#It was... like... -14 inside of home? *giggle*

[tapakah0]

[psformybss]

You Said You Loved Me

drew starkey x costar!secretgf!reader

warnings: emotional whiplash, betrayal, heartbreak, mental health themes, self-harm mention, panic attack, regret, heavy emotions

a/n: tumblr isn’t letting me answer the request like usual but here is this one requested by @kieeslove . this is one is probably one of the most heartbreaking one-shots i’ve written to be honest but i love how it ended up coming out. please please please read the warnings before reading it.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

You’ve had the whole day to yourself—no call time, no script changes, no wardrobe fittings. Just a long, open stretch of silence that you’d usually welcome.

But today, it’s been anything but peaceful.

You’ve barely moved from the couch since noon, wrapped in the hoodie Drew left on the kitchen chair last night, half-watching a show you’ve seen before just to fill the space. Your phone rests in your lap, screen dim, but your mind hasn’t stopped racing for hours.

You saw it this morning.

The story.

Odessa’s.

It popped up right after breakfast, when you were still groggy, sipping coffee on the balcony. You tapped through mindlessly until you froze on a video—shaky, close-up, her voice giggling behind the camera.

Drew.

He was leaning against a trailer, smiling—no, laughing. That wide, rare kind of laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. She flipped the camera back to herself, grinning like it was an inside joke between just the two of them.

And maybe it was.

The next slide was a photo. A candid. He had his head thrown back, laughing at something you couldn’t hear, while she stood beside him with only half her face in the frame.

But it was enough.

Enough to make your stomach twist.

Enough to make you stare too long at the caption.

“Set life with this goof 🤍”

The cast knows about you and Drew. Everyone on set does. You’ve stopped pretending around them—stopped hiding the way you slip into his trailer during breaks, how he kisses your temple when he thinks no one’s looking.

But outside of that circle, no one knows. No Instagram posts. No red carpets. Not even soft launches in the comments section.

And you understood why at first.

Keeping it private felt safer. Cleaner. Something just for you two.

Until moments like this.

Moments where he looks like someone else’s.

You scroll back through the texts—between you and Drew, between you and Odessa.

There’s nothing wrong, not really. But there’s a shift. A subtle unraveling.

He doesn’t say “I love you” before bed anymore. Doesn’t kiss your forehead when he leaves for work.

And Odessa—your best friend, the person who once felt like your other half—she’s been on set more and more. Not because she has to be. Just because.

You used to think she came to see you. To hang out between scenes, raid craft services, sit on your trailer floor and gossip about everything and nothing.

But lately, it feels like she’s there for him.

You told yourself not to overthink it. Not to read too much into the way her hand lingers on his arm when she laughs, or the way he seems more awake when she’s around.

But today, alone with your thoughts and too much time, the pit in your stomach hasn’t let up.

You pick up your phone again and scroll to your thread with Odessa.

No new messages.

She didn’t text you today.

Not after she posted those stories. Not after she spent half the afternoon on the same set your boyfriend was working on.

You’d texted her earlier—just a casual “You on set today?”—but it’s still sitting there, unanswered.

You switch to Drew’s messages.

You (9:42am): Miss you today. Hope the scene went okay.

You (12:16pm): Odessa still there?

You (3:03pm): Are you home late tonight?

All read. None replied to.

The front door opens at 1:14 a.m.

You don’t even flinch anymore. You just pull the hoodie tighter around you and pretend the tightness in your chest isn’t there.

Drew walks in with slow, tired steps, jacket slung over his arm, hair tousled from a long shoot.

You look up at him, soft but cautious. “Hey.”

He pauses at the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey. You’re up?”

“Didn’t have any scenes today,” you say, voice quieter than you mean. “Just stayed home.”

He nods, distracted. Opens the fridge. Grabs a bottle of water. Doesn’t ask about your day.

He scrolls his phone, thumbs moving quickly.

“Long shoot?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah,” he says, cracking open the bottle. “Ran over like an hour. Just wrapped a little while ago.”

You hesitate. “Was Odessa still there?”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “For a bit. She left before we wrapped.”

Another beat of silence.

You want to say more. You want to ask why she’s always there lately, or why he hasn’t said I love you in four nights straight.

But your throat closes around the words, like saying them out loud would make it worse.

Drew glances at you again. “I’m gonna crash. Early call.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

He disappears down the hall. No kiss. No touch.

And again—no I love you.

You stare at your phone until the screen fades.

Open Odessa’s story one more time.

Watch the way he laughs like he’s weightless. The way she looks at him like she knows something you don’t.

They don’t look like they’re hiding anything.

But you feel like you’re the only one being kept in the dark.

You wake up to an empty apartment again. Drew left early for set, just like he said, but something’s different today. You didn’t have to film any scenes today either, so you stayed home, hoping maybe things would feel normal again. Maybe Drew would come back and the silence wouldn’t stretch so thin between you two.

But that’s not how it goes anymore.

You scroll through your phone, trying to shake the heaviness. You glance at your messages—nothing new from Drew, just the usual short replies.

Your eyes flick to Odessa’s name, the friend you’ve known for years—the one who always seemed like your sister, the person who knew you better than anyone. But lately, even she’s become distant.

You tap her name and open your texts.

“Can’t wait to hang out tomorrow! Dinner and drinks like old times?” you typed a few days ago. No reply. Just like the other texts since then.

The next morning, you woke to a curt text from Odessa: “Had to fly back to LA today. Sorry, last minute. Hope you understand.”

No call. Just a text.

Your stomach dropped. You’d been looking forward to that night all week, but now it was gone—just like her.

You tried not to overthink it, telling yourself she was busy.

She returned, just a few days later but didn’t tell you. You found out the worst way possible.

You were walking past the trailers on set when you saw them.

Drew and Odessa.

Laughing together.

Close.

Too close.

The easy way they leaned into each other—like you used to, all three of you—felt like a punch to the gut.

You stopped, heart hammering in your chest.

They looked up and caught your eyes. Drew smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Odessa’s grin faltered for a moment before she turned back to him.

Your throat tightened.

You blinked, trying to tell yourself you were imagining things. Maybe they were just friends. Maybe you were just overthinking.

But deep down, the pit in your stomach grew.

The distance between you and Drew had been growing too. More than growing—it had widened into a chasm you didn’t know how to cross.

Your conversations were clipped, like you were just two roommates trying to coexist rather than the couple you once were.

You found yourself wondering if maybe you were the problem.

Maybe I’m too much.

Maybe I’m not enough.

You replayed every conversation, every look, every silence between you two.

The way Drew would zone out when you talked about your day.

The way he spent more and more time texting someone you couldn’t see.

The way Odessa—your best friend—pulled away too, her responses short and distracted whenever you tried to ask if she was okay.

One afternoon, you caught her alone near the trailers.

“Hey, you’ve seemed… different lately. Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle.

She glanced up at you, eyes guarded.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said, but you knew better.

She was closing off, just like Drew.

You wanted to reach through the walls that were building around her, but you didn’t know how.

The days blur together, each one heavier than the last.

You watch the calendar pages turn—slow and unforgiving—but the distance between you and Drew feels like it’s growing faster by the day.

He’s quieter. More distracted. Even when he’s in the room with you, it’s like you’re separate islands sharing the same space.

It’s been over a week since he kissed you.

Not a single brush of lips, not even a quick peck in passing.

You catch yourself waiting, holding your breath for the moment it will happen. But it never does.

You try to convince yourself it’s just stress. Long shoots. Exhaustion.

But when the lights go out and the apartment is still, the silence screams louder than any excuse.

One night, you find yourself standing in the bathroom, warm water streaming over your face, blurring your vision.

You don’t want him to hear the quietness of your tears—so you let them fall only in the shower, behind the locked door.

The water carries the ache away for a little while.

Later, when Drew leaves for set—his phone forgotten on the kitchen counter, screen unlocked—you hesitate.

Curiosity gnaws at you.

You pick it up, fingers trembling.

His messages open to a thread with Odessa.

You scroll through, the words soft but sharp:

“Missed you today.”

“Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

There’s nothing explicit. No promises or declarations.

Just the kind of words that linger in the spaces between.

Your chest tightens.

You close the phone carefully and set it back down.

Staring at the ceiling, you wonder how long this has been going on.

How long you’ve been standing on the outside looking in.

You want to confront him. To demand the truth.

But the words catch in your throat.

The apartment is quiet again.

That terrible, airless quiet that makes you feel like even the walls are watching.

Your phone buzzes.

You almost don’t check. You’ve been trying to be good—trying to stop torturing yourself by scrolling through Instagram, through posts with her name tagged beside his, through photos where his eyes don’t even look like his anymore.

But the name on your screen is one you can’t ignore.

Odessa.

Your pulse jumps. You hesitate. Then you open it.

“I told Drew I’m in love with him. He feels the same. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The air leaves your lungs in one slow, numb exhale.

You reread it once. Twice. A third time, as if the words might change if you look hard enough.

They don’t.

No emoji. No nervous laughter. No gray area.

Just a quiet confession and a knife between your ribs.

But you don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You don’t even blink.

You just sit there on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, the message open on your screen, the cursor blinking like it’s daring you to respond.

You don’t.

The front door opens not long after.

You hear it before you see him—his key sliding into the lock, the door creaking open, boots hitting hardwood.

He walks in humming, like he’s had a good day.

Like the world didn’t just drop out from under you.

Then he sees you.

And the humming dies.

“Hey,” Drew says slowly, careful. His voice is soft, uncertain now. “You got her text.”

Your head turns slowly toward him. Your eyes are glassy, unreadable.

So he knows.

Of course he knows.

“She told you she was going to send it?” you ask, voice flat.

He nods once. “She said she felt guilty. She didn’t want to lie anymore.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

“And you let her?”

“I didn’t let her,” he says, stepping closer. “I tried to stop her, but—”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It sounds like something breaking.

“She said you feel the same.”

Drew hesitates. “That’s not what I—look, it’s not black and white, okay? It’s complicated—”

You stare at him. “Complicated,” you repeat, the word like acid in your mouth.

He moves toward you, crouching beside the couch, reaching for your hand.

You flinch before he can touch you.

He freezes.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says quietly.

Your hands shake as you stand, your voice rising without warning. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”

His eyes go wide. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back. “You don’t get to say you didn’t mean to. You chose this.”

“You think I wanted to hurt you?”

“You did hurt me.”

The fury rises in you like a tide—faster than you can stop it.

“I’ve been here,” you whisper. “Every single day. Loving you. Waiting for you to love me back the way you used to.”

You grab the photo from the coffee table—the one from Paris, the one where you look happiest, safest, most certain of him.

You throw it across the room with every ounce of strength you have.

It hits the wall and shatters, glass and memories scattering across the floor.

He flinches.

“You were supposed to love me,” you say, voice cracking now. “Not her. Me.”

Drew steps forward like he’s trying to fix something already broken. “I do love you—”

“No, you don’t,” you snap. “Not really. Because if you did, this wouldn’t have happened.”

He tries to hug you, arms reaching for you like he still has a right to them.

You let him.

But not out of love.

Out of exhaustion.

His chest presses to yours, and for one brief second you remember the comfort that used to live in that space.

Now it feels foreign.

He murmurs, “We can fix this. Please. I’ll cut things off with her. We can go to therapy or—”

You press your hands to his chest and push him back gently.

“No,” you say. “This isn’t something you fix.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Well, you did.”

You walk to the door. Open it.

His breath catches. “You’re really kicking me out?”

You nod.

“I need space. I need you gone.”

Drew just stands there, stunned.

You look him straight in the eye.

“Come back for your things when I’m not here.”

“Please,” he says again, voice cracking. “Just let me explain—”

“You already did.”

And then you close the door.

Not hard.

Just enough to say this is final.

The click of the lock is the only sound in the apartment now.

The kind of silence that feels like grief.

Weeks pass.

The days don’t feel like days anymore.

Just hours strung together like dim beads on a thread you didn’t ask to hold.

You’re back on set.

Back in makeup chairs and wardrobe trailers. Back in long shooting days and artificial sunsets. Back in scenes where you’re supposed to smile, touch, kiss. Where you’re supposed to cry in the rain, shout until your throat is raw, crumble in someone else’s arms like your heart is breaking.

Pretend.

You move through it all like a ghost.

Quiet. Efficient. Detached.

You say your lines. You hit your marks. You laugh when the script says you’re supposed to. You kiss him when the camera rolls. You sob against his chest on cue, let your voice crack in that way the director loves. You even slap him in one scene—your eyes glassy, your voice trembling as you yell through clenched teeth.

But nothing touches you.

Not really.

You feel like someone’s removed your insides and left only the outline of you behind. Something hollowed out and left on autopilot.

Between takes, you sit by yourself.

No music in your headphones. No books cracked open. Just silence, staring at nothing, like you’re afraid to fill the space with anything real.

You used to light up on set. You used to steal the crew’s snacks, laugh between takes, tease Drew when he flubbed his lines. There was always an energy around you—light, warm, full of spark.

Now, the spark is gone.

And everyone feels it.

They don’t say anything, not directly. But you can feel the stares. The too-gentle hellos. The quiet way people check on you like they’re afraid you might shatter if they speak too loud.

Even Drew notices.

Especially Drew.

You don’t look at him unless the scene requires it.

You don’t answer when he says your name off camera.

You don’t sit near him at lunch, don’t meet his eyes when the director gives you blocking notes, don’t flinch when you’re told you’ll be filming another kiss today.

You just nod.

And do it.

Like it doesn’t hurt.

Like it doesn’t kill you every time his hands touch your waist, every time he looks at you like he remembers what it used to feel like to be loved by you.

The worst part is—he still looks at you like he’s in love.

Like he’s sorry.

But sorry doesn’t undo the wreckage.

You’ve already learned how to carry the debris.

Today, there’s a scene. You’re arguing. The kind that gets rewritten the night before for “heightened emotional stakes.” You scream at him, tears in your eyes, spit flying as you shove him in the chest. Your voice breaks in all the right places. The crew holds their breath.

"Cut."

You step back. Wipe your face. The tears vanish as fast as they came.

You turn away from him without a glance, your expression flat. Cold.

Drew just stands there, stunned. Still catching his breath from a fight that wasn’t real—at least not on paper. Still staring at you like he’s waiting for something soft to return to your face.

But your face is steel now.

Sharp angles. No trace of the vulnerability from a moment ago. Just rage simmering under the surface, quiet and controlled and utterly unreachable.

Like flipping a switch.

And that’s what terrifies him.

The way you can drop the emotion like it never existed. Like he doesn’t exist.

Between takes, you walk off set. You need air. Space. Anything that doesn’t feel like recycled heartbreak.

You step out behind the trailers, where no one’s watching.

Your hands tremble as you pull a cigarette from your jacket pocket. You haven’t smoked since college, since a messy breakup you thought nothing would ever top.

Funny.

You light it with shaking fingers, inhale, exhale, trying to find some kind of calm in the burn.

You don’t hear Rudy approach.

But you feel him.

He walks up slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes kind.

Without a word, he reaches out and gently takes the cigarette from your fingers.

You don’t fight him.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You glance at him, just barely. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

It’s the kind of question that should come with a dozen follow-ups. But he doesn’t push. Just asks it like he’ll believe whatever answer you give him.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie.

He knows it’s a lie.

But he lets you have it anyway.

Rudy looks at you for a long moment before dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

Then he slings an arm loosely around your shoulders.

You don’t lean into it. But you don’t pull away, either.

You just stand there.

Side by side.

Quiet.

Because some silences don’t beg to be filled.

Some are just there to be witnessed.

The moon is a sliver above the water—ghostly and thin, like it’s watching but too tired to shine.

Drew finds you sitting at the edge of the dock, legs drawn up, arms locked around your knees like if you let go, you’d come apart completely.

You haven’t moved in what feels like hours.

He stands behind you for a while, saying nothing. Just… watching.

You look so still.

Too still.

So he steps forward, wood groaning beneath his weight, careful not to scare you. Not that you react. Not even a glance. Your eyes are locked on the black water, the surface rippling quietly like it’s holding your secrets.

He settles beside you, close but not touching. The wind brushes through your hair.

For a moment, all he hears is the hush of the waves and the far-off echo of laughter from the house.

He thinks maybe you’re calm.

Then he hears it.

That faint, stuttering breath. The wet sound of someone trying not to fall apart.

He turns to look at you—and sees it.

Your shoulders trembling.

Your jaw clenched so tight it’s trembling.

The soft, broken sound clawing from your throat as your lungs fail you.

You’re crying.

But it’s not just crying.

It’s a full-body unraveling.

He shifts closer, alarm rising in his chest. “Hey. Hey, breathe. Look at me.”

You don’t.

Your body hunches in tighter, shoulders shaking harder as your breath gets faster, shallower—like you’re trapped under something heavy.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Drew tries again, voice soft. “Just… follow me.”

He reaches out carefully, fingers brushing your wrist to anchor you, like he used to do back when things were simpler—back when that touch meant safety.

But this time, the contact makes you flinch.

And still, his hand closes gently around your wrist—and that’s when he feels it.

His fingers still.

Then tighten—just slightly.

Because he knows what he’s touching.

Scars.

Fresh ones.

Fainter than they used to be, maybe. But new. Raw.

His entire body goes cold.

“Please…” His voice breaks, a whisper edged in panic. “Please tell me those are old.”

Your head snaps toward him.

Your eyes—red, wide, furious—are like a slap.

You rip your arm from his grip and clutch it against your chest like a secret.

“I told you I wasn’t doing that anymore,” you snap, voice cracking. “I told you I was okay.”

“I thought you were,” he says, stunned. “You promised—”

“You think I wanted to start again?” you explode. “You think I wanted to go back to that?”

Your voice is all rage and ache and grief. “Do you know what it’s like? To sit in a bathroom with a towel under you and a razor in your hand, and you’re shaking so bad you can’t tell if you want to die or just want it to stop?”

He’s silent.

Paralyzed.

“I stopped for you,” you say, trembling. “I stopped because you made me feel like I was enough.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “But then you weren’t mine anymore. You were hers. And I couldn’t breathe, Drew. I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You stand up so fast he can barely react.

You stumble backward a few steps, chest heaving, arms wrapped around yourself like a shield.

“If you were just gonna fall in love with my best friend…” Your voice cracks. “Then you shouldn’t have asked me to be your fucking girlfriend.”

He rises slowly, hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

“I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“But you did!” you scream, backing away. “You knew how fragile I was. You knew. I told you everything. I told you what it felt like to want to hurt myself. I told you what it cost to survive it.”

Tears streak your face, wild and fast.

“And you still chose her.”

He tries to reach for you. “Please—just talk to me.”

You shove his chest with both hands. Hard. Then again. And again.

“You were supposed to love me.”

He doesn’t stop you. He just stands there and takes it.

“You were supposed to be different,” you cry. “I trusted you with everything. I gave you every broken piece and you just—God—Drew, you left me there.”

More footsteps. Fast ones. The house has gone silent behind you, but now someone’s running.

Rudy reaches you just as you collapse forward.

He catches you in his arms, sinking with you to the dock.

Your body shakes with silent sobs, all strength gone, all resistance dissolved.

Madelyn grabs Drew, her expression unreadable—fear and fury clashing behind her eyes.

She pulls him back, away from you, away from the collapse.

“What happened?” she hisses, voice low and sharp.

But Drew can’t answer.

He’s crying too.

Watching the way Rudy holds you like something sacred and shattered.

Your voice, small and hoarse, cuts through the stillness.

“I really loved you,” you whisper, like you’re trying to remind yourself it mattered. “I really did.”

Rudy closes his eyes, jaw tight, hugging you closer.

“And I tried,” you say, your breath hitching again. “I really tried not to hurt myself. I really did.”

The only sound left is your broken breathing and the water moving beneath the dock.

No one knows what to say.

No one knows if anything would help.

And Drew—

He kneels in the shadows, hands shaking, the words I’m sorry caught somewhere between his heart and throat, knowing they’ll never be enough.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

The room is cold. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting pale shadows across the long table that stretches between you and the others.

You sit at one end, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the wood, knuckles blanching with pressure.

Across from you, the cast shifts uncomfortably in their seats—Jonas standing at the head of the table, his hands resting on its surface like an anchor, eyes serious and tired.

Drew sits near the middle, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on the scuffs in the floor.

The silence hangs like a storm about to break, thick and unyielding.

Jonas clears his throat.

“We can’t keep filming like this,” he says, voice low but steady.

“This tension, this… distance. It’s hurting the work. And it’s hurting all of you.”

He looks around the room, then back at you.

“We all want to move forward. But that means you and Drew need to talk. You need to clear this, or at least try.”

Your throat tightens, words lodged in your chest like shards.

You stare down at the table, tracing a scratch in the grain with your finger.

Drew finally speaks, voice hesitant, raw.

“I never meant for things to get this messed up. For me to fall for Odessa.”

He looks up, meeting your eyes briefly.

“I wasn’t trying to use you, YN. I swear. You have to believe me.”

You swallow hard.

Bitter words claw at your throat, but they spill out before you can stop them.

“You promised me everything.”

Your voice breaks, trembling like a frayed wire.

“Paris. A house with a garden.”

“Kids. Marley from the pound.”

You close your eyes and press your palms to the table to stop them from shaking.

A cold certainty wraps around your words, unshakable.

The room is still.

Drew’s shoulders slump, a bitter twist in his chest.

“Do you really think I fell for her just to hurt you?”

His voice breaks like glass, fragile and jagged.

You don’t answer.

You don’t want to.

“You think you’re the only one hurting?”

He shakes his head, voice rising with desperate frustration.

“You think this is easy for me?”

The words are raw, ragged.

You lean forward, voice cutting through the thick silence.

“Easy?” you scoff. “You and Odessa? The perfect little couple who ruined me?”

Jonas steps between you with a steadying hand raised.

“Enough.”

You lift your head slowly, voice low and final.

“I can do the scenes. But Drew stays away from me.”

“Odessa stays away, too. If she ever visits, I don’t want to see her.”

The words fall like a decree, clear and unyielding.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping hard against the floor.

Your breath catches—sharp and uneven.

The door slams behind you.

Leaving behind only silence and the lingering weight of what’s broken.

Time passes in strange ways after everything breaks.

The apartment is quieter now. Not silent—just… softer. Like everyone’s learned to move around the wound without touching it.

You’ve stopped crying in the bathroom.

You still avoid him on set.

But you’re functioning again.

You wake up with the sun instead of dragging yourself out of bed at noon. You drink water. You make your bed. You sit on the balcony in the mornings with a journal in your lap and your knees curled to your chest, scribbling down thoughts you won’t say out loud.

You don’t live in the old apartment anymore.

You couldn’t. Not after everything.

The quiet was too loud there. The walls still held the shape of him—his coffee mug on the counter, his laugh echoing in the hallway, the soft imprint of a life you built and lost all at once.

So you packed it all up and left. New place. New routine. Smaller, lonelier, but yours.

No ghosts.

Just space to breathe.

Sometimes, you paint again. You drag an old easel out to the balcony and lose yourself in blues and golds and soft, wide brushstrokes. Your fingers end up stained for days.

Sometimes, you laugh.

Mostly with Rudy. He’s your shadow now. Always close. Always watching.

He knows when to joke, when to distract you, when to sit in silence and just breathe beside you.

JD brings you coffee every morning from town, no matter what. It started as a quiet gesture. Now it’s a ritual. He doesn’t say much—but you know it’s his way of reminding you you’re seen. Still wanted. Still here.

The cast has adjusted. They don’t talk about what happened. Not in front of you. Not in front of him.

You and Drew still share scenes. Still work together like professionals.

But off-camera? You orbit each other like broken planets.

Not friends.

Not enemies.

Just… nothing.

And maybe that’s worse.

Drew keeps his distance, like you asked. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t try.

But he watches you when he thinks you won’t notice.

From the far side of the room, across the lawn, just past the camera setup.

Always just out of reach.

You caught him once, lingering in the doorway as you laughed too hard at something Rudy said, your head thrown back, hair messy, eyes brighter than they’d been in weeks.

He didn’t smile.

He just stood there, quiet and still, his expression unreadable.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel anything.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

Some days, you think you might hate him.

Other days, you ache just thinking his name.

But mostly—you’re just tired.

Tired of missing someone who’s still right there.

Tired of feeling haunted by a version of him that doesn’t exist anymore.

And Drew—

He wonders how it got like this.

How a joke at a table, a few lingering glances, a shared hoodie and some stupid, unspoken boundaries turned into something he’d ruin with a single mistake.

How he lost the girl who loved him enough to break for him.

He watches you from afar, regret curling in his chest like smoke.

You’re still beautiful. Still brilliant. Still trying.

But now, when you smile—it’s never at him.

And he doesn’t know if it ever will be again.

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

-> part. ii here!

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

[formulaonecrumbs]

https://www.tumblr.com/formulaonecrumbs/781576571110801408/little-bean

omg you have to continue more of this!!

maybe she is the second oldest and she loves all her siblings but lando has always been her been and just more growing up where she is landos favorite like he clings to her the most

just another one of the gazillion ♾️

Lando Norris x older sister!reader x norris!siblings

summary: a chaotic day at home with the norris’

warnings: they’re silly and cutesy

A/N: i’ve been feeling SO nostalgic recently and i just wish i had a fuck ton of home videos of me and my sibling, cousins, friends. all of them. also i wanna be apart of the norris family BYE. enjooyyyyy 🫶🫶

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #6 (out of a gazillion) – found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: norris family home, living room, bristol)

timestamp: 3:42 pm 10-04-2010

the film starts slow, steady. there’s the soft hum of the camcorder kicking in, followed by the warm, familiar voice of cisca behind the camera.

“okay, everyone say hiiii to future us.”

the shot settles on the living room—bathed in golden sunlight. it’s one of those quiet, easy spring afternoons. the windows are open. the curtains flutter. everything feels soft and lived-in.

ollie (16) is cross-legged on the rug, building some sort of ambitious blanket fort with couch cushions and old bedsheets. flo (8) is handing him pegs and trying to direct him like a tiny, very bossy architect.

you (14) are settled nearby with lando (soon to be 11) practically stuck to your side. he’s got his chin resting on your shoulder while you braid little bits of his hair with playful concentration.

“mum, are you filming this?” you asks, not looking up. “i swear if you’re zooming in on my face—“

“i’m just catching the moment,” cisca says calmly. “this is what you’ll miss when you’re all grown up.”

lando grins at the camera but doesn’t move from where he’s leaning on you. he’s totally relaxed, like there’s nowhere else he’d ever want to be.

“we’re building a fort big enough for all of us,” ollie says, lifting a sheet like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “but only if some people stop kicking over the pegs.”

“i didn’t mean to,” cisca (5) says from somewhere offscreen, sounding deeply offended. a moment later, she toddles into frame with a stuffed bear in one hand and her curls flying everywhere. she plops herself down beside you and lando like it’s the most natural thing.

you glance over and gently smooth cisca’s hair with one hand, still braiding with the other.

“you’re next, love,” you says softly.

“what about me?” flo pipes up from across the room. “i want my hair done like yours too!”

“get in line,” lando says, leaning a little closer into your side, clearly not planning on giving up his spot.

“lando’s been attached to your hip all day,” ollie teases, a smile in his voice. “if you ever move out, we’ll have to peel him off the walls.”

you smile and say nothing, just keep braiding gently. lando doesn’t argue. he wraps an arm around your waist and closes his eyes for a second, like he could stay there forever.

“he used to cry every time she left the room,” cisca says fondly from behind the camera. “even when he was three.”

you laugh, low and warm. “you act like he’s stopped.”

lando lets out a soft, dramatic sigh. “you’re just comfy.”

“he means emotionally,” flo says with mock seriousness.

ollie bursts out laughing, tossing a pillow at her.

the camera cuts and starts recording again a few moments later: the fort is finally done. the camcorder pans across it slowly, catching everyone inside—you’re lying on your side with cisca curled up against your chest, flo giggling in a corner, ollie eating crisps like he built a whole castle, and lando curled under the blanket with just his head peeking out beside reader.

“what’s this fort called?” cisca asks from behind the lens.

“camp chaos,” flo says.

“fort norris,” you counter.

“lando-topia,” lando offers sleepily, eyes already starting to close.

you reach down and brush his hair back gently, fingers soft through the braid you made earlier.

“we’re not calling it that,” you whisper with a smile, and he just shrugs.

“we could...”

“we won’t.” ollie chimes in.

the camera lingers a little longer on the pile of siblings in the warm light. there’s quiet music playing in the background now—something soft, something old that cisca must’ve put on.

the fort, the kids, the comfort. it’s one of those afternoons that felt ordinary at the time—but somehow, it stayed.

oh, and mum was right.

this would be one of those things you miss when you’re all grown up.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[ari-ana-bel-la]

can we have a charles dad where his teen daughter (roughly 14-15) is sick? how would he react and take care of her?

loving your works!!

Mama and Papa are here

The apartment was filled with the warm aroma of homemade pasta sauce, simmering softly on the stove. Charles stood by the counter, chopping fresh basil while Alexandra stirred the pot, a content smile on her face.

"I think she'll like this," Charles said, glancing toward the clock. "She had that big math test today. She deserves her favorite meal."

Alexandra chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Always the caring Papa. She'll love it, trust me."

From the living room, Leo let out a small whine, his little body curled up on the soft couch. His dark eyes kept flicking toward the door, his tail wagging lazily in anticipation.

"He misses her," Alexandra said softly, watching the dachshund twitch his ears at every small sound.

"Yeah," Charles agreed, warmth filling his chest. "He always knows when she's about to come home."

The familiar sound of the key turning in the lock made Leo jump up immediately, tail wagging furiously as the door opened. But instead of the usual cheerful greeting, a quiet sigh escaped from their daughter as she stepped inside.

"Hey, sweetheart," Alexandra called, stepping into the hallway. Her smile quickly faded as she took in her daughter’s appearance. Yn's face was pale, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

Charles was by her side in seconds, his hand gently resting on her forehead. "Mon ange," he murmured, concern etched into his voice, "you're burning up."

"I—I don't feel so good," Yn whispered, her voice weak and trembling slightly.

Alexandra moved swiftly, her hand coming to Yn's back. "Let’s get you out of those clothes and into something more comfortable, okay? You’ll feel better soon, baby."

As Alexandra guided Yn to the bathroom, Charles hurried to their bedroom. His mind raced as he gathered everything they might need—extra blankets, a hot water bottle, the small box of medicine from the cabinet. His heart ached at the thought of his little girl feeling so unwell.

By the time Alexandra led Yn into the room, Charles had transformed the bed into a warm, comforting nest. He opened his arms immediately, and without hesitation, Yn crawled in, nestling against his chest.

"You're going to be okay," he promised softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

Alexandra knelt beside the bed, a cool cloth in her hands as she began to dab Yn's overheated face. "Let’s check your temperature, baby," she said gently, handing the thermometer to Charles.

Y/N barely flinched as Charles placed the thermometer in her ear. He wrapped his other arm protectively around her shoulders, whispering quiet reassurances.

"39.4," Charles read softly, his chest tightening. "She’s really warm."

Alexandra pressed a kiss to Yn's temple. "Okay, sweetheart. We’re going to give you some medicine, and you’ll feel better soon."

Charles carefully measured out the syrup, holding the spoon to Yn’s lips. "I know it doesn’t taste great," he said softly as she swallowed it with a grimace. "But it’ll help."

Leo, who had been pacing at the edge of the bed, finally decided he had waited long enough. With a small bounce, he leapt onto the mattress, curling up against Yn’s side and resting his tiny head on her shoulder.

"You missed her, huh?" Charles said softly, scratching behind the dachshund’s ears.

Yn let out a faint giggle, her fingers curling into Leo’s soft fur. "He’s so warm," she murmured sleepily.

Alexandra tucked the blankets tighter around their daughter. "How about we stay here with you for a bit? Would you like that?"

Yn gave a weak nod, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut. Charles exchanged a glance with Alexandra before shifting to lean against the headboard, allowing Yn to curl more comfortably into his chest. Alexandra slid into bed behind her, wrapping her arms protectively around both of them.

The room fell into a soothing quiet, the only sounds being the occasional stir of pasta sauce from the kitchen and the soft sighs of their daughter nestled between them. Charles pressed a kiss to Yn's warm forehead, wishing he could take the fever away just by holding her.

"Remember that story you used to love?" he asked softly, a smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his heart. "The one about the little fox who wanted to find the moon?"

Yn hummed softly, her face half-buried in his sweater. "Yeah…"

"Want me to read it to you?" he offered, brushing his fingers gently through her hair.

"Okay," she whispered.

Charles reached over to the nightstand, pulling out the worn, familiar book. It had been her favorite bedtime story for years, and as he flipped to the first page, the memories flooded back—nights spent curled up together, the sound of her soft laughter, the way she used to fall asleep halfway through the story.

His voice was soft and soothing as he began to read. "Once upon a time, in a quiet little forest, there was a curious young fox who wanted to touch the moon…"

He felt Yn relax further against him, her breathing growing softer and slower. By the time he reached the middle of the story, her small body had gone limp against his chest.

"I think she’s asleep," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alexandra smiled softly, brushing a kiss against Yn’s temple. "You’re magic," she teased gently, her arms still wrapped around both of them. "Always have been."

Charles chuckled under his breath, the sound warm and quiet. "I just love her."

Leo shifted slightly, letting out a contented sigh as he nestled closer against Yn, his little head still resting protectively against hers.

For a while, they stayed like that—wrapped in warmth and love, the soft rise and fall of their daughter’s breathing filling the room. Charles tightened his hold, heart aching with tenderness as he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

"Sleep, mon amour," he whispered. "Papa and Mama are right here. Always."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey guys. Please enjoy reading this chapter. My requests are open, and I am more than happy to fulfil your wishes.

-💙🦋

[writeriguess]

hi sweetie, I hope you are well ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡). I came to request katsuki Bakugou x female reader. They are married but due to Bakugou hero's busy schedule they have few moments together, I would like the plot to be based on the reader discovering Bakugou's infidelity (I want to suffer) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) following the appearance of a pregnant woman (or some crazy stuff like that?) If it's too much, don't worry! I just want that kind of anguish. tysm .ᐟ.ᐟ

author's note: Thank you, I am well <3 The upcoming work trip stresses me out a little though! I'm likely on it when this publishes.

A House Built on Ashes

The apartment is silent when you wake up, the other side of the bed cold. Again.

You stare at the ceiling, blinking away the sleep that threatens to pull you back under. Katsuki’s been working late. Too late. Always too late. Your hands glide across the empty sheets, searching for warmth that hasn’t been there in weeks. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:14 AM. A part of you wonders if he’ll even come home tonight.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you wrap his hoodie around your frame and pad barefoot into the kitchen. Your heart sinks when you see the untouched dinner, still wrapped and waiting for him. The weight in your chest grows heavier as you unwrap the food, staring at the cold meal you made hours ago. It’s stupid, really. You should be used to this by now.

The sound of the front door unlocking makes you flinch. You turn, breath caught in your throat, as Katsuki steps inside. His ash-blond hair is disheveled, his hero uniform half undone, revealing the black compression shirt underneath. He looks tired—exhausted even—but not in the way he should be. Not in the way of a man who’s just been fighting villains all day.

His crimson eyes meet yours, widening slightly as if he wasn’t expecting you to be awake.

“Yer still up?” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming. Or lying.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. “Where were you?”

He hesitates. It’s barely a second, but it’s enough.

“Work ran late.”

A simple answer. A practiced one. But something is off. His uniform smells like detergent—freshly washed. His scent is there, but it’s muted. As if someone else’s perfume had been scrubbed away. A cold tendril of doubt coils around your heart.

“I called,” you say, watching his expression carefully. “Three times.”

His jaw tightens. “Phone died.”

Lies.

You want to believe him. Gods, you want to. You want to be the supportive wife, the one who understands that being the Number Two Pro Hero means sacrifices. But you know Katsuki. You know how meticulous he is about keeping his gear—and his phone—charged.

You know when he’s lying.

A week passes, and the distance between you both grows like a festering wound. He kisses you still, but there’s something different. Guilt, maybe. Or obligation. And then it happens. The moment everything unravels.

It’s a grocery run. A normal, mindless errand. Until you see her.

She’s beautiful. Dark hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing an oversized sweater that hides the curve of her stomach—almost. But you see it. The subtle swell of a life growing inside her. And more than that, you see the way her hands hover protectively over her belly.

You might have walked past her without a second glance if it weren’t for the conversation you overheard.

“Oh, please,” the woman scoffs, rolling her eyes as she adjusts the shopping basket on her arm. “Like she really thinks he’s still faithful to her? She’s pathetic.”

You freeze.

Her friend giggles, covering her mouth. “I mean, Y/N is stupidly naive if she thinks a man like Katsuki would actually stick around forever.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

The woman—this stranger—laughs, a bitter, knowing sound. “Right? He knocked me up, and she’s still playing house like nothing’s wrong. I mean, come on, he spends more nights with me than her at this point.”

Your stomach churns. It feels like the ground is swallowing you whole.

Her friend nudges her playfully. “So, when’s Bakugou finally ditching her and stepping up?”

The woman sighs, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “Soon, hopefully. I mean, we all know he’s just staying out of guilt. But once this baby’s here?” She grins. “She’ll just be the embarrassing ex-wife.”

You don’t remember walking out of the store. You don’t remember the drive home. You don’t remember anything except the way your heart beats so violently against your ribs that it hurts.

By the time Katsuki comes home that night, you’re sitting on the couch, his hoodie pulled tight around you, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

He doesn’t get the chance to speak before you ask, voice hollow—“Do you love her?”

The silence that follows is the worst part. Because it’s not immediate denial. It’s not outrage at the accusation. It’s nothing. Just quiet, suffocating nothingness.

Your whole world burns.

The silence stretches between you like a yawning abyss. Your heart pounds so violently that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Katsuki stares at you, crimson eyes unreadable, but his lips part like he’s searching for something to say—an excuse, a reason, a lie that will make this all go away.

But nothing comes.

Nothing.

And that is the final straw.

Your hands tremble as you push yourself to your feet, and suddenly, all the pain that’s been simmering inside you—festering, growing, poisoning every quiet moment you spent waiting for him—boils over.

“You bastard,” you whisper, but it’s more than that. It’s not just an insult. It’s a curse, a condemnation, a blade forged from every night you spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t try to defend himself.

Coward.

“Say something, Katsuki!” you shout, and your voice cracks on his name. His name—the one you’ve whispered in love, in devotion, in trust. Now it tastes like ash on your tongue.

But he doesn’t say anything.

The quiet shatters something inside you. You shove past the coffee table, hands shaking as you grab the untouched dinner you left wrapped for him hours ago. The plate crashes into the sink with a sharp, ringing clatter, the sound echoing through the suffocating apartment. “You could’ve just told me,” you say, voice shaking. “You could’ve told me that you didn’t love me anymore instead of—”

Instead of this.

Instead of letting you rot away in this lie.

Instead of making you look like a fucking fool.

You press a hand against your forehead, breathing hard, fighting against the sob that threatens to rip itself from your chest. Your vision is blurry with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall—not yet. Not in front of him.

Katsuki finally moves, stepping forward, hands raised as if he can fix this—as if he has the right to touch you after everything. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice like glass shards. He flinches, and good. Let him feel just a fraction of what you feel. Let it fucking hurt.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it tastes more like grief than amusement. “I cooked for you. I waited up for you. I defended you every single time someone said you wouldn’t settle down. And you—” You shake your head, chest heaving. “You weren’t even fucking careful. You didn’t even have the decency to make sure I didn’t find out like this.”

His eyes darken, but there’s shame there, too. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, sure. You just tripped and fell into another woman? And now she’s having your kid?”

His lips press into a thin line, and for the first time, you see it. The guilt. The regret. But it’s too late for that now. Too fucking late.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms until you’re sure they’ll leave crescent-shaped marks. You’re shaking, your whole body vibrating with rage, with devastation, with betrayal so deep it makes you sick to your stomach.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper, voice raw. “You don’t get to make me love you, to promise me forever, and then throw me away like I meant nothing.”

His hands tighten at his sides. “You didn’t mean nothing.”

But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

Your breath catches, the dam finally breaking as a sob rips through your throat. “Then why wasn’t I enough?”

And for the first time, Katsuki has no answer.

You nod, wiping at your face furiously before turning on your heel, heading straight for the bedroom. Your mind is racing, already thinking about packing, about leaving, about never looking back. About how much it’s going to hurt.

He calls your name—soft, desperate.

But you don’t stop.

You don’t look back.

Because if you do, you might break completely.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

SUIT JACKET

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader ↳ part 2 here

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner seems to love his suit jacket on you. WARNING: nothing besides a few curses (I think) A/N: not my gif, ctto! This was also sitting on my drafts for almost a year and barely proofread, so I apologize for the errors.

Sunday, March 11, 2:04 AM

"Thanks, unibrow." You grinned drunkenly, smiling at your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, as you collapsed in the cab's backseat. His suit jacket kept you cozy and covered like a cocoon while you comfortably giggled at the applied inside joke of his new nickname.

With Penelope's constant peer pressure, your inhibition has reached rock bottom eleven shots, five cocktails, and two whiskey glasses ago. You downed liquor like water, easing your stiff shoulders.

Aaron only stared at you with the same impassive face he had and shut the door before the cold caught you. He hunched in front of the driver's window, "This woman is a federal agent, and if something happens to her, I'll hunt you down. Please, drive her home safely." He straightened back up, casually tapping the vehicle's roof.

The cab took you away only after Aaron snapped a picture of the cab's plate number. He sighed as the vehicle slowly disappeared from his line of sight. He twisted on the balls of his feet, met by his other children, agents drunkenly calling his name.

Tuesday, March 27, 10:14 AM

You scurried out of the elevator, weaving through the sea of agents in the bullpen and then to the conference room where everybody was already settled in.

"So sorry! There was this son of a b—" You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, clenching your fists. Then, you exhaled profoundly with a calm smile at the end. "I got in a car accident. Go on, Pen. Sorry for interrupting." You took a seat between Aaron and JJ.

JJ turned to you, "Are you okay?" Her hand gently landed on one of yours, giving you a worried squeeze.

You gathered a smile and raised a thumb, "Thick skull and strong bones. Nothing can break me, not even this unsub... whoa—" Your eyes widened a bit.

How ironic for your case to be about an unsub who performed a craniotomy on the victims. You smiled awkwardly, the similar tight-lipped smile that Spencer would always plaster on his face.

The other agents coughed a chuckle at your reaction while Penelope continued the debrief with the same horrified look.

Upon listening to the case details, you slowly felt colder, subtly rubbing the sides of your shoulders. You were so caught up in your anger towards the guy that rear-ended you you could've sworn your body was overheating. You left your blazer somewhere and were sure it wasn't in your wrecked car.

"Alright, wheels up in 30," Aaron announced, sending everyone to get out of their seats and grab their go bags and snapping you off your trance in the process.

You rushed to collect your file copy and headed for the door but halted when Aaron called you. You pivoted on your heels, "Yes?"

He was taking off his jacket, handing it to you as soon as it peeled off his body.

"I don't think dry cleaning your suit is part of my job description, Sir." You kidded as you stared at his black jacket.

Aaron rolled his eyes. It was so rare that you had to blink twice to ensure you didn't have a concussion from your minor car accident. "You're cold." He wasn't asking, plainly stating your slight predicament.

Your eyebrows knitted, mouth slightly opened. And as if the universe was mocking you, a sudden draft slapped you in a shiver. You snatched his jacket and mumbled a small thank you.

As you walked out of the conference room, teasing eyes bore holes into your being. Each BAU team member's narrowed brows held you captive, and their loud thoughts rang in your ears. You ignored all of it, though, taming your anxiety with the warmth of Aaron's jacket.

Wednesday, April 13, 1:37 PM

"Garcia, look for old cases with one young boy as a survivor." Aaron started, listing each task that everyone was to complete.

You were so focused on the case that your next movement caught you off guard.

Your back snapped straight from the slap of Minnesota air. It was brief. An officer merely opened and closed the door, but your body was nowhere near as warm as it was a few seconds ago.

The warmth of cotton fabric soon hugged your shoulders, along with the momentary weight of Aaron's hands, before he fully let go of his suit jacket.

He continued talking as if what he had just done was normal or anything close to casualty, "Morgan and Reid, try speaking with the victim's family one more time."

Emily exchanged looks with JJ, conversing silently while you obliviously sipped your coffee.

Friday, May 2, 5:04PM

"Capital O-M-G!" Penelope squealed, drumming on your shoulders as soon as she came close.

"Garcia, breathe," JJ gently placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders, modeling a regular breathing pattern.

Emily gave you a look as she sipped her coffee, which you returned with a shrug. Penelope was ever so eccentric. You've gotten used to it over the years you've been with the team.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm good. Just that— I was— Ugh! Look!" Penelope shoved her phone in your face.

You saw a blinding blur, forcing out a sarcastic, "Wow! I can definitely see."

Luckily, JJ took it to herself to pull Penelope's phone away from messing up your eyesight and looked at the image plastered on the screen. A smirk immediately covered her lips, "Oh."

"What is it? Let me see—" Emily walked behind JJ. Her jaw dropped not long after. "Anything you want to tell us?" She cooed as she gave you the widest grin she had ever flashed, at least for that morning.

Your eyebrows clashed, and your forehead creased, "Whatever are you on about?"

"You're telling us nothing's happening between you and a guy?" Emily's grin only widened. You wondered how wide it could get, terrifying you in the process.

JJ flipped the phone to your end. The brightness of the screen stung your eyes a bit. "Want to explain this?"

Photo: It looked like the picture was cropped because you saw Derek's arm around you, but he was nowhere to be found in the image. Aaron's jacket was around your shoulders while he was behind you, glaring at Derek's arm.

"What about it?" The confusion was solid in your voice. However, you had a bit of an idea of what the three of them were insinuating.

Penelope stepped closer to you, "Uhuh, sure," she started as she zoomed in on the picture. "You're telling me you can't see Hotch's jacket on your shoulders, let alone Hotch glaring at my chocolate thunder?"

"He let me borrow his jacket because I was cold. Doesn't he always do that with everyone?" You innocently asked, looking at each one of them.

"Still doesn't explain him glaring at Derek." Emily chimed in a teasing tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your eyes widened, "You think Hotch was mad at me because I took it? He offered it to me, and I was cold. You think he was just being polite or?"

Penelope rolled her eyes and aimed her fluffy pen at you, "You oblivious profiler! He's jealous!"

"Uh-no," You chuckled.

"You don't believe me? Look at this."

Photo: This photo was older than the first one and might've been your third or fourth year with the BAU team. It seemed like all of you had just ended a case. You were snuggled on the couch on the jet. Aaron was draping his jacket over you.

"Who took that picture?" You queried.

Penelope raised her hand, "I was going to check in on everyone, then the camera spotted it, and I took a screenshot because I couldn't help myself. I was going to tease you about it but forgot for a very, very, very, very long time until I saw that picture from our last team night out." She wiggled her eyebrows, a playful smile on her lips.

"Looks like our boss has a favorite," JJ sang softly, looking at you with a knowing smile.

Emily nudged you, noticing the blush on your face. "You've gotta admit that's very sweet of Hotch. I think he likes you wearing his jacket." She teased, poking your sides.

"He does that to everyone, though," You reasoned. If you recall, he had offered his jacket to many people before.

"Nope, no!" Penelope shook her head vigorously with a tight lip. "He offers it to some but gives it to you."

"We had a case where it was biting cold outside. Hotch offered to help me if I needed a jacket. I said no because of politeness and shit, but he didn't insist. He didn't even offer his jacket. He offered to give me time to return to my room and grab my jacket." Emily grimaced, obviously still holding a grudge regarding the incident.

"I've known Hotch for years. Giving out his jacket was only for emergencies. If it's the only choice he had. We've had cases where a victim was a little too exposed, and his solution was to wrap them with the newspaper he conveniently found." JJ exclaimed, sorting the manila folders on her chest.

You gave it some thought and considered every possibility, but you shook your head. "He's just being nice because he's my boss. Plus, I'm still a bit tense around the team." You straightened yourself, fixing your top.

Emily cackled, "Getting flat-out drunk with us is definitely you still a bit tense around us."

"You know what I mean," You defended, blushing.

The three exchanged looks and shrugged. If you wanted to turn a blind eye, then it was your choice. But they had a perfect theory and tried to test it out.

Aaron was heading to the elevator as you exited the bullpen. The three of them grinned.

"Going for girls night?" Aaron quipped, raising his eyebrows.

JJ frowned, "We were, but she's feeling sick. I think the cold's getting to her." She gave you a pitiful hug.

Your eyes blew wide, jerking your head behind you where the other two stood with maniac grins. You knew what JJ was doing. It didn't take a second for you to figure it out. And as if luck was on their side, the elevator dinged.

You followed their figures as they piled in in the lift. You glared at them, but Emily focused on the man beside you.

You gazed at Aaron and were met with his jacket stretched out to you. Your mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"It's cold outside this time of night. You'll feel worse if you don't layer up." Aaron cleared his throat, "Take it."

You reached for his jacket so slowly that he took it in himself to wrap it around your shoulders. "Thank you," Your voice quivered, hesitantly stepping inside the elevator.

He followed, standing beside you. You could feel the three devils behind you, preparing yourself for their constant teasing.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Aaron was holding his breath in the hopes that none of you would notice his blushing ears.

Monday, May 16, 8:12PM

The entire day has been a drag. Besides the unsub being disgustingly great at hiding his tracks in the safety of your local area, your stomach had been giving you the worst time of your life.

Later in the evening, in Aaron's orders, everyone was sent home to get some rest and start fresh the next day.

You were thankful. You needed to rest from all the stomach-emptying vomit you did in the restroom. Your acid reflux was having a field day and didn't let you get a breath. You practically lived in the toilet. You even had to call Derek and ask him to put you on speaker so you could contribute to finding the unsub. Luckily, they didn't question it.

Emily retracted away as she exited your hug, "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home? We practically live in this building. I don't think they'd mind you leaving your car here for a night."

A warm smile brightened your drained face, "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for the offer." You bid her one last goodbye before heading to your own car.

Your head was down as the day's exhaustion finally caught up. Your senses were off. You walked as if time stopped. You wondered if you should've taken advantage of Emily's offer.

With your loud thoughts and vulnerable senses, a heart attack almost killed you when a sudden cage of warmth engulfed your body. For a moment, your body wanted to fight, but it didn't take long for you to remember the familiarity of this warmth.

"What took you so long?" His voice was gentle and comforting enough to put you to sleep immediately.

You looked up at Aaron, who refused to unwrap his arms around you, "I didn't know you were waiting. I thought you went home already. Isn't Jack waiting for you? It's movie night."

Aaron smiled, "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked. Captain Jack's orders."

You couldn't help but smile as well. He held the door for the passenger seat before jumping to the driver's seat. As you watched him go around, you noticed his scent lingered on your shoulders.

Aaron placed his jacket on yours.

"You ought to be careful," A chuckle passed your lips, "The gals are onto you."

"Why?" Aaron looked at you with a confused expression. His face made you giggle. The genuineness of his expression made you wonder his reaction if you had said the same thing two years ago.

A grin glistened on your face, "They say Agent Hotchner has a crush on me." Your voice danced with playfulness.

Aaron copied your grin and shrugged, "I'm surprised they haven't figured it out after all these years." He turned his body to face you, "So? Do you like him back?"

If only the BAU team knew how their unit chief, the SSA Aaron Hotchner, was a lot friskier than they perceived him to be, Aaron wouldn't last a day from all the teasing.

Then you wondered how the BAU team would react if they found out you and Aaron have been dating for the past two years and successfully kept it a secret from everyone except Strauss and Rossi.

Or the number of questions you'd be bombarded with when they learn that you recently moved in together with Aaron and Jack. You knew well enough that the ladies would be interrogating you like a serial killer.

You shrugged, "I heard he's got a fiancée." You fished the necklace well hidden under your shirt. A golden ring band shaped like vines with an oval-cut blue moon diamond dangled on the chain.

"Yeah..." Aaron held your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, "You wouldn't want to be in the way of that." He smiled widely, an ever-loving expression you indulged yourself with for the past two years and soon... for a lifetime.

[moonstruckme]

omg i just saw only thawing out requests are open and I had this thought yesterday we're mind linked i swear

i though about sirius having a ✨fun✨ dream with reader and then rem shows up in it and he wakes up sooooo confused

We are mind linked! Ty for requesting ;)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: smut mndi, modern au, chronic pain

note for minors: smut is between the red lines, so please scroll past those to read. You don't need it for the plot and there's an sfw summary at the end of the chapter. There is some suggestive content outside of the red lines, but no smut

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

───────────────────────────────────────────

Your hands are in Sirius’ hair, and his face is in your neck. 

You make a breathy, needy sound, tugging at his roots, fingernails scraping his scalp. He chases the source of the noise. Finds the flutter of your pulse and sucks at it to feel your heartbeat between his teeth. 

“Sirius,” you pant. Your lips brush across his hairline, baptizing him. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises. Your thighs tremble with little shivers, his fingers filling up your cunt. “You’re so good for me. So sweet, and pretty, and perfect, my perfect girl.” 

You giggle half deliriously, hips twitching into his touch as your walls flutter around him. Sirius moans. 

“I love you,” you murmur by his ear. Hurried, desperate kisses in a path down from his temple. “I love you, Sirius.” 

“I love you.” Sirius catches you mouth with his. The taste of you floods through him like the feeling of coming home, like coffee and sweetness and lazy Sunday mornings in bed. 

He eats up your moan when his fingers curl inside of you, your gummy walls made to fit him. Your hand presses over the tattoo on his ribs. 

You break away from him with a gasp, and Sirius opens his eyes to see you. You’re encompassed by bedsheets, soft pillowcase against your softer cheek, buttery afternoon light filtering through. Your face, cast half in shadow, is the only thing in the world. 

You grind into his hand again, expression tightening in a way Sirius hasn’t seen before and makes his cock twinge to witness. You’re close.

“There you go,” he urges. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

“Sirius.” Your grip on him tightens, “Fuck, baby.” 

Sirius has fantasized about you calling him that, but when you do your voice isn’t yours. 

He blinks, and the eyes peering at him are a warm amber, strands of tawny hair falling into them. A concentrated little divot between the brows. Sirius’ fingers are wrapped confidently around an entirely different sex organ. 

“Good,” Remus grunts in that heady, approving timbre. “Good, just like that.” 

“That’s good?” Sirius asks, uncertain but eager to please. 

Remus hums. His hand draws up Sirius’ side, cupping his face. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, drawing closer until his lips cover Sirius’. “Just like that, love.” 

───────────────────────────────────────────

Sirius snaps awake as the plane jolts. 

“Whoa, we’re okay,” you say, turning to grin at him. Sirius realizes he’s grabbed your hand, pinned harshly underneath his on the armrest. On your other side, Remus seems to have been jostled awake, too; he’s blinking blearily, lifting his head from your shoulder. 

“Sorry.” Sirius looks down, then takes off his neck pillow, setting it over his crotch. He tries to make it look casual, hopes neither of you have seen. 

Unfortunately, you know Sirius too well not to recognize the oddity of him being alert so soon after waking up. “It’s fine.” You smile, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Everything okay?” 

Behind you, Remus turns to look at him too, eyes perceptive, discerning. A pursed mouth Sirius now imagines he knows the feel of. 

“Yeah.” Sirius squeezes your hand back before retracting his. “Just a weird dream.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “Plane naps are always weird, aren’t they?” 

He makes a disgruntled sound of agreement. 

In the airport, you pace back and forth in front of the baggage carousel while Sirius and Remus watch from seats nearby. Remus is stretching one leg out in front of him self-consciously, his expression tense with discomfort. Sirius knew it hurt his hip to stand for too long, but apparently the long stint of stillness on the plane hadn’t been kind to it either. 

“She looks nervous,” Remus hums. 

Sirius nods absently. His mind has been spinning ever since the plane. Dreams about you, he’s more or less used to. They make him feel like the scum of the Earth afterwards—no matter his feelings for you, it feels wrong to fantasize about you in his bed with the real you none the wiser—but they’re a fairly regular occurrence. But Remus…that’s new. Sirius hasn’t dreamt, fantasized, or otherwise mentally cavorted with anyone but you in a long time. Now, echoes of your voice in his ear are all tangled up with the feeling of Remus’ fingers dragging over his skin, your mouth morphing into his, your cunt—

“Come here, love.”

Remus is beckoning you towards them, that endearment—the one from Sirius’ dream, from the day he hurt his ankle and Remus soothed him with soft words and softer touches—flowing easily from between his lips. Sirius finds he likes it much the same when Remus says it to you as when he does to him, which is…confusing. 

The upset in your expression becomes clear as you get closer. You rub your lips together, brows pinched tight. “They’re not here,” you say. 

Sirius glances behind you. The bags on the carousel are few now, yours not among them. 

“We need that stuff.” You’re pacing again, now in front of them, your breaths shortening. “Our skates are in there, our costumes, all our backups. Shit, I knew we shouldn’t have checked them!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Remus says. “Did you check with baggage claim?” 

“Yes!” Your eyes are growing glossy. “They said they should have come down by now. But they’re probably back home, or on their way to Cambodia, or—”

“Alright, alright.” Remus stands, taking your shoulders in his hands. His gaze pins yours, firm and steady to contrast the gentle stroking of his thumb over your collarbone. Sirius watches with an odd feeling in his stomach and below. This unshakeable calm is proving to be an oddly attractive quality. 

Not that Remus needs any more of those.

“It’s going to be fine,” Remus says evenly. “Just sit down and I’ll handle it, alright? Sit down.” 

He encourages you towards his seat, giving Sirius a look. Help her. 

“Take a breath, doll,” Sirius says, slotting you underneath his arm as you sit. “Our luck can’t be that shit, can it?” 

“I don’t know,” you say miserably, scooting closer to him. He’s acutely aware of all the places your body is touching his. Aware of the places Remus has just touched you. Fuck, what is wrong with him?

But then you sniffle, resting your forehead on his shoulder, and a familiar, affectionate warmth floods through him. “I’ve just wanted this for so long,” you murmur. 

“You’ll have it,” Sirius promises you. “We’re gonna do this, even if we have to go out there in rental skates and the clothes we’re wearing now.” 

You give a half-hearted puff of laughter at the image. Sirius rubs your shoulder, pressing his lips to your head. 

“And we’d still win.” 

“We’d be putting on an unusual show,” you say softly. 

“It’s the twenty-first century, babe. Originality is everything. We’d knock their socks off in our airplane sweats.” 

Remus looks pleased to see you smiling when he comes back, wheeling both of your suitcases behind him. You gasp and launch yourself out of your seat, throwing your arms around him tearfully. He looks even more pleased then. 

“I’ve had to travel a lot,” he says to your flurry of questions, patting your back. “There are some common miscommunications. Everything’s alright, see?” 

Sirius drags you off of Remus before you can knock his hip out of place again, but nothing can shake the good mood you all share the rest of the way to the Olympic Village. Possibility seems to richen the air particles around you. Your leg and Remus’ are warm on either side of his in the back of your cab, the breeze is cool where it whistles through the crack in the window to ruffle Remus’ hair, and in two days’ time you’ll be competing on the world stage.

nsfw content summary: Sirius has a dream where he's engaged in sexual activity with reader. He expresses some of how he feels about her, and they both say they love each other. Then, reader transforms into Remus, and Sirius is engaged in the activities with him instead. Sirius seems slightly confused by this but is happy to go along, and appreciates when Remus praises him and calls him "love". Remus kisses him, and Sirius wakes up. Thank you for respecting Elle and I's mdni rules <3

[cvnt4him]

Diaries of Spider-Man.

ch1

Dear diary; what was I thinking?!

synopsis; the disastrous "adventures" of a teenaged spiderman.

This is a WIP, please let me know your thoughts and if this is what you would like to see from me<3

“let's do this one.. last.. time...”

“my name is izuku midoriya, and for the past 3 years, I've been the one and only spiderman. Annnd, I'm pretty sure you know the rest..”

₊˚⊹

Izuku jots away in his notebook before taking a step back to read what little he's written. the groan that escaped his lips was quite audible. He was rather disappointed in what he's written.

When his therapist "prescribed" him to journaling or writing down his thoughts in a notebook which he didn't want to refer to as a diary, his initial thought was;

‘theres no way in hell writing things down would help me.’

However for the past three years, izuku found himself writing everything he could down in those measly little journals his therapist gave him. Each and every year the thick and huge diary journal she gave him would begin to get fuller and fuller of all of his little adventures or simple daily routines.

Izuku was nothing if not a stubborn little shit at times. Of course he would disagree heavily but facts don't lie. You can't tell this energetic know it all anything. He's really smart and well put together. Most of the time. Upon becoming spiderman he hasn't had a lot of time for much. His consistent tasks of being spiderman are always heavy and time consuming. He doesn't have time to study for his driver's test, his normal class tests which define if he passes the grade and gets into college, or even dinner half the time?!

To be frank; the poor thing has been through a lot the past years. Too much honestly. Izukus "power" awakening was an honest mistake. Like your typical movie spiderman, he was bitten by a radioactive spider whilst he was doing something he knew he had no business doing

₊˚⊹

To go back exactly three years 4 months and 17 days ago, you would find a 14/15 year old izuku breaking into an abandoned home with none other than his typical, usual, partners in crime.

Katsuki bakugou and y/n l/n.

Izuku knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, however he always followed the two of you into stupid situations that could eventually get you killed. In this case, it almost did. Izuku helped you get through the window the three of you had busted by letting you climb onto his shoulders, katsuki who had laid his jacket over the glass so none of you would cut yourselves, grabbed you by your arms and pulled you in, the both of you then helped izuku in with basically the same method.

“woah.. spooky.”

“ heh.. it reeks in here.”

You giggled at katsukis exclaim, making izuku pout slightly. He sighed to himself, not wanting to admit the blonde was correct.

“ you guys i- i really don't think we should— ”

“ hey check it out! there are spray paint cans in here!”

Katsuki yells running to the other room with numerous cans of spray paint. You followed him like a dumb lost puppy leaving izuku to groan and follow behind you both.

There were many graffiti stamps left behind from many different people, obviously they had left behind their spray paint for some odd reason, that's what really intrigued izuku.

“ tch, hey deku, get over here so we can sign our names!”

Izuku jogs closer to you two shivering to himself at all the spiderwebs covering the cans. It was dusty and quite eerie inside of this place. Izuku truthfully wanted no part. You and katsuki signed your names right next to each other with little quirky doodles next to them, izuku soon followed suit. He picked up the green can of paint and signed his name ‘izuku’

“ no no, put deku! ‘ts way better than ‘izuku’!”

The way katsuki could make izuku feel bad about his given name should've been studied. And they way you were quick to agree hurt the poor boy even more. He soon crossed out izuku and put ‘Deku’ big and boldly. It was all alone compared to how closely the two of your names were.

The two of you had long began to explore elsewhere, leaving izuku wondering where you two went off to.

“hey! Come in here izu- I mean deku!”

You yell out catching his attention, he follows the sound of your voice to find you two the small critter crawling up his back going completely unnoticed. Some time passed and it only got later and later, izuku was still hesitant about being there but the two of you just kept going deeper and deeper inside of the manor.

Izuku rushes inside of the next room, breaking contact with whatever artifacts caught his eye. He looked for the two of you calling out your names with no answer, he was confused and quite scared, where could the two of you have gone?

“ boo!”

Izuku jumped back falling down to the ground and scraping his little hands.

“ow..!”

Izuku winced at the sudden sting of not only his hands but the pinch of his skin itching and being very irritated next to his neck, he slapped it and the arachnid soon fell into his hands. With a shutter he threw the spider out of his hands feeling rather jittery after the encounter.

“ are you alright, izuku?!“

You were quick to rush over to him. It was simply supposed to be a little harmless joke, he wasn't supposed to get hurt. You helped him up and dusted him off as well heading katsuki suck his teeth in response.

“ yes, i- I'm fine. I've gotten bitten by a spider however.. one unlike any other I've ever seen.. we should head back so I can tell my mom.”

“ oh, oka-”

“ no.”

Katsuki was quick to shut down before you could get out your sentence. You both turned to look at him he seemed angry a bit as if something completely ruined his mood.

“ if you tell your mom we could get in trouble, she might tell my mom who might tell y/ns. you don't want us getting in trouble, do you deku.”

The way katsuki used the nickname against him made his stomach feel sick. He gulped down the rising bile in his throat and coughed lowly.

“ katsuki he got hurt, shouldn't he-”

“ no! I'm not getting in trouble because wimpy deku wanted to be an easy scare!”

“thats not fair katsuki!”

The two of you started bickering, leaving him out causing him to sigh. He felt a bit weird.. kind of dizzy and out of breath as if he'd been running. It was growing warm and he had began sweating, hyperventilating as if he needed to catch his breath.

The sounds of him caught your attention and suddenly the boy looked quite weak, frail of some sort.

“ izuku..? are you...alright?”

Katsuki sooner looked over to see izuku hardly keeping his balance, he wouldn't admit it but he was quite worried at the sight of him.

“ let's go.��

Was all katsuki said as he grabbed izuku by the hand and ran back towards the broken window the three of you came in.

The two of you got izuku home in one piece for the most part, he was dizzy and hardly standing up on his own, the running had him so our of breath it was almost like he was having an anxiety attack. He probably was to be honest, izuku was a very anxious boy. His anxiety levels were very high at all times, with the growing symptoms in his body and the bite from the spider he was so worried about what was happening to him he most likely started having a panic attack whilst running. Luckily he was home now, you and katsuki beat on his door as you heard him mom yelling she was coming.

She opens the door with a smile to see the three of you out of breath with a dead looking izuku, the sight startled his mother causing her to pick up her son and rush him to the hospital. Both yours and katsukis parents had been called and had quite a talk with inko who was worried sick about her son, yelling at your parents and explaining how she has no idea what happened.

You two didn't speak to each other once. Not even looking at each other. Both your parents had taken you and katsuki back home. After that night you'd never spoken to katsuki or izuku ever again..

Izuku was completely fine however. Those symptoms may have been bad but that was all it was. He was able to go home that same day and the doctors called it a simple panic/anxiety attack. His mother was worried sick for no reason.

From that moment forward things only began to get weirder for this normal teenaged boy.

₊˚⊹

Izuku sat at his desk reading his old journals of how he believes he got his powers, scoffing to himself at the memories. He had all his books all over his desk in a completely messy pile nose buried in his book as someone walked over and bumped his desk back into him, it lightly hit him in the stomach causing him to drop the journal in the desk and the desk of the books that were formerly there onto the floor.

He scoffed in annoyance looking up to see you with a shit eating grin on your face as you scowled down at him, not even apologizing as you walked out of the classroom.

Izuku seen as the classroom was completely empty, just him and his messy books all over the floor. He sighed and crouched down picking them up and shoving them into his backpack. His phone vibrated in his back pocket, he picked up up to see w text from his friends.

‘ hey! Meet us in the front?’

That singular text from ochako was all he needed for a small smile to form on his freckled cheeks. Just as he was about to put it away there was a pop up from the news channel he had downloaded on his phone, something about a criminal stealing from a jewelry shop.

He sighed to himself and texted her back explaining he wouldn't be able to meet them and that he'd just head home. However that wasn't the case. He ran out the back door of the school pushing through some students earning some angry and annoyed remarks spat at him; but he didnt have time to care. He ran behind some building and quickly slipped his suit on. He'd rather skip the embarrassing details..

Just as he was about to 'web away' he got a call from none other than katsuki bakugou. Izuku jumped and nearly dropped his phone at the sudden ringing, he quickly answers without thinking, lifting his mask over his mouth to speak,

“ oi nerd, y’heard about that criminal stealing that diamond or whatever?”

The normally volcanic boy has a soft tone still laced with a bit of redness and sass.

“ yes, kacchan, and before you called I was just about getting there so if y’dont mind!!!!”

The blond scoffs on the other side, chuckling as he snorts at his sass. Izuku groaned at the sound of him laughing and simply hung up swinging away as quickly as he could.

“ look up there! It's spiderman!!”

People squealed and yelled at the familiar colors of izukus suit, black along the sides and a deep green painting the front and back of his skin tight suit, and a big white spider over the chest. He'd made the suit when he was younger and had started working out he'd wanted to show it off but as of now he thinks it's quite unnecessary..

He swung through the crowds waving and smiling under the mask, as tiring as being spiderman was he was always thankful for the love he'd gotten. They truly made him feel valuable, izuku struggled with self confidence a lot, it's common in people like that to enjoy attention from all.

It wasn't that izuku needed to be humbled or anything but....izuku swung down an alley that reports seen the criminal go down, supposedly the diamond they had stolen was a very important artifact from ancient times or whatever, moral of the story was he needed to get it back to where it belonged! Izuku could do that!

He dropped in front of the criminal with a hero stance making him appear big n bad in front of them.

“ stop! give me that diamond, criminal!”

Izuku was obsessed with action movies when he was younger, his favorite actor was custom to working in them. He always imagined being a superhero and technically he is! However within these three years the fame and glory really went to his head ..

The criminal halted, izuku tried stepping closer to retrieve the diamond in a cool manner, speaking to the cloaked person in a soft voice trying to get them to come to their senses like some kind of......main character. To izukus surprise they pulled out a crossbow. He was stunned at the size of it,

“ how- how did that fit inside of your— ”

Before izuku could get the rest of his sentence out the criminal shot the arrow, it completely piercing izukus shoulder. He yelled out in pain nearly falling to his knees, that then made him realize that was no joke, this person being unlike any other petty thief hes gone up against.

As the criminal kicked izuku to the ground with a bare boot while he was holding his injured and punctured shoulder they quickly made haste and ran past him out of the alley, crowds soon coming up after the person ran away and seeing izuku clutching his shoulder run pain, all of them having different emotions on his face it would be an understatement to say he was embarrassed.

What had he thought that he was just invincible? Izuku struggled into his knees hearing whispers from the crowd and quickly tried his best to attempt swinging away with a singular arm, his left to be exact and that wasn't his maiden arm either. Izuku was fully right handed and did everything with it, with his right arm basically out of commission he did his best to swing with his left hand but...

He eventually wobbled and hit a sign, he was going at a high speed as well trying to hide his shame and find the person who did this to him, as his body came into full contract with the sign knocking every little bit of air out if his body the arrow got pushed deeper, making izuku groan in agony once more. Blood wetting his skin and suit as it dropped down, he didn't take the arrow out before because he thought about how it would cause him to bleed out and wouldn't be any good...now he wished he had.

He held onto the large sign and tried to swing away once more, he eventually got the hang of it for a little while managing to drop himself behind a building. He leaned against the wall of it and groaned, he wanted to take his suit off but it wouldn't be a good idea, anyone could've followed him or even tried to see who he was. It wasn't a good idea.

With every ounce of energy and strength in his body he pushed himself up from sliding to the ground and called who he knew he could.

“ yo?”

“ ka..kacchan... I need your...your help..”

₊˚⊹

AN: this is js a WIP lemme know what y'all think n if I should add or like yk leave out some things!!!!

[amyzworldds]

Title: Midnight Snack Adventure

Masterlist

Rookie life is strict under Seungcheol’s watchful eye, especially for the group’s wild maknae, yn, and her reluctant partner-in-crime, Dino—both 17 and the youngest of the 14-member team. One restless night, YN’s hunger leads to a risky plan, pulling Dino along despite his protests and the 9 PM curfew. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor Timeline: 2016

It was a quiet night in the dorm—or at least it was supposed to be. The clock had long struck midnight, and the members of the still-trainee group were tucked into their beds, recovering from another grueling day of practice. Well, most of them were. Yn, the 14th member and self-proclaimed wild child of the group, was wide awake, sprawled across the couch in the living room. Her eyes were glued to the flickering TV screen, where Love in the Moonlight played its latest episode. She was giggling at the cute moments, her loud voice barely hushed despite the late hour.

Her stomach growled mid-scene, loud enough to rival her usual chatter. “Ugh, why am I always hungry at the worst times?” she muttered, pausing the drama to shuffle toward the kitchen. She rummaged through the pantry—empty. The fridge? Nothing but a half-empty bottle of soy sauce and Seungkwan’s labeled yogurt (which she didn’t dare touch after the last lecture). “This is a crime,” she huffed, slamming the fridge door shut.

Meanwhile, Dino—her fellow 17-year-old maknae and partner-in-crime—stumbled into the kitchen, half-asleep. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his eyes were barely open as he made a beeline for the sink. “Water… need water…” he mumbled, brushing past yn without even registering her presence. He nudged her aside with his shoulder, too water-deprived to care.

Yn’s eyes lit up. This was her chance. She sidled up to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Dino-yah, wanna come with me to the convenience store? It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m starving.”

Dino froze mid-sip, his sleepy brain slowly processing her words. “What? No way. It’s past midnight. Coups hyung will kill us. You know the curfew—9 PM, no leaving unless it’s with a hyung or a manager.” His voice trembled slightly, the fear of Seungcheol’s wrath waking him up a little more.

Yn waved a hand dismissively. “Psh, I’m not scared of Coups oppa. I need food, Dino. If I don’t eat, I’ll waste away, and then you’ll have to explain to my rabbit back home that I didn’t make it. You want that on your conscience?”

Dino groaned, rubbing his face. “Yn, why are you like this? If I let you go alone and something happens, Coups hyung will still kill me for not stopping you. If I go with you, he’ll kill us both. Either way, I’m dead!”

“Then come with me and we’ll be quick!” she chirped, already tiptoeing toward the door with her sneakers in hand. “What’s life without a little adventure?”

Dino hesitated, torn between his loyalty to the rules and his worry for yn. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling them you dragged me into this.”

“Deal!” yn grinned, her wild energy infectious as she yanked him out the door.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The convenience store was only a block away, and the two maknaes managed to sneak out without waking anyone—at least, they thought so. Inside the brightly lit store, yn went wild, grabbing armfuls of chips, ramen cups, and soda cans. “Dino, get the chocolate bars! Oh, and those gummy worms!” she called, her voice way too loud for a stealth mission.

Dino, still half-asleep, obeyed like a zombie, piling snacks into his arms. “This is too much… we’re gonna get caught…”

“Nonsense! We’re pros at this,” yn said confidently, balancing a stack of instant noodles as they wobbled toward the counter.

The cashier rang up their haul—a mountain of junk food that screamed “rookie rebellion.” “That’ll be 25,000 won,” he said flatly.

Yn reached for her pocket. Then froze. “Uh… Dino, where’s your wallet?”

Dino blinked, patting his pajama pants. “I… didn’t bring it. You said this would be fast!”

“I forgot mine too!” yn gasped, her eyes wide. “We were so busy sneaking out quietly!”

The cashier raised an eyebrow. “Cash only. No card, no online payment.”

Panic set in. Yn clutched the snacks like they were her lifeline. “We can’t leave these babies behind! We need a plan B.”

Dino’s face paled. “We have to call someone. But they’ll tell Coups hyung…”

YN bit her lip, then pulled out her phone. “Joshua oppa. He’s our only hope. He’s too nice to snitch, right?”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the dorm, chaos was brewing. Seungcheol had woken up shivering, his blanket inexplicably on the floor. Grumbling, he shuffled to the kitchen for water—only to stop dead in the living room. The TV was still on, paused on Love in the Moonlight. “Yn,” he growled under his breath. That girl and her dramas.

He turned it off, but a nagging feeling tugged at him. Something wasn’t right. He marched to yn’s room and flung open the door—empty. “Yn’s gone,” he muttered, his leader instincts kicking into overdrive. He stormed into Joshua and Jeonghan’s shared room, shaking them awake. “Guys, yn’s missing!”

Jeonghan groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. “She’s probably just in the bathroom…”

“She’s not! Her room’s empty!” Seungcheol barked, his voice waking up half the dorm.

One by one, the members stumbled out, bleary-eyed and confused. “What’s going on?” Mingyu yawned.

Vernon squinted down the hall. “Wait… Dino’s gone too.”

The realization hit like a thunderclap. “Those two idiots,” Seungcheol seethed, just as Joshua’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with yn's name.

Joshua answered, his voice groggy but gentle. “Yn? Where are you?”

“Shua oppa!” yn’s voice crackled through, loud and panicked. “We’re at the convenience store, and we forgot our wallets, and they only take cash, and we need help, but don’t tell Coups, okay? Please?”

Seungcheol loomed over Joshua, his shadow practically radiating fury. “Put it on speaker. Now.”

Joshua gulped and obeyed. yn’s voice filled the room. “—and Dino’s freaking out, but I told him it’s fine, we just need someone to bring cash—”

“YOU TWO ARE WHERE?!” Seungcheol roared, snatching the phone. The line went silent for a split second before yn squeaked, “Oh no.”

“Stay right there,” Seungcheol ordered, already grabbing his jacket. “You’re both grounded for life.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Seungcheol, Joshua, and a still-half-asleep Jeonghan arrived at the convenience store, yn and Dino were sitting on the curb outside, surrounded by their unpurchased snacks like guilty puppies. yn flashed her cutest pout, holding up a bag of chips. “Coups oppa, I got your favorite—”

“Save it,” Seungcheol snapped, though his glare softened just a fraction at her antics. “You’re lucky I don’t make you sleep outside with those kittens you dragged home last time.”

Dino hung his head. “I told her it was a bad idea…”

“And yet here you are,” Jeonghan teased, ruffling his hair.

Joshua quietly paid the cashier, shaking his head with a small smile. “Next time, just ask me to stock the pantry, okay?”

As they trudged back to the dorm, snacks in tow, yn whispered to Dino, “Totally worth it, right?”

Dino sighed, but a tiny grin crept onto his face. “Maybe. But if Coups hyung puts a lock on the door, I’m blaming you.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the sun peeked through the dorm windows, casting a soft glow over the chaos of the previous night. Yn and Dino, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing, were still lost in dreamland. yn was sprawled across her bed in her own room—the only girl in the group, she’d fought tooth and nail for that tiny slice of privacy. Dino, meanwhile, was snoring softly in the room he shared with Vernon, one arm dangling off the bunk like he’d collapsed after their convenience store adventure. Both maknaes slept with the smug satisfaction of thinking they’d gotten away with it, their cuteness once again their ultimate shield.

In the living room, the rest of the members were already awake, lounging in various states of exhaustion. Hoshi was sprawled on the couch, tossing a cushion in the air absentmindedly. “You know,” he said, breaking the sleepy silence, “what if those two sneak out again and Dispatch catches them? They’d spin some wild story—‘Rookie Maknaes in Late-Night Scandal!’”

Seungcheol, nursing a cup of coffee and still glaring at nothing in particular, cut him off sharply. “That’s not happening again. I’m making sure of it.” His tone was final, the kind that made even Hoshi sit up a little straighter.

Jeonghan, leaning against the wall with a smirk, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the plan, fearless leader?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to Seungkwan and Vernon, who were sprawled on the floor playing a lazy round of rock-paper-scissors. “You two,” he said, his voice carrying that no-nonsense edge. “Wake up YN and Dino. Now.”

Seungkwan blinked, mid-scissors. “Us? Why us?”

“Because you’re younger but not as wild as yn,” Seungcheol said matter-of-factly. “And Dino’s too soft to argue when she drags him into trouble. Go.”

Vernon sighed, hauling himself up. “Fine. But if Dino sleep-talks at me again, I’m out.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

In Dino and Vernon’s shared room, Vernon shuffled over to Dino’s bunk and gave him a gentle shake. “Yo, Dino. Coups hyung says get up.”

Dino groaned, rolling over and mumbling, “Five more minutes, hyung… tell him yn made me…”

“He’s not asking,” Vernon said, nudging him harder. “Come on, man, you’re in deep already.”

Meanwhile, Seungkwan barged into yn's room with all the dramatic flair he could muster. “Yn! Wake up! Coups hyung is mad—like, mad mad. You’re done for!” He clapped his hands loudly, making yn jolt upright, her hair a wild nest.

“What?! He’s mad?!” yn yelped, clutching her blanket. “But we got snacks! He ate the chips!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seungkwan said, crossing his arms. “You’re about to get the lecture of your life. Move it.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ten minutes later, yn and Dino shuffled into the living room, still in their pajamas, looking like scolded puppies. The three oldest members—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua—stood in a line, arms crossed, while the rest of the group sat silently on the couches and floor, too scared to make a sound. Even Hoshi, usually the chatterbox, kept his mouth shut, sensing the tension.

Seungcheol started, his voice low but firm. “Do you two have any idea how reckless you were last night? Sneaking out past curfew, no wallets, calling Joshua in the middle of the night? What if something happened to you? What if someone saw you?”

Yn opened her mouth to protest, but Jeonghan cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t even try the cute act, yn. It’s not working this time.”

Joshua, ever the gentle one, sighed softly. “We’re just worried about you guys. But you can’t keep breaking the rules like this. It’s not safe.”

Dino shuffled his feet, staring at the floor. “I told her it was a bad idea…”

“And yet you still went,” Seungcheol snapped, making Dino flinch. “You’re both responsible.”

Yn puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms. “Okay, but we didn’t get caught by dispatch or anything! And we brought snacks for everyone! That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Seungcheol’s glare could’ve melted steel. “No, it doesn’t. And since you two think you’re so clever, here’s your punishment: for the next two weeks, you’re cleaning the dorm. Room by room. Every corner, every speck of dust, every tiny crumb. If I find even one sock out of place, you’re starting over.”

“Two weeks?!” yn wailed, her wild energy deflating. “That’s torture!”

“You should’ve thought of that before sneaking out,” Jeonghan said with a sly grin. “Maybe next time you’ll remember the curfew.”

Dino groaned, slumping against the wall. “I’m never listening to her again…”

“Good luck with that,” Vernon muttered from the couch, earning a snicker from Seungkwan.

And so, the maknae duo’s dreams of a successful sneak-out were dashed. For the next two weeks, the dorm echoed with YN’s dramatic complaints—“This dust is older than me!”—and Dino’s quiet sighs as they scrubbed floors and organized closets under Seungcheol’s watchful eye. The older members made sure the pantry stayed stocked, though, because one thing was clear: YN’s midnight hunger wasn’t going anywhere, and they’d rather deal with snacks than another convenience store crisis.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp

----------------------------------------------------------

TW: cussing, early seasons Daryl, angst, descriptions of walkers (Zombies), firearms, kidnapping, canon level racism, Merle, suggestive content (if you squint)

Part 14

Dead Weight - Part 15

The air inside the prison kitchen was cool and still, heavy with the scent of old cement and the faintest trace of woodsmoke from the nearby burn barrel outside.

The light filtering through the grimy, barred windows was silver and hazy, the sky not yet pinked with dawn.

A quiet hum of life stirred in the corners—the rustle of rats behind the walls, the soft creak of settling concrete.

Your hands worked methodically over the cracked countertop, flour dusting your knuckles as you rolled and shaped dense, pale rounds of dough.

Each motion was practiced but gentle, almost reverent. You’d never made hard-tack before the world ended, but you’d learned since.

It wasn’t about the taste—it was about lasting, about giving someone something to hold onto out there.

The flour was running low, so you measured every cup with care.

The salt, even more precious, was added with a pinch and a prayer.

Beth leaned against the edge of the counter, her long blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, humming quietly as Judith dozed in a wrap across her chest. She smiled faintly, watching you work.

“You always get so quiet when you’re bakin’,” Beth said softly, eyes warm.

You gave a slight shrug, not looking up.

“It helps me think,” you replied, brushing your wrist across your forehead. “And… I guess I wanted to make something for Daryl. For when he goes out again.”

Beth tilted her head, brows lifting with a teasing smile.

You flushed slightly, trying to busy your hands more than necessary with a stubborn fold of dough.

“I mean—He hunts for everyone. He should have something better to eat that'll keep.” You paused. “I just thought he might like it. Or… maybe he won’t. I don’t know.”

Beth’s smile softened into something quieter.

“He’ll like it.” she said with a youthful smile, looking almost like a regular teenager again.

Your eyes flicked to her. “He’s hard to read.”

“Yeah,” Beth said with a small, thoughtful nod. “But he’s not hard to reach. You just gotta speak a language he understands.”

“Like survival?”

“Like mumbling.” she giggled

You blinked, surprised at her teasing, even if he wasn't in the room.

You turned back to your task, more focused now, shaping each piece of hard-tack.

The long corridor of Cell Block C was bathed in a lazy golden hue, light filtering through the grimy upper windows in streaks that painted warm bands across the concrete floor. Dust motes danced lazily in the air, undisturbed save for the rhythmic creak of your boots as you slowly paced with Baby Judith nestled in your arms.

Your voice was soft, almost like breath, but the sound carried. The song wasn’t one anyone else here would recognize—an old tune from home, playful in melody, but tender the way you sang it.

"Mamma Papa say you should go to school, I don't know what for"

You pulled silly faces at the baby as you sang pacing across the landing in cell block C.

"Now that I've grown up and seen the world and all its lies ... What's the time Mr. Wolf? ... What's the time?"

Your accent gave the song a lilting rhythm, like a breeze through trees, foreign but warm.

Judith blinked up at you, eyelashes fluttering, then gave a yawn that nearly unseated her pacifier, the one Beth had found when she insisted on going on a run.

You smiled and adjusted the blanket around her small body, brushing a thumb over her forehead.

“You’re not foolin’ me, Lil Asskicker. I see those eyes. Wide awake.”

A pause. A small, fond sigh.

You kept walking slowly—thread bare socks on your feet padding silently on the concrete, her tiny fingers curled in your shirt. Your voice dipped to a hum again, hips rocking with the natural rhythm of comfort.

“Uncle Daryl’s gonna wanna see you when he gets back. So I'll cut you a deal I finish this song then you nap like a champion.”

You rocked her slightly as you continued the song.

"Oh oh-oh Mr Daddy long legs crawling up to the ceiling ... Has anyone seen the world and the state it's in it's ... never been this way before"

you whispered the last lyrics, brushing a fingertip along the curve of her cheek.

Your still not quite used to calling him Uncle Daryl, but it had slipped out naturally a few times now.

He wasn’t around to hear it anyway.

Or so you thought.

From the shadows at the far end of the hall, tucked between concrete pillars where the wall jutted out, Daryl had frozen halfway through slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He wasn’t breathing right—like the wind had caught in his throat somehow.

Judith gave a quiet gurgle and finally relaxed, her tiny fists uncurling against your chest.

That’s when Merle stepped up beside his brother, holding back just long enough to hear the last line.

He gave a snort.

“Well, look at that,” Merle muttered, arms folded as he leaned one shoulder against the wall, voice pitched low.

Daryl didn’t move.

Merle side-eyed him, then looked back at you.

Daryl shot him a glare. “Don’t.”

Merle gave a smirk but didn’t back off.

“You’re just lurkin’ in the shadows like some damn stalker while Miss Peach Blossom sings bedtime songs about educational facilities and wolves. That ain’t exactly normal bedtime fare, by the way.”

Daryl scowled.

“She’s singin’ to Judith.”

“Uh-huh. And callin’ you ‘Uncle Daryl’ like she’s already knit you a Christmas sweater. You hear that part, lover boy?”

Daryl’s lip curled. “Ain’t like that.”

“Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’. You been hoverin’ like a hound since we got back. You don’t like folks, remember? So what’s different ‘bout her?”

Daryl turned his head just enough to look back toward the sound of your voice, still drifting faintly from the corridor.

“She’s just… good with the kid.”

“Sure,” Merle said, unconvinced. “Bet she’s real good with a lotta things.”

Daryl turned slowly, finally meeting Merle’s eyes. “You say any dumb shit to her—”

“What, you gonna hit me?” Merle smirked. “Relax. I ain’t gonna ruin it for you. Hell, I think it’s kinda sweet. Like watchin’ a feral cat try and cuddle up for the first time—don’t know what the hell it’s doin’, but it wants somethin’ real bad.”

Daryl shoved past him. “Tch, Jackass.”

“Yeah,” Merle called after him, still smirking. “But I ain’t blind.”

Daryl shot him a warning glare and turned away, footsteps heavy but quiet.

Merle stayed behind, watching you now with his arms still folded, head slightly tilted. He didn’t leer—surprisingly.

He just looked… curious. Like he was trying to puzzle out how someone so gentle could survive in a place like this.

“Huh,” he said under his breath, scratching his jaw. “Maybe baby brother’s got better taste than I thought.”

The grocery store was cracked open at the side like a split ribcage, vines and wildflowers creeping through broken windows. It smelled of dust, rust, and the distant rot of forgotten perishables. Light filtered through the grime-stained skylights in long shafts, illuminating drifting particles like golden ghosts.

You moved carefully down a narrow aisle labeled International Goods, stepping over shattered jars of pickled vegetables and powdered miso soup packets.

With Glen still banged up you'd agreed to help with the run.

Most shelves were bare—ravaged by desperate hands long ago—but in a tucked-away corner, half-hidden behind a tilted tin of coconut milk, sat one lonely can.

You blinked. Then smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

"No fuckin' way.”

Your voice was a whisper of disbelief, laced with sudden, almost childlike delight. You picked it up reverently, wiping away grime with your sleeve.

The label—Vanilla Ice Cream & Espresso—was still intact, and the can was cool from the shadows, untouched.

You practically skipped out from the aisle, shaking the can excitedly in your hands.

You were grinning as you approached Merle and Daryl. Daryl was crouched near a pallet of bottled water, backpack slung over one shoulder. Merle was flicking through a pack of expired beef jerky, smirking when he saw your expression.

“What’s got you all lit up, sweetheart? Find a vibrator aisle I missed?”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling despite the jab.

“It’s from home,” you said, voice filled with excitement. “Tastes like vanilla ice cream and espresso.”

You cracked the can open with a hiss and a puff of air, giving it a swirl. Then you took a sip—and your entire body responded.

Eyes fluttered shut. Shoulders relaxed. A quiet, involuntary sound left your throat, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Oh my god.”

Merle stared at you like you’d just given a performance. “Shit. Was it that good, sugar? Y'need a smoke after that.”

You laughed but stepped back as he reached his hand toward the can.

“Nah. You’d ruin it.”

He gave a wolfish grin. “Come on, girl, don’t be stingy.”

“No,” you giggled, dodging again. “You’re not allowed.”

Then, you turned to Daryl.

He hadn’t said a word. He just stood there, brow drawn slightly, watching the exchange like he wasn’t sure what planet he’d landed on. But when your eyes met his, something flickered.

The three of you fell into a steady rhythm, quickly packing what was needed and heading back towards the prison.

You cradling your can, when there was about a third left you nudged Daryl's arm gently and shook the can in his direction, a silent invitation.

Daryl blinked, hesitant.

You tilted the can toward him again, eyebrows raised, as you strode back to the prison.

His eyes dropped to the can, then back to your face. His mouth opened like he was going to argue—but he stopped himself. After a beat, he reached out, calloused fingers brushing yours as he took it.

And you could have sworn you saw a smile grace his usually stoic features.

The sun had dipped lower, painting long gold shadows across the prison yard. The fence rattled softly under a wind that smelled faintly of rain and smoke—two warnings in one.

You were both still sitting on that cracked patch of concrete, the one just out of view of the others but close enough to call for help if needed. Daryl had his knees up, arms draped over them, a twig between his fingers that he picked at absently—like a man with too many thoughts and no words to say them.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice low, almost rough. “If this Governor bastard shows up... and things go bad—real bad—there’s some stuff you needa know.”

You blinked and turned toward him, instantly on edge. “Okay.”

He didn’t look at you.

Just stared out through the fence, eyes scanning the distance like the threat might materialize right then.

“There’s a tunnel,” he said. “Behind the laundry room. Rick boarded it up, but pull it off and there’s space enough for someone to get through. Leads to the old generator pit.”

You tried to picture it. You’d seen it in the laundry room in passing, but never thought about what was behind it.

“Then what?” you asked softly.

“Then you run,” he said firmly, finally turning to face you. His eyes met yours dead-on. “Ain’t no lookin’ back. You get Beth, the baby, Carl if you can—but you get yourself out first.”

You flinched slightly at the weight of his tone.

“I’m can't just leave everyone—”

"Ain’t about leavin' everyone,” he snapped, then immediately looked away, jaw tightening. “Ain’t what I meant.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles in his arm taut with frustration.

“You—you gotta meet up with everyone in the forest,” he muttered.

You didn’t answer right away.

“You’re telling me how to survive,” you said finally. “You think it’ll come to that?”

He hesitated. Then gave a stiff nod.

“I seen what men like that do. And I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you be a casualty.”

The words were harsh. But the way his brow furrowed? The tightness in his voice? That wasn’t anger.

That was fear.

Fear for you.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “I’ll remember,” you whispered. “I promise.”

What neither of you noticed was the figure in the shadows beyond the metal grates of Cell Block C.

Merle.

Leaning just out of sight, arms crossed, one boot braced against the cinderblock wall.

His expression unreadable.

Not smirking for once.

Just listening.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath.

“Shit’s gettin’ real complicated.”

Merle’s boots crunched lightly across the yard gravel. He avoided the lit spots, staying to the shadows. In his pack, a bottle of whiskey, a hand-sketched route, and a plan that no one asked for.

“Ain’t gonna let this blow back on Daryl,” he muttered.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the Governor was a lunatic. But maybe—maybe—Merle could get ahead of it. Talk man to man. Bluff. Bargain. Sacrifice, if he had to.

He didn’t tell Daryl. He didn’t tell anyone.

Merle Dixon never asked permission.

Daryl had gone quiet again, barely saying a word since sundown. You were helping Carol slice beans at the table when Glen came jogging in.

“Anyone seen Merle?”

The group fell still. Daryl, who had been standing near the doorway with his arms crossed, lifted his head like a wolf catching scent.

“Why?” he asked flatly.

“He’s gone. The front gate opened around an hour ago, but nobody radioed it in. Beth thinks she saw Merle by the watchtower.”

Your blood ran cold.

You met Daryl’s eyes, and there it was again—that look.

Alarm.

Panic.

Restraint.

He pushed off the doorframe with a curse.

“Stupid son of a bitch—”

“What would he do?” you asked, rising to your feet. “Where would he go?”

Daryl didn’t answer, but the answer was obvious.

The Governor.

He was going to try to talk to him. Alone. Like a damn fool.

Daryl stalked toward the door, grabbing his crossbow with a tight snap of motion. You followed without thinking.

"Wait—what if he’s trying to help?” you asked. “He heard us talking. Maybe he thought—”

"Ain’t help,” Daryl growled, rounding on you. “It’s about Merle. He does whatever the hell he wants, don’t think about nobody else.”

He looked at you for one long, heavy beat, then turned and left—boots thudding against the concrete, urgency in every line of his body.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 179 }

company.

academy arc

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ let's end each other's lonely nights | be each other's paradise | need a picture for my frame | someone to share my reign… }

you walked to school in the early hours of the morning, simply looking down at the novel you were reading in your hand. a smile paints your features the more you basked and read each scene, and as you were in the midst of turning the page, you felt a strange sensation creeping up on you-

the sensation of being followed.

your steps begin to slow just then, unaware of the large hand that reaches out to you-

as sung jinwoo lets out a rich chuckle of your name, wrapping an arm around you as he brings you closer to the front of his chest.

“morning, angel.” he purrs into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you give him a playful pout, lightly pushing yourself away from him.

you missed the lost expression seen in his gaze the moment you pulled away from him, trying to calm down your racing heart as you smoothed down the skirt of your uniform.

with a cough, you put your novel back within the confines of your bag, choosing instead to walk side-by-side with jinwoo to school.

you and jinwoo had a special relationship-

this didn’t mean that you two were a couple or anything, oh no.

what you meant was that you still had memories of another life with jinwoo…

where you and him were both hunters, taking on raids while supporting each other throughout it all.

jinwoo was your best friend during those times; he helped train you, a mere b-rank hunter, making you more proficient in your raids as you slowly rose up the ranks, given you freedom to attend more high level raids despite never being able to level up like he could.

your memories became a little hazy after the war, and once jinwoo used the cup of reincarnation one last time-

you found yourself being 14 again, living with your parents and little brother in your humble home. perhaps what came as the most shocking to you was how you retained all of your memories.

which was why you felt so happy when you and jinwoo ended up going to the same high school together. he was a great source of comfort during the times when memories of your past life became too much to bear.

ah, but you were getting ahead of yourself-

you’ve since then gotten better at dealing with the hardships of your past life, even getting the tiniest bit upset when jinwoo admitted to taking on all the monarchs on his own, spending a total of 27 years within some strange, dimensional rift. you knew that he had won the war all on his own while telling you how he succeeded his mission, now living his life as a normal human despite how truly godlike he was.

jinwoo’s knuckles were suddenly felt being gently placed against the top of your head. “you’re dozing off again.”

“what? i am not dozing off, woowoo.”

a blush immediately paints his features when you refer to him by that stupid nickname. “h-hey, that nickname is dumb as hell, and that’s not even how you pronounce my name! the ‘woo’ in ‘jinwoo’ is more subtle than that, like a soft ~u.”

“heh, whatever, woowoo…!”

you giggle when his eyes flash purple in annoyance, running to catch up to you, but all while hiding his grin.

you would never know the depths of his feelings for you, and that fact alone was killing the shadow monarch on the inside.

{ … }

you and jinwoo end up enjoying lunch together back in the classroom, with you taking casual sips of your juice.

“so do you have track practice today?”

jinwoo takes a rice ball from your lunch box as you stole a piece of his bulgogi beef. “yeah, i do.”

“hehe, did you want me to hang out with you on the field?”

a soft smile paints jinwoo’s features, “if you don’t mind, then yeah. i could use your company.”

a teasing grin paints your expression, “you still trying to get with cha hae-in?”

jinwoo chokes on his rice ball, “w-what the- you know about that?!”

“what? it’s so obvious that you’re still into her! want me to look her up and give you her number or something?”

you giggle in response, basking in jinwoo’s embarrassed expression. you recall how jinwoo was pretty much dating cha hae-in in the original timeline, and they were truly such a cute couple in your eyes!

two of the most renowned s-rank hunters taking on high level gates, never once failing their missions or goals. because of jinwoo’s blossoming romance, you, being simply labeled as his best friend, took a step back and gave them the space they needed in order to let their romance bloom.

and now, with time going backwards due to jinwoo’s actions, you were certain he was going to try and capture her heart once more, leaving you more than willing to play as his wingwoman once more.

despite your playful words, jinwoo appeared uncomfortable, shifting his rice around his lunch box with his chopsticks, eyebrows furrowed in response. noticing the change in his demeanor, you softly ask him, “are you okay?”

your question snaps him out of his reveries. “i’m fine. here, you can have the rest of my lunch… i’ll be right back.”

you could tell something was wrong with jinwoo, watching as he stood up a bit too fast for your liking when you stop him, allowing your hand to wrap around his wrist. “wait, where are you going?”

he looks down at you with gentle grey eyes, allowing the pad of his thumb to grace at your cheek as he wiped away an imaginary stain. after that simple touch, he points to your empty juice bottle.

“i was going to get you more juice. are you opposed to it?”

your eyes go wide, but you shook your head in response. “no, i don’t mind it.”

jinwoo gives you a nod, shaking your grip off of his wrist, leaving you utterly confused as you kept staring at his quickly retreating form.

“how strange…” you look down at your shadow, seeing a few, glowing purple eyes glancing back at you.

at least he still wanted to protect you-

even when you knew you did something to upset him.

{ … }

jinwoo told you he didn’t mind you watching him at practice-

but you didn’t feel like your presence was warranted after upsetting him at lunch earlier. so, you hid out at the library, working on some assignments while doing your readings for your classes. you had thoughts about going home first, but deep down, you knew that avoiding jinwoo wouldn’t help with making this whole situation any better.

as you were writing, you immediately became aware of the shadow looming over you, a pair of solemn, glowing violet eyes staring down at you with a neutral expression.

“why didn’t you join me at practice?”

you tremble a bit, detecting the accusation in jinwoo’s voice as you let out a sigh.

“how could i join you when you’re mad at me?” you whisper back at him.

hearing his scoff tones down your anxieties the tiniest bit, and you felt your shoulders visibly relax at the sound of it. you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze, seeing jinwoo leaning closer to you while placing a hand on the table.

he was dressed in his track uniform, consisting of a purple and white shirt with matching shorts. he taps the top of his sneakers against the linoleum floors, giving you a nice view of his muscular calves.

you were ready to tease him about it, your lips puckered up as a low whistle escapes from them when jinwoo suddenly wraps an arm around the back of your head.

your words die against your throat, eyes going wide when your face was pressed directly against jinwoo’s chest. he runs his fingers through your hair, a pained whisper heard coming from him when he asks,

“do you really not feel a single thing from me? am i doomed to remain just friends with you in this timeline, too?”

your mouth goes dry when you hear his question, and you were uncertain as to how to respond to him. you felt your lips open and close, yet still, not a single syllable would come out.

jinwoo lets out a disappointed ‘tsk’ then, shoving you away from him as he gazes down at you with a neutral look. “forget about it. just… forget about it.”

you watch helplessly when jinwoo picks up his duffel bag and backpack, facing away from you as your heart clenched painfully in response.

if you didn’t stop him now, then you’d lose him forever.

shoving back your chair with such intensity that it nearly falls to the ground, you grab jinwoo’s wrist once more. his eyes go wide, and you catch his shocked expression momentarily before standing on the tip of your toes to fully kiss him.

his reaction was immediate- instinctive even when he wraps his arms around your back, bringing you achingly closer to him all while deepening the kiss.

you lost track of time, uncertain of how many kisses you shared when you finally found the strength to pull away from him. he keeps both of his arms wrapped tightly around you, purple eyes gazing down at you in amusement and love, all while running his hands through your hair.

“i… i always thought that you always deserved a girl like cha hae-in… because, well, you know… she was pretty powerful… and gorgeous, too.”

jinwoo scoffs at your admission, but remains quiet, wishing for you to go on and explain yourself.

“that’s why, i kept all my feelings hidden for you.” unable to meet his gaze, you play with the front of his shirt, smoothing the fabric while picking away at the imaginary lint. “i always figured you deserved better than me-“

“tch, stop.”

jinwoo then gently pulls you back by your hair, eyes becoming more passionate when he crashes his lips against yours. you could only whimper in response to his sudden kiss, hands remaining curled up against his chest as jinwoo presses you even closer to him.

he pulls away first, lightly panting before admitting to you, “please… i never wanted hae-in… but you were so determined to set us up that neither one of us knew what to do.”

you blink up at him in complete shock. “what…? but, she had such a huge crush on you…?!”

jinwoo chuckles all while tracing the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip. “well yeah… she liked me, but that didn’t mean that i liked her. how could i like her when i already had you?”

your head was spinning, yet despite it all, you couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “eh? but didn’t you say you wanted to join track to meet her someday?”

jinwoo lets out a huff, bringing your frame into his chest once more before coming clean to you. “forgive me and my poor attempts at making you jealous. joining track was just an excuse, really.”

his admission finally earns bouts of laughter from you, feeling so relieved and happy that your feelings were requited after all. after spending a few more minutes in each other’s embrace, jinwoo gives your body one last squeeze before pulling away from you, giving your forehead a gentle kiss.

“how about i walk back home with you, then, we can talk about our plans for our upcoming first date.”

you giggle, watching as jinwoo packs up your notebooks and assignments before carrying your bag for you, giving you a lovesick expression while you cling on to his side.

perhaps dreams do come true after all…

a.n. - this is so self indulgent, but oh so much fun to write! (/ω＼)

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[woncheolisms]

kinktober 2023 -> day 14

age difference - ukai keishin x reader

word count: 2,406

kinktober masterlist

The bell above the door dinged as you entered Sakanoshita Mart, your ears immediately being filled with the soft retail music that has always played in the store. Your nose twitched with the smell of cigarette smoke, an old familiarity to the scent that you had come to associate with a certain man. Said man was sitting behind the counter, feet pulled up and crossed on the desk before him, ruffling through what looked like a sports magazine, and the same old cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. 

He briefly glanced up as the door chimed, before looking down at the magazine again. Seconds later his head shot up again, eyes wide this time, staring at you with his mouth dropping open, using a hand to pluck away the stick between his lips before it fell to the ground.

“Hi.” You smiled, still standing just inside the door, suddenly feeling shy after seeing his reaction. You had told yourself over and over that you would be confident when you met him again, that you would finally answer his sarcastic quips instead of just giggling silently at them like you used to. You weren’t the same as you were back in high school. And you needed to show him that.

Your little crush on Ukai Keishin was an age old story, starting from your third year in high school. You had been managing Kurasuno’s volleyball club when Takeda sensei brought Coach Ukai in, announcing that he would be taking the role his grandfather once held. You had sucked in a breath as you gazed at the man, taking in his casual orange hoodie and sweatpants, hair pulled back with a headband and the laziest little eye roll you had ever seen. 

You were enamored. 

That had been the start of your little schoolgirl crush, spending most of your time during practice staring at the man while he barked orders at the team. You had barely interacted that year, apart from volleyball related matters you needed answers to. You were unbelievably shy, and equally quiet. It had never bothered you, considering that you were surrounded by people who were larger than life and more than happy to take over the room. The year had been spent daydreaming about the Coach and taking in every little detail about him that you could.

That was three years ago. 

Miyagi had not changed upon your return from college. It was no Tokyo, of course, where you had spent the last three years, the city that changed you as a person, but there was still that quiet charm to Miyagi that Tokyo just couldn’t emulate, a deep understanding of nature that you had missed during college.

That, and Tokyo could never quite replicate the man who had periodically haunted your dreams since you graduated high school.

You thought of him every now and then, maybe once a week you would wonder what he was up to. You knew from old friends like Daichi that he was still coaching for Karasuno, and the thought made you happy. He had found purpose with your team and he had carried on that legacy. 

You wondered if the new managers thought of him like you did in your day. You wouldn’t be surprised. 

You watched him now as he pulled his legs off the counter and sat up straight, watched as he traced his eyes down your figure. It made your breath hitch, and you tried not to smirk.

You hadn’t just gained confidence in the last three years. Tokyo had been really good for your body too. And you knew what this sundress made you look like. There was a reason you had put it on today.

“Hi.” Ukai finally breathed in reply, after what seemed like an eternity. You smiled and stepped closer to the counter, hands meeting the surface softly when you reached him. You watched him squash the cigarette into an ashtray and throw the magazine next to it carelessly, giving you his full attention. 

“Didn’t know you were back in Miyagi.” He began, smiling up at you as he leaned against his arms on the counter. 

You shrugged. “There’s no place like home.”

You immediately cringed at your reply. Ugh, so corny. This is not how you wanted things to go today. You were supposed to act sexy and alluring. To pull him in. 

He chuckled a bit, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. His eyes never left you, only occasionally dipping down to look at your chest. You could tell he was trying to be subtle, but Ukai Keishin didn’t have one subtle bone in his body. The thought made you laugh internally. 

“How’re you doing?” He asked.

“Good! I’m good. You?” 

“Good.”

“Oh, good.”

You visibly did flinch this time, and Keishin snickered before standing up. You blinked in surprise when he leaned over the counter, closer to you.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” 

He had never called you by your first name before. You stared at him and how close he was. Merely ten inches or so away. And you couldn’t find your voice to answer his question.

“We’ve never been close.” He continued. “In fact, we barely spoke. You being here now, wearing,” a pause as his eyes skimmed over your figure, “that. There’s a reason for it. Tell me.”

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, nearly shivering when his eyes lingered on your deep neckline. Your face felt hot.

“I think,” you breathed. “I think it’s pretty obvious. Don’t you?”

He hummed before leaning back again, popping the little tension filled bubble you had created. You let out a breath, watching as he rounded the counter. You stayed rock still, ears perking up when you heard a little click, realizing it was the door being locked. Your nerves buzzed with excitement. Was this really happening?

You nearly jumped when his hand skimmed your side, fingers splaying out over the material of your dress. His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your eyelids fluttered.

“I won’t do anything unless you say so.”

His voice was so low, so gruff, you bit your lip to keep from moaning. You could feel yourself getting wet at the proximity, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him. So you pushed back, your ass brushing his crotch. You sighed when you felt how hard he was, and the thought of it turned you on even more.

Keishin hissed at the contact, hands grabbing your hips tight to hold you in place.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Oh fuck. You flushed. You had missed that, truly. You had missed him being authoritative and imposing, ordering around a whole team to do as he wished. 

“Ukai-san. Please.” You felt your face burn. “Want you.”

“Want me where?”

You whined, making him chuckle before he finally let your bodies come in contact. His front pressed to your back firmly, until you felt every shift of his muscles. His hands that were previously on your hips began to wander, stopping just below your breasts. His hot breath skimmed over the skin of your neck until goosebumps arose, and you pushed back against him again, this time harder.

“You naughty girl.” He breathed, teeth grazing over your skin before he bit down slightly. You leaned your head the other way to give him more access. “You came here just for this, didn’t you? You wanted to sleep with your old volleyball coach?”

At this point you were desperately grinding back on him, his lips mapping your neck like he was starved for you. 

“I don’t see you hesitating.” You replied, loving the push and pull of your bodies, loving how his hips chased after you when you pulled away from him even slightly. 

“You think I can resist this?” His hand traveled under the hem of your skirt, brushing your bare thigh. He traced the skin up, up, up until his fingers skimmed the edge of your panties. He dipped a fingertip into the fabric, feeling how soft you were, how warm you were. And wet. You were so wet for him.

“Fuck.” He groaned, pushing your panties aside just enough to slide a finger through your slit. The pad grazed your clit and you moaned loud, eyes closing in relief.

“You think I didn’t notice how much you stared?” He continued. “I knew. Way back then, I knew. See, I thought it was just a little crush. But here you are, three years later, all grown up and spreading your legs for me. Dirty girl. You’ve been wanting me all this time?”

You cried out when he chose that moment to sink a finger inside you, up to the knuckle, curling it immediately to rub your walls. You squirmed in his hold, but he was strong, strong enough to hold you in place and maintain the pace he had set inside you at the same time. 

“You’re so tight, baby.” He grunted out, another finger joining the first one. “You done this before?”

“I’m not a virgin!” You bit out, trying to keep your legs from shaking. 

Keishin laughed at that. “Sorry, sweets. Did I offend you?”

You wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him you weren’t some goody-two shoes that he probably always thought you were. You wanted him to know that you wanted this. That you craved it. That the thought of sleeping with someone so much older, someone who had been a (sort of) teacher to you, was such a turn on that it made you drip right down his fingers and across his palm. 

The next second, all sensations left you. His fingers and his back disappeared, leaving you cold and empty. Your hands gripped the counter tightly as you watched him round it again, settling lazily into the chair and watching you with half-lidded eyes. You blinked at him in shock.

“You want it bad, right?” He started. “Came all the way here for it. Well, come take it.” 

He leaned back, spreading his legs. Your eyes fell to the massive bulge in his pants as he lit another cigarette, taking a long drag from it. 

You didn’t have to be told twice.

You shakily stumbled to where he was, wasting no time in bunching up your dress and swinging a leg over him to straddle his hips. His smirk was sleazy and so sexy, fumbling with the strings on his sweats to pull them down just enough that his cock sprang out, hard as anything and drooling at the tip. You licked your lips. 

You threw your head back and moaned in satisfaction when you finally sunk down on him, feeling him hit every spot right as he carved into you. He was bigger than any you’d ever had before. It felt heavenly, and as you watched him moan, eyes trained resolutely on you and cigarette still hanging from his lips, you felt like every dirty, wet dream you had ever had about the man was nothing compared to this. 

You rolled your hips, testing the waters with him. His jaw ticked and you knew he was clenching his teeth, hand running over your bare thigh. You reached up to pull the straps of your dress down, lowering the neck until your breasts popped out. 

“Oh, Jesus.” Keishin breathed, hand immediately reaching for one and squeezing. You started bouncing on his cock in earnest, loving the drag of him against your walls, but unable to go as deep as you would like, as deep as you knew he could go, unable to scratch that itch deep in your core. You whined.

“Ukai-san,” you bit your lip and gave him a pleading look. He stared at you for a few seconds before grinning, picking you up by the waist and pulling you off him. You stood on shaky legs, letting him manhandle you, turning you around and bending you over the counter, sliding back in immediately afterward like he couldn’t stand to be out of you for even one more second.

You nearly choked as he set a brutal pace, hands immediately scrambling to find purchase, anything to hold on to as he pounded into you. You let out a long, broken moan when he reached deep, deep inside you, toes curling from the sheer satisfaction of it. God, this was leagues above the dirty fantasies you had cooked in your head. Bent over this counter with your coach’s dick inside you. And he was so good, taking only a few thrusts to figure out the perfect angle to make you scream and clench around him, vision bursting with stars at the sensations coursing through your body. 

Fingers carded through your hair at the back of your head, pulling hard until you were arching off the counter and making contact with Keishin’s body, his other hand reaching up to pinch your nipple hard. You yelped. 

“Look at you,” he moaned, voice lower than you had ever heard it before. “Can’t stop screaming. Slut. Any of your college boys fuck you like this?”

You shook your head as much as his grip would allow, clenching harder around him at his words. You were being entirely honest. In your limited sexual experience, no one had come close to making you feel like this. Whether it was the raw anticipation of it, or if Keishin was really that good, you were already nearing your end. And it had barely been two minutes since he started.

He chuckled, sinking his teeth into your neck. Your eyes rolled up at the feeling. The knot in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter. 

“You needed me to make you feel good, huh?” He groaned into your neck. “Little princess wasn’t satisfied. Needed a man to show you how good a cock can feel.”

You screamed as your muscles seized and the knot snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Keishin fucked you through it, cock driving into you at an unforgiving pace. Your breaths were broken and struggling, trying not to completely fall apart as your vision clouded with tears.

Keishin pulled out of you abruptly, turning you around and setting you on the counter. One look at your flushed, sweaty face had him humming in approval, hooking his hands under your knees to pull your legs apart.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- oral sex (fem recieving) titty fucking, light slapping, breed kink, basically them being cute!

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ this chap- 7k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right? That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU

Chapter 13 ♡ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ♡ Playlist

Chapter 14

Right inside the little courthouse, standing in your wedding dress, with Maki holding your hand, you look at your soon-to-be husband Satoru Gojo. There's a hung over Suguru standing next to him, Nanami and Yuta are clearly hung over in the bench seats as well, but you still focus on that gorgeous man directly across from this room, in his white tuxedo.

Satoru Gojo.

Professor Gojo.

Or, as you know him, Toru.

You’ve come a long way from ‘Professor Dickhead’ and ‘Miss Brat’ haven’t you both? From a bathroom at a club to an undying love, from aching for his touch in your seat to him being constantly all over you. From tentatively becoming boyfriend and girlfriend to being insane and getting married in the span of a few months, it feels so surreal.

You should be worried it’s too soon, worried about this or that, but all you can do is be so damn happy. You just feel euphoric, so enamored of him, by how much you adore him, love him, need him, and are unable to imagine your life without him. Can’t imagine yourself before him.

His eyes catch yours then, and he’s looking up and down your body carefully, before he gets the biggest grin on that handsome face, and instead of waiting for you to walk up to him… well, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about… he decides instead to run to you and pick you up in the center of the room, spinning you in the air, making you giggle breathlessly.

“Toru, stop it! Put me down!” Nanami and Suguru are chuckling, though tired, hungover chuckles, and Maki is just smiling at you two.

“You look so fucking gorgeous . I’m such a lucky man.” He eases you down, hands firm on your waist now, and you look up into his sparkling blue eyes, your lips trembling, arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re insane too, you know. You’re supposed to wait up there for me!” He sighs, stepping back and looking at you again.

“God, this body in this dress…” He kisses you then, lips pressing on yours. You’re clinging to him, sighing into his lips, as his big hands take over your waist, cinched in the pretty wedding gown. “So beautiful.”

“And you’re the most handsome man in the world.” You whisper, looking up at him then, he’s exhaling, blue swirling gaze drinking in your face, as you drink him in, how perfect he looks, how he is your everything.

“Of course I am.”

“You’re also the most insane.”

He smirks now, grabbing your hand and yanking you along to where the justice of the peace is smiling, watching the two of you. “You knew that already.”

“You already kissed the bride!?” Suguru says, hiccuping then, you click your tongue at him.

“Too many shots, Suguru?”

“Yeah, yeah. Your fault.” He grumbles, you just giggle.

“How are you so bright eyed?” Nanami demands, leaning his head back on the bench with a grimace.

“Because I only had like two drinks, silly boys.”

“Silly boys! I’m older than you.” Suguru says.

“Hmm, still silly.” You stick your tongue out, and Suguru chuckles.

“You have your hands full.”

“Oh, I will.” Satoru says, wolfish grin, wiggling his brows, all of the room is laughing now, even Yuta, before he goes back to looking sick.

“Water.” He pleads, Maki hands him a bottle, he chugs and sighs. “I’ll be fine, promise!”

“Ahem, is everyone ready?” Says the young man in front of you now, amusedly watching you all, you nod shyly, taking Satoru’s hands now, your own are getting all sweaty with your nerves.

You’re doing this.

You’re marrying your Professor.

You’re marrying the best lawyer there is.

You’re marrying Satoru Gojo, the love of your life.

It’s like a dream, but it’s your reality, this goofy, silly, gorgeous man, that since you met him, you just cannot stand to live without. How could you ever spend even a day without being in his arms, without looking into the most beautiful set of eyes that existed? Without your favorite person, who has become so dear so fucking fast, as if he’d always been yours?

“Should I bother to say the typical stuff?” He asks Satoru then, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Keep it to the basics. We have our own things to say to each other.” The man nods then, looking at you now.

“Then would you like to go first, with what you’ve prepared?” You nod, taking several breaths to prepare. “Perfect, so we’re gathered here to celebrate the union of…” He says your name, making your heart race faster. “And Satoru Gojo. They’ve both got… well, a lot to say as I’m sure you all know.”

They all laugh, then eyes are on you. You look up into his eyes again, snowy lashes lowered, his face a little more serious, big hands clutching yours tightly, then you know, Satoru is just a little bit nervous too. The most calm and collected lawyer, who can laugh right in the face of any danger, is a nervous thing just like you, something about it melts you even more.

“Satoru, we met… well, in a nightclub. It’s not the most romantic place, is it? But somehow, it was romantic, when I bumped right into you, spilling my drink all over your very nice shirt.”

“It was four hundred dollars.”

“Stupid.” He snorts and you playfully shove him. “Let me finish!”

“Always.” You blush at his tone, then take another breath.

“It was romantic regardless, because it’s you, and you make any place in this world something beautiful, with your presence, with your light that just shines from you, with your beautiful soul.”

“Fuck off, brat.” He whispers, eyes glimmering with tears. You smile, blinking back your own emotions.

“You never let me finish my sentences, you’re so annoying, you’re childish, and you’re basically a hyper kid on chocolate.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.” Suguru agrees.

“You… Satoru Gojo…” You hold his hand, bringing it to your lips, brushing them along the backside of his knuckles. “You fight for what you believe in, you are so authentically yourself, no matter what. You hold true to your convictions, and never waver. You’re so amazing, just as amazing as you like to say you are.” He smiles just a bit.

“I sure am.”

The room rolls its eyes. “You are also the love of my life. Truly, with you, it’s like I finally have a home. I  meant what I said that day, the day I confessed my true feelings, the love in my heart, that I will always be by your side. You never have to worry, or wonder, I’ll be right here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You say, shaking as you do, overwhelmed by so much emotion.

Now you’re wiping his tears, he huffs, swiping them with the back of his hand, as are your friends, even the usually more stoic Nanami is swiping at his eyes. You feel your own tears falling, as you pour your heart out for him, knowing it’s safe to do so, knowing that.

“You accept everything about me, without question, you challenge me, make me think, make me do more, do better . You are the best man I’ve ever met, and I know you’ll be the best husband. And one day, I hope, an amazing father.” Satoru sighs now, resting his head on yours. “I love you Satoru Gojo, and I will love you, until the day I take my last breath, and even after.”

“Shit.” Is all he manages, and you giggle a bit, as now he’s kissing your salty tears, cupping your face.

“I’m ready for this, it’s insane, it’s probably too fast, but our relationship has been fast, intense, a hell of a ride. One I’m never getting off. I love you.” He kisses you again, your hands gently gripping his wrists as he keeps kissing you.

“You know you’re supposed to wait?” The man says, but even he has tears in his eyes.

“She’s a brat, she loves to make everyone cry like her.” Satoru says, and you glare, shoving at him.

“Now, it’s your turn Mr. Gojo. Can you top that?” He teases, clearly he is one of Satoru’s friends. Satoru grins now, nodding, swiping back that silky white hair, and looking down at you, eyes still glassy.

“Miss Brat.” You roll your eyes, giggling at him, looking at Maki for a moment who’s snuggled with Yuta, tissues smushed on her face with Yuta’s hand, not a sight you thought you’d see. Then you look back at your love.

“Professor.” You tease.

“I knew you were trouble the moment you ran into me, you were so clumsy you know.” You glare, and everyone laughs. “You didn’t belong there, something about you just seemed… different. When I first saw your pretty face, it was like a punch to the gut, like I couldn’t breathe for a moment.”

Your turn to be a ball of emotions, you are choking on a sob as he speaks. “You really felt that way?” You ask softly, he nods then.

“Fuck yeah I did, I played it off cool, or tried to, but you tilted my world on its axis, I knew you were so special, without even knowing you. Then, when we reconnected… god I couldn’t get you out of my head. I thought to myself, if I don’t have this girl, I can’t even go on, I need her in my life in some way. I couldn’t get the feel of your lips on mine out of my mind, like a brand on my mouth.”

His every word intoxicates you, touches you so deeply, how can you keep falling ever deeper into him? “Satoru…”

“I love you so much, I can’t even begin to really explain it, me… a man who can never shut the fuck up.” You smile, but it’s getting hard to see now, the tears flowing down your cheeks now. “But you left me speechless, you left me breathless, but then… now, I need you to breathe.”

“Like oxygen.” You whisper back, and he nods eagerly, cupping your face gently once more, thumb brushing your lips.

“Like oxygen. I need you, there is nothing without you, you are my world, and I will do everything to take care of you, every day, no matter what.”

“Oh Satoru…” You’re barely hanging on, in this little court house with a beautiful dress, and a gorgeous soon to be husband, saying things you once only heard in your dreams from him. Now, he’s yours.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness, and in health, for as long as you live?” He asks now, and you nod, taking the beautiful ring that Maki runs up to you, Satoru’s eyes widen at it.

“Of course I do.”

“The ring! It’s badass as fuck.” He says, earning more laughter in the emotional little room, you slide the gleaming jeweled ring on his finger, your own hands shaking so much that he has to hold them again.

“And do you, Satoru Gojo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and health, for as long as you live?”

“Oh, even after I’m gone, I’ll always love you.” He says, and fuck... You hope your waterproof makeup is doing its job, because you’re officially a wreck, when he pulls out a gold band that matches your ring, delicate with little diamonds all around it. Your heart swells when he kisses your hand once more.

“I now pronounce you both, husband and wife. I mean… you already kissed a ton, but, kiss again.” Satoru grins, as do you, then he’s got you lifted in his arms, spinning you in a circle, you cling to him like you did the night you met, when he’d first kissed you.

Your lips meld together, salty tears mixed with sweet breath, he finally eases you to stand, and your friends are clapping for you all, but your eyes are locked on his, as if he is the only thing in this room, in this world. You choke on your cry, sniffling now, but Gojo’s emotional too, as he strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers, tilting your chin up.

“I love you, Miss Brat. Wife. Bratty wife.” You giggle again, leaning up and pulling him down by his jacket, kissing him over and over.

“And I love you, husband. My Toru.” It takes damn near everything to separate the two of you, friends dragging you apart just to get to reception (basically a big ass party you all are throwing) when all you can think of is fucking your husband .

Six Months Later

“All done for the day, Professor Geto.” You are interning with Professor Geto, you finally are done with your first year of law school today, the end of a very insane year. Though the school allowed you and Satoru to have class together, they took you out of any running of his internship, for favoritism reasons.

Little did they know Gojo was still hard on you in class, and pushed you to your limits, he certainly wouldn’t have given you that internship if you had not earned it, but you were lucky enough that Suguru chose you to do his. It was brutal, long hours, but you learned so much with him, it worked out perfectly.

The bonus was that Satoru, Nanami and Suguru all worked close together, and Maki and Yuta interned with Nanami, so you all saw each other constantly. The six of you were extremely close, even though you all had your own lives, especially you and Satoru now more so than ever.

Suguru smiles at you now, lips quirking up. standing and taking the thick binders you have for him. You’re the last one there in the office on his team, as you were trying to get all your work caught up to finish the semester, so that you can help Satoru with his next big case. You yawn again, and he pats your head, tilting his own as he studies you.

“You work too hard, you know. In your condition.”

“Hush!” You shut his mouth with your palm, looking around, and he’s chuckling against it. “What if someone was here!”

“They’re all gonna know next year, anyway, you know you’re gonna have a big ass kid with those Gojo genes.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me! Can you tell!?” You turn now, and he hums to himself, smirking now. “Oh tell me, already Suguru!”

“Not by your tummy, no… but…” He wiggles his brows, and you scowl.

“Oh you perv!” You cover your breasts with your jacket, fuming as you realize it’s not buttoning, only to hear more of him snorting in laughter. “Shit, you’re right.”

“I’m sure Satoru’s loving that.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“You know he won’t leave me alone for two minutes-”

“Shnookums!” Satoru pounces into the room now, leaping to you and bringing you into his strong arms, kissing your neck over and over.

“You all are going to do great, promise.” He says to you both, and you melt, as does Satoru, grinning big at his best friend.

“And you’re gonna be the best Uncle, Sugu.” He says, before grabbing your breasts, and you smack his hands, as Suguru blushes, looking up at the ceiling of his office.

“Jesus, Satoru.”

“Toru, really!?”

“What they’re so comforting to squeeze. Fine…” He lets your breasts go, pressing on your tummy instead. “I just love touching you, been all day I just missed my girl…”

“Go on now, good luck with him, love.” Suguru says, waving you all off as Satoru drags you out of the building, you can barely keep up with him as you dart to the car waiting for you, Ijichi is there to greet you both, smiling tiredly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” You give him a peck on the cheek and a smile, making him blush, before Satoru slides in next to you in the back of the car.

“You can’t just grab my tits like that in front of Sugu!” You huff, shoving at him, and he’s pouting, like he’s an innocent baby, and not a fiend.

“I’m sorry, but they’re so pretty! I just wanna love on you.” He nuzzles your throat now, pulling you to him, and you sigh as you sink into his embrace, inhaling that scent you love so much, body reacting quickly.

“Fine, you get away with it this time. Oh gosh, Toru, everyone will know I’m pregnant next semester. I’ll be a whale.”

“Will not! Don’t be a meanie to yourself. Gonna be beautiful.” He has you on his lap now, sideways, rubbing your tummy gently. You blink back emotions now, and he notices, kissing your lips softly. “Promise you will be.”

“I’m so excited, but so nervous! Do you think I’ll keep up with these studies with a baby?” Your hand joins his over your tummy now, bringing a sense of peace that washes over you, every time you’re with him.

“You are a nerdy brat, you can do it.”

“Hey!” He just chuckles, cradling you in his arms.

“You can do some at home studies for a while, maybe come back to campus in a bit, you know we can just bring the baby to law school. Get it in early.”

“A little scholar, huh?”

“Mmm… it’ll be a challenge, but you got it. We got it, you’re not alone in this, ever. I promise.” Satoru kisses you deeper now, still gently rubbing your tummy, you’re only three months along so not much has changed yet, but you both know, and can tell the smallest changes.

“I know you’ll help me no matter what, we are a team.” You caress his face softly as you speak.

“Damn right, also you’re young, you don’t have to knock out law school so fast, it’s not like you can’t come with me and learn any time. And I’ll be there to teach you, my favorite student.”

“Teach me, hmm?” You tease now, he grins.

“Yes, Miss Brat. You still have a lot to learn, you know. You’re a good student but you have some discipline issues.”

“Me!?”

“Mmm.” Satoru is stumbling with you as you kiss fervently, inside your home now, lips barely leaving yours, only to breathe, you all kick off your shoes, you toss your purse, he tosses his wallet, you yank off his tie, he shoves off your blazer.

You’re slowly just leaving a trail of clothes and items everywhere, until you’re in your bra and panties, tits overflowing already, aching and tender. Satoru’s full lips part, thin nostrils flaring. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, shaking his head slightly, you’re biting your lower lip, eyes lowering shyly, the whirl of the giant fans overhead cooling overheated skin.

“ Fuck… these tits, lemme see em, baby girl.” He pleads, and you unsnap your bra then, exhaling at how good it feels when they’re released, they bounce as they do, and Satoru’s on you in a flash, picking you up and sitting you right on the kitchen table, squishing them in his hands.

“Mmm, be easy, please.” You whisper, as his thumbs brush over your nipples, making you tremble at how sensitive they are already. He exhales, eyes locking as he presses you back gently, one hand sliding up your chest, the other playing with your breast easier now.

“They’re so sexy. Imagine when they’re all full of milk.”

“Toru!”

“What, it'll be hot.” You’re a blushing mess, and he chuckles, kissing down one of your breasts, to your nipple, sucking a peak in his hot mouth. “Mmm.”

“Mmm!” You both moan as he sucks on one, the pressure between your thighs building, the tension coiling in your lower tummy. “Toru…”

“Let me take my time, eager little brat.” He murmurs, now kissing your other breasts, tongue swirling around an areola, before he sucks the nipple in his mouth, making you wetter. You’re grinding your hips on the table, biting your lip, aching for more and more.

“Please…”

“Impatient, hmm?” Satoru’s big hands now slide up your thighs, smirking so sexy as he studies you. “Oh, those thighs love to shift for me, rub together, don’t they?”

“F-fuck off.” He glares then, yanking you off the table, turning you and unzipping your pencil skirt, you laugh breathless when it gets stuck then. “I’m getting all big already.”

“Shut up, you are not. I can’t wait till you do though.” He unzips you finally, revealing your lacy panties, he presses you down now, your breasts on the table, he’s kissing a trail between your shoulder blades.

“Mmm… Toru please touch me.”

“Not yet, patience, remember?”

“Fuck that- ow!” He smacks your backside, making you tremble at how good it feels, eyes fluttering shut when he grabs your ass now instead.

“You know I will still be your professor next semester, expect me to take it easy on you?” He smacks your other cheek now, and your thighs are trembling.

“Well, yes! I’m pregnant with your little baby lawyer!”

“No exceptions or favoritism in my class.” He says, acting so stern, you can’t take how sexy his voice is.

“But you’ll beat my ass, Professor!?”

“It looks so pretty with my hand prints.” He smacks each cheek again, stinging and burning, his free hand now sliding up your spine, entangling in your hair and pulling, you’re soaking wet against your panties, craving his touch. “Aw, you’re so, so eager, aren’t you baby?”

“You’re a tease, Satoru Gojo.” You whine out, earning that sexy chuckle. “I’m hornier more than ever.”

“I know, I love it. And so wet… oh fuck .” He’s rubbing you over your panties now, which are hopelessly soaked, wet spot soaking through. “You’re that wet?”

“Please, Toru…”

“Begging?”

“Mmhmm.” Is all you manage, normally you’d both play, a push and pull, tug of war of sorts, but you are needy for him, you’re clenching around nothing, wanting his fingers, his cock, wanting him .

“So easy for me?”

“Just for you.” You whisper, then he moans, and you hear his belt buckle, you arch up, earning another laugh.

“That easy!?”

“Put it in, please.” You are begging, pleading, arching your ass up, wanting more and more of his touch.

“Fuck…” Satoru is not one to just do that, he loves foreplay, but when he finds your dripping wet folds, pulling your panties to the side and rubbing, he’s moaning. “You’re stupid wet.”

“I know, I know. Please, just- ah!” Satoru slips his tip in barely, groaning as he feels you, you’re dripping all the way down to the kitchen tile, it’s so bad. You look back at him and watch his face contorted in pleasure, then your eyes roll back as his tip hits your clit, rubbing. “Mmm!”

Your clit is twitching under his tip, rubbing on it, and you’re just wetter and wetter, Satoru slides his cock up once more, coated in your slick now, pressing into your entrance, and you’re so ready you fall apart from his tip stretching you. Satoru is groaning, gripping your hips tightly, you’re nearly sobbing it’s so fucking good, when he presses further.

“Toru!”

“Oh my god… you’re so tight.” He whispers, sinking inside fully, so much pressure, you’re cumming then and there, and he stays there for a moment, unmoving, tense behind you. “You cummin already?”

“Fuck it, yes. More, please. Please .”

“Needy little brat.” He’s fucking into you now, tip dragging on your g spot, making you stupid, one hand back to pulling your hair, your thighs he spreads, to slide in with a long stroke once more, filling you so full.

You scream out now, hands gripping on the table as if it will tether you, but you’re falling apart under his strokes, getting wetter and wetter, walls clenching tightly around his cock. His balls are smacking your clit over and over, your ass is jiggling with every thrust of his pelvis, an ass he smacks again, stinging as the cool air above hits it, making you tighten around him more in response.

“Feel so fuckin good, baby girl. So good…” He huffs, slamming in and rolling his hips, tip grinding on your cervix, pulling you more until he has an entire arm wrapped around you.

“You feel s’good Toru…” You whisper back, then he’s flipping you, exhaling and kissing you deeply, you’re shivering when he sits you back on the table, sliding his cock back in, cupping your face with a free hand.

“Need to see your pretty face.” He whispers, and you shudder as he’s sinking deeper, clutching to his bare chest, kissing his lips softly, biting his plush lower lip, before your head falls back, and he’s kissing down your neck.

“Love you. Love you.” You whisper it over and over, now Satoru’s leaning over you, rolling his hips just the right way, until you unravel again for him, he presses every button, pulls every switch, he knows every bit of you. He has known you, the night you even met.

“I love you baby.” He whispers back, your lips slam together, tongues so messy, teeth clicking against each other as you feel his muscles ripple under your hands, as you feel his cock thickening. “Got you pregnant, hmm?”

“You did, you d-did…”

“Making you a mommy.” He murmurs, making your thighs tense around his hips, hands clutching in his silky white hair, desperately kissing him now.

“You did. You - ah - did!” You’re closer to the edge as your husband’s thickening now, throbbing in you, and your eyes lock, those glittering blue eyes that you could drown in for eternity, and never want to take a breath.

“Gonna fill you so good… f-fuck…” Satoru’s crying out right with you, his cock is pumping those ropes of cum inside your velvety walls, filling you so deep. You’re both drinking each others’ cries, moans, whispers, as you both come down, and you’re still feeling the aftershocks, pulsing his cum out down between you.

“Mmm… Toru…” You’re cock drunk, eyes fuzzy as he comes into focus, Satoru is stroking your hair, sighing, pecking little kisses all over your face now. “How is it even better than before?”

“I don’t know, it is though… you never could take me like that. You’re so slutty pregnant.”

“Slutty!” You glare, and he just laughs again, the sound filling you.

“Mmm, still just as tight, just sluttier.”

“Oh you- ah!” He pulls out of you then, picking you up carefully, bridal style, even after half a year of getting married, he likes to carry you to the room like this often, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

Marriage has been not without some trials, sometimes you both got on each other’s nerves, you had little debates and spats. Satoru was messy as fuck, and you didn’t like leaving a mess for the cleaners, he thinks that’s the job anyway, and just wants you to focus on school, or fucking him in every position possible. Or just wants you to look pretty when he gets home.

You are independent and strong willed, he knows you’ll never be his little housewife, and you know he really doesn’t want that, but he jokes all the time. He always pays for everything, and spoils you, buying too much jewelry, too many clothes, and any new gadget he thinks is cool, sometimes you have to take things back you don’t need, and earn his puppy dog eyes.

There are beautiful moments of being married to him, too, like having him constantly be there with you, hold you in his arms at night, and wake up to see his precious face next to yours. And the most beautiful moment so far, was when you all found out you’re having a baby, although you were on birth control, you both were surprised but then both of you had been elated.

You love the little peanut already, that’s what you all call them, they’re too tiny to know a sex yet, and they looked just like a peanut on that ultrasound. Satoru and you had it framed and sitting right on one of the dressers in what would soon be the baby’s nursery, you all have set up some of it already. It’s too early for all that truly, but Satoru got too excited.

And that’s the best part about Satoru, his excitement, his infectious happiness, in the face of anything, though he always shows you how he really feels, when he’s genuinely so happy, it radiates. He makes even the worst days so much better, massaging your back, buying your favorite cappuccino (decaf now, Satoru is reading too much about babies) or anything to comfort you.

And you comfort your husband, rubbing his neck after a long day, running him a bath and washing that silky white hair, bringing him his favorite drink after work. You both constantly read each other, it’s like you can feel what the other is feeling, a constant connection, a beautiful one.

“What are you thinking about, Miss Brat?” Satoru asks softly, he’s sat you on the edge of the sink, starting a hot shower, already steaming in the bathroom, the warm fog filling your lungs.

“How happy we are. How good this is. It feels like…”

“Perfect.”

“That.” He is between your thighs, cupping your face, your head falls back to look up at him. “It’s so perfect, us together.”

“And there are going to be three of us soon.” He murmurs, making you smile, looking down at your tummy, it’s a little poochy, perhaps only you and Satoru notice for now.

“A baby Gojo.” You whisper, smiling then, and he’s hugging you tightly, burying his face against your neck. “I want to be the best parent ever.”

“You will be.”

“And they’ll be… rich already. Holy shit.” You murmur, Satoru’s family had sent a cool five million for the baby, to have when they’re eighteen through a trust. Satoru had scoffed at it, but you did appreciate the gesture, of course Satoru had plenty of money, but your future baby Gojo could do a lot with that to start with.

“They did one decent thing, it’s still fuck them.”

You laugh then. “I’m still team fuck them.”

“Now… let’s shower, we have all weekend to relax.”

“You mean study your case!”

“Well that is relaxing for us.” You step into the hot shower now, head falling back when Satoru begins to suds up your hair, eyes shutting in bliss.

“I so love your hair washing skills.”

“Of course you do. I love washing your hair, little shnookums.” He kisses your forehead after he rinses the fragrant shampoo out, then it’s your turn, but of course he’s so tall he has to sit on the bench seat in the shower for you to wash his hair. “I’m so glad I fucking built this at the right height.”

He’s burying his face between your breasts now, making you giggle, as the hot water cascades down your back, easing stiff muscles. “I was curious that day when you told me to stand there.”

“Had to be at titty height.” You rinse his hair out now, before he stands, turning and sitting you on the new bench, a pretty black granite he’d recently installed. “I also had it made for…”

You hold your breasts together, and he slips his cock between them, already hard again, you whine out at it, at the sexy, lewd sight of his pretty pink tip pressing up between your lush breasts. “Fuck… that’s so…”

“Hot.” He finishes, whimpering out now, and you nod, looking up at him, holding your breasts together for him as he pumps, his free hand caressing your face. “God you’re so pretty .”

“You’re pretty.” He smirks down at you, now you’re spitting down his cock, making him lose it, he kneels once more, spreading your thighs right on the bench. “Aww look, she missed me.”

“You just fucked- ah!” You scream out when he’s lapping at your pussy, your head is resting back on the tile walls, his mouth devouring your pussy, blue eyes looking up at you, lashes dripping wet, water falling all over his perfect skin. “Toru…”

“Shh, let me and her talk. Rude.” You laugh but it’s cut off as he sucks your engorged little clit into his mouth, humming on it then, you’re gushing arousal all over his mouth, legs shaking violently, panting as it overtakes you. His hands glide down and up your slick thighs, fingers pressing in as he works you.

Your pussy is drooling down his mouth, he’s groaning as he keeps lapping at you, your screams echoing in the shower now. You’re starting to come down, so sensitive just his breath makes you jerk, and he relishes in it, in making you so weak and losing all your senses except how good he feels, how your entire body is just humming for him.

“You’re so yummy, Miss Brat.” Satoru slides back up, sitting on the bench with you now, pulling you into his lap. You look at him, grinding against his length. “Look at you, such a mess.”

“You make me that way.” Your words damn near slur, the heat of the shower, the orgasms, Satoru himself sapping it all from you.

“I love this bench.” You smile just a bit at his enthusiasm.

“You’re so cute- ah!”

“Cute, huh?” He’s shoved his full eight plus inches so deep in your pussy, grabbing your ass and slamming you down his length, stuffing you so full.

“Toru, fuck !”

“Not so cute, now. Aww, poor baby can’t take dick?” You glare, earning his grin, positioning your knees on either side, clinging to his back with your fingers, slipping and sliding, and lifting yourself, breasts pressed against his chest.

“Give it to me, Professor.” You whisper, only for him to pick you up then, pressing your back against the shower wall, fucking into you so deep it hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re falling apart in his grasp.

“Bratty, slutty student.” He huffs, shoving up, your thighs clinging to his slender hips as he pumps into your eager little pussy.

“I’m a… good student… fuck, fuck, fuck!” He bites the fuck out of your neck now, with those sharp teeth, you gasp as your pussy is clenching around him.

“A good girl, are you?”

“Yes!” You breathe out, between pumps.

“Mmm… you feel good, but I don’t know. Should I let you cum?”

“Please!”

“Since you asked so sweetly.” He pulls back his head, shoving his cock inside you, watching you, studying you, your eyes flutter shut as you’re about to cum once more, but he grabs your chin. “No, look at me.”

So you do, you struggle to keep those eyes open, looking at him as you’re cumming even harder than before, so hard you’re crying, tears slipping down your cheeks. “T-Toru…”

“Aw, you crying?” You just nod weakly, moaning out, and then he’s pulsing inside you. “So fucking pretty crying for me, too.”

He busts inside you now, groaning as he finds his release, clinging to your body, crying out, filling you up so full. “Yes, yes… fill me.”

“Two loads already, so slutty.”

“You… you’re slutty.” You manage, both of you laughing then, he eases you down on wobbly legs now, holding you by your hips.

“And you’re weak.”

“Fuck you!”

“I just did.”

“Sure did.” You’re grinning, and you both laugh, before you kiss each other, and clean up further.

Later on, you both are having dinner, while Satoru has his next case sprawled all over the table. You both snuggle up next to each other on the couch as he spreads files, pictures, and notes out on the table, nibbling on take out together, the white boxes and little red symbols and chopsticks, no dishes for you all. You look over the glossy eight by ten photos as you nibble on your rice.

“She was my age, fuck.” You say softly, as you look at the picture now, she was a pretty young woman, a young environmental activist as well.

“The worst part, she had a kid.” You sigh, putting the food down, and touching your tummy without thinking, and Satoru wraps an arm around you, protective and strong. “I know, baby.”

“Fuck… so the suspect is this guy?” You tap a nice looking guy with glasses.

“Mmm, yeah but I don’t know if I should buy it.”

“You think he’s a scapegoat?”

“Sure the fuck do.”

“So who are the suspects?”

“Him, him and him. They’re all super corporate, rich as fuck, whereas the guy I’m representing is Pro Bono, so he’s…”

“Not wealthy at all.” You finish.

“Exactly, they wanna pin this shit on him. This is something on the higher ups, too.” The distaste is apparent in Satoru’s voice. You snuggle to him now, and he brushes your hair back, kissing your forehead gently.

“We’ll help them, if he’s wrongly convicted, you’re the best defense attorney there fucking is.”

“And you’re going to be the best prosecutor there is.”

“Imagine us going against each other!?” He laughs then, shaking his head at you. “Bet I’d kick your ass.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“Whatever!” You both pour over more of the documents together, it’s been a while since you could help with a case with school, but the break will be so lovely, so much time spent with your husband. “I’d win.”

“You wish, little brat. Damn, our baby is gonna be a menace.” He says, smirking, and you grin so big, images flitting through your mind.

“The most competitive lawyer ever!”

You both laugh then, eventually setting aside the evidence, Satoru is putting on a movie, but you’re not paying much attention, starting to feel sleep tug at you. You’re yawning, and Satoru is stroking your waist gently, you snuggle even deeper against his hard body, letting the warmth sink in.

“You’re always sleepy now. Can’t make it past a trailer.” He teases, you sigh, hiding another yawn.

“It’s the baby I think. It’s like sucking all my energy.”

“Gonna be a six foot tall kid.”

“Let’s hope they take after the shorter side of this family!” His shoulders shake with his laughter.

“Ugh, family though.” He says softly.

“Family.” You repeat lovingly, cupping his face and looking up at him. “Let us get some rest, we can study more tomorrow.”

“You wanna cuddle, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Anything for you, Shnookums.” Satoru carries you to the bed. “Spoiled, lazy little thing.”

“You spoil me on purpose.” You snatch his best pillow with a wicked grin, earning his narrowed eyes.

“I’ll tickle you to death.”

“No! Fine, we’ll share then, meanie.” He snuggles behind you, long limbs taking over much of the bed, even as big as it is, wrapping around you tightly. You feel such peace, so comfortable, you can barely hold your eyes open for another minute.

“You’re like a little old lady, always crashing out. Drooling.” He says then, stroking your tummy gently, he’s been doing it since he found out. Your hand joins over his own, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“I’m too comfy, your fault.”

“Is it now?”

“Admit your guilt.” He’s grinning, you’re trying to keep your eyes open, but Satoru feels too heavenly.

“I admit no fault, brat.”

“Mmm… contempt of my court.”

“You’re silly. Go to sleep.” You both smile against each other’s lips, and you fall fast asleep, dreaming about this baby on the way, dreaming of Satoru holding a baby in his arms, and the love in your heart, like you’ll burst.

Satoru studies the smile on your sleepy face, wondering just what it is his pretty student thinks of, before burying his face against your neck, and falling fast asleep, where he feels so damn good, with you in his arms.

Taglist: @jjknanamin @chiyokoemilia @marie-is-in-the-dark @seeing-stars-alt @maskedpacific @aldebrana @toffeebrat @antisocialinlw @trishiepo0 @jkslaugh97 @makingtimemine 

Final Chapter

[onlyhereforthestories]

Sing, Well, Try To Sing For You (Mapi Leon and Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 14. This is the first time I have tried writing a three person relationship. I hope you enjoy, can't believe there only 10 days left of this!

The snow had started falling just after sunset, a steady drift of large, soft flakes that blanketed the street outside and made the night feel like a scene from the snow globe you knew was sitting on your windowsill in the other room. Inside the warmth of Mapi and Ingrid’s cozy apartment, the three of you were settled in for a festive, low-key evening. A string of Christmas lights cast a gentle glow around the living room, where the three of you had a small Christmas tree set up, already half-buried in gifts you’d been excited to exchange.

You had yet to move in with your lovers having been in a relationship with them for a little over a year now. The two of them taking a liking to you the instant you joined Barcelona two seasons ago but taking a little while to work out their feeling and the logistics of said feelings for you. They had finally brought it up with you just before Christmas last year at the club you and the team had gone to in order to celebrate the holidays. Mapi and Ingrid had saved you from a weird man trying to grind on you on the dance floor and had confessed that they were more than just protective of you because you were a teammate. Luckily for all of you, you had felt the same way about the women just didn’t know how to approach a conversation around it.

This all lead you to the here and now, where Ingrid set down three mugs of steaming hot cocoa, each one topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. “I think that’s the last of the whipped cream,” she said, her cheeks pink from a combination of the heat and the sight of you and Mapi curled up together on the sofa.

“Perfect, just in time,” Mapi said, grabbing her mug and settling herself back on the couch, patting the space on the other side of her. A gesture that made you pout a little in protest to not have the Norwegian sandwiching you between them. “Can’t do karaoke without fuel.”

You raised your eyebrows, your mind shifting away from the thought of being sandwiched by your lovers. “Karaoke? We didn’t exactly decide on that yet,” you teased, knowing full well Mapi had been hinting at it since earlier in the day.

Mapi shot you a playful grin, tossing a pillow your way only to be scolded by Ingrid about the steaming mug of cocoa you had in your hand and how that could end up in your lap burning you. “Oh, come on! It’s Christmas. What else are we going to do? Go stand outside in the snow?”

Ingrid laughed, snuggling close to Mapi and pulling the fluffy blanket over all three of you. “You’re both lucky. My usual Christmas karaoke partners have been my family back home and trust me, my dad’s version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ is something no one should have to hear.” There was a small grimace on her face as she spoke, a testament to how bad it really must be.

You snorted, imagining Ingrid’s typically reserved dad belting out the holiday classic, and leaned in to make your pitch. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try,” you said. “But don’t expect any Grammy-winning vocals. I am no Adele.”

Mapi grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, we’re definitely expecting something memorable.”

Grabbing her phone, she queued up a playlist of Christmas karaoke songs, and before you could change your mind, the familiar opening notes of All I Want for Christmas Is You began to play. Mapi shot up, hand outstretched in your direction like a microphone, her eyes daring you.

“You’re first,” she said, bouncing slightly with excitement. She had been waiting to rope you into her singing antics for the last week or so, knowing full well Ingrid would only get involved if you did. The Norwegian was powerless to saying no to the both of you together.

Giggling, you took an exaggerated breath and launched into the first verse, immediately straying off-key. You were painfully aware of how shaky your voice was, but a quick look at Mapi and Ingrid’s laughing faces only spurred you on. You poured your heart into each word, completely butchering the notes, throwing in an extra dramatic flair as you went. Your hands were thrown out left and right and you even tipped your head right back when you were trying, and failing, to hit the higher and longer notes.

Ingrid was beside herself with laughter, her face buried in her hands, while Mapi watched in wide-eyed delight. By the time you hit the chorus, you were practically yelling, arms outstretched as if you were performing for a sold-out arena.

Bagheera was sleeping peacefully on the arm next to Ingrid when you had all settled in, she was now sat up looking in your direction in as much disgust as a cat could display. As you started the chorus the cat had obviously had enough, meowing her distaste and jumping off the sofa before quickly heading for your open bedroom door. Mapi finally lost it, doubling over with laughter and clapping her hands. “I, dios mio, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

You shrugged, looking unbothered. “What? You were the one who asked for karaoke.”

Ingrid tried to contain herself, though she was still giggling. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone commit that hard to singing a song that off-key before. You really went for it.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you warned, grabbing the imaginary mic and thrusting it toward her. “Now it’s your turn!”

She gave you a look of wide-eyed horror, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’m any better,” she protested, but with Mapi’s look of encouragement and pure eagerness, she finally took a breath and began singing along to Last Christmas.

To your surprise, Ingrid’s voice was soft and surprisingly melodic, though she was shy about hitting some of the higher notes. Mapi looked at her with a proud smile, nodding along to the beat, and you couldn’t help but join in, trying to match you tune with her, which was impossible for you. Eventually, you pulled Mapi in, and soon all three of you were singing at the top of your lungs, Ingrid’s occasional nervous giggles blending into her notes.

Mapi put her arm around both you and Ingrid as she danced and sang along, her loud and raspy voice making each note sound hilariously exaggerated. You watched her, laughing so hard you were practically doubled over, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was having a blast.

When the song ended, you were all out of breath and still chuckling. Mapi grabbed the imaginary microphone back and put on a low, dramatic voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, next up, I give you…” She made a drum roll with her hands, looking pointedly at you. “The Christmas Karaoke Champion!”

You groaned, already laughing again. “Mapi, I think you’re just saying that because I’m the worst singer here.”

“Not at all,” she replied, adopting a very serious expression. “In fact, you are by far the most memorable.”

She queued up Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and as soon as the song started, you began belting out the lyrics, sounding more like a drunk in a club than anything resembling the original tune. Mapi doubled over in laughter, thoroughly enjoying your enthusiasm, while Ingrid clapped along, nodding with an encouraging look directed your way.

When you finally reached the end of the song, you took and over the top bow, before thanking your fans like Elvis would have “Thank you, thank you very much!”

Ingrid was giggling as she took the “mic” from you, cueing up Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. She and Mapi singing surprisingly well together. Mapi threw an arm around Ingrid’s shoulder, swaying her slightly with the beat, while Ingrid’s eyes sparkled as she playfully matched Mapi’s energy, swaying just as much as the shorter woman.

“Look at you two!” you teased. “A match made in karaoke heaven.”

Mapi shot you a grin, twirling Ingrid around. “All part of the show, love,” she said, before she dipped Ingrid in dramatic fashion causing the tall brunette to break out into a fit of giggles.

After a few more songs, the karaoke session began to morph into a full-on dance party. The three of you decided to abandon any attempts at singing and instead began grooving along to the holiday tunes blasting from the speakers. Mapi grabbed your hands, spinning you around the living room as Jingle Bell Rock played. She was a surprisingly good dancer, her movements loose and fun, her infectious energy impossible to resist.

Meanwhile, Ingrid took over with some light hearted dance moves, waving her arms and bouncing around with an enthusiasm that sent you into another round of laughter. Watching her, you couldn’t help but join in, mimicking her movements and earning a playful shove.

The three of you kept dancing until you were all out of breath, collapsing in a heap on the couch. Ingrid was on one side of you and Mapi the other, a blanket had been pulled over all your laps and your mugs had been abandoned on the coffee table.

“That,” Ingrid said with a sigh, “was the best workout I’ve had all season.”

Mapi smirked, nudging her with her elbow. “You think the team would be on board if we pitched holiday karaoke as part of training?”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows, considering it. “Maybe we just don’t mention the off-key singing part?”

You chuckled, nestling deeper into the warmth of the moment. “I think that might be an essential part of the experience.”

Mapi nodded in agreement, pulling you and Ingrid closer. “Agreed. No real karaoke session is complete without a little, what should we call it, personal flair.”

[pearynice]

When Steve is 10, he wins his very first basketball championship.

He’s ecstatic, practically vibrating with joy as his teammates storm the court, screaming and cheering and throwing their arms around one another. He doesn’t think about the sweat stains on his jersey, or his limp hair, or his reddened knees from falling on the court earlier in the game. They won, and the simple joy of that fact balloons within him, buoyed further by his teammates' cries and slaps on the back. 

They’d just decided where to have their post-game celebration, players finally breaking off to find their parents, when his mother pulls him aside.

“Hi honey,” and she looks beautiful in her crisp white dress, “let's get you cleaned up.”

And before Steve’s allowed to go to Benny’s with the rest of the team, his mother fixes his hair and wipes down his sweat and makes him presentable. 

She does not mention the game.

——

When Eddie is 10, he’s in his very first play.

He’d auditioned for Peter Pan, but Michael McDonald got the role instead. His drama teacher told him that while talented, Eddie just doesn’t fit as Peter Pan.

Eddie doesn’t understand those words until opening night, when Michael’s on stage next to Mary-as-Wendy, and Eddie realizes that Michael sucks. His lines are flat, he keeps making awkward eye contact with the audience, and he can never find the spot on stage he needs to be. 

Eddie knows he would’ve been better. But, as he waits on the sidelines for his cue, he watches how the audience is hooked on Michael, anyways. Michael, with his golden hair and bright blue eyes and easy smile and the everything Eddie doesn’t have. 

Eddie will never be Peter Pan because he doesn’t look like a Peter Pan.

——

When Steve is 17, Nancy Wheeler calls him bullshit. 

It shouldn’t be such a surprise because of course, of course she wasn’t with him for him. Of course, she thinks it’s bullshit, because Steve is only worth it skin deep, and anything that shallow is, certainly, bullshit. 

——

When Eddie is 17, their band has their first performance at The Hideout. They’d lied about their age to get the gig, but no one had even checked their IDs, so Eddie doesn’t feel that bad about it.

It’s a Tuesday night, so the place is far from packed, but it doesn’t matter. They give it everything they have, Gareth only 14 and tearing up the drums, and Eddie thinks it might be the best night of his life.

After, sweaty and exhausted and exhilarated, they each order a beer and giggle like middle schoolers when they’re actually served. 

Eddie notices her, then, tall and lean with bright red hair- and Eddie normally doesn’t swing that way but this girl is stunning. And he’s still riding that post-concert high, so he approaches her like he’s invincible and tries to chat her up.

It’s a firm rejection. She smiles at him, almost pitying, until her friend rolls up and tells him how awesome they were, on stage.

And it’s like a switch flips. Because the no turns into buy me a drink and suddenly the stunning redhead is interested and has her hand on his arm and her eyes are on his and he should be happy but all he has is a cold pit in the center of his gut. 

Because of course she would only be interested after learning he’s in a band, because no one would want to go home with him, not until they realize he has something to make up for it with.

——

When Steve is 20 and Eddie is 21 they go on their first date. And then several more, after that. And then, one night, naked in bed, they make it official.

Steve is falling. He wants to catch himself but he also doesn’t, wants to stay in the beautiful free fall of falling for Eddie Munson. 

Eddie’s falling, too. He doesn’t have the words for it, yet, that Steve does, but they will come. For now, he knows that he’d do anything to see Steve smile, and if he could crawl inside Steve’s chest and live there for the rest of his life, he probably would. 

It takes a while for it to begin to bother him, but Eddie’s constant compliments are always on his looks. He runs his hands down Steve’s arms and over his back and trails his fingers through his hair because he wants to make it perfectly known to Steve that he’s gorgeous, that he’s breathtaking and mouth watering and how fucking lucky Eddie is. 

(Because Eddie never wants Steve to feel like he did.)

Steve, however, doesn’t want to believe it, but the lingering memories of bullshit is all he can think about when Eddie kisses his cheek and calls him beautiful. Eddie is different, he reminds himself. Eddie loves me, completely. But Nancy had said the same thing, and that had been a lie.

It bubbles up eventually, of course. Hurt festering until it becomes bigger than it really is, deep-seated insecurities creating fault lines only visible to Steve, who wonders, in turn, how it’s possible Eddie doesn’t.

——

“You were so cute!” Eddie croons, pointing delightedly at the young-Steve staring back at them, “look at you, in your little jersey!”

He doesn’t know how the photo album made it to his and Robin’s new place, but here it is, in Eddie’s lap and his boyfriend is pouring over the old photographs.

Eddie turns the page, another delighted giggle escaping his lips as he does. Steve remembers the photo, remembers his mom forcing the starched collar close to his neck and tying the tie too tight. 

Eddie coos again, “look at your little suit!”

He turns the page, oohing and aahing at each photograph, while Steve’s memories resurface of his mother’s fussing hands, combing his hair and fixing his shirt collar and plucking lint from his sleeves until Steve was hyper aware of it all. Until he couldn’t go out without freshly laundered clothes and perfectly styled hair, until he tied his worth to his looks in a knot that Steve feels tightening the more Eddie speaks.

“O-kay,” Steve tries, grabbing for the album, “we don’t need to go any further down memory lane.”

Eddie dodges, leaping off the couch and away from Steve, “oh, we absolutely do, pretty boy, because this is a gold mine.”

He flips the page again, beaming, and turns it so Steve can see.

He’s older in this one, maybe eleven, and it’s certainly at Christmas time. He hadn’t been allowed to open presents in his pajamas because his mother wanted to be able to take photos, so he’s sat in front of the Christmas tree in khakis, his hair combed and parted and it makes Steve’s skin itch just looking at it.

“Look at your little outfit! Your hair!” Eddie says, eyes bright as he flips the album back over to look at it. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, trying very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “we can drop it, Eds.”

Eddie pouts, his bottom lip jutting out, “but Steve,” he whines, and turns the album again, “I can’t say no to this face.”

He points at another photo, Steve doesn’t even look at it. Hurt and anger and annoyance are burning within him, because all the things Eddie’s pointing out is everything Steve hates- and how could that be what Eddie loves?

Eddie goes on, tapping on the photo, his bottom lip still jutted out, “I love this face.”

“Is that all you can ever say?” Steve challenges, voice bordering on a shout, his face already flaming at the outburst. He doesn’t know what does it, this time, out of all the other times Eddie’s tread on similar ground.

Eddie’s face freezes, the ghost of his previous smile still on his face like he’s not quite sure what Steve just said. “What’s that?” He asks, voice still light, an air of uncertainty in his tone.

The fracture in Steve’s resolve splinters further, the fault lines cracking through completely. “That’s all you ever say, Eddie!” And he stands, anxiety and uncertainty catapulting him from the couch, “you love my face and my hair and all of the bullshit things that don’t fucking matter. Because what happens when what I look like isn’t enough for you, anymore? Are you sure you actually fucking love me?”

His chest heaves at the final words. It feels good to get it out, like a thorn’s been finally wrenched from his side.

But Eddie’s face splits. His humor falls away to reveal the shocked and horrified expression underneath, his mouth dropped open and his eyebrows knitted together in concern, tears already shining in his big brown eyes. 

“I-” Eddie gasps out, like the very breath hurts. He tosses the photo album to the side and takes a step closer to Steve.

“Of course, of course I love you, Steve- how- why-” Eddie stutters, shaking his head, “I love you, all of you, if I ever-” he breaks off again, gaze falling upwards as he worries at his bottom lip. 

Steve’s breathing heavily, his outburst of anger now quickly melting into sadness, his shoulders dropping as Eddie continues to stand there.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie whispers, voice thick, “I thought I was doing this right- the fact that I made you feel like that…” he trails off, his hands flexing at his sides. “I love you for everything you are.”

And now that it’s all spilled out of him, now that it's hanging in the air around them and Steve can see Eddie’s response- he feels ridiculous.

Of course, Eddie loves him. Steve’s overreacted, let the hurt from his past influence this- them- the best thing that could’ve possibly happened from spring break. 

He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Soaked in Eddie’s words for what they really are and not let his insecurities get in the way. Because now his boyfriend- ever the crier- has tears silently falling down his face as he glances back down to meet Steve’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, and takes another step towards Steve, reaching for his hand.

Steve meets him halfway, gripping Eddie's hand tightly when they meet. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, Eddie, I’m-”

“If you’re about to apologize,” Eddie interrupts, “don’t, please.”

Steve quiets, and Eddie still has tears falling down his face.

“I love you because of who you are, Steve. You are kind and funny and so fucking smart, you’re the best friend any of us could ever ask for and you’re so selfless it hurts me, sometimes, watching you do more for those kids than half their parents have ever done. You’re loyal and brave and endlessly hardworking, you’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, and you do it all with such ease sweetheart- like you’re not even trying, you’re just so good- through to the very heart of you.” Eddie places a hand over Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry I haven’t said it enough,” he whispers, “but everything you’ve got in here, Stevie, is why I love you.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining, tears caught in those long lashes, clumping them together, and he’s so earnest, because Eddie is nothing if not wholly earnest. 

It makes Steve feel irrational all over again. 

But it feels good to hear. The words settle in his bones until the weight of them find their place, settling his nerves and calming his breaths. 

Eddie loves him. Loves him for all of the things Steve tries so hard to be. Eddie can see it, even if it got the effortless part of it wrong. 

Eddie gives the lightest tug to Steve’s hand and he follows willingly, collapsing into his boyfriend’s embrace without preamble. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Eddie whispers into his skin again, arms right around his middle, “I love you so much, sweetheart, and now I���m never going to shut up on all the different ways okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, suddenly exhausted.

Eddie pulls them onto the couch. He settles Steve in his lap so his side is pressed to Eddie's chest and he can bury his face in Eddie’s neck.

His boyfriend’s long hair tickles his face, but his skin smells clean and soapy and presses warmly against Steve’s cheek.

Eddie’s hand rubs soothingly up and down his back and Steve melts further, the insecurities that he’d been forcing down for so long finally freed.

“I’m so glad you told me, Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “Please always tell me stuff like that.”

His breaths even now, Steve nods. “Okay.”

——

Eddie keeps his promise.  His hands are still everywhere, all the time. He’ll place a hand on the small of Steve’s back or thrust a leg over his on the couch, but his honeyed words drip praises of you’re my favorite person to spend time with and I love the sound of your voice, until those words sink deeper than bullshit ever did, until the ghosts of starched collars and perfectly combed hair don’t feel so haunting. Until the supportive weight of Eddie’s hand in his goes far past skin deep.

Somewhat of a part 2 here ✨