots back.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s insulting.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

“You agree with me, don’t you?” Satoru rounds on you, eyes gleaming.

You exhale, immediately regretting being within earshot of this conversation. “What?”

“You agree that a Thestral would win.”

You narrow your eyes. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, but you will.”

You sigh defeatedly, looking to the others for support, but Utahime merely juts her chin out. “Suguru wouldn’t agree with you,” she says pointedly.

Satoru snorts. “Suguru would agree with whatever she—” he points to you— “says.”

And just like that, your world tilts. The conversation continues around you—more bickering, more laughter—but it all fades into a dull hum, a sort of background noise to the sudden rushing in your ears. Suguru would agree with whatever you say.

It’s absurd. It’s just Gojo Satoru being Gojo Satoru, throwing out careless words without stopping to think about them. But the worst part—the part that unsettles you the most—is that he might be right.

You think of the way Suguru used to argue with you, sharp-tongued and obstinate, yet never truly cruel. How he always listened, even when he pretended not to. How, more often than not, he did end up on your side, whether by reason or sheer inevitability.

You inhale sharply, hands curling into fists on your lap. You make no move to join back in on the conversation—because, really, what is there to say?

That you can still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin? That you can still taste the Butterbeer he’d had on the eve of the Yule Ball when he slotted his lips against yours? That his name has lodged itself between your ribs, stubborn as a curse? That your heart stutters at the mere thought of him; that you cannot—will not—let yourself dwell on what could be if you let go of your pride, and he relinquished his arrogance?

No, there’s nothing to say at all.

When you agreed to help Utahime rearrange the awards and plaques in the Trophy Room after classes, you certainly were not expecting her to lock you up in said room with one Geto Suguru. If it was any of your other friends—Shoko, Satoru—you would not have been very inclined to help out, but it was Utahime who asked, which is why you acquiesced. At least you can say, with utmost certainty, that sweet, loving Utahime Iori is not sweet or loving at all.

There’s a brief moment of silence as the heavy door slams shut behind you; you reach for your pocket instinctively to pull out your wand and cast Alohomora—the Unlocking Charm—and make your escape. Then, you belatedly realise that you’d left your wand in your dormitory after classes. Your fingers curl around nothing, and you feel rather stupid.

Dust motes dance in the golden afternoon light, settling over gleaming plaques and silver trophies, their engravings telling stories of menial victories long past. The air smells like polish, but you hardly notice. Your pulse roars in your ears, loud enough to drown out all other sound but the one voice you had hoped to avoid indefinitely.

“Utahime,” you call through the door, voice strained but not yet desperate. “This isn’t funny.”

There’s no answer, save for the sound of retreating footsteps. You spin on your heel, fully prepared to ignore Suguru entirely until Utahime returns, but then he shifts—just the slightest movement, a tilt of his head, a shift of his weight from one foot to the other—and it’s as if some sort of invisible thread yanks you to him.

“I didn’t expect the Head Girl to actually agree to bring you here,” he says, voice low.

He looks tired. You hate that you notice.

His hair is loose, strands slipping over his shoulders, dark against the pale slope of his throat. His uniform is slightly disheveled—tie loosened, shirt rolled up to his elbows—but it’s his face that makes something in you twist uncomfortably. There are shadows beneath his eyes, bruised with exhaustion, and though his usual easy arrogance lingers in the set of his jaw, his shoulders are rigid, as though he’s bracing for impact.

You force yourself to turn away, to focus on the nearest plaque. The etched names are a blur as you try and fail to appear unaffected. Draconius Falmoy: Head Boy, 1869, it reads.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Suguru says. There is no accusation in his tone—just fact, cold and clear as glass.

You trace the name engraved on the plaque with a fingertip. “I’ve been busy.”

A humourless laugh. “Right. Too busy to even look at me?”

You clench your teeth. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” His voice sharpens, something brittle underlying it. “You haven’t spoken to me in a month. I don’t even know if you’d still acknowledge my existence if we weren’t locked in her together.”

You suck in a breath sharply, counting backward from ten in your head. You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending Suguru doesn’t exist; you’re not about to let him unravel it now. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage to say, turning around to face him properly at last. “That I’m sorry? That I feel guilty?”

Suguru watches you, unreadable, dark eyes wrought with something you can’t name. “I didn’t ask for an apology.”

“No,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you clearly want one.”

Something in his expression flickers—hurt, maybe, or something close to it—but it vanishes so quickly, you think you might have imagined it. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

“I don’t understand you,” he says finally. “You kissed me, and then you disappeared.”

Your stomach lurches. “It wasn’t—”

“What?” He steps forward, gaze locked on yours. “It wasn’t supposed to happen? It didn’t mean anything?”

You hesitate, because you know that’s what you should say. You should roll your eyes, scoff, tell him he’s being ridiculous and move on like the Yule Ball never happened. He takes another step forward, and he’s close, now—close enough that you catch the faint scent of parchment and cedarwood, familiar enough after all the weeks you’ve spent in the Room of Requirement with him. You should say, Of course it didn’t mean anything, Suguru, don’t be stupid, but the words stick in your throat, prickly and unyielding.

“Tell me it meant nothing, and I won’t bother you ever again,” he promises, soft, and somehow that’s worse.

You swallow hard. “Suguru—”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile curling at his lips. “Nevermind.” He turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Pretending.”

The words cut deeper than they should. You don’t respond, because what could you possibly say? That he’s right? That every morning, you tell yourself it was a mistake, that it didn’t matter, that you can keep pretending it never happened—only to feel his touch lingering on your skin like a phantom’s fingers?

No. You can’t say any of that. Instead, you press your lips together and say nothing.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy and suffocating. You don’t move. Neither does he. You count the seconds in your head, waiting for something—anything—to break this unbearable tension.

Then, at long last, a knock raps against the door. “Alright,” Utahime calls out, sounding far too smug for your liking. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

The lock clicks. The door swings open. Suguru doesn’t spare you a glance as he strides past, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leaves. The Trophy Room suddenly feels too big, too quiet, and you’re left standing alone amidst the gleaming remnants of past victories, your heartbeat echoing loud in your ears. (You have the gnawing feeling that Draconius Falmoy, Head Boy of Hogwarts in 1869 would laugh at your predicament.)

“I’m sorry,” Utahime tells you, as you fall in step with her. “He kept asking me to help him find a way to talk to you—he even promised he would donate the thousand Galleons he gets as prize money for the Triwizard Tournament to St. Mungo’s Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries, if he wins.”

You don’t say anything, only look down at the stone floor of the corridor as you walk back to Gryffindor Tower. You can’t fault Utahime; she has always been extremely kind-hearted and gentle, and you know the idea of a donation to the wizarding hospital would sway her completely—especially considering the fact that it’s been her dream to become a Healer after she graduates Hogwarts.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, after a beat.

“No,” you say, flashing her a small smile that you hope is convincing. Truthfully, you’re just mad at yourself.

The plan is simple: Bribe Geto Suguru with sweets and pray he doesn’t hex you on sight.

It’s not your most sophisticated scheme, nor your most dignified, but after an entire month of avoidance, and the disaster that was the Trophy Room incident, you’ve resigned yourself to desperate measures. You are doing this, not because you feel guilty, but because you had agreed to help him out with the Tournament, and you don’t want to feel like a shitty person for going back on your word. Regrettably, it is incredibly difficult to help someone when you can’t look them in the eye.

Aforementioned desperate measures include grilling Shoko for every last detail about Suguru’s favourite things. She doesn’t make it easy.

“You’re acting like you’re about to woo him,” she’d remarked, flipping idly through the pages of her Potions textbook and entirely uninterested in your plight.

“I’m not trying to woo him.”

“You’re learning all of his favourite things, buying him chocolates, agonising over the best way to give them to him—all on Valentine’s day, too. I’m certain that that’s called wooing.”

Your face had burned; it wasn’t your fault the organisers decided to conduct the second task only ten days before the holiday of love. “I’m apologising,” you’d insisted.

Shoko had hummed, but despite her incredulousness, she’d humoured you and rattled off a list of trivial details about Suguru’s preferences—his favourite tea (jasmine), his favourite book (something tedious and philosophical), the subjects he likes best (Charms and Transfiguration, though you knew this already). Most importantly, of course, the only Honeydukes chocolates he actually cares for: dark chocolate-covered honeycomb. (“But only from Honeydukes,” Shoko had warned. “He says the other ones taste like burnt sugar.”)

Which is how you find yourself in Hogsmeade, the wizarding village closest to Hogwarts, the morning air crisp and cold, clutching a small, carefully-wrapped box of sweets like your life depends on it. Hogsmeade is lively, bustling with students eager to escape the castle for the day. The scent of butterbeer and freshly-baked pastries wafts through the air. All around you, couples wander hand-in-hand, jumpers pulled tight around their bodies to ward off the early spring chill, and their laughter bright against the grey sky. Shopfronts are decorated in ridiculous shades of pink and red, hearts and flowers strung across windows in celebration of Valentine’s Day.

The sight makes you feel vaguely ill, because this is not a romantic gesture. (Then why does it feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat every time you think of him?)

You don’t linger in Honeydukes—Hogsmeade’s best chocolatier—for longer than necessary, as much as the toasty warmth and aroma of cocoa makes you want to stay. Making quick work of purchasing the chocolates, you step back out onto the cobbled streets, heart hammering at the thought of what you’re about to do.

It’s not that you’re nervous. Not really. It’s just that approaching Suguru after everything feels a bit like facing a sleeping dragon—you don’t know if he’ll tolerate your presence or scorch you on sight. Still, you have to try.

You find him standing outside The Three Broomsticks, a pub and restaurant owned by the friendly Madam Rosmerta. He is not alone; Satoru and a few Durmstrang students surround him. He looks relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, but there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. The tiredness clings to him still, there in the worn-out slump of his shoulders. Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

You hesitate, watching him laugh at something Satoru says. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe—

Suguru turns and sees you. You don’t think you’ve ever stood so still in your life.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noise of Hogsmeade fades into the background, muffled and distant, like the world has shrunk down to just the space between you. His expression is shuttered, brows knitted together in a frown.

Your fingers tighten around the box. You should leave. You should turn around, pretend you never saw him, and—

His gaze flickers to your hands. Oh, Merlin’s beard.

With a sharp inhale, you straighten your spine and march forward before you can change your mind. Satoru notices you first, perking up like a dog catching sight of a squirrel. “Hey, look who it is! Fancy seeing you over here.”

You ignore him and stop directly in front of Suguru. His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to actually approach him. You shove the box into his hands.

Suguru blinks, catching it before it can fall. “What—?”

“It’s an apology,” you mutter, staring at the ground. “Take it or leave it.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately. You wonder, vaguely, if you’ve made a horrible mistake. If he’ll laugh, or hand it back, or— “...Honeycomb?” he asks quietly.

“...Yeah.”

Something shifts in his eyes, something subtle and indecipherable. He stares at the box, fingers tightening around the edges. When he finally looks back at you, there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath hitch.

You don’t wait to see what he does next. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk away, determined to ignore the pounding of your heart.

You don’t look back. You don’t see the way he watches you go, either.

(That night, when you tentatively enter the Room of Requirement for the first time in what feels like forever, you find Suguru already there, sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions. The box of Honeydukes chocolates lies open on the ground in front of him. You drop down onto the cushion opposite him, and wordlessly, he pushes the box closer to you.)

The sky is pale, streaked with the last wisps of winter clouds, the sun still struggling to bring warmth to the February chill. It is not quite cold, not quite warm, that strange in-between where the air nips at exposed skin but doesn’t truly bite. The Quidditch pitch has been transformed. The stands are packed with students, banners waving in the light breeze, and an expectant hush hangs over the crowds, despite the murmur of conversation.

The Black Lake gleams darkly in the distance, but the task does not take place in its depths. Instead, the champions stand in a row on the dewy grass of the Quidditch pitch, preparing for whatever horrors the second task of the Triwizard Tournament entails.

You already know what those horrors are.

The riddle had taken a frustratingly long time to decode, to come up with a proper answer instead of a mere hunch. Ego sum prinicipium mundi et finis saeculorum; once the answer had clicked into place, it had seemed almost too simple. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages. What was the first thing humans ever knew? What was the last thing they felt before death?

Fear.

And so, the second task would force the champions to face their deepest fears, drawn from the constellations carved into the rings they had procured from the first task. It is an elegant, cruel bit of magic—one that ensures their struggles are uniquely personal.

From your place in the stands, you’re offered a clear view of the champions standing in the centre of the field, their expressions barely concealing their tension. Their rings glint in the light, the engraved constellations gleaming like ancient runes. Anticipation coats each of the champions like a second skin, shoulders stiff, hands clenched, magic thrumming in the air. You’d arrived earlier than your friends, so you sit alone, fingers curling into the hem of your robes.

In front of the champions is a large, dome-like structure that shimmers faintly with spells and charms. That is where the task will take place, hidden from the eyes of the over-eager audience to grant the champions some semblance of privacy while they complete the second task.

You spot Suguru immediately. He stands with his back straight, arms crossed over his chest, face completely blank. His long hair is tied back loosely, a few strands slipping free and brushing against his cheeks. He does not fidget, does not shift from foot to foot like the other two, but there is a tightness to his stance, a rigidity in the way his shoulders refuse to relax.

A hush falls over the crowd as the first champion is announced to enter the dueling arena. Aleksandar Ivanov tries to hide his nervousness, but you can see the slight hesitation in his step and the way he grips his wand so tightly, his knuckles turn white. His ring bears the constellation Hydra, the many-headed serpent—a symbol of resilience, of something that cannot be easily destroyed. You wonder what he fears.

A glittering door begins to take shape, starting from the base of the dome. It creaks open, revealing a dark, yawning abyss beyond. Shadows slither across the ground, shifting and twisting, while the Boggart inside, enhanced by Tournament magic, begins to take form.

Boggarts, as you’ve studied in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class, are amortal, shape-shifting non-beings that take on the form of its observer’s worst fear. Because of their shape-shifting ability, no one knows what a Boggart’s true shape is, as it changes form instantly upon encountering someone. The incantation used to banish a Boggart is simple—dispel the fear with amusement while casting Riddikulus. However, seeing as the Boggarts the champions must face are magically enhanced, you suspect a simple Boggart-Banishing Spell will not be enough. The thought alone is enough to fill your mind with worry.

Aleksandar steps into the darkness, the door vanishing behind him. The rules are simple: Each champion must navigate a maze of illusions, battle their own fears, and rescue the person chosen for them. The champion who succeeds in the shortest amount of time will earn the most points. An enchanted hourglass hovers in the air, grains of sand slipping through its neck to mark the passage of time.

You barely breathe as the minutes tick by, until Aleksandar finally emerges. His friend—the person he had to rescue—jogs out behind him, looking ashen but otherwise alright. It’s the Durmstrang champion whose face is drawn, whose hands are trembling. He is victorious—but shaken.

The Beauxbatons champion is next. Amélie takes longer than expected. She stumbles as she exits, her breath ragged, and her face streaked with something that might be tears. Her hands shake so violently that she can barely accept the glass of water being handed to her.

It is grueling. It is cruel.

And Suguru is yet to go.

You swallow hard as he steps forward, the light catching the gold of his ring, the constellation Lupus etched onto its surface. The wolf—strength, transformation. But strength does not mean the absence of fear.

He does not hesitate, moving towards the dome’s entrance. You can hear people whispering around you—students murmuring their predictions, placing their bets, trying to guess what exactly a boy like Geto Suguru could possibly fear. You grip the edge of your robes tightly.

The door shimmers into existence before him, tall and forbidding. It creaks open slowly, revealing the same thing it has for the previous two champions—an abyss of darkness, shifting and coiling like smoke. He steps inside. The door disappears. The enchanted hourglass flips, grains of sand slipping through its narrow neck. You exhale, only then realising that you had held your breath.

The stands are still buzzing with conversation, but it is nothing more than a distant hum in your ears. Your entire focus is on the closed dome, on the way your heart beats faster than it should, as if your body already knows something your mind is yet to understand.

What is he afraid of?

Suguru is not fearless—no one is—but he has always carried himself in a way that makes him seem like he is. Unshaken, unbothered, his composure held so effortlessly that it has always frustrated you in ways you dare not name. He stands with an arrogance that makes it hard to imagine him afraid of anything at all.

Still, you know that arrogance is a performance. A shield. Suguru hates appearing weak, more than anything else, so he deludes everyone else into thinking he is not. You had thought that the riddle that you had agonised over for weeks was cruel in itself, but this is worse. The waiting. The not-knowing.

Your stomach twists into impossible knots as the minutes drag on. Five minutes. Six. Eight. You count each grain of sand slipping down the hourglass. Ten minutes pass.

Twelve minutes, and then—

The door bursts open. Suguru steps into the light, and he is not alone. Your breath catches in your throat.

Gojo Satoru stumbles behind him, blinking against the sudden brightness. His white hair is disheveled, his expression more one of confusion than relief. He shakes Suguru off with a scowl, tugging his sleeve free from where Suguru’s fingers still grip the fabric.

“You didn’t have to drag me—” Satoru starts, but he stops as soon as he catches sight of Suguru’s face. His expression shifts; wariness replaces irritation, amusement slips away like a mask crumbling at the edges.

Suguru stands rigid, shoulders taut with unnatural tension. His face is stony, unreadable, perfectly blank in the way that only means he’s holding something back.

The hourglass stops. It has only been slightly less than thirteen minutes.

Geto Suguru is the fastest champion to finish the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The cheers begin, slow at first—someone in the stands starts shouting his name, then another, and another, until the entire pitch is filled with applause and hoots. You barely hear it.

Suguru is not okay.

He doesn’t acknowledge the cheering, doesn’t even react to it. His jaw is clenched so tightly that you can see the strain in his muscles. He isn’t even looking at Satoru anymore—his gaze is fixed somewhere beyond him, unfocused and distant.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, his eyes lift—and he sees you.

For a fleeting moment, something breaks in his expression. A flicker of something raw and fractured, a crack in the mask. He huffs quietly, tiredly, and he walks away without a word.

Your stomach sinks. Something is wrong.

You barely notice the way the crowd is still celebrating his victory, the way students are excitedly chatting about how he finished faster than anyone else, because of course he did—Geto Suguru is the strongest, after all.

(But strength does not mean the absence of fear.)

Your fingers tremble slightly as you watch his retreating figure. His posture is stiff, and his steps are too controlled. You should look away, should let him leave. You should accept that whatever happened inside that dome is his burden to carry.

But you can’t, because suddenly, all you can think of is the way he looked at you just now. Like he needed to see you; like you needed to see him.

And, well, it’s quite silly in retrospect, but it’s a realisation that settles over you quietly, as if it’s been there all along and you’ve just stupidly buried it underneath your own pride and arrogance: You don’t hate Geto Suguru at all.

“Go away,” Suguru says, stubborn as ever. He is propped up against a pillow on one of the beds in the Hospital Wing. An empty vial of Calming Draught is placed on the stand next to him, though you don’t mention it. Beside it, a half-empty box of Honeydukes chocolates.

“No,” you tell him, just as obstinate.

Suguru scowls. “I don’t want company.”

You ignore him, dragging a nearby chair closer to his bedside with an obnoxious scrape against the floor before sitting down. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tall windows of the Hospital Wing, where the afternoon light spills golden over the Hogwarts grounds. His hair is slightly damp—most likely due to sweat—and the dark strands cling to his forehead.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, eyes flicking to the empty vial of Calming Draught.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t be here if I was.”

“You are here.”

He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if trying to rub away whatever still lingers in his mind. “It’s just protocol. The Healers made me take a Calming Draught after the task, and apparently, that warrants a few hours of observation.”

You glance at him. He might not be physically injured, but there is something wrong, something unsettling in the way he carries himself.

“You were in there only for thirteen minutes,” you say carefully. “That’s— That’s insane, actually.”

“I won, didn’t I?” he mutters.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No. It isn’t.”

Silence, again. Suguru isn’t like this—not normally. He thrives in competition, in the thrill of battle, in the excitement of a challenge. He doesn’t dwell. He doesn’t let things linger like ghosts at the edges of his thoughts. But right now, it feels like he is being haunted.

“I saw your face when you came out,” you say, quieter this time. “You weren’t okay.”

His fingers curl into the sheets, gripping tightly. “It was just a Boggart.”

“A magically enhanced Boggart,” you remind him. “We don’t know how they worked, what they—”

“It’s over,” he snaps, cutting you off. “I’m done talking about it.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to meet your gaze, but he doesn’t. His shoulders are rigid—drawn tighter than they were before the task commenced—and his body is tense, as if he’s holding something in so tightly, it might crack him apart.

“...Was it Satoru?” you ask gently. “Is that what you—”

Suguru flinches, and somehow, that tells you enough. Your stomach twists. What did he see? Suguru and Satoru had come out of the dome together—Satoru unharmed, though clearly confused. The task had required him to rescue someone, and he’d done just that by saving his best friend. But what had he seen in there?

Suguru finally exhales, turning his head to you. “It was just a task,” he says. “And I won. That’s all that matters.”

“Stop pretending,” you say, voice sharper now. “I saw you after the task, and you weren’t fine. You still aren’t.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at you, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks away again, staring out the window like it might offer him some escape. You wait for some kind of acknowledgement, some crack in his carefully constructed walls.

“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s too strained to be convincing. “It was just a stupid Boggart. It’s over.”

“No, it’s not,” you argue. “It’s obviously still bothering you, so just—just admit it. Tell me what happened, Suguru. I can try to help.”

He whips his head back toward you, eyebrows furrowed, patience wearing thin. “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he snaps. “It’s over. I’m fine. End of story.”

You refuse to back down. “Don’t shut me out. I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I didn’t see the way you almost cracked when you came out of the dome!”

Suguru’s eyes flash with anger, his fingers curling into fists on his thighs. “I don’t need your pity, alright? So just drop it.”

“No, I can’t just drop it.” Your voice trembles with frustration. Why won’t he just listen? “I fucking care about you, and I can see it’s bothering you. What the Hell are you so afraid of?”

His entire body stiffens at your words. His gaze darts away again, and you know—you know—he’s trying to hold something back. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts it again.

“I’m not afraid,” he mutters, but there’s a brittleness to his voice that betrays him. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s over. Stop pushing.”

“You’re lying. What is it? What did you see in there?”

Suguru glares at you, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, he spits out the words that he’s been holding back for far too long. “It was you, alright?!”

You freeze. “...What?”

“It was you,” Suguru repeats harshly. “I saw you in there—but you weren’t you.” he falters, but the words keep coming. “You—your eyes—they were empty, like something had taken you and left nothing behind. I couldn’t reach you. You were just standing there. Gone.” He stops, swallowing hard, trying to reign in his emotions, but it’s too late.

Your mouth runs dry, your pulse racing as his words echo in your head.

Suguru turns away from you, but you can see the rigidness in his back. “I couldn’t—couldn’t bring you back. I tried, but you were just gone, and there was nothing I could do.” He inhales wearily. “Like a Dementor had sucked the soul out of you, and I couldn’t do anything about it because my Patronus Charm wouldn’t fucking work, and—”

Your mind whirls. You know his fear now. It’s not some grand disaster, some monstrous threat—it’s losing you. Losing you in some way that he can’t fix.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of the Hospital Wing curtains shifting in the late afternoon breeze. Suguru’s chest rises and falls unsteadily. He refuses to look at you now, as if saying it out loud was already enough, as if giving his fear a form has made it real.

Of all the things you could have imagined, you’d never expected this. Suguru, who meets every challenge with an infuriating smirk, who stands unshaken even in the face of the impossible—he had been terrified. And it had been because of you.

You open your mouth, then close it. What do you even say to something like that?

Your heart aches at the way he’s withdrawn, curling in on himself as though he’s trying to make himself smaller. As though, now his secret has slipped, he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So, instead of speaking, you move. Slowly, cautiously, you reach forward and wrap your arms around him.

Suguru stiffens immediately. His whole body goes tense under your touch, like he’s caught between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need to hold on. But then, after a beat of hesitation, he exhales shakily—and lets himself collapse into you.

It almost knocks the breath out of your lungs. His arms lock around you, tight—so impossibly tight that it almost hurts. He buries his face against your shoulder, and he grips onto you like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear; like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re here.

You don’t say anything. You just hold him.

His breathing is uneven, shallow at first, but gradually, as you rub slow circles into his back, it steadies. One of his hands curls into the fabric of your robes at your waist, clutching you like you’re a lifeline.

You feel him take a shuddering breath. “I know it wasn’t real,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “I know that. But it—fuck, it felt real.”

You nod, letting him press himself closer. “I know,” you whisper.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he admits. “I couldn’t do anything. I was right there, and you—you were just standing there, and I kept calling your name, but you didn’t even blink. And my Patronus—it wouldn’t work.” His grip on you tightens. “It wouldn’t fucking work.”

You don’t need him to explain why that matters. A Patronus is a partially-tangible positive energy force created from the caster’s happiest memories, either incorporeal as a burst of white mist, or corporeal—stronger than the incorporeal one—where it takes the form of an animal. It’s used to ward off Dark Magic—most commonly, creatures known as Dementors, which thrive off of negative emotions. The image of you, hollow, is what happens if a Dementor gets close enough to a person to perform the Dementor’s Kiss: Sucking the soul out of a person, leaving them a shell of their former selves. The Patronus Charm is complicated and difficult, so much so that most experienced wizards themselves struggle with casting it.

You know how powerful Suguru’s magic is. The fact that, in his fear, he hadn’t managed to cast it—not even an incorporeal one—

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “You would’ve saved me.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, something like a scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say fiercely, protectively. “If that had been real, you would’ve found a way.”

Something in him seems to rupture in him at your words. His arms tighten just a fraction more before he finally—finally—relaxes against you. The tautness in his muscles begins to ease, his breathing growing softer, deeper. He still doesn’t let go, but it isn’t out of desperation. It’s something else now.

“I hate this,” he says, after a pause.

“Hate what?”

“That I had to see that.” He exhales against your skin. “That you had to hear all of this.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Suguru.”

He finally lifts his head. His face is guarded but tired—so tired. His eyes, dark as ink, roam over your face. You meet his gaze and let your hands move up, threading gently into his hair. “I don’t care that you’re afraid,” you say, softly. “I’m afraid, too.”

Suguru looks at you for a long time, unreadable. You wonder if he’s going to argue, if he’s going to brush you off, or deflect with sarcasm, the way both of you have been doing all this time. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his hand moves to your face. The touch is hesitant at first; his fingers ghost over your cheek, like he’s still trying to convince himself that you’re real. Then, his thumb brushes over your skin, slow and soft. You don’t dare to breathe.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up. “You’re still here,” he murmurs, so quietly that you almost miss it.

And then he kisses you.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t desperate. It’s slow, reverent—like he’s memorising you, like he’s savouring the fact that you’re here, that you’re warm and breathing and safe in his arms.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you press closer, melting into him while his lips move against yours. It’s gentle, but when you sigh softly into his mouth, he lets out a quiet groan and deepens the kiss. His hand cups the back of your head, his other arm winding around your waist to pull you closer.

(The door to the Hospital Wing swings open.

“Oi, Geto, you decent— Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls—”

A loud, scandalised gasp echoes through the room, followed by Gojo Satoru’s unmistakable cackle. You barely have time to react, to get off Suguru’s lap, before he stiffens, head snapping towards the entrance. Standing in the doorway are Shoko and Satoru, both with varying expressions of shock and amusement.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Satoru drawls, sporting a shit-eating grin. “This is way better than what we came here for.”

Shoko hums. “Yeah, I was expecting to find Suguru all sulky and brooding—not getting snogged to within an inch of his life.”

Suguru groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Kill me.”

You, on the other hand, are trying very hard not to combust. “Oh, sweet Merlin.”

Satoru dramatically clutches his chest. “My best friend, growing up so fast. Next thing I know, you’ll be writing poetry about her eyes, or something.”

Suguru, who absolutely has thought about writing poetry about your eyes (though he would rather die than admit it), scowls. “Shut up, Satoru.”

“Can’t. This is the highlight of my week.”

You groan, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I hate both of you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shoko coos. “Should we give them some privacy? Maybe light some candles to help them set the mood?”

Wordlessly, Suguru raises a hand and lifts up his middle finger.)

June brings summer hand-in-hand to the castle, and along with it, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. The days leading up to the third task are restless. The maze looms at the edges of the Quidditch Pitch, its towering hedges charmed to shift and writhe, concealing whatever dangers the tournament has yet to unveil. It is a final trial of wit and endurance, a labyrinth where victory lies at the centre.

You hate it.

“You’re scowling,” Suguru observes, watching you from his spot on the grass. He’s leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him.

“You should be worried too,” you counter, plopping down next to him. “That thing is practically breathing.”

“And what would you have me do? Duel the shrubbery?”

You huff, glaring at the maze once more before turning back to him. “You’re taking this too lightly.”

He grins. “Because you’re worrying enough for the both of us.”

You reach over and flick his forehead. He lets out a dramatic groan, falling onto his back as though you’ve mortally wounded him.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head, though you’re biting back a smile of your own. “How am I supposed to be stressed when you’re like this?”

“That’s the idea,” he muses, folding his arms behind his head. His dark hair spills over the grass, strands catching the sunlight. “I can’t have my little lioness fretting herself to an early grave.”

You smack his shoulder without hesitation. “Call me that again, and I’ll start rooting for the maze.”

Suguru barks out a laugh, turning his head to look at you properly. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll be fine.”

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He squeezes once, gently, before tugging you closer. You let out a small oomph before sprawling onto the grass next to him.

The sun dawdles in the horizon, stretching out the day for as long as it will go. You turn your head and brush your lips against his, content and happy. The third task waits, unseen and uncertain, but at least there is this.

Whether Geto Suguru emerges victorious or not—well. That’s insignificant, you think.

INTERESTED IN MORE? CHECK OUT THIS HEAD BOY!RAVENCLAW!NANAMI FIC SET IN THE SAME UNIVERSE BY @mahowaga!

a/n: if you read this entire thing, i’m giving you a big hug. this fic is so many things, but it is mainly a labour of love towards the fandom that first got me into writing and reading fanfiction at the wee age of eleven, and the fandom that currently occupies most of my tiny little brain. it is also the longest fic i have written till date, and i am proud of myself for it. this fic would not be possible were it not for my two best friends, @mahowaga & @admiringlove helping me out, letting me bounce ideas off of them, wracking our brains together to come up with the second task, and lurking on my google doc while i was writing, leaving comments that make me giggle even now. thank you for reading, and i hope you have a wonderful day!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru angst #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #suguru x reader #suguru fluff #suguru angst #geto suguru #suguru

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sizzlingcloudmentality · 5 months ago

Text

finite eternity

Professor Reed Richards x f!reader | wc: 1 k | ao3 | mdni, fluff

summary: after getting your phd you return to your former professor to thank him. he says some nice things and you get a "you're coming" guarantee. coming to dinner that is.

warnings: legal age gap (reader's mid/end 20, Reed is however deliciously middle aged), a little angsty, a few possible double entendres (or maybe not? you get to decide), a little pining, finger under the chin (twice), the poor attempt of science metaphors, and if you like: there's definitely some threesome things happening AFTER this fic

a/n: I need Reed Richards. and a smart man with grey hair at a blackboard? hell yeah. telling me he's proud of me? hell yeah. inviting me home to have dinner with him and his perfect wife? HELL YEAH. thanks to my perfect wife @guiltyasdave for the quick beta and the squealing<3

series masterlist - prologue - ch. 1

The big doors open silently and you slip into the lecture hall. The one you've spent so many hours in, learning, despairing, making friends. Falling in love even. You haven't been here for two years and everything has changed and everything is somehow still the same.

Quietly you take the steps down, careful to not startle Professor Richards who is writing on the blackboard. The quiet, smooth rasp of the chalk against the dark surface sounds so familiar that it gives you butterflies. Or maybe it’s him, still him.

A smile crosses your face when you read the formulas on the board, you know them well, you wrote your thesis about them. When you reach the first row and you pull down one of the seats a loud creak disturbs the peaceful and dignified aura of wisdom and science. Reed turns around, already a charming smile on his lips to shoo some eager students back out of the room.

“Sorry, lecture doesn’t start until…-” And his smile turns genuine, his eyes crinkle and his head tilts down so he can give you that one look from under his lashes. “You? What, did you forget to start your assignment on time again?”

Your own smile grows and the butterflies are still in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was Reed all along. The old banter, it flares up so easily between the two of you like there hasn't been a two year break.

Your elbows propped up on the table in front of you, your chin resting on your folded hands, just like you spent half of the lectures in this hall. Nothing has changed.

“I can assure you, there are no due assignments anymore, Professor-”

“Reed, please,” he interrupts you and puts the chalk away. “You’re one of us now, please call me Reed.”

He wipes his fingers clean before walking over to you and sitting down on the fixed table next to you.

“You've heard about it?” You feel so proud in this moment, being one of them, one of the smart scientists, and it feels like you've worked your ass off just for this: the doctor title and the privilege to call your first mentor Reed.

“Of course I have. I’ve watched you. Your successes. Congratulations!” He holds out his hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and giving you free sight to his forearms. He is still so incredibly toned. You take his hand and when his warm palm swallows yours in a firm shake your breath hitches just the slightest bit. Nothing has changed.

“Thank you. For everything, Reed. Without your support I wouldn't have been able to-”

He shakes his head, interrupting you again. You're not even mad. “None of that. You did it all yourself, all the hard work. All the hours you stayed awake at night, working through papers… All I did was giving you a little nudge every now and then.”

You remember the little nudges. The encouraging notes you sometimes found. Or when he squeezed your arm, his thumb rubbing over your shirt. Your eyes flick from his smile to his eyes and then you take in his whole face. There's more grey in his hair now. A few more wrinkles. But the soft waves in his hair are still there. He still holds your hand, even has placed his other one on top.

You look at each other for a moment and the moment stretches into a small eternity that just belongs to you and him. He probably knows a formula to describe this phenomenon.

“I'm proud of you,” he says quietly and heat crawls up your neck when he squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing the skin over your knuckles.

“Thank you, Reed,” you whisper and feel shy all of a sudden.

Just as shy as that one evening, when he helped you with something, you can't even remember what it was. But you sat in his office, slumped over your notes, frustration gnawing at you like you gnawed at the end of your pencil. Until he was next to you and nudged your chin up to make you look at him.

He didn’t say anything at that moment, there was just silence and his finger under your chin and the scent of books and tea and his aftershave and his tongue running along his lips. Another of those finite eternities. “You’ll be doing great,” he said and made time start running again. Slowly running, like his thumb along your bottom lip. For just the fraction of a second. As if it had never happened…

“You look all grown up. Like the woman I always knew you were.” He squeezes your hand again and you blink. You are back again, in the lecture hall in which Professor Richards made you fall in love with science. Back in the front row, with Reed saying things you'll stash away for later.

“Come over for dinner. Sue loves getting to know my science spawns.” He leans closer, his smile morphing into a mischievous smirk. “Especially the pretty ones. Pretty smart ones.”

You hesitate, at loss for words with Reed being so close that his gravitational pull draws you closer. Your mouth opens and closes again when he tugs on your hands, making your orbit a little smaller.

“Just say yes. It will be grand. Now, that we're all adults. All grown up,” he whispers and his voice, sweet and rich, says so much more than the words mean. “I know you want to, I know that face…”

He tips your chin up with the simple touch of his finger and you can't hide your excitement anymore. You roll your eyes and scoff out a little chuckle.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

“Oh, I know you will!” He gets up again, the pad of his finger still under your chin. “Sue and I will make sure of it.”

Maybe some things have changed.

whoopsie, no smut in this. i still hope you like it, let me know <3

find my general masterlist here

divider: @/saradika-graphics

#reed richards x f!reader #reed richards x you #reed richards x reader #reed richards fanfiction #fantastic four #reed richards #fantastic four fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom #pedro pascal #my writing #series: finite eternities

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xervn · 7 months ago

Text

till the sun is up

oneshot | cowboy sevika

ao3 link

summary: porch sex. that's about it.

18+ MDNI | 2k words | tags; modern au, cowboy sevika (doesn't play a big part though), established relationship, sevika has both arms (sorry, ik, i love it too), kissing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, no use of y/n, porn w/ plot if you squint

took me weeks to write this because i'm lazy and a student, but i'm still in love with sevika. sorry if there's grammatical errors, i mostly wrote this with one hand (im joking)

It’s six-oh-something AM and you woke up to an empty bed; nothing but wrinkled sheets where your wife is supposed to be. You figure she’s keeping herself busy and will be back soon, so in the meantime, you tie your robe around your waist for a little warmth and head downstairs.

You get started on breakfast, turning on the griddle, and taking note of the things you guys need to stock up on. However, by the time you’re done, Sevika has still not shown up. You’re not used to waking up without seeing her, although the only reason you’re up right now is because you didn’t feel her next to you.

“She must be in the barn.” You assume, making your way to the front door and to the porch. As expected, the horses are out, which could only mean Sevika was too. You make your own binoculars with your hands, trying to see if you can spot your wife in the distance, until you hear a soft grunt right beside you.

A peaceful sight, Sevika napping on a wooden armchair like an uncle at a family gathering— you giggle at that— with her cowboy hat being used as a sleeping mask. You hate to have to wake her up, but you made her breakfast! And she should’ve been sleeping next to you anyways.

“Vika..” You lean down to peek at her face, but, of course, her hat is blocking her eyes. “Vika, baby?” You squat down to plant a kiss on her cheek where you can manage, and she hums awake. “There you are.”

Sevika grunts and you giggle. She sits up and pulls her hat back on her head, squinting at the early morning sun that’s still rising, but somehow found a perfect angle to blind her. She turns to look at you instead. “Hey, sweetheart.” She greets with a rasp.

You spot her discomfort and use your body to block the incoming light for her. “Hi, I missed you.”

She smiles sleepily and reaches for your waist. She guides you down to sit on her lap and you happily let her. “‘M sorry. Woke up too early, thought I’d let the horses out and watch the sunrise...” She says before looking away to yawn.

You gasp lightly, “Without me?” You clutch at your chest and Sevika chuckles at your theatrics.

She gently tries to move your hand into hers, but you resist. She shakes her head, laughing, “No, no, no. Baby, please, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“But you made it sound so romantic.. I wouldn’t mind.” You pout. Sevika gives you a doubtful look and you pretend not to see it.

“You’re not nice when I wake you up.” She reminds you.

“I would’ve been nice this time.” You lie.

“I didn’t want to test that.”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Oh, whatever.” You shift to get up, but Sevika quickly anchors you down.

“Where are you going?” She questions with her hands on you firmly; one around your waist and on your stomach, and the other indented in your thigh like you might float away.

“Ease up, cowgirl. I made breakfast. I made you breakfast.” You reply, placing your hand on her cheek.

“Oh? What’d you make?” She asks as she leans her face into your touch, innocently. Her hands don’t budge.

“Bacon, eggs,” you list and Sevika nods in approval, “Pancakes, and coffee...” You drawl, and her eyes shut as she groans. “Uh-huh, are you gonna join me?” You ask, resting your hands on her chest and waiting for her answer.

She looks you in the eyes, until her gaze starts to go south, lingering at the low neckline of your nightgown. Your cleavage makes a sudden appearance she didn’t notice at first. Sevika was half-awake, but she’s definitely not anymore; whistling at the sight of you. Her grasp on your thigh leaves and goes to pull your satin robe down your shoulder. Surprised, you scold, “Sevika!”

“What?” She goes for the other shoulder and you make no attempts to stop her. “I can’t admire my wife?” She says, resting her rough hand on your thigh again, but this time she’s slowly massaging it up and down.

“You can, but I made you breakfast and it’ll get cold.”

“Baby, that’s what microwaves are for.” She coos, venturing her hand between your legs, slowly making her way up.

They almost flinch shut and Sevika awes. Your face turns warm and you look away, towards your surroundings, and although she's right about the food, you guys are still outside. You mutter out, “But..”

“But what?” She asks. You continue to aimlessly look in the distance, even though you know damn well there’s nothing but farmland and horses. Sevika chuckles, “The horses don’t care and we don’t get visitors. Even if we did, you know I’d kill ‘em before they could see you like this, right?” You fix your lips to respond, but you pause when the hand on your stomach moves down to the lace hemline of your gown. Her fingers curl underneath, waiting to search. “I miss you.” She whispers.

Her words tug at your heart and her puppy eyes burn into you. You didn’t need much convincing anyways, but you fold and you mumble out, “I know what you’re doing...” Your marriage has taught two things, if Sevika “misses you” she either really does, or she really wants to fuck you.

You reach for her hat and perch it on your head; an unspoken rule about cowboys Sevika once said. She grins up at you as you slide your hand over her shoulder, closing some distance between you two.

“I do miss you, I miss you all the time.” She assures, leaning in to freely press kisses on your shoulder. Her fingers finally lift your dress and her kisses begin to trail towards your neck. You can deduce which “missing” she meant, and you feel the same way.

Exhaling, you tip your head to the side to give her more room. Sevika’s lips marking the new territory makes you tremble like it was the first time. It’s no surprise that after years of being together, she still makes your heart race.

You move with her as she leans back, tugging you towards her. You involuntarily let out a squeak that she snickers at, and she gives you a kiss on the cheek and several more, distracting you from her spreading your legs indecently; hooking your outer leg over her strong forearm.

She wastes no time to ride up the front of your nightgown, showcasing your plain, flimsy, black, cat-themed underwear. Sevika doesn’t bat an eye, of course, she’s used to it.

Right now, she’s only focused on one thing. Her hand purposefully ghosts over, so she can ogle at you writhing with anticipation. Your knitting brows, heavy breathing— it excites her. She’s getting worked up from watching you. “Look how bad you want it.” She teases affectionately.

Sevika presses her middle finger on your damp, clothed clit, observing and feeling every reaction that pulses from you. You let out a soft curse and she rewards it by moving her finger in tight circles. Sevika listens to how your breath staggers and clenches from the ache between her own legs. She tugs your underwear to the side to properly admire how wet you are. The cool, morning air makes you shiver.

Pinning the fabric with her ring finger, she sensually swipes her middle up your folds. “All for me?”

Her voice has you melting, throbbing, and you're unable to contain the whine that escapes you. Sevika’s gaze locks on your lips the second she hears it, as if she’s hunting for the next one. You make sure she’ll be able to catch it, meeting her halfway for a kiss.

She grins as your mouths collide, eyes fluttering shut and lips passionately fitting together like a two-piece puzzle. She brings another finger to aid her in rubbing soft circles on your clit; just enough to build pressure, but not enough to relieve it. The tip of her tongue runs over your parted bottom lip, waiting for an invitation in, and you allow it with a breathy moan. She languidly teases her tongue across yours, then pulls away just to watch you follow after her— which you do— and you can see how much she got off on it.

Panting impatiently, “Sev…“ But you trail off as she gravitates towards you with another magnetizing, searing kiss. Your hands find the side of her neck, brushing up her nape.

She sweetly pecks your lips, breaking away for a second, “You’re,” she kisses you again, “Just,” and again, “So,” and again, “Pretty. I had to look.” She murmurs.

Your face becomes home for a cheesy smile Sevika reciprocates dotingly. You lean in to kiss her, and as your lips brush against each other’s, her fingers suddenly resume their movement, this time firmly and relieving. You whimper over her lips, and she chuckles darkly against yours. She kisses you deeply as she steadily coaxes your clit on a perfect pressure point.

Your legs begin to bow together from the overwhelming sensation, slowly coming to its climax, and Sevika takes it as a sign to slip her fingers into you. The stretch hurts good as she curls her fingers into ‘come-hither’ motions right where you need them. The previous build up resumes instantly and you’re back where you left off, right on the brink.

“Vika, I’m gonna…“ You softly cry out, unable to finish your words because she only increases her speed at the mention of her name. Now her thick fingers are squelching in and out of you and the sounds are fogging your brain. If it wasn’t for the chirping birds and the huffing horses in the distance, you would’ve forgotten where you were.

“Not yet, just a little longer.” She says— demands even.

You sob out a moan, akin to a tantrum, “I can’t— fuck — I can’t.”

Sevika plants a kiss on the corner of your lips; her fingers refusing to stop hitting your rough spot. “You can, baby. You don’t want me to stop, do you?” She whispers.

She puts up a good point you can’t argue. You don’t want her to stop, you’d hate for her to stop. “N- No, but maybe slow— hnng— d— shit— down?” You bargain half-heartedly in stutters and stammers.

“Where’s the fun in that? And if you come right now, so help me god.” She growls. Yet, the way she’s fucking you is telling you the opposite; there’s a thin line on torture and mind-breaking pleasure she’s crossing and you love it. You try not to love it too much before you explode on the spot.

She can see how much you're trying, squirming, whining with every fast-paced stroke. One word from her and you’d come undone: that’s her favorite part. She extends her free arm, the one propping your leg up, and she puts four fingers on your clit, then rubs it harshly. That does it. You actually can’t hold it anymore unless you want half an orgasm. Your head jerks back and Sevika’s cowboy hat begins to slide off your head. There’s tears in your eyes, your legs are weak and shaking. You need it, you need it bad.

And she gives it to you. “Such a good girl. Go on, come for me.”

Your release hits hard, like a cork popping off a champagne bottle. Your eyes pin shut as it reverberates down to your toes, and courses up your spine. You let out high-pitched, breathy moans, and Sevika harmonizes— not mockingly — soothingly, as she softly rubs out your orgasm. Your underwear falls back in place as she removes her fingers out of you and off of you. You wince and she murmurs an apology with a smug smile.

“Holy shit,” You exhale as your legs fall over Sevika’s thighs. You can feel the air getting warmer, and as your eyes flutter open, the sky is colored a blue only a risen sun could paint. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She replies with a smile.

“Your turn now.”

She laughs heartily, briefly biting her lower lip, “But I thought the breakfast was gonna get cold?”

You grin, “‘That’s what microwaves are for.’”

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika smut #sevika x y/n #sevika x female reader

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yaut-jaknowit · 4 months ago

Note

I just had a thought that I personally find hilarious. A yautja hunting a human in the woods, actively chasing her. But the human is a botanist who was out there studying plants and keeps calling time out on the chase to prevent him from stepping on different plants. "Don't step there that plant is endangered." "Not there either, it's vital to the local beetle population." "STOP! That one is my favourite!" And it happens enough times that the hunter eventually stops and says the yautja equivalent of "Lady, sort your fucking priorities out."

And maybe he's impressed and slightly smitten by her sheer fucking audacity but that's neither here nor there

Watch Your Step

Pairings: Vic'tao (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1616

Summary: A botanist who is exploring an alien planet when you start to get hunted by an unknown figure. But every time he gets close, she screams at him. Pleading and demanding he doesn't step on this plant or that plant. Vic'tao is confused and wants you figure out your priorities.

Author Note: When I was writing this at work, I kept on smirking and giggling to myself. My coworkers were so confused on why. If only they knew what I wrote. This was adorable to write too! Thank you for the ask.

Masterlist

Ao3

One of your scientists urged you to take him along since it was dangerous out there. This was a lone expedition you were taking though. Nothing out there would harm you. This planet was one you’ve been studying for some time. Sending all of your research back home to earth for others to analyze as well. Here has given you plenty to research about.

After leaving the safety of the small pop up research building, you followed down a path you were well acquainted with. Being on this planet for so long has taught you the surrounding area. It was beautiful and offered plenty to learn. Not only about the plants but the wildlife as well. An opportunity that you wouldn’t give up. A once in a lifetime chance you get to take.

Along the pathway that led to a spot you were meaning to visit, you saw an unlikely plant that had decided to take root. Amazed by its resilience, you took a detour and knelt down in front of the plant. Small but mighty thing. You used the device in hand to take a few photos and marked it’s spot on the map. In the pictures though, you noticed something reflective.

Confused, you lowered down the tablet. Just like in the pictures was an object reflecting sunlight off of it. You go over to the spot carefully and furrowed yours brows together.

A knife?

It was beautifully and expertly crafted. Yet, here it lay. Discarded. A confused noise left you before the weapon was picked. The knife was light despite meant for someone with larger hands. You tossed it from hand to hand, testing out the weight of it. Though it was too big for you, the craftmanship made it worthy to keep. You carefully placed it into your pack before pressing on.

Sharp eyes watched you. The hairs along your neck prickled at the unease feeling growing inside of you with each step you took.

Along the way, you felt obligated to stop right in your tracks. Frozen to the spot, your eyes scanned around you thoroughly; going over every bush and tree. Nothing seemed of visually but clearly your sense were tingling. They knew something was wrong, was amiss. You go to take a step when you felt a towering figure stand before you. A form you couldn’t see beside the distorting air. You screamed only to cry out louder as the figure become reality.

An alien!

The thing was massive. Fear shot straight up your spine to settle in the base of your skull. Smart enough, your first reaction was to turn tail and sprint away from the yellow and blue humanoid like mad man. It barks out some sort of command in what was its native tongue and gave chase.

In your haste, you abandoned the path all together and carved your own randomly. Only to recognize the area were only a special, specific plant could grow. Nowhere else on this whole planted did this plant grow. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped in horror. Your heels dug into the dirt, skidding to a stop. Both of your hands held out as if you were trying to push him back through the air.

“Watch out!” you cried and prayed he could hear you while listening to your plea. “That plant is endangered.” It’s the only one in this are with that kind of mutation. The alien jerked its massive head back with a confused noise. It had stopped in its tracks and looked down towards it feet. Right below his foot was a small, but colorful plant. Slowly, he placed his foot back down next to the plant.

When he went to make chase again, he only got two steps in. “Don’t step. That one is vital to a beetle population!” What in the world was this thing thinking? To step on either of those would greatly hurt the ecosystem. At least it had the mind to listen to you enough not to step on the plants. It stood there with one foot raise, about to take a step yet your plea stopped him. The metal mask on its face blocked out its features but you could read the confusion plain as day.

Then, the creature stepped over the plant and lunged at you. A yelp surged past your lips. Swiftly in a burst of energy, you dove out of the way. Deadly claws swiped at the area you once stood at. It crashed into a pile of rare flowers. That broke your heart. Those were special to you.

Before you had time to mourn the killed flowers, the beast was already getting back to its feet. A squeak left your lips as you turned tail and bolted into the foliage. Heat washed down the nap of your neck.

Your foot caught on a root and sent you flying forwards. Your hands scrapped against the forests floor, cuts slicing through your skin. A hiss left your lips as you cradled them to your chest, rocking back and forth.

A heavy shadow fell over you. All of your muscles tensed, head rising slightly to find the yellow and blue figure advancing towards you. Your eyes snapped wide, bloody palms shoot out to stop it. “No! Stop. That’s my favorite plant,” you cried, begging that it spares that one as well. What is it and it wanting to crush everything that’s pretty and rare?

The humanoid beast snarls and clenched it fists tightly. But it doesn’t step on the plant. It stops in front of your sitting, bruised form and towers over you. Then, it bends at the waist and gets in your face. Fearfully, you flinched away from its metal face but long, lethal fingers gripped your chin and turned you back.

“You are either really brave or extremely stupid,” his voice growls deeply behind his mask. You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “Either way…” he trails off while his other hands snatched the cross body pack you had. You opened your mouth to argue when the knife from before was pulled out. The fear from before came in as the blade glinted dangerously in the forest’s light. “This isn’t yours to take.”

He lets the knife dance between his fingers, show casting his expertise with the weapon. It fits into his larger hands perfectly, making it known this was his.

Your shoulders scrunched up. “I-I didn’t t-take it! I found it on the ground. You must had dropped it.” Oh, why were you pleading your case with an alien hunter that could easily kill you with little remorse. There was something that hung around it that breathed an air of deadliness.

A snort comes from behind the metal mask. “So it is stupidity that drives you,” he laughs and releases his hold on you to stand back up. The pack is deposited back in your lap. You slowly stood back up and put a couple of feet between the two of you. You couldn’t help the wince at the usage of your hands. The palms had countless cuts and a few splinters. Though, the mask covered his features, you could feel his eyes on you.

There was a short, awkward pause until the creature growled then grabbed one of your wrists. You gasped and tried to jerk away from him but his hold was firm. “Quit it!” he grumbled and observed the newly acquired cut son your hands palms. He keeps holding your wrist as he reached over his shoulder and pulled a small metal pack out. You watched as he used the crook of his elbow to balance the pack. The alien opens it up to reveal medicals supplies. Was he going to help you? After he just chased you and scared you to death.

A pair of tweezers were pinched in his hand. It took him some time to carefully go over your palms thoroughly to ensure there wasn’t anything left. Then, with some sort of white paste, he had cleaned and coated the skin carefully. Once he deemed you well enough, he steps back and slips the pack back into its place. The alien grunted then turned to leave, but you reached out and softly gripped his bicep. He stopped and glances down at you, head tilted to the side.

“Wait… I just wanted to ask for your name. Please?” your voice was soft and small. His piercing gaze behind his mask could be felt looking into your soul before he sighed.

“Vic’tao.” He stand there for a few more seconds than takes his leave. You watch him leave and disappear through the foliage. His steps mindful of any plant life.

You returned back to the hub. The other’s find it strange you’ve come back early but you just brush it them off and go to your room. Then, you go online and did your best to figure out what you had just faced.

Only to realize that you should’ve been dead.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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rcvcgers · 3 months ago

Text

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter nine: here comes the bride!

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: a half-day in the life of a normal couple! you attend jane's wedding. the reception gets messy

word count: 15.1k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: okay y'all i know this is a heavy chapter but like ... we love to see it, right?

content warning: mentions of death, angst at the end, suggestive content, kissing, vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

“Did you fuck the Colonel?”

“Excuse me?” you blink at your computer screen, swiveling in your chair to look at your co-worker, Alivia. You point at the large, digital clock in the room. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“Okay? And?” Alivia pushes away from her desk, her chair scraping across the floor. Your brows furrow.

You look around, unsure of what the fuck is happening. It is your first day back from the Summit, having spent the travel day off thanks to the General, and you could barely focus on the task at hand since your body is still so deliciously sore from Caleb. You even wore a turtleneck to work today since your neck is just covered in love bites and hickeys from Caleb. When he said he wasn’t going to leave a spot untouched, he meant it! Even the skin of your thighs and breasts are covered in the dark purple and red marks, none of them having lightened up just yet.

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Diana will not shut up about it in the break room—”

“Why the fuck is she talking about it?” you lean forward and grab Alivia’s wrist, irritation flashing across your face. “She doesn’t know shit!” you whisper yell. Alivia smirks at you, laying her free hand on top of yours, her fingernails mischievously scratching your skin.

“So it’s true!” she lowers her voice. You roll your eyes and begin to pull away when she drags you back to her. “You did fuck him!”

“So what if I did?” you nervously laugh, trying to cover your ass as best as you can. “It’s not like he’s going to walk in here and point to me and declare his love for me—” you turn in your chair, making a big movement with your arm, and face the door where Caleb stands, his Colonel hat tucked under his arm, “—motherfucker! You scared me!”

“Language,” his voice is half-amused, his stoic face almost breaking. Almost.

Alivia looks between you two, a smirk forming on her face. You glance at her smug reaction and roll your eyes, listening to the awkward scrapes of her chair legs as she moves back to her desk. Remaining in your seat, you watch as Caleb crosses the office space. Every step makes your heart either skip a beat or speed up, no in between. If he gets any closer, you may just have a heart attack and die in his arms.

There are worse fates out there, though, so it doesn’t seem too bad.

His Evol helps guide an empty chair to your side, sitting down in it. He places his cap on your desk, right next to the picture of you and your parents at your college graduation. He tilts his head to the side, corner of his lips quirking up for a split second before falling.

“And what can I do to help you out today, Colonel Caleb?” your voice is sweet yet there is a underlying desire for him veiled behind every word. His purple eyes fix on yours, the air becoming thin between the two of you.

“I was wondering if a certain translator could help me out with a small project,” he leans back in the chair, manspreading. It takes everything in you to not look down at his lap. You force a smile onto your lips, eyes memorizing every detail of Caleb’s face all over again, you know, just in case anything changed from this morning.

“What language is it?” you ask, feeling your chair slowly move closer to his.

“Does it matter?” he counters with a perked up eyebrow.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here. He just wants to see you. How sweet! Maybe a visit to his office won’t be too bad, no?

Alivia’s, who watches from the side, jaw drops. Her eyes won’t leave you two, watching how you don’t push back against the Colonel pulling you closer. To her, this is like a teenage drama where the. Two main characters are finally getting together. It’s thrilling! It’s so painfully obvious, too, that you two are flirting. She should file a complaint to HR, right? No! That would mean that her and the other translators will lose their only source of entertainment. She can’t risk it!

The woman turns to her computer and opens up the Fleet’s messaging board. She furiously types as you and Caleb gaze into each others eyes, his hands now boldly resting on your thighs. She presses the ‘send’ button and your computer dings.

Do you dare to break away from the Colonel’s gaze? You have always been so defiant, haven’t you?

You angle your face away, feeling Caleb’s gaze burn into the side of your face. Alivia’s notification hangs in the corner of your screen. Her words make you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips. Caleb squeezes your thighs, drawing your attention back to him. His brows knit together, slight annoyance written all over his face.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. You don’t immediately reply. Instead you slightly push your chair back and cross one leg over the other. His hands leave your thighs. Caleb matches your posture, crossing his arms over his decorated chest. “Your Colonel asked you something.”

Oh my goodness…you will definitely be asking him to say that to you later when you’re alone.

“Us translators are thinking of going on a strike, Colonel Caleb,” your tone is light, playful yet serious, “our working conditions are horrendous. Just absolutely atrocious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes sir,” you smirk, watching as Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. Oh, how you love teasing him at work…something that just started thirty seconds ago but still! You are enjoying it so much so far! Who knew that you can hold so much power with a few simple words?

“Is there anything that I can do to make your working conditions…better?”

Is there a hidden tone of lust in his voice? Oh, Caleb, you dirty dog!

“We would like more paid vacation days, more time off, better chairs because these ones just fucking suck — you know what? Scratch that, we want better offices. Ones with windows, please,” you lean forward, suddenly dropping your playful flirting and becoming quite serious. Caleb picks up on this and straightens his posture, listening intently. “Are you writing this down? I feel like you should be writing this down—”

“I’ll remember it,” Caleb sneaks in a wink, liking how you have slowly inched closer to him. The tips of his gloved hands rest against your bare knees, skirt slowly riding up from your posture.

“Don’t forget the coffee machine!” Alivia calls out from behind you. You turn around and nod, giving her a thumbs up, before turning back to Caleb.

“And we want a badass coffee machine. Non-negotiable. Preferably one that does espresso. We’re all kind of addicted down here,” you lean in and whisper the last part, nudging Caleb’s arm. A quiet chuckle emits from his throat but never leaves his mouth, his eyes looking down at you.

Caleb always knew you were charming. Even as kids, you were able to talk your parents out of a long grounding with simple reasoning and light manipulation. You knew exactly when to pull out your puppy dog eyes and when to make your voice just raspy enough to make it seem like you were about to cry. He would watch your artistry at work go down from outside your house and through the large window that showcases the living room inside your house. The curtains were drawn open as you put on your show, the young boy in awe of how well you handled the situation. Hell! They even gave you money to go have fun at the arcade with him and her when you were done! Needless to say, you’re a genius mastermind!

“Is that all?” he asks, hiding the smile that threatens to break across his face.

“I…I think so,” you slowly nod, racking your brain’s rolodex of notes to figure out if there is indeed anything that you are missing. Nope! You’re good. You give Caleb one final nod, one that he copies, and adjust yourself in your seat, fixing your pencil skirt so your legs have some breathing room.

“I’ll talk with my supervisors,” Caleb feeds into the dramatics of your threat to go on strike. He pushes back into the chair, puffing his chest out a bit just for you sake (and it works), before standing up. “I do need to borrow you for a project, though.”

You open your mouth to protest but are quickly shut up by Caleb grabbing your belongings, plucking them from the desk as if they are his. All you can do is blink and watch as he slips them into your bag. The Colonel places his hat on his head and finally turns to you, flicking his head towards the door.

“Come on,” he places your bag in your lap, because a Colonel simply cannot hold a lower ranking person’s belongings, and heads for the door.

“Nice touch, Colonel, very nice,” you roll your eyes at him. You purse your lips and wrap your fingers around the straps of your bag. You glare at the back of his head, his broad shoulders slipping out of view.

After a couple of moments, because of course you’re going to make him wait a minute or two, you stand from your chair. Alivia is quick when she approaches your side, looking up at you with big eyes. She slaps your arms and back, pushing you towards the doors. You want to protest before you’re pushed out into the hallway.

“Go get us that coffee machine!” Alivia smiles. She slams the door in your face. You blink at the metal material and feel something tap the back of your hand. You turn and look up at Caleb, who looks down at you with big and glowing purple eyes, the orange and bronze color more vibrant than usual today.

Or maybe it’s because whenever you look at him, the world becomes more vibrant and full of life. The song that birds sing become more romantic in tone than playful. You suddenly don’t mind the fact that he has control over your work life and home life.

After all, you aren’t the same woman you were two months ago.

Caleb leans down, his breath hot on the side of your face. Your heart flutters. The heat from his body mixes in with yours. You ignore the world that has you surrounded, the other Fleet officers and employees can keep their comments to themselves and shove it! You’re with Caleb…that’s all that matters.

“We’re taking another day off for…work reasons…I hope that’s okay with you,” his voice is low in your ear. It itches your brain in just the right way, the rasp and gravel from his volume drawing you closer to him. You look up when he pulls away from you and bat your eyelashes at him. Caleb’s eyes slightly darken for a brief moment before they revert to their usual bright and light appearance. You nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

The Colonel slips past you, his Evol gently pushing you with him to keep up because the man can be very impatient at times and this just happens to be one of those moments. Your feet scuff the dark floor, stumbling over each other as you’re taken to the same elevator you were brought in when you met Caleb for the second time. You step inside, Caleb standing to the side of you with his hands behind his back. You tilt your head to look up at him, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

He’s so tall. And so, so broad. His hair is a bit shaggy towards the back, the length definitely growing past its usual short length. His hands are obscenely large in his black leather gloves. You watch as he reaches out and pokes a button, one that will lead you to the officers’ special parking garage. As he moves back in place, you catch a glimpse of his neck. Just barely over the collar of his dress shirt is a glimpse of a hickey, one that you gave him the night before when he pretended to be asleep, taking up the entirety of your bed like it was his own.

“Do I have something on my face?” Caleb asks, just barely glancing over at you as the elevator slowly moves downward. You shake your head no, looking forward and at the silver elevator doors.

“No, not on your face,” you play it off as cool as you can, unable to contain the playful smirk that passes on your face. “There is a little something on your neck, though.”

Caleb’s chuckle is a puff if air. The elevator doors slide open. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. There is a playfulness behind his eyes. It’s matched with a hint of desire, maybe even a challenge if you’re up for it. Without another word, you step out of the elevator and into the unknown, yet very well lit, parking garage.

It’s your second time inside since Caleb drove you to work this morning. The walls are white with blue and black lines running across the perimeter. The ground is smooth yet touch enough for the car tires to have some friction to hold onto. There is no trash, as one would expect to see in any other parking garage in the world, and there are no tire marks on the ground. You look around, narrowing your eyes as you think back to this morning, trying to remember what direction Caleb parked in.

Caleb watches you, making sure to tilt his face away from the parking garage’s security cameras so he can fully smile at you without the pressure of the Fleet breathing down his neck. He matches the pace of your steps, remaining close behind and ready to guide you if you move in the wrong direction. His amethyst eyes follow as you slow down. Your head swivels back and forth, looking at both sides of the garage. He continues at his pace, though, and walks closer to you, a faint whiff of your spiced perfume hitting his nose.

You hesitate in your step, feeling his chest collide with your back. A gasp flies from your lips. Caleb presses his hands on top of your shoulders, his warmth seeping into your skin through the layer of leather and the fabric of your turtle neck sweater. Goosebumps form under his touch, chills running down your spine. He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, slowly angling your body to the right side of the garage.

“This way, pretty bird,” he whispers into your ear. He lingers, not wanting to pull away, to forever remain attached to you. Your body perfectly fits his. Whenever he touches you, sparks ignite between your bodies.

To him, you are like the sun. Bright and beautiful with a strong gravitational pull that he’ll never be able to escape. Maybe you’re like a black hole and he has passed the point of no return, ready to be pulled apart at the atomic level, to be spaghettified. Caleb will go through the grueling process if it means that he’ll forever remain at your side (and inside you) for the rest of your lives.

You flake away from his touch, having to put some distance between you two before the camera capture a video that is not safe for work. Your heart pounds inside your chest, the tips of your ears a bright pink color. Your feet carry you away from him and in the direction he turned you in, your eyes soon capturing sight of his car. Making a beeline for it, you reach the passenger side door, hand resting on the handle, desperately needing to get inside.

Your gaze darts to him. He saunters towards the car, keys floating above the palm of his hand. Your face falls. He’s teasing you. How dare he! Removing your hand from the door’s handle, you cross your arms over your chest and pop a hip out. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He rounds the car and slips into your proximity once again, his cologne filling your nostrils.

Your lips part, back pressed against the door of the car. Caleb reaches beside you, his fingers looping into the car door’s handle. He leans down, the brim of his cat now shadowing your faces from the cameras. You gulp. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. The corner of his lips tugs up into a sly smirk. He pulls against the door, propping it ajar as your body is moved into his.

Fuck, he’s intoxicating.

“Your place or mine?” Caleb asks you in a low voice. His left hand twitches, fighting the urge to reach out and cup your face, to bring your lips to his in a kiss that he will fully surrender himself into.

“Yours,” you breathe the words out, your eyes fixated on his lips. He nods and guides you away from the door, fully opening and helping you inside, placing your bag into the backseat of the car. You immediately move to fix your skirt, finding a spot that’s comfortable in his expensive car.

A gentle blue light remains around the edges of the war, woven into the material, looking seamless in its design. You smile at it, always liking how it looks, and listen as the driver’s side door opens, the car dipping when he gets inside. You glance at him with a warm smile, knees locked together and angled towards him just the way he likes it (as he informed you this morning, of course). You reach behind you, Caleb getting settled in at your side and ignites the engine to life, and grab a tube of chapstick from your bag, slowly applying it to your lips.

Caleb finally returns your smile, placing his Colonel’s hat in your lap. He reaches over, his hand gripping the seatbelt. The side of his face hovers next to yours as he weaves it across your body, locking the metal piece in place. Before he can pull away, you close the minuscule distance and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Caleb freezes. His smile grows wider and his face goes warm. You cup the side of his face, the one that isn’t facing you, and bring his head back to yours. His face grows more and more pink with every kiss that you give him. He melts into you, fully giving in as the scent of your chapstick fills the car. He tilts his face to the side, quietly chuckling.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, eyes flickering to you.

“Oh? Did I?” you scrunch your face at him, giggling. “Allow me to remedy that!” You press a few more kisses to the side of his face, purposefully missing his lips no matter how hard he tries to get you to press your lips to his. Once you’re done and satisfied with your work, your hand drops from his face, resting in your lap.

“Is that it?” Caleb whines, slowly retreating back into his seat. You nod and turn your face to his so you can rub it in his face that he didn’t get what he wanted.

Well…maybe you wanted him to take it.

You match Caleb’s head tilt. His purple eyes gloss over, bottom lip pouted out, slightly trembling. You narrow your eyes at him. He leans in but you draw back, wanting to play this game just a little bit longer.

“This isn’t fair,” he dramatically sighs, “you’re a bully.”

“You know what isn’t fair? Is you pulling out a puppy dog face, Caleb,” you shoot back, “you’re a grown ass man and yet I feel like I just kicked you.”

“You did kick me,” Caleb draws back and into his seat. He slaps his hands over his heart, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Now how the fuck did he manage to do that. “You kicked me in my emotions! I’m ruined! How will I ever survive, pretty bird?”

You roll your eyes despite the strings inside your heart aching and being pulled at. A sigh slowly leaves your lips followed by an eye roll. You scoff, looking between him and the dashboard in front of you. He bats his eyes when you make eye contact.

“Fine! Fuck! Whatever!” you throw your hands up into the air. Caleb’s frown is immediately replaced with a smile and he leans forward, making you meet him halfway. You press your lips against his, staying there for two seconds before beginning to pull away.

Caleb, on the other hand, has a different idea. His hand captures the back of your head and pulls you can to him. The kiss and lengthened, the man deepening it as his tongue slips inside your mouth. A sigh falls from your lips, pushing into him, but he’s the one that pulls away this time. He cups your cheek, thumb swiping off the leftover saliva that remains. He licks his lips and stares at yours. You’re already breathless.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Caleb asks. You nod as an answer, in a lovestruck trance he’s pushed you into. He nods back and smirks, one hand on the steering wheel as the car moves out of its spot.

You melt into the passenger seat, a drunken smile on your face. A giggle threatens to leave your mouth but you swallow it. Caleb glances at you, placing his hand on your thigh, fingers pushing your skirt up by a few centimeters. You blush and look outside the tinted window, covering your face with your hands.

Your heart is just so full with love and happiness. You barely notice Skyhaven pass you by, the man weaving through the traffic like a professional, and keep your eyes away from his. He squeezes your thigh, his hand slowly creeping up and under your skirt. You push it back down, shaking your head.

Not yet.

Caleb takes the hint and keeps his eyes on the road, massaging the plushness of your thigh, loving the way your skin is so soft against his rough hands. He sighs from content, relaxing into his seat as he accelerates the car, needing to get you into his apartment as soon as possible.

This is the first time you are at his place. Caleb has been at your shabby apartment many times, having already grown accustomed to the messy environment that you live in. He helped clean up a bit, organizing it so it’ll be spotless no matter what you throw at it.

You have asked him about his apartment plenty of times. You asked about the color of his walls, the type of furniture he has, how many rooms his Colonel salary managed to get him. He joked with you, asking if you wanted to claim the leftover ones for yourself. Shamelessly, you said yes, joking that you need a room for relaxing, a room for arts and crafts, a room for your clothes, one for your shoes, and one that will serve as your personal make up room for the times you need to be alone while doing make up. Caleb laughed with you. It didn’t take much convincing for him to give you every single room, claiming that all he needs is the spot in bed next to yours to be happy.

Needless to say, your heart skipped a beat and you swooned over his sweet words.

You follow close behind him, holding your bag at your side, his Colonel hat resting on the top of your head. He holds one of your hands, arm outstretched as he takes the lead. His dress jacket is draped over his arm, the black dress shirt doing his back muscles no justice, hiding the way they flex with every move and step.

“Your hallway is much more elegant than mine,” you comment. He steals a look of you from over his shoulder. He chuckles and tugs you forward, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean into him with a smile, pausing when you reach his door.

The door to his apartment is large. There’s only one other door, which is on the other side of the hallway all the way down on the west end while Caleb’s sits in the east. You look up at him, containing another laugh as he fumbles with his jacket to press his thumb to the pad on the door.

“Even your door is more elegant than mine.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Caleb quips, the door finally clicking open. He pushes the heavy door open with one push. You dip under his arm and he’s quick to follow, closing the door.

Your jaw drops at the sight. After a quick scan of the immediate area. The space is large — outrageously so! The wall of the living room is a collection of floor to ceiling windows, gray curtains drawn open so the morning sun can leak inside the place. A large black couch sits in the middle of the room. A pair of chairs sit opposite of it. Slender lights hang from the ceiling at different heights. The space is dark with warm yellow lighting.

It’s so fucking nice, too!

You turn to Caleb, a look of shock and annoyance plastered across your face. He raises an eyebrow, gently taking your belongings from your arms and into his.

“What?”

“You’re…rich.”

“Well—”

“You made me pay for dinner last night!” you smack his arm with the flat side of your phone. Caleb’s eyes shoot open. He’s quick to get away from you, scurrying down a hallway just to your right. You follow him, slapping his back before jumping on his back. He holds you with ease, propping open one of the doors, which leads inside an unused bedroom, and places your belongings onto the bed. You hook an arm around his neck, tightening it. “I can’t believe you!”

Caleb laughs and exits the room, kicking the door closed behind him. You slowly tighten your arm around his neck, his chin resting on the crook of your elbow. His throat closes in on itself, the tall man quickly dipping inside the bedroom that he uses. He lets out a comedic wheeze as if you’re actually hurting him. You gasp and release your grip on him. Caleb takes your moment of weakness and plops you onto his bed.

“Hey! No fair!” you call out at him. He laughs and drops his body on top of yours.

His weight traps you between him and the mattress, not that you’re complaining anyways, and he drops his head next to yours. Your phone drops next to your head, the machine laughing at you for getting caught in Caleb’s trap so easily. His lips brush against your ear, the man making sure to move your hair to the other side of your head so he doesn’t accidentally tug on it, and he blows out a steady stream of air. You gasp and smack his back. You call him a motherfucker and pinch his side. He laughs and nuzzles his face into your neck, making himself at home.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers from delight, “and you smell good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. Your gaze falls to the window in his bedroom. It’s a nice view of Skyhaven, his place overlooking the tops of many buildings. His floor would directly be in the clouds on a gloomy day. You make a note to invade his space on one of those days.

Caleb glances up at you. His smile grows on his face when he notices you lost in thought. He grabs the fabric of your turtle neck sweater and tugs it down, looking at his work from the previous night. He hums to himself. His hand slips under the gentle fabric of your sweater, resting on your side. He listens to your heartbeat as it quickens before relaxing into a steady thump. In one fluid movement, Caleb shifts so he lays beside you, his hand still attached to your hip.

He pushes up the material, exposing your warm skin to the cold air of the apartment. Goosebumps form across your skin but his thumb is quick to wipe them away. You glance down at him, lips barely parted, before tearing your gaze away, choosing to focus on something else and not him. His face snaps up to yours. He shimmies back up and you laugh at how cute he is.

Caleb places his chin on your collarbone. Your fingers slip into his dark brown hair and slowly begin to scratch and massage his scalp. His eyes close and he fully places his head’s weight onto your chest. His ear sits right above your heart. He listens to the calm beats, his fingers still massaging gentle circles into the skin of your hip.

The moment is domestic. There are no underlying or hidden messages in either of your words and actions. Truth reigns here. There is no enemy other than the time that passes you by, the clock slowly counting down until you are eventually ripped away from each other, whether it is a mission or death.

“Hey, pretty bird?” Caleb whispers, his eyes now focused on your exposed skin. You hum in response, heartbeat slowly picking up its pace. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t need to ask,” your response is quick.

Caleb nods with a small smile. He closes the distance between your faces, now at eye level with you, and gently presses his lips to yours. You hold his head in place, fingers slightly tightening around his dark locks of hair.

The kiss is slow, tender. There is no need to hurry it or hasten your actions. There is no urgency due to lack of time or if you are about to be caught. Your breaths turn into one, eyes closed as you take your time with the kiss. The two of you smile against each other’s lips, slowly deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing inside your mouth. You sigh and lean into the kiss.

Caleb’s hand pushes up your sweater, your side and stomach now exposed to the bedroom’s atmosphere. You hiss against his mouth, the cold air shocking you back to life. His large palm rubs up and down your skin, warming you up. He murmurs a quiet sorry into your mouth.

His hand leaves your side, knees digging into the mattress beside you. Caleb’s touch is electric. Your body shudders under his touch, your hands still attached to the back of his head and hardened bicep. You squeeze his arm, silently giving him permission to go farther. Your lips move in sync with each other. He tilts his head one way and you follow, pursuing him to continue the kiss. Caleb’s fingers break the barrier between your skin and skin, slipping below the surface.

Your phone above your head vibrates. You groan and ignore it, pulling Caleb’s face back to yours when he pulls away. The vibrations stop and his hand moves further down, reaching your panties. He’s about to go further when your phone vibrates again.

Caleb’s hand leaves your skirt. He pulls away from your kiss, glaring at your phone. Your head rolls back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. He snatched the phone from the mattress and looks at the name, turning the screen to face you. It’s Jane, your friend and bride-to-be. You roll your eyes and click the decline button. Caleb smiles and moves to place your phone to the side when Jane’s face lights up your screen again. This time, it’s a video call. You swipe the phone from Caleb’s hand. He immediately plops back into your embrace, burying his face into your neck.

“Jane!” you groan, irritation laced within your voice. “What do you need?”

“Oh! She’s snappy today!” Jane laughs. She sits at her kitchen counter, using a knife to peel an apple. She barely looks at the screen. Her posture is casual and slouched. A man passes from behind her and kisses her head.

“Hey,” the man greets you with a wave. You smile and nod back. Caleb turns his head to the side, glaring at the masculine voice that came from the phone, purple eyes hot with jealously and protection.

“Hi,” you greet back, looking at Jane, “spit it out. What do you need?”

“Oh my god! You’re so mean!” Jane finally looks at the screen. She leans in closer, brows knitting together. You match her expression, feeling Caleb’s nose nuzzle back into your skin. He draws your leg up to wrap around his waist, fingers grazing up and down the side of your leg. “Oh my god…who are you with?”

“Jane—”

“Is that The Colonel?!” she screeches. She hops from her chair and snatches the phone, her face now taking up the entire screen. You roll your eyes. Caleb chuckles, his breath hot against your neck, causing your to squirm. In the corner of the screen, you look at yourself, noticing Caleb’s head of hair poorly cropped out. “It is! Oh my god! Hi, Colonel!”

“Please don’t talk to him,” you roll your eyes, “you’ll only boost his ego some more.”

“Hi Jane,” Caleb finally turns his head to look at the screen, a bright and charming smile on his face. You groan and tilt the phone so he takes up the entirety of the screen. Jane waves to him, clapping her hands together. “What happened to the Machine nickname?”

“Hi! And ask your girlfriend! She was the one who told our group chat to refer to you as that!” Jane informs him, rushing to her fiancé to show him Caleb’s face. “Say hi to my fiancé!”

“Hi, Jane’s fiancé,” Caleb hums, chuckling. You fake throw up and he catches you, his Evol holding the phone in the air now. It pushes away from you, showcasing both you and Caleb.

“You should bring him to the wedding, girl! You do have a plus one!” Jane smiles.

Your eyes go wide. You can feel Caleb’s gaze fix on the side of your face, burning into your skin. Your cheeks go pink. Caleb smugly smirks before turning his attention to the phone screen.

“Wedding, huh?” his tone is oh so cocky. It drives you crazy. “I didn’t know about the wedding.”

“She didn’t tell you? What a loser! Take this as your invite then, Colonel Caleb! You are more than welcome to join us! Do you like steak? You seem like a steak guy. I’ll mark you down for steak!” Jane snaps her fingers at her fiancé, who quickly writes down the note for her. “And you’re so lucky that we had a last minute drop out! I’ll be able to place you next to your girlfriend!”

“I am lucky!” Caleb smirks, turning his attention back over to you. You glare at him, totally unamused as to how well he gets along with Jane. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow!” Jane beams.

“No it’s not,” you scoff, “it’s next weekend—”

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful idiot. It’s tomorrow,” Jane informs you.

Your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time today. Caleb notices this and is quick to cover for you, using his charming smile to help cover for your mistake.

“You know how she is,” Caleb begins, “she’s always been so forgetful! We just came back from a work trip and she’s been exhausted. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Great! Bye!” Caleb ends the call before Jane can continue. The phone falls on the bed above your heads.

You cover your face with your hands. Caleb props himself up over you. He chuckles and uses one hand to gently remove yours from your face. You let him, too, and frown when your eyes meet. He matches it and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Caleb asks, leaning down to peck your lips. You sigh and push him away, slowly sitting up. He brings you onto his lap and pulls you back down with you on top this time.

“I forgot her wedding,” you drop your head next to his. Your hair covers his face, obscuring his vision. He doesn’t fight it, though, and instead accepts his fate.

“That’s okay! It’s happens to—”

“Her wedding is tomorrow and my neck looks like a fucking crime scene happened!”

“Oh. Right,” Caleb sheepishly laughs. He sits you two back up, purple eyes meeting a hot and angry glare. He goes quiet, hands remaining on your waist. “How can we—”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Caleb!” you take your anger out on his chest. He lets you. “You have lost all privileges that access you to my neck! And other exposed areas!”

“What?” his jaw drops, “No! That’s not—”

You flee his arms in a frenzy. Dipping out of his bedroom, you rush to the room where he tossed your belongings. Frantically grabbing your bag, you feel Caleb’s hands grab your shoulders. He leans down and kisses your cheek. You pull away from him. He moves his hands to your waist, wrapping both arms around you. His body engulfs yours, pulling you into his body heat.

“Caleb…I have to go pack,” you breathe out.

“You can help me pack first! Then we can go to yours!”

“You suck. You’re buying the tickets for the Coelum Express. Both there AND back, motherfucker,” you try to wiggle away from him but fail. His laugh is loud in your ear. You stop fighting against him and sigh, placing your full weight into his hands, even making your legs go limp so he has to hold you. “Fine, fine. We can do that, but you need to get two more things to help remedy my neck situation.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“A shit ton of peanut butter and a whisk.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun is shining in Linkon, even brighter than it would have in Skyhaven. There are no clouds in the sky, the vast blue having a few dark specks from birds that fly by. It’s windy as well, the skirt of your pastel colored dress kicking up in the wind. The material is like silk, just a thin layer between you and the outside world.

Jane told the bridesmaids to be at the venue at a certain time, opting to be a carefree bride for the day of her wedding. Every bridesmaid knows how to do their makeup and hair, helping save Jane money for her own makeup and hair. They were to arrive two hours before the wedding to take pictures.

You stand inside your childhood bedroom, leaning in close to a mirror as Caleb watches you from your bed. You finish the last bit of mascara, your eyelashes evenly coated, and place the tube back down onto the vanity. A few polaroid pictures are tucked between the wood and mirror; pictures of you and your friends in high school litter the perimeter. None feature Caleb, though.

“You look amazing,” Caleb coos from the bed. You smile and turn around, leaning against the vanity.

You stare at him, eyes running up and down his body as he stands from the bed. His outfit is nice, finally freeing himself from his Colonel uniform. Besides, you want Caleb to be here, not the Colonel. His dark navy blue suit jacket lays on the bed, his white dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pants match the suit jacket.

“You look very pretty as well,” you respond, slipping into his arms as soon as he opens them. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of your head. He mutters a quiet thank you, to which you hum in response.

The two of you stand in silence. The sound of the outside wind and the quiet sound of your music fills the room. For once, you don’t feel anxiety clinging to your bones, rattling you. There is no voice inside of your head telling you that you suck and need to stay away from Caleb for everyone’s sake. You don’t have her voice in your head either, screaming at you about how bad of a person you are.

Caleb’s arms are your safe space. While in them, your mind goes blank. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s serene.

“We need to leave soon,” you smush your cheek into his chest, eyes closed. He holds the back of your head, making sure that he doesn’t mess up your hair that took an hour and a half to complete.

“Five more minutes,” Caleb whispers back. You nod.

When five minutes go by, neither of you let go, holding on for just a couple more seconds before slipping away. You step to the bed and grab his jacket, helping him slip it on once he gets his sleeves pushed back down. You flatten out the wrinkles on his shoulders and pick off the leftover lint and other small flecks that make his image imperfect.

He takes your hand and guides you out of the house, grabbing an extra pair of sneakers for you when your feet begin to hurt from being in heels for too long. He tosses them into the backseat after helping you into the passenger side. He settles in beside you and pulls out of the driveway, heading towards the venue.

“So, is there anybody I need to know who is going to be there?” Caleb asks. Your fingers are laced together and rest on the center console.

“Great question,” you respond while looking out the window.

The citizens of Linkon city have always been so happy, much happier compared to the people in Skyhaven. They wear bright smiles on their faces and wave at people who pass them on the sidewalk. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and waved to a random stranger was.

“Well, there’s the girls you met at the club that one night,” you breathe out, “and there’s just the guys who were in our friend group…but they’re all assholes now so you don’t really need to be nice to them.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens at the mention of your male college friends. He relaxes, though, when you tell him he doesn’t need to be nice. He certainly won’t be.

“Why don’t you introduce me to the ones that matter then, hm?” he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You nod and smile, turning to look at him.

He drives out of Linkon and to a nearby forest, one famed for its beauty and views. He follows your instructions, holding the wedding invitation in hand, and point to the sign that proclaims Jane’s wedding. He parks in a spot and immediately helps you out, helping keep the hem of your skirt off of the dirty ground. Caleb slings your purse over your shoulder and swoops you into his arms. The dust and dirt from the forest ground attach to the bottom of his pants and shoes while yours remains perfect and pristine. He sets you down once you reach the venue, setting you down on the hardened floor instead of grass.

“I never pegged Jane to be the foresty type,” Caleb comments in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“She’s definitely not. She saw this place on Moments and decided that this is where she was going to have her wedding,” you hold back a snort and take Caleb’s hand, walking through the large building and to the room where the bridesmaids are. Once you reach the door, your drop his hand and give him a kiss, taking your purse back from him. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

“I think I might die,” Caleb sighs. You roll your eyes, known that it’s a sad attempt to convince you to try and convince Jane to let him in.

“Stop being dramatic. I heard the groomsmen are outside, why don’t you go make some friends for me, hm?” you fix his tie, tightening it around his neck. He nods and leans down, pressing one last kiss to your lips before watching you disappear inside the room.

Caleb walks down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks around and takes in his surroundings. The building is nice. It’s like an expensive lodge for rich people, people who are in the top 1%. It’s cozy yet elegant, the warm lighting a nice touch to the wooden walls. He pops his head down a hallway before walking down it.

Voices catch his attention. The man turns down another hallway, finding himself at the back of the venue where a large glass building sits. A group of men in black suits stand just outside the door. Caleb clears his throat, putting on the best smile he can, before exiting the building. He closes the door behind him and is immediately met by the groom, the same man he saw over the phone.

“Caleb! It’s finally nice to meet you, man! Come meet my friends,” the groom, Arthur, shakes his hand, guiding Caleb to the group. All of the men greet him with one of them turned away at the drink table. Caleb smiles at them all, making a mental note of all of their names. “Last but not least, Caleb, meet Zayne! We work at Asko Hospital together!”

Caleb’s smile falters for a split second. He keeps his charm up despite the bubbling anger and annoyance that flares up in his chest. Zayne raises an eyebrow at Caleb, water bottle in hand. Their silence is palpable and the group looks back and forth.

“We’ve met,” Zayne finally manages to fill in the silence. The tension, though, remains, with only Caleb and Zayne feeling it.

“Oh really? That’s great!” Arthur celebrates, not knowing just how far back Zayne and Caleb’s rivalry goes. “I wonder how things are going with the women!”

And oh how things could not have turned out worse for you.

The bride and bridesmaids exit the building in one big group. Jane’s dress is gorgeous; it’s slender fitting and shows off all of her curves in the best way possible. You follow close behind, holding two bouquets of flowers in one hand while the other holds a long veil. Tonya is close behind with the second half of the veil, the two of you laughing. Caleb relaxes once he sees you, taking his hands out of his pockets, but immediately tenses when another familiar figure leaves the building.

It’s her. She doesn’t wear the same shade or dress as you and the other bridesmaids do. Instead, she wears a short black dress. It has a halter top and simple belt that runs around the waist. Caleb’s mouth goes dry, his heartbeat quickens. His reaction isn’t that of love or adoration, despite now having a brotherly affection towards her, but comes from a place of nervousness and anticipation.

She locks eyes with him, a small smile spreading across her face. Caleb tears his gaze away and looks at Zayne, who stares daggers at him. Caleb peels away from the group, already knowing that he’s about to be cornered no matter what.

Your eyes flicker to him while you and Tonya secure Jane’s veil to her head. You contain a sigh. Once the veil is in, you take a few steps away, bouquet in hand, and begin to walk towards Caleb. You take his hand once he’s close enough and avoid looking at the two groups that have now formed together.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” you breathe out, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah? Did you know that Zayne was coming too?” Caleb’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him, trying to process his words.

“Zayne? He’s here?” you ask. Caleb’s jaw tightens, so does his grip on your hand. “I-I didn’t know that,” you add on, finally turning around to see Zayne and her staring at you and Caleb. “Jane mentioned that a groomsman had to leave but she never mentioned that it was Zayne—”

“So you knew he was coming?” Caleb interrupts you. You can sense anger radiating off from his body. You hesitate to respond and avoid his gaze. “Pretty bird. Look at me.” You do.

“I didn’t know he was going to be a groomsman, Caleb, nor did I know if he accepted the invitation to the wedding or not. He usually says no to these things,” you reason with Caleb. He nods and takes a deep breath, turning his face away. “Let’s…let’s not have them ruin our night, yeah? We can avoid them after the ceremony. Hell, we can probably leave early if we want to!”

“That’s okay,” he turns back to you. He brushes your hair out of your face, mentally making a note to find the time to fight the fucking wind, and sighs. “Jane needs your support! And we’re here to give it to her! I’ll play nice with Zayne, I promise.”

“Oh good. He’s now decided to play nice,” Zayne’s voice breaks through your conversation with you and Caleb. Goosebumps form on your skin. Caleb instinctually pulls you to his side, eyes narrowing at the hazel eyed man. You turn to her, who wears a fake smile on her face.

“You look nice tonight,” she says to you. You smile back, wrapping your arm around Caleb’s, hand resting on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you begin, “your dress looks beautiful on you!”

“Might I suggest we address the elephant in the room?” Zayne, always the voice of reason, asks. The remaining three people nod and he places his hands on his hips. “I brought her here as my date tonight, let me get that out of the way. I did not know that you,” he looks at Caleb, “were going to be here. Now, I think we all possess the ability to act like adults tonight, correct? Let’s set aside our…differences and agree to be cordial for the sake of Jane and Arthur.”

“I agree,” you chime in, looking up at Caleb, “they deserve to have a good night together. We shouldn’t ruin that with petty drama.” Caleb nods. The two of you look at her and Zayne. They nod as well. “Great!”

“Wonderful!” she mimes your cheery tone. You suck in your cheeks, holding back a snarky comment, and smile with a fake laugh. Zayne turns around and walks away, bringing her with him. You turn to Caleb and lean into his side, feeling his muscles tense and flex under your touch.

“Are you going to be okay?” you whisper. He weakly nods. “Are you sure? I can see if you can replace Zayne as the groomsman if you want me to.” Your joke flies right over Caleb’s head. He stares at you, completely serious, and nods.

“Okay. Go do that.”

“What?” a laugh leaves your lips, “I’m not going to do that! I was joking! Babe, you’re going to survive this. I’m going to survive this. We’re going to do great, yeah?”

Oh, how wrong you will be.

You are yelled at by Jane and immediately leave Caleb’s side, slipping your purse over his shoulder once again. You and the other bridesmaids take photos together. Jane is always at the center, alongside Arthur, and you have to move every minute or so in a new order because Jane doesn’t know what she wants yet. You collide with other women, sometimes with Zayne or another groomsmen, and laugh while they try to fix your hair. For one photo, Zayne stands at your side, leaning into your side. You smile at the camera hoping to whatever god is out there that Caleb doesn’t take Zayne’s actions as an act of war.

“Hey! Bring your boyfriend over! Jane wants a pic of us together!” Arthur shouts from afar. You nod and look at Caleb, who sits in a chair with his arms crossed over his arms, a glare focused on Zayne. You yell his name and his head immediately snaps in your direction, face softening. You wave him over with a wink and he jumps up, rushing over to your side. He wraps his arm around you and you guide him over to Jane and Arthur.

Caleb smirks as he passes by Zayne, wagging a finger at him without you noticing. Zayne rolls his eyes. She, on the other hand, crosses her arms over her chest at the revelation, a scowl permanently carved into her face.

You stand at Jane’s side, Caleb smiling and shaking Arthur’s hand once again as a more formal meeting since the quartet stands far away from the group. You hug Jane and the photographer snaps a few candid shots before the two couples get situated and stand exactly how Jane tells them to. The photographer grabs the pictures and Jane immediately turns to you and Caleb.

“I want a picture of my darling best friend and her Colonel! Thank you! You can’t say no because I’m the bride!” Jane hurries away, standing next to the photographer now. You laugh and Caleb smiles.

“Whatever the bride wants, the bride gets, right?” Caleb’s arm slinks around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your hand rests on his chest, your bouquet of flowers hanging at his lower back. He tilts his head head to yours, smiling brightly as your eyes are exposed to bright flashes of light. He kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re so beautiful.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you are grabbed by other bridesmaids. Guests begin to arrive and Jane dips inside the building, dragging you with her. You gasp and reach for Caleb. He holds on for a few seconds before letting go, waving as you’re pushed inside. He watches as they draw the curtains closed, chuckling. His smile fades, though, when he notices Zayne entering the building last, a smug smirk on his face.

“Caleb,” her voice beckons from behind. He turns around and looks down at her, hands in his pockets. “Will you sit with me? I’m afraid I don’t know anybody else here!” She laughs. Caleb immediately nods since he is in the same situation as her.

“Sure!” he cheerily says. She wraps her arm in his and he guides them towards the venue’s seating. “It’ll give us some time to catch up with each other, pip-squeak!”

Once all of the guests are in their seats and Jane is ready to begun, the ceremony begins.

The groom walks down the aisle on his own. He smiles at people in the crowd, his eyes already teary from the overwhelming moment in his life. He turns on his heel and the Best Man and Maid of Honor, Tonya, walk down the aisle. You’re next and surprise surprise, you’re partnered with Zayne.

He holds out his arm to you. You take it, hand resting on his forearm. His body tenses. You look up at him and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, you step through the doors and whisper, “lean onto me if you need it!” to him as you approach the crowd.

Caleb turns his head around, sitting in an aisle seat towards the front so he can get a good look at you. He notices you first as you approach the aisle. His heart stops. It swells, butterflies fluttering inside his chest and torso when you take the first step down the white aisle.

White flower petals are scattered across the floor. You walk down with such confidence, a bold and bright smile on your face. Tears well in his eyes at the sight. Oh, he loves you much and you don’t even know it.

When you draw closer is when Caleb finally notices Zayne at your side. His body heats up in an instant, heart pounding inside his chest. Each beat can be heard in his ears. Every thump rattles his ribs. His ears turn red. He calms down once your eyes meet. He breathing slows, no longer hollow. He follows your body as you pass by him, the bottom of your skirt grazing against his ankle, leaving him already wanting more.

You part with Zayne at the altar and stand in your spot, watching as the other duos walk down the aisle. The music changes, signaling Jane’s arrival. Everyone stands and turns around to watch her walk. Caleb, though, remains standing forward, locking eyes with you.

Caleb places his hand over his heart. He can feel each and every individual beat under his fingers. Your cheeks heat from a blush but you’re unable to look away from him.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll get to this point with Caleb. When it is time for your future wedding, will you be picking out a dress with him in the back of your mind? Will it be him that you tie your future to?

It’s one you’ve dreamed of as a child and throughout your first year of high school. You had the music picked out with a dress cut out of a bridal magazine you stole from your cousin. You sighed whenever you looked at the small notebook. It hid all of your secrets, including the crush you had on Caleb. You wrote your names a million times over in a pink glitter pen. Hearts and flowers decorated the page, filling in any left over space. A few pages over is a list of first dance songs that were popular at the time and if you turned the page, you’d see your doodles of what your dream venue looked like.

It must be on a spring day! The sky must be blue and beautiful, just how Caleb likes it!

Caleb wonders what kind of dress you’ll wear on your wedding day. He knows that regardless, he’s going to be tearing up and crying the moment he sees you down the aisle. He’d tell you to buy two with his credit card so he can rip one off of your body when your honeymoon begins. He won’t even have a say in the planning and will always give into whatever it is that you want. He’ll smile and nod, running his fingers through your hair as you talk his ear off about flowers and bouquets and how it will go along with the perfect venue you chose and will compliment the colors of your bridesmaids dresses.

A tear rolls down your cheek and you wipe it away, tearing your gaze away from Caleb once he sits down and the ceremony begins.

It’s beautiful. Everyone smiles and laughs at their vows, a few guests and bridesmaids (including yourself) crying when it becomes sappy and pulls at your heartstrings. You hide your face behind your bouquet of flowers at one point, not being able to hold your emotions in as Jane declares her undying love for Arthur. She’s crying, too, and can barely make it through her vows without shaking and trembling. They kiss and the crowd erupts into cheers, standing and clapping for the newly wed couple.

Once the ceremony is over, Jane and Arthur walk down the aisle hand in hand. The cheers continue as they walk back inside the building. You and the other bridesmaids and groomsmen follow suit, exiting in the order people walked down the aisle. Your grip on Zayne’s arm is loose. Once you reach Caleb’s side, you reach out and squeeze his hand, having to let go after a brief second.

The reception room is impeccably decorated. The lights are warm and small, slowly flickering as if they’re stars in the night sky. Caleb sits in his assigned seat, waiting for you to come back to his side. He sighs and looks around, scanning the room. People are already drinking; their laughs are loud and boom across the room. The servers are dressed in all black, contrasting the whites, golds, and light purple color scheme. He sighs and turns to his phone, scrolling through unread messages from the Fleet and Ever.

You enter the room with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, people barely even paying attention since the group isn’t going to be announced like how Jane and Arthur will be. The seating chart has been seared into your brain and you easily find your way to Caleb. He doesn’t look up from the table, eyes cemented onto his phone.

“Caleb,” you call out once you stand behind him. He turns around and stands from his seat, bringing you into his arms. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, chuckling. “Hi, babe, did you enjoy the ceremony?” you ask once you pull away.

“I did, yes,” he cups your cheek. “I was mainly focused on you, though. You are…utterly captivating.”

Your cheeks heat up. You look away and bite your lip, rolling your eyes as an attempt to get the brush to go away. Caleb catches it, though, and kisses your forehead, turning around to pull your seat out for you. You sit down and take his hand, smiling at him.

Zayne sits with her at another table across the room. They’re on the grooms side with the other groomsmen while you and Caleb sit with the other bridesmaids and their partners. A blessing in disguise.

The dinner goes by quick. It is filled with laughter and speeches from Jane and Arthur’s parents alongside the Best Man and Maid of Honor’s speeches. You’re so happy that the responsibility didn’t fall onto you for a speech. Public speaking isn’t your strong suit and it would have been even more embarrassing because of the three people from your childhood: one that you hate, one that you’re on okay terms with, and one that you’re fucking and contemplating marriage with only two days into your relationship.

Dinner plates are taken away and the majority of the room jumps up and rushes to the dance floor. The party begins but you and Caleb remain in your seats, holding hands and smiling at each other. His thumb rubs your knuckles, your chair pulled as close to his as possible, legs tangled together. He leans in and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, causing you to blush and laugh. Every touch is loving, every touch tender and caring.

The two of you purposefully stayed in your seats as long as you did. You didn’t want to be interrupted nor did you want to risk being intercepted by someone from your childhoods. Whenever one of you wanted a drink, you went together, hand in hand, and even followed one another to the bathroom and waited outside. It’s a calculated move, yes, and one that worked, that is, until you two grew restless while the rest of the party had fun.

The music slows and Caleb pushes away from the table. He holds out his hand to you, which you immediately take, and he guides you to the dance floor. You smile as he pulls you into him, hand resting on your lower back while holding your other hand.

“I feel like we just did this, no?” you chuckle under the dimmed lighting. Caleb smiles and nods, leaning down to peck your lips.

“We got interrupted last time. I just know we won’t be this time,” he helps move your arms around his neck, planting his hands onto your waist. You melt into him and close your eyes, swaying back and forth to the music. You hum along, which is music to Caleb’s ears, and he presses his head against yours. Caleb gently pulls away and spins you out before pulling you back in. The two of you share a quiet laugh. You turn in his arms and drape your arms back around his neck.

The midpoint of the song doesn’t even pass before someone taps your shoulder. You sink back down onto the floor, slowly turning to see her standing behind you. Your grip loosens on Caleb, smile falling.

“Mind if I cut in for a dance?” she sweetly asks. You glance at Caleb and clear your throat. He doesn’t say anything. Annoyance flares inside your chest. You nod and step away, faking a smile, before swiftly exiting the dance floor.

You walk back to your seat and sit down. Your hands tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Was it always beating this fast? Or is this something new entirely? Heat burns from within your lungs, causing your heart to ache. Your ears ring. It feels as if someone has their hand around your throat, slowly tightening it, pins and needles poking into your skin.

You swipe your tongue over your teeth, your eyes trained on Caleb and her. They stand close to each other but Caleb keeps a respectable distance. It makes you happy to see him respecting your relationship but cannot help but feel jealous over the fact that he’s dancing with another woman, someone who isn’t you.

“I don’t think you have taken a single breath for the past minute.”

You turn and look up at Zayne, who stands behind Caleb’s chair. He gestures to the seat. Hesitation fills your mind but against your better judgment, you nod. Zayne sits down beside you, your knees barely touching. The two of you sit in silence, watching as the couples dance and glide across the floor.

The song comes to an end. Hope forms inside your chest, watching as Caleb pulls away from her. She pulls him back in, though, and he doesn’t fight it, his hands returning to her hips.

You purse your lips before biting down on the inside of your cheek with enough force and pressure to draw blood. You force yourself to look away, meeting Zayne’s calm eyes. You sigh and scratch the back of your neck, embarrassment flooding your body.

“Can we…talk?” Zayne asks. You blink at him, unsure if it’s a good idea. You don’t immediately answer. He nods and glances at the dance floor. Caleb’s back is to you two now. “I understand if you don’t want to speak. I, on the other hand, have something to say. I hope you’ll be willing to listen to me.”

“I’ll listen,” you shakily breathe out. You begin to pick at the skin around your fingernails, pulling on the skin as fresh and stinging red lines appear on your fingers. It’s a nasty habit you’ve picked up, one that you always seem to do when your heart is slowly being ripped into pieces. At least the physical pain can help deter some the emotional anguish you feel.

“Thank you,” Zayne keeps his eyes on you. He reaches out and places one hand on top of yours, stopping you from continuing. His hand is cold but it feels nice against your hot skin. “Do you think you can take a deep breath for me? I would like to ensure that you’re breathing.”

“I’m not your patient,” you snap back.

“Breathe with me as someone who is on your side, then.”

Your eyes glue themselves onto Zayne’s. Up close, his hazel eyes lean more onto the green side, the center of his iris having the most yellow compared to the outer rim. He slowly inhales, chest puffing out. You match his inhale, his eyes never leaving yours. When he exhales, so do you. Your heart begins to slow, your hot skin cooling down.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Zayne begins, catching you off guard. Tears immediately sting your eyes but ou blink them away, quickly recovering.

“Yeah?” your voice is raspy, ready to break at any moment.

Caleb and her stand in the middle of the dance floor, no longer moving. Your heart goes still, no more air in your lungs.

“Yes,” Zayne continues, “he doesn’t love you.” His words slice into your skin. How can you believe them, though? Isn’t Zayne biased against Caleb? Besides, Caleb isn’t here to defend himself. You can’t fully believe him! “He’s infatuated. There is no permanent love when it comes to infatuation, just lust and desire. A temporary love that will only leave you more broken than you started.”

“So you think I’m broken?” the words come out just above a whisper.

“I think he broke you.”

A breath leaves your mouth. Your lungs burn on the inside of your chest, cheeks pink from embarrassment and anger. You remain silent, drowning out the music and cheering voices. You blink away your tears but one escapes, rolling down your cheek. Your eyes turn back to the dance floor, finding Caleb’s back once again. You stare at him, unable to tear your gaze away while Zayne speaks.

“I saw the way he treated you when we were kids. You always came in last place while everyone else came before you. You weren’t a friend, you were a backup plan he had. Since she isn’t in Skyhaven but you are, he is bound to go to you instead of her. Do you know that he calls her whenever you aren’t around? He always texts her throughout the day and tells her how much he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her. Even while you were on your business trip, he was sending her photos and messages like any good boyfriend would.”

Boyfriend.

The word echoes inside your now screaming mind. You bottom lip trembles. Silent tears freely flow from your eyes. Every word is like a bullet that buries itself deep into your skin. Your muscles ache. You don’t even realize that your fists are balled on your lap, nails digging into your palms. The stinging pain helps divert some of the emotional weight that has been placed onto your shoulders but it’s not enough to carry the full package. You look down at your lap, palms now a bright red from the blood rushing to the crescent marks on your hands.

“You have always been second compared to her. But to me…you have always been first,” Zayne whispers.

You turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and irritated. Your shoulders slump as you fight off sobs and dry heaves. Nausea sweeps over your body. He reaches for you but you scoot back, your chair bumping into the others. You swallow nothing down your dry throat, the feeling leaving you sore and uncomfortable.

“I guess that makes you just like me, then,” your words shake and hang in the air. Zayne raises an eyebrow at you. His hands reach for yours but you pull away immediately, unable to even handle someone’s touch right now. He remains silent, his eyes burning into yours. You stand from the table and gather your belongings. You are about to step away when Zayne’s voice causes you to stop.

“How so?” Zayne asks after seconds tick by.

“We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

From afar, Caleb steps away from her. He hesitates once he sees you and Zayne talking. His heart races inside his chest. His eyes flit between you and the doctor, watching your teary eyes reflect the lights of the venue. His heart splits in two.

You turn, wiping a tear from your eye, and head for the exit. You sling your purse over your shoulder, the body hitting your hip as you walk. Through teary eyes, you slip your phone from your bag and step out into the fresh night air. The wind chills your skin, cooling you down.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice calls out from behind. You don’t turn around and instead pull up a taxi app on your phone. He places his hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to slip away. “What’s…what’s wrong? What did he say to you?” Caleb asks. When you don’t respond, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Stop it, Caleb,” you warn. He stares at your screen, looking at your progress. You wrote about half of the address before he took the phone from you. You reach out, trying to get the tiny machine back, but Caleb immediately pockets it and grabs your face.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Caleb! Get away from her!” Her shrill voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. You flinch and push Caleb off of you, your mind now running at a mile a minute, unable to keep up with the unfolding situation. “We’re not done talking!”

“Go back inside!” Caleb calls out to her, but she doesn’t listen. She looks up at him with crazed eyes, lip snarled.

“We aren’t done talking. I don’t approve of your relationship with her!” She points to you. An arrow goes through your heart and breaks, the wood splintering and poking into your organs and veins. It would hurt but the pain you hold in your chest is already incomprehensible.

“Stop that!” Caleb says back. “Let’s talk about this later—”

“Later?” you chuckle, hysteria beginning to claim you as its own. Tears keep rolling down your cheeks. He turns to look at you. Your gaze sharpens. It makes his stomach drop.

“Does she not know what we’ve been through, Caleb?” she steps in between you and him. You don’t even do anything to stop it. You turn around and wipe your tears away, digging through your bag for the car keys. “Does she know that you and I are inseparable?”

“I said not now!” Caleb raises his voice. It only makes her angrier, though. “We’ll talk about this later. I need to—”

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” you interject. They stare at you with wide eyes. “I’ve always come between you, so i’ll just remove myself.” You nod and begin to walk away. Caleb grabs your hand, bringing you back to him but you remain at an arm’s length. His skin burns against yours. You try to wiggle away but his grip only tightens, cracking your bones.

“No. I need to comfort my girlfriend and make for sure that she is okay,” Caleb speaks directly at you. You shiver. He turns to her, “you have crossed a line. I’ll speak to you later.”

“NO!” she shrieks. “You are going to stay here and talk to me! I don’t care about her or her feelings! I never have! I have only ever cared about you, Caleb! Can’t you see that she is ruining us? Our relationship? She’s always been a poison! She’s going to push us apart! She’s seduced you! How can you live with that?”

Caleb doesn’t respond. You stare at his face, seeing the wheels turn inside his brain.

Anger boils over inside your chest but for once, you feel calm. The anger is no longer hot. It is cold, cool to the touch. It feels like you are breathing in the snowy winter air in Skyhaven. Your feet no longer drag against the ground. You no longer carry the weight of your sadness and pain on your shoulders. You are now light and airy, weightless.

You step around Caleb and yank your hand away from his. He watches you, purple eyes wide in the moonlight. You approach her, taking a deep breath as you look down at her. She takes a step back, a look of nervousness flashing across her face before she covers it up. You wait a few seconds, pulling together the right words to say.

“I am going to say this once and one time only. I am going to say this because Caleb doesn’t have a fucking backbone when it comes to you, so listen up,” you tower over her yet your face remains emotionless. It sends shivers down her spine. “I am not a poison. I am not worthless. I did not seduce Caleb. I am a human being with god damn feelings. You cannot treat me like I am the shit on the bottom of your shoe. You may have done that when we were kids and ruined my self esteem back then, but I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore.”

“I-I didn’t treat you like—”

“You cried on my birthdays and took half of my presents because you made my parents feel bad for you. You were smart back then, using your sob backstory to your advantage. You made fun of the way I dressed, the way I talked. Whenever I had friends over, you would cry and kick and scream to be included even though it was my friend group, not yours. You purposefully used my crush against Caleb against me. You dangled him in front of me knowing that I liked him, knowing that he was one of two people who ever treated me like a human being but even then it was close to nothing. The bare fucking minimum. You interrupted us doing homework and even ruined our first high school dance because you didn’t feel included. Well guess what, princess! It didn’t include you because you weren’t old enough! Sorry if that hurt your feelings, but some things just do not involve you!”

Her jaw drops. Caleb places his hand on your shoulder but you shrug it off.

“Now that I have finally found some peace in my life and have gotten to a place where I can feel human again, you just have to walk right in and ruin that too, right? Because seeing me thrive and be happy is the bane of your existence. How dare I be happy? How dare I reconnect with a boy I knew in my childhood!” You pause and take a deep breath, taking a single step forward and lower your voice, “I was just a kid just like you…but we’re adults now. You treated me like fucking shit just like you are now. You’ve haven’t changed. You’ve remained the same desperate little girl clinging to whatever she can to justify her shitty actions. Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about Caleb and I’s relationship. We don’t need your permission. If he wanted you, he would be with you, not me. But I’ll give you once more chance. Just one. I’m going to go walk back to my car now,” you turn to Caleb, your face serious with an underlying anger in your eyes, “if he follows me, then I’ll take it that he actually wants to remain in my life. I’ll learn to co-exist with you for his sake because I’ll never ask him to choose between us, unlike you. If he stays behind with you, well, you’ve won. You two deserve each other. I’ll be the villain in your story. Just keep me the fuck out of it.”

Without wasting another second, you push past Caleb, shoulder bumping into his arm. You cross the grassy field at a fast pace, stopping to slip your heels off of your feet. You let out a frustrated yell and throw your shoe at the car. The alarm starts to go off and you grab your purse, furiously digging through to find the keys.

A pair of hands rest on top of yours. You pause and look up through your blurry vision. You can’t make out his face, but his cologne is familiar to you. Caleb sighs and pulls you into his arms. You tuck your head under his chin, finally letting go as sobs overtake your body. You ball your fists up and slam them against his arms. He takes every hit.

The two of you stand there until you fall silent, too tired to continue. Caleb looks inside your purse for you and grabs the keys. He clicks a button and the alarm stops blaring. Neither of you speak. No words fill the silence. He opens up the car door for you and you slip inside. The door remains open. He goes inside the back seat and grabs your sneakers. He comes around and takes your heels from you, brushing the dirt and blades off grass off of your feet, slipping your feet inside the shoes. He closes the door and gets inside the drivers side, quickly pulling away.

Both of Caleb’s hands remain on the wheel. You face away from him, staring outside the car window.

A part of you is grateful that he followed you. That he chose you. However, another part of your soul, your heart, aches at the fact that there is going to be a nuclear meltdown within the next couple of days that you will be forced to go through. She will certainly have words to share with you and for Caleb’s sake, you hope that he grows a backbone until then.

The drive is silent. Neither of you turn on the radio. The purr of the car’s old engine mixes in with the sound of the car’s A.C., the faint whirr in the background. You sniffle and hug your arms to your body.

Caleb looks at you when the roads are empty. His heart rips into two, straight down the middle. The once lively heart, the boy who grow tired. His once constant positive attitude begins to wither. The inner boy inside of his soul begins to decay.

Is this how you have felt all of these years? he thinks to himself. Has the feeling of disappointment and despair chipped at your soul the whole time?

The car comes to a stop. You blink at your house, the gate closing behind the car. You get out before he can open the door. You make a beeline for the door, swiping the keys from your hands. You stare anthem under the orange porch light, the buzzing from a nearby bug catcher in the same tone as your simmering irritation. The door swings open and you turn around, pressing a hand to Caleb’s chest, stopping him from following.

“Find another way in. If you really want this,” you gesture between you two, “you’ll figure it out.”

Petty? Yes. Deserved? Fucking maybe. Who cares. He can hold this against you for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t complain. You, quite frankly, need to see him work for it instead of following like a puppy dog.

The door closes in his face. You press your back against it, the tears forming in your eyes once again. Quickly making your way up the stairs, you dart inside your bedroom, and strip away the dress on your body, throwing it to the side. You go to the bathroom and immediately hop in the shower, your jewelry remaining on your body as the cold water pours over you. It makes you alert, awake, and all too aware of what you said.

Do you regret it? No, not really. If anything, it was therapeutic for you to get out. Could you have been a bit nicer to her? Sure. Of course. But you weren’t. That’s a burden you’ll carry with you wherever you go.

You step out, face bare and body clean. After drying yourself off, you slip into one of Caleb’s old shirts and into a pair of spandex. You lay down in your bed, covering your face with the sheets, closing your eyes, wishing the pain would leave you alone.

Time ticks by. You don’t check your phone. You don’t have the energy to. How much time has passed? An hour? Fifteen minutes? Five? Two hours? It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t returned.

You sit up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist. You look around, eyes grazing over the window where the moon hangs low in the sky. You sigh.

He’s left you, hasn’t he? Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he did. You wouldn’t blame him for it, either. You’re a mess. A complete and utter disaster that is holding on with three pieces of duct tape and a dream.

A clink on the window.

You turn your head, eyebrow raised. Another clink. You get up and push against the windows, pushing them open. You dodge a small pebble at the last moment, looking down at Caleb who stands on the ground below.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he calls out, “my lovely Juliet.” You roll your eyes.

He holds a few white flowers in his hand and a box in the other. His Evol plucks them from his hands, the objects hovering behind him. He approaches the vine wall on the side of your house. It leads directly up to your bedroom where your two windows are. He grabs hold of the wooden structure underneath the vines, his hands scraping against the thorns and stray sticks. They poke into his skin but he pushes through it, slowly climbing the vine wall to get to you.

Once Caleb is close enough, you lean out the window, noticing the dirt on his hands, the sweat that forms in beads across his forehead. He grunts every time he pulls himself up, the objects still floating behind him. His dirty hand grabs the windowsill, pulling himself up with one last burst of energy.

His face leans up to yours, mere inches away from each other. You don’t pull away and neither does he. You purse your lips and pull away, watching as he brings himself inside your bedroom with surprising elegance and grace. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it to the side. The flowers and black box float into his hands, his purple eyes never leaving yours.

You stand in the middle of your bedroom. His shirt is baggy on you, the material stretched and worn out from him over the years. The words are faded but you’re wearing his DAA exercise shirt. You like how comforting the cotton material is against your skin. He sighs, dirt covering his pants and white dress shirt. He takes a step towards you. Your eyes never leave his. You gulp.

“These…are for you,” he holds out the flowers. It’s a variety.

An apple red tulip. A white carnation. A light blue hyacinth. A single pink rose. A daisy.

“I got them from the gardens in the neighborhood. And this,” he taps the box, “is from the shop I worked at in high school.”

You take them from him, noticing the small specks of blood that sprouts from his thumb and index finger. He plucked off every single thorn so you wouldn’t get hurt. You rest them along your forearm and he steps forward, holding out the box. The stems of the flowers are uneven, most likely plucked from nearby gardens. He slowly opens it. On the inside is a small glass butterfly. Its wings is a deep red that fades into a light pink at the tips. Its body remains clear. Your heart aches. Your eyes fill with tears. You look up at him, bottom lip pouting out to try and stop you from crying.

“I…I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what Zayne said to you to make you cry and I really don’t know why she had to make things worse. I don’t know what to do or say to make you forgive me or what I need to do to make you fully trust me again,” he begins in a quiet voice. “All I know is that I love you. I love you…so much, pretty bird,” his voice cracks. You step forward and place a hand on his chest. It slows his beating heart almost instantly. “I can’t lose you. When you closed the door on my face, my world went black and white.”

“Caleb,” you cup his cheek with your free hand. He leans into your touch.

“I need you in your life…but I also need her in my life,” he whispers. You nod. “I can’t lose either of you and it pains me that there’s nothing I can do to help or mend the tension between you two.”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you breathe out. He shakes his head.

“No. No it’s not. You’re my girlfriend, the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. The way she treated you both in childhood and now is despicable. She’s not the same girl I used to know…so I called her. I set boundaries for us and made her realize that it’s you who I want to be with, not her.”

Tears roll down Caleb’s cheeks. You gently wipe them away. He leans down and presses his forehead into yours. He takes a deep breath, you with him, and his hands finally touch you. He places them on your waist, remaining over the fabric of his shirt, and sighs.

“I know that our relationship isn’t going to be perfect. I know it isn’t going to be fixed overnight and to be bandaged up with a single sorry. That’s not possible. I know you’re hurting. Please…please let me take some of your pain away. Let me carry the tension and angst you feel in your body. Let me carry that load for you. Rely on me, pretty bird. Use me.”

“Caleb,” his name from your mouth is like the nectar of the gods. He pulls away and looks down at you. You sigh and bite your lip, peering into his deep purple and glossy eyes. “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it in.”

He nods. A single tear rolls down his cheek. You wipe it away. More follow. His tears are hot against your chilled skin. You wipe away every single one that comes out, his body shuddering. You peel away for a split second, placing the flowers and butterfly on your desk. You move back to him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb buries his face into your neck, arms tightly locking around your waist. He pulls you closer. You inhale the smell of dirt and sweat from his hair, holding the back of his head.

The two of you succumb to the ground. He leans forward, holding you in his lap, holding onto you for dear life. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging his head. He whimpers.

“Please don’t leave me,” he cries into your neck, his words muffled yet legible.

“I’m not,” you whisper into his ear.

You move his face in front of yours, your hands on his cheeks. You lean in and kiss away every single tear that falls down his face. Your lips become salty and hot. His tears mix with yours. He sniffles and squeezes your waist. His tears slow down and his breathing steadies. You remain in his arms, whispering reassurances to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Caleb, we’re in this together, okay?” your voice is gentle despite the anger that remains inside your chest. He nods and takes a deep breath.

“Together?” Caleb repeats the word back to you. You nod.

“Together.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

#caleb x reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb x fem reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb angst #caleb fluff #caleb xia #xia yizhou #lnds #love and deepspace caleb angst #lads angst #rcvcgers writings #rotten apples ❦︎

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ao3commentoftheday · 1 day ago

Note

I am having issues being nice to people in my ao3 comments. Most of the time people are perfectly lovely and I love having interactions with them. It's really important to me that when I'm on my writer tumblr instead of my main and on my ao3, I foster a kind and gentle community. I feel like that starts with me and that is the sort of environment I want to create.

Now, the problem is this fic I wrote. It's for a pretry big fandom and it got a lot of traction (like first page when sorting by hits while there are tens of thousands of fics) and it's been wild. Mostly great... except this one arc I wrote where character A, who is mentally ill and gets triggered into a spiral acts mentally ill, which negatively impacts people around him, including character B (it's a ship fic), who while not responsible is making it worse and making the active choice to stay, because he also has his own issues. The fic explores the aftermath of that as well, but for a few chapters it's just the downward spiral. And while it isn't all condoned, I give character A understanding due to the situation as well as a healing journey, wherein he apologizes and does better and makes up for it.

Sadly for me, character B is the fandom's favorite white boy, who is always the hurt victim in every situation and has no responsibility ever. So me also stating how character B is in part responsible forthe situation ending up getting as bad is a no go and people are very angry at me. On top of that, I based a lot of character A's struggles on my own, which makes it even less pleasant to get detailed comments about how he deserves to be beaten up for his actions and left by all his friends and family to stew in the guilt for the rest of forever all alone, less than fun.

I don't want to have to tell people about my own personal struggles and I am tired of explaining that it is a character arc and a nuanced and complex situation wherein multiple parties are at fault. And I have chronic have to reply even when I know ignoring it is better syndrome. At what point does it become acceptable to just be a fucking bitch to people?

First of all, lemme give you a hug 💗 It's never fun when people misunderstand your message and it's even worse when there's a personal element to it as well.

The way I see it, your comments section belongs to you. It's an extension of your fic and it's a place where every message left gets dropped into your inbox. If there's something you don't want to see in your comments section? Delete it. If there's someone who won't stop misinterpreting you/your characterization or someone who is being an asshat? Block them. Then delete their comment.

I know people get hung up on whether or not they should do that, but I'm here to tell you that if I didn't delete hate and block haters, this blog would have shut down in 2020, if not earlier. You need to take care of yourself, and if that means removing that part of your comments then so be it.

I also prefer to lead with empathy and understanding. I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. I work very hard at taking the best interpretation possible of scenarios that people write me about. But that doesn't mean I need to put up with hate or with willful ignorance or with snarky "ironic" dystopian takes on my attempts to be sincere and helpful. Those things all make it harder for me to continue this hobby I love, and therefore I delete and I block and I move on in the direction I'm going.

I definitely understand the desire to be a heinous bitch in response. I've even given into it a few times. But I also remember those times because I'm not proud of myself for losing my temper. I look back on them and wish that I hadn't chosen a good burn over my principles.

Don't share anything that you don't actually want to share with strangers on the internet. Don't keep comments around that make you feel bad. Put an author's note at the bottom of the chapter explaining what you're going for and letting readers know that you don't want comments like the ones you describe here - and delete them if they come in despite that.

Sometimes you just have to clean house, anon, and get rid of some of the cruft.

#asks and answers

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stottlemorgan · 3 months ago

Text

One Small Step for Hope / FatherHusband!Arthur Morgan x WifeMother!Reader

Summary: Yours and Arthur’s little girl takes her first steps! Tags: Fluff!!!!!!!!!!!! Word count: 1,240. Author’s Note: This is a request from a sweet Anon <3 Thank you for your request, I hope I did the topic justice as I’m not a mother nor do I spend much time with kids, so I hope I wrote the cutie pie well. Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest. They're not representative of Reader outside of setting a vibe.

“Looks like it’s lunchtime, Hope.”

Hosea’s voice mirrors the gentleness in his expression as he bounces your daughter on his thigh while he watches you make your way over with a small plate of stew. You stir the stew, scooping up half a spoonful and blowing on it as you walk. Your daughter’s eyes light up at the sight of you,

“Mama, hiya.” She says, reaching a hand up to you.

“Hiya, sweetie.” You coo back to her, moving to kneel before her as she sits on Hosea’s lap. Hosea eyes up the stew for a moment, the salty-sweet scent wafting up to him, coaxing his stomach into hunger.

“I might go an’ get some of that myself, if you don’t mind.” He muses, giving your daughter a little side-hug before carefully lifting her and placing her to sit on her knees in the grass. You give a friendly smile to Hosea,

“You go ahead. Thanks for taking her while I laid out the washin’. I didn’t have the time to chase her out of the river today.” Hosea chuckles, ruffling Hope’s hair,

“It’s no fuss, dear. I’m here when you need me.” He gives a nod before heading off towards the stew pot. You bring the spoon to your mouth and tap your tongue into the stew gently, checking that the steamy heat of it has waned enough to bring it to Hope’s lips. With a soft motion, you guide the spoon into her mouth, letting her suck at it for a moment before pulling it out and watching her start to chew.

“Good girl. S’nice, hm?” You ask fondly, slouching a little to look at her munching face. Hope gives a clumsy nod, lips pursed as she grabs at some grass that is tickling her knee.

“Carrots, Mama.”

“Yeah, sweetie. Carrots’re your favourite, ain’t they?”

Another nod from Hope causes a glimmer of endearment to flicker throughout your chest and you watch her glance about before scooping up another spoonful of stew and blowing on it, testing the temperature again with your tongue. You feed her again and she wraps her fingers around your hand. As she suckles on the spoon, Hope’s eyes are drawn toward the thumping canters of horses approaching camp at your back. She garbles out “da-da”, her usual babble slurred further by the food.

You chuckle, taking the spoon from her mouth and wrapping your apron around your hand to wipe away the dribbles from her distracted face before feeding her another spoonful. You glance behind you to see Arthur and Charles unpacking their horses and chatting. You turn back to Hope who is still mindlessly and messily chewing, a smidge of stew already having made its way back onto her chin.

“Chew, sweetie. Finish your… Bite before…”

Your speech slows and your eyes widen as you watch Hope push herself forward into a crawl, her plush fingers clutching into the dirt, the grass staining her dress at the knee. Quickly, you discard the spoon onto the plate and put it on the chair Hosea was sitting on. You watch in utter disbelief. Your baby girl is crawling.

A nearby gasp from Molly pulls you from your stupor, her skirts swishing as she pads over to you,

“My goodness, Dutch– Dutch, Hope’s crawlin’ look.” You hear a swift set of steps accompany Molly’s, and Dutch’s hand lands gently atop your head as he watches Hope with a raised brow,

“Well, would you look at that.”

“Hope,” You call out quietly, “Hopie–” A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you watch, each thump of Hope’s little fists into the dirt only increasing your astonishment.

“Da-da.” She babbles, her sweet face determined and big-eyed as she stares up at Arthur who is focused on wiping his revolver down.

Hope’s dress snags beneath her knees and she stops for a moment, only to blow you all away even further. With a soft grunt, she hoists herself up onto her feet, wobbling. You find yourself following suit, but Dutch’s hand moves from your head to your shoulder, holding you.

“Let her work it out, she’ll do it. Worst she can do is graze her knees.”

Hope takes a step forward, her arms out, her eyes flitting down to her bare feet, her soft brow furrowed in concentration. Before you know it, she settles into a shaky rhythm, her feet padding quietly in the grass. You start to walk, keeping a small distance, your voice tight with elation, with pride as you call out,

“Arthur- Arthur! Arthur, look! Hope’s walkin’!”

Arthur turns his head, his befuddled expression melting into pure amazement at the sight of his baby girl rambling towards him and his dear wife in tow. He shakes his head, making sure he’s seeing things right before giving Charles a quick look, seeing him wide-eyed and agape. Hope starts to giggle once Arthur’s gaze connects back with hers and he chokes on a laugh as he swiftly but carefully tucks his revolver into his horse’s satchel. He strides a few paces diagonally to have Hope arc her path slightly, keeping her a safe distance from the horses and weapons.

He drops to his knees in an instant, reaching out towards her, his voice a strained coo as excitement steals his breath, “Look’achu go, baby girl! C’mon–” He beckons her eagerly, grinning, “-Come ‘n’ get me, Hopie!”

At Arthur’s tone, more of the gang start to realise what’s happening, each of them exclaiming at the sight and making their way over. Hosea joins Dutch, and they both give one another a proud look, Dutch tipping his head up and patting Hosea’s shoulder.

“Get daddy! get’ch’yer daddy, Hopie!” You urge keenly, your own giggles dancing with Hope’s in the spring air. Hope squeals at the encouragement and her walk quickens, her dress flowing and her pinkish cheeks bouncing as she breaks into a speedy stumble.

Arthur barks out a proud and triumphant laugh as she reaches him and he wraps his arms around her back. He pulls her to his chest and lifts her, supporting her back and legs, spinning and making her squeal. You catch up, watching the chestnut hair of your husband and daughter whirl together as Arthur waltzes in a circle, kissing Hope all over her face, relentless.

“Da-da!” Hope squeaks, grabbing at his shirt, her grass-stained feet kicking.

“I didn’t think– today could– get any better–” Arthur chuckles as he slows down to a sway, threading his fingers through her hair. He plants a firm kiss to her forehead and she uses the opportunity to playfully grab at his face, “Ah–! But you just proved me wrong, little lady.” He turns to look at you as you place one hand on his back and the other on Hope’s, leaning up to kiss Arthur in greeting.

“Afternoon to you, Mister.” You grin, your face flushed with an almost delirious excitement, matching that of your cooing daughter.

“A beautiful afternoon to you, my girls.” Arthur’s eyes glint with affection as he looks between you and Hope who is pawing at his neck, trying to reach around for a cuddle. With a purse of his lips and a sweet cooing sound, he shifts Hope to his hip, holding her with one arm. He then snakes his free arm around your waist, pulling you in for a tight hug, a content sigh drawing from him.

A beautiful afternoon, indeed.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @pinescent-and-gingerbread

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #my writing #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x you #fanfic #fluff #stottlemorgan

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veltana · 6 months ago

Text

The winter rebound

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~3,6k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Avengers!Bucky, alcohol consumption, fluff, pwp, smut, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, safe sex, dirty talk.

✦ Summary: You go with your friend to Stark's holiday party

✦ Note: This was the first thing I wrote and published when I got back into the marvel fandom, so it's a super self-indulgent piece! But I hope you like it anyway! As always, please comment and/or reblog! Asks are always welcome!

Masterlist | AO3

It was Friday. You watched yourself in the mirror and told yourself that you would have fun tonight. Forget about your ex of five years who broke off your engagement a month before the holidays, whom you had spent the last three weeks crying over.

Tonight you were accompanying your best friend to the annual Stark holiday party, and you would not think about him once during the night, while you danced and drank yourself into a stupor.

Standing outside the huge compound made you anxious. Maybe it was too soon to meet the real world without him. No! Don’t think about that asshole! You cut yourself off before your thoughts started to spiral.

“Come on!” your friend Lily laughed. Her genuine smile was contagious and you returned it, squaring your shoulders and forcing every dumb thought down before you took her arm as the two of you made your way down the gold and red carpet. At the end, two large glass doors were opened by life-sized mechanical nutcrackers.

“I sure hope those don’t spring to life and ruin this party too,” you mumbled. Lily giggled, “Don’t worry, I helped with the software, unless Mr. Stark went a completely different direction there should be no worries.” “So there is a possibility,” you joked as the doors closed behind you.

If she answered you didn’t hear because you were too busy taking in the amazing winter-themed party. The waiters were also dressed as nutcrackers and there were dancers in amazing outfits performing all over the floor. Music played in the background and some were moving to the beat while others stood around and talked.

Honestly, you had expected more people, like at least two hundred but there were only about fifty in the huge hall. Not only the regular people, like your friend, who helped with software, hardware, management, and the day-to-day running's of the compound, but it was impossible not to notice the heroes also in attendance.

Not all of them were there, no sign of Thor or Loki, or the Guardians, but this was your first time so close to any hero ever, you would take what you could get.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Lily said and started to pull you along while you gazed at the shifting decorations adorning the walls, obvious to the blue eyes that followed you with interest from the bar.

Too many names spun through your brain, accompanied by the alcohol your friend had been plying you with.

Everyone you had met so far had been incredibly nice and friendly and hadn’t minded when you asked all the dumb questions about working at such a place.

Finally, it came down to the big event, meeting Mr. Stark and maybe the rest of the Avengers currently there.

Lily stepped up to her boss and greeted him and Pepper Potts like they were friends rather than her superiors and then introduced you. Not a lot of people got to shake hands with Iron Man and Pepper Potts but now you had, and it was totally normal.

“Interesting hair color,” Tony Stark pointed out. “Is it meant to look like that?” It was such an old man thing to say you could only laugh as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs. “I am sorry,” Pepper apologized but you waved it off.

“He is paying for everything I drink, so if he wants to make fun of my hair, it’s fine.” Pepper gave you a relieved look and was about to say something else when a voice interrupted.

“It looks like the Aurora Borealis.”

Bucky Barnes had appeared out of nowhere, like the skilled assassin he had been trained to be. It was like he had materialized out of thin air at your side and you jumped when he spoke.

Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, slapping your palm against his hard chest, and said “For fuck’s sake,” while your other hand rested over the heart trying to work its way out of your chest.

Then you realized what you’d done and pulled back your hand quickly, covering your mouth. Bucky stared back at you, mouth slightly open, while Lily and Tony both cackled in amusement. “That’s what you get Barnes,” your friend pointed out.

With a crooked smile, Bucky just said, “How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” and held out his arm. “As long as it’s crazy expensive since the old man made fun of my hair,” you shot over your shoulder at Tony as you took the offered arm.

Your friend winked at you before she returned to her conversation with Natasha Romanoff, whom you would just have to say hello to some other time.

Bucky led you the short way to the bar and you eased your way on to the chair, making sure not to get tangled in your long dress, as Bucky leaned over the bar and asked for the most expensive champagne they had.

“I’m Bucky,” he said. “I know,” you smiled at him before introducing yourself too.

In no time there were two flutes in front of you, he offered you one, saying cheers before you took the first sip. The unabashed moan that left you wasn’t meant to be sexual but Bucky stopped his glass halfway to his lips to just stare at you. It cracked you up, “Sorry,” you said, “I’ve never tasted champagne this good before.” He also took a sip, his eyes widening a little, and when he’d swallowed all he said was, “Wow.” “I could get used to this,” you took another mouth and closed your eyes.

When you opened them again you found him looking at you and it made a shiver go down your spine. For the first time in a long time, you felt desire pool in your lower belly. “Will this make up for Stark’s comment?” he asked. “It will absolutely!” you promised. “I think your hair looks great and I’m like twice his age so…” he trailed off.

“My friend, Lily, has told me about these crazy old super soldiers, but you look spry for your age,” you winked at him. “You can only imagine,” he flirted back, and your cheeks heated. You had forgotten about this, about the utter intoxication of flirting with a man and having it returned to you.

After several weeks of drought, your body suddenly knew what arousal was again and flooded you with it, making your heart beat twice as fast and your skin flush. “Oh, you want me to think of everything you can do?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “Anything you want, doll,” he leaned forward, “But I’m sure your imagination won’t hold a candle to the real thing.” “Are you going to show me?” “If you want to,” he smirked and you felt yourself grow wetter by the second.

You leaned in too, unable to resist him and not wanting to either. You wanted to get lost in him for as long as he would have you. He finished off the rest of his champagne like it was a shot of liquor.

“Come on, I have just the place,” he smiled, holding out his hand. Not even second-guessing yourself for a moment you finished your glass and let him lead you away.

Bucky took you through a side door, into a corridor that led to the heart of the compound which was now deserted, and finally into a large room with a domed ceiling.

It looked like a cinema almost, except the screen was the whole ceiling, and in the middle of the floor was an enormous sofa-like thing that easily fit several people.

After Bucky pressed something on a side panel the room lit up with the Aurora Borealis.

You let go of his hand, staring with huge eyes at the display. Maybe you had misinterpreted his intentions and they were actually pure, not at all the filthy things you had thought this would end up being.

Never had you been happier to be wrong.

This time when he appeared out of nowhere he didn’t scare you, he gripped your waist with the vibranium arm and spun you into his chest, before using his other hand to pinch your chin between his fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, tell me if I should stop,” he breathed. Instead of answering with words you surged up and crushed your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him impossibly closer.

It was almost like he expected you to be timid or something because, for a few seconds, he didn’t move, but then he rushed into action, moving his lips and kissing you like a man starved.

Desire flooded you, making every one of his touches feel like fire even through the fabric of your dress. He moved you backward until your knees hit the oversized sofa, and you laid down.

Bucky’s face was burning with desire as he looked down on you, before he could move or say anything you grabbed your skirt and pulled it up until it bunched around your waist so that you were able to spread your legs without restraint.

The growl erupting from his chest made you smile and you crooked your finger toward him. He knelt between your legs, grabbing your thighs to spread them even more before he leaned down over you to capture your lips again.

The action made the hard cock in his jeans brush against your heated core, making you moan into his mouth.

He pulled back, eyes wild, “Your sounds make me fucking crazy.” he groaned, moving his hands down your naked legs, caressing them and gripping them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be rough or gentle.

“Hope so,” you smiled and started to tug at his suit jacket, needing to see his body. He obliged by sitting back and ridding his upper body of clothing. As soon as you could your hands splayed out across the expanse of his naked torso, feeling the hard muscles under the soft skin.

Your eyes grazed over the scars on his left shoulder but didn’t pay it any mind. The man had trauma, that was no secret, but tonight you didn’t need to delve into that. Instead, you sat up, kissing the skin you could reach and licking at his nipple, making him moan most deliciously.

He reached around you to unzip your dress and you whined when you had to move away from him to let him pull it off you. Now you were almost completely naked with the super soldier, except for the thong you wore that did little to hide anything from him, and your heels.

Without another word, he stood up and unbuttoned his pants, peeling them off and kicking off his shoes in the process, before he was back over you. Now it was his turn to taste your skin and when he closed his mouth around a nipple, using his vibranium hand to pinch the other, you released a high-pitched mewl you never heard from yourself before.

That only spurred him on, alternating between sucking and licking at you, squeezing or pinching your sensitive buds. The pleasure was too much, like you would implode or maybe even come from just him playing with your tits. You fisted the fabric under you, pushing your chest even more into him as moans and words tumbled from your lips.

“Bucky, please!” you tried forming a coherent sentence but failed. “What do you need, doll?” he asked, lips shiny with his spit as he looked up at you. “Touch me, make me come, please Bucky,” you didn’t want to wait another second for the pleasure you had missed for a lot longer than the weeks since your break up. This temporary connection with a stranger was already better than what you had experienced over several years.

“Can I taste you?” his voice was husky, filled with restrained want. “Yes!” you smiled and raised yourself on your elbows.

You watched as he kissed his way down your form, pulling off your thong and throwing it away. He grabbed your thighs and spread them wide before letting the thumb of his vibranium hand slowly drag up, separating your folds, groaning, almost whispering “Fuck, your pussy is perfect,” and leaning in to carefully lick up your spread lips. You fell back, staring up at the beautiful display as Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, one of the Avengers, ate you out with perfection.

Every move he made sent sparks through your entire body and pulled cries from you. Your hands tangled in his hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to anchor yourself on something. Nothing would hold a candle to this for the rest of your life you suspected, because even though you had just met, Bucky Barnes took his sweet time, caressing his hands up and down your sides, down your legs, and back up again, using his tongue and lips to make your body blaze.

Your crescendo built steadily, as did your voice, the closer you got the more you pleaded and begged, even though he was doing exactly what you wanted him to. When two fingers on his right hand breached you with no problem your back bowed, the pleasure rushing through you, and when he crooked them and moved them inside you, it was everything the dam needed to break and the coil inside you snapped.

You screamed his name as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. What was even better was that he worked you through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure out of you before you had to instead beg him to stop.

"Too much," you whimpered when the uttermost tip of his tongue gently floated across your clit. "No, darling, not enough. A man could get addicted to hearing you scream his name."

You whimpered again, your body rocking with overstimulation at every pass of his tongue. It was wonderful to hear him say those things but you needed more.

"Please tell me you have a condom so you can fuck me," you groaned and that made him stop, staring at you from between your legs before kissing up the side of your thigh to sit back on his heels before he got up. He freed himself from his underwear before he bent down to grab his pants and pulled a condom from a pocket and that gave you a chance to admire him. His cock was hard, glistening, and a lot bigger than what you were previously used to, but that only sparked more excitement in your lower stomach.

"Hands and knees, baby," he smiled and made a twirling motion with his fingers. You wasted no time rolling over, and getting into position. His flesh hand slapped your ass playfully when he knelt behind you and when you moaned he chuckled. "You like that huh?" he asked as the tip of his cock started to press into you.

He was big, you whined and whimpered with every inch he pressed into you. Maybe why he took his time eating you, because he needed you to be as aroused as possible for it to fit. You clawed at the fabric, feeling like you were having an out-of-body experience with how he filled you.

"So good, taking it all," he praised when his hips were finally flush with your ass. Trying to answer him with words was out of the question, instead, you rocked your body, feeling his cock press against everything inside you, giving you the most delicious sensation you probably ever felt.

His hand landed on your ass again and that spurred you on, starting to move a bit faster. "Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock," he sounded a little breathless and you wished you could see him. "Do you like it, darling? Do you like my cock filling you to the brim?"

Fuck, Bucky Barnes had a mouth on him you had not expected. He grabbed your hips and helped you along, starting to fuck you deep and hard, pulling almost all the way out before shoving back in again.

With every move, you cried out in sheer ecstasy. Bucky kept on telling you how good you sounded, he didn't mind at all that you were loud.

The pace was hard but not hurried, he seemed to like taking his time, not rushing through the action just to get to the finish line. But it was driving you mad, it felt like you were at the precipice constantly, ready to tip over but needing something more to do it.

Then he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you up until you were flush against his chest, his pace never stopping. "Hi, sweet thing, enjoying yourself?" he wasn't even winded and you were a panting, whimpering mess, feeling like you were about to lose it.

"Yes, Bucky, please touch me, make me come again." He kissed your shoulder, "My pleasure," was his answer and his left hand descended on your aching clit.

A shudder and a scream passed through you when he started to rub small circles over it. Suddenly you were so close to the edge you could almost taste it, and Bucky knew it too.

"That's right, come on my cock, doll. Can you do that for me? Be good and come for me?" he said between kissing up your neck, moving the arm around your waist up to grab your jaw, and turning your head to the side. The kiss was sloppy but delicious, and with the aid of his fingers and so full of his cock the orgasm took you by full force, making you shake in his grip.

He released your mouth and let the sounds you made fill up the room, pressing his mouth to the side of your head and telling you over and over again how fucking good you felt coming around him.

If he hadn’t held you up, you would have collapsed no doubt, but Bucky had no problem keeping you up as he found his own release, pressing his forehead against your neck and mumbling obscenities, his hips stuttering against your ass.

Now he was breathing heavier, holding you tight against him with both arms, letting his fingers draw random patterns on your skin.

You were in a post-orgasmic haze, only existing in that moment with no past or future, only his warm body, and a sated need. "Gonna need to let you go now, darling," he said in a low voice "Lay down." His arms loosened around you and you braced yourself with your arms and eased yourself down on your side.

Bucky got up, probably to dispose of the condom, before laying down behind you. You hadn't expected him to want to cuddle, but he draped his arm across your side, pulling you flush against him.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper. "Fan-fucking-tastic," you answered with a small laugh and felt a million times lighter all of a sudden.

After a few minutes of laying there, you felt like you'd been gone from the party long enough, but judging by Bucky’s heavy breathing, he had fallen asleep behind you.

He didn't wake as you gathered your things. When you found the thong, you looked at it, looked over at his gorgeous form laying there, and giggled as you found his pants and stuffed the thong down his pocket.

With the help of some items in your clutch, you patched up your make-up and fixed your hair before slipping out and closing the door behind you.

It was a small miracle that you could find your way back to the party but you did and immediately went to the bar for a drink.

Lily found you minutes later and she just raised an eyebrow, you shrugged and tilted your glass towards hers, clinking them together, and then you both burst out laughing.

Monday rolled around and it was hard to work because you kept getting lost in the memories of Friday night.

His eyes, his scent, his voice as he said those things to you. You squeezed your legs together and stifled a low moan.

Suddenly your phone chimed and pulled you back into the real world. A text from Lily.

[So, Bucky Barnes just came by and asked for your number. I gave it, of course, just so you know!] [Okay? Did he say why he needed it?] [Apparently, you left something(????) here on Friday and he wanted to return it.] [Hmm, okay, thanks!] [What did you leave?!?!?!?] [Don't be so nosey, go back to work!]

Your stomach did a flip when the next message was from an unknown number. It had a picture attached, your thong tangled in his fingers, and the text [You left these.] For a second you imagined him using them as he got himself off. You bit your lips as you responded. [Keep them or throw them away, I have more, don't worry.] even added a little wink-emoji.

[I want to return them, personally. Are you free this afternoon?] His response was quick and very to the point.

A wonderful shudder traveled through you at the thought of seeing him again. You had meant for this to be a one-time thing, something to get you back into the world and learn to exist without your ex but there wasn't any harm in seeing where this could go, and hopefully, you would have a lot more amazing sex on top of it.

[Sure, I get off at five.]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky smut #veltana writes

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myfictionaldreams · 8 days ago

Text

⁀➷ Desk Duty // Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Summary: You're the sunshine of the Hawkins Police Station—always smiling and brightening everyone's day. Especially his. Chief Jim Hopper is gruff, intimidating, and far too old for you... But you've had a quiet crush on your boss since day one. The age gap, the power imbalance, and the rules make it impossible. Or at least, it should be—until one stormy night pushes everything past the point of no return.

A/N: I have been desperate to write for Hopper and I'm so glad I did... this man has me in a chokehold.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, age gap (reader: 20s, hopper: 40s), boss/secretary, forbidden romance, innocence kink, sunshine vs grumpy, protective Hopper, minor injuries, size kink/difference, squirting, praise kink, oral (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, Hopper is a tits guy

Words: 5.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Hawkins Police Station wasn’t exactly known for its excitement. On most days, it was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the squeak of Officer Callahan’s chair every time he leaned too far back.

But for you, the silence wasn’t a bad thing. It gave you room to breathe, to sort through case files and tidy up the endless stream of paperwork with your usual meticulous care.

You’d been working at the station for just over six months, and in that time, you’d managed to become something of a fixture behind the front desk. Bright eyes, organised, and hopelessly king. Too kind, according to Chief Jim Hopper.

You bought fresh coffee every morning, laid out pastries on the breakroom table before anyone arrived, and swapped out the vase of flowers on your desk weekly just to keep the place from feeling too grey. You remembered birthdays, wrote thank-you notes in tidy handwriting, and always had a soft smile for even the most irritable walk-ins.

You were the kind of sunshine that warmed everyone around you. And everyone in the office noticed.

“You’re too good for this dump,” Powell had said once, shaking his head as he grabbed a glazed donut from the box you brought in. “You should be working at some fancy law firm or greeting people at a spa.”

But you didn’t want that. You loved your job. Love the small-town rhythm, the creaky floorboards, the scent of strong coffee and old paper. And more than anything, you were drawn to the man at the heart of it all: Chief Jim Hopper.

It didn’t make sense, not really. He was gruff, older, chronically dishevelled, and wore a permanent scowl as if it were stitched into his skin. But somehow, he made your stomach flutter. He made your cheeks burn when he barked out your name or muttered under his breath in that deep, rough voice.

You had a crush. A big one. An all-consuming, ill-advised crush on the Chief of Police– your boss.

“You’re gonna burn out if you keep smiling at everyone like that,” he’d grumble, every other morning when he passed by your desk, coffee in one hand, permanent scowl on his face.

And every time, you’d just grin up at him and say, “Good morning, Chief.”

It had become your thing. You teasing him, him pretending not to enjoy it. But you caught the way his mouth twitched sometimes, like he was holding back a smile. Hopper was all sharp edges and shadows, tall and broad and imposing with that worn-out Sheriff’s uniform clinging to his hulking frame, but there was something else under the surface. A heaviness. A quiet sadness he never talked about.

You noticed it even when others didn’t. The way his shoulders dropped the moment he thought no one was looking. The way he lingered in his office long after everyone else had gone home.

And that was why you stayed.

You didn’t tell him that, of course. You just pretended to have too much filing to do. Pretended to be absorbed in some boring county report or half-finished inventory list. But every night, you waited until his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and out the front door before packing up your things.

It was just after nine when the phones finally stopped ringing. Powell and Callahan had already left, tossing casual goodnights over their shoulders/ The radio in the corner played soft static, and the overhead lights buzzed with that low, flickering hum. You rubbed your eyes, blinking at the glow of the desk lamp as you finished logging the last of the incident reports.

The door to Hopper’s office was still closed.

You bit your lip, glancing toward it. You could go home. No one would blame you, and you were officially meant to finish your shift an hour ago. But something about leaving while he was still here, alone, likely hunched over a bottle and an old case file, just didn’t sit right.

You stood up, walking softly to his door. You knocked gently.

“What?”

The bark made you smile. “Just me, Chief.”

A pause, then the sound of a chair creaking and heavy boots approaching. He opened the door with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing beneath that wild mop of hair. “You’re still here?”

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile as you looked up at him through your lowered lashes. “Had some filing to finish.”

His gaze dropped to your empty hands, then flicked back up. “You’re lying.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You always finish by eight.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You hadn’t realised he… noticed. That he paid enough attention to know your habits. Your cheeks warmed under his intense gaze as you absent-mindedly began to wring your fingers together.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, one hand raking through his hair and pushing it back. “Why do you stay late?”

You hesitated. “Because you do.”

That shut him up. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like he wasn't sure what to do with that. You stood your ground, fiddling with your fingers.

“I just… I don’t like thinking of you here alone, that’s all.”

He looked like he wanted to scold you. Maybe tell you it was none of your business. But instead, he signed again and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

You blinked, not expecting that response. “Really?”

“Might as well. I'm just going through old case files. Not confidential.”

You stepped inside his office for the first time, taking in the cluttered desk, the peeling maps on the wall, the ashtray filled with crumpled cigarett butts. It smells like smoke, coffee, and something uniquely his– woodsy and warm, like cedar and old leather.

He dropped heavily into his chair with a grunt and gestured for you to sit in the battered chair across from him.

You sat down, smoothing a hand over your skirt nervously. “You live like a raccoon in here.”

He gave you a flat look. “You don't have to stay.”

“I want to.”

That got a reaction. His brows lifted, just slightly.

“You’re too nice,” he grumbled, grabbing a file. “It’ll get you hurt someday.”

You smiled softly. “Not with you around, Sheriff.”

He froze, just for a second. Then cleared his throat and focused hard on the paper in front of him. You didn't say anything else. The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable but thick with something else. An awareness that neither of you acknowledged.

You watched the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. The way his fingers dwarfed the pen in his hand. The tiny twitch of his moustache when he was deep in thought.

“You shouldn't want me like that,” he said without looking up.

You jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what it does.”

Your heart skipped. You swallowed, shuffling in the leather chair. “Maybe I do.”

That made him look up. His eyes were tired but sharp, focused entirely on you.

“You shouldn’t”, he said again, but his voice was softer this time, almost like he didn’t believe his own words.

You felt heat rise in your neck. “I should probably head home.”

He stood before you, towering as always. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, the air was cold. You shivered, arms wrapped tight around yourself. Without a word, he pulled off his flannel overshirt and draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered, brushing your arms.

You looked up at him. “Thank you,” he held your gaze for a long moment. His expression was unreadable.

“Get home safe, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your chest ache. “You too, Chief.”

He waited until you got in your car and didn’t move until your headlights disappeared down the road. And still, long after you were gone, he stood outside in the cold, staring into the night, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The morning air in Hawkins had a crisp bite to it, and you hugged your coat tighter around your frame as you stepped into the police station. You were early again. Hopper would grumble about it if he noticed, but you didn’t care. It gave you time to set out the fresh box of doughnuts, refill the coffee pot, and tuck a sprig of sunflowers into the chipped vase on your desk.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Powell greeted, breezing past you with a grin.

You smiled back. “Morning. I brought your favourite today. Raspberry jelly.”

“You’re gonna spoil us rotten,” Callahan muttered as he grabbed a glazed one. “Still don't know how someone like you ended up stuck in this place.”

You laughed lightly, used to the comment. “Guess I have a thing for grumpy men with badges.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your eyes darted to Hopper’s office. The door was closed, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard. You busied yourself with rearranging the folders on your desk, cheeks warm. Just thinking about him made your stomach flip.

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Hopper emerged, looking as tired and dishevelled as ever, hair sticking up on one side, uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He grunted something that resembled a greeting and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Fresh,” you called softly.

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Course it is.”

You offered him a sweet smile. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just filled his mug and disappeared back into his office.

Mid-morning brought chaos. A loud ruckus at the front doors had you jerking your head up. Powell and Callahan rushed forward as two deputies dragged in a handcuffed man, thrashing and shouting.

“Get your hands off me! You think you can lock me up for nothing? Bunch of small-town bastards!”

You stood quickly, hands braced on your desk. The man was wiry and angry, eyes wild and red-rimmed, likely drunk or high, maybe both. Hopper stormed out of his office.

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

“Caught him breaking into Henderson’s garage,” one of the deputies said. “Resisted the whole way.”

The man snarled, thrashing again. “I didn’t do shit!”

It happened fast. The man jerked forward, headbutting the nearest officer. In the chaos, his elbow flew out and struck you. A blinding crack to the side of your face sent you stumbling backwards, crashing into the corner of your desk.

Everything tilted. Your vision swam.

“HEY!”

Hopper’s roar echoed like a gunshot. Chairs scraped. Officers shouted. Powell reached you first, hand on your shoulder, but Hopper was already moving like a freight train. He lunged.

In one fluid, furious motion, he slammed the man against the wall with a snarl. “You just hit her,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Big mistake.”

The station froze. No one dared move. No one dared breathe. The man whimpered under Hopper’s grip. The Chief didn’t let go until the deputies peeled him off.

Still trembling, you had slumped back into your chair, dazed, with your face in your hands. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip. Everyone rushed around you–Callahan barking for an ice pack, Powell fumbling for tissues–but it was Hopper who reached you first.

He dropped to a croch, his large frame making him eye-level with you. His hands, however, were near your face, clenched tight with restraint.

“Let me see,” he gently coaxed. You shook your head, blinking fast.

“I’m fine. Just startled. It was an accident.”

“He hit you.” his voice was firm.

You offered a weak smile. “You should see the other guy.”

He didn’t smile. He reached out, fingers ghosting along your jaw. The gentle contact made you flinch. Hopper flinched, too. Something burned behind his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Something more. And then he stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, one hand fisting his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “I need a minute.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the front doors. The others watched him go silent. Callahan eventually broke the tension. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll drive you home.”

You stood numbly, shaking your head as much as possible without it throbbing. “No, it’s ok. I just need a moment outside, I’ll be fine.” With a hand pressed to your aching jaw, you slipped outside.

The air was cold, biting. It made your cheeks sting and your eyes water, but you needed the solitude. You stumbled along the path at the edge of the station, disappearing into the trees. There, out of view, you leaned back against the rough bark and let yourself crumble.

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Your chest heaved with the emotion you hadn’t let them see inside.

You didn’t hear the footsteps. “You shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself.”

You startled, turning to see Hopper, towering, jaw still tight. His eyes locked on yours, then immediately dropped to your swollen lip.

You quickly wiped at your face. “But I’m not by myself, and anyway, I just needed a moment.”

He said nothing at first. Just looked at you, really looked. Then he stepped close. Close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. His hand reached out, slow this time, warm and steady as it found your jaw again. He tilted your face toward the light. His thumb brushed your lip, and you winced.

“Damn it,” he grunted.

You saw it then, the way his whole body tensed, as if he wanted to hit something. Or scream. But instead, he exhaled, slow and deep, hand still cradling your cheek.

“I should’ve been faster. Should’ve stepped in before it happened.”

“You did what you could,” you whispered. “You always do.”

His brows furrowed. “Doesn’t make it easier,”

There was silence then. The wind rustled the leaves overhead. You leaned further back against the tree, grounding yourself, but Hopper followed your movement, his hand still on your face, his other moving to your waist.

You gasped softly at the contact. His palm was heavy and warm on your hip, thumb grazing slowly over the fabric of your jumper. Your hand came up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist where he cupped your cheek. The tension between you was suffocation.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low. “Thought he–shit, I don’t know what I thought. Just don’t ever do that again.”

“It wasn’t like I meant to,” you breathed. He let out a humourless laugh, his forehead almost brushing yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly.

“You’re too good for this place,” his eyes dragged over your features. “Too soft. Too…good.”

“I belong where you are,” you said without any rational thought.

He froze. You felt his breath catch, his gaze dropping to your lips. His thumb moved again along your jaw, slow and aching.

“Don’t say things like that,” he rasped. “Not when you don’t know what they mean.”

“I do.” You tightened your grip on his wrist. “I know exactly what they mean.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. His head dipped, lips just inches from yours. So close you could feel the heat of him, your breath hitched, needing this.

Then, the station door creaked open. Footsteps. Voices calling.

He pulled back sharply, like the moment had never happened. The space between you is filled with cold air.

“Callahan’s gonna drive you home,” he finally said, stepping away. “You rest. Take tomorrow off.”

You nodded, your heart still hammering. He turned, walking away with fists clenched and shoulders rigid. But just before disappearing around the corner, he stopped. And looked back. His eyes held yours. Then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were back at work the next morning, despite Hopper’s orders. Your lip was healing, and the faint discolouration from the bruise along your cheekbone had already begun to fade beneath a dusting of concealer.

You’d smiled when you passed his office, pretending not to see the way his brown furrowed or the way his eyes dropped immediately to your jaw.

“You’re gonna give him an ulcer,” Powell said around a mouthful of muffin.

You blink at him in confusion. “Who?”

Powell gave you a look. “Don’t play innocent. We all saw the way Hopper nearly murdered that guy yesterday. And now here you are with homemade blueberry scones and those little peppermint cream things he likes.”

Callahan leaned over the breakroom table. “He’s like twice your age, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

Powell smirked. “You keep bringing in his favourite candy and talking to him like he doesn’t make your cheeks glow like a goddamn christmas tree, you’re gonna get the whole department caught in a sexual harassment seminar.”

You flushed, turning away to rearrange the snack tray. “It’s nothing. He's my boss. We just talk sometimes.”

Callahan gave a low whistle. “Talk. Right. That's what you call it when you two vanish behind the trees for twenty minutes yesterday?”

Your hands stilled on the napkins. “I was upset,” you say offhandedly.

“He was upset,” Powell echoed, but gently now. “Just be careful, alright? We like having you around. You’re good for him. Maybe too good.”

You didn’t reply. I just offered a small, polite smile and returned to my desk. Hopper didn’t emerge from his office until nearly noon, eyes flicking to the new flower arrangement on your desk and the scones on the tray. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You stayed late, again. Of course you did. And this time, it came back to bite you.

By the time you finally gathered your things and stepped outside, the lot was empty, and dusk had settled. You turned the key in the ignition of your car.

Nothing.

You tried again—nothing but a weak sputter. The battery was dead.

You sighed, resting your forehead on the steering wheel. You didn’t want to call anyone. You didn’t want to explain why you were still there after hours. So you grabbed your coat and bag and started walking.

It wasn’t far. Just a mile and a half. Maybe two. But the wind had picked up, and you hadn’t dressed for the cold. You’d worn a sundress, one of your favourites, a soft yellow one with buttons down the front and a hem that swished around your knees. Pretty and light. Completely impractical now that the sun had dipped.

Your arms were already covered in goosebumps when you heard the familiar rumble of an engine behind you.

A beat-up Bronco pulled alongside. Hopper.

His window rolled down. “What the hell are you doing?”

You glanced at him, sheepishly raising a shoulder. “Walking home.”

“In that dress? In the dark?”

“My car wouldn’t start. It’s fine. I’m almost halfway.”

He swore under his breath and slammed the car into park. “Get in,” you hesitated. “Don’t argue, " he said, already pushing open the passenger door.

You climbed in, shivering. The heat blasted your face immediately, and the door thunked shut behind you. He didn’t speak at first. Just pulled back onto the road, jaw tight, eyes forward. You rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them.

Without a word, Hopper shrugged off his flannel shirt and handed it to you. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You slipped it on, grateful. It was huge, swallowing you whole. Warm and worn and smelling like him. The sleeves fell past your fingers. You hugged it close.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He grunted. You glanced down at your thighs, the dress having ridden up when you slid into the seat. It now rested dangerously high, just above the mid-thigh, where your bare skin brushed against the cold leather.

You saw his gaze shift. He didn’t speak, but his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. His eyes flicked from the road to your legs and back again. His jaw flexed. You pressed your legs together, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

“Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Hi voice came out gravelly, “You don't make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” You looked at him. He didn’t look back. “You make me…” he trailed off. Shook his head. “It’s not important.”

You turned more toward him, your knees angled in his direction. The trust was old and narrow. The space between you felt like nothing.

“Tell me,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked to you for just a second. Then they dropped to your bare legs, your hands folded in his flannel. “You’re too young,” he said finally. “Too sweet. Too good. I'm not the man you should be riding home with.”

“Then why do you always make sure I get there safe?

That did it. His jaw clenched. He pulled off to the side of the road and threw the truck in park. You both sat there for a long moment, listening to the engine tick.

“Because I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you,” he admitted. “Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t feel.”

Your heart thudded. “I’m not that innocent,” you whispered.

His eyes finally met yours. “Yes. You are.”

The air in the cab turned thick. Hot. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he reached across the seat and tucked the flannel tighter around your body. His hand lingered on your arm. Just for a second. Just long enough to burn.

And then he pulled away. “Let’s get you home,” he finally said, breaking the silence. But the look he gave you before turning back to the road wasn’t one of indifference. It was a promise.

The next morning, you arrived at the station with Hoppe’s flannel still folded neatly over your arm. You’d washed it the second you got home, even spritzed it lightly with cedar spray to mask your laundry detergent, but part of you wanted to keep it, selfishly, like it belonged to you now.

As they entered, Powell gave you a knowing glance. “You always wear that dress on the days he’s in early,” he teased. “What happened, couldn’t find one shorter?”

“It’s not short,” you muttered, cheeks heating.

“Sure it’s not,” Callahan added with a wink. “Still cold out, sunshine. Maybe he oughta just buy you a jacket. Better yet, move you in.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach did that traitorous flutter all over again. Hopper hadn’t come in yet, but you could already feel the weight of him in the air, he way he occupied space even when he wasn’t present. It was maddening.

You set his flannel on the edge of his desk and smoothed it flat. A note accompanied it in your tidy handwriting: “Thanks for the rescue. And the warmth.”

He didn’t mention it when he arrived, just nodded once and carried it into his office without a word. But he lingered at your desk just a second longer than necessary. You swore you felt his fingers graze yours when he took the reports from your hand.

The day passed in a haze of tension and glances. Every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence like a shadow, tall and impossible to ignore. When you brought him his afternoon coffee, your fingers brushed again. You both paused, but neither said a word.

Late that evening, the station emptied slowly. Powell waved goodnight. Callahan teased you on his way out, but you were already lost in your paperwork. You hadn’t even realised Hopper was still inside until you heard his door creak open again.

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“You working late again?”

“Guess so,” you smiled. “Didn't want to leave before you.”

He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. The room felt warmer when he was near. “You should stop doing that,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Waiting on me.”

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I might start expecting it.”

Silence stretched between you. His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The hem of your dress, yet again, had ridden up whilst you sat.

His jaw flexed. “You're freezing again.”

Before you could reply, he was shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. His fingers lingered there, heavy and warm, pressing into your arms. Your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“Taking care of me.”

His voice was low. “Because no one else does.”

You stood slowly, his jacket falling around you like armour. “That's not true. Everyone here looks out for me.”

“Not the way I do,” he said, closer now. “Not like this.”

You were trembling, but not from the cold. From the heat in his eyes. From everything unsaid.

“Jim,” you whispered.

His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your cheek, the faintest stroke. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. He stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he said again, voice cracking.

Your lips parted.

The office door slammed open. Callahan’s voice called out, too loud and jarring. You jumped back. Hopper swore under his breath, stepping away like he’d been caught red-handed.

Callahan poked his head in. “Oh. You’re both still here. Forgot my damn wallet.”

You busied yourself with your files, pretending your skin wasn’t burning. Hopper cleared his throat, face like stone. “See you tomorrow,” Callahan added, then slipped out.

Neither of you moved. After a long beat, Hopper finally exhaled.

“You should go home,” he said. “Before we do something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t argue. But as you left, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, you knew it was already too late. The line had been crossed. It was only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain came fast and had, sliding down in waves as you turned your car onto your street. Windshield wipers struggled against the downpour, and every crack of thunder made you flinch. By the time you pulled into your driveway and stepped out, the wind had already blown your umbrella inside out.

You were soaked within seconds.

Your dress clung to your skin, a sheet of heavy fabric. Your shoes squelched. Cold raindrops trickled down your spine as you fumbled with your keys and rushed inside.

The house was quiet, still. But the silence didn’t last long. With a loud crack, everything went black—power out.

You stood there in the dark, shivering, water dripping from your hair. The air in your home had already turned frigid without the heater.

You stripped out of your wet shoes and peeled off your soaked dress, shivering harder in your thin slip. Every room felt colder than the last. You pulled one of Hopper’s flannels from the laundry basket; you hadn’t returned it this time. You just couldn’t bring yourself to. It felt like safety. Like him.

After lighting all the candles that you owned, you were still rubbing your arms trying to warm up, when the knock came.

You froze.

Another knock. Harder this time. More urgent.

You padded barefoot to the door and opened it to find Hopper on your porch, drenched to the bone.

“Jesus,” he grunted, looking you over. “You okay? I tried calling. Lines are down.”

You stared at him. “Y-You’ve driven through this?”

“You didn’t answer. I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart fluttered. He stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

“It’s freezing in here, power out?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. His eyes trailed down your body, bare legs, soaked through slip, his flannel barely buttoned.

His throat worked visibly. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t have time to change,” you whispered.

He stepped closer, large hands cupping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed over the fabric of the flannel, the only barrier between your skin and his palms.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold,” you said, though your voice trembled for other reasons, too.”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The shape of your nipples was visible through the thin, soaked fabric. His hands flexed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly doubted himself. “You’re half my age. Im your damn boss.”

Your heart clenched.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”

You stepped forward, your voice soft and innocent. “But you always take care of me.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, eyes still averted. “And I shouldn’t. It's not right. You deserve someone your age. Someone who doesn't want to drag you into something you’ll regret.”

You were close enough to touch him now. Slowly, gently, you reach out and place your hand on his chest, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt, the solid heat of it underneath.

“I don’t regret this,” you whispered. “Not any of it.”

He looked down at you then, and you bit your lip, eyes wide and full of want. That was all it took.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you against him, kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

His lips were rough and desperate against yours, the kiss tasting of tain and restraint finally shattered. His hands slid under the flannel, dragging it down your arms as his mouth devoured yours, his facial hair rough against your soft cheeks.

“You’re so delicate,” he groaned against your skin. “So fucking sweet.” Next, he removed your shift until you’re completely bare before him.

You whimpered, clinging to his soaked shirt, his body massive and warm against yours. He swept you up without warning, carrying you through the dark hallways toward your bedroom.

He laid you back on your bed gently, like he couldn’t bear to be rough with you just yet.

He kissed you as if he were starving.

You were trembling beneath him, breathless, caught between anticipation and need as his massive frame hovered above you. His hands, big and rough, traced the length of your thighs, parting them gently.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he praised, voice thick with emotion. “Too good for me.”

Your fingers clutched his biceps. “I want you, Jim. I want this.”

He groaned like the words pained him, like he was trying to keep himself in check. “I should stop. Shouldn’t be touching you like this.”

You reached up, brushing your lips against his jaw, your voice sweet, almost pleading. “Then don’t stop.”

That broke him. He claimed your mouth again, tongue sliding against yours in a deep, consuming kiss. One hand trailed down your stomach and between your thighs, fingers teasing.

“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta stretch you first.”

You gasped as one thick finger slid into you slowly, the stretch already burning slightly. He moved carefully, watching your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your jaw until a second finger was able to slip beside the first.

“That okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, clutching at him as your hips rolled in time with his movements. “Feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he praised, curling his fingers until your back arched. “You take me so well.”

Your moans turned breathless, needy. When he added a third finger, your thighs trembled around his hand.

“God, you’re so tight,” he growled, biting your lower lip, voice rough with restraint. “You sure you can take me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I want to. I want all of you.”

Jim didn’t need telling twice as he carefully eased his fingers out of you so that he could remove his clothes. You watched his every movement, pussy clenching with need at seeing his body slowly being revealed to you.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Chief,” you say coyly, fingers gripping into the sheets below.

With his clothes finally removed, he carefully lowered his body over yours, cradling your head as he kissed you soundly, his hips slotting against yours until you felt the heavy pulse of his cock against your thigh.

He lined himself up, kissing you once, hard and full of need, then pushed inside with a slow, careful thrust that stole your breath.

Your nails scraped down his back as your legs circled his hip, crying out in desperation. “So big,” you gasped. “Oh my god.”

He grunted, trembling with the effort not to slam into you. “You’re gripping me so fucking right, sweetheart. Jesus.”

He rocked his hips slowly at first, letting you adjust. Every inch of him stretched you open, filled you so deeply it stole your breath with each thrust.

“You okay?” he asked against your ear.

“Y-Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

Once he knew you could take it, the pace changed. He thrust deep and hard, mouth on your neck, your chest, lavishing your breasts with licks, sucking on your nipple until your back arched.

“These tits,” he panted, sucking a nipple between his lips. “So perfect. I could stay here forever.”

You mewled beneath him, body jolting with every thrust. You were soaking, trembling, your noises high-pitched and utterly pathetic.

“I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, biting gently at your collarbone. “So fucking long.”

You came hard, a whimpering, gasping mess under him, and he never let up. He fucked you through t, murmuring praise as you sobbed against his shoulder.

“One more,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart.”

He flipped you over, pulling you into his lap, his cock still deep inside. His big hands gripping your hips and guiding your movements, helping you rock against him.

You were trembling, head thrown back, gasping his name.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

“You can do it,” he rasped, kissing your throat. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You broke with a scream, squirting over his thighs, your body convulsing with overstimulation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, eyes dark with awe. “You’re perfect.”

He pulled out at the last second,s troking himself fast an came with a loud groan across your chest, hot ropes streaking your tits as you panted beneath him.

You lay again him, trembling and dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling quickly.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, you were finally his.

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #mine*

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mecachrome · 2 months ago

Text

📊 LANDOSCAR AO3 STATS (may 2025)

notes

sorry this literally took 2 weeks to write... unfortunately the data was retrieved april 28 and it is now may 12.

other work: i previously wrote a stats overview that covered landoscar's fic growth and breakout in 2023 :) i've kept some of the formatting and graphs that i showed there, while other things have been removed or refined because i felt they'd become redundant or unnecessary (aka they were basically just a reflection of fandom growth in general, and not unique or interesting to landoscar as a ship specifically).

methodology: i simply scraped the metadata for every fic in the landoscar tag (until april 28, 2025) and then imported it into google sheets to clean, with most visualizations done in tableau. again, all temporal data is by date updated (not posted) unless noted otherwise. this is because the date that appears on the parent view of the ao3 archives is the updated one, so it's the only feasible datapoint to collect for 3000+ fics.

content: this post does not mention any individual authors or concern itself with kudos, hits, comments, etc. i purely describe archive growth and overall analysis of metadata like word count and tagging metrics.

cleaning: after importing my data, i standardized ship spelling, removed extra "814" or "landoscar" tags, and merged all versions of one-sided, background, implied, past, mentioned etc. into a single "(side)" modifier. i also removed one fic entirely from the dataset because the "loscar" tag was being mistakenly wrangled as landoscar, but otherwise was not actually tagged as landoscar. i also removed extra commentary tags in the ships sets that did not pertain to any ships.

overall stats

before we get into any detailed distributions, let's first look at an overview of the archive as of 2025! in their 2-and-change years as teammates, landoscar have had over 3,409 fics written for them, good enough for 3rd overall in the f1 archives (behind lestappen and maxiel).

most landoscar fics are completed one-shots (although note that a one-shot could easily be 80k words—in fact they have about 30 single-chapter fics that are at least 50k words long), and they also benefit from a lot of first-tagged fic, which is to say 82.3% of landoscar-tagged fics have them as the first ship, implying that they aren't often used as a fleeting side pairing and artificially skewing perception of their popularity. in fact, over half of landoscar fics are PURELY tagged as landoscar (aka otp: true), with no other side pairings tagged at all.

this percentage has actually gone down a bit since 2023 (65.5%), which makes sense since more lando and oscar ships have become established and grown in popularity over the years, but it's also not a very big difference yet...

ship growth

of course, landoscar have grown at a frankly terrifying rate since 2023. remember this annotated graph i posted comparing their growth during the 2023 season to that of carlando and loscar, respectively their other biggest ship at the time? THIS IS HER NOW:

yes... that tiny squished down little rectangle... (wipes away stray tear) they grow up so fast. i also tried to annotate this graph to show other "big" landoscar moments in the timeline since, but i honestly struggled with this because they've just grown SO exponentially and consistently that i don't even feel like i can point to anything as a proper catalyst of production anymore. that is to say, i think landoscar are popular enough now that they have a large amount of dedicated fans/writers who will continuously work on certain drafts and stories regardless of what happens irl, so it's hard to point at certain events as inspiring a meaningful amount of work.

note also that this is all going by date updated, so it's not a true reflection of ~growth~ as a ficdom. thankfully ao3 does have a date_created filter that you can manually enter into the search, but because of this limitation i can't create graphs with the granularity and complexity that scraping an entire archive allows me. nevertheless, i picked a few big ships that landoscar have overtaken over the last 2 years and created this graph using actual date created metrics!!!

this is pretty self-explanatory of course but i think it's fun to look at... :) it's especially satisfying to see how many ships they casually crossed over before the end of 2024.

distributions

some quick graphs this time. rating distribution remains extremely similar to the 2023 graph, with explicit fic coming out on top at 28%:

last time i noted a skew in ratings between the overall f1 rpf tag and the landoscar tag (i.e. landoscar had a higher prevalence of e fic), but looking at it a second time i honestly believe this is more of a cultural shift in (f1? sports rpf? who knows) fandom at large and not specific to landoscar as a ship — filtering the f1 rpf tag to works updated from 2023 onward shows that explicit has since become the most popular rating in general, even when excluding landoscar-tagged fics. is it because fandom is getting more horny in general, or because the etiquette surrounding what constitutes t / m / e has changed, or because people are less afraid to post e fic publicly and no longer quarantine it to locked livejournal posts? or something else altogether? Well i don't know and this is a landoscar stats post so it doesn't matter but that could be something for another thought experiment. regardless because of that i feel like further graphs aren't really necessary 🤷‍♀️

onto word distribution:

still similar to last time, although i will note that there's a higher representation of longfic now!!! it might not seem like much, but i noted last year that 85% of landoscar fics were under 10k & 97% under 25k — these numbers are now 78% and 92% respectively, which adds up in the grand scheme of a much larger archive. you'll also notice that the prevalence of <1k fic has gone down as well.

for the fun of it here's the wc distribution but with a further rating breakdown; as previously discussed you're more likely to get G ratings in flashfic because there's less wordspace to Make The Porn Happen. of course there are nuances to this but that's just a broad overview

side ships

what other ships are landoscar shippers shipping these days??? a lot of these ships are familiar from last time, but there are two new entries in ham/ros and pia/sai overtaking nor/ric and gas/lec to enter the top 10. ships that include at least one of lando or oscar are highlighted in orange:

of course, i pulled other 814-adjacent ships, but unfortunately i've realized that a lot of them simply aren't that popular/prevalent (context: within the 814 tag specifically) so they didn't make the top 10... because of that, here's a graph with only ships that include lando or oscar and have a minimum of 10 works within the landoscar tag:

eta: other primarily includes oscar & lily and maxf & lando. lando doesn't really have that many popular pairings within landoscar shippers otherwise...

i had wanted to explore these ships further and look at their growth/do some more in depth breakdowns of their popularity, but atm they're simply not popular enough for me to really do anything here. maybe next year?!

that being said, i did make a table comparing the prevalence of side ships within the 814 tag to the global f1 archives, so as to contextualize the popularity of each ship (see 2023). as usually, maxiel is very underrepresented in the landoscar tag, with galex actually receiving quite a boost compared to before!

additional tags

so last time i only had about 400 fics to work with and i did some analysis on additional tags / essentially au tagging. however, the problem is that there are now 3000 fics in my set, and the limitations of web scraping means that i'm not privy to the tag wrangling that happens in Da Backend of ao3. basically i'm being given all the raw versions of these au tags, whereas on ao3 "a/b/o" and "alpha/beta/omega dynamics" and "au - alpha/beta/omega" and "alternate universe - a/b/o" are all being wrangled together. because it would take way too long for me to do all of this manually and i frankly just don't want to clean that many fics after already going through all the ship tags, i've decided to not do any au analysis because i don't think it would be an accurate reflection of the data...

that being said, i had one new little experiment! as landoscar get more and more competitive, i wanted to chart how ~angsty~ they've gotten as a ship on ao3. i wanted to make a cumulative graph that shows how the overall fluff % - angst % difference has shifted over time, but ummmm... tableau and i had a disagreement. so instead here is a graph of the MoM change in angst % (so basically what percentage of the fics updated in that month specifically were tagged angst?):

the overall number is still not very drastic at all and fluff still prevails over angst in the landoscar archive. to be clear, there are 33.2% fics tagged some variation of fluff and 21.4% fics tagged some variation of angst overall, so there's a fluff surplus of 11.8%. but there has definitely been a slight growth in angst metrics over the past few months!

—

i will leave this here for now... if there's anything specific that you're interested in lmk and i can whip it up!!! hehe ty for reading 🧡

#adflkahsdflakhsdlfkahdf i wrote all of this and then lost 80% of my draft. so i had to write it all again #sorry this is a lot shorter than last time too T__T i honestly just felt like a lot of the old graphs were irrelevant #hopefully some of the information is still interesting though even if it's not particularly surprising!!#landoscar #*s

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geminorvm · 15 days ago

Text

overture || Caleb | Xia Yizhou

Summary:

No matter how much you have wanted Caleb, he has always turned away from you. Yet, he cannot leave you alone when you truly need him, especially when he's aware of what's going on with your body and mind at all times.

Wordcount: 2.2k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Caleb / MC!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! pwp, pseudocest, implied problematic age gap (16/19), Reader is totally obsessed with Caleb, Caleb knows too much, what is this, a surveillance state, he knows your cycle, reader is ovulating, size kink, manhandling, freak4freak, bc they're both soo obsessed with each other, implied yandere Caleb (canon but whatever), slight delusions, he will completely take over your life, yay!!!

Note:

wrote this in one sitting, something about him knowing everything about u, u know

Memories tend to be vague, no matter how much you try to conjure them with clarity, even if the feelings knitted through them will always stay the same. Yet, every memory you share with Caleb is as vivid as your current present might be; the view upon them as if you have just gazed at them for the very first time. Everything about him is indubitably carved into the depths of your brain. This is what you’re used to, what living around him has led you to do, out of sheer desire and yearning, with no other place to pour these feelings into but to repeat everything over and over and over and over again. And to appreciate and admire every single second, every single aspect he has given you. There was simply nothing else to do, and you have accepted this, accepted that all you can do is watch him, always at a distance, in body, in mind, in heart.

This is but a part of your life, part of you, without a doubt, you cannot be whole without him by your side, without his presence in your life. His very being has imprinted on you, has carved a space into your soul where nothing else could ever dare to fill it, to fulfill its calling like Caleb might be able to.

Still, you try to fill the emptiness he leaves in you when he once again turns his face away from you, eyebrows furrowed, gaze dark and somber and yet hungry. You try your very best. But you know you could never ever be alone, on your own, without his steady hand to guide your own.

All you can do is conjure up the warmth of his skin against yours, the rough palm of his holding the back of your hand, leading you each step of the way; nothing but your imagination but more than you could ever have.

With each move, your own fingertips caressing your skin, trailing lower and lower, dipping underneath the waistband of your undergarments, you materialize his words, sentences and noises pieced together to make them fit the situation, to make them filled with desire and lust for you.

“Aren’t you a good girl? Do you like it when I touch you here? Do you want your big brother to take care of you?”

Your fingertips hover over your accumulating heat, aching and needy, but you refrain, your fingers could never compare to the real thing, their size, their careful touches despite the roughness etching their skin. So, you retract your hand with a small groan, the image of him still watching over you, a smug grin looking down on you.

“Aw, scared? I didn’t even begin yet.”

And that’s the worst of it all, Caleb might never truly ever begin, and you could not bring it upon yourself to push yourself over the edge, to break that very thing you’ve always wanted to keep safe and sound for him, as no one but him truly has a right to touch it, much less permeate through it.

So, you can’t help but let your imagination run wild, to fantasize how his lips may scrape against your throat to feel your pulse, how his hand may grab you, big and encompassing, yet so careful to not handle you too forcibly. How he would take such good care of you, bit by bit. But even in your dreams, Caleb does not cross the line, a line he has formed in his mind, one only understood by him. You cannot even fathom to understand what the set boundaries are made of, only aware of its existence. As such, you cannot find pleasure even in your mind, because if he didn’t stop, then he wouldn’t be your protective older brother, would he.

A sound from outside your room startles you, and you sit up, almost like you have been caught in indecency. And maybe you were, but no one else but your guilt could ever know.

Quickly, you sort your appearance before stepping into the living room, only to see Caleb finally back home, wearing nothing but a tank top, his muscles apparent and glistening. The mere sight of him ignites something deep in your stomach and you doubt you could go another day without acting on your thoughts and desires.

You bite your lower lip and lean against the door frame, arms close to you to try and make yourself look smaller, more fragile than you actually are, even if you’re not sure it even makes a difference from his point of view.

“You’re back.”

“Yeah, miss me?”

Incredibly so, immensely even, words could not describe how much you have missed him, even if you were barely apart for a short duration of time. But you can’t outright say that to him, not yet, not when he has been avoiding your eyes when things get tense between you.

“Pff, you wish. But I do need your help, follow me.”

You turn around and head back to your room, his footsteps close and so familiar, their rhythm etched behind your teeth, especially with the times you had to be on the lookout for him when you were sneaking around behind his back.

The moment Caleb enters your room, you close the door behind him, the key turning silently before disappearing in your pocket.

“See, there’s that thing that has been bothering me for some time, and only you can help me,” you sigh as you’re sitting down on your bed, spreading your legs ever so slightly open.

Before you could slowly approach him, before you could bargain and argue, Caleb deadpans.

“You’re ovulating, aren’t you?” He sighs as if in exasperation, yet his eyes are drilling into you, taking you apart by the seams, bit by bit, layer by layer.

“Aand, you want me to help you out, don’t you?”

You shiver. “Well, yeah, but how do you know–”

With a few long strides he’s standing in front of you, crowding into your bubble, and suddenly the way too big, way too empty space is way too filled, way too small, way too tense. His knees push yours further apart and your insides tremble with each inch less between you. There’s barely anything left until he touches you, touches you like you’ve always wanted him to, touches your very being and unfurls your desire for him. Barely anything between you, yet it feels too big, too far away, you’re not sure if you could simply keep holding on like that.

Caleb leans down, towering over you and his knuckles graze your cheek, barely noticeable if you weren’t too aware of his every move, of his very being itself.

“You’re my little sister, of course I know everything about you and what your body is going through at all times.”

The only thing you can do is simply gape at him, words escaping your mind. With every sentence uttered, it almost seems as if his life consists of nothing but you, akin to the way his memory, his existence has interwoven into every aspect of yours.

Yet, instead of your dreams being fulfilled in one fell swoop, Caleb takes a step back to take a seat by your side, leaving you empty and aching and cold. You immediately open your mouth, ready to retort with something about how dare he leave you high and dry, how could he betray you like that. But before you could even properly form a sentence in your mind, much less glide over your tongue, his big hands have grabbed your hips. The sheer size of them around your body twists something in you, the ache between your legs throbbing just with this single touch, just with the way his fingers seem to envelop your whole body, his thumb pressing into your ribs. It would be such an easy thing for him to simply squeeze you, to squeeze you and make your blood bloom underneath your skin, to leave his marks on you with a simple show of strength. But despite this possibility, Caleb handles you oh-so-carefully. His grasp exudes nothing more than the bare necessary.

With ease, he heaves you up and immediately settles you on his lap. Yet, saying that you’re sitting on his lap would be plain wrong, as your positioning is completely different. He has put you down on his lap, in the perfect place for his muscles to press between your legs, your own thighs framing said thigh as it spreads your legs apart with its sheer size. Your knees are digging into the mattress, barely giving you any support as you try to avoid pressing yourself way too closely to him.

“What’s wrong? Scared already?” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin. “You wanted my help, didn’t you? Use me as much as you want, pipsqueak.”

With this, Caleb raises his leg to push his thigh against you. The muscle meets your core and you barely suppress a moan.

This can’t be real, this has to be a dream. How could your brother cross the line on his own? Did your imagination get the better of you? Are even your dreams filled with your desire towards him?

You’re not sure, but you can’t let this opportunity slip out of your grasp. Caleb is finally touching you the way you have always fantasized about and you won’t retreat or give this up. So, slowly, you lower yourself onto his thigh and put your whole weight into it, the pressure rising fast. And so does the aching throb in your clit. It spurs you on as lust hazes your mind and takes over everything else. Nothing else matters but Caleb, his hands caressing your sides, his thigh tensing and releasing, his breath hot on your skin. Your world revolves around him, would not exist without him.

You pant as you begin to roll your hips to grind your clit against his pure muscle. And despite the finite yet infinite layers between you, his warmth penetrates you, and you hope that your desire penetrates him just as much. With each move the tension in you grows, and you whine his name in need, in want, as your flow grows sloppy each time he flexes his muscle to hit your clit just right, to give you the right amount of pressure, the right angle exactly where you need him the most.

One of his hands comes up to the back of your head and gently pushes your face into his neck. “Shh, don’t worry, your big brother will take good care of you.”

These words were the last warning as he begins to take over, guiding your hips with his hands, pressing your thigh in the perfect rhythm. And each time Caleb hits your sweet spot, your clit throbbing and aching and hot with want and need and desire. You have lost all control over yourself as you surrender yourself to him completely, moaning his name in wanton and clutching his shoulders in a desperate attempt to hold onto yourself. But this only leads to the tension rising and tightening.

He keeps control over you, grinding your hip against his solid thigh over and over and over again. The sheer size fills every crevice, every ache, every emptiness, just enough for you to desire more and more and more; to imagine him filling you to the brim, to imagine his warmth spreading inside of you, to give you his unending love, to give you a part of him to keep for yourself for the rest of your life, just for you and only you. The mere thought of feeling him push into you to truly complete you makes you clench around nothing, makes you want and desire more, makes your insides tense with each touch of his.

Until everything snaps and you come crashing down, calling out to him like a prayer made just for you.

“Ah! Caleb! Please, please, please, can I feel you now? Can you? Please,” you whimper in desperation as you clutch his tank top. Rather than satisfying you, this whole spiel has only made you hungrier, made you emptier, made you yearn more and more.

A chuckle, a kiss on the forehead. “Hm, maybe when you’re a little bit older. Until then, this has to be enough.”

With a quick motion he turns your body around to carry you properly in his arms as he takes you to the bathroom.

“Now, get cleaned up. I will do everything in my power to fulfill your every wish, as long as you stay with me, alright?”

You feel a sense of loss and the coldness spreading when he carefully puts you back onto your feet. But you still nod, obedient, listening to the promises of your older brother, as one should. Especially when you notice the stain you have left behind, a stain close to another, two different kinds of fluids mixing together. And for now, this shall be enough, for now, you will be satisfied to be conjoint just like that, until you can take another step closer to completing yourself and him.

The door closes behind you, the last whispers following just barely. “I’m going to take care of you as your older brother, you won’t ever need anyone else.” The lock clicks and the key turns, leaving you with nothing but the imprint of him in your mind, carved into your soul, into your bones, his mark something for eternity and beyond.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou x you #xia yizhou x mc #lads x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #love and deepspace x you #supernova – love and deepspace #supernova – caleb

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sundrop-writes · 10 months ago

Text

Eager Little Puppy

Isaac Lahey x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

You offer to help Isaac relax. He agrees, thinking that you have something entirely different in mind. But when he finds out what you have planned, he really can't bring himself to mind.

(Or - you fuck Isaac's brains out to help him relax.)

Isaac Lahey x GN!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 2,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic; the reader character is completely gender neutral - there is no mention of the reader's genitals and no description of what kind of genitals the reader has, and the only pronouns used to refer to the reader are you/yours; use of Y/N; most of the fic focuses on Isaac and acts the reader performs on him; there is dom/sub dynamics - the reader is more dominant and Isaac is more submissive; there is a slight passing mention of Isaac's abusive past (and how it makes him stressed out, so he is eager to use sex and submission as a way to relax and ease his mind); marking kink (the reader giving Isaac love bites and hickies); anal fingering - Isaac receiving (mention of Isaac being an anal virgin before this); oral - Isaac receiving; praise kink (reader praises Isaac and he loves it) - the reader calls Isaac 'good boy', 'pretty', and 'puppy'; lots of dirty talk; use of a dildo on Isaac (anally); passing mention of blood (the reader licks Isaac so hard that he bleeds and then licks it); Reader swallows Isaac's cum - I think that's it?

A/N: Just another random fic I wrote while on hiatus because I can't get enough of my baby Isaac, and I feel like he would love being called by the nickname Puppy (and that is now forever what I refer to him as in my head). He just looks like such a puppy lmao. He has big puppy dog eyes, he's constantly looking to others (like Scott, Erica, and Derek) for guidance and validation, he's eager to follow even though he's strong and could be a leader. He is an eager little puppy lapdog and I love him so fucking much. I just wanna pet his hair like a sweet little puppy and praise him and also fuck his brains out. Hence, this fic. Anyway, if you're a fellow Isaac lover, I hope you enjoy this fic!!

...

When you had suggested ‘relaxing’, Isaac thought you meant taking a bubble bath, some candles, aromatherapy.

Perhaps reading a book curled up in bed with some gentle music playing in the background. You seemed like the type of person to enjoy those things. He had no clue what relaxation even was - it’s not like he had a lot of time to relax, going straight from his father’s house of horrors to Pack life with Derek, nearly being killed every other week.

Of course, that was exactly why you had suggested this.

You and Isaac had been friends for a while, flirting back and forth for even longer, and fooling around for only a few short weeks. He knew that you cared about him a lot, and he was grateful that you actually thought about these things. That you actually considered the toll that stress took on him.

He just had no clue what he was getting himself into when he agreed to a ‘relaxing’ evening with you.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

Being laid out on your bed, completely naked while you were still mostly clothed, the lights delightfully soothing and dim, the covers so soft against his skin while you took him on the ride of his life. His body was covered in your spit and teeth marks, sharp suction spots where you had latched on and made him moan. Unfortunately the marks were already healing, making you regretful and even more determined to make him remember you by the distinction of your touch alone.

Still, you dug your teeth in, providing the perfect little bite of pain to go with the pleasure, especially now as your fingers well-lubed fucked up inside of him - making your impression in his previously untouched hole for the first time. You pushed your fingers deep inside of him, fucking him with precise, certain movements while your mouth worked on his cock.

He felt like his mind was slowly melting between his ears, every single known thought escaping him - but he had a distinct feeling that’s exactly what you had wanted. Because now he couldn’t worry, he couldn’t stress, he couldn’t even spend a single moment thinking about anything that had been plaguing his mind for the past few months. He couldn’t even be insecure about the whorish moans he was letting out or the way he was angling his hips toward you, silently begging for more.

This was entirely relaxing.

You moaned around his dick, encouraging him - causing him to let out another loud moan.

It made you smile internally, feeling that in the way his body gave in to you, the way his needy hole flexed around your fingers, opening up to you but clenching slightly - telling you how badly he wanted more, needed more, even without words.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop, causing him to let out a shuddering moan of disappointment as the now spit-slick sensitive organ was exposed to the cool air. His dick fell against his stomach, smearing precum against the smooth, porcelain skin there while you eased another finger into his greedy hole. Now, fucking three of your fingers in and out of him, something that made Isaac part his thighs and wiggle his hips down into your touch, of course - desperate for more, even unconsciously.

“That’s it - such a good boy for me.” You purred, grinning down at him.

He was so pretty like this.

His face dropped back against the fluffiness of your pillow, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth gaped open as he let out the prettiest soft sounds. His lips were swollen and spit-glossed from where you had kissed him, something that made him breathless and wrecked. His nipples were puffy and swollen from where you had bitten and worked them, making him so frenzied and frantic, his stomach heaving with little breaths, desperate to get air into his lungs as you continually punched it out of him by fucking your fingers up into him.

His long, thick cock gently bobbed against his stomach, leading down to a nest of blond hair that covered his heavy balls, smeared wet with the lube that you were fucking him with.

Somehow - even in such a sinful state, he looked so damn angelic.

He was severely enjoying the thickness and the rhythm of your three fingers, you could only imagine how much he would like what you had for him next.

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You couldn’t contain the praise, not when he was this good, not when you felt the affection swelling up inside of you. He let out a loud, rattling moan at this, and you knew that you had struck gold. “Such a pretty boy. You like it when I remind you how fucking good you are, huh?”

“Please,” Isaac choked out, his throat clearly dry and strangled from all the moaning he had been doing. “Please - more.”

You locked eyes with him, and saw nothing but glassy, empty headed pleasure swimming there. And while his needy body flexed tightly around your fingers, you knew exactly what he was begging for - like a fish on dry land gulping desperately, you knew exactly what he was struggling for.

More of your praise. Something he likely didn’t even know he had wanted before this, now lighting his body on fire. Now something he was desperate for more of - something he would likely need to survive from now on.

“You want more, pretty boy?”

You teased him, gently skimming your thumb along the underside of his cock, tracing a thick vein that made his muscles jolt. He nodded his head frantically, breathing thickly again, his eyes falling shut as his head fell back once again, eagerly waiting for you to comply.

“Yeah? You’re gonna get everything you want. Cause you’re such a pretty boy - you deserve it all. Such a good boy, such an eager little puppy-”

The nickname was something you had teased him with before. When you had found out that Derek had turned him, you insisted that if Derek and Scott were well-trained, full-blown wolves, then Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were just ‘puppies’. Newbies. It was something meant to taunt him, belittle him. But you had always seen the spark in his eyes when you said it.

And now, feeling the way his hole clenched around your touch, feeling his hips fuck down against you, seeing the little pulse that shifted his cock as a bit of precum leaked out - you had known that you were right.

Isaac was just an eager puppy waiting to be fucked.

“Please, please!” He gasped out, whipping his eyes open and looking down the length of his body at you. “Hnng, I need it!”

He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was begging for - it was pure static between his ears, a senseless TV signal that only became slightly clear when your voice cut through the snow.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, puppy.” You said, smoothing your free hand across his stomach, purposefully avoiding any contact with his cock. “I’ve got you.”

He reached out and grabbed your wrist, and your chest swelled with just how sweet he was - how loving and affectionate, even when he was clearly desperate to be fucked.

“Such a sweet boy,” You continued to praise him, petting that hand across his torso, reaching to gently flick his nipple, exhausting more moans from him as you did this. “Such a sweet little puppy, aren’t you? Just an eager little thing desperate to be fucked, huh?”

Isaac’s moan in response turned into a little howl of disappointment as you pulled your fingers out of him completely. You were almost hurt by the way his lip quivered and his brows furrowed - you would have been more upset if you didn’t know that you had something better in store for him.

“Y/N-” He began to argue, his voice absolutely sour, but you cut him off.

“I’ve got you.” You told him firmly, leaning in and kissing across his chest, ending this by laying a kiss on his mouth, causing your clothed body to roughly brush against his cock for a moment - which made him whine. “I’m gonna take good care of you, puppy.”

He let out another guttural moan at these words, and watched with wide, curious eyes as you reached to your nightstand. His eyes widened when your hand came back with a cock - a six inch, bright blue, veined dildo. He felt a slight twist of anxious intimidation in his stomach at the thought of taking the object inside of him, but it was quickly washed out by pure need when his hole clenched around nothing and he realized how terribly empty he felt now that your fingers were gone.

“Do you trust me?” You asked, reaching for the lube that you had dropped on the bed beside him earlier, slicking up the cock with more than a healthy amount.

“Yes.” Isaac told you honestly.

“Good.” You grinned at him. “Cause this is gonna be so good for you, baby.”

You then put it between his thighs, using one hand to tease the tip of the lubed up dildo along his slightly gaped hole while you reached your other hand, still very wet with lube, to his cock. You took a good grip on him and began slowly jerking him off while you eased the first few inches of the cock into him.

Isaac let out a loud moan, tossing his head back, his thighs tensing as he was already overwhelmed with pleasure. It was just a hint of what was to come, but it was so good to be stretched open around something so thick, something that filled him up so well.

It was just a slight burn in his muscles as his body ached to accommodate something thicker and wider than your fingers - but there was a feeling, something deep in his stomach that was aching and curious for more. His cock was slowly warming up with pleasure as you touched him, turning his brain into even more of a soup as he gripped at the sheets beneath him and prayed that this feeling would never have to stop.

“More!” He cried out, angling his hips further into your touch.

“Such a greedy puppy, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice edging on mocking as you sped up the pace of your hand on his cock, easing more of the dildo into him, indulging in the beautiful sounds he let out. “Just can’t have your pretty hole filled fast enough, can you?”

Isaac let out a moan in agreement, and you pushed forward until the last of the cock was finally inside of him, leaving him furled around the base and gripping it tightly, echoing out a pretty gasp as he was fully filled.

The six inch dildo wasn’t huge, but it was the biggest (and only) cock he had ever taken inside of him, so it made him feel absolutely full. It made him feel like he was being split open in the best way possible. It made his mind melt right down to liquid butter, made his cock pulse with pleasure in your hand. Isaac felt a sense of bitter cruelty when you closed your grip around the base, making his dick throb harder and ache.

“Good?” You asked, clearly meaning to check on his well being.

Isaac wanted to voice a complaint about you not making him cum fast enough, but he knew that wasn’t what you were asking about.

“S-so good.” He choked out, trying to angle his hips back and fuck himself on the cock.

“Good.” You replied, a wicked grin forming across your lips. “Now you’re gonna get exactly what you need. You’re gonna get your dumb little puppy brains fucked out,”

Isaac didn’t even have a moment to question these words before you were pulling the dildo out of him slightly and fucking it back into him as hard as you could muster. This started a brutal, rough pace of hammering the toy between his thighs, not even giving him a moment to feel empty before he was full again - something that would have been painful if not for his incredible healing abilities and the pain tolerance that came with it. No, this wasn’t painful - this was just bliss.

Pure, mindless bliss at your hands, having his hole fucked at such an intense pace - something he always needed but never knew to ask for.

And then, your mouth was on his cock again.

He let out a purely inhuman sound, a deep growl that dissolved into a whine like the puppy you accused him of being when you took him down to the base all in one go, smothering his cock in the impossible sauna wet heat of your mouth in seconds.

You only relented your pace of fucking the fake cock into him for a moment to concentrate on not gagging on his impressive seven inch thickness, giving a few hard gulps around the tip of his cock as it settled in the back of your throat. Something that drove him absolutely insane between the pressure of your throat on his dick, smothering him in wet heat, and the feeling of the fake cock fucking into his asshole, filling him up so good, wetness smearing between his thighs, making him feel so perfectly raw as you continually fucked him.

You pulled off his cock and replaced your mouth with your hand, kissing along his hip, digging your teeth in and leaving another harsh bite that would heal too soon for his liking. Isaac had a passing thought about getting a tattoo of your teeth marks on his skin, but it was drowned out by you licking up the bit of blood that sprouted there before you began talking again, your voice a bit more rough than before from having his cock nestled so tightly in your throat.

“You like getting fucked and filled, puppy?”

You purred against his skin, your voice full of spit, so perfectly syrupy. Isaac didn’t have a moment to even contemplate answering, not with the barrage of sensations overwhelming him, quickly drawing him closer to his orgasm.

“You like having your pretty cock sucked while your needy little hole is filled up? Hmm? Are you gonna cum like this? Are you gonna cum from being fucked like the needy little puppy that you are?”

One of these days, that nickname was going to kill him.

“Please, Y/N, please!” He chanted out, his breath barely making it back into his lungs every time the force of you fucking the dildo into him forced a sharp moan out from between his lips. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, please lemme cum, please-!”

Him asking for permission to cum was the thing that truly drove you insane.

“Cum for me, puppy.” You told him, reaching to sweep the tip of his cock back into your mouth, eager to taste him.

You continued to fuck him hard through it, creating a beautifully sloppy sound in the room as the thick plastic toy destroyed him, fucking into his needy hole utterly relentlessly. It was only a moment later that he came, his shaking thighs stiffening and his back arching off the bed.

You were barely able to hold him down as he shoved more of his cock into your mouth, shooting thick spurts of cum across your tongue and down your throat, so perfectly driven mad by all the sensations you had delivered to him. You sucked him through it, not stopping until you were satisfied that you had every single last drop of his release.

When it was over, you popped off his cock, and he was still panting, desperate to catch his breath when you eased the dildo out of him - causing a gentle moan from him - now slightly disappointed at the feeling of being empty and wondering if he would ever be the same again without that fullness inside of him. You put it aside to be taken care of later and crawled up Isaac’s body, draping yourself over him to capture his mouth - causing an odd delight to him as he tasted himself on your tongue.

“Well,” Isaac sighed against your lips. “That is one hell of a way to relax.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh at this.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. So if you are going to comment, please comment about the body of the material that has been written.

I would love to write more about Isaac in the future, and I do have another smut fic for him in my drafts, so if you're an Isaac lover, definitely follow me and look out for that. And go to my Teen Wolf masterlist for more non-smutty stuff about him that is currently there. But for now, this is a singular, closed off story and there will not be a follow up to it. I hope you have enjoyed it if you have read this far, and thank you so much for reading!

#sundrop writes #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey #daniel sharman x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fanfiction

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huxhsz · 3 months ago

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🍎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ when u come back

— synopsis: you call him home without meaning to, and caleb holds onto it like a promise—because even if neither of you says it outright, you already belong to each other.

— note/s: so i wrote an essay for my english class abt caleb. turns out i wrote the WRONG kind of essay. so i had to write another one. pure suffering but its caleb so all is acceptable!!

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

the first time you say it, it's an accident. it slips out like breath, like something inevitable.

"you know, being with you... it feels like home."

"what did you just say?" he asks, voice quiet, almost careful. you don't even notice, but caleb does.

you grumble. "i said, 'caleb is a big dummy,'"

his hands still where they’re tying his boots, and for a second, he forgets how to move. he laughs lightly, because he knows that isn't what you said, but he plays along anyway.

he holds onto the words a little too tightly.

he turns the word over in his head. he never thought much about it before. four walls, a roof, a place to return to. but you said it like it was something else, like it was something living. like it was something unshakable, something that belonged.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t want to break the moment. but when you leave the room, he flexes his fingers, trying to shake off the feeling sinking into his skin.

—

caleb has never been afraid of fire. he’s seen too much of it, grown up with the heat of war, of broken things burning. he doesn’t flinch at destruction, doesn’t look away from the ruins. but when he sees you standing in the doorway, sleepy-eyed, hair a mess, wearing his jacket over your shoulders—

he understands why people call it warmth.

“what,” you say, voice rough from sleep, “are you staring at.”

he doesn’t answer, just reaches for the kettle, pours you a cup. you take it without thinking, your fingers brushing his, and the contact is so brief, so small, but it sets something off inside him anyway.

he swallows it down. grins like there’s nothing pressing against the inside of his ribs. “thought you were gonna sleep in.”

“couldn’t,” you mumble, cradling the cup. “you weren’t there.”

he doesn’t know what to do with that. it shouldn’t make his pulse stutter, shouldn’t make his throat tighten. but it does.

and when you yawn and shuffle over to lean into his side, still half-asleep, he thinks—

this. this is it.

—

you make fun of him for how easily he fixes things. broken radios, busted engines, anything with wires and circuits. you hand him something ruined and he brings it back to life.

“what about people?” you ask once, chin resting on your palm, watching him work. “you think you could fix them too?”

he laughs, but it’s a quiet thing. “people aren’t machines.”

“but if they were?”

he glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. you wait for him to say something teasing, to brush it off, but he doesn’t.

“then i’d fix you first,” he says.

it catches you off guard. something shifts between you, heavy and quiet.

“i’m not broken, caleb.”

“i know,” he says, too fast. and then, softer, like it’s just for him: “i just don’t want you to be.”

—

there’s a storm outside. neither of you are sleeping.

you’re lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain hammer against the windows. lightning flashes, and a second later, thunder rolls through the sky like a growl. caleb sits on the floor beside you, legs crossed, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with a lighter.

“can’t sleep?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

you shake your head. “you?”

“nah.”

silence stretches between you. the kind that’s comfortable.

you reach for his hand without thinking, fingers brushing over his palm, over the calluses, the old scars. he doesn’t pull away. just lets you trace the lines there, slow and careful.

“you ever think about leaving?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“leaving what?”

“everything.”

he tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling like it has answers. “yeah,” he admits. “sometimes.”

“would you?”

he turns to you then, and there’s something in his gaze, something unreadable but steady. “not without you.”

your throat goes tight.

you don’t know how to say what you’re feeling, so you squeeze his hand instead. he squeezes back. the rain keeps falling, the storm rages on, but here, in this space between you, it’s quiet.

—

you’re both terrible at goodbyes.

when he leaves, it’s never for long. never more than a few weeks at a time. but it still lingers, still settles in your chest like something heavy.

he pulls you into a hug before he goes, arms tight around you, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. like if he holds on tight enough, he won’t have to miss you.

“stay out of trouble,” he murmurs against your hair.

“no promises,” you say, trying to sound light, but your voice wavers.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes are warm, steady. “i’ll be back soon.”

“you better.”

he grins, but it’s softer than usual. then he’s gone, and the space he leaves behind feels bigger than it should.

—

when he comes back, you’re waiting.

he doesn’t get a chance to say anything before you’re throwing yourself at him, arms around his neck, holding on like you’ll never let go. he catches you easily, his laugh breathless against your ear.

“missed me that much?”

“shut up,” you mumble, but you don’t pull away.

he just holds you tighter. presses his face into your shoulder, breathes you in like he’s been drowning and you’re air.

and when you whisper, quiet but certain, “you're here,”

he closes his eyes and thinks, yeah.

he’s home.

#lads #lnds #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb xia #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb x mc #pommier writes

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c4erul3um · 2 months ago

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Hero X x Fem!Reader

First of all, english is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes. And I haven't written anything in so long, so it may be a bit cringe, idk.

Second, there are literally zero fanfics on this hot white haired guy, so I took it into my own hands and wrote this short fic.

Also, here is AO3 link.

Word count: 2,1k

Summary: Y/N was never a big fan of this people playing heroes game, she always found it a little sad. From my point of view, the moment you become a hero, you lose a sense of life, you lose your privacy, and mostly, your identity. People don't realise their beliefs and words shape the person they deem their "hero." I was never interested in this, until today.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

In this world, trust is everything, but so is fear. Trust is a variable thing in heroes day to day life, it gives them their power and helps them strive in their pursuit through the ranking system, and on the very top, the throne, sits the hero X.

I was never a big fan of this people playing heroes game, I always found it a little sad. From my point of view, the moment you become a hero, you lose a sense of life, you lose your privacy, and mostly, your identity. People don't realise their beliefs and words shape the person they deem their "hero." I was never interested in this, until today.

Rushed footsteps echoed on the sidewalk of a busy street of the loud city, people are either running to their jobs, waiting for their morning coffee, or just talking. Y/N was in the first category.

Having overslept a little, she had just about ten minutes to get to her job.

"Dammit, if I continue this way…I should be able to get there on time" she mumbled to herself, as she ran. But of course, luck was never on her side. She heard people screams somewhere before her. 'Another villain?..Isn't there one almost everyday?' Y/N thought.

As she finished that thought, the ground under her broke, opening into neverending darkness, swallowing her whole.

She screamed, falling in the eternal darkness lying under the almost regal city above. And as she thought her end was inevitable, sudden snap echoed in the darkness. Changing the gloomy environment to a astonishing range of colours, swirling and changing their shapes.

"What.." She said out loud, falling slowly, looking all over the beautiful phenomenon. She startled, the feeling of arms around her shoulders and legs, instantly snapping her head to the source of the feeling.

Her eyes met black ones, even with the yellow tint from the glasses on his nose, she could tell they were black. The mysterious person just looked at her, smiling slightly, almost in reassurance, but she could tell the smile was no genuine, somehow practiced.

Her eyes trailed down, noticing the eye beating X on his tie. 'So this must be the omnipotent hero X..' Y/N noted to herself. Looking up at him again.

"Thank you for saving me, but, um, could you…could you let me down now..?" She said a bit nervously, who wouldn't be in the presence of the enigma hero X is. Yes, she didn't care about heroes, but some of Y/N's coworkers could be quite loud with their argumenting about who the best hero is. And X was sometimes quite a hot topic between the office workers.

X's brows rose just a tad bit, he looked to be what, surprised, pleased, maybe something inbetween? Like it was the first time someone didn't throw themselves at him, and just asked nicely if they could be put down.

His arms loosened up, he bend over slightly, letting Y/N jump out of his arms easily onto the distorted pavement under them, or whatever it is. As her feet touched the ground, Y/N instantly brushed off her office skirt, jacket and patted down her hair, as they were all over the place from her fall.

"Pardon me for asking, but, do your powers allow for teleportation or something? Nothing against you, but I don't plan on becoming a celebrity from being seen with you." Y/N said, turning to him. hoping he doesn't take any offence in her weird question.

He just smiled and nodded at her, snapping his fingers.

The scene changed from colourful to a darker alley, by the looks they were somewhere near the initial place she goes through everyday to work. Y/N turned to X, looking up at him, just to find him already staring at her with his head tilted a little.

"Thank you again for saving me, I have to go now." She bowed slightly while saying that, them rushing out of the alley into the still busy streets, hoping to get to her work place somewhat on time.

What she didn't notice was her job ID falling out of her pocket.

X didn't even have time to call out to her to let her know her ID slipped from her pocket. He sighed, picking it up and noticing that she worked in the same building as him.

'What a coincidence.' He thought, snapping fingers on his other hand, changing into his normal persona, putting the card in the pocket of his jacket and walking out of the alley, the watch on his wrist buzzing, notifying him of his late arrival to work.

"Shit shit shit shit." Y/N kept whispering under her breath, searching through her pockets. 'Fuck, must have slipped somewhere during the attack. She sighed loudly, slumping her slouders, she will have to get a new ID tommorrow.

She walked to the reception, telling the lady about the lost ID, showing proof of her identity and filing out a questionnaire to get a new one. Y/N would have to explain to her boss why she was late, but she hoped her boss would take it okay, she was always on time, after all.

After filling up the document and giving it to the lady, she was led through the gate, going to the elevator, up to her boss's office, she knocked.

"Yes?" Came out male voice, signaling for her to go in. When she walked in, she closed the door behind her, looking at her boss. He was an average guy in his 40's, formal attire and tired face, nothing interesting.

"Good morning, I'm sorry for being late, but on my way to work I was caught in the crossfire of villain attack."

He sighed, his head propped up on his hand.

"It's fine, I heard about it. I know you are never late, so I will forgive it now, but don't let it happen again." He said.

'Huh, how am I supposed to not let it happen again, it wasn't…whatever.' Y/N thought bitterly, nodding and walking out of the office. Right to the coffee station, where she pressed the buttons on the machine, making herself a cup. As she turned to her left, Y/N noticed a guy taking all the sugar that was there, and he noticed too. Eyes widening he had nervous smile on his face, still holding all the sugar bags that come with the stationery.

Y/N just looked at him with blank stare, then held up her hand, the one not holding her coffee and made a grabby motion.

The thief still looked nervous, but gave her one of the prepackaged sugar on the palm of her hand. She still looked at him, making grabby motion again, he gave her another one. Then she smiled and happily walked to her office station.

Random office guy just looked at her retreating form, he smiled slightly, interested in her reaction to her missing ID, which now laid on the desk in her office station.

When Y/N walked up to her desk, she noticed her work ID, along with note that said.

'You forgot this ~ X' with a smiley face on the bottom.

Y/N was momentarily creeped out about how he got the adress to her work place, but then she face palmed, realising it was written on the ID. She chuckled, putting it to her inside breast pocket.

What she didn't see was the random office guy peeking around the corner, looking at your reaction, and smiling to himself while walking to his own desk.

Few days later, Y/N was sitting on the roof of her apartment complex, eating some snacks she brought with her, just overlooking the buzzling streets.

When she heard silent footsteps behind her, she looked over her shoulder at the intruder of her peace, almost choking on her food when she realised it was X walking towards her. To not choke, she downed almost half of her water bottle, coughing because of her scratched throat.

After her fit, she looked at him nervously, he was looking at her with concern in his eyes, as if asking if she is okay.

Y/N nodded her head, signaling that she was indeed fine and patted the spot next to her for him to sit. X slid down next to her, but still leaving some space between them. Neither of them said anything, just looking over the city, enjoying the silence of the other.

"You want some?" Y/N said to X, offering her snack to him, he stared at the bag for a moment, and took a piece, humming at the taste as he ate the piece. Y/N left the bag between them, letting him take as much as he wanted.

They sat there like that for maybe an hour, munching on snacks, chilling and not saying anything, for nothing had to be said between them.

Y/N then looked at her phone, noticing it was almost time for he to go sleep. She got up, breaking the tranquility, her joints cracking from the long sitting. She turned to X.

"Thank you for the ID by the way, didn't notice it was missing until I got to work." She smiled warmly.

He looked up to her, smiled, and nodded his head, still not saying anything.

'Doesn't seem like the talking type, then.' Y/N said internally. Turning to walk away she spoke over her shoulder.

"Bye bye mister X." And walked through the door to her complex, leaving X sitting alone on the roof.

X chuckled, staying there for few more minutes, then snapping his fingers and vanishing.

Two days after her rooftop sitting with the most popular hero, she found herself sitting there again. The wind blowing on her hair, the night making the city look ethereal.

Then somebody tapped her on shoulder, she yelped, her soul leaving her body, she threw her hands up, swirling around to fight off the unexpected threat.

Then she noticed it was just X, she put her hand over her beating heart, willing it to calm down. She heard him snicker, looking smug at getting her scared like that.

"Hey stop that! I could have fell off the roof!" She yelled at him, frowning, causing him to start laughing more, hiding his face from her.

Her gloomy face started to crack, leaving her laughing as well, although not as intensely as X. After he calmed down, he sat next to her again, leaving some space between them.

"What are you even doing here, aren't you supposed to patrol or whatever heroes do?" Y/N asked X, tilting her head.

X just shrugged, he still had to say his first words to her, Y/N didn't really mind, understanding the want to be quiet in this loud world.

"Have you already ended for the day, then?" She asked him. X nodded at her question.

'So just yes or no questions then, okay.' Y/N thought, turning her head ahead, again staring at the astonishing city before them.

Then she remembered something, looking at the grocery bag she had next to her, rumaging through it, she pulled out the snack she offered to X the other day, giving him the whole package.

"This is for saving me the other day." He looked genuinely surprised, as if he wasn't used to receiving gifts or anything in general.

When she thought about it, people don't usually show gratitute to their heroes, getting used to being saved by them, sometimes not even taking them as human beings. Well, somited they werent exactly humans, per se, some of them wearing masks, hiding their humanity. And some were literal furries, like the hero no. 5 The Johnnies, who looks like cosplayer you could find at comic con. And one was just straight up dog, like no. 8, Ahu.

X took the bag, lowering his head as a silent thanks, putting it on his lap, he smiled, genuinely, not the smug or practiced smile he usually wore, but real one. Y/N smiled back at him, she swears he looked a bit nervous, or maybe shy.

Y/N then looked at the city again, taking in the atmosphere, letting herself relax for few more minutes. Getting up, stretching her sore body.

"Very well, I shall be going mister hero, enjoy your night, goodnight." Y/N said as she walked away from X back through the roof door inside.

"Goodnight." X said quietly after she left. He got up from his sitting position and snapped his fingers, vanishing into thin air again, leaving no trace of his stay.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Thanks for reading! If you have any criticism or feedback, I would be happy :>

#tbhx #hero x #tbhx x reader #凸变英雄X #to be hero x #x reader #凸变英雄X x reader #to be hero x x reader

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rcvcgers · 3 months ago

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Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter ten: fallout

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: your relationship with caleb is on the rocks. he talks you out of accepting a job. something bad happens.

word count: 10.5k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: hi! thank you so much for being patient with me! part 10 is a little ... yeah. i hope you enjoy it regardless !!

content warning: angst, mentions of death, self blaming, loathing, syringe/drugging

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

Things weren’t the same after the wedding.

The next morning, the two of you acted as if nothing had happened when your parents came back from their getaway. Their cheery smiles were met by shiny yet fake grins, you and Caleb being affectionate and in love. They made endless comments about how the two of you looked so good together, that your mother was always rooting for you and Caleb to get together as teens and cried about it when he died (he explained that his death was fake for DAA reasons, your parents didn’t press further into the matter).

They offered for the two of you to stay another night, to spend some time in Linkon together and visit the places you loved as a kid. Caleb knew you hated the idea by the way your voice went up an octave. He effortlessly made an excuse that you agreed to come with him to a Farspace Event, that it was unavoidable as a Colonel and his trusty translator.

So, they waved you away and the two of you kept up the facade that you are a couple in love, who cannot keep their hands off of each other, and watched as the image of your parents disappeared from the train’s window.

As soon as they were gone, you dropped the facade and put your headphones on, drowning out the outside world while you nursed a headache from the emotional stress. Caleb kept your hand in his, though, and watched as your face showed cracks for the first time that day.

It wouldn’t be the only time it happened.

To you, life had lost all of its color. Sure, you loved Caleb and wanted to continue your relationship with him. He has proven to you that he will choose you, make the time and effort to pursue you despite the people in your lives trying so hard to keep you apart.

There is still one raincloud that hangs over your head, though. It’s big and is a deep gray color, holding in all of the unanswered questions, anger, and sadness that has rooted itself inside of you. It hovers over the blooming apple tree in your heart. No fruit has come from the tree yet, its life still too young to support anymore weight than it can.

The cloud taunts the tree. It absorbs all of the sunlight that it tries to get, forever rejected the nourishment the tree needs to thrive. It also baits the tree into thinking that it will receive water, a necessity for it to survive. It holds all of the water inside itself, refusing to let go.

The tree begins to wither. It’s once healthy branches begin to turn dry, ready to snap under the pressure or from a forceful gust of wind.

Life at home was fine. You and Caleb remained together, usually opting to spend the night in his apartment instead of yours. You went about your day as usual, translating important documents and even occasionally being called upon to translate live for a high ranking official’s mission. The routine became monotonous, though.

You wake up beside Caleb and share a peck on the lips before getting ready for the day. He made breakfast while you made the bed and cleaned up any messes either of you made the previous night. You stood next to each other while you brushed your teeth. Caleb changed into his Colonel’s uniform while you slipped on one of your office outfits, your own uniform as Caleb likes to call it. You help him with his tie while he pushes your hair out of your face and flattens out the wrinkles of your shirt.

It’d be quiet while the two of you got ready. Usually, you’d be asking Caleb about his plans for the day and you’d share yours. The two of you would share hundreds of happy kisses and pecks on the cheek, always trying to sneak another one in before you have to leave. Now, though, the rooms are filled with a deafening silence, the echoes of your last giggles and shared whispers vanishing from existence.

Once at work, you’d part ways with a small wave, going through the front doors while he parked the car and went through his own entrance. When the two of you left for the day, he would pick you up right outside the building’s doors and drove to whoever’s apartment was called upon that day.

On the weekends, days that you had off, you would run out for groceries while he handed any Colonel business that needed his attention. Your phone dinged throughout the day, texts from Caleb asking you where you are and what you’re doing littering your phone screen. You always answered truthfully but your messages were dry, lacking any excited exclamation marks or funny emojis that would make the two of you giggle later that night.

While you folded laundry, your mind would drift out into space, the insecure thoughts from before floating into your consciousness, your fingers tightly gripping Caleb’s weathered DAA shirt.

The cloud that hangs above your head grows.

Some days, Caleb would stop by the translators sector just to see the smile on your face, but it was nowhere to be seen, your face stoic while you typed away on your computer. When your gazes met, your smile only lasted for a couple of seconds before it vanished, your boss stacking a tall pile of papers onto your desk.

You began to bring work home. Once your boss caught wind of your relationship with Caleb, they thought it would be poetic justice (or just plain bullying) to give you some more work for dating far above your rank and importance. Funnily enough, you began to miss Darryl and the shit he used to give you about being late. Caleb’s face always fell when you got into his car. His eyes would immediately latch onto the papers in your hands, watching as you struggled to piece together the dialect of a language you aren’t used to.

Caleb knew that those nights would end with you working until the moon is about to leave the night sky. He stayed up with you, though, and fell asleep with his chin on your shoulder while you sat on his lap. The low light of the lamp was enough to illuminate the page. You scribbled the deciphered language onto a blank page and yawned throughout the night, mentally exhausted beyond belief.

You weren’t too mad about the workload. It helped you avoid having tough conversations with Caleb. Instead, you helped him learn new words in languages he can barely understand, speaking to him in full sentences while he tried his best to ask you where the library is. It kept things lighthearted despite the two of you knowing that the current solution is a bandaid over a bullet hole.

“Do you want me to take the leftovers?” Your co-worker, Alivia, asks one day.

You stare at the box in front of you. Inside sits countless of papers and documents that are blacked out with only a few words here and there to decipher. A task like this would take you a week to complete and that’s is you pulled all nighters and lost a few hours of sleep.

A break, though? It sounds nice.

“That would be amazing, actually,” you breathe out, already feeling the weight and stress from Oliver’s last minute assignment slip off of your shoulders.

“Of course! You deserve a break too. It’s unfair how you always get the short end of the stick,” Alivia swipes the box off of your desk, placing it on her own. She glances at the clock on her desk and looks back to you. “Go home. I’ll cover you if he says anything. Just go and get some rest this weekend, okay?”

You nod, a genuine smile spreading across your face, and gather your belongings. There’s only a few more hours left of the work day but a break would be everything and more. Without looking back, you rush out of the doors and into the cool air.

The sky is dark, a rainstorm slowly coming in. The weather has been so unpredictable lately. Some days it is bright and sunny with high temperatures and the next it is thundering and raining, threatening to down the floating city. The wind chills your skin. You hug your jacket closer to your body, ready to find a taxi when your phone rings. You don’t even need to look at the caller I.D. to know who it is.

“Caleb,” you answer, teeth clattering from the cold wind, “what’s up?”

“Where are you going?” his voice is filled with concern with a hint of possessiveness. It make you shiver from just how quick he learns about your work life.

“Alivia told me to go home. I thought I’d go to your place and take a nap there. Your bed is better after all,” you add a chuckle to the end of your sentence. You know that it’ll disarm Caleb’s sudden protectiveness. You know him just as well as he knows you. “I can always go to my—”

“No! It’s okay. I could use a nap too,” Caleb chuckles over the phone but his laugh immediately dies when the door to his office opens. “What is it?” his voice is now muffled and you can hear him place the phone against the desk.

You sigh and walk away from the doors and towards the street. The phone is trapped between your ear and shoulder while you attempt to hail a taxi. Caleb’s Colonel voice comes out and you suddenly miss his happy tone. A gust of wind brushes past you, chilling you even more. Maybe this is Mother Nature’s way of telling you that you’re an ice cold bitch.

“I’ll have to see you later. I’m sorry, pretty bird,” Caleb sighs into the phone.

“That’s okay. Why don’t you bring home dinner? Let’s have a night in where we don��t do anything,” you calmly suggest, finally getting a taxi’s attention. The white car pulls up to the curb and you get inside, smiling at the driver, telling him the address.

“Are you sure? I can always cook something. Your favorite!” you hear him move things around on his desk.

“It’s okay. I’m craving that place you showed me anyways,” you shrug.

The world begins to move around you. The taxi slowly moves with traffic but you don’t care. You just need some time for yourself, to be alone and reset your body so you can get out of this funk and move on from the night of your friend’s wedding. It isn’t fair to you or Caleb to have something as silly as miscommunication hold you back from being happy together.

Well, you certainly thought it to be something you could easily get over. You never have been the best at guessing things like this.

When you enter Caleb’s apartment, your phone has been blown up with Caleb checking in on you, seeing if there was anything he can do to help you feel better or if he needed to leave work early. You texted back reassurances, the guilt of your resentment towards her and his relationship eating away at your conscience.

You laid in his bed, wearing one of his many oversized and comfortable shirts, and scrolled through your phone throughout the hours. It felt good to mindlessly scroll through stupid videos and read through peoples arguments over the stupidest things. Your mind was distracted and you didn’t think about the things that have been weighing you down.

You laugh at a video of penguins falling over. You cried at the video of a dog sitting at its owner’s grave. You save a recipe that you think Caleb would be great at making. You roll your eyes at some dude bro who thinks that a woman’s reproductive system looks like a satanic goat.

Hours pass you by and the sun sets in the distance, leaving the room in complete darkness except for the lamp that you turned on not too long ago. Its light is warm, very orange. It carries across the room, the blue light from your phone cutting through the orange with ease, the two colors splitting your face evenly. You roll to your other side in bed, plugging your phone in before it can die.

Engrossed in your own world, you don’t even notice Caleb walking inside the bedroom, already shrugging off his jacket, hanging it in the closet. He smiles at you. The sound of your quiet laughs and giggles make his heart feel full again. It brings a warmth to his chest, one he hasn’t felt in awhile, and begins to shed the skin of his Colonel persona.

“Whatcha laughin’ at, pretty bird?” Caleb asks, a smile on his face.

You gasp and sit up in bed, covering yourself with the dark gray and blue sheets of his bed. Once your eyes land on him, you relax and let out the tension that filled your lungs. Caleb laughs and slips on comfortable clothes, crossing the room and slipping underneath the covers beside you. In one fluid motion, Caleb scoops you up and onto his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Ohhh, I see. You’re laughing at videos of baby animals. Very cute, very cute,” Caleb muses with a smile, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. He gently presses kisses to your neck and you let out a quiet sigh, closing your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit. You place your hands on top of Caleb’s, feeling all of your worries begin to slip away and out of your mind. “I think I need my boyfriend to help me.”

“Do you?” his tone is teasing yet is so smug at the same time. “Well, I’m here now aaaand I brought dinner.”

“Did you?” you ask with a smile. Caleb nods. You push him away from you and slip out of bed, the covers hindering your movement. Caleb laughs and watches as you scramble outside of the room and towards the kitchen where two white bags sit.

You open them up to reveal an immaculate sight: two big bowls of ramen accompanied by all of the side dishes imaginable. Caleb walks from behind and reattaches himself to your body. He leans into you, catching a glimpse of your smile.

For once, it’s genuine. It is the first smile, one that is real, that he has seen from you never since the wedding. A piece of him aches. He knows that you’ve been stuck on that day, that you haven’t been able to fully process or say what it is that you need and want to say. He’ll be there when you’re ready, though. He will never leave you to go through that alone, especially because some of your hidden anger is directed at him. Rightfully so, of course.

Neither of you bring it up. You eat dinner together and talk about Caleb’s day, even going as far as to see if you could translate a few documents for him one of these days.

It felt…nice. The temporarily relief from avoiding the elephant in the room. The two of you pretend it isn’t there, basking in the awkwardness of uncertainty and things left unsaid. Caleb smiles at you, you smile at him, and the two of you ignore the heavy raincloud that floats over your head. The counter you sit at looks more and more like an executioners block with the cloud ready to chop your heads off.

You watch as Caleb cleans up the dinner mess. He brushes all of the crumbs off of the counter and into the trash can, casually throwing away the plastic bags and bowls that came with the meal. You sit at the counter and watch, chin propped up on your hand as he moves around the kitchen with a relaxed grin on his face.

Guilt washes over you. His smile is so genuine, so pure and good. He’s smiling because of you and you’re sitting here pretending like you don’t want to yell and scream at him for not telling you anything. You want to grab his head and scream at him for making you feel so insignificant in the past and cry in his arms because there truly is no way for you to hate him.

All you see is man who is trying his best to play the game called life. Maybe you shouldn’t hold so much anger towards him and the people in your life. Maybe you should forgive but never forget.

“Why are you starin’ at me like that?” Caleb disappears from your vision.

You blink at nothing and feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you off of the stool and into his arms. You gasp and feel your legs dangle off of the ground, Caleb’s forearms wrapped around your stomach, holding you up. He leans backwards and pulls you back with him. He walks around, chuckling to himself, as you hang there, unable to do a damn thing to stop him. You cross your arms over your chest, already having accepted your fate, and watch as he carries you back to his bedroom.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Caleb kisses the back of your neck. He doesn’t give you time to answer, either, before jumping onto the bed, smushing you beneath him.

With a face full of mattress and Caleb’s full body weight keeping you trapped below him, you accept the bittersweet taste of your death: suffocation by smothering. You had a good run! You did a lot of things, which was fun, even got to date the man of your dreams for a bit there even though it has been angsty as hell so far. You wouldn’t change a thing about it!

Okay, maybe you would change a few things, but who’s really counting, anyways?

Caleb rolls onto his back, bringing you around with him. You dramatically gasp for air, body moving up down down as Caleb laughs. You place your hands on top of his and stare at the ceiling, not making an effort to move your hair out of his face.

“I’m tired,” you say. Caleb nods in agreement. “I think I’m going to sleep right here…”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. The mattress I’m on may be a bit lumpy—”

“Lumpy?!”

“—and it may smell like sweat and jet fuel—”

“Is this pick on Caleb day?”

“—but it’s comfortable enough for the night.”

“Oh, well, that’s good then,” Caleb squeezes his arms around you, literally taking the breath out of you, “because I just love it when I have my girlfriend’s hair in my face throughout the night. Truly splendid!”

You roll your eyes and try not to laugh, sucking in a deep breath when he releases you. You slip off of him and take your usual side in the bed, looking out the floor to ceiling windows. A small yawn leaves your mouth. Caleb adjusts himself behind you and pulls you close to him.

A silence finally falls between the two of you. Is it time? Are you ready to confront him? To ask him all of the questions that have died on your tongue before you got the chance to say them?

The dark rainclouds pass the windows, Caleb’s apartment building splitting the forces of nature with ease. You fixate on a particularly dark spot. It slowly passes by, taking its time to look back at you. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that a bolt of lightning would be shot at you as a punishment for all of the animosity that clings to your heart.

Caleb’s hand is warm against your skin. It stays at your stomach, gently caressing your skin, before it moves up between your breasts. He flattens his palm against your chest. He feels each and every one of your heartbeats. He feels as it quickens from his touch, giving away any kind of nonchalance you wanted to wear. His forearm remains stuck between your breasts. If he were to move his hand further up, he could choke you with ease.

“The clouds look cool,” your attempt at starting a new conversation doesn’t go unnoticed. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat. Caleb nods. You can feel his purple eyes watch you instead of the clouds. “I think you’re the one looking at me now.”

“We haven’t had much time together lately,” Caleb is quick to respond, “we’re busy people.”

“Are we?” you whisper to yourself. Caleb heard it, though. There truly is nothing you can keep from him.

A long sigh leaves his lips. You feel his forehead press into the back of your neck, his breath against your back. You shudder and place your hand on top of his. The clouds outside grow darker. Your eyes gloss over, the urge to cry hitting you like a train. You remain still, though, forever silent in your moment of doubt.

“Can we…” Caleb’s voice cracks. Your heart aches. You close your eyes, holding back frustrated tears. “Let’s not, tonight, okay? We were having such a good time.”

“Agreed,” you breathe out.

“Great,” Caleb pulls you closer to him, draping the bed’s sheets over your connected bodies.

It had been the first good night in awhile. Why would you want to spoil such a blessing with your own stupid thoughts and destructive behavior?

“It’s late, babe, let’s sleep,” your words fill in the silence. Caleb nods, yawning right on cue.

You know sleep will come easy for him with you in his arms. You also know, though, that sleep will continually tease you throughout the night, never letting you fully grasp it.

Caleb always looks stressed when he sleeps. You always thought that sleep was the great reliever, a place where every person can find solace after a long day of stress. Unfortunately for Caleb, it seems like even in sleep he cannot find peace. You can’t help but feel bad for him. He already goes through so much as the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel and deals with the undiscovered parts of the Deepspace Tunnel. You just wish that one day he will be able to sleep peacefully.

Even in the darkness of his bedroom, safely secured in his muscular arms, you can’t help but feel like Caleb is holding something back from you. The lingering feeling beckons at you, drawing you in closer and closer with the possibilities that there is an invisible barrier separating the two of you. Staring at the underlying tension in his brow makes you question what is going on inside his mind.

If you could, you would break open his skull to get to where his thoughts are hidden. You would dig through the blood and rip apart his brain, finding the locked away thoughts and memories that have been left unsaid, finally solving the mystery that keeps you up at night. You’d take away all of the bad memories and leave only the good for him to relive.

Then again, erasing someone’s memories is a cruel thing to do.

You slowly sit up in bed, his dark gray sheets pooling at your hips. Caleb immediately stirs in his sleep, eyes flying open and fixating on you. The moonlight is gentle against your skin as you gaze outside the window, curtains drawn open since you wanted to watch the clouds pass you by before you slept. There is a slight patter against the window. Raindrops collide with the reinforced glass, its quiet lullaby suddenly making you feel like you’re trapped inside a cage.

“Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice captures your attention. He remains in bed, the tips of his fingers already moving against your skin in a soothing manner.

“Yeah,” you nod, forcing a small smile onto your face, “I just woke up. Need to stretch out my body.”

Under the veil of darkness, Caleb memorizes the way your face twitches, picking up on the way your eyes remain on him despite your attention being elsewhere. There’s something in your eyes, a question that has been smothered on your tongue, hidden behind your teeth, never to escape.

Does he want to know what you’re thinking? What it is you are questioning now?

“Do you want to go for a walk?” your question surprises him.

He tilts his head back. Caleb’s purple eyes burn into yours, leaving your question unanswered. Tension slowly seeps into the air. You peel your eyes away from his and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, pushing away and heading towards the bathroom. Thunder booms from outside the window. Caleb sighs and covers his face with his hands. A quiet groan leaves his lips as he forces himself out of bed.

Ever since the wedding, things have been weird between the two of you. You had begun to pull away from him and Caleb was losing his mind, unsure of what he needed to do or say to make things right. You told him that you were fine, that you held no ill will.

Uncertainty and his fear of the unknown burned the back of his brain and it made him careless in his missions to the Deepspace Tunnel. People were injured and lives were on the line, but his mind could only think of you and the sad look that overtook your face whenever he looked away.

It’s the same look you wear on your face now. The bathroom lights are low, just barely awake as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Movement from behind you catches your attention. You look at Caleb’s reflection, watching as he settles himself against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. You suck in a breath.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Caleb’s voice has lost its rasp and the tiredness that hangs in his voice, “why are you wanting to go for a walk?”

“Can’t sleep,” you shrug nonchalantly and turn back towards the mirror, pushing your hair behind your ears and out of your face.

“What about work?”

“It’s the weekend so I’m off,” you avoid his gaze in the mirror, trying to wake up your body so it can keep up with your mind.

Caleb falls silent again. All he can bring himself to do is watch as you untangle the knots in your hair before drawing it back into a low bun, nothing special. When you turn to leave the bathroom, you turn into Caleb’s bare chest. You look up at him, noticing the shadowed bags under his eyes. You reach up and cup his cheek, the man immediately leaning into your touch.

“You should stay back and sleep,” your words are quiet.

He shakes his head. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling his face away from your touch. His touch isn’t warm but cold, his metal fingers hidden beneath its disguise. He gently kisses the palm of your hand, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. Your cheeks heat up but you fight away the feeling, not wanting him to persuade you to go back to bed, to rot next to him while you watch the clouds pass the cage that keeps you inside.

“Let’s walk,” Caleb matches your volume, his purple eyes flickering to yours before he drops your hand, turning around to get changed. You follow him, quick on his tail, and glance outside.

The rain slowly begins to pick up outside. Thunder and lighting grows closer. You approach the window, placing your hand against the chilled glass. The world below is shielding by a cloud.

“Maybe we should stay inside,” you say, eyes focused on trying to see the ground. Caleb groans, frustrated. Your body tenses and your posture stiffens. “The weather picked up.”

“Pretty bird,” you turn around and see Caleb, already in sweats and a jacket, “you just said—”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

“So you don’t want want to go on a—”

“—no we can! It’s just that the weather—”

“So now you don’t want to?”

“No! Yes! Fuck, I don’t even know anymore! Let’s go for a walk,” you push past him and reach for one of your hoodies that sits in a bag you packed not too long ago. Caleb stops you, though, and instead hands you one of his hoodies with a long sleeve shirt. You turn around and watch as he helps slip your shirt over your head, replacing it with the tight long sleeve and hoodie. Once the hood is brought over your head, his purple eyes flicker to yours.

“It’s cold,” he sharply says. He takes your hand and guides you out of the bedroom, entering the dark living room and kitchen areas. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, feet fumbling over each other. Caleb grabs an umbrella that sits by the door and exits the apartment, pulling you with him.

The small journey to the outside world is awkward and tense. Caleb’s grip on your hand is tight, annoyance prominent inside the tension in his jaw, the way it’s clenched as he guides you through his apartment building. The yellow interior lights are easy on your eyes and are dim enough to keep the outside world dark, avoiding any kind of light pollution it may have. A single person works in the lobby, sitting at the desk while you and Caleb pass to leave.

“Hey!” they call out, “The weather is pretty rough—!”

“We know!” Caleb and you bark at the person in sync.

Caleb presses the button next to the lobby door and it slides open, a gust of wind hitting the two of you just as you exit. You slip the umbrella from his hand and open it, holding it out for him. He watches you with a close eye, the wind pushing around your hair, the tip of your nose already cold. He takes the umbrella and laces your fingers with his, weathering the storm together as you male your way to a dimly lit path nearby.

You wrap an arm around Caleb’s torso and stay close to him, face smushed into his chest. Raindrops fly with the wind, smacking against the material of the umbrella. It shields the two of you the best it can. Caleb picks up his pace and you’re practically jogging at his side.

“Caleb!” you shout over the sound of rain and wind. He doesn’t look down, simply walking through the rough weather as if it’s nothing.

Just a couple meters away sits a lit gazebo that sits in the middle of courtyard that’s right beside Caleb’s building. The rows of flowers try to fight against the wind, hanging on by the strength of the plant’s stem, a few petals flying away. Once you reach the gazebo, you push away from Caleb, turning your back to him. He drops the umbrella and it slides across the floor to where your feet are.

“Tell me,” Caleb begins, his voice raised to be over the howling wind, “what did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything,” you counter. The flower bushes that surround the gazebo hit and scrape against the wood. The petals threaten to fly off of the stems, getting lost in the wind. The dark rainclouds descend towards the ground, placing you and Caleb in the middle of its destructive force.

“Bullshit. There’s something going on inside that head of yours. You barely smile anymore and you always bring work home! There’s no time for us anymore!” Caleb walks closer to you. He looks at the back of your head, your hair dry and his hood damp. You don’t even turn to face him, which only annoys him some more. “We haven’t had sex—”

“So this is about sex!?” you snap, finally turning around to look at him. The wind screams from around you. “You’re worried about getting your dick wet again, right? Want me to get down on my knees and suck your dick? Will that make you feel better?!”

“No! Dammit! That’s not—” Caleb groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “that’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Then what is it, Caleb? Hm? Are you actually worried about me,” you poke his chest, knowingly poking the bear, “or are you just trying to cover your back so this doesn’t blow up on you at the end of the day?”

“What are you talking about?!” Caleb raises his voice to combat the thunder that sounds from around the gazebo. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to the world over his shoulder, looking at the environment get beaten up by the storm.

The dark raincloud that once hung above your head has touched land. It has finally decided that the apple tree, something that managed to grow in the rough terrain of your heart, deserves water. It deserves to have its thirst quenched, to let the cold water touch the dry, green leaves, to moisten the ground that surrounds it.

Truth and honesty are ideals that every relationship should have. It is the fertilizer within the soil that many apple trees like your own are buried in. You forgot that step, didn’t you?

“What did I do? Did Zayne say something to you at the wedding?” Caleb steps towards you but you take a step backwards, your ankle meeting the wood of the gazebo’s railing.

You scoff and look away, crossing your arms over your chest. Even the thought of looking into his eyes makes you feel nothing but dread and utter devastation. Caleb’s back stiffens. His purple eyes run up and down your body; you give him all of the telltale signs that he’s right and that you’re hiding something from him.

Caleb steps forward, trapping you. You look up at him with big and wide eyes. He’s the predator that’s just caught his prey, your pretty little face begging for mercy. He can go easy on you, sure, let you slip out of the net he’s caught you in. You can recover from your mistake by peppering kisses all over his face. He’ll forget all of the misgivings that have been through his way, he can forgive the fact that you believed something that Zayne said instead of asking him directly about it.

“What did he say?” Caleb’s voice teeters between desperation and being demanding. He lowers his head, his purple eyes training on yours with a darkness you haven’t seen before. Your body goes cold. Goosebumps scatter across your skin. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you breathe out, your breath coming out in the form of a plume. “What Zayne said doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly, it does,” Caleb places his hands on the wooden railing behind you. His nose grazes against yours. Your breaths mix into one. You close your eyes, unable to look at him. He presses in further, his body against yours, demanding and present. “Tell me.”

“He said that you’ve been texting her the whole time,” Caleb’s body tenses against yours while you speak, “he said that I will forever be second place in your heart. That you’ll always go to her her first rather than find me. That I don’t deserve you.”

Caleb slowly draws himself away from you. His eyes go dark, cold. The space between you feels like no man’s land, a place where neither of you want to meet in the middle. His tall frame dominates yours, towering over you with ease and with an unspoken authority over you. You are at his mercy.

“Go on,” he says in a low tone.

“Zayne said he loves me. He always has. That I haven’t been able to see it because I’ve been so preoccupied with you,” you continue.

Hurt flashes across his face when you say the word love, a word that he thought he had full control over when it comes to you. Jealousy spreads across his chest. You fall silent. Thunder booms from behind you. Neither of you react.

“What did you say back to him?” Caleb narrows his eyes at you.

“I said that him and I are alike,” you force the words to fall out of your mouth. Caleb’s eyebrow perks up. “We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

A bitter taste spreads across Caleb’s tongue. Looking down at you, he can see the defiance and hurt in your eyes. You are trying so hard to hold it together, to not cry and break from underneath the pressure. Your walls slowly reinforce themselves, the workers inside your mind resuming construction as you build them taller than you have before. They are now covered with a fresh layer of ice, closing out any warmth that you were once able to find within Caleb’s embrace.

“How about you, Caleb?” your voice is strong against the howls and cries of the wind. The screams from gusts of air don’t dissuade you. You remain strong in your path, knowing that at the end, only destruction will be left. “Is there anything that you wish to tell me?”

Caleb tears his gaze away from yours. The dark gray clouds cover the moon, taking up the entire night sky. The umbrella he brought out hits the wooden perimeter, clicking every couple of seconds, ticking away the time. He moves to the gazebo’s entrance, wanting to walk down the few steps and escape into the night, to get away from the conversation that slowly chips away at your relationship and individual sanities.

“What are you hiding from me?” you ask from behind. His broad shoulders stare at you, his back mocking. You can’t help but feel like you’re being laughed at, being teased for the way you feel. You tried to look past the revelation that Zayne gifted to you, brushing it off as nothing but a simple misdirection to throw you off your rhythm but now, standing here and watching Caleb begin to pull away from you, it feels like Zayne had been right the whole time.

You’re even second place when it comes to figuring out the truth, a third and unwanted person in a relationship that doesn’t even involve you.

“Talk to me, Caleb!” your voice is drowned out by thunder. Caleb turns around and his purple eyes immediately go to your fists that are balled at your sides. Your nails bury themselves into the palms of your hands. The pain is a nice distraction from the confusion in your mind. The thunder sounds like bombs are being dropped. “I told you the truth, why can’t you do the same?!”

“That’s not fair,” Caleb shakes his head, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Isn’t it?” you huff out a breath of air, crossing the distance to stand in front of him. “Do you know what it is like to sleep at your side, Caleb?” your voice cracks, “Do you know what it is like to have to hold you at night when you have another nightmare?”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb breathes your name out like it is a prayer.

“You cry in your sleep, Caleb. You cry and you hold onto me as if someone is going to take me away from you! You always avoid answering me question when I ask you what’s wrong and you never take me up on your offer to talk about it!” Tears begin to flow down your cheeks, bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head! I don’t know how I can help you or what I need to do to stop the nightmares! I hate seeing you in pain! I hate hearing you cry as soon as I leave the bed!”

Your hands fly to your face and your fingers begin to furiously wipe your tears away. Caleb reaches out to console you but you smack his hands away, placing a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“You cry out her name, Caleb!” you scream the words over the wind and thunder. Lightning flashes across the night sky, thunder immediately cracking after. The loud boom makes your ears ring. “You cry out her name when I’m right next to you! That’s how I know I’m second place! That’s how I know you are hiding something from me! And it fucking hurts to know that I will never be able to see that side of you. I feel so helpless when it comes to you, Caleb! You have all of the answers when it comes other than me and yet I barely know a thing about what happened!”

“I…” Caleb stammers, his voice falling silent. “I can—”

“Explain?” you cut him off. He blinks at you, his eyes now glossy. “Go ahead, Caleb. Explain. I’ll wait.”

“You know I can’t,” Caleb’s voice is low and is filled with such shame that it makes you want to scream and cry.

The raincloud has drowned the tree. Its soil, which was once too dry, is now diluted from the weight of history and purposefully hidden memories. The water level rises above the ground. The tree is now submerged beneath the water, unable to catch a break in the unpredictable weather cycle.

You suck in a breath, the back of your hand flying to your mouth, covering it. Hidden secrets and questions are now out in the open. They taunt Caleb, snickering at the pain that flashes across his chest. He stares at the back of your head, watching as your shoulders slump over, your body succumbing to the sadness that weighs you down.

“Maybe we…”you breathe out. Caleb’s eyes fill with tears. He clears the distance between you and takes your hands in his, shaking his head.

“Don’t…don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Caleb silences you. the man reaches up and wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes. He shakes his head but you nod, looking into his irritated eyes.

“I need a break,” you finish your thought.

“No, you don’t. We can work through this!”

“I’m tired Caleb,” you sigh.

“I am too but that’s okay!”

“I need to clear my head.”

“Tell me what to do then. Tell me what exactly you need me to do for you to come back to me. What is it? Please, pretty bird, I…I can’t be away from you!”

“Caleb,” you stop him. You hold his hands and squeeze them, unable to bring yourself to look at him. Not now, at least. “I need to be alone.”

It looks like Caleb was just shot ten times and was told to walk it off. He has been shot, has survived an explosion, has been stabbed before, sliced from another man’s knife while working. He was gone through watching his fellow soldiers fall, their planes being shot down during a dog fight. He has been experimented on, picked apart by Ever and Professor Lucius. He has had his memories ripped away from him, hidden in the depths of his mind, and is clinging to the remnants of what is left.

And yet you wanting to be alone, to be away from him, is the one thing that hurts the most.

A single tear rolls down his cheek, eyes strained and hands holding onto yours like you are about to step out of his life forever.

“I-I can’t,” Caleb stammers. His trembling voice pierces your heart.

Are you a bad person? It sure feels like you are. How could you put him through so much turmoil? And yet, how dare he hide his past life with her from you? He has had the chance to explain, to tell you why they will forever be connected until the end of their lives, but he hasn’t. Caleb has remained silent, only offering apologies and pleas for you to not leave him instead of an explanation.

Perhaps truth and honesty are not fertilizer. Maybe they are sharp axes ready to chop the tree down, to destroy all of the progress that you have made. It is a weapon that only threatens to smother the spark that once shined so brightly between you and Caleb.

“A break can be a good thing,” you try to reason with him, “gives us time to realize what is important in our lives. It can give us direction—”

“You are the most important thing in my life,” Caleb interrupts. He captures your cheeks between his hands, making you look up at him. “Don’t do this…please. At least stay the night, sleep on it, and we can talk about it in the morning, okay?”

Caleb’s purple eyes burn into yours. The wind pushes his hair out of his face, his lips slightly chapped from the wind. His cheeks are stained from tears just like yours and his hands tremble against your skin. You slowly inhale, the ice cold wind helping cool your body down from the heat of your anger. A lump forms in your throat.

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding, “I need to be alone, though. I’ll stay out here for just a bit longer.”

“I’ll stay with you—”

“Just go back inside, Caleb,” you pull away from him and cross your arms over your chest, stepping away. You wipe away your tears, knowing that what you are telling him is nothing but a white lie, “I’ll be up there soon.”

You need to do what you do best. Run away. Hide. Pretend as if your world isn’t falling apart from around you and give yourself the time to be a broken person before returning to the face of the earth.

And Caleb? Caleb is the fool who believes you.

He comes up from behind and hug you. It’s a small gesture that rips your heart apart. It makes you drive the knife into his chest even deeper, the hilt of the blade now pressed against his chest.

Then he’s gone. He walks through the ravenous rain on his own and even left the umbrella behind for you to use. Just as he steps through the apartment doors, you stop a cab and get inside, heading for your home.

Bzzrt. Bzzrt. Bzzrt.

Your phone shimmies across the top of your desk. You stare at it, eyes tired with purple eye bags sunken into your skull. The phone stops for a brief moment. A sigh exits your mouth, closing your eyes. The buzzing begins again.

You know exactly who the messages are from. You know exactly what it is that they say and you don’t even want to waste the time and energy to check. You’ll get the same messages later tonight as well then the whole process will repeat itself in the morning.

You would be lying to yourself, though, if you said you didn't miss the way he hugged and kissed you in the morning.

Caleb was not handling the break well, like, at all. He was a mess. He knew that he shouldn’t have left your side that night. A piece of him know that you were going to run away, just like you did in high school and at the wedding. You would call it a calculated retreat whereas Caleb would call it a surrender.

You avoided him at work, which he respected. It didn’t stop him, though, from driving behind the bus you took to and from work, watching as you moved in and out of your apartment so he knows that you’re safe. Caleb also kept tabs on you at work, watching you through the security cameras as you smiled and laughed with other people. People who aren’t him.

Caleb passed you in the hallways of the Farspace Fleet’s Administrative building. Your eyes always met, even if it were just for a second, and it gave Caleb the motivation he needed to stay string, to let you come to him. He knows that if he were to bombard you, it’d only make you want to run further away, back into Linkon where he lives.

Caleb used up all of your sticky notes during the time you stayed away from him. He left you notes on your desk, telling you that you looked beautiful that day and that he misses you. Some of them even asked if you were ready to talk to him, to have dinner and let him explain what he’s been trying to protect you from.

You always said no. A simple text that ended with his colorful sticky notes being crushed under your fist, tossed into the trash for the janitor to take out later in the night.

It’s okay, though, if it is space you need, he will give you space. If you need to take a moment for yourself and realize that he has all of the answers you need, the truth that you crave, then so be it. He will not be the one who stops you.

Well, that is what he told himself to feel better about the whole situation.

He knows that it is not fair to you to keep you in the dark about his and her’s past with Ever. The wounds, though, still feel fresh to him from his early childhood. He works with one of the men in charge of his experimentation, playing a game of cat and mouse to see who can outmaneuver the other. It’s a game that, quite frankly, he’s grown tired of but knows that the end will never come.

Caleb wants to tell you all about it. He wants to unload the weight of turning you away from the darkest parts of his past and mind. He also doesn’t want you to try and carry that burden with him, to try and alleviate some of the pain that heel feels everyday. He already lives with the constant remind of his metal arm, his bones forever trapped underneath the layers of wires and metal. He has sacrificed so much already to not let the professor and Ever win…it’s why he won’t let you near it.

It pains him to know that you are out in the world and are completely on your own. He should be there to help you, to stop you from making any mistakes. It’s why he has waited so long for you. He let the days pass him by, allowing time to slip through his fingers.

He acted like he was fine, that he was okay. He pretended that he got a full night’s worth of sleep even though he stared out the window, hoping that you would walk through the doors at any moment.

He stares at you through the CCTV footage, wondering if you have come to realize that you hold the leash that’s connected to his dog collar. You stand from your desk, phone in hand, and exit the translator’s offices. He follows you throughout the building. You cross down a few hallways, staring at your phone screen. You press the button to an elevator and step inside.

Caleb sits up at his desk. The see through tablet remains in his hands as he stands. He slowly walks towards his office door, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he clicks through the multiple different feeds, trying to find you. It is only when he notices that you have come to his floor that he realizes that you are coming to find him.

The Colonel rushes to his desk, placing the tablet in the top drawer of his desk. He places his cap on his head, fixing his ling jacket in the reflection of the window, making for sure everything is in place and is perfect because he refuses to give you anything less than. Not anymore, at least.

There is a knock at his office door. He clears his throat and snaps his fingers, a hologram projection of the Deepspace Tunnel flashing to life. He glances towards the door and tightens his tie one last time.

“Come in,” he beckons with a slightly gentler tone than usual.

Caleb does not look in your direction, instead focusing on the projection in front of him. When the door closes and he hears the click of your shoes grow closer to him, he turns, taking in your tired appearance. He opens his mouth to say something but can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that you have already chastised yourself for it. There is no need for him to add to that grievance.

“Hi, pretty bird,” Caleb is the first to speak. You lean against his desk, looking around the clean office. When your eyes meet his, your body relaxes before tensing up once again.

“Caleb,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest, “you need to stop texting me.”

“Why? I want to make for sure that—”

“I”m okay?” you finish his sentence for him. He nods and inches closer to you. He reaches out, his gloved hand diverting at the last second to rest on the desk beside you. You shudder from his sudden closeness, his familiar cologne disarming your weapons. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m afraid that I will never not worry about you,” Caleb whispers. He looks down, noticing the way you hold onto yourself for dear life. His eyes flicker to yours, leaning in. He reaches up and grazes your cheek with his gloved fingers.

You suck in a breath. His touch is electrifying against your skin, igniting flames under your skin, burning with the desire to hold him in your arms and to cry together.

“The General offered me a job,” your words cause his hand to move away from your face, “I think I’m going to take it.”

Caleb knows exactly what the General’s job is. He has been granted permission, alongside Ever, to meet with other countries and discuss the Toring Chip. Many of the countries they are going to speak the languages that you just happen to know and are proficient in. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the General specifically made the job positing with you in mind after the peace summit.

The trip is going to take approximately four months to complete, spending a hefty amount of time in every country, meeting with their leaders and the highest ranking officials in their army. There was sure to be talks outside of the Toring Chip. Minerals, weapons, peace treaties, and alliances are sure to be talked about with you in the center of it all.

Caleb offered to go. He immediately contacted the General and told him that if he needed an extra man, that he is there to help. The General laughed and told him not to worry, that he already has plenty of men coming alongside him and to focus on the Deepspace Tunnel instead of unimportant politics.

Chills run down Caleb’s spine. You look up at him with a determined look in your eyes but Caleb knows that there is something inside your consciousness that is pushing you to run away from him. He wishes that you would have looked the other way when the General offered you the position.

“It’s a great opportunity for me, Caleb,” you breathe out, already sensing the underlying anxiety that forms in the back his mind. “It will give them the chance to see that I am more than a desk job…”

“You don’t need their validation for that,” Caleb quickly counters. “You are more than this entire building. You’re better than them. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“What else can I do? It’s either translating for the Fleet or teaching languages in school,” you suck in a breath, your tone sharp, “I’m stuck where I am and this is going to get me out of it.”

“Then let me take care of you. Stay with me, don’t go with them,” he places his hands on your waist.

“You’re acting like I’m going to be gone forever,” you let out a small laugh, placing your hands on his chest, “it’s just four months.”

“A lot can happen in four months,” Caleb’s gaze burns into yours.

“What are you so afraid of?” your question is bold and daring. “Don’t lie. I think we’ve done enough of that lately.”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Caleb breathes the words out as if they are powerful enough to hurt you. “I think that if you accept the job, it will worsen our relationship and push us further apart than we already are.”

His words, while sharp, hold his truth. A piece of you knows that what he’s saying is true, that if you were to leave your relationship won’t recover. The space would have become too much. The distance just unbearable.

Are you doing this on purpose? Are you purposefully ruining the only good thing in your life?

You swallow the rest of your spit in your mouth, looking up at Caleb. He sighs and presses his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, taking in his closeness and the way his skin feels against yours. Caleb leans in and pecks your mouth, his lips lingering for a few seconds.

“I love you. Please, don’t go,” Caleb whispers.

Silence fills the room. He silently draws in a breath, eyes closed as he waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you whisper, “I won’t go. For us.”

A smile instantly spreads across Caleb’s lips. He pulls you off of the desk and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as you bury your face into his chest. His heartbeat comes to a slow, the adrenaline rush leaving his body. You relax into him, missing how tight his embraces always are. He pulls away and looks down at you, cupping your cheeks between his hands.

“Thank you,” Caleb says. You nod in return, a small smile forming on your face before it disappears.

“I should go tell him my decision, then,” you peel away from Caleb, your hands lingering on each other. He nods and watches as you move back to the door, an unsettling feeling resting in the back of his mind the further you get from him. “Can I…come over tonight?” You ask as you reach the door. “We have a few things to talk about.”

“Of course,” Caleb nods, “I’ll make your favorite for dinner.”

“That sounds nice,” your smile turns real. It makes Caleb’s heart skip a beat. You open up the door to his office and leave, heading down the hall from which you came.

Caleb is happy that you agreed to stay. He will make for sure that life is not boring for you, to help you shimmy up the ladder among your fellow translators. Whatever it is that he needs to do, he’ll make sure it happens. He will do anything for you and your happiness, even if it means blackmailing a few Fleet officers to make for sure you get the best jobs possible instead of being stuck at your desk.

His skin tingles. A sharp pain flashes through his modified arm. His purple eyes move back to the door, the General’s voice creeping into his head. He remembers his phone call with the high ranking official, trying to weave through the conversation to find what it is he needs.

“We’ll take good care of her,” the General told him from over the phone before he hung up.

We’ll take good care of her.

Caleb freezes.

The Toring Chip…four months…different countries…Ever has different buildings in different countries, Caleb knows this first hand from being one of the professor’s favorites.

The job targeted you.

He stares at the door, his heart beginning to pound inside his chest. He forces his feet to move, rushing towards the door. He bursts through, catching the attention of a few adjuncts and lower ranking officers. He stops a secretary from walking by, looking down at them.

“The General. Is he on location today?” Caleb demands, his purple eyes cold and dark.

“Y-Yes! I think his plane is about to take off!” the woman quickly responds, scared by Caleb’s dark demeanor.

The Colonel doesn’t waste another second. He rushes towards the elevator, pressing the button that leads to the tarmac on the top of the building where the General and other officials come in and out of. His boot taps against the floor. The elevator smells of your perfume. It only makes him more anxious.

The elevator doors slide open, a gust of wind hitting Caleb’s face as he bursts out of the door. He shields his eyes from the glaring sun, noticing that there are one too many clouds in the sky for comfort. He rushes across the black top, the soles of his shoes scraping against the coarse material.

Am aircraft’s engine roars to life. The machine whirrs, huffing out bursts of hot air and exhaust from the engines. The sound captures Caleb’s attention. His eyes focus on a few dark figures inside the aircraft. Professor Lucius stands inside, leaning into his cane. On either side of him stands two Fleet soldiers, guns in their hands. They look down at the aircraft’s open door.

You and the General stand in front of each other. Your back is to Caleb. The Professor’s eyes move to focus on the Colonel, who stands from across the tarmac. A sick smirk spreads across his face. The General smiles at you, though, and he nods, turning around before moving back up the ramp of the plane. You turn around.

Your eyes meet Caleb’s. You are just about to take a step towards him when the two soldiers who stand beside Professor Lucius move.

They walk towards you.

Caleb begins to run, his feet slamming against the ground. He watches as your face contorts from pain, your hadn’t shooting up to your neck where a syringe was just plunged into your skin. You wobble around, looking at the soldiers before circling around once again.

Caleb screams your name but it is muffled out from the screams of jet engines and planes. Your vision blurs, hand extended out, reaching for him, before your world turns to black, body going limp. A solider picks you up and carries you inside of the plane. The aircraft’s door slowly closes, clicking shut just as Caleb reaches its vicinity.

The aircraft pulls out of its spot. It rolls down the black asphalt, pulling away from Caleb. The plane picks up speed and lifts into the air just as it reaches the edge of the building. Caleb sprints after it, fighting against the gusts of wind from the engines. He uses his Evol to glide through the air, reaching out for you and the plane. He flies across the sky, a mere black speck compared to the aircraft.

But it’s too late. You and the aircraft are out of his reach, disappearing behind fluffy white clouds, out of Caleb’s reach.

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