#my initial impulse was that i must have dropped it last night

[cinematicnomad]

so my wallet was stolen. either last night (the last time i remember seeing my wallet) or this afternoon (when i was out and about), but i suspect it was stolen while on my date!! bc all the fraudulent charges (over $8k worth!! on my personal cards AND my work card) were made like 15 min away from where we were. and my true crime paranoia brain wonders if he had anything to do with it bc he ended the date v suddenly literally right about when i now know was the first fraudulent charge and made no mention of meeting up again. which at the time i chalked up to it just being an average date but now i wonder if its bc he helped fucking rob me. which i have no proof of but. what the fuck.

which as i was typing this, one of the banks called me back to tell me some other places the thief’s tried to use my card and told me that they’re usually v fast so it would be surprising if it was stolen last night and when i told him my theory he was like “i would trust your gut on this” and said that in cases like this, usually the victim is targeted and that's what he assumes happened here.

anyway! fuck my life!!

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - two

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader x sorta canon!rafe; doesn't exactly follow the real plot line but...it does?; am i turning this into a series? maybe.

word count: 6k...

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination. 

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that. You knew better.

Despite that...You found it impossible to look at him for the next forty-eight hours. In fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound. Self-sufficiency had long been your norm. Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age. 

Initially, there was clearly tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of his presence inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it gave you whiplash. 

In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets.

Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frustration growing in your chest.

He was so fucking insufferable. 

"Oh, so you've got a better suggestion?"

He shot you a glare, but you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky, "I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"Hell no?” you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "C'mon,” he scoffed, "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness.

On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause.

There was no third chance. 

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

“I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not about to let us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom. 

As night fell, you both moved with practiced stealth, with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat. The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards.

Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back.

Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention. The sound was louder than you expected. But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat. 

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a little hope. For the first time in months, freedom was within your reach.

As he guided the boat out of the harbor, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

“See? I told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed. "Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride," he said, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving.”

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing. The silence between you was a common thing, the hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the night. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding. You kept scanning the horizon, every wave hiding a potential threat.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but still edged with that irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him.

“No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, the easy bravado slipping for just a moment, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints.”

“At least they’re not murder—”

You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching again as he ground his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger you could feel radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water with renewed urgency.

The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed.

What could you possibly say? Apologize?

There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him. Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. And you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words.

It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind and he still refused to show remorse if not between four walls with you. Never out in the open, never too loud.

You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the weight of the past not letting you calm down the way you really wanted to. It was done.

And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, like it was never ending, you hated every minute of it.

After what felt like an eternity, light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn. You breathed a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats," he instructed, his voice curt and businesslike.

He was all focus still, that calculating side that had always unnerved you. 

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently. The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, breaking the silence. Your voice was softer, dulled by the exhaustion.

"We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you want to get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end.

Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death. 

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of guilt from what you’d almost said before.

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you continued, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly; the hard edges of his demeanor were momentarily blunted by your words. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before.

“If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you. The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage. With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence.

Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead.  

You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your brow furrowing in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness.

In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps. Traitor.

You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet. The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees. It was larger than you had expected, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps.

As you walked, an uneasy feeling crept over you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, maybe it was just the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year.

After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island.

The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you said, nodding towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Rafe followed closely behind you, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the dimly lit room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what?

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly hid your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a talent for getting what he wanted.

To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," he said, his tone disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks. 

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you; his expression unreadable. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind. His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual brooding demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump,” Rafe said, his tone light but with an underlying note of exhaustion. "But it'll do for now."

You sank onto the edge of the bed, resting the mattress. “Better than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised. We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization click on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got just one room with one bed."

“I can sleep on the floor, relaaax.”

You shot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Seriously? You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "Why not? It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that.

Instead, you only stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none.

Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind.

As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't ignore the possibility that this was only the calm before the storm. It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. 

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. The sight of him trapped in a nightmare weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, despite the walls he put up, you didn’t like to see him in pain. It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

"Rafe," you whispered softly, trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up."

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear nearly knocked you out instantly but your body instinctively started against his hold as you struggled to break free.

Muscle memory and all.

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out in a strangled whisper as you clawed at his hands, desperate for him to let go. But he was so lost in the grip of his nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as the world started to blur around the edges, darkness creeping into your vision while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him again, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp.

“Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat disappeared, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed.

Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

It was a startling thing to witness , seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, instinct kicked in again,and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you like a lifeline. 

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft sound of your heartbeat. "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. The weight of his body against yours was oddly comforting, grounding you and pushing back the memories of his violent outburst just moments before.

After a while, Rafe pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you "I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his blonde hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I know," you whispered softly, “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You didn’t know why you offered him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light. 

"Yeah," you admitted, "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

Then, Rafe spoke again, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression told you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once,

“Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing.

He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

But you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

With a sigh, you reached out and gently grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded. 

"Okay, okay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you on the bed. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you.

“Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fitful sleep and restless dreams, but somehow, with Rafe by your side, it felt bearable.

When morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes, brb. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you.

Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, probably sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night. It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions. You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

You got up from the bed and stretched. You needed a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed yourself properly, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl.

You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets if you stayed another night.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a dream, washing away the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you like a comforting embrace as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles. You focused on washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you.

Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness.

Another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep. And it terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence. 

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air and with a towel wrapped snugly around your body, you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction.

His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you. As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a withering glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall.

There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about. Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

As you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast.

As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day. It was strange, hearing him talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to go through life on his family’s wealth and influence.

But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him. He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan. Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began, your tone light as you tried to sound casual, "I've been curious—why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know," he admitted his voice casual but tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?” 

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table. You knew what that meant. 

You leaned forward as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catched you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness.

You straightened up as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his. 

"It’s not important," he snapped,"Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled at his harsh tone, the way he spoke down at you making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this.

But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You blurted out, frustration taking over your mouth.

You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely as he locked onto your gaze, "I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted,"I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

The words stung like a slap to the face.

You felt the color drain from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, “You think I don't carry that guilt with me every single day?"

His words caught you off guard, the raw emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door.  “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I’m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, “I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wanted to say.

“Right,” You swallowed, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours, “You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch seemed to tingle between tenderness and roughness, with soft, gentle kisses blending seamlessly with fervent, desperate ones, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. It felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. Like he was trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words, everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it. 

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t keep kissing me to avoid questions.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his stubbled jawline, "It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell. But then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

"I know," he murmured against your lips,"But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "Yeah," you whispered, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come. 

[moongurl95]

My Chaos and Revelry

Obviously inspired by 'But Daddy I Love Him' from TS' new album - TTPD has left my mind broken enough to think this song is totally Seb-coded the first time I heard it. Also to the Swifties who grew up from 'Love Story', this one's for us! Divider credits here and here

Summary: “But, daddy, I love him!” I tried to make him hear me out –

“A mere boy from your school could never –“

“I’m having his baby!”

You’d be able to hear a pin drop at the ensuing silence that followed.

In which Sebastian is our wild boy and MC is just tired of all the bitching and moaning.

(One-shot also posted on AO3)

“You, young lady, have no shame!”

I couldn’t care less how scandalized her voice sounded, not giving her a chance to button up my dress as I ran barefoot out my bedroom, the wooden floorboards loudly announcing my presence as I neared.

“You can’t keep me caged here all winter! In a few months’ time I’ll be graduating from Hogwarts with the highest of honors – Please…” His gaze, so much like my own looked at me with such utmost patience as he let out a sigh –

“What a mess.” The firm grasp of hands on my shoulders from behind felt all too eager to take me back to my bedroom – my prison since I came home for Christmas break.

“Be a dutiful daughter and just follow your mother –“

“Sarah is NOT my mother!” I glared over my shoulder to see the woman, who my father married after his first wife’s untimely demise, clutch at her pearls – those were MY mother’s pearls.

“That is enough from you –“

“But, daddy, I love him!” I tried to make him hear me out –

“A mere boy from your school could never –“

“I’m having his baby!”

You’d be able to hear a pin drop at the ensuing silence that followed, the looks on my father and stepmother’s faces had me biting at my lip to keep from bursting out laughing – I wasn’t, yet, in any way – though he only took my anxious state as a sign that I may not be joking.

“Sarah – please, if you could be a dear.” I watched my father find the nearest chair to sit himself as I let myself be led back to my room, almost regretting my impulsive choice of words, but I wouldn’t stand to be ripped away from who my heart truly wants.

“Isn’t she the Baron’s daughter? Quite precocious I hear, must have high hopes of marriage for her?”

“Yes, well, that was before she went off to that boarding school in Scotland –“

The hall now felt suffocating with the scent of wine as I moved towards the nearest terrace, closing my eyes against the judgemental creeps while willing their sanctimonious soliloquies into nothing but white noise – wasn’t today supposed to be the best of Sundays? Christmas day, no less.

My hands were now twitching to pull my hair out of its woven braid, oh how I missed flying through the Highland winds, wildly whipping tendrils of my locks to his face as he pulled me closer to his warmth –

“There you are, and here I thought you’d be spending the holidays at the school like you usually did the last two years.”

“Hannah.” I opened my eyes and levelled the other with a stare – I was initially glad to have seen a familiar face in Hogwarts, especially in the same House – Anyone could be a snake, yet I was too late to realize that it takes a certain kind of person to be a viper.

“I was right to tell Aunt Sarah how you should stay away from him, honestly!” She moaned out as if in empathy of my situation, “All these promising marriage proposals and you choose a – a wild boy from some poor town in the Highlands!” Hannah had stood beside me by the balustrade which only gave me a chance to speak to her clearly.

“I'll tell you something about my ‘good name’, Hannah, it's mine alone to disgrace.” I made sure she was able to take in my words even though she now looked back at me as if I’ve gone crazy, “I'd rather burn my whole life down than have it laid out in a plan for me.” I was sure to have left her there with her mouth agape.

That night, on the last hours of Christmas day, I stared forlornly out my now grated window, wishing – hoping for a miracle to take me away from here and be back at Hogwarts just to be wrapped in strong freckled arms and drown in a pair of brown bedroom eyes…

Though just after I sighed away my woes did I hear something metallic attach to the grill that blocked my window, I didn’t have time to inspect it amidst the dark when the bars that forced my isolation were loudly yanked away! I pushed open my window just as what looked to be an invisible carriage door popped open to reveal – “Sebastian!”

“Now, who would have thought the Hero of Hogwarts would be in need of saving one day?” The chuckle that came from him caused a delicious chill done my spine and the way he looked over at me in my night dress almost had me bashfully wanting to button up my semi-undress state. “Come on, princess, let’s get you out of there.”

Meeting his smile with my own, I’d just about stepped over inside the levitated carriage when my bedroom door burst open – “You stay away from my daughter, you –!”

Sebastian now held the carriage door open in a panic as my father tried to reach out to me over my window, worried that the other might fall over as he tried to reason, “Sir please! You have my word that I will make a Lady out of your daughter!”

“Daddy, I love him!” I screamed over the biting winter wind, finally gaining my father’s full attention as he met my eyes so much like his own as I leaned closer to how Sebastian held me in his arms, “I’m having his baby!”

At that, my father let go, the shocked look still on his face as Sarah held him back with that same scandalized look on her face before Sebastian pulled the carriage door shut, the sound of the Thestrals’ wings the only thing that enveloped us as he also now sat beside me in stunned silence before, “Did we – Are you –?”

“No, I'm not, but you should see your face.” I pinched his nose, laughingly as I looked out the front window to marvel at how the Thestrals seem to know where to go, watching as they flew over the manor’s high fence before I felt the pair of warm, strong hands gently caressing my waist.

“I garner we’ll be arriving at Hogwarts sometime at dawn, so… what would you say to reevaluating the look on my face?”

My laughter soon flowed to Sebastian’s lips as he leaned in close.

The summer sun’s rays was perfect in highlighting the still scandalized faces of the mothers who were too curious not to go to the Welcome Party that my father organized for my return. Walking towards him, my hand found Sebastian’s, for all his charm, he did manage to make my father come around, after all.

He was met with a clasp on his shoulder before my father wrapped me in an embrace, coincidentally meeting Sarah’s gaze behind him as Hannah also stood near her. I afforded them a sickly-sweet smile as I raised a finger towards them, the sunlight making the glint from my ring finger all the more brilliant.

And there in the garden of the manor I was raised, I saw no grey as I danced between the flower beds, laughing in careless abandon before Sebastian pulled me into a private alcove, gently caressing the barely noticeable bump under my sundress as I pulled him in for a kiss.

All the clamor turned into white noise as wild joy flowing between us. This is my choice.

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

--

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with.  Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, ���he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

[secondhand-trash]

Family Matters

Kinktober 2020 — stepcest

A/N: This idea had been sitting in my brain for months and getting to write it out AND be on time for the last day of kinktober is the perfect wrap up for this crazy month.

Description: You would do anything to get yourself a place in this family.

Pairing: Todoroki siblings (Touya, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto)x reader

Warning: stepcest/pseudo-incest (absolutely do not proceed if this isn’t something you’re comfortable reading), no relationships portrayed in this fic is healthy, toxic family dynamics, reader is bit of a manipulative bitch, consensual but not exactly the traditional sense of consent, Rei died, brief mention of cheating, nee san/nii san kink, vaginal penetration, oral (giving), choking, face fucking, creampie, marking, voyeurism, threesome, spitting, degradation, thigh riding, fingering

Word count: 16025 (wtfwtfwtf-)

**please read the warnings through before clicking the read more, very important**

-

You attended your mother’s wedding with the sweetest smile you could manage and a painful ring in your ear the moment she said: “I do”.

It was a small ceremony with only close friends and family, which also meant that there was little to no one in the audience as your mother walked down the aisle to meet the man at the other end. 

You would think that marrying the reigning no 1 pro-hero would finally bring your mother the fantasy of being part of a fortunate family she never got to have, but we couldn’t always get what we want, could we?

You and your mother were the family underdog, the number of your relatives you had met up with the last several years since your birth father passed away and left a huge loan on your back waiting to be cleared up could be counted with less than the fingers on one hand. The first time someone showed up at your doorsteps screaming murder was a blur to you. You were around 17 at the time, not young enough to forge ignorance to what was going on but not mature enough to push the foul words seeping into your ears away, all you could remember was the way your mother clutching you close to her chest like it wasn’t her that was sobbing until the banging at the door finally ceased. 

You switched schools, having no way to afford the tuition of the one you were attending when your family was struggling to stay under a proper roof, essentially disappearing from the circle you used to exist within in a matter of days. Sometimes, you would feel the impulse to cackle at the thought that there was a time when you thought you were so brilliant and you had a whole life ahead. You got into the hero course of one of the best schools in the country, you were not the best but you did think there was something in you that people must not be willing to let go of this easily. You truly did think the world wouldn’t just let you sunk down like that, but it turned out that dropping out of the spotlight was enough for people to forget about you when there were hundreds and thousands of other equally brilliant people stepping under the public eye each day. 

You realised at the point in your life that some days you were simply alone, and no one would help you without a good enough reason for them to do so, something that your mother seemed to have either genuinely or deliberately chose to ignore. She went from person to person, hoping that one of them would be the answer but it was a fruitless journey. When you needed someone, people would pick it up, and it was a dangerous thing to be the one that was in need and couldn’t get away. You had witnessed countless of arguments, a scary amount of things crashing and frantic sobbing late at night when the crying echoed in the darkness you tried to surround yourself with by burying your face deeper and deeper into your pillow like it blacking out could make things go away.

This went on for years, and at some point you chose to turn your head away from it like not going home meant you could run away from the broken family you were bound to. Until one day, your mother crashed into you with a suffocating hug the moment you stepped into those doors you had so dreaded returning to every day, her voice barely coherent as she choked her words out through broken sobs and hiccups.

“We’re free... we’re finally free!”

She said it with such relief that you couldn’t even process the emptiness in your heart when she held your face in her hands before pulling you close to her again.

You figured out from bits and pieces that she let slip through her giddy words that someone had paid up the rest of the loan and interests that was left, and from the way her voice got just a little louder when she talked about that someone and the flush on her face, you knew it wasn’t just some chivalrous stranger that stepped in during a time of need like she had wanted to mask it up to be.

You had never met Todoroki Enji until your mother announced at the dining table one night with an expression so sheepish and girly that she was to marry this man you had only ever heard the name of. But even with the lack of exchanges before you sat down opposite to him the first time when you accompanied her to discuss the details of the wedding, you would expect that someone of his status and respect would at least have someone other than his own kids at his wedding.

His kids. You knew things wouldn’t go as easily as your mother had made it out to be. She had acted like you were finally out of the hot waters and secured comfort for the rest of your life just because she married a wealthy man but you knew the moment you met the eyes of the four Todoroki children, sitting side by side in one straight row opposite to you, that it wasn’t just the man of the house that had a say in what would become of you. 

Touya was the eldest and the least bothered to pretend like he was pleased about this arrangement. He was leaning back against the chair with one leg propped up when you walked in, his eyes scanning you from top to bottom in a scruntinising stare until he was given a hiss in warning from his sister, to which he replied with a snort and a very showing eye roll as you sat down. There was no hiding the sneer in his voice whenever he spoke up, each word lacing with an evidential edge and the clear distaste he was showing towards his new stepfamily. The way he looked down at you when he bumped against your shoulder before walking out the door was nearly uncomfortable, but he seemed to be somewhat pleased when you didn’t shy away from his gaze, walking out with his hands in his pockets and a smirk toying against his features as his father sighed.

The sister, Fuyumi, had apologised when Touya offhandedly pointed out that his father didn’t even wait until his mother’s corpse was cold before finding another woman. Her smile was empathetic and the way she carefully picked up your hand when she greeted you should have been enough to make up for the hostility her brother had showcased but if you had paid attention enough, you would pick up that despite the apology, she didn’t exactly disagree with the statement either. She was always friendly, her eyes curling into two thin strands behind her glasses as she walked you through each step of the ceremony without a chance for you to interrupt. She was nice enough, but also just enough and the distance she kept from you was something that you picked up on in your initial encounter. It was also through her that you found out what happened to Enji’s last wife, and the practiced look on Fuyumi’s face when she recalled how her mother died after a long battle against her illness sent chills creeping up your back far more than any mean remarks could.

Which explained why the wedding venue looked eerily empty as the march played. After all, what would the world say about how little it took for the man to step out of mourning for his dead wife and found himself another one?

Todoroki Natsuo gave you nothing but a hasty nod when you sat down opposite to him, staying quiet for the most parts of the meeting except for a short word of reply here and there when Fuyumi cued him. He had his arms crossed in front of his broad chest all during the process, his eyes looking down at the document but clearly not focused on any of the things that his sister was explaining. There were a few times when you caught him glancing at you for the brief moment when you looked up, flicking his gaze away from you almost immediately with your eyes barely meeting. Of the four siblings, he seemed the most... normal, if you would. The way he acted almost a bit awkward around the new sister that he suddenly had around when he was well into his twenties and gave nothing but bare minimal answers whenever you even tried to initiate a conversation was what you thought would happen.

Then there was Shouto. Oh, sweet Shouto. You had never expected that this was the way you met your formal underclassmen once again after you dropped off of your road in being a hero completely without so much as a proper announcement. There was no mistaking the way his eyes widened and shoulders tensed up when you walked into the room that he remembered you well which came as quite the surprise to you. You had heard of him even after leaving Yuuei, of course. A real star, so talented and came from such a background, already climbing up near the top even though it had only been a good year since his real debut into the professional world. You simply found the boy one year your junior endearing when you were still his senpai, the way he was so serious about every little tease and remark you made could only be described as adorable.  

But certainly, he had changed so much since you last saw him years ago. His back just a little wider, his jaw stronger, the look in his eyes did not belong to the same boy who did not shy away from staring when you walked past but of a man who had seen his handful of the world to know what you being there meant. You had a strong feeling that he would have acted way more hostile than he did have you been anyone else, his lips pursing tightly together like he was forcing himself to hold back as he stared straight at you.

All in all, sneers or polite chuckles or skittering glances or straightened backs, it did not take much to know that none of them was particularly pleased about their father’s remarriage and if the empty wedding was any sign, you and your mother were still utterly outsiders despite the documents with your changed names claiming otherwise.

The tall wall they had built was all the more apparent when you moved into the Todoroki residence, feeling more like you were mouse scrambling to find a gap you could hide into under this roof that had taken you in than anything else. If the four had gave your mother a cold shoulder or straight up pretend like she wasn’t there, then each and every single little gesture they made towards you reminded you time and time again that you did not belong. 

Touya always bumped against your side just a little bit too hard for it to be an accident when he walked past you into the dining room, the “apology” he threw down sounding almost like a cackle as you were nearly knocked off your feet. Fuyumi always bringing up childhood memories or family traditions that you wouldn’t know of, only to brush it off with a smile and explaining it to you like she was the silly one for assuming that you would know about these things when you “only just moved in”. Natsuo was rarely around due to his job at the hospital as a whole, but when he did he made sure that his interactions with you remained to be limited to standard small talk. Each mundane topic always ending on a dead end and both of you looking away. Shoto was decent to you, but there was still an evidential wariness in his gaze as he walked past you and somehow it was the deliberate distance from him that acted like a stake right through your heart, a constant reminder that you took up a space that was never yours to begin with.

There was hurt, but then it was the unwavering fear of being isolated that sent chills down your spine at the cold stare from your supposed family. 

Your mother was convinced that she unlocked the key to a life of security by marrying Todoroki Enji, but you knew better than to be fooled by the current state of you getting a pass because of the one mountain this shaking wall called family was leaning against.

Once he was out of the picture, it was his four children that would get to have a say on what they were to do with you, and you swore you could already see how that would go for you.

You were not going back to that low point in your life, not ever again, and you would do anything to make sure you secured a place for yourself within the family one way or another.

-

Jerking up awake at night in cold sweat was not fun, especially when it still took your brain a good few moments before registering where you were when your eyes shot open to see the high ceiling that you still hadn’t gotten used to yet.

You wonder if you would ever get used to it.

You groaned inwardly as you rolled to your side, wincing at how tight your throat felt at each swallow of the burning liquid that pooled in your mouth. You dreamt of your old life again, one when you still hadn’t gone to living under someone else’s roof. You had thought that you were over it by now but the hollowness left in your chest somehow irritated you even more than the dream itself. 

Fucking hell, it felt like every muscle in your back was hurting.

Slowly stretching your limbs out, you held your head in your palm as you suffered through the dizziness in your head when you sat upright at the edge of your bed. A string of shivers crept up your spine when your toe touched the cold floor, the tatami rough under the tip as you fumbled to find your room slippers. It took some adjusting for you to find your way out of the pitch black room, trying your hardest to slide the door open as lightly as you could as you clutched your arms closed to your body under the chill on your exposed arms.

The house was in radio silence and you were cautious of the drag of your slippers as you made way down to the kitchen, careful to lower the volume of your steps with your feet arched and holding the slipper tight to the heel.

You let out a shaky breath when you finally got downstairs. Your hand felt around the side of the door to find the switch, pressing your eyes tightly together as the light pained you the moment you flicked the switch and light blazed in the kitchen.

The clink of the ceramic made you feel alive again as the water ran down your throat, the cold soothing the tautness at the back as you gulped down. A content sigh slipped out of your lips as you put the mug down, a droplet threatening to roll down your chin and you brought the tip of your finger up to wipe it away.

“Look what we have here...”

You jumped at the sudden voice, earning you a wolfish chuckle from the man who was leaning against the door frame. Touya looked a lot more at ease than he usually was when he was around his family, the sweatpants that were almost a bit too big for his lean frame hanging loosely around his waist as his back arched, pushing himself off the wooden frame before sauntering to your side.

You straightened your back, feeling tensed as he seemingly ignored your presence as he got his own cup and poured it full of water with his other hand on his waist. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to look as he tilted the cup up, his slender neck arching back as his throat bobbed, the muscles at his stomach flexing with each swallow.

Your fingers clutched tightly around the mug you were holding when he let out a muffled cough, piercing up at you from the back of his hand when he saw that you were not moving away.

You were taken aback when he snorted, throwing his head back a little before fixing his gaze on you again with an amused smirk lingering his pierced lips.

“Oh, relax,” your eyebrows locked together at the dismissive huff from your usually sneering stepbrother, “it’s too early for me to start making your life miserable, save the defense for after 8.”

His stare was almost invasive as he grinned at you but despite the twist in your stomach at being alone with arguably the most unbearable of the siblings, you did not move your own eyes away as you put down the cup in your hand. “So you do it on purpose,” you said, trying to make yourself sound sterner as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. 

You did not think anyone else other than you would be up at this hour, or else you would have grabbed a jacket before slipping out of your room. If his gaze was already uncomfortable to be under, than the fact that your body was covered by nothing but a thin spaghetti strap and cotton shorts did not help how exposed you feel. 

Touya laughed and it took all the will in you to not shrink your form down even more at the cackle. “Why else would I bother?” he said matter-of-factly, "Someone has got to tell the old man that none of us is happy with what he did.” He paused, “It isn’t really about you, if that’s something you want to hear.”

“I’m not interested in your family drama.”

“Well, too bad you’re part of the family now,” he mused, his eyes still following you as he slowly strided towards the door. “Remember to look just as pissed as you are now when I poke fun at you in the morning.”

The swaying of his frame stopped when you opened your mouth.

“What do I have to do for you to leave me alone?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest when he stopped in his tracks before slowly, very slowly turning around to face you again. 

“Leave you alone?” he repeated, accentuating each syllable that rolled off his tongue as he stepped closer and closer to you.

“I’m just trying to get by,” you looked straight at him when he stopped right in front of you, towering over you slightly as he stared down, “if you want to stir shit up then I can help as long as you leave me a piece of what’s left.”

“Hm... a fighter, aren’t you?” his voice came out as a purr, the rumbling in his chest almost transferring to you with how close he was. His eyes raked across your form when he saw that you didn’t back away, the defined dent of your collar bone and the supple skin that was pressing against the elastic of your low collar.

He could allow a change of plans if it meant he could get a piece of a little something for himself.

“Then tell me,” he licked his lips, “what are you willing to do for my help?”

“Anything.”

The glint in his eyes grew at how you didn’t hesitate with your words. 

“Anything?” he asked with a crock of his head to the side, his fingers barely trailing along your bare arms as he drank in the way you were fighting against the shivers rising on your skin, “because I can think of a few ways for cute little sisters to get on their big brother’s good graces..."

His touch on your arm was distracting but your mouth still ran dry at the implication of his offer. You could not deny that when you lie awake on your bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of how you could possibly slither your way through in this house that you had briefly contemplated if you could get intimate with your siblings in a less morally-accepted way but you brushed it off as a silly thought almost as quick as you came up with it when you felt how hostile they were towards you.

You were convinced that they would not wait until Enji was gone to kick you out if you made a move on them, but the fixed stare and gravel in Touya’s voice was telling you a whole other truth.

The chills on your spine settled into the pit of your stomach as excitement when you made the realisation that he wanted you, and it meant the others could too.

His grin looked like it was spilling his face in half when you pushed yourself against his chest, your thinly clad breast pressed up against his bare skin when the light touch on your arms turned into full blown caresses as his hand got bolder. He could feel the slight pebble of your nipples taunt against the fabric and the thrill sent his blood boiling.

“Anything.”

His palm was burning against your skin as he got rougher and rougher, the press of his fingers turning into gropes when he reached the swell of your waist and down to your hips. The sudden dug of his nails into your flesh took you by surprise when he shoved you away from him, smiling from ear to ear like the chesire cat when he hooked his hand at the elastic of his sweats where a print was starting to strain against the fabric.

“Then get on your knees, baby sister.”

The tiles were not forgiving on your skin when you sunk down, looking up at the man who was palming himself from under his pants with his eyes slanted and fixed on your kneeling form. You winced when he fisted your hair in his hand, pulling your head back a bit too forcefully when he pulled his half-hard cock out of its constraints. The pain on your scalp seeped through your head until it was nothing but a tingle on your skin when his slender fingers wrapped around the base of his length that was right at your eye level, drinking in the way you could only stare at him from behind your lashes as he held you still.

He hummed in approval when you parted your lips, your tongue lolling out almost performatively when he gave a firm tuck to his cock. The silver bud at the crown of his cock left a strange numbness on your lips as he traced his tip along the rim of your mouth, leaving a slight sting on your tongue when he brushed against the muscle.

“Make sure to get all of it...” he whispered, releasing the tension of his pull on your scalp when he pushed his cock in with a languish surge of his hips. You bit back a whine when you felt the many more piercings at the underside as it brushed against your tongue, your hands flying up to grip at his thighs when he gave a slight pat to the back of your head.

He groaned when you took more of him in, hollowing your cheeks out as you set a pace for the bobbing of your head. The piercings were rigid against your tongue and you made sure to give each nub equal attention while your hand fisted around where you could not fit into your mouth. He kept one hand in your hair while the other found support on the kitchen counter, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around his cock as you tried to please him.

His head tilted back with a sigh when you cupped his balls, your palm warm on his sack when you sucked in a deep breath and sunk in all the way. Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes when his hard tip hit the back of your throat, the burn shooting up to your nose as its tip brushed against his pubic hair. Touya felt the pulse at the side of his neck as your throat contracted around him, the tightness making his hand clutch at the back of your head as his length throbbed in your mouth. He snapped down to look at you when you pulled away with a cough, sucking in a deep breath as your chest heaved and your hand pumped his cock sloppily with your spit that was coating him.

You could sense his muscles taut under his skin as you let him go, his thighs flexing under your hands while you jerked him off like he was holding himself back deliberately.

To have someone that was just mocking you earlier today now stiff in your hand, lips parted and biting back a moan felt really, really good.

You were staring up at him, almost in challenge as you run your tongue along his shaft. “Someone’s good at this,” he cooed, sounding a little breathless when he laughed. The sound was replaced by a chocked moan when you took him in again, a soft hum from the back of your throat in reply had him nearly losing control when the vibration sent shocks down his core. 

You gagged when he pulled you off his cock, the string of saliva that connected your lips and his leaking tip sending him into an overdrive as he decided that he could not wait any longer. A yelp was ripped from the back of your throat when he pulled you up, shoving you against the counter with your face facing down.

Your hand fumbled to prop your body up with your palms flat on the marble surface, a silent whimper leaking pass your lips when you felt your shorts and underwear being peeled off of you with a swift pull. He pressed on your back with the tips of his fingers, each knuckle of his digits propping up as he arched your ass up with the help of his hand. Your face heated up at the way you perched up, bare cunt exposed for him to see as you clenched around nothing in reflex with the cold air that fanned against your folds.

Your body shifted with each exhale, the warm breaths spreading over your face as your cheek squished against the marble that was growing hotter and hotter from the heat on your face. Touya gripped onto the side of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulled the cheeks apart, licking his lips at the sight of the light sheen on your slit.

You whimpered when he ran a finger along your folds and the uncontrollable gush of wetness as the calloused pad pressed down on your hooded clit. His eyes were fixed on your cunt and how you immediately pushed your hips back for more friction when he positioned his tip at your opening, rubbing the bead of pre along the slit as your folds parted around him.

“Who knew our new sister is such a whore...” 

His hand was fast to clasp around your mouth when he sheathed in you without a warning, the stretch leaving a burn in your core and threatening to make the cry slip past your lips when he held himself still. His cock was hot inside your walls, like he was melting in with your guts until all that was left of you was a puddle. 

You moaned into his palm when he started thrusting up. His hand might be able to muffle the lewd noises you made but there was no way to hide the sounds of skin slapping against skin that bounced off the walls. The position you were in made each slam of his pelvis against your ass hilting his cock deep in you until you could feel him leaving a print in your womb, the piercings adorning his length dredging along your insides with each snap of his hips. The nubs rubbing against you made your back arched and your knees weakened, leaving a permanent feeling in you even as he bottomed out.

“To- Touya!” 

His hand ran down your neck at the panting call of his name, fumbling with the elastic of your top before yanking it down and spilling your tits. You turned your head back with a struggle, his hand that was groping your chest pulling you up against his back until he could meet your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Nu-uh, that’s not how you should call me,” he growled into your mouth, a mean-spirited pinch at your nipple had you squeaking against his hot touch.

“Touya nii-”

The mewl earned you a forceful plow of his length in you, the coil in you tightening when he drilled into you at a much more vicious speed.

“That’s a good little sister...” he mumbled in your ear, his hand now right below your chest while the other held tightly onto your ass. You threw your head back, pushing yourself deeper on his cock as he grunted, pulsing in you as he fug his nails into your skin.

Your lips fell open but nothing came out when he wrapped his free hand around your exposed throat, pressing down just enough for you to feel a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins into your head when he hilted in you one more time before shooting ropes of his release deep into your core. His breath was shaky and warm at your earlobe as he cum in you, his load filling you up as he squeezed down on your neck to rip a breathless gag from you.

You could feel his cock going limp inside of you while he held you still, his cum threatening to leak out of your fluttering folds but was stopped by his cock still pressing snugly against your sex. You could smell the sweat on his body when he leaned down, heaving chest right at your back as he brought his hands up to cup your tits. His breath tickled against your skin, the piercing at the corner of his lip brushing at the sensitive area as he spoke lowly and slowly.

“Let’s have a lot of fun helping each other.”

-

Touya was always the latest to show up for breakfast each morning and this morning was no exception, but the entire table fell into deadly silence when he looked at you first before he did everyone else as he slammed himself down on his chair.

“Good morning, sis.”

The silence was almost uncomfortable and the sickly sweet tone of his voice echoed in the room before vanishing into thin air. You were facing him directly but your eyes did a brief glance around the room. Your mother and Enji were dumbfounded, Natsuo had his mouth agape, Shouto’s eyes were as big as the moon and Fuyumi’s eyebrows locked together slowly but visibly.

A lot of fun indeed.

You smiled, and the crisp ring of your voice shocked everyone when you parted your lips.

“Good morning, nii san.”

-

The mutually beneficial relationship with Touya continued. Some nights, you would feel a slight brush against your calf under the dining table and you knew he was to pay you a visit. He slipped into your room when everyone else was asleep, jackhammered you onto the mattress and make you scream into your pillow before whispering things about the family that you would otherwise never know of against your lips as his cum spilled out of your abused hole.

He was rough with his hands, especially when he was taking out his frustration on you, but there was no denying that the fucking was good and the information was valuable. He told you about how he had three siblings instead of being an only child because he was a disappointment and why his mother was sent away. The snort he let out was chilling as he told you how his sister was desperately holding the family together through the years and that the second son of the Todoroki family could be worse than him in terms of temper once the right buttons were pushed.

And they knew, they had to know or had made a guess at the very least, because there’s no other way you could explain why there were bruises littering all across your inner thighs when the skin just showing below the edge of your shorts was clean the night before. Occasionally, you would catch the boys staring at the barely visible mark right at your collar at the table, Natsuo a little bit more subtle with his eyes flickering away the moment you looked up and Shoto not hiding the fact that he was looking as he pressed his eyebrows together. Fuyumi was a whole lot more nonchalant about it, either she really didn’t know or she was very good at staying away from things that weren’t her business. Your guess leaned towards the latter. 

You were waiting to see which one of them would finally let their concern snap first and approach you about it, and it seemed like what Touya told you about his siblings was rather accurate when you were left along the house with your second stepbrother one weekday afternoon.

You were rarely left alone at the house with any of your step siblings, much less Natsuo. Doctor Todoroki was always the first one out the door and the last one to come back each day, slipping into his room by the time he got back in the early mornings from the hospital and not appearing until he had to go back again. 

Today was a bit different. Today, Todoroki Natsuo got to sleep past his alarm and sat in the living room as the sun shined through the window while the rest of his family was out doing their own thing. Except you, who coincidentally had nowhere to do during his precious day off and was staring absentmindedly at the tv while he tried to not pay too much attention to the limp in your walk and the hickey that was very much so not hidden by your loose shirt.

Natsuo gulped down the words that were stuck at the back of his throat, feeling his tongue laying flatly against his mouth as he felt the air around him thicken. 

No one had said anything about the clear elephant in the room when the rest of the family was around. His father and your mother were clearly oblivious, but he was sure the same question definitely appeared in his siblings’ heads. It frustrated him that Fuyumi only brushed it off as him being overly suspicious when he tried to hint that something but be going on between the new stepsister and the oldest Todoroki, even more so when Shouto was straight up in denial about how obvious it was. 

If anything, he was more concerned than anything else. He was sure Touya couldn’t be the nicest man to be involved with especially when he recalled all the malicious things his brother had said about how much he loathed the idea of a new stepsibling before his father got married.

“Did he hurt you?”

You froze in place at the abrupt question. Turning your head to the side, you saw Natsuo with his jaw clenched and lips pursed together at the other end of the coffee table. “He?”

“Touya,” he repeated, this time sounding a little firmer than before, “he is taking advantage of you, isn’t he?”

Oh.

Oh.

You glanced to the side, lowering your head a little as you toyed with the hem of your shorts. A slight thrill welled up in your chest when you heard him scooching closer to where you sat at your timid posture. He looked so concerned, like he was truly believing that you were in a compromisable position that you couldn’t tell anyone about.

What a good man he was, Todoroki Natsuo, you almost feel bad for pretending to hesitate before you slowly hook your finger under your shirt and lifted it over your head.

Natsuo’s breath hitched when he saw the bruises that covered your chest in the areas that weren’t covered by your bra. Bite marks darted along your skin, the subtle scars in the shape of finer prints burnt into the side of your waist. Touya got into a particularly fiery argument with Enji last night, and the aftermath was what Natsuo was now seeing as you stripped of your top in front of him. You had winced when you woke up that morning to see how fucked up you looked, fully planning to get Touya back for bruising you up this badly next time he touched you but you didn’t expect that his lost of control would be of use later on.

You looked battered, and you didn’t miss the gasp that left his lips as you folded your arms in front of your chest to make yourself smaller, pressing the marked skin of your chest together and pushing your cleavage out in the process.

“He’s so rough with me, Natsu nii...”

You sounded like you wanted to cry as you shy away from him, and his heart broke when you flinched away from his touch as he gently held onto your forearm. 

You were so delicate and fragile, how could anyone treat you as horribly as this? 

He let out a shaky breath when you latched onto his broad chest the moment he pulled you onto his lap. “Poor baby...” he whispered against your skin as he dipped his head down caging over you as he gingerly pulled your folded arms away. His throat bobbed at the sight of your curves and the many bruises dotting on your supple skin. You whimpered when he planted a soft peck on your neck, tilting your head back to allow him more access as his hand fumbled with the hook of your bra. 

You whimpered when he took it off of you, the strap sliding off your arms until it was thrown to the side. He could see all the marks and scars on your skin much more clearly now and it only fueled his urge to touch you all over and make sure he drowned you in affection even more. 

You whimpered when he rubbed circles against the side of your hips, his lips pressing against a particularly gruesome bruise below your collar bone.

“Natsu nii-

“Shh... it’s ok,” he hushed you with a peck on your pouting lips, pulling at your bottom lip softly when he pulled away, “nii chan will take care of you.”

His hand was cautious as he caressed your skin, soft lips trailing down your neck and darting his tongue out to swipe across each bruise and mark along the way. The brush of the tip tickled, leaving a spark of numbing tingles down your spine as his miniatures took over your head. Natsuo took his time, reducing you into mush with each press of his thumb at the side of your thighs and nibble of his teeth. A breathy moan slipped past your lips when he traced your pebbled nipple with his tongue, the air fanning against your skin making you all the more sensitive as he rolled the perked bud between his fingers. He treaded against the clouds of purple at the underside of your chest lightly, placing open kisses at each bruise like he was trying to erase the trails of what his brother had left on you.

Your hands held onto his shoulders when he buried his face in your chest, cupping the soft mounds in his palm as he licked each swell and dent on your torso. You whimpered as his large hands slipped past the elastic of your shorts, groping your ass as he lifted you off his lap just enough to pull the article off of your limbs. You felt a strange bashfulness when he eyed your naked form, almost looking like he was in awe when he slid his arms around your waist. 

Perhaps you were getting too into the mindset of a sweet baby sister wanting their brother’s attention that your body was starting to adopt the role a little bit too well.

“Lay down.”

His hand supported you at the small of your back, his much larger frame shadowing over you almost immediately at you touched the cold surface of the floor. The textured front of the tatami rubbed against your skin as he planted a firm kiss on your lips and you hissed into his mouth when the scratches down your back from last night by one very impatient Touya burned on your senses. 

Natsuo noticed your discomfort, cooing into your lips as his tongue slipped past your teeth and explored the warm cavity greedily. Your eyes were glassy when he pulled away, looking like a veil had draped over your vision hastily as you stared at him blankly and your lips parted. 

If he thought the marks on your upper body was bad, then seeing your naked form proved that he had severely underestimated what you had gone through before he took notice. You looked dazed as he perched on top of you, his eyes raking all over your body as he took count of the many bite marks and bruises that dipped down the v that led to your sex and your thighs that were pressed together tightly. There were clear marks of fingerprints littered over the plump flesh of your legs, evidential of how exactly did Touya take you last night.

You shuddered underneath Natsuo when he gripped onto your knees and parted your legs, arching your back off the ground and looking to the side to hide your face when he stared straight at your bare cunt. Your folds clenched with each heave of your chest, looking all the more inviting with the sheer shine that coated your core from his earlier touches. But he found himself immediately noticing the faded marks at the back of your thighs where they were connected to your hips, the prints permanent on your skin and whispering to him exactly what you had been doing with his brother when no one was around.

The image of Touya digging his fingers into your thighs as he folded your legs up despite your whines burned into his head, his vision growing redder and redder at the thought of your tight hole being railed so hard you tear up in pleas but to no avail.

He was supposed to be the nice brother, the gentle one who kiss you all over and holds you in the center of his palm before putting you back into one piece after the other had shattered you, but all he could think of was how much he wanted to replace the same tears with his own marks right now when he was looking right at the tiny body that his brother had messed with.

“Natsuo...? Ah-” you squeaked when his previously soft hold was replaced with a sudden squeeze at your inner thigh, your limbs being manhandled into a position that was challenging your flexibility. You could not help but throw your head back when he pushed your legs all the way up until they were hooked over his shoulders, the back of your knees almost touching your chest when he leaned down once again.

His tongue tangling with yours distracted you from the sounds of belt buckles rattling for a second, until the feeling of something prodding at your entrance brought your eyes snapping open. 

“Don’t worry about a thing...” he muttered against your lips as he dragged his leaking tip along your folds, his hand pulling the hood of your clit back and rubbing at the sensitive nub to ease more of your wetness out until his cock threatened to glide past your fluttering folds with the lubrication. His eyes were fixed on your face, but your reflection appearing on his blown out eyes seemed almost empty as he talked but more like to himself than to you.

His length felt heavy as the tip pushed past the muscle of your walls, earning him a breathless sigh from you as you took his hot inch bit by bit until it settled at the pit of your stomach. You could feel every part of his pressing against you in this position, your core flexing to accommodate his girth but still felt a white burn at the back of your head when he rolled his hips before slamming down again.

He was much... thicker than Touya, and the vein that was throbbing at the side of his shaft left a phantoming feeling in your walls with every thrust. His face was buried at the crook of your neck, each grunt and pant warm on your skin and seeping into your core as vibrations from his chest. There was no space between your bodies as he drilled into you, his plows short and rapid like he did not even want to have a second of his body not touching yours. 

Your voice sounded foreign to your ears as you gripped onto his hair for leverage, the broken notes of each mewl and the pathetic cries making you feel possessed as your knees shook with each hilt of his tip in that spongey spot deep inside of you.

“Na- Natsuo nii...”

He groaned at the sweet moans of his name rolling off your tongue, his hand running up and down at the back of your thigh in encouragement when you clamped down strongly around him with each slap of his balls against your ass.

“Fuck-” he gritted in your ear, his thrusts growing sloppy as you tried to lift your hips up to meet him and pushing his cock deeper into you, “you’re so pretty like this... so pretty taking your nii chan’s cock-”

You whined at the compliment, even though the reaction felt so off for the mindset you went into this with. There was something about how differently demanding he was when he was fucking into your tight cunt, the way he wanted to drink in all of your attention and send you into a spiral making thrills boil up in the waves of pleasure that crashed onto you.

He thought he was the one with the power, but we all take what we need from who we want it from.

“Cum around me- that’s it... that’s it...”

He let out a choked moan as your walls spasmed around his aching cock, his hands holding your legs firmly as he held himself still with his hips pressed up snugly against your hips. Your head fell back as your lips parted when you felt the warmth of each spurt of his cum painting your insides, each pulse and throb of his length printing against your walls. A soft whimper was pulled from the back of your throat when he pulled out, the last few drops of his load darting across your lower stomach as he remained his hold on your legs. Natsuo felt breathless at the beads of white that was seeping past your slit, his hands moving before he could think to push the leaking substance back into your hole despite the weak moans you made as you shook under his touch.

Natsuo pressed his palm flat against your sex like he was blocking the mixture of your arousal and his released from slipping out when he brought his hand under your arm. You couldn’t do anything but laid soundly in his arms when he lifted you up, your legs felt like jelly as he held you close to his chest.

“Get some rest, baby, I’ll tuck you in after cleaning you up...”

-

The arrangement continued, but this time with one more man into the mix.

Every night after Touya arrange your guts, Natsuo would put you back together with languish thrusts and not an inch of your skin untouched the next day. Where the eldest burned, the other would soothe over with icy breaths and gentle coos. All Natsu nii asked for return was the loving stare you gave him from behind your fluttering lashes and sheepish nods when he asked you if you feel good from your nii chan’s touch.

What you nearly forgot about, however, was that every night there was another Todoroki you had pushed to the back of your head just a wall next to you while you were getting your brains fucked out.

Todoroki Shouto was probably the most conflicted of the bunch when you walked into the meeting room for the first time. If anyone had asked, he would not deny that back when you were still his upperclassman by a year, before you suddenly dropped off his horizons one day out of nowhere, he was head over heels smitten with you. He was not the only one, if the way you surround yourself with others that gave a sickly sweet grin as they came up to you was any sign, but he liked to believe that he was the only one that really caught your eye. How could you not? If anything, it sufficiently flattered you that someone like Todoroki Shouto would eye you like a dumbfounded puppy when you came down to his year. You made sure to be extra nice to him too, smiling widely and laughing louder than you did for anyone else when he replied to each of your teasing questions with a degree of seriousness that you could not help but found yourself cooing at. 

(You never liked him the way he hoped you had, not that he would know or you would ever hint at it. It was just fun for you to have his attention and you would be the first one to say that you could not be blamed. Anyone else would have said the same thing had they been in your place.) 

By the spring he was about to move into your second year, you were gone. He had tried to ask around about your whereabouts but no one could give an answer. There were rumours, but all of them were so drastically different that it was near impossible to narrow down the possibilities. And so his innocent, bittersweet school crush was shattered into dust without even a proper heartbreak or revelation.

Now imagine how he felt when he saw his dead crush appearing in front of him years after he last saw them, now as his new stepsister that he never asked for.

You seemed to have latched onto him at first, striking up a conversation with him when everyone else made it clear that you were not welcomed. He felt an overbearing weight in his chest every time you flashed him a wide smile that was so nostalgic but also felt oddly different, like it was you had the same shell as before but the contents in it were missing. He told himself again and again that he had been over you for years now, but the pounding in his chest whenever you laughed around him was a brutal reminder that this could be the chance for him to finally get his hands on what was never his.

The thoughts that clouded his head when he thought of how you were just a room away from him at night was terrifying, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the realisation that there was something as ugly as that stirring deep in his mind. So he took the complete opposite approach to what his yearning was whispering at the back of his head and stayed away from you as far as possible, even when the center of his palms felt like they were about to start seeping blood at how deep his nails dug in at the sight of his brothers getting friendlier and friendlier with you.

Then one day, at the unholy hour when he had to lower each step he took striding back to his room after a late patrol, he heard a soft noise coming from the back of your door that could not be anything other than a moan.

He froze, his eyes widening as he questioned his own hearing when the same sweet sound rang again. It was subtle and he would not have caught on unless he was expecting it, but it sounded almost mocking in his ear as his leg moved on their own until his ear was pressing right at the wooden board that blocked him from seeing what you were doing inside that drew those tempting notes out of your lips. 

This was wrong, he swallowed the bitterness in his mouth as the stir in his stomach sunk in, very wrong, but he could not stop himself from wondering how good you must be looking at that moment with your legs parted and fingers pumping in your cunt, your back arching as you tried to bury your face in your pillow as you imagined that it was someone else touching you.

The wire in his head snapped into half when he heard a voice so familiar but yet so strange that mixed into the incoherent string of lewd noises.

“Stay quiet, or do you want people to hear how much of a whore you are?”

His head went blank, and then he turned almost robotically stiff towards his own room when he finally connected the dots of what was going on.

He did not look any bit suspicious when you greeted him the next morning, but he swore he was seeing white when he spotted the way Touya’s hand lingered at your forearm just too long for it to be friendly when he was asking you to pass him the milk.

It got incredibly hard for him to ignore everything that was going on once he found out what happened every night when the house was supposed to be asleep. It was Touya most of the time, but occasionally he would hear the muffled voice of his other brother seeping into his ears through the thin walls too. He should not have listened, especially with how clearly he knew the burn in his chest was a result of anger. How could they just fuck around with you like this when he was there, suffering because you were so close but he could not reach out? 

Yet when his hand ghosted over the bulge in his pants as he listened to the broken cries of someone else’s name from the back of your throat, it was jealousy that made him tug at his length almost violently as the squelching and panting died down until there was nothing left but the stickiness lacing his fingers as an evidence of what happened.

He listened with intent, wondering if you would eventually come onto him too. He heard the way you call his brothers’ “nii san” and found it harder and harder for him to even look at you straight without imagining the way you would look coming undone underneath him when he heard the same words dripping off your tongue in a seemingly innocent manner in the day. 

But you never did, and he was starting to lose patience from waiting.

Why his brothers but not him when he was the one that had wanted you for so long? What was it that his nee san never wanted to fall into his bed when you so gladly let other men crash into yours?

You did not hear the door creaked open as you laid with your stomach on the bed, your legs arching from the knees onwards as you lounge around with a book in hand. You jumped with a gasp when you saw Shoto standing at the side of your bed, putting your book down carefully with the page you stopped at facing down as you looked up.

“Why are you here, Shouto kun?”

You called him “Shouto kun” when it was “nii chan” for Touya and Natsuo. 

He furrowed his eyebrows at how clueless you looked as you stared at him. Your chest were pushed together against the mattress as you rolled to your side, the exposed skin of your legs ticking him off as a reminder of how different you sounded from when he eavesdropped at your little rendezvous every night.

He took your by surprise when he leaped onto the bed, his knees causing a dent at each side of your body when you could not react except allowing your mouth to fall apart at his sudden and strange behaviour.

“Shouto! What are you- mhp-”

You were taken back by the force at which he crashed down on you. You could not process what was going on until the feeling of his burning lips kissing and nibbling at your own settle in as a numbing pain, his tongue forcing it’s way past your teeth as he trapped you underneath his frame.

You took a hasty breath when he pulled away, his eyes staring you down like he was waiting for a reaction as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Do you not like it when I kiss you, nee san?”

All the words got caught at the back of your throat when his voice rang in your ear, almost eerily calm considering how his teeth were just clashing against yours moments ago. You did not put as much thought into buying your way into Shouto’s side as much as you did the rest of the family, knowing that no matter how small, there had got to be a certain place for you in his heart from the melancholy of an old crush somewhere. 

“Even though you like it when it was Touya nii and Natsu nii touching you?”

But now he was on top of you, his eyes quirking up as his hand gripped onto the sheets at the side of your head, his lips almost like he was pouting as he trapped you there.

Nee san...

Right, how foolish of you to forget. 

He was your brother too.

“Come here,” he leaned into your touch almost immediately when you reached out for him. His breath was shaky as you sat up, your lips ghosting against his before you whispered all while looking into his eyes. “let nee san show you how to do it...”

He did not react at first when you kissed him, your fingers threading into where the white met the red at the back of his head as you deepened the kiss. The little whimper he made when you moved his hand onto the side of your waist did something to you, and suddenly you wondered why you waited so long before doing this. 

You chuckled into his mouth when he clumsily held onto your jaw, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip before slipping past. You made sure to moan almost a bit exaggeratedly when you felt his hand running up your abdomen and stopping at your tits, pressing down encouragingly when he fondled with the soft mound. 

He got bolder and bolder as you replied to each miniature, the years of longing erupting in him as he gripped onto your thigh and hooked it at the side of his hip. You yelped at the sudden shake of your vision when he flipped you so that you were straddling his lap. You whimpered when you felt the hardness that was poking against you, his hand now sliding underneath your shirt to toy with your perked nipples as your hand planted firmly on hid toned stomach.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long...”

His breath was feverish on your skin when he peeled your shirt off, his lips latching onto your chest almost immediately once you were bare as his fingers dug deeper into your skin like he wanted to leave a bruise. You moaned when he flicked his tongue against the hard bud, licking and nibbling as he stared at your face while holding onto your ribcage. 

“Wanted to kiss you for so long...”

You mewled when he bit down a little too hard on your collarbone, his tongue swiping across the dents of the mark as his hand continued to knead your soft flesh. 

“Now you’re finally here- with me...”

A roll of his hips had his hard one pressing against your thinly covered pussy, the friction and the heat that was burning against you making you bit down on your lips to stop the moan from slipping past your lips. He gave a dissatisfied pinch to your breast when he saw the action, humming in content when the sudden shock of pain made you hiss.

“No, no, don’t hold it in,” his two toned eyes sent a chilling shiver down your spine as he glared at you in warning, one hand finding grip on the base of your thigh while the other slid into the band of your shorts before pulling it down the curve of your ass, “I want to hear every sound you makes while you get fuck by your little brother...”

His skin heated up when your face contorted together in pleasure when his hands gripped onto the cheeks of your ass and parted them roughly, the flesh jiggling when he released it from his hold with a pull. 

“Hm!” you whimpered when he felt his palm rubbing at your folds, the tip of his fingers pressing down on your clit before he dragged each digit up along your slit to gather the wetness that was starting to form from his stimulation. Your lips fell apart when he slipped the first finger in, then added another, and the third. He watched in amazement at each pull of the muscle of your face as he stretched you out around his slender fingers, feeling your cunt sucking him in as he slowly pumped them in and out of your hole.

It was almost unreal, the person that had lingered in his dreams for years on end now naked in his lap and moaning because of his fingers scissoring inside of her. His cock felt painful straining against his pants when you rolled your hips back, impatient for how he moved agonisingly slow inside of you in order to draw out each reaction you gave him. His chest swelled at the sight of you slamming yourself down on his fingers as you laid on his body, your hands gripping at the cotton of his shirt all while arching your ass up so he could rub every inch of your walls.

“You look so pretty fucking yourself on my fingers, nee san...” Shouto whispered against your lips, his free hand bringing you close to him to kiss your quivering lips as he crocked his fingers inside of you and ripping a sharp mewl from the back of your throat.

“Sho- Shoto-” the syllables of his name chocked out of your tongue that felt heavy in your mouth, your knees that prop you up on his lap feeling weak as you alternated the speed at which you threw yourself back at him to chase the tightening of your core.

The drop yanked you back by the seams when you were greeted with a sudden emptiness as you were close to snapping, a squeak spilled out from the back of your throat when you clenched around nothing. Your instinct was to press your legs together to stop the running arousal from dripping down your thighs from the flex of your walls but Shouto held you still with his hands, the wetness that was coating his fingers smearing over your skin as he brushed against your thighs before bringing them to his face.

Your face was burning when he moved his digits apart, showing you the string of your essence that was sticking to his skin before he brought it to his lips. Your stomach flipped when he darted his tongue out, licking his fingers clean like a kitten as he groaned.

“You taste so sweet...” he pulled you close to him like he wanted to give you a taste of it too, the saltiness of yourself tickling your cavity as his words were muffled by his lips on you, “I would have gotten a taste for myself directly much earlier if I knew this is how you taste, but right now...”

He brought your hand to his bulge, the hardness filling under your palm as you cupped his erection. Your hand wrapped around the base of his girth the moment you pulled it out of the band of his sweats and it pressed against his lower stomach, the vein that climbed up the side pulsing under your touch as you ran your finger along his cock. 

Your breath hitched at the back of your throat when he lifted you up, your cunt hovering above his tip as he muttered against your neck.

“I want to be in you, nee san.”

It took every fiber in your being to stop yourself from screaming out when he let go of you, slamming you down all the way until he was balls deep inside of you. He sighed at how warm you were all wrapped up around him, his arms snaking around your waist as he started bouncing you on his cock.

You scratched down on his chest through his shirt with each hilt of his length in you, your eyes pressing tightly into thin lines as you fought against the shocks that ran down your spine. He bit down on your skin in discontent, glaring at you like he was warning you to keep your focus on him as he railed in you.

It was fear that made your eyes snapped wide open when you heard a click of someone’s tongue from your back.

“Take this as a lesson to lock your door.” 

Shouto’s nails on your skin felt like they could draw blood when he shot up to see the grinning face of his eldest brother, his blood curling when you clamped down around him at a moment of panic. 

“Touya!"

He hated the way your eyes moved away from him onto the man leaning against the door, the name that wasn’t his sounding so breathless as it rolled off your tongue.

Touya had already gotten his fair share of your time, now he wanted to interrupt when it was finally his turn?

“Fuck off,” Shouto sneered but the other Todoroki only let out a dry chuckle at his defensive state as he walked towards where you were. His eyed you up and down, how tense you were as you froze under the intrusion evidential as the muscles of your legs pulled taut against your skin.

“Aw, don’t shut me out so quickly, I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” Touya mused, seeming to be egged on even more when he saw his brother tightening his hold on your hips when he shamelessly gripped himself on the crotch over his sweats. “You’re at it already,” you let out a soundless hiss when he pulled your head back just the way he liked it as he yanked his pants down, eyeing his little brother that was staring daggers at him out of the corner of his eyes as he pulled his cock out, “why not take another one?”

Almost like he was asserting his claim, Shouto snapped you out of your trance with a thrust up into your cunt. The sudden friction made your mouth fell apart as a moan was ripped from the back of your throat but it was quickly muffled into a gag when Touya took the chance to shove his cock in your mouth. He hardened and filled inside of you as he held your head still, pulling you to the side so that you were staring helplessly at the man who was slamming into you as he pushed his cock deep at the back of your throat with each surge of his hips.

This was nowhere near the same time Touya treated your mouth as nothing but another hole to fuck but the hilt of his tip at the back of your cavity still made your eyes tear up immediately as the burn settled into the pit of your stomach. Shouto did not give up easily, determined to make sure that his brother’s cock drilling in your mouth was not enough to divide your attention away from him as he threw you up and down on his length vigorously as the lewd squelches and slapping noises echoed off the walls. 

Touya’s laugh came out like a howl when he felt the vibrations of your moans around his girth, loving the way you had drool leaking from the corner of your lips as he gripped your head with both hands and pivoted in you. He was laughing, but the stare he cast his brother was no less competitive than the younger boy who was clearly not happy about sharing. 

The tension was thick in the air, like they were taking out whatever rivalry that had rooted between them out on you as they treated you like nothing but a toy that they could break if they fight over it hard enough. You had never seen Shouto this visibly angered before, his handsome face twisted together as the scowl tugging at his lips stayed permanent. Your muffled pants and gags as well as the sound of skin against skin was all that could be heard as the two men bared their teeth at each other, Touya in a menacing grin and Shouto like he was ready to tear the other’s smile off his face.

You felt like you were being pulled apart by the threads, with Touya pulling your hair until your scalp felt numb from the pain and Shouto digging his fingers in your ass a little bit too forcefully. The way Touya forced your face away was enough to get under his skin but Shouto could not look away as tears tainted your cheeks as his brother held you still at the base of his cock, your nose brushing against his pubic hair while your nostrails flared in a desperate attempt to breathe. Each thrust of his hips sent both cocks deeper inside you, the burn pulsing all through your body as your toes curled.

“Hnpm-”

“Go on,” Touya gave a tug at your scalp, pulling at the side of your eyes and forcing you to look right at Shouto, “stare into his eyes while you swallow my cum.”

And you did, the bitter and salty mixture pouring down your throat and almost scorching where it touched as you gulped down his load as he held you still, almost choking on your own spit as you stared at the younger boy from behind your glassy eyes. His pupils were blown out as he fixated on the sight of your throat bobbing and white leaking out of the corner of your lips which were wrapped around his brother’s cock, your jaw almost slack as Touya pulled out and pressed your jugulars tight to make sure you drank everything he had to give you.

You did not dare to move as Touya tucked his limp cock back into his pants, still smiling ear to ear before he turned around but not without throwing down another snarky remark.

“Treat her rougher,” his glance darted towards you for a second before looking back at his brother, “she likes it that way.”

The acidity welled up in your mouth as Shouto stayed put, the lack of even a sound or movement somehow stirring in your stomach until it was all tied up as a knot. Your skin felt clammy with your sweat when he shifted under you, his cock very much so still pressing hard against your gut as he moved and sending sparks all the way to the tip of your toes.

“Open your mouth."

His voice was scary calm as he commanded and you reacted before even processing his words. Shouto gripped onto your jaw, his teeth hurting from how hard he was clenching down as he looked at the trails of white along your chin and the residues of cum on your tongue. 

You shivered when something cold landed in your open mouth, a silver string connected his lips and dripping down your tongue.

“Swallow.”

The last bit of cum mixed together with his spit slid down your throat as you felt small under his gaze. It was like a switch was flipped inside of him when he slammed you on the bed, him now taking full control as he perched on top of you much like when he initially came onto you tonight and thrusting up hard, fast, deep into your cunt.

Your mind was too muddled for you to think straight at the shocks of electricity spiking across your skin when the tip of his cock rubbed along your walls furiously, your pants and moans coming out as slurred strings of incomprehensible noises. He sounded animalistic as his teeth graced past your pulse point at the side of his neck, the muscles in his stomach tensing up both from getting close to his edge and the scene from earlier of you getting face fucked by his brother right in front of his eyes replaying in his head again and again.

“When I’m done,” you could barely make out what he said as you slammed your head back, “my cock will be all you can think of- all you need...”

You whined when his cock sheathed against the spongey spot right below your pelvis, a sharp cramp creeping onto your legs that were already close to giving in at the melting pleasure. 

“I’ll fuck you again and again if that’s what it takes,” he grunted. 

Again and again, until all the traces of other people’s hand tainting your skin was wiped off with his mark instead.

“Starting-” his shoulders shook as his hips surged forward, his cock throbbing in you as he dipped his head down, your legs threw weakly around his waist as you felt the heat from his chest blazing against your skin.

“Now.”

You arched yourself off the mattress at the feeling of his cum filling you up, his body stiff on top of you as he pumped his load in you. He gripped onto your knees almost immediately when you wanted to put your legs down, giving a few more thrust before finally pulling out of you but still not letting go. 

He tried to go a few rounds more that night, but you managed to settle him at your side in your bed with a soft whine and your arms latching onto his waist tightly as you buried your face in his chest.

Shouto was the only person who had fallen asleep next to you of all the ones that had gotten into your bed at night, looking almost angelically serene as he drifted into slumber that you didn’t have the heart to wake him up even though the fear of someone catching him sneaking out at daybreak next morning scared you.

No one did, of course, and even if they do, they all did a very good job not saying a word about it.

-

Todoroki Fuyumi did nothing but furrow her eyebrows and sighed when she saw her own brother slipping out from your room at the crack of dawn, before going back to her normal day-to-day routine like she did not just witness the confirmation that she could no longer pretend she did not sense things stirring under the roof she called home as she did ever since you moved into the house.

If anyone asked, Fuyumi would be very honest with the fact that while less obvious about her dismay, she was about as keen on the prospect of a woman no one had met before marrying into the family and bringing an adult child with her as the rest of her siblings. The family was messed up enough as it was, no need to bring an outsider into the mix to further complicate the matter. There was also the convenient fact that the buffer period between her birth mother’s death and the announcement of the engagement was far too short for anyone’s comfort, and the speculation of an overlaps in the timeline where Enji started seeing his new wife while his now deceased wife was hanging onto the last breath of her life by a thread.

But she hid the urge to scrunch her face up the first time she met her new stepsister and stepmother and smiled, knowing full well that the others would take up the role of pushing you away until eventually you would have to break under their scrutinising gaze.

Fuyumi had always been the one trying to hold the family together, even if it meant turning a blind eye on the cracks that were starting to form.

The first siren call was when Touya came downstairs one morning acting like a completely different person around you then he was the night before. She felt her guts twisting together at how sickly sweet his voice was as he passed by you, his arms draping over your shoulder slightly before he slumped down on his own seat. Touya was supposed to be the one that was the least likely to wield out of the four, god knows how much of a tantrum he threw when he learnt of the engagement. Something must have happened over night for him to go from sneering at you to cooing at you in the matter of hours, and what the something might be was not a pleasant thing to guess around on.

Still, Fuyumi didn’t confront her brother on his strange antics. Even after she became rather certain on how accurate her guess was regarding your relationship as the bruises on your thigh and offhanded teases got more and more blatant each day. Touya had always been one to play around, she had sent many pretty young things off in the mornings when she came to the living room to find them sitting there with their clothes very wrinkled and legs very much so wobbling with each step. 

He was probably doing it as a protest like most other things he had done and it would take no time for him to get bored of you. 

But one morning turned into a week, and Todoroki Touya only seemed to grow closer and closer to you as each day passed.

Natsuo was much worse when it came to playing things off compared to his older brother and Fuyumi noticed almost immediately when he started getting involved with you too. It should not have come as a surprised, it certainly was not to her. Sentimentally, the two older Todoroki boys were often similar but expressing it in different ways. Fuyumi was aware of how a yearning for being needed was in place of his head where the desire for chaos was cemented in Touya’s. 

It took her a while to see how tightly you had Natsuo wrapped around your fingers, how he very much so ignored the way you amped up your helplessness and dependence when he was around that seemed almost painfully blatant to her. But it didn’t unsettle her as much as it did when the dynamic between you and the siblings switched the first time. If anything, this was the more logical progression. Natsuo had always been the more passive one with his attitude towards you, and him shifting stances would not do much to the scene.

It got harder and harder to bite on her tongue and stay quiet ever since she caught Shouto walking out of your room. She was the most concerned about the youngest Todoroki and his almost dangerous affection towards you. She had connected the dots herself after some baiting fished out that you two were already acquainted before the untimely marriage. She saw the way Shouto watched you with so much fever in his eyes when the other two even inched close to you, the unhidden teeth marks on your arms and legs almost too deliberate for her to not think too much about it. It was the self-righteousness of finally getting something that was lost, and Fuyumi found this one particular budding flame to burn hotter and more destructive than the rest.

You were playing a very dangerous game here, and she was the only one that was left out of it until right now.

Right now, it was a heavy silence in the room at the far end of the house where no one would go to. Fuyumi was sitting right opposite you, both of your postures looking extremely formal with your feet tucked under your legs, hands planed flat on both thighs as you waited for her to say something.

You had a dreadful feeling you knew what this was about when she asked you to go with her for something important with a face so expressionless it scared you.

She had not said a word after she motioned you to sit down on the tatami, looking blankly at the empty floor in front of you like she was deep in thought. All you could hear was the pounding in your eardrum and the steady breaths the left your own nostrils, your hands wanting to claw at the fabric of your shorts to ease the shaking nerves but your head fighting it back with an unwillingness to look like you did not have the upper hand.

You did not, and you were genuinely horrid by the direct confrontation that you did not have to go through with the rest of the family.

“I know you’re sleeping with my brothers.”

Her voice came out like the notes of a lullaby, ghosting in the air but knocking you right in the lungs. She said it like it was nothing but a trivial fact, not a question but a statement that she knew you could not deny.

Fuyumi looked right at you now, like she could see right through your soul and all the gears running in your head as they spun like mad while thoughts trampled your head. Her eyes were clear, so clear behind the frame of her glasses and at the moment you knew she did not leave room for you to lie or try to get your way out of it.

"I am,” you replied. 

It felt almost cathartic to say out loud. There was no need for you to pretend or lie or appease towards someone who already had your game figured out, and there was something about being on the same page that anchored you on your footing.

“Why?”

Yes, why?

“I need to find my place in this house,” you answered, feeling your mind go blank as you reached to the pit of your core and dragged out the words you were searching for, “and they wanted me.”

They wanted you.

You gave them what they wanted in exchange for what you needed, the simple equation that formed the beauty, the complexity and the rotting of human desires.

Your breathing shifted to go with her rhythm without even knowing as she sighed, long and shaky as she dropped her head.

She went into this with the determination that one way or another, she would get you to stop with whatever you were doing with her brothers so things would go back to normal once and for all without lingering glances and hints that weren’t so subtle and glares at the dining table, but now she wasn’t so determined anymore. Fuyumi now realised that things had never been normal, the cracks gad always been here and you simply found a way to slip through.

They wanted you, but what did she want? 

Todoroki Fuyumi was the one who desperately tried to hold the family together through the years when her siblings were deep in resentment and her father obsessed with making a legacy out of what was left, even if it took filling up the growing cracks bit by bit until she didn’t even know who she was doing it for anymore. 

If the cracks had managed to close because they all wanted the same thing, then so be it.

You did not flinch away when Fuyumi leaned forward, her lips stilled on yours as she held herself up with her palms on the floor. Her lips were cold, like the first rain drop that fell into the calm ocean before the surface started to ripple into many, many silver rings, until it melted into the heat on your skin and seeped right under.

You felt a tingle unlike any you had experienced when you snapped out of your shock and kissed her back, subtle closing and opening of lips turned into gentle nibbling as you gravitated towards her body. Her skin was so soft, and the way she held onto your jaw with the tips of her finger as she made you parted your mouth wider was almost tender in a way. 

You couldn’t stop the whimper from slipping out when she sucked on your tongue, hand placed at the base of your spine to press your body closer to hers. Her chest squished against yours and you whined when she shoved her knee between your legs. Her palm smoothed over your curves and down to the swell of your hips as she cradled your face, gripping on the doughy flesh encouragingly as she guided you to hump against her thigh. 

Her breath was shaky when she pulled away, the one drum in her heart particularly loud when her eyes landed on your misted stare behind hooded lids.

So this was why they were all so crazy about you.

One tilt of her head was enough of a sign as you latched onto her, your lips trailing along her exposed neck and down to the collar of her shirt. She sighed when you rolled it up from the hem, your hands cupping her tits before placing open kisses on the delicate skin. The way her skin flushed under your touch was an intoxicating sight and you found yourself wanting more as you pushed the cup of her bra down to wrap your lips around her nipple. It was the moan she made when you sucked on the bud that set you off, the way it hardened in your mouth as you swirled your tongue around it had you bucking your hips against her legs uncontrollably. 

The saltiness that lingered on her skin provoked your senses as you trailed down, making sure to kiss every soft curve and dent of her body before settling at the waistband of her pants. Her legs were tight around your head when you pulled it down, the muscles of her thighs flexing when your mouth hovered right above her sex. She laid back to allow you better access and you could see her breasts heaving with each heavy exhale above you as she leaned against the tatami. You tested the waters with a kitten lick along her folds, getting a little bolder when her legs clenched around your shoulders and she let her head fell back with a hum. Her cunt clenched around nothing when you pulled away, the silver string of your saliva connecting her folds and your lips was sinful as you took in the clear essence that was starting to form. 

She mewled when you dipped back down, your hand kneading her soft thighs as your tongue parted her folds and savoured the taste of her arousal. Your finger brushed past her pubic hair as you pulled back the hood of her clit, the shudder of her legs hitting you in full force when you flicked your tongue against the engorged bud. Fuyumi brought her hand to the back of your head, her fingers lacing into your hair to shove your face closer against her pussy as she rolled her hips, pressing herself on your face for more friction.

Her lips fell open when you eased a finger into her tight hole, the velvet walls gushing with wetness sucking your digit in as you pumped it in her cunt. Toes curling under the pleasure when you added in another one while your lips focused on her clit.

“Hm- right there!” she panted when you scissored your fingers in her, stretching her out as you slurped up her juices that were trailing down your wrist and seeping with each flick of your wrist. You could feel her tightening around your fingers and you looked up only to feel a rush of heat down your core when you saw her face. 

Her glasses had fallen half way down the bridge of her nose, the lenses were not enough to hide her blown out pupils that were hazy with lust. A furious flush dusted across her cheek and reached the tip of her ear, plump lips parted as her tits bounced with each heave of her chest. Her throat bobbed when you arched your fingers inside of her, strumming along her clenching walls encouragingly as meek moans rolled off her tongue. 

The musky scent overwhelmed you when you sucked down hard on her clit, her legs kicking mid-air as a lewd moan rippled out from her lungs while you held her still. The pad of your fingers dragging along her insides rang tingles on her scalp as she came on your mouth, the squelch from her wet cunt loud in your ear when you pulled your hand away and earning you a whimper. 

Fuyumi’s vision was still clouded over by the aftershocks of her orgasm but she found herself unable to look away when you darted your tongue out to lick your fingers clean between her legs. The grip on your shoulder as she ushered you up was almost painful before it was replaced by the feeling of her fumbling hands trying to stripe you down, her whining into your mouth at the taste of her arousal on your tongue as she cupped your ass.

Your moan as she pulled you to straddle her thigh was muffled when she pushed your head down against her chest, the soft mounds pillowing you as she dug her fingers into your hips and pressed down. Your cunt throbbed when it rubbed against the smooth skin of her leg, the muscle beneath flexing and coaxing out numbing shivers along your spine. Your hands flew to find hold on her arm as she bounced the leg you were riding, your back arching and pushing you closer to her as your eyes shut tight. 

The coil in the pit of your stomach tightened with each drag of your folds along her thigh, feeling her hot skin under your touch as your hands roamed all over her body. Your breath fanned against her skin, each moan and pant rumbling against her in weak vibrations. She kept one arm around your waist as the other slid down her stomach and stopping at her slit. Every hair on her skin stood up at the sight of your shoulders tensing up, slipping her fingers in as the speed at which you rolled your hips against her flesh increased and setting a feverish pace like she was rushing to tip over.

You tried to follow the rhythm of her fingers jamming in her cunt with the thrust of your hips, your legs almost cramping up as your toes curled and uncurled. She thumped her leg up and down more vigorously as muscles pulled taut under her skin, fighting back the urge to roll her eyes back so she wouldn’t miss the miniatures on your expression as you came undone.

“Are you close?” she let out a hasty chuckle when you nodded rapidly, her hand that was on your torso gripping down encouragingly as she aimed her fingers at the spot that had shocks pulsing through her veins, “then cum on me- cum on nee chan-”

The band in you snapped at the coo, your nails leaving white lines on her skin as you scratched down. Your hips dragged sloppily along her skin as you rode out your high, lying weakly on her shoulder as you looked up at her. Fuyumi threw her head back as her arm tensed, the joint of her wrist popping out as a sharp moan spilled from her mouth. 

All that could be heard in the room was the pants that were under your ear as you leaned on her chest, the steady rise and fall under your cheek luring you into a state of serenity. A mellow heat slowly imploded from your core, spreading through your skin and planting at the back of your head. 

Fuyumi’s arm draped over your frame loosely, her breaths slowly calming down as she drummed a soothing rhythm against your skin, the tempo synching with the pounding under your ear.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your eyelids felt heavier and heavier as the warmth seeped in, your shoulders almost weightless for the first time in a while.

So you closed your eyes, and listened to the steady beats of your sister’s heart, until you could hear nothing at all.

-

“Sometimes I feel bad for always leaving you at the house on your own.”

Your mother’s smile was apologetic as she rummaged her bag for her keys as she shoved her feet in her heels. You leaned against the frame of the door, tilting your head as you tap your feet against the ground.

“It’s alright, I have company around,” you said with a hum, “leave it, I’ll lock the door for you.”

Your mother paused, looking up from her bag with an almost sheepish sounding chuckle as you leaned over for the knob. She had been worried about whether you would get alienated by the Todoroki children when she married into the family, but it seemed like her worries were unneeded after all.

Sometimes she would walk in on you with the rest of Enji’s children and laugh to herself at how silly she was for even thinking that you would have an issue blending in.

You were a strong girl, you could always find a way to manage yourself through anything.

Your throat felt dry when your mother suddenly gripped your hands in her palm, the calloused pad of her fingers rubbing against your wrist as she looked at you, looking almost teary eyed as she shook her head with a laugh.

“I’m so glad that you are happy here,” she said, the wrinkles at the corner of her eye crinkling up as she smiled, “I really am.”

The tug at the corner of your lips felt almost stiff as you squeezed her hand, nodding to the way she shook your clasped hands like words could not do her thoughts justice. Her touch lingered, even after you gave her a light chuckle and reminded her that she would be late if she doesn’t head out soon. 

She gave you one last look before stepping out the door, the beaming grin on her face not once faltering before she was gone from your sight.

She did not need to know. You thought to yourself as you turned around, your hand rubbing at where your mother’s emotionally tight grip had left a warm sting on your skin as you headed back upstairs.

Your family was waiting for you, after all.

[backtoyuta]

NCT 127: How they would be as coworkers in a shitty office

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❁ [Taeil] King of the welcome wagon; If it was your first day working in a small dinky business, Taeil will make it his sole responsibility to make the environment as inviting as possible. After all, the business wasn't some glamorous well known company, nor was it an exciting new start up, so Taeil made it his mission to paint the office as pretty as he could before you could decide if the job was too boring to keep. If you ask any of his co-workers they'll tell you nobody put him in charge of welcoming the newbie, but it seemed everybody but you noticed him do a double take at the receptionist's desk where you waited to be shown around. Soft moments included him making you a coffee every time he left to make his own, making a point of clearing a little space in the communal fridge for your lunch and hanging around while trying to maintain a respectful distance in case you had any queries so he could be the first to answer them. If you were low-key dreading your first day, you kinda forget about the nerves quickly because of his kindness and tells you cheerfully "See, we don't bite." Will make sure you have everything you need, down to the last sticky note and ball point pen, and smiles bashfully at you when you go to thank him.

❁ [Johnny] cheesy office romance; It was quite impressive really, the fact that Johnny managed to unlock every single office romance cliche you could think of and he wasn't subtle about it either. Though there was no policy really about dating co-workers, the whole situation was a tiny bit embarrassing given the blatant flirting from the titan walking around in his shirt and tie, always throwing devilish smiles from over the photocopier. Even if his desk was miles away from yours, there would always be an excuse to stroll by your work space to drop off some paperwork personally, or remind you of the meeting happening in the afternoon despite the email reminder going around. Johnny really put his bladder through it since he now took too frequent trips to the water cooler that was so conveniently placed next to your desk. The whole office gagged when you finally agreed to go for drinks after work. The hours were spent buying each other pints and admiring him with his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the delicate tattoos that decorated the skin there before calling it a night and letting him kiss you on your porch after walking you home. You kind of became the height of office gossip, which Johnny thrived in, but you couldn't really be mad when you were dating that tall glass of water after all.

❁ [Taeyong] The receptionist with first aid training; Stapling your finger was embarrassing enough, imagine the heat flooding your cheeks when the receptionist appears at your desk clutching the first aid kit, big kind eyes glancing at your finger empathetically. Taeyong was the first face you saw when you walked through the door, that alone making a wonderful first impression, also he was a very diligent worker. He never made a fuss when you asked him to fax something, make a memo or photocopy, and when you had to ring the office because you left your keycard and needed to be let in, he laughed that off with you too while assuring that it happened all the time. On the blasted day you aimed the stapler at your paper but instead caught your finger, Taeyong was the first to perk from behind his desk at your exclamation of "Ow!" and was by your side before you knew it. He apologised profusely at the sting of an anti-bacterial wipe and wrapped your finger gingerly in a plaster, his chair scooted towards you and your knees bumping occasionally. You were pretty sure every female in the office was crushing on him and you were one of many, but you couldn't help the blush when you received a private IM chat asking if you wanted to get coffee after work: "Date? :)" he wrote at the end of the message. You wasted no time typing on your computer a reply, sneaking a glance at his face from behind the desk and exchanging a smile before looking busy once again.

❁ [Yuta] The guy that lowkey terrified you; Yuta was the co-worker that, whether it was on purpose or not, pushed you away with sheer intimidation and sinfully good looks. When you first encountered him in the office you were sure he was a model undercover, and when that was debunked you were sure he must have had a much higher level and higher paying job than you. His presence read corporate, the cologne you sometimes caught a whiff of smelt expensive and you could easily picture him in a big leather chair in a tall glass building barking orders at people. What surprised you was behind the intimidating aura, lay the humility of any of your other co-workers. All it took was one painfully awkward conversation in the break room and with the power of pointless small talk you learnt that his weekend plans didn't involve a modelling side hustle like you expected, but rather being a homebody, watching animated movies and cooking dinner for one instead. When you did finally enter an established relationship with him, expect impulsive moments like being tugged into the copier room so he can press his lips to yours and run his hands through your hair, or intense staring contests when other male co-workers demanded your attention. Overall, he was terrifying, but his redeemable qualities involved making dates after work so you had something to look forward to, buying your favourite cake during office parties and volunteering to do overtime with you so you would always be entertained.

❁ [Doyoung] The manager that scares you shitless; For the position of local branch manager, Doyoung exuded way more power and intimidation than what was probably warranted. Maybe that was why he managed to get the branch performing so well, everybody dreaded being called into his office for "friendly chitchat" after making a small mistake. When you first arrived, you steered as clear from him as possible, only venturing near his office when absolutely needed. What you didn't see was the way he would watch you intently in your little office nook, always appreciating how hard you worked and how cute you looked in your office get-up. You often squirmed at the amount of eye-contact he gave you when he ran meetings and you would glance around to see if anyone else was experiencing the same thing. Nope, just you. When he did call you into his office that one time you were quaking in your shoes. You had already convinced yourself you were fired before you had even reached his office door, but the feeling was replaced soon enough with confusion when he did eventually speak to you. "I just wanted to ask... would you be interested in.... this corporate training program?" He rushed. My god, your boss was just as awkward as the next bumbling guy. It would be a while before he asked you on an official date, dinner for two, also quite a bit of paperwork to fill out with HR, but you would come to realise his icy exterior wasn't all that icy when he wasn't in work-mode.

❁ [Jaehyun] The temp that never left; Jaehyun was fresh from university, now venturing into the world of work but still had the boyish aura that set him apart from the rest of the men in the office. From the way he spoke to you over lunch in the break room you could tell he was full of ambition, but also didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this job any time soon. Jaehyun was the guy who you initially tried not to get too close to, since you were under the impression that he would be leaving after completing the temporary placement and when he left it would hurt like a bitch. However, you could have sworn his placement ended like a month ago, but eventually you learnt that he somehow managed to talk himself into a full-time position. "Oh that, yeah, I guess I just realised I had more reasons to stay." He shrugged as casually as he could when you asked about it. You couldn't deny that you were happy, not when you saw his smiling face in the conference room saving you a seat, hearing his outrageous stories from uni and always being the two to get a little too drunk at corporate parties and being sent home in a taxi of shame. Romance blossomed when you remembered that one drunken kiss in the backseat and you both bonded when your boss gave you the cold shoulder after arriving to work a little more than dishevelled and with a hangover.

❁ [Jungwoo] Desk buddy; Honestly, who could hate their job when they had a sweet Jungwoo sitting at the desk adjacent to theirs. You kinda scored when your boss appointed you this specific desk because Jungwoo took to you almost embarrassingly quick. It made your heart swell looking at all the little knick knacks on his desk; toys to fiddle with and colourful sticky notes, this was just one part of his persona. You were a little shocked when he offered you a cigarette during the lunch break, kind of exposing a duality you didn't know existed, but nobody could be that wholesome of a person. Monday to Friday 9-5 was filled with Jungwoo ping-ponging back and forth between these traits, any off handed comments he would mutter to you when the boss was giving an announcement or the conversations you would overhear him having with a friend over the phone would remind you he wasn't a total puppy of a human being. However, the way he always offered to share a snack and would flick paper and notes at you playfully was also very much him being himself. You always fluttered a little at the smirk he would throw your way when your manager was talking something boring or ridiculous, it seemed those smirks were only reserved for you. It didn't take long before he became your best friend in the office, if he wasn't in that day you were in the right mind to just call it quits yourself (and vice versa), he was the guy that made the long hours that much more bearable.

❁ [Mark] The bumbling intern; When it came to responsibilities in the work place, you tried to delegate as little of that as possible to Mark the intern. It was cute really, the guy put in 110% effort into his tasks and yet when it came to coffee orders, photocopying or sending out a memo, something nearly always went wrong. You couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm, also that he made an effort to know everybody in the office, including the cleaners. Mark was one of the first people to greet you when you joined, waving around a little notebook of Starbucks orders and a company card to splurge, urging you to write down whatever you wanted. A simple task right? Rookie mistake. Bless him, you would never tell him how his mistake of getting full dairy rather than the soy you requested led to a night on and off the toilet, but that just scratched the surface of his office blunders. Somehow, he never cost the company too much, but there was a reason why the poor boy never got promoted beyond intern. He wasn't deterred though, he'd lean up against your desk while you made idle chit chat and he'd tell you that he liked his job and he didn't aspire to be the best in this business. Where he really proved himself was during company functions, you'll never forget during the annual employee bbq when he asked you your favourite song so he could sing it melodically accompanied skilfully with a guitar. Mark's contributions to the work place were always a little unpredictable, but he kept things interesting and people, including you, genuinely enjoyed having him around.

❁ [Haechan] Probably the reason you get fired; Even in the workplace, Haechan can't deny himself a bit of mischief. He made a stellar first impression by rocking up half an hour late, sending your boss a half arsed apology and plonking down at the desk across the room from yours. To be honest, he kind of annoyed you at first, his attitude came off immature and you didn't appreciate how distracting he was when you had work to do. However, things started to change at some point. Haechan was the guy that convinced you to ditch the office party and sit on the rooftop with him to watch the city lights, the guy that sent out ridiculous memos just to catch you smile and the guy eventually became the reason for you own demise after he started picking you up for breakfast most mornings. When the manager called you in his office after being late the third time in a row, you ducked your head and mumbled something about traffic while hiding a croissant wrapper in your pocket, Haechan covered a laugh with a cough and apologised on behalf of both of you. When you asked him about why he never seemed to give a shit about anything, you learnt that it was because he had a taste for adventure; "Don't tell me you wanna stay and work here forever? Don't you wanna do something more... exciting with your life?" He asked you incredulously, like the answer was obvious. He kinda got you, no, you didn't want to work in a dingy office for the rest of you life. To be honest, when he painted a picture of moving to a big city, or taking a road trip, or just fucking off to the suburbs you didn't hate the sound of that either. When you were both sat there in your manager's office, signing off on a severance package, you weren't even mad. You didn't have time to be, Haechan was already clasping your hand and leading you to his car and laughing about finally being free, tugging his tie from around his neck whilst driving no where in particular- the start of an adventure.

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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[writershapeholeonthedoor]

You Marked More Than Just My Skin - Supercorp

Read it on AO3

Kara’s first instinct was to blame Alex because, if she was going to be honest, Alex was the one to blame for many of her stupid decisions. Sisters' competitive nature or something like that. That's what their mother would say when they were teenagers and they randomly started a fight. A just adopted Kara who had just lost her parents was not letting an overly cocky Alex win without fighting back.

So, naturally, she was going to blame Alex for this. However, Alex had nothing to do with Kara walking down the street from her job one day and entering the tattoo shop she walked past by every day on her way home. No, it had started with Winn, her best friend, saying that Kara wasn’t the type of person to do things out of impulse. Which he wasn’t exactly wrong, although he hit a sore spot because "I can be very spontaneous!" had been Kara’s answer and everyone around them gave her that look that made it pretty clear no one believed her.

Then, just about a week after that, Nia was walking home with her after a stop at Noonan's for their killer milkshake and saw the tattoo shop still open even if it was past 10 pm. There was no one inside that they could see, but the sign read "open" in neon letters and Nia did a double-take when she saw the walls covered in drawings.

"Oh, my God! Look at that thing!" she had screamed. And that thing was a fairly beautiful drawing of a girl lying in bed with a cloud above her head as though she was dreaming about a myriad of things.

Nia grabbed her arm, dragged her inside and, ten minutes later, she was sitting on a chair while a young man that couldn't be older than Kara permanently marked the skin on her forearm with the same drawing.

"Did you draw it?" Nia asked and Kara could tell she was just a little bit in pain because she was clutching the arm of the chair and hadn’t stopped babbling for two seconds. Not that Nia ever stopped talking, actually.

"No," the man replied in an excited voice. Like he was happy to be doing a tattoo on a girl that had just ten minutes prior decided she wanted one. But Kara held back her tongue, took some pictures while Nia made her goofy faces and sat on a stool at the corner like the good friend she was. "My boss did. She does most of the drawings we have available."

"Well, she has a hell of a talent!" Nia exclaimed, bit her lip when the needle hit a soft spot and flashed another smile once it was gone. "You should tell her she's amazing!"

Jack, that was his name, Kara reminded herself, laughed like that was a big joke that only he was aware of, but nodded all the same. "She's in the office right now, maybe she will stop by to hear you say that. She loves when people pick her drawings, but she will never say it out loud."

The woman, whoever she was, didn’t leave her office, not even when they left, way past midnight, listening to Jack's careful instructions on how to take care of Nia's arm for the next week. In the end, Kara had to admit Jack was a nice guy. And he did an excellent job. Nia's tattoo was perfect. Perfect for her and perfectly done, and her friend had no problem showing it off the next day.

"Holy crap!" Winn screamed when he saw it on game night on Friday. "I didn't know you were into tattoos. It looks awesome!"

"Thank you! And I just decided to do it," Nia shrugged, as though deciding to do a tattoo on a Wednesday night at 10 pm after getting a milkshake was a normal thing. "Thank Goddess Kara was with me so she could keep me company."

"Wait," Winn eyed Kara with the same incredulous expression from a week before and she immediately felt defensive. "Kara was there and didn't try to stop you?"

"She did say I might regret it," Nia conceded with a smile. "About ten times, but she stayed with me."

Kara rolled her eyes, picked up the pizza box and sulked on the couch while her friends made fun of her lack of spontaneous nature. Kara was a planner. And she had learned her lesson when she decided to walk to the park instead of going home one day after school and returned to the Danvers' household to find out three police cars parked at the street and a frantic Eliza giving them a photo of her and saying she had disappeared. So, yes, Kara wasn't one to do things out of the blue anymore, but that was hardly a bad thing.

She tried to tell that to herself for the next week while everyone still awed and cooed at Nia's tattoo. She tried to remind herself of Eliza's panicked face while James, with his impressive looking dragon tattoo on his back, said Kara would never be one to make a tattoo because she would keep changing her mind. She tried to picture Alex's disapproving stare while Nia's boyfriend, Querl, made comments on how he loved Nia's carefree and spontaneous nature.

In the end, what pushed her to do it was her boss and Kara couldn’t even blame her, or Alex, or any of her friends. But she would, anyway.

"Kiera, the reason why people hardly remember your name-" she wanted to point out that Cat was the only one who had a hard time remembering her name but bit her tongue instead "-is because you are so... blank."

"Blank?" Kara had asked, trying and failing not to look so offended.

And Cat nodded because she knew how to get to her. "Nothing remarkable. You use terrible sweaters and write articles that everyone could write. Did you ever do something, I don’t know, remotely spontaneous in your life?"

Kara was sure - or almost sure because you can never know with Cat Grant - that her boss was trying to push her to fly to Midvale to write about the scandal surrounding some tech company there even though Snapper had decided William would cover that for CatCo. It was either that or to make her wear something that wasn’t in pastel color.

Well, all it did was send Kara straight to a tattoo shop where she hoped to find Jack and demand he did something as spectacular as Nia's tattoo. And she went on a mission, marching down the ten blocks from CatCo to the tattoo shop - that only that day she stopped to read the name of and what weird name they chose, Le Vintage Ink - her feet hitting the ground with a purpose, her hand pushing the door open with a vengeance, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses with one goal in mind.

It wasn't Jack she saw, however. She didn't see anyone at first, actually. The shop was empty like it was a week before and very silent, with the air conditioner doing a soft hum and nothing else.

The anti climax moment was enough to make all her determination wave off. Her shoulders dropped, her eyes rounded, her feet started to stamp and her determination, well, she didn’t quite remember it anymore. Nobody needed to know, Kara told to herself. Nobody knew she was going to do it, so she could just turn around, leave, go back to her apartment and try to do some online shopping. Maybe buy a red dress for once. None of her friends would ever believe she went back to the tattoo shop, so there would be no problem...

No. That was exactly the problem. They wouldn’t even believe her if she told them. They would laugh, call it a bluff, and keep teasing Kara for not being adventurous like they were. Alex does this long motorbike drives all over the state sometimes, and James goes hiking and jumps from planes from time to time. Winn would point out that the last thing Kara did without meticulous planning was to change pizza night for potstickers and that was only because the pizza place she always orders from was out of pineapples.

However, Kara reasoned with herself, instead of doing a tattoo, she could just go with Alex on her next trip. Maybe she could ask James to teach her how to hike. Querl adopted a cat he found behind his building, so maybe that could be Kara’s unplanned moment too. And what did Winn do so adventurous or spontaneous that he had the right to make fun of Kara? She couldn’t remember.

Yes, any of those things would be more reasonable. She could even do an impromptu visit to her mother. It would count for something. She knew Eliza would be happy and she loved making her mom happy. She could even pick Alex's old helmet so her sister could use it to ride with her girlfriend, Kelly, and Eliza makes a killer chocolate pecan pie too.

Already dreaming with the taste of the pie crust in her mouth Kara turned around. She must have been inside the tattoo shop for less than ten seconds and Jack hadn’t shown up yet, so that was a plus and a sign, even if she wanted to greet him and tell how nice Nia's tattoo looked after a week.

The second her back was turned to the counter, though, she heard a door opening and then a voice filled the silence. "Can I help you?"

That wasn’t Jack's voice. That much she knew. What she didn’t know was that someone could sound so... husky and still be so clear on the words. What she also didn’t know was why her body froze like she had been hit with lightning. Or why she ever decided to leave when a voice like that was inside the shop.

It would be rude to just keep walking, Kara told herself and even she knew it was a lame excuse for wanting to see the owner of that voice. But she still turned around, eyes blinking fast as she tried not to miss a second of what she was about to see, and then immediately felt her soul leave her body. That was the only explanation on why her mouth fell open and why her brain's function slowed down at least 30%.

Because the voice's owner was... for the lack of a better word, striking. It was a woman, looking a few years younger than Kara, with dark as coal wavy hair falling down her shoulders, green piercing eyes framed by some heavy eyeliner and plump lips painted with red lipstick. The woman was wearing a black t-shirt from a band Kara had never heard of, the v-cut being deep enough that she could see a black bra under it. The shirt looked like she had been cut at home - maybe she wasn't designed to have such a deep v-neck, maybe she had sleeves at some point and maybe the deep cuts by each side also weren't a part of the initial product. But, damn, it looked great on her. Since she had no sleeves and the shirt moved as she walked and showed a great expanse of her sides, Kara could see that the woman’s body was covered in tattoos.

Her arms, from shoulder to wrist, were almost totally covered. Her left arm almost looked like a flower shop, with dozens of flowers in different colors drawn all over it. Her right arm had tattoos from her shoulder to her elbow, and they were a mix of chemical elements and computer parts that, somehow, worked together in all black and white. Kara got just a few glimpses of the tattoos on her side - something that looked like a cartoon character, another one that assembled a lake, a few words that Kara couldn’t read from that far - but that was enough to make her lick her lips and try to picture what else was there. There were no tattoos on her chest area, that Kara could see, but there was a small musical chord on the left side of her neck, and Kara wondered if she had any tattoos on her legs. She couldn't see them from where the woman was standing behind the counter, and something dragged her feet forward before she could stop herself.

"H-hi," she choked out and her face immediately heated up with embarrassment. Her sister would call it 'gay panic' and make fun of her for three days, and Kara was suddenly very thankful for being alone. "I, uh..." The woman blinked, Kara mimicked her, and lost every coherent thought inside her head. "Jack."

The woman arched one perfect eyebrow, resting her hands flat against the counter, and Kara’s blue eyes were suddenly very interested in the long fingers spread over some papers. The papers, she noticed as a second thought, were unfinished drawings, but she could hardly tell what they were. Feeling her face get even hotter, Kara demanded that her eyes moved up and she was almost proud of herself when they paused for only a second at the woman’s cleavage. Of course, as soon as her eyes met the woman’s face again, she had a tiny smirk like she knew Kara was having a hard time being in the same space as her.

"I'm sorry, love," she said and Kara noticed an accent behind the last word, like she had spent years trying to get rid of it but still couldn't brush it off some words. "Jack doesn't work here on Tuesdays."

Oh. Well, that's a bit of a relief, Kara wasn't going to lie. No Jack, no tattoo, and she still could say she tried. She still wanted to say ‘hi’ but...

"Can I help you instead?"

Oh, boy. Kara almost turned around and ran away right then and there because the things she was thinking this stranger could help her with were kind of mortifying. Instead, Kara bit her bottom lip so hard that it went numb instantly, and leaned forward until she was resting her hands in front of the woman's fingers. She dared to glance down really quick, just to find out the woman was wearing black jeans and boots, before she looked up again - with a quick stop at the cleavage because good lord.

"I don't know, I..." Kara couldn’t even say her own name if the woman asked at that moment, let alone remember what she was doing there and where there even was.

The woman chuckled then. A deep, husky sound from the back of her throat that brought a small smile to her lips, and then she ducked her head - as though she had no idea that was the most blinding smile Kara had ever seen in her twenty-six years of living. Neither the chuckle nor the smile was mockingly, and her green eyes were just a little bit amused when she looked back at Kara.

"Don't get me wrong but... you don't look like the type of person that would get a tattoo."

Okay, what is it with people just assuming Kara is too boring to do something? Kara took a look at her own clothes. She wasn't even wearing a sweater that day! Sure, beige trousers and a blue button up hardly screamed "living on the edge" but come on! Was it the glasses? Alex always said she should use contact lenses, but she liked the glassed!

Feeling a new wave of determination, Kara set up her jaw and crossed her arms. "Well, that's exactly what I came here to do."

The woman raised both eyebrows now, clearly amused. "To get a tattoo?" She asked like there was any other reason for Kara to be inside a tattoo shop on a Tuesday night.

So Kara nodded, her blonde hair wiggling from side to side on her ponytail, and straightened up her back like she was about to enter a fight. Not that she ever fought before, not even when the cruel kids at her new school would call her weird and push her inside her locker. Alex would beat them up for her, so she didn’t have to, it was fine.

"Yes," she said and her voice only trembled for a second. "To get a tattoo," she confirmed like there was any other reason for her to be inside a tattoo shop on a Tuesday night.

"Okay," the woman said, clicking her tongue once before she picked up a pen from the desk, a smirk permanently spread on her lips. "Do you have any idea of what you want?"

Shit. Kara hadn’t gone that far. Maybe not even her own brain thought she would do it because she had neglected the most important part of the entire process. She had no idea what she wanted permanently marked on her skin.

(Permanently marked also sent a thousand of red lights inside her head because, you know, it was permanent)

It must have shown on her face because the woman’s smirk became more of a smile, not exactly gentle but not mockery either. "What's your name?"

"Kara." She was so glad her brain hadn’t come up with something ridiculous to say. She could remember when she met her cousin's sister-in-law and answered the same question with "mashed potatoes" for some reason she would never be able to grasp. Lucy never let her forget that embarassing moment.

"Well, Kara," and Holy Goddess of all the universe and beyond, how could her name roll out of her lips like that? "why don’t you take a look at the drawings we have here, see if you like one. If you don't, we can always come up with something for you."

She then pushed some heavy black portfolio across the counter towards Kara and opened the leather front cover to show her the first drawing. They were all separated by plastic, and she started the task of turning the pages while trying very hard to look at the drawings and not at the woman in front of her. She wasn't sure because she wouldn’t dare to look up, but she could feel green eyes staring at her and her blush returned full force.

"So..." she heard after a couple of minutes in silence. "What kind of dare you lost?"

Kara took full offense on that, glaring at her for a moment before going back to the portfolio. She had gotten on the dragon section and decided to skip it all together. "There was no dare."

The woman hummed, watched her for another minute, and then leaned over with her forearms touching the counter. She reached out, taking the plastic from Kara's fingers, and started skipping the pages until they reached the flowers. Kara looked up, catching a glimpse of the woman's arm, before meeting green eyes with a light glare.

The woman shrugged. "You look like a flower kind of girl."

"What else do I look like to you?" Kara mumbled back and stubbornly went back to the drawing she was seeing before - the ships and anchors section - even though she left a finger marking the flowers page.

The brunette seemed even more amused now, barely able to hide her smile, and she chuckled once when Kara turned the page to see another ship. "Like you randomly decided to get a tattoo because someone pissed you off."

Kara tried not to give her the satisfaction of being right, deciding to focus on studying every ship and every anchor. She heard another chuckle, but the woman wisely didn’t push the subject.

"You could save us a lot of time by just going to the flowers."

Fine, maybe she was right about that too. Kara would never pick a ship, or a dragon, or a coffee cup, or any other drawing she saw before. Although Kara never thought what type of drawing she would get tattooed. With a sigh, she went back to the flowers, throwing the woman a dirty look when she huffed a laugh.

"Hey," she said, raising her hands in playful defense, "if I'm going to do something that you will regret tomorrow, at least let me help."

"Aren't you going to try to talk me out of this?" Kara asked, remembering when Jack asked Nia five times if she was sure before touching her skin with the needle.

"No," another shrug. "I will get my money and you will get the regret. Works fine by me."

Kara scoffed and shook her head, but finally spotted something she liked. It was a rose, not larger than a paper ball, black and white with a few leafs to the side. She was almost pointing that one out when she heard a deep sigh and looked up. The brunette was staring down at the drawing with enough judgment that Kara changed her mind in a blink.

"What?" She still asked because it was a beautiful flower.

"Nothing, it's just... does that even mean something to you?"

Kara looked back at the rose and frowned. "I like roses," she defended herself.

"I like kale, but I won’t tattoo that."

"You like kale?" Kara didn’t mean to sound so disgusted by it but it was stronger than her. Her face twisted in a grimace, shocked more than anything.

The other woman laughed a real laugh this time, and Kara felt the sound into her xcvery core. "Please, don't ask me to tattoo a burger on you. You're too pretty for that."

It was like she knew exactly what those words would do to Kara because she winked right after, making her blush ten times more. "What do you suggest, then?"

The tattooed brunette smiled and tapped her finger on top of the rose. "If you liked this one, it's fine, but I would go with..." She let her voice die as she started turning the pages until she found what she was looking for. "This one."

Kara looked at the drawing and was immediately sold to the idea. It wasn't just any flower. It was a plumeria. Well, two plumerias side by side, with a few leafs to the sides and a mandala carefully placed behind them like it was the third flower. She knew she wanted that one the second her eyes landed on it.

"It would look good on you," she kept talking. "I wouldn’t add any color, though." Kara kept nodding although she was only half paying attention now that she had found the right one. Her silence must have sent twisted signals because the woman’s voice became softer. "I know I said I wouldn’t try to talk you out of this but... are you sure?"

Kara’s eyes moved up then, metting slightly concerned green eyes, and she smiled. "Yes. I'm sure."

The woman studied her face for a few seconds before she nodded once. "Okay, then. Where do you want it?"

Shit.

The panic on her face told her out again and the woman’s laugh filled the space around them like a melody. "Come on, we can figure it out inside."

‘Inside’ being a closed room very similar to the one Nia had gotten her tattoo, albeit it was clear that that one wasn't Jack's. First, it lacked the smell of cigars and heavy cologne that Kara smelled last time and made her nose itch. But it also held a more personal touch like more drawings and a few words scribbled on the black walls. Kara didn’t feel nervous while the woman turned the sign from open to close, explaining that she was the only one who worked on Tuesdays' nights. She also didn’t feel nervous when she entered the room and spotted the comfortable chair she would be sitting on. What made her nervous again was taking her shirt off so she could decide where she wanted the plumerias to be.

She placed the printed drawing on several parts of both of her arms, her shoulders and asked the brunette to hold it at some spots on her back as well. But Kara was only satisfied when she put the paper against the right side of her ribs, a few centimeters below her bra. The woman gave her a knowing look and arched one eyebrow when she said that was the place she wanted her tattoo.

"Are you sure? It can be quite a painful area to get a tattoo, especially if it's your first one."

Again, she wasn't making fun of Kara and she appreciated it, but she also wasn't going to change her mind. "I'm sure."

"Okay. I will put the outlines, then."

It was only when the brunette had her hands against her side and her face a few inches from her chest that Kara realized she didn’t even know who she was. "Hey, I, uh, I didn't catch your name before."

Green eyes glanced up, bright and slightly amused, before they returned to the task of perfectly positioning the flowers on her ribs. "Lena."

"Lena," Kara found herself echoing the name in a whisper before she could stop herself. Lena looked up again, even more amused than before, and Kara felt herself blushing. "It... it suits you."

She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Lena smiled and tilted her head to the side. "Thanks." She pushed back the stool she was sitting on. "Take a look at the mirror and see if that's what you want."

Kara took a step closer to see her reflection and tried very hard to ignore the fact that she was standing in front of a stranger in her bra. The plumerias were exactly what she wanted and exactly where she wanted them, and she said that to Lena, who told her to lay down after turning the chair into an improvised bed. While Kara tried to find a comfortable place to lay, she heard Lena slipping on rubber gloves and moving a few things around before approaching her again. She was half expecting her to ask one more time if she was sure, but Lena said nothing when she touched her skin with the black gloves, and raised the needle to her eyes level to make sure it was ready to go.

Kara wasn’t sure if the shivers were from nervousness, the chill air of the room, or the fact that this very attractive woman was touching her just below her breast, but she did her best to ignore it. Lena had pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, Kara realized, and she could see her sharp jawline more easily now. She also spotted five different piercings on the woman’s right ear. For a second, she wondered if Lena could feel her heart beating under her skin or if she could maybe even hear it.

"Be ready for some pain, but try not to move," Lena said while she lowered the needle to her skin. "It will take longer if you keep moving. You also don't want me to fuck this up," she offered Kara a smile to let her know she was joking - at least that's what the blonde hoped for. "Tell me if you need a break."

So, Lena wasn't lying when she said it would hurt. Nia neglected to tell her about the painful part and Kara would make her pay for it by typing down her next article, but, holy crap, it hurt. The first touch of the needle made her jump and hiss, and Lena pulled it away like she knew it was going to happen, giving her a few seconds to recover.

"Sorry," Kara whispered once her body relaxed again.

"It's fine," the brunette mumbled back, totally concentrated on her job now.

It went like that for a few minutes - Kara squeezing her eyes shut, biting her lips, clutching the sides of the chair slash bed, and hissing under her breath whenever she couldn’t hold it back anymore. Until she started to get used to the pain and allowed herself to focus on other things. Her eyes trailed to the few drawings hanging on the walls, taking in the delicate traces and the lack of colors from all of them. She decided that talking would help her with the pain.

"Jack said his boss makes those drawings," she commented lightly.

There was a brief pause before Lena answered her. "That would be me."

"Oh," the blonde breathed out in shock. "So, you..."

"I'm the owner, yes." There was another pause while Lena cleaned her skin with a soft paper. "I used to work for a tattoo artist back in Metropolis before I decided to open my own business. Jack followed me."

"Well, you certainly have talent. Your drawings are beautiful."

"On paper," Lena teased and Kara didn’t need to look at her to know she was smirking. "Let's see how it translate to your skin."

Kara wanted to play along and tell her to ‘please, don't make something awful that would be permanently marked on my skin’, but she found herself saying something entirely different. "Plumerias were my mom's favorite flowers. My dad would bring them to her every Saturday after work because those were the first flowers he ever gave her." She could still remember her father getting back home on Saturdays right before lunch with a bouquet in his hand to her mom and a box of chocolate for her, all smiles and offering hugs. If she tried hard enough, Kara could still remember the smell of her mom's stew mixed with the flowers' smell, could still taste the chocolate. "They died almost fifteen years ago."

Kara had no idea why she was sharing those things with this stranger wearing black rubber gloves and breathing too close to her ribs, but she also couldn't stop. Maybe it was a tattoo thing, like sharing too much about your relationships while cutting your hair.

Lena didn’t shy away, though. She made sure their eyes were locked before saying, "Let's make sure those are perfect, then," and went back to work.

Kara felt herself relaxing more after that, although she didn’t say anything else for a few minutes. "I work as a reporter to a magazine," she found herself saying. "My boss is... both of them are impossible to deal with. I dream about throwing them into space sometimes, but... I love my job. One of them is the reason I'm here today."

"Who should I be thanking?"

Kara blushed one more time, even if she wasn't sure it was said to be flirtatious or if she was just imagining it. "Cat means well, she just... push some buttons sometimes."

"Well," Lena stopped her movements to look at Kara again, this time with a soft smile. "I will be sending this Cat some flowers anyway."

The blonde chuckled at that. "Go back to work. I don't want to end up with a dragon on my ribs."

Lena hummed, eyes dropping back to the outlines of the flowers and needle touching skin again. "I wouldn’t draw a dragon on you," she contemplated. "You're more of an iguana kind of girl."

Kara gasped in faked offense and turned her head to fully stare at Lena with narrowed eyes. "How dare you? You know nothing about me!"

The tattoo artist shrugged, not bothered by her explosion. "Maybe a kitty." Kara huffed and puffed, letting her body fall back on the chair, and did her best to keep frowning. "Definitely a kitty," she heard Lena whispering under her breath, playfully and amused, and Kara was soon smiling. "So... will your boyfriend approve this?"

"Are you fishing for information about me?" Kara teased.

"Huh," Lena sighed. "You didn’t sound this confident when you were stumbling over your words when you first saw me."

She was sure her entire body turned pink with that and she mumbled weakly that: "I was nervous about getting a tattoo."

"Yes, of course," Lena replied and Kara blushed again.

"No boyfriend," she ended up replying because the other alternative was to dig a bigger hole to herself. "Or a girlfriend."

She was ready for another teasing from the other woman, but Lena pulled back instead and eyed her tattoo with her head tilted to the side. "I need you to hold your breath for a few seconds, okay? I'm getting to a delicate part and it would be better if you hold it for, like, ten seconds."

Kara nodded and got ready to pull in a breath to hold it while Lena got her needle ready to go again. When the other woman said so, Kara took in a large intake of breath but, as soon as the needle touched her again, she exhaled in surprise when the pain shot to every nerve in her body.

"I know," Lena said. "It's the hardest part. I promise to be done with it as fast as possible. Can we try again?"

There weren't many options since Kara was already in the middle of getting her tattoo done, so she nodded and waited for the new signal. Kara grabbed the chair with both of her hands, pressed her eyes tightly shut, bit her bottom lip and held her breath for the longest ten seconds of her life before Lena tapped her skin and pulled away with a smile.

"There," she declared in her husky tone. "Good girl."

It was embarrassing how those two words made Kara react. She gasped, the breath still stuck in her lungs almost causing her to choke, and her entire body went stiff when a shiver left goosebumps all over her skin on its way down her spine. She couldn't see Lena and that was a blessing because she could feel the pause that her reaction gave the brunette. So, maybe that was a weird way to find out a praise kink, Kara decided while praying that Lena would brush it as a perfectly normal reaction to have.

"That was interesting," Lena whispered and, this time, the blonde knew she wasn't supposed to have heard that.

The blonde bit her bottom lip so hard that she could feel the taste of blood and she was totally sure that Lena could hear how fast her heart was beating. She could probably feel it, and, God, that was so embarrassing. Kara had half a piece of mind to just pull back her shirt, leave and never go back there, but the other woman didn’t give her time to react before she was once more piercing her skin with the needle. It was still painful, although the mortification she felt numbed it a little bit.

Lena didn’t sound so cocky when she spoke again and she even had to clear her throat so the words would come out less hoarse and more audible. “Just a while longer and we will be done. Can you handle it or should we finish it another day?”

Kara didn’t trust herself to ever come back – and not just because of what had just happened but also because she didn’t think she would be brave enough to get any tattoo needle to ever touch her again. So, she exhaled slowly and nodded. Lena went back to the draw immediately after that and they fell in a half comfortable silence until the trickiest part was over. Or, at least, that’s what Kara thought the trickiest part was because it hurt like hell and Lena had this crinkle between her brows when she glanced back that made her look... cute. Even with the tattoos and the five different piercing sets on her ears, the black clothes, the black room and her undeniable confidence.

It wasn’t until Lena leaned away to get more ink that she spoke again. “Plumerias were very common where I lived.”

Kara thought back on their conversation and wondered aloud, “Metropolis?”

“Ireland,” she corrected gently.

“Oh,” Kara breathed out and then hissed when the needle was back to her ribs.

“Not many people know I’m Irish, so I’m trusting you with this secret, Kara.”

She could hear the joke in the woman’s voice and Lena even poked her side playfully, and Kara heard herself giggling like a schoolgirl. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” Lena declared with a huff. “Now you need to tell me a secret of yours.”

“What?”

“Yes, so we’re even and I can make sure you will never tell anyone what I just told you.”

“It’s not like you just confessed a murder,” Kara argued with an eye roll that was quite too fond to be directed to someone who she had met only two or three hours before.

Lena looked up for a second and their eyes met, making Kara’s face flush red. She was pulling a very uncomfortable position to keep her head raised and turned to the side so she could watch the other woman, and she had just been caught doing that one more time. “No? Well, you shouldn’t go to my office then.”

Kara hummed, trying to sound unimpressed by the joke while fighting back a laugh, and shrugged. “I knew it was weird I didn’t see Jack.”

The brunette let out a breathy chuckle, her hot breath hitting Kara’s side and making her shiver again, before she pursed her lips. “I see you’re too fond of Jack already.”

“Jealous?”

Lena quirked one dark eyebrow and gave her a look – the type of look that Kara tried to pull out her entire life while trying to look all sexy and misterious and was never able to do it – that made the blonde’s entire body warm up. “I’m the one poking your skin with a needle right now, so I think he should be the jealous one.”

Yes, Kara couldn’t keep up with that. She was weird, she rambled, she stuttered more times than not, and just, overall, was terrible at the whole flirting thing. Lena, on the other hand, seemed to be a master on it. Kara didn’t really stand a chance against it, not even for a second. She could try, pull out a word or a phrase here and there, but, in the end, Lena would find a way to leave her blushing and flustered so easily that made her head spin.

(She couldn’t be sure if Lena was just that good or if Kara was just super gay, but, whatever it was, it was working wonderfully)

“Now, come on, spill a secret,” Lena said after a long silence that stretched between them while they just stared at each other’s eyes.

Kara felt hypnotized by the green eyes and that was so unfair. So, damn, unfair. “I get my boss’ coffee order wrong every day.”

Lena stopped with the tattoo again to blink at her a couple of times in what seemed to be confusion. Then, she tilted her head to the side, glanced to the ceiling and opened her mouth as if she was going to say something. No sound came out, she closed her mouth again, and she looked so adorable that Kara felt her rambling coming to the surface again.

“Cat has this really complicated order at Starbucks that makes my head hurt just to think about. 3% fat, quarter milk, a spoon and a half of organic sugar, or whatever that is. It’s my job to get her coffee every morning and there’s no Starbucks close to my apartment, so I stop at another place called Noonan’s and get an order from there.” Lena still hadn’t said anything and Kara couldn’t bring herself to stop talking. “I used to work there, so I have a discount. I can buy a coffee for myself too with the same amount of money I would spend at Starbucks. And she never noticed it!”

There was a pause where Kara tried to come up with more things to say before a loud laugh cut the space around her. She looked at Lena with wide eyes and only slightly offended by her reaction, but the other woman was too busy laughing at her expense to notice it. The brunette used the back of her hand to cover her mouth while she shook her head and kept laughing freely.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, waving her hand, before being interrupted by her own laugh. “It’s just... Fuck! That’s the worse thing you ever did in your life?” The tattoo artist looked at her again with her eyes crinkling at the sides and Kara felt her anger melting away.

“What? Did you expect a murder?”

“I was hoping that you would say you spit on her coffee, at least.”

Kara gasped. “I would never do that!”

Lena narrowed her eyes at her, a tiny smirk adorning her lips. “But you think about it, don’t you?”

“Every day,” she admitted with a groan, letting her head fall back against the chair.

The brunette laughed again and a cold hand came to rest against her thigh, making Kara’s body vibrate from head to toe. “I won’t tell your secret if you don’t tell mine.” Lena winked – winked – at her and Kara felt her throat too dry all of sudden. The woman chuckled again when the blonde gulped before she gently tapped the hard muscle of Kara’s thigh. “We’re done here.”

“Oh.” Kara blinked in surprise and her eyes immediately fell to her ribs. The skin was red and swollen, but she could see the delicate lines of the flowers and the leaves, and she was hit by the urge to cry all at once. She felt like a little girl again, being six or seven, and running to the door to meet her father, seeing the plumerias in his left hand and the chocolate on his right.

“Hey,” Lena called her gently, ducking her head to be able to catch the blue eyes again. “You're fine over there? I had people regretting tattoos before, but not so fast.”

Kara laughed and shook her head, trying to discreetly brush a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Everything is fine. It’s really beautiful.”

“Well, don’t say that before you take a better look,” Lena pushed her stool away and got up with a refreshed excitement. “Come on, stand up so you can look at it in the mirror.”

That’s what Kara did, sliding off the chair and walking with slightly trembling legs to the full body mirror that she had seen before. The fact that she still didn’t have her shirt on was in the back of her mind while her eyes traced the ink. It looked even better on her ribs than it looked on the paper and she made sure to tell the other woman that, earning a smile that she doubted she would ever be able to forget.

"Here." She turned around to see Lena's hand reaching out a piece of white chalk between her long fingers and sporting a kind of smile that Kara hadn’t seen on her yet - satisfied, the type of smile you give after accomplishing a task that meant something to you. "All of my clients have to write something on the walls. It's tradition," Lena shrugged in the end.

Kara’s eyes swept through the room again, taking in the black walls and words written in almost every inch available under a new light. There were small praises, thanks, some jokes and even a few doodles, and Kara wondered what she could write that could sum up her entire experience inside Lena's tattoo shop. She took the chalk more out of instinct, her brain still working on finding the right words, and Kara took a few steps around the room until she found the right place to write.

It was just below one of Lena's drawings that were hanging from a string, between a Scooby-Doo doodle and the message of someone saying they loved their new rose tattoo. Kara’s handwriting wasn't the best one - sloppy and crooked - and it looked even worse when she was trying to write on a wall, but she managed to write her first and last name to make it look readable. Then, she added her phone number under it and put the chalk inside the small box she found just beside her. Kara turned around making sure her body would cover what she had just written, suddenly feeling too nervous about it, and accepted the plastic foil paper Lena handed her.

"Remember to put on the ointment I told you about and keep it covered so it heals. It should be all healed in a week, tops. You're free to call if you have any doubts."

Lena led the way out of the room and they found themselves once again at the reception desk. Lena picked up the pen she had played with before and scribbled something on a piece of paper beside the computer while Kara reached out for her wallet in the pocket of her trousers. Their fingers brushed when she handed Lena the money and her face flushed red for the millionth time that night. Lena gave her a knowing smile before putting the money away and just like that they realized that they would part ways soon. A small part of Kara, primal and shameless, tried to come up with any reason that would make her stay for a while longer. Anything would do, really.

Even so, there was no reason for her to stay and Kara tried to mask her unjustified sadness by joining her hands in front of her body and forcing a smile to look real. “Thank you again.”

Lena waved a hand dismissively, the pen still hanging between two fingers, before her hand came to rest on top of the other one on the desk. “It was my pleasure.”

“If I regret it in the morning, I will come back with a vengeance,” Kara joked, swaying on her heels, and the laugh that came from the other woman was worth any type of regret she might end up having in the near future.

“As much as I would like to see you again, I would hate for that to be the reason you came back.”

Lena winked at her and Kara’s mouth hang open before she could stop herself. That made the brunette laugh in delight, made a deep blush rise from her neck to her cheeks, and Kara started taking steps back before she could embarrass herself anymore. Alex, Nia and all of their friends were right: she’s a gay disaster. None of them would be able to judge her if they just saw Lena though, of that she was sure.

Stumbling over one of the chairs, Kara let out a nervous laugh and, to her utter terror, she pointed finger guns at Lena. “Have, ah, have a good night, ma’am.”

She missed the door handle twice before she was able to open the door and, by the time she looked at Lena again, the other woman was smiling broadly at her. Ducking her head, Kara walked out the door and let it close behind her. Once the slightly chill air of the night hit her face, she closed her eyes and resisted the urge to hit herself for some very stupid decisions made inside that shop. She wondered if she would ever be able to live it down if any of her friends ever found out she just did finger guns at a beautiful woman as a way to say goodbye.

Well, to be fair, she wasn’t sure any of her friends would let her live it down when they found out about her very spontaneous tattoo.

God, Alex was going to kill her. Not for getting a tattoo, but for doing so without giving it enough thought. And, for Christ’s sake, Alex could be a real pain in the ass when she decided to lecture her for whatever reason it was. She was so not ready to deal with that.

It was only when she opened her eyes again that she realized she was still standing outside the tattoo shop – and that Lena could still very easily see her from her place behind the counter – and, with another blush, Kara pushed herself to start walking. Her apartment was only five more blocks down the street and she took that time to clear her mind from anything negative she was thinking about.

If her crazy and very unusual night taught her anything was that she had the thing inside her that could make her do some very adventurous things. She was capable of doing those things. Maybe randomly getting a tattoo wasn’t the ideal way to prove that to herself, but, damn, she had just renewed faith in herself.

Her poor attempts at flirting were the last thing on her mind when she pushed the door to her studio apartment open and stepped inside, making a beeline to where she had left her laptop earlier that day on the small kitchen table. She pulled a chair after turning the computer on and, reaching out for an apple inside the fruit bowl, she waited for the laptop to come to life so she could open a new file to start typing. She had an article to write, and a trip to plan.

 XxxxxxxX

 It was two days later – after Alex had scolded her for making decisions in a rush, after Nia took pictures of their tattoos side by side to post on her Instagram, after Querl had awkwardly given her a thumbs up, after James raised his eyebrows, after Winn yelped in shock – that something changed.

Kara was lazily reading something Nia had written so she could suggest some corrections before the girl submitted it to Snapper’s approval, when her phone buzzed from its place beside her mousepad – her rainbow mousepad, thanks to Winn. She picked it up, thinking it was Alex inviting her for lunch so she could yell at her a few more times, but the number who had texted her was an unsaved one. She frowned, but didn’t give it much thought before unlocking her screen to read it.

“Since you didn’t barge inside my shop to kill me, I take it that you didn’t regret it?”

The smile that curled her lips up came from within her and it was apparently too obvious because Nia, who was sitting across from her, gave her a weird look and arched one eyebrow in question. Kara shook her head, biting her bottom lip, and turned her chair around so the girl couldn’t see her anymore before typing a reply.

“I never said I was going to kill you.”

“The threat was clear to me,” came the next text just a few seconds later and Kara chuckled to herself.

“Please, don’t tell me you were scared.”

“Why do you think it took me two days to reach out?”

Kara paused at that. She had spent the last two days being sure that, despite their easy flirt with each other, Lena didn’t actually want to talk or see her again. So, to have her texting her now was really... reawakening something inside her.

“Who are you texting?”

Kara jumped on her chair, startled by Nia’s voice so close to her ear all of sudden, her phone almost slipping from her fingers and crashing on the floor. Thankfully, her reflexes were still working and she was able to grab it, but not without throwing a glare at Nia for scaring her like that. The girl gave her a sheepish smile, although she shrugged and didn’t back away from where she had perched on the corner of Kara’s desk to look over her shoulder.

“No one,” came the childish, and not at all convincing, reply and Kara didn’t need to look at her friend again to know she was busted. Now Nia was not going to let it down.

“Really? Because you have been smiling to your phone for five minutes and you just smile like that when Alex says she’s bringing extra potstickers for game night.” Nia smirked and leaned over, trying to read the texts again, but Kara quickly pressed the phone against her chest to block her view.

“Alex just invited me for lunch,” Kara attempted to throw her off.

However, Nia arched her eyebrows. “Really? Because I just texted Kelly asking her to go to that vegan place with me and she said she already has plans.” A pause. “With Alex.” Another pause. “For lunch.”

Kara groaned and turned her chair so she was facing her computer again, slipping her phone screen down on the table. “Fine, it wasn’t Alex, but I’m not going to say anything.”

“Okay.” Her friend gave up way too faster than usual and Kara watched her with narrowed eyes as the girl jumped from her desk to turn the corner back to her own cubicle. Nia was about to sit down when she tried to snatch Kara’s phone away with one surprisingly fast move, but the blonde was even faster, taking it out of her reach in the last second. “Damn.”

Kara rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, throwing it over her shoulders and slipping her phone inside one of the pockets, and threw an overly sweet, clearly fake, smile at Nia. “Now you will have to eat alone because I won’t have lunch with you either.”

Nia stuck her tongue out at her. “I will call Querl!”

Kara waited until she was safely inside the elevator before opening her texts again. There were three more texts since the last time she looked and a smile immediately spread over her face when she read them.

“Okay, I confess, I was a little nervous.”

“You still there? You didn’t change your mind, did you?”

“About the tattoo, not the... leaving your name and number on my wall thing.”

She barely noticed when someone entered the elevator a few floors below, too focused on replying to the texts.

“You? Nervous? You don’t look like the type of girl that gets nervous. And no, I didn’t change my mind about any of those things, actually.”

A new text only came after she was already walking down the street to Noonan’s, but she wrote a quick text to invite Winn for lunch before opening Lena’s text.

“I’m also not the type to text any of the numbers left on my walls. And good.”

“Do you get a lot of numbers on your walls?” Kara asked and she had to make a conscious effort to cross the street to Noonan’s instead of walking straight for a few more blocks to the tattoo shop. She could picture Lena leaning against the counter with her gorgeous smirk and her impressive tattoos – and even more impressive cleavage.

“Jack enjoys them more than I do.”

Kara was about to make a comment about Jack but another text came in before she could and she stopped in her tracks so suddenly that the man walking behind her shoved against her shoulder. She tripped over a few steps, but quickly held herself again to read the words over and over in disbelief. She hoped, of course, but that was... wow.

“I don’t want to be too straightforward here, or overly confident or something, but I have a client coming in five minutes, so I don’t have much time. This won’t sound romantic at all, but would you like to have dinner with me? Tomorrow?”

Kara didn’t have to think too much about her answer, of course. Alex would give her a piece of her mind for agreeing to go out with someone she barely knew – and ‘that’s the whole point of going out to meet people’ was not a good argument on her sister’s book – but Kara would deal with it later. Right now, she had a very gorgeous woman asking her out and she already knew what her answer would be.

“I would love to.”

“What? Really?” Kara chuckled at the rushed text she received back, but another one came just a second later. “Pretend you didn’t read that. I meant ‘okay, great!’.”

Chuckling again, Kara typed a new message. “I know you were the one who asked me out, but may I suggest a place? I don’t have a car and it’s close to both of our workplaces.”

“Whatever you want, just text me address. Let’s say, tomorrow at 7 pm?”

“Can’t wait.”

 XxxxxxxX

 “Hey, Kara?”

“Yes?” She asked, not taking her eyes away from her computer screen and typing away as fast as she could to be able to put all the ideas in her new article. She had never written like that before, but she wasn’t about to complain about small inspirations spikes.

“The front desk called and said there’s a pack for Cat downstairs. Can you pick it up?”

With a small sigh, not because she was mad at Winn for interrupting her but because she would have to go all out of the way to pick a pack she didn’t even know was going to come in, Kara saved her file and pushed her chair back. Nia glanced up and was about to remove her earphones, ready to follow Kara to whatever she was going to learn more about the journalism world, but the blonde made some gestures with her hand that she hoped meant ‘boring things, stay here’ before she started making her way to the elevator.

Jenny, the woman that stayed at the front desk, was kind, around Eliza’s age, and very chatty, which worked fine with Kara when she wanted to waste a few minutes talking along. “Good morning, Kara! How are you?”

“I’m great, Jenny. And you?”

“I’m fine. What happened? I recognize that smile.”

Kara tilted her head to the side, although she couldn’t stop smiling, doesn’t matter how hard she was trying. “What smile?”

Jenny narrowed her eyes and waved a finger at her playfully. “That’s the smile of someone who had a very good night.”

The blonde could feel her face heating up and a nervous chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop herself. She had been leaning against the counter, but she leaned her torso back and tapped her fingers against the hard surface nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Jenny scoffed, rolled her eyes and started pulling out the packages that she would need to take upstairs with her. There was a yellow thing that was sent by one of the photographers of the last shooting they made, some letters and a few small boxes, which made Kara believe Jenny had been holding those things with her for at least a few days. Cat hadn’t asked for any of that, so it wasn’t a problem. “Don’t tell me then. You don’t have to. Is all over your face.”

Blushing even harder, Kara huffed an anxious laugh and looked down at the counter. She put one hand on her hip as the other one raised to push her glasses up her nose, but she kept her eyes down to avoid seeing the smirk on Jenny’s face. She would have to agree with her, if she did. Because she knew it was, in fact, written all over her face. She hadn’t been able to stop smiling since she woke up that morning – who was she kidding? It had been like that since dinner last night.

It had a reason – and the reason had a name – but she was not going to share any personal details about her life with Jenny. The old woman had the tendency to share everyone’s secrets – which was another reason Kara liked to talk with her so much, but she would never admit to being a gossip girl. She did tell Nia, mostly because her friend wouldn’t stop asking why Kara was fifteen minutes late that morning, though she had made the girl promise not to tell anyone.

It was still pretty new, she had argued.

“If you two slept together, it’s not that new,” Nia had teased back, making her face turn red so fast that James, that had been coming back from the bathroom, asked if she was feeling well.

Even if the whole ‘sleeping together on the first date’ thing was new to her, Kara hadn’t regretted it in the morning. Much like the tattoo. Although, it would be remarkably harder to regret sleeping with Lena when the said woman was spooning her from behind than it was to regret a tattoo that recquired a lot of afterward care. Either way, Kara was living the best morning in her life and it clearly showed on her face.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s having a great time.” Jenny’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and Kara looked up in time to see the woman pulling a big bouquet from under the counter.

The flowers looked cheap and scruffy, which made it seem like someone had just thrown them together without much care. They were yellow and pink daisies, the colors clashed and didn’t work well together, but the card hidden between the flowers was black and easy to see. She knew she shouldn’t because it had her boss’ name outside the card and it was clearly not for her to see, but curiosity took the best of her – that and the fact that the card had been clearly already open, and by Jenny’s face she knew who had done it.

“Thank you – L”

Well, that wasn’t helpful at all.

Sighing and feeling silly for stealing a look, she put the card back and started to try to find a way to pick everything she needed to take back with her. She knew there was a small cart some other companies in the building used to transport stocks and other products, but she was sure she could use her hands if she just pilled everything right. Kara had just come up with a plan when Jenny spoke again.

“There’s also this one. It doesn’t have a card, but it came with the bouquet. Same delivery. The guy couldn’t say anything about it, but I’m sure we can find something if we call the shop and...”

“I think there’s no need,” Kara interrupted gently, without looking up from the growing pile in one of her hands, but she raised her head eventually.

Only to lose track of every thought she was having.

Jenny had put a single plumeria on top of the counter. As the woman had said, there was no card or any type of identification – who it came from or who was supposed to receive it – but Kara connected the dots quite easily. Smiling, she reached over to grab the simple flower and brought it closer to her face to smell it.

“Oh, I see.”

“I have to go!” Kara said suddenly, knowing everyone in the building would know she had just randomly smelled a flower at the front desk that morning. “See you, Jen!”

The look on Cat’s face when Kara gave her the bouquet, not offering any other explanation othan than that there was a card attached to it, was worth every step on the stairs she had to walk up, holding the woman’s coffee every morning. As soon as she was back to her desk, Kara pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a text before Nia could start asking any questions.

“Thought you said that you’re not good with romance.”

The reply didn’t come right away, Kara ended up putting her phone to the side and went back to work. However, as soon as it rang beside her, she grabbed it.

“Guess we’re both learning new things about ourselves. Want to have lunch together?”

And, yes, she totally did.

[terrm9]

you give it to me anyway (Tatum X Lina)

Set immediately after the ending of chapter 13.

Update (after the events of chapter 14): in this little series, Tatum does not go back to the army but is relocated to work as a bodyguard for some random politician in Rutherland. That's why this goodbye of theirs is not as heartbreaking as it was canonically. Therefore, shall the two other parts happen, they will not follow canon because I have them planned and I refuse to make new plans

WC: 3 600; rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, making out, mentions of smoking, alcohol consumption, adult situations; hurt/comfort

Author’s note: my first Foreign Affair fic - it was so much fun to write I forgot about my two idiot doctors for a while. This is supposed to be part 1 of three-parts mini series, but 1) I have no idea when those two other parts will happen and 2) if it goes by plan, they will be all completely okay to read as stand-alones so hopefully this will be enjoyable no matter what.

She could feel it. She could swear she could; she could pinpoint the moment her mind stopped working and all the energy normally divided between the gears in her head and the beating of her heart suddenly focused solely on the latter.

Her mind stopped working and her heart drummed against her ribcage twice as hard.

Lina doesn’t remember much after that, after bursting through the door and demanding an answer (“Why the fuck would you take Tatum off the team?”), her memories a messy blur of shouting (hers), a voice trying to calm her down (Demarco’s) and the one that mattered in the end.

“Lina,” Tatum put his hand on her shoulder, his face stoic – but she knew better, she could see his eyes, eyes pained, eyes pleading. “Get inside. I will be with you in a moment.”

“But-“ she opened her mouth to protest, only to be stopped by Tatum’s gentle squeeze and eyes more pleading.

Just get in and wait for me, he whispered and that’s how she has gotten here.

Pacing back and forth in her room, biting her lip so hard she feels blood. Her brain is working again, thinking and analyzing (overthinking, overanalyzing) and she needs a cigarette, a shot of vodka, she needs to punch something (someone), needs to just do something.

The tremor in her hands violent and she clenches them in fists, telling herself that it’s anger, a rage running through her whole body, but there is that traitorous voice that whispers – no, screams – that she knows this is more than that, that it’s fear.

A lump in her throat formed and unmoving and Lina swallows once, twice, keeps swallowing until she cannot catch her breath but the fucking lump is still there and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and-

No.

Line Monroe does not cry. She has learnt not to cry, hasn’t cried since-

She does not cry.

Tries to take a deep breath but it’s completely useless and Lina knows how she feels. Like a crystal vase in the middle of a big wooden table, beautiful and shiny and protected at all costs – all of it worth nothing when an earthquake comes. This is her personal earthquake, every second pushing her closer to the edge, sobs threatening to cut her open, to leave her mouth and never stop and she wonders if falling over the edge and just break into million pieces would be such a terrible thing.

She could beg. She would beg, if only that would help. She only begged once in her life.

(Lina has never been the picture of a perfect child – well, definitely not after Tatum left. No, she lived for making her mother’s political career an actual hell, she laughed into her face in the middle of a scolding. The First Daughter of Rutherland couldn’t give less fucks about what her mother wants, needs, asks for. Nobody ever asked what she wanted, needed, asked for.)

She only begged once in her life – she was seven and desperately wanted a puppy. (She could do it again at the age of twenty-two and desperately wanting her Tatum.)

Mom, I promise I’ll be good. (Mom, I promise I’ll be good.)

I will take care of him. (He will take care of me.)

I won’t eat sweets. (I won’t smoke. Won’t get drunk.)

I will do all of my homeworks. (I will go on as many fake dates as you want.)

I won’t watch TV. (I won’t cause another scandal.)

I will clean the whole house! (I will attend all the summits, I will, I will.)

Mom, please. (Mom, please.)

She never got the puppy. (She knows that no matter how much she begs, she will not get to keep Tatum, either.)

An earthquake and she is starting to accept her fate, awaiting the final shake, the strongest vibration that will make her fall from the table and shatter.

There is a soft knock on the door and she feels it coming, the magnitude strong enough to stir fear inside of people.

Tatum walks in, closing the door behind him carefully – and the Richter scale does not have enough values to describe how dangerous this earthquake has gotten.

“Lina,” he whispers softly, stretching his arms towards her and that’s it.

The crystal vase falls to the ground (into Tatum’s arms) and the shards cut skin (and the sobs cut Lina open).

It is easy after the first one – like the blood spilling out of the cut, like a plug removed and water pouring, flooding, destroying, the sobs leave her mouth and her shoulders shake and Lina hasn’t done this in four years, hasn’t shed a tear for so long but Tatum’s arms encircle her, strong and firm and safe and no, breaking into million pieces is not such a terrible thing after all.

She thinks she screams in one moment and Tatum only hugs her tighter, slowly dropping to the soft carpet, pulling Lina with him, his arms never (never, never) leaving her shivering body – and she holds onto him tighter than she holds onto her own life (own dignity, own worth, none of it more important that holding onto Tatum), hands still clenched in fists. Lina’s grip on his perfect white shirt must be uncomfortable and she is sure she is ruining the fabric, if not with her nails then definitely with her mascara-tinted tears.

For a long, long moment they stay like that – Tatum kneeling on the floor and Lina curled up against his chest, sobs wrecking her body and his hands drawing soothing circles on her back.

“We will make this work, Lina,” he whispers when the room falls into silence, the only memory of Lina’s ignominious breakdown being Tatum’s soaked shirt and her throbbing temples. “You are strong and the other bodyguards are capable. Demarco is a good agent, they will keep you safe.”

“I don’t care about being safe,” she scoffs. “All my life, everyone has only cared about me being safe. You are… You have always been the only one to care about how I am feeling. If I am happy. And now you are leaving again.”

Tatum pulls back a little – not enough to break the contact of his hands on her shoulders, just enough to look her into eyes – and with a voice that is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubts, he says: “I am not leaving you, Lina. I won’t be returning to army, okay? I am going back to Rutherland tomorrow and only then I will be informed about this move – maybe I am only being taken off for some time. This is not the same as the last time.”

“I cannot lose you again,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes. As if she was not sure about her decision to share such moment of vulnerability with him.

“You will not. Who is my toughest galyetas here, hm?”

Lina looks up at him at that, the initial shock from hearing the old nickname (the one she hasn’t heard in years, the one she has missed for years) soon replace by her smile, however faint and it’s like the sun peeked into the room all at once.

(Eyes puffy and red, cheeks wet from tears and lips swollen from biting and has she always been this beautiful?, Tatum wonders.)

“I am,” she chuckles before Tatum demands the answer and encouraged by the moment of clarity that has settled over them, she manages to stand up and open the closet.

Impulsive would be a great word to describe Lina. Unpredictable. Fierce. Mostly fierce, Tatum thinks and it should not be a surprise for him when Lina takes off her skinny jeans and light blue blouse, carelessly throwing them over the chair and it should not be a surprise when she follows the motion to take her bra off, no, it should not be a surprise for him and yet-

The heat in his cheeks is inappropriate, for God’s sake, and he should – he must – tear his gaze off her naked back, but he cannot (and how many nights he wished he was granted this? how many days?). He stares and stares as she ruffles through the closet and it’s his time to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“I should… I will leave you to change,” he finds his voice and it’s low and husky and inappropriate, but Lina just smirks as she turns slightly to face him better and he needs to avert his gaze, he must not stare at the curve of her breasts, so perfect above her ribcage.

“You have already seen me naked,” the smirk widens. “And besides, you should get out of that wet shirt too.”

Getting out of his clothes does not sound like a good idea to him, not in the slightest, but it gives him a reason to look down and unbutton his shirt – and that motion gives him some time to take a deep breath and respond.

“Yes, I have seen you naked. When we were five and swimming in a lake.”

He can swear he heard Lina mutter ‘time to check how much has changed in those fifteen years’, but Tatum doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in that conversation and so he carefully slips out of his jacket and the stained shirt and switches his radio off before putting everything in a neat stack on the top of a drawer.

Tatum sits down again after that, his back leaned against Lina’s bed and soon she joins him, soft grey cotton shorts and tank top on. She mirrors his position and they share a private smile, because it is their position, the one everyone knows them by – knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, (heart to heart), Tatum’s arm wrapped around Lina’s shoulders and her hand resting on his right knee. It is always this position for them and Lina can’t count how many photos they have together, where they sit exactly like this.

“Are we going to be okay?” she whispers, almost not daring to break the comfort they bring out of each other. But she needs to. She needs to know that they are going to be okay.

“Of course,” he nudges her knee with his own softly and smiles down at her. For a moment, she pretends she does not see the panic swirling in his eyes, giving away that he does not know, that there is no of course for them.

She nods, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on his leg and she is sure they are not that mindless, she knows that in a language only known to them she is writing her confessions, she is writing a love letter.

More mindless patterns and Lina feels Tatum’s eyes on her, caring and loving and worried, definitely worried, but she doesn’t look up at him because the emotions his gaze can stir inside of her are enough to send her into another breakdown.

“Do you remember Scott Diaz’s party?” she asks into the silence.

Tatum chuckles loudly and squeezes the shoulder he is hugging. “Of course.”

“It was the first time I got drunk,” Lina says as if it was an explanation itself, when in reality this conversation was not making any sense so far.

Scott’s party was the one which only Lina attended when she was sixteen – Tatum had to stay home to help his father with something (it was not important to Lina back then) and Lina didn’t mind that much because she liked Scott and she believed there were higher chances of her charming him without Tatum’s alert gaze directed at her.

“Yes, I remember,” Tatum decides to play this game that makes no sense with her. “It was my toilet you threw up into that night.”

“I remember getting drunk with Scott and his stupid friends and realizing that they were a group of idiots, with Scott being the greatest idiot of them all. But I was drunk and he was my first crush and I just wanted him to like me and I was ready to do anything.”

“Yes,” Tatum says again, this time much more quietly, though. “I remember your phone call at 2 AM. You were crying and asked me to come and rescue you because you are drunk and nauseous and Scott is a dick but you might sleep with him if I don’t come.”

There is a long pause and Lina thinks he might not continue. Even worse, she fears he might ask why she is bringing the story up now.

To her utmost surprise, Tatum laughs and continues: “I stole my dad’s car so that I could get you out of there faster. You threw up in the backseat and my dad almost killed me because he was supposed to take your mother to the airport the next morning.”

Lina laughs with him shortly and the room falls into silence once again.

Once again, Lina makes sure to interrupt the comfort it brings.

“And then you left and there was nobody to rescue me anymore.”

She is not sure why she said that. No, Lina does not want to tell Tatum about those years he has been away. She is scared (and she has never been that scared in her whole damn life), scared to share the failures and slips of her past, scared that he would get up and leave-

(Because that’s what he should do)

-scared that he would see what she sees every time she looks in the mirror and Lina does not care about the opinion of the others, she does not care if someone sees her as someone worthy or not, as long as that someone is not Tatum.

Deep down, she knows he would not, he will not leave, she knows Tatum - the same Tatum that strokes her upper arm now, giving her the space to sort her thoughts – will stay with her even in the moments she does not want to stay with herself.

And there is one fear that is bigger, greater, more terrible than the fear of being left – fear of hurting him. The idea of her past being the reason of his hurt, being the thing that puts the haunted look into his eyes, makes her want to throw up.

She will need to tell him eventually because if somebody deserves her honesty, it’s Tatum Mendoza, her best friend, her savior, her Tatum.

Eventually does not mean now.

Tatum wishes Lina could say something, anything, he wants her to share her demons with him and he almost asks her to tell him everything but before he can do so, she turns abruptly and looks at him, her eyes no longer puffy or red – glossy and bright and beautiful now and she doesn’t say a word.

She just looks at him like he is the only thing in the whole world worth looking at.

"It's your eyes," she says quietly, reaching to cup his stubbled cheek with her left hand.

"My eyes?" Tatum asks, surprised by the sudden statement.

Lina nods, tracing his left eyebrow with her finger before moving to stroke the skin under his eyes and finally reaching the bridge of his nose.

"There's no one else's eyes that could see into me," she whispers and her finger traces circles around his right eye now, soothing the wrinkles - reminders of their earlier laugh.

(She doesn't know those wrinkles are hers; nobody makes him laugh like she does)

Her gaze doesn't leave those eyes, not for a second and and the intensity she looks at him with is far more intimate than her naked form, bare torso and soft skin she shared with him moments ago.

Tatum is sure he must be blushing.

It’s the moment her thumb traces his lower lip when they snap.

The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and mutual understanding so deep it ignites further fear changing into the one of passion and need and fire, fire, fire, burning inside and outside, the moment their lips meet.

He has kissed many girls and he knows Lina has kissed many people too and fuck, they even kissed each other before but this kiss is different, filled with more than just years of friendship (years of love) – filled with years of separation, years of longing, years of pain.

They kiss as if the pressure of their tongues against each other’s could be their private painkiller.

A moment later they are on the bed and Lina is not sure how they got there, she can’t remember they mouths parting but it must be so, because she is laying on her back, her hands firmly against Tatum’s shoulder blades to pull him closer and it still feels like he is not close enough, one of his hands next to her head and the other tangled in her hair, pulling on them and massaging her scalp all at once as he kisses her the way she has never been kissed before.

Lina’s hand moves from his upper back to his shoulder, caressing the old scar there and moves to his chest and his stomach and she feels him growl against the skin of her neck at the touch, the vibrations sending shivers over her whole body; she reaches his waistband and her finger fumble on the button of his trousers as he kisses her collarbone.

His fingers circle her wrist suddenly and he moves her hand away from him, gently (as he always is with her, gentle).

“You don’t want-?” she doesn’t know what to say. Me? This? Us?

“I want everything with you, Lina,” he sighs and it’s almost painful sound. “But I cannot take an advantage of this situation. You are – we both are – worried about your future, exhausted and uncertain and I don’t want our first time to happen under such circumstances. You deserve much better.”

There is a part of her that wants to cry again. Sob again and punch someone, because of course he is right.

(It is every single part of her, actually. Every single part wants to cry and sob and punch)

He is right, as he always is. He knows what she needs even when she doesn't know it herself – he always had known. Five years apart did nothing to change that.

Lina traces the lines of Tatum naked torso with her eyes and perhaps it should scare her how familiar it feels. She knows his body, every (almost every. Almost, she reminds herself) scar and every freckle, his flexed muscles and long fingers, she knows his body, even though she grew up getting to know a body of a boy and now her fingers are caressing a body of a man.

She hates how vulnerable she feels and how much she wants to share everything with him. But that's now what she has taught herself, no.

And so, despite the disgusting feeling of tension in her throat, she smirks and asks: "Why do you care about the first time so much?"

Tatum chuckles and makes a show of rolling his eyes (not leaving his position above her, not even now), biting his lower lip deep in his thoughts.

When he looks down at her again, however, his gaze is tender, too tender and intense and Lina has to avert her eyes because surely he can see into her, he can see all that she has done, all that she has caused while he was gone, not there to save her, to take care of her.

"It's not the first time I care about," he speaks softly and any hints of amusement are gone. "It's the first time with you."                                                                    

She almost asks him about his first time – she knows it must have happened after he left. There is the part that is Tatum’s childhood best friend and is simply curious. They shared everything with each other – first crush and first kiss and first platonic love, she knew his and he knew hers. Of course she is curious about his first sex or how many firsts there were, how many people that got to know him in the way she has never gotten.

There is another part of her, a bigger one, she realizes with dread, that hopes he would tell her that he has lost count, that his five years in army were filled with infinite excesses and that he would rather not talk about it – maybe then her deeds would be justified.

She cannot ask him because it’s Tatum and he would ask back.

What would she tell him?

She laughs to herself, a sardonic sound lacking any hint of joy it is supposed to carry.

I have no idea. I am not sure about the first nor about the last time. I cannot count them, I will never be able to count them because I do not remember.

I do not remember.

“Lina,” he whispers, still hovering above her. “Don’t do that. Stay here with me.”

“I-“ she opens her mouth – for what, she doesn’t know. To explain or to apologize?

“We do not have to talk, mahal. We can just lay next to each other until the morning comes, alright?”

Tatum lays down next to her and wraps his arms around her without further questions and as she puts her head on his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, she feels calm for the first time in weeks.

“Alright,” she whispers back.

They lay next to each other through the night, listening to each other’s hearts and breathing and Lina thinks that even though they don’t talk, there are novels of conversations exchanged between them that night, written in the softest of sounds they make.

  *** *** ***

Ever since finding out that Tatum is Filipino, I felt this desire in my heart to throw some (nick)names for Lina in his native language here and for him to use them. I can’t see him calling her darling on daily basis, but I can see him muttering it in the language he grew up with when the moment asks for it

galyetas = cookie, biscuit (Tatum’s nickname for Lina since forever)

mahal = darling, sweetheart

 I am not exactly happy with how the ending turned out but it’s not going to get better so you have to suffer through it with me

Thank you for reading!

[crispyjenkins]

dream clouds, ghost ground (real friends, dead hometown)

an accidental jangobi au 

that is now specially for @mandalorianbrainweasel | @ironhoshi | @obikakenobi | @mageofcole | @quitebizarre | @bureau-pinery | @atelier-dayz |  @legendaryjarcollection | @pretzel-log1c | @adiduck | @koyacyi-vode | @satan-incarnate-666 | @theclonewarsbrokeme | because i’ve genuinely loved and revelled in our conversations this past year, and am pretty sure(??) you all ship jangobi

( and also @batsutousai and @the-mandalorian-clone-lover but it won’t let me tag you :(

i uhhhhhh plotted this from my prompt roster without rereading the actual ask, so this is completely out of timeline for the anon’s prompt? and i didn’t realise until i was halfway through?? so here’s this??? i already have ideas for a sequel???? (and it’s 3157 words gl)

some context: there’s no age-out, but obi-wan is still sent to the agricorp and stays there. yarael poof inspects the facility 7 years later, and obi has visions of korda 6/galidraan and finagles themself onto the rescue mission of the true mandalorians. cue chaotic, still-has-the-impulsivity-that-got-them-kicked-out obi-wan. who is also nb just for funsies.

title from start//end by eden

  Obi-Wan Kenobi is not as Yarael had expected, but then, he had never met them while they lived in the Temple.

  The young Jedi breaks away from their group of friends on the other side of Bandomeer’s main greenhouse as soon as they catch sight of Yarael, the other novitiates trying and failing to hold Obi-Wan back from running through the dark green garden beds right up to him. They don’t seem to care that they’ve interrupted Master Fodvam’s tour of the facility, and ignores her to glare at Yarael with a fire in their eyes that he vaguely remembers as being the cause for their failing the initiate program. Stocky and toned with dark freckles on every bit of exposed skin from working the desert Enrichment Zones, Obi-Wan glares up at Yarael with a set to their lips so very like Master Yoda (and Qui-Gon Jinn, for that matter) that Yarael raises a placating hand to the Kubaz master at his side and smiles back down at Obi-Wan. 

  At first flush, he might have thought Obi-Wan approached him to beg to be allowed to return to the Temple and become a knight —it would not be the first time an old initiate had done so, though they usually attempted such an action much sooner after their reassignment— but instead, Obi-Wan wastes no time in demanding, “You have to go Korda 6, the lives of thousands depend on it.”

  “And why is that, young one?” Yarael returns calmly, though Obi-Wan must be pushing seventeen standard; everyone is young to him these days.

  Master Fodvam sighs, reaching out to put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, but they shake her off. “Obi-Wan,” she admonishes softly, for all the good that does.

  “There’s going to be a genocide,” Obi-Wan insists over the sound of their friends trying to call them back across the greenhouse, “Death Watch is going to kill the Mand’alor and slaughter the True Mandalorians, and no one here will listen to me.”

  Curious about their absolute certainty, Yarael gently pushes against their mind, but has to jerk away when the Jedi shoves him right back out, Yarael’s second brain fizzling like it had been shocked by a bad power coupling. Perhaps Master Yoda had been too hasty in handing this one over to the Council of Reassignment, when even though Yarael can sense their fear and hurt, their lingering doubt in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan has not a single crack in their shields. Not a single doubt in themselves.

  Master Fodvam shakes her head, but it appears more out of a helplessness than disappointment. “Master Poof,” she says, “Novitiate Kenobi has spoken of this premonition for the last standard tenday, and I’m afraid none of the masters here are versed in the Unifying Force.”

  “At all,” they stress.

  Interesting indeed, that Master Yoda would nominate Obi-Wan for the Agricorp over the other branches, then, for surely they would have shown precognition as a crècheling. “Novitiate Kenobi, you clearly have complete faith in such a vision.” Yarael doesn’t try to enter their mind again, but does open his senses between them, benignly inviting Obi-Wan into his own instead. “Show me.”

  Obi-Wan is bewildered for all of a moment, eyebrows pinched, but then they blink in understanding and snap their eyes closed. A flurry of images is all but shoved into Yarael’s lower brain, a confusing mash of forests and armor and blasterfire, but, yes, there is Vizsla, and there is Mereel, and there is a Mandalorian in blue armor leaving Mereel to die on the battlefield.

  “How are you sure this is Korda 6?” Yarael asks, opening his eyes to Obi-Wan’s mentally-drained expression, tanned skin sallow under the freckles.

  “I’ve heard some of the mission report,” they say, and let Master Fodvam gently support them where they had pushed her away before; Yarael will certainly have to teach Obi-Wan to strengthen their mental stamina. “Every night for the last tenday I’ve seen this battle, I’ve seen ten different ways it could go, and all of them end with the True Mandalorians’ slaughter, unless we do something.”

  The Quermian looks Obi-Wan up and down once more, reaching as far into the Force as he can manage, and he doesn’t have a lifetime seat on the High Council for nothing.

  “Then we’ve not a moment to lose, do we?”

-

  If Obi-Wan is surprised Yarael insists on taking them to his ship to join him for his update to the Council, they don’t show it, and don’t appear nervous at all as the holocall connects. In fact, they stand off to the side with their arms behind their back and a serene expression on their face, right until Master Rancisis admits a contingent of Jedi had just left to help a planet deal with a violent insurgence of Mandalorian commandos, led by Jango Fett.

  And then Obi-Wan only blinks before turning his gaze up to Yarael. “Then we are too late for Korda 6. We must make for Galidraan.”

  The holo of Master Rancisis flickers as he winds and unwinds his appendages until he finally says, “We did not tell you the planet’s name.”

  On Rancisis’ left, Master Yoda taps his cane against the floor. “Clear it is, that truth in Novitiate Kenobi’s visions there is. To what extent, we do not know, but great pain I sense if act quickly we do not.”

  After meeting each of the other coucilmember’s eyes, Master Rancisis leans forward in his seat and points one undulating finger at Obi-Wan. ”You will go with Master Poof to Galidraan, Novitiate Kenobi; if you leave now, you may make it in time to prevent the Jedi from having a hand in this massacre.”

  Obi-Wan checks with Yarael first, their deference almost endearing as they look up at him for confirmation; Yarael cannot help a small smile, and if the Council has not guessed his intentions by now, then they are as blind as a naked womp-rat.  “Well, Novitiate Kenobi?” he prompts, “Are you prepared to see this through properly?”

  Obi-Wan drops their shoulders to raise their chin instead. “To be truthful, Master Poof, I would have been disappointed to be left behind.”

~

  Obi-Wan is already at the hatch of Master Poof’s cruiser when they finally land as close to the coordinates the Council had given them as they dare, and Obi-Wan sorely wishes they had asked Master Fodvam for a blaster before leaving Bandomeer. Nothing can be done for that now, and there is the more pressing matter that Master Poof had been unable to contact the Jedi already planetside, but perhaps they shouldn’t have expected the Force to make it easy on them.

  As soon as the cruiser is settled, Obi-Wan elbows the control panel for the landing hatch and drops right down into the snow; they’re not quite dressed for this weather, not coming straight from the desert Enrichment Zone, but they can hardly feel the cold over the cloying, suffocating fear that saturates the air until even the trees tremble with it. And they might be stronger in the Unifying Force than anyone else in the Agricorp, but Obi-Wan hasn’t been wrist-deep in soil for seven years to come out of it without feeling the Living Force just as strongly.

  Run, the trees tell them, and they do, pushing themself up onto more compact snow and taking off for the True Mandalorian camp. Master Poof calls after them, but they don’t slow until they reach the top of the nearest ridge, a sheer drop on the other side right into the camp, and Obi-Wan is forced to look out over their worst vision come to life.

    The Mandalorians stand as one facing the opening to the ravine on Obi-Wan’s right, where the Jedi spread out among the tents as Master Dooku reads them a list of false wrongs, and Obi-Wan knows the Mandalorians will not surrender. Mand’alor Mereel’s son stands before Dooku in newly-painted blue and red armor, raising his blaster as Dooku ignites his ’saber, and Master Poof halts abruptly at Obi-Wan’s side and lifts a four-fingered hand, but he won’t be able to Force-suggest anyone in beskar, and—

  And he has a lightsaber hanging from his belt.

  Obi-Wan had not failed their Jedi training, they were bright and talented and wanted absolutely nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight, but their temper had seen Bruck to the Halls of Healing, and their impulsivity had seen them to the Agricorp despite the potential they had shown in their seven years in the crèche.

  Their temper, they have control over that now, Obi-Wan is rarely even angry these days, but their impulsivity has been the, ah... cause for many of the Bandomeer masters’ grey hairs, so to speak.

  So Obi-Wan does not think before grabbing Master Poof’s ’saber, barely able to even lift the hilt almost as long as their arm, and leaps from the crumbling snowbank with as much Force behind their feet as they can muster. Sound snaps to silence in their ears, vision narrowing on the scant yard between Jango Fett and his death, as Obi-Wan yanks the Living Force around themself and hauls it up right from the ground, grabs it by the roots of the nearest tree until it sings.

  By a miracle of the Force, Obi-Wan lands perfectly between the new Mand’alor and the Jedi, igniting Master Poof’s unusually-yellow lightsaber just in time to deflect Jango’s first blaster bolt right into the ground — the ground that shakes and splits, exploding snow into the air to make way for the evergreen roots that surge through the cracks and grab Dooku’s entire arm, sending his ’saber flying. 

  Obi-Wan inhales once, twice, before allowing their other senses to flood back to them, and the Force sees fit to immediately make them aware of Master Poof stumbling down the bank after them with his upper hands raised in surrender. 

  “Peace, Jedi!” he shouts, successfully pulling the gaze of everyone in the ravine away from Dooku’s limb held aloft by mud-slick roots and to himself instead. “We have been misled,” he presses on, almost seeming to glide over the packed snow to stand at Obi-Wan’s back and place a palm between their shoulders, “These Mandalorians know nothing of what you speak, Master Dooku, we are both being played by the Governor of Galidraan.”

  Jango Fett growls over his external comms, close enough to make Obi-Wan shiver. “What the kriffing fuck is going on?” he snaps, not bothering to drop his blaster as Obi-Wan glances at him and can just see the shadow of his eyes behind his visor.

  “Death Watch had the governor call the Jedi here under false pretences, your grace,” Obi-Wan says, and doesn’t know what to make of the way the Mand’alor twitches at their voice. They can feel their shoulder weakening from hefting such a massive hilt, unwieldy even gripped at the balance point, but Obi-Wan refuses to let their arm shake, not with both sides holding them under such scrutiny; Maker, maybe they should have changed into Jedi robes instead of their dark tunics and kama? It gives them a silhouette neither wholly Mandalorian nor wholly Jedi, and certainly only adds to the confusion.

  Nothing to be done about it now.

  “The governor lied to the Mandalorians about their targets, to perfectly set them up for a Jedi arbitration,” Master Poof explains. “And of course knew that the Mandalorians would never surrender to the Jedi.” He looks slowly around at both parties, letting his words sink in until the Jedi are shutting their lightsabers off in disgust.

  The Mandalorians don’t put away their blasters, obviously, but they do lower them enough to be an act of good faith; only when Jango lowers his own does Obi-Wan power down Master Poof’s ’saber, and is all too happy to hand the weighty thing back to him with a shallow bow.

  Master Poof smiles in amusement, clipping the hilt back in its rightful place on his belt, before calmly nodding to Dooku. “Novitiate, you may release Master Dooku now.”

  Startled, Obi-Wan immediately calls on the Living Force to pull the roots away from the man and coax them back into the ground, hoping they hadn’t damaged anything enough for the evergreen just up the ridge to suffer. 

  Dooku massages his red wrist and eyes Obi-Wan carefully, the clouds of breath before his lips casting strange shadows over his face in the dying sunlight. “I was not aware the Agricorp was still teaching Consitor Sato to its novitiates. Nor so... successfully.”

  “... Master Fodvam would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to the High Council.”

  “I am on the Council, Novitiate Kenobi,” Master Poof chortles, but turns back to the Mandalorians still effusing bewilderment before the new Mand’alor can decide they really are all better off dead. “Mand’alor Fett, I presume?”

  Jango shifts subtly, still close enough for Obi-Wan to watch his eyes dart to the Quermian. “For all of a week, jetii; how you are aware of this already does nothing to convince me to trust you. Any of you.”

  Master Poof just smiles serenely. “There is little one cannot gather from the Force upon first meeting, your grace. However, you are correct, and I would not be aware of Jaster Mereel's death if my companion had not told me of it.”

  Jango doesn't get the chance to ask him to clarify just what that means, the girl padawan at Dooku's side cutting in rudely, 

  “And Master Poof, just who is your companion?” as if she can’t tell from Obi-Wan’s attire that they were a Jedi Knight washout. 

  So maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have complete mastery of their temper just yet, but they don’t get to snarl back before Master Poof answers cheerfully, "They are my new apprentice!"

  Oh. 

  “Master Poof...?”

  “I cannot very well leave a novitiate so strong in the Unifying Force untrained, can I?” Master Poof shakes his head. "As the matter stands, our duty to Galidraan is not yet complete: the governor has pulled both the Jedi and the Senate into his personal affairs, and has allied with a known terrorist group. Master Dooku, might I suggest we make to arrest the actual perpetrator of these crimes?”

  “Vizsla will be there,” Jango interrupts. “And he must know his plan has failed by now, you'll be walking right into a trap.”

  Obi-Wan raises a brow. “A trap meant for you, your grace. When we engage Governor Martinet, it would be unwise for the True Mandalorians to still be on planet.”

  “Why do you keep calling us that?" he snaps, the blue-armoured Mandalorian at his side grabbing his shoulder to hold him back from... striking Obi-Wan? From removing his helmet? Obi-Wan isn't sure. 

  They are sure that, if the Jedi succeed in apprehending Vizsla, the New Mandalorians will make themselves known much earlier. “One day, soon, you will need to make the distinction between yourselves, and those that will use ‘Mandalorian’ as a ploy for cultural reform, as claim to an identity that is not theirs,” Obi-Wan says, finding Jango’s eyes behind his visor once more. “The Children of the Watch will choose ‘True’ as that distinction of your people in retrospect, some fifty years from now.”

  The Mandalorian holding Jango’s shoulder tenses. “Are you some sort of prophet, kih’jetii?”

  “Hardly,” they smile, because the Force promises to back off a little after this mess is all said and done, whenever that may be. “But the Force decided I was the most likely candidate to make it here in time to stop a genocide, though I’m not sure if it knew how much information I actually needed. Irregardless, everything from today is now changed from any visions I had seen of it, I’m no more a prophet than you are.”

  Jango twitches again strangely, and his companion tightens their grip on their blaster. 

  “Novitiate Kenobi is right,” Poof interjects gently. “You should take your people to regroup and recover, your grace, you will be of no use to the galaxy dead.”

  “Wait,” Jango grits through clenched teeth. “It would... be unfair for us not to aid you in this, not when this was our disaster, too.”

  “There is no need for that,” Dooku says regally, Force-calling his ’saber back to his hand. “This has become a Senate matter, and to involve yourselves further would be an unnecessary risk.”

  “So you... want us to just leave?”

  Dooku raises a single eyebrow, expression blank otherwise, but Obi-Wan still shudders at the dark anger in the man, the rage that had hit its boiling point upon first meeting Jango and believing he had slaughtered almost two hundred innocent activists. The Force warns Obi-Wan about that darkness, the way Dooku has not yet released it; it also gives them hope, though, that the master can be pulled back into the light, with a little persuasion and lots of tea. 

  The conversation has moved on without them when Obi-Wan tries to focus back on the crisis at hand, Jango’s commandos already starting to pack up the camp while Dooku and Master Poof quietly discuss the Jedi’s next moves. Neither seem to have realised Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying attention, which is just fine by them: Master Fodvam is already at wit’s end trying to keep them focused on anything but plants, somedays. 

  A heavy gaze pulls their own to look up, across the camp to where Jango oversees his people’s retreat, but Obi-Wan knows the Mand’alor’s attention is on them alone. Obi-Wan gazes right back, refusing to the first to look away, and is somehow thrilled rather than disappointed when Jango does just that. 

  He does not say goodbye, but that’s alright, Obi-Wan knows they’ll be meeting again soon. 

~

  Following a stomping Jango up into Jaster’s old ship, Myles won’t stop laughing at him.

  “‘The one who will speak of the truth,’” he quotes gleefully, just as jovial in his punching of Jango’s sides as he attempts to unbuckle his helmet, and he doesn’t back down even when his Mand’alor growls at him. “Kriff, who knew that witch would end up being so literal?”

  “I told you I don’t believe in that osik,” Jango snaps, trying to shove his best friend off of him. “I don't believe in that old hag's ‘prophecy’ any more than I believe in Jedi competence.”

  “Ah ah, Jang’alor, you shouldn’t speak of your ba’buir like that, what would Jaster say?”

  Jango finally gets his helmet off and yanks his hood down so he can get right in Myles’ face to snarl, “That adiik is not the future of Mandalore, kriff whatever the fuck Jaster’s buir says! One dream and one crazy old enby witch spouting oracle nonsense does not make Obi-Wan Kenobi my destiny.”

  Jango doesn’t need to see Myles’ face to know it lights up in victory. “Nobody said their full name, Jang’alor.”

  “Finish that thought and I’ll throw you out the airlock.”

-

Mando’a:

Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore.

jetii — “Jedi” sing, pl. jetiise

kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, highly offensive

osik — impolite form of “dung”, shit

ba'buir/e —  “grandparent/s”, gender neutral

adiik — a child aged from 3 to 13, used here as an insult

Cansitor Sato — Traditional High Galactic for “Plant Surge”, a Living Force-related technique of controlling plants (usually vines) to ensnare or slow an enemy; in legends, this was taught to Agricorp members as well, headcanoned here to be usually only taught to master/older members. 

Novitiate — personal headcanon for the form of address for non-master members of the Jedi Corps.

[hitozy]

twin stars ‹ masterlist › have you ever

𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢

Iwaizumi had forgotten how rowdy his friends are, and one isn't physically present.

He had not seen any of his friends since the wedding and even then he didn't get to see and chat with them very long, he was out of it that day. But here he is on a Friday night, with YN sitting beside him per request of the three dumbasses sitting across from them; Maki and Mattsun with Oikawa on their phone screen, demanding attention like the needy shit he has always been.

He feels you more than he hears you laugh at whatever the others are telling you and he takes a chance to take a peek, as if he hasn't been doing that since you walked out of the room to go out with him.

Your short black skirt that he had already thought was short when you were standing is even shorter now as you sat, it barely covered your ass, leaving your beautiful legs on display for all the perverts. On top of that you wore a skin tight shirt that had a boob window and he has been wanting to punch every creep that keeps on looking at it. He wants to snarl at every single person that makes a double take on her, of course she's beautiful.

She's also too good for anyone out there.

He relaxes as he watches her laugh freely, her cheeks tinted pink, her eyelashes wet from laughing so hard at his friends antics. He decided he should bring her to these reunions from now on, take her out more, she must feel lonely just doing school work and being at home since most of her friends are to engrossed on their future or on their relationships.

"Earth to Iwachan!" He felt someone smack his head, finding the culprit to be a smirking Mattsun, "We get it! You're married and happy, I mean..." Mattsun, Maki and Oikawa all turn to look at YN, "I can blame you, YN has always been the most beautiful woman in our life."

YN, used to their flirty but harmless antics snorts at it, "That's not what I heard when Hajime and I walked in as you fucked that 2nd year cheerleader. What has her name again? Mina?" She smirked at it, making Iwaizumi laugh at the memory. He had been horrified and had accidentally pulled you into the bathroom instead of running outside. Both stuffed uncomfortably in there while hearing Mattsun pound (roughly) into the poor girl until the cheerleader moaned out a 'Daddy' to Mattsun, making you both laugh and interrupted them.

Mattsun laughed at it, "I can still hear you both laughing about it! What's so wrong about having a Daddy kink, huh? YOU KINK SHAMERS!"

"You weren't even close to daddy age, Mattsun!" YN joined Iwaizumi's laughter, leaning against him for support, "You were only 18, what's so 'daddy' about that!?"

Mattsun only huffed at that and Iwaizumi thought that maybe he was angry, the slight scowl on his face as he watched YN grip his bicep as she hid behind him from laughter remained there for a long time afterwards.

―

YN had just gotten up for the bathroom when his friends sharp glances turned to him. Usually, he would ignore it since it really wasn't their business, but he know from experience that if he keeps on avoiding it, they'll get worse.

Taking a sip from his beer and without sparing a glance to any of them, he gives. "Just spit it out."

It wasn't a surprise that shittykawa was the one to initiate it, "I can't believe YN took your stupid ass in marriage."

He turned to glare at his friend on the screen, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she could've and SHOULD HAVE gone for someone who is emotionally available and isn't still chasing after his ex."

"I- this marriage is just - it's-"

"It's what?" Mattsun interrupts him, "Convenience? Because she's your friend, so its comfortable? You think that's fair?" He scoffs at Iwaizumi and it makes him feel small, "She's so in love with you and you don't even see it," he points at his, harshly poking his chest, "its so infuriating seeing you chasing after that other bitch when YN has always been right there!" He takes a swing of his drink, obviously irritated with his wedded friend.

"I- its-... she isn't in love with me, we're friends, best friends." What the hell is wrong with his friends? "What the hell is this? Why do any of you care about me and yn? You guys said you were happy about me marrying her!"

"We were, until we saw that you aren't in love with her."

Iwaizumi feels his heart drop at his friends deadpanned expressions. He doesn't regret marrying YN, he just wishes he had done it under normal circumstances.

"I'm trying."

"We know Iwachan," he looks up to see Oikawa giving him a pained smile, "But you need to cut off Jae for good. YN deserves at least that."

"Speaking of the queen of Rome... someone is following her."

Iwaizumi feels his body tense at Mattsun's words, someone is following you? He turns a bit to catch you fast walking towards their table, a worried expression on your face. He can also see the creep walking behind you, eyeing you hungrily.

He doesn't like it.

Once she makes it to the table, all of the boys can see how out of breath she is and wonder just how long she's been trying to avoid him. She sits beside Iwaizumi, meeting no one's eye and soon enough the guy is there with a smirk, "Hey baby, why did you runaway? Come on, ditch these losers and come with me instead."

He has no right, Iwaizumi knows that he has no right to get so mad at this perverts words but he can't help the possessiveness that is pouring out of himself, blinded by rage, he acts on impulse.

Iwaizumi pulls her close to him, seating her casually on his lap and looking square at this randos eye, says, "She's taken, beat it."

When he notices that the other one is about to open his mouth, he cuts him off by kissing her instead.

The last time he had kissed her was while she was drunk and it hadn't felt right to return it since she was very out of it. Now though? Now, they're both pretty sober and in public. His friends are at arms length and he can't find it in himself to give a damn when your lips feel like the softest pillows ever.

He gripped the back of her neck to angle her face and kiss her deeply, he was surprised to feel her kissing him back with the same fervor. She took the hand he had on her knee up to her thigh, which he gripped on immediately and pressed her chest against his, her small hands clutching his shoulders as if her life depended on it.

At the back of his mind, he could hear his friends wolf whistles and a couple of others exclaiming at the way they were making out, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. She was here, she was present and so warm underneath his fingers, her lips following his, her tongue exploring his mouth just as he was with her.

He didn't know for how long they had been kissing, but when he slightly pulled apart, her lips were red and swollen, her eyes sparkled and shined like diamonds underneath the sunlight. She looked adorable and he felt his heart throb painfully in his chest.

"Well... I guess I'm not the only exhibitionist anymore, huh?"

His friends laughed when YN started to blush and the implication that was made. With Iwaizumi still feeling a bit high from what had happened, he pulled her against him close, his grip tight and barked, "Leave her alone, you pervs."

After a few jabs directed to him, they continued as if nothing had happened, though he did catch them stealing glances at him with raised eyebrows, questioning his actions at the passionate kiss he shared with her.

I don't know what's happening either, he thought as he peered down to look at her face, feeling himself blush at how small and comfortable she looked in this lap, in his arms, but I know I'm in trouble.

―

When they got home later that night, he feels himself feeling hot and bothered by every move you make. You way your hanged your purse at the entrance, the way you shook your hair out of its up do, the way you leaned forward to take of your heels.

He followed you down the hall to your shared room, watching the way your hips moved side to side tantalizingly. His hand itched, he wanted to move closer and glue himself to your back, to hold your waist in one hand as the other guided your head to kiss him, to have the hand on your waist dip down and shove his digits in your panties to find them soaking wet, to hear you sigh out his name "Hajime, please."

"Hajime."

"...Hajime?"

Your solid voice pulled him out of his trance, a blush adorning his face in shame. I need to snap out of it, its too late to be so horny about my best friend. "Yeah mochi?"

"I um..." He noticed they way she was twirling her hair around, a nervous habit she's had since they were kids and wondered what could have her in such a state. "I- urgh, there's no easy way to say it."

She smacked herself in that moment. "Mochi?!"

He would've moved forward, if it wasn't for the solid gaze she had, her shoulders pulled back, full of intent.

"Hajime, I want you to take my virginity."

... What

When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I.

We are on par.

He just is, I just am

and we just are.

He and I - Lang Leav

taglist ! @daphnxy @zukoslosthishonor​ @i-am-a-hoe-for-shinya @mrsdoradominguez-barnes @anejuuuuoy

a/n! went on vacation and forgot to queue the post for this chapter, im so sorry, my bad D:

[kirumod]

hello!! could i request headcanons for a gender neutral reader who is very energetic and optimistic, sort of like tenko, who is dating kirumi and wants to show her that her needs matter too? thanks so much in advance, have a wonderful day! your writing is amazing.

i appreciate getting requests with kirumi. as you may have guessed, she is very dear to my heart, so thank you for sending a request with her!

thank you so much for your kind words, anon! i loved writing this, it was very fun. it turned out to be very fluffy and cute. i hope you like it<3

The contrast between you and Kirumi is quite noticeable, and most are surprised to know that you are dating. Your optimism overshadows Kirumi's more realistic view on life— and pessimistic view regarding herself & her needs.

You recall the beginning of your relationship being quite dreary for you and exhausting for Kirumi. You used to compare talking with Kirumi to operating a machine; taking everything you say as a command. It was awkward at times, and 'conversations' often turned into one-sided chatter where your vitality outweighed her rigidity. You could not fathom why she seemingly had no concern for her own wants and needs, and you had to fight the impulse to ask her such a personal question. Despite this, you held immense respect for her steadfast conviction & unwavering resolve.

As for her, she was dazed by your relentless energy and occasionally found herself at a loss for words. Of course, she remained dignified and did not turn down your 'requests for conversation' as she put it, unless she had a crucial matter she needed to attend to. You were always one to initiate any interaction, but that is not to say that she disliked talking to you. Conversely, she admired your persistent positivity & incessant idealism, and as trust and understanding between you grew, she began prying about your attitude with curiosity and appreciation.

Every so often, you'd notice her neglecting even basic necessities such as eating in favor of taking care of others. Serving people overpowered her desires— or was it that serving people was her one desire? You found that difficult to believe. Either way, Kirumi was neglecting herself, and that bothered you. You weren't sure why you cared so much, and gradually, you found your thoughts preoccupied wondering about Kirumi.

True to your honest nature, you didn't attempt to hide your interest in Kirumi. You showed it with questions of concern such as "have you had lunch yet?" and "did you sleep well last night?", purposely phrased as questions instead of requests.

Then, the simple questions turned into lovingly made lunch boxes, walking through dimly lit streets, whispering good night wishes... You were a bit embarrassed by how attached you were to her, and spent many restless nights doubting that she felt the same. Hoping that she felt the same.

You remember the start of your relationship.

During a dinner with Kirumi in your house, you held back discomfort as Kirumi began cleaning up— something that you've begrudgingly grown used to. Ignoring her utterances that assured you she could take care of it, you followed her to the kitchen and waited for her to set down the platters she had. You watched her as she turned to you and felt your stomach turn over itself. Her confident gaze had wavered into a blank, soulless expression, and her upright posture trembled.

Then she collapsed. All your logic was muddied with dread, but you pushed through your clouded cognition and clutched Kirumi before her frail body fell to the ground. With no hint of hesitation in your actions, you carried her to bed and helped her with a glass of water followed by something sweet, concern evident from your sweating hands.

Thankfully, her condition improved soon after. She had been exhausted from countless days of overworking with very little sleep; you were grateful that nothing worse happened. That didn't stop you from sporadically scolding her with quick, jumbled sentences that stopped making sense at some point.

Kirumi stopped your erratic rambling to reassure you that all is well, but your worry only intensified. You subdued for a moment to wrap your hands around hers. Holding her breath, Kirumi waited for you to continue your scolding, startled to hear your next words spoken delicately yet desperately. "Please... Look after yourself,"

"You don't realize how much you mean to me– and how much you matter. You're important, Kirumi, not just to me or to your clients," you faltered for a bit before focusing your eyes on hers, "I hope you don't take this as a request. Because it's not! I just– I just want you to value yourself. You... Your needs are more essential than everything else– than everyone else." You continue staring into her bewildered eyes, stuttering more than ever before as you watch her. "So, please..."

Silence falls over the room, and you begin to let go of her hands. Before you can, though, she reaches out and holds your face in her palms, smiling as tears formed in her eyes. For once, Kirumi was at a loss for words, unable to do anything but try to keep her weak smile. You pull her head over your shoulder, wrapping yourself around her in a tight embrace, and her façade drops as she sobs.

Undignified, unseemly, inelegant- those were all words that could describe how she felt about herself in that moment. But she couldn't bring herself to stop, comforted by your warm affection & love.

After an eternity in your compassionate embrace, Kirumi leans back and speaks. "Thank you," she says, "S/O.. There is nothing I can say that may remain true to just how grateful I am to you. Your kindness, your affection, warmth... I am undeserving, S/O."

"I have avoided my feelings for so long, in fear of them becoming a hindrance to you or to my services. But, if I wish to honor your wishes..." she halts, before continuing with a genuine — and breathtaking — smile, "... If I wish to honor my wishes, I must be honest with you."

"I love you, S/O All this time, you've tried to care for me, concerned with my wellbeing, whilst treating me with kindness I've never felt before," she wipes her tears before continuing, "How could I not be infatuated with you?" she quietly chuckles.

It's your turn to hold her face between your arms, grinning and laughing. Kirumi is stunned, unsure whether or not she had said something wrong, but her worries fade when you lean into her and plant a soft kiss on her lips.

With your enthusiasm shining through stronger than ever, you call out, "I love you too! I love you so, so much! More than you can ever imagine! I love you, I love you, I love you!" It almost sounds like a spell, a declaration of your unending love, more fervent than any optimism could ever be; more passionate than any desire.

Overwhelmed by your intensity, she fell wordless again, but not before returning your kiss with one of her own; one that whispered all the love she could not describe, one that screamed her devotion and adoration like no words ever could.

Her resolute devotion and your paralyzing fervor were one, stemming from a fondness that would endure to become an eternal love.

You were not so different, after all.

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

--erwin smith x reader; fluff, domestic, not canon compliant farmer erwin, there’s a mentioning of injuries but not enough to be considered graphic! (erwin lives!)

a.n: this is my attempt at swinging back into the ways of writing after a long, long, long hiatus! i wrote this in thirty minutes as just an exercise, but felt it was cohesive enough to post. its vague, abstract, and definitely not a magnum opus, but its something. this is more of an erwin story than an x reader one, but i hope you all enjoy regardless!

this was titled after a song on the pride and prejudice ost of the same name. highly recommend you give it a listen

anything for my sweet boy erwin ♡

(w.c: 1686)

At the initial prospect of it, retirement was somewhat akin to shooting oneself in the foot for a man like Erwin. It was condescending, debilitating, almost an insult were he any lesser than a reasonable man.

The word was floated around numerous times after the loss of his arm, spoken with a gentleness and, dare he say, a trepidation they believed must be adopted when speaking to the freshly injured man. For fear of upsetting him or for fear of making the situation real, he’s not quite sure. It was mentioned, nonetheless. In passing, directly, through implication; Everyone seemed to think that Erwin was less of a man and more of a liability because of his lost arm, and that retiring from the Scout Regiment would be the best option for everyone. 

That was something he took offense to. 

His physical abilities may be considerably limited now, yes, but he still holds inherent value to the cause he’s dedicated his life to. Still has goals, still has dreams, still has ideas that must be discussed and implemented if the fate of humanity is to even think about surviving beyond the next few days. 

Erwin still had some fight in him, and he still had things to offer. Things that retirement would take away from him.

The word settled like a thick tar on his tongue and left a bitter aftertaste, one he couldn’t bear to swallow down. So he didn’t. He spit the word back out, removing it from his mouth and sternly asking others to rid themselves of it too. They followed his order, albeit begrudgingly, but the conversation ended then and there. Not permanently, unfortunately. No amount of power, Erwin imagines, could ever snuff out the growing fear his missing appendage has instilled in his soldiers. That even the most untouchable, unshakeable of leaders could be tainted by this cruel world. 

He knows it's on everyone's mind, no matter how many times he can try to assuage the fears, for if the exchanged uneasy glances between his eccentric Section Commander and trusted Captain were anything to go by, then the fear his cadets must feel must be traumatizing. The looks they pass to one another when they think he isn’t looking.

Erwin lost an arm, not his intuition. It seems he’s the only one who knows that. 

But they let it go. They all do, for now at least. They reluctantly put a pin at his assertion that he would continue his work, regardless of injury, and quickly filed this topic as one they would return to at a later date. Appease him now to make him more receptive to the future. They let him continue to work himself dry, let him continue with physical missions like he wasn’t missing a trusted appendage, and entertained his reckless and drastic thoughts to a certain extent.

When he lands himself back in the infirmary, this time with a serious rupture to the side of his stomach from flying debris, and a number of broken bones that will surely cause permanent hindrance to his mobility, the topic is brought back up again. Only this time, it’s non-negotiable. His near death was the final straw in forcing Erwin Smith into retirement. 

                                                              ∵

He hates it.

Hates how quiet his home is, hates how unexciting his routine is, hates not being able to know.

But he finds that making coffee is still manageable with one arm. The sun still shines as brightly inside the walls as it does outside. The birds still chirp excitedly in the morning and the wind still blows gently in the afternoon. 

He hates retirement, but it’s manageable. 

It gets better after a while, the presence of a neighbor making his nights substantially more interesting with the dinner she brings over. 

                                                             ∵

The house is quiet once again, only the distant chirps of the birds filling the empty space. It's familiar, but he finds it unsettling this time around. A feeling of anticipation creeping into his stomach, waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

It doesn’t happen. 

With a slight furrow in his brow and after a long analyzing gaze outside the window above the kitchen sink, Erwin makes his way towards the front door, granting him access to the front porch of the house. Settled away from the city, the land his house is built on stretches for miles; Fields of green spread out before him and littered with tall, blooming and swaying trees. The chickens squawk and run around before him and the horses huff their snorts of boredom. There’s activity in the Smith residence, but it’s not the kind he’s looking for. 

There’s something missing. 

Bringing his left arm up to his mouth, he curls his fingers below his tongue, blowing out a loud and sharp whistle that has all movement still for a brief moment on his farm. All attention piqued on him, the animals and the trees alike waited for Erwin’s response. 

They wait, and they wait, and they wait. But still, nothing.

The crease between Erwin’s brows dips further. A brief flash of worry settles in his shoulders. He pulls his fingers into his mouth again, blowing a whistle that lasts for a few seconds longer this time. His eyes stay trained on the hill before him, hoping to see something. Anything.

He waits a minute before the restlessness takes over and he takes his steps down the stairs of the porch, his boots crunching against the crisp grass still wet from the morning dew. He approaches the top of the hill, the one that lays level with the foundation of his house, before surveying the land further below. He looks left and right, then left again and then right again, eyes peeled for that familiar flash of grey.

Where in the world could that damn dog have gone?

The dog is usually fast enough to return before he even needs to whistle a second time, never straying too far from the property for her to not hear Erwin’s call. But this time is different. She’s gone and isn’t returning to him and that can only mean one thing.

Trouble.

He begins his trek down the hill, the morning still early enough to not have him sweating on this irregular stroll of his, but he can feel the temperature slowly rising through the air. The wind serves as his only semblance of comfort as it continues its mission of cooling the exposed skin of his forearm and neck. 

He must be walking for at least five minutes before he sees it. The scraggly grey hair of a dog's bottom, her top half hidden behind a large oak tree but her tail wagging ferociously. A small smile graces Erwin’s face subconsciously, the slowly building apprehension dissipating in an instant at seeing the vivacious mutt. 

Or at least at seeing her bottom half. 

He approaches the tree slowly, the noises of enjoyment and panting from the dog becoming louder as he draws nearer. But there’s another sound too that fills the air. A sound much sweeter and delicate, one that he’s heard a thousand times over the years,  and yet, Erwin swears it's one he can never get tired of. 

It’s a breath of fresh air, an instant drug in his veins, and the reason behind the swelling of his heart. His smile grows wider than he could have possibly imagined.

He gets close enough and the dog finally notices him, bounding over to him in an instant with a greeting bark and a perk in her step. He pats her head, a silent gratefulness at having found her finally and understanding why she refused to meet his calls. Why she continued to stay at the spot behind the oak tree a five minute walk away from her home.

He finally gets near the tree, peering around its large trunk to the spot the dog previously occupied and can’t help but laugh in surprise. 

Sitting in the space between the bulging roots are his two girls, one aged six and the other three, huddled close together as they coo and giggle over an object resting between the two’s feet. Their backs are turned towards their father, too preoccupied with whatever was settled between them to even notice the beloved dog’s disappearance from her original spot and its replacement with their father. 

His years of training to fight titans kicks in, his steps as quiet as can be as he gets closer to the girls to get a look at what they were currently fawning over. 

A baby bird. Brown in color and more than comfortable between the two children.

“What are you two doing?”

His voice sends a jolt of shock through them, the two girls jumping in the air at the sudden disruption and whipping their faces around to look at the intruder. The fear quickly melts off of their round faces when they realize who it is. 

“Daddy!” The two girls yell unanimously, unbridled joy filtering their features and Erwin briefly sees the beautiful face of their mother in them. The youngest in particular. 

The eldest managed to take most of his features, much to his wife’s pleasure, retaining his aquiline nose, the vibrant blue of his eyes, and his own oval face shape, but her hair is a delightful mix between his and his wife’s. And while she looks the most like him, she acts the most like her mother; Joyous and giggly and a passionate ball of rays. 

Now, his youngest, while looking almost entirely like a carbon copy of her mother, was in fact a replica of his own personality. Quiet, curious, diplomatic. A balance to her impulsive sister, a shining grey crater of peace in the sky.

His sun and moon. His reasons for orbit. The loves of his life. 

                                                             ∵

And as he walks his two girls back across the field to their home, their mother’s figure on the horizon and an excited chatter between them as they recount the tales of their morning in helping the baby bird, a single thought enters Erwin’s mind. 

Retirement isn’t so bad. 

[luxekook]

intensity | myg

⇥ pairing: yoongi x reader ⇥ genre: angst, smut, fluff, established relationship ⇥ summary: this is a sequel to intimidation. in which yoongi is intense in every facet of their relationship, except one… and the reader is on a mission to find out why. ⇥ word count: 3.9k ⇥ warnings: nc17, cursing, dirty talk, general chaos, dom!yoongi with a side of switch, sub!reader with a side of switch, rough smut [oral (f receiving), light choking, spanking, breast worship, slight marking, slight ownership kink, unprotected sex (wrap it, folx, please), mentions of threesomes]

⇥ dedication: @shadowsremedy​​ heaaaath bby! i hope you like this! i think it might be terrible, but plz enjoy anyway sdfsdhbakj

⇥ prequel: intimidation

Six months into dating Min Yoongi and you were so fucking whipped for him that you might just say the dreaded “L” word.

Was it too soon to know? The majority of your friends sure thought so - Nia being the exception.

(“Wife him up, girl!”)

The majority of your friends also thought that Yoongi never outwardly showed how much he cared for you. But, you knew they just weren’t looking hard enough.

They weren’t looking at the way he linked his pinky with yours just to be connected to you. They weren’t looking at the way he always gave you his full and undivided attention no matter how trivial of a story you told. They weren’t looking at the way he flushed a light shade of pink whenever you complimented his music.

But you were looking. God, you were looking so hard you feared you might just melt under the intensity that was Min Yoongi.

Everything about Yoongi was intense: his aura, his focus, his ambition.

Everything about dating Yoongi was even more intense: his devotion, his affection, his possessive nature.

Everything about him was intense… Everything except one thing.

Sex.

And you were baffled.

Yoongi treated you like a queen, albeit a fragile one. He fucked you like you might break under him. He fucked you softly, sweetly.

You weren’t saying that the sex wasn’t good. He always made sure that you came multiple times with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. But it just wasn’t enough. It was like he was holding part of himself back from you. And you just wanted to know why.

Were you not attractive enough to evoke such fervor? Was he not into it? Oh lord, did he think you sucked at sex? You could pull out some receipts that said otherwise.

And, yet, the absolute worst part of it all was the fact that Yoongi’s reputation for being a dominant lover preceded him. You heard it from your friends, you heard it from the twitter-verse, you heard it from his friends… fuck, you’d even heard it from your damn T.A.

And yet, all Yoongi gave you was sweet, sweet vanilla.

And all you wanted was some damn rocky road.

The tipping point came earlier that night when you had overheard Yoongi and his friends talking about you…

“Aren’t you bored, Yoongi? What do you even do together? Make flashcards?”

That was one fucking time, you had glared accusingly at the wooden door that separated you from where Yoongi and his friends had been congregated in his tiny dorm room. Your ears had strained to catch Yoongi’s muttered response through the cacophony of laughter and had failed miserably.

When you had planned to surprise your boyfriend after your night class had been cancelled, you’d never thought that you would end up being the one caught off guard.

You hadn’t initially meant to eavesdrop on their conversation, but his friends had just been so loud and your curiosity had just gotten the best of you.

“She’s such a goody-goody… I bet she doesn’t let you get rough.”

That time you had heard Yoongi’s answer: “I just don’t know if she could handle it… (y/n) is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to mess it up if I blow her back out and break her.”

You had heard enough. Turning on your heel, you had marched back down the dimly lit hallway towards the stairwell. 

“Couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle it?”

Now, you found yourself still seething hours later. Livid, but not without plans. You had already decided to take this matter into your own hands days earlier, but now your timeline had shifted. Oh, Min Yoongi would rue the day…

You smiled at your reflection in the mirror as you applied your blood red lipstick. Your phone long since silenced lit up for the umpteenth time that evening.

You were ignoring him. Was it petty? Yes. Was it strategic? Fuck yes.

You knew that Yoongi would be going to Seokjin’s birthday party tonight. The older boy had blackmailed Yoongi into going a few weeks ago by threatening to release an old demo that Yoongi had made in his early teens.

Suddenly, you were also going to make an appearance - a complete coincidence, of course.

Nia had convinced you that going with her to this party would drive Yoongi crazy, especially since you'd been ignoring him. But she also had an ulterior motive. Nia and Jimin had been hooking up on and off since you and Yoongi had gotten together; and, right now, they were very much in an 'on' phase.

You gave yourself one last glance over in the mirror and shrugged. The little black dress and heeled ankle boots would do. After all, it was really what was underneath that counted.

The new lingerie that you had impulse-ordered a few days ago after brainstorming ideas on how to make Yoongi lose his mind had arrived. The set that you settled on tonight might just achieve that goal - all black lace with garters and thigh highs.

It had put a nice dent in your wallet, but it would be well worth it if your boyfriend finally fucked you into next week.

Speaking of... your phone lit up yet again, this time with an incoming call. You were so tempted to pick up. Yoongi's voice was your favorite - all deep and raspy and teasing.

Your freshly manicured finger sent him to voicemail.

“(Y/n)!” Nia’s voice called from her bedroom adjacent to the bathroom you currently resided in, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, let’s do this.”

Fifteen minutes later, you walked through Jin’s front door. “Whoa,” Nia stopped short, making you bump into her.

“What?” You surveyed the crowded room. Then you spotted him. “Oh my god.”

Jin stood atop the coffee table wearing nothing but a pair of banana-printed shorts and a felt birthday cake hat. He was also dancing rather aggressively to “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna.

“Yah!” His attention suddenly fell on you and Nia, “Wel-come and put your name on it.”

You both gaped at the birthday boy who now was descending into a twerking fit while screaming the word ‘cake’ alongside Rihanna.

“Do you think it’s too late to turn back?” You whispered to Nia.

“He’s already seen us. We’re doomed,” Nia responded, her eyes still glued to Jin’s writhing form.

Laughing, you grabbed Nia’s wrist and tugged her towards the kitchen.

Suddenly, you felt eyes on you, on your body. You knew that Yoongi was here somewhere, and he’d seen you. It would be so easy to just go up to your boyfriend and smother him with kisses and affection like usual; but, that was not on the agenda. And so you forged forth without a backwards glance towards the living room where he must have been.

After fixing a drink and losing Nia quickly to Jimin, you were still steadfastly avoiding going back into the living room. Now, you were in a nice conversation with a boy named Jinyoung about the merits of being in Slytherin.

"Can I talk to you?" Yoongi pushed in between you and Jinyoung, effectively interrupting your rant over how Slytherin ambition can be used for good.

"Can it wait?" You spared your boyfriend a cursory glance before turning back to Jinyoung. Yoongi already looked thoroughly pissed off. Perfect. Suppressing a smile, you tried to reinstate your conversation with Jinyoung and pretend that Yoongi was not even there.

Yoongi let out a low growl before snapping, “No, it can't wait." He grabbed your hand and began to pull you down the narrow hallway. Your feigned protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to tug you along towards Jin's room. You waved in departure at an amused Jinyoung who just raised his glass in your direction.

Opening the door, Yoongi pushed you inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Crossing his arms across his chest, Yoongi pinned you with his stare. “Are you mad at me?" His question came with an accompanying head tilt and eyebrow raise.

“No. What makes you say that?” You reveled in the scoff he made in response.

Yoongi stalked towards where you stood at the foot of Jin’s bed. “You haven’t answered my texts or calls. You haven’t acknowledged me all night. You even walked right by me earlier in the living room, baby. So help me out, because I’m a little confused.”

“Join the club.”

“What was that?” His narrowed eyes spat fire in your direction. The words you had mumbled under your breath were obviously not as subtle as you thought.

“Nothing, baby.” You smiled innocently despite your boyfriend’s growing fury. “I just didn’t see you or your texts earlier.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “Bullshit.”

“Yoongi, drop it.”

“No, I won’t drop it, (y/n)! You’re obviously mad at something I did.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh my god. You’re fucking furious.”

“I’m not mad, okay? God, I am so tired of you parading around like you know every damn thing about me. Well, guess what: you don’t, Min Yoongi!”

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows had practically disappeared under the fringe of his hair during your outburst. His eyes were comically wide as you continued.

“You think I’m so fucking breakable? Newsflash, buddy, I’ve been someone else’s sub before! But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You wouldn’t even know the first thing about what I like in bed. And you know why? Because you’ve never asked!”

Yoongi no longer looked shellshocked. No. Now, he just looked downright agitated. “Baby, calm down.”

This little shit right here…

“Oh no, you don’t get to tell me to calm down! Not when you’ve been going around telling everyone and their mother that you fuck me like I’m fragile. And, meanwhile, I’m over here being bombarded with people ranting and raving about how rough you are in bed! Well, if you’re so rough and ready then why the fuck am I still getting this sweet vanilla shit? Am I not attractive enough for you, is that it?”

“Kitten, I’d really advise you to stop talking.” The new nickname flew right over your head as you spared a glance in his direction and swallowed. His expression was thunderous. Too bad you were too far into your rant to turn back now.

“I must be really fucking boring to you if you won’t even consider spicing things up with me! Am I not pleasing enough for you to want your fucking mark on my body? Is that it? Or are you just tired of me in general?“

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, (y/n)…” Yoongi cupped your chin in his hand tightly and drew your face up to his. You gulped. You had never seen your boyfriend look so angry, so punishing, so hot. He continued, “I’ve told you before that I’d give you anything if you just asked for it. So, I just want you to think about what you’re asking for here.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. “I haven’t thought about anything else for fucking weeks! I even considered asking Sehyun for advice!”

“And who’s Sehyun?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You had not planned to mention your dominant ex-boyfriend as part of this conversation.

“(Y/n), I am going to ask you one more time… Who. Is. Sehyun?”

In your tiniest voice, you replied, “My ex who used to dom me.”

Yoongi hissed a breath in between his teeth. “So, you’re telling me that instead of coming to me with this, you thought about going to your fucking ex? Your old dom?”

This was not good. This was really not good.

“That’s not the point!”

“You’re right.” Yoongi suddenly sits on the edge of the bed and tugged me face down across his lap. “The point is that you’ve been bad. And bad girls get punished.”

It was honestly embarrassing how quickly you got wet after he uttered those words with you splayed out on top of him. Positioned like this, you felt vulnerable, totally at his mercy.

Yoongi rolled up the bottom of your dress. As you felt the cool air of the room brush your lace-covered ass and thighs, Yoongi sucked in a breath. You felt his gaze on you. “Kitten,” His voice came out deeper than you had ever heard it before, "Did you buy these for me?"

You shimmied your hips on his lap, craving any sort of friction. "Yes," you moaned as you felt Yoongi's fingers hook under one of your garters, before pulling and snapping it back onto the skin of your thigh. The accompanying sharp sting of pain only made you even more soaked - a fact that was not lost on Yoongi.

"You like that, don't you?" Yoongi repeats his actions on your other thigh before murmuring lowly, "Don't you, my little slut?"

You let out an involuntary moan at his filthy words, grinding into his dark jeans.

Smack. Yoongi slapped one of your cheeks, startling you with both the sound and the sting.

“I asked you a question.“ Yoongi's hand kneaded your ass, causing the prickling of pain to quickly turn to pleasure.

"I do! I do like it, daddy.” The title slipped out automatically, but judging by the way Yoongi's cock twitched underneath you, he didn't mind.

"Fuck yeah, kitten. Call me daddy.”

Yup, he really didn't mind.

"Now, I want you to count," Yoongi growled, hand squeezing you roughly before sliding your panties and thigh highs off to fully uncover your ass and thighs.

"Yes, daddy.” The anticipation, though brief, made your heart race.

"This is for ignoring my messages.” 

Smack. "One."

“This one is for ignoring me in person.”

Smack. "T-two."

”This is for lying to me."

Smack. "Three."

"This is for thinking you're not attractive enough for me."

Smack. "Four."

"This is for even considering that I might find you boring."

Smack. "F-five."

“Look at you,” Yoongi’s fingers suddenly ceased their kneading and drifted to your drenched pussy, “You’re fucking soaked, and you’re only halfway though your punishment.” His finger slid inside you fleetingly before sliding back out. Your back arched in search of contact - something, anything.

“This is for not saying you wanted my mark sooner."

Smack. “Si-ix.”

“Actually, kitten, I’m going to give you two for that one.”

Smack. “Mm, seven.” The heat from his smacks was spreading from your ass to your pussy, settling low in your belly.

”This is for mentioning that prick Sehyun."

Smack. "You don't even know h-" Smack. Smack.

“E-eight!”

"This is for being a brat and not coming to me with your issues."

Smack. “Nine.”

“This is for fucking dripping all over my jeans despite the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment.”

Smack. “Ten.”

You laid slack in his lap for a bit, pliant under his kneading hands.

“You did so well, kitten.” Yoongi cradled you in his arms, pulling you into an upright position before laying you down on the bed with your legs hanging off the side. “I’m going to fuck you so hard…” He groaned, burying his face against your breasts, lips seeking. “But first, I think you need a little reward after taking that punishment so well.”

You arched, needing his mouth.

“Let’s get these clothes off of you.” He pulled your dress over your head before quickly unhooking your bra from behind your back.

“Goddamn, you really do have the prettiest fucking nipples I’ve ever seen, kitten. I always wonder if I could make you cum just by sucking them. I bet I can…”

Your mind grew hazy when he finally turned his head and took one of your nipples between his lips, dragging his tongue over the sensitive bud. He sucked it into his mouth with a groan, and you couldn’t help but moan, “Yes, daddy!” Your body felt like it was burning; but, still, you wanted more.

He turned to your other nipple and muttered, “You taste so sweet, (y/n)...” Yoongi worshipped your other nipple with his mouth, his tongue, and even the slightest bite of teeth. After finally leaving that one as aching as the other, he pulled back to face you.

“Kitten, you’re so fucking sexy.” He hovered over you, taking his time kissing down your stomach, leaving marks in his wake. Intentionally skipping the place you need him most, Yoongi trailed kisses on the insides of your thighs. Finally, he was poised over the seam of your pussy.

“This,” his breath caressed your slit, “Belongs to me.” You squirmed, anxious with anticipation.

“Say it,” Yoongi growled, slapping your pussy lightly, “Say that this pretty pussy is all mine.”

“It’s yours. God, Yoongi, it’s yours. Please, daddy.” Your pleas burst from your mouth in an embarrassingly whiny tone.

And then it happened in a blink. His mouth was on you. His hot tongue swiped over your clit before drawing it into his mouth and sucking it.

As he devoured you, a growl sounded from his chest; and, the idea of finally, finally inspiring that kind of lust turned you on so fucking much.

“D-daddy, I’m going to c-come!” You were already coming undone with each skilled swipe of his tongue.

Yoongi pulled back. Honestly, you really should have seen that coming.

(Or should have seen yourself not coming for that matter.)

Before you could even attempt to slide your own hand down to where you needed it most, Yoongi pulled you up towards him. Your legs shook as you tried to find your balance, but he was too impatient for that evidently.

Yoongi picked you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his slim waist.

Stumbling, you both crashed into the wall. His hips pressed firmly into yours, wanting you to feel him.

He rested his forehead against yours, and, breathing heavily, he said, "I can't believe you thought for one second that I didn't find you attractive." His hips ground into yours. You felt his hardness, his heat, his desire for you. "Does this feel like I'm not attracted to you, kitten? Can’t you tell how hard I am for you? Fuck, you just had me on my knees, facedown in your pussy... Don’t you know that you fucking own me?"

"Y-yoongi," You gasped for air, breathless from his admissions and his actions, "I know it now. You fucking own me, too."

His lips turned up at the corners before slamming down onto yours, kissing you as if you would disappear if he stopped. Your hand twined around his neck, lacing your fingers through the short strands of his hair and kissing him back with equal vigor.

He tasted so fucking good, like soju and strawberries. You sucked on his tongue, and he groaned. Yoongi’s fingers dug even deeper into the sensitive flesh of your upper thighs.

“Need to fuck you now,” He muttered into your mouth.

"You're gonna have to strip for that to happen, daddy,” You said, smirking as he set you down.

Smack. “I should have known you were a fucking brat,” he laughed.

You pouted in response as you watched your hot-as-sin boyfriend make quick work of his clothes. Your eyes drifted over the lean muscles of his body before settling on the hard length of his cock. What you wouldn’t give to take him in your mouth right now…

“No time for that,” Yoongi chuckled, noticing your attention and catching onto your train of thought, “Now be a good girl and bend over the bed.”

Well, since he asked so nicely.

You complied, bending over with a mix of excitement and arousal bubbling in your stomach. You could feel Yoongi standing over you. He snaked one hand around your body to thumb one of your nipples. His other hand ventured lower, and one of his fingers pumped inside your pussy.

He pinched your nipple. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Please, daddy. Please fuck me.” You groaned, arching into his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. “I need your cock.”

“Yeah? You want daddy’s cock?” Yoongi’s finger disappeared. In its place, you felt the crown of his cock slowly stroking your folds. “Then, you’ll get it.”

He slid into you with a deep groan, his hand twining into your hair.  He was so hard; his arousal only made you needier. He slowly began to slide in and out.You moved your hips to match his, wanting to feel his full-length reach deep inside you with every stroke.

His thrusts became faster and harder. “Good girl.” You could feel his gaze fixed between your legs. “I see you taking me.”

Still gripping your hair,  Yoongi pulled out and slammed back in, giving everything into each thrust and rocking you against the bed.

You buried your head into the duvet to muffle your moans. It took every muscle in you not to come.

"Fuck, (y/n),“ He groaned as he plunged into you. You backed up into him, trying to get him even deeper inside you. He lifted you onto all fours and the resulting angle was divine.

Your body started shaking. Subconsciously, one of your hands shimmied down your body to touch your clit, needing that final push.

Apparently, not on Yoongi’s watch.

He pulled one hand away from its grip on your hip and set it back down with a smack. Your right ass cheek stung fiercely. “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself, kitten,” Yoongi growled, “That’s my job.”

And, with that, Yoongi pinched your clit and slammed into you. That was all it took to push you over the edge. “Ah, Yoongi!” You screamed into the comforter of the bed in hopes that it might muffle your exclamation.

“That’s right, kitten, milk daddy’s cock. Fuck yes,” Yoongi continued to pound into you through your own orgasm. His moans got louder as his thrusts grew sloppier until his hot cum poured into you.

Breathing heavily, he collapsed on top of you briefly before pulling out and falling to your side. You both continued to pant in your collapsed positions on the bed. You could hardly move.

You turned your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. His eyes were hooded, his hair a mess. “Round two?” You suggested with a smile.

Yoongi’s gummy smile made a brief appearance, “You’re going to kill me, (y/n).”

“No,” Jin’s voice came from the doorway, “I’m going to kill you both.”

You and Yoongi screamed as you scrambled to pull the comforter over your naked bodies.

“I can’t believe this,” the birthday boy continued, “You fucked in my room? In my bed? On my birthday? And I didn’t even get an invite?” His eyes were twitching murderously. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have birthday sex! Me, you peasants, me!”

You shot Yoongi a speculative look as Jin continued to rant.

“Really?” Your boyfriend groaned at your unspoken question, “Right now?”

“It’s his birthday!” You hissed, “Besides, I did show up without a present…”

Yoongi pondered it, “Fine, but I am so punishing you for this later. Fucking hell, how many more kinks do you have that I don’t know about?”

As Yoongi trailed off, muttering about masochism and threesomes, you stood. Clutching the blanket to your body, you walked over to where Jin had finally quieted down.

The boy eyed you suspiciously, “What?”

“You said you wanted an invite, Kim.” You dropped the blanket, “Consider the invitation sent.”

a/n: big yikes on how this turned out skskskss hope you liked it anyway despite the chaotic-ness that is this fic

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[sdvharveybby]

If you are taking requests I was thinking if you could write for the farmer and Harvey in their first everything, like, their first date, first kiss, first... Time👀? ... You know, their first things

Sorry this was so late, but I got into watching Tokyo Ghoul and literally days went by. Great anime by the way! I love watching like gross and terrifying anime’s. Besides Attack on Titan and The Promised Neverland, Tokyo Ghoul is definitely amongst my top favorites.

See how I can’t stop talking once I start?? Anyways, I loved this ask!!! I really really did, it’s just so cute and fluffy. Like a bunch of clouds all piled into one ask. Great idea so thank you for sending this in!

I added in, saying ‘I love you’, holding hands, and getting drunk together lmao I just made them as like... chopped up headcannons because there’s no way I could have added all of this as a story!

Without further ado, hope you enjoyed this! Thank you bby!!

ALSO THIS DOES MENTION THEM DOING THE DIDDLE, OKAY? IT DOES NOT GO INTO DETAIL BUT NSFW ANYWAYS. SORRY BBYS :) (it’s the very last paragraph if you want/need to avoid it)

 Word Count: 1343

First date:

Oh, it’s filled with a lot of laughs. Both Harvey and the farmer share jokes and awkward stories about their lives- mostly to break up potential tension, and to also learn about each other. Harvey figures it’s better than the traditional boring small talk that’s usually made during first dates. Also, considering it’s a small town- they both know the answers to the basic questions normally asked like, “What do you do for a living.” For as how nervous Harvey seems to be- he plays it off quite nice.

He’s also blushy. Mainly because he’s trying to maintain eye contact with a potential love interest, but he loves that feeling! Harvey definitely has a smile on the entire time, and also barely eats his food because he’s so invested in learning about the other person.

But things just happen to him. Without his control- outside forces just want to play on his nervousness. Something like Emily randomly tripping and accidentally spilling his water/wine on him. Then it’s just a brief moment of both Harvey and Emily chaotically trying to wipe up the liquid, Emily feels bad, but the farmer finds it adorable at how much Harvey tries to console Emily, like, “No! Don’t feel bad! It’s not your fault, you didn’t plan for that to happen.” With an awkward smile the whole time.

He does get a bit tipsy during the first date though… and he definitely gets more confident. He’ll start to compliment the farmer in every way he can. He’ll also start to find everything funny, even if it’s not meant to be. He’ll giggle if the farmer drops a spoon or if somebody bumps into them walking by. He can’t help it! But where eye contact was hard for him before, it’s easy now, and he’ll begin to share some of his feelings that he has towards the farmer.

Holding hands:

The first time the farmer and Harvey hold hands is at the Feast of the Winter Star. The brisk cold made the farmer shudder and stick their hands in their coat pockets. It’s with a moment of impulsivity that Harvey reaches his hand into the farmers pocket and entangles his hand with theirs. There’s a brief moment of silence between them until he leans his head closer to theirs and says, “I hope this is all right- I just didn’t want you to be cold.”

He doesn’t seem nervous when doing that though- it was actually a comfortable action for him. It didn’t rely on conversations or him trying to impress the farmer. He just wants them to be happy and warm.

First time getting DRUNK (I just thought this was a funny idea):

First time they ever get drunk together is actually in Harveys apartment. He’s always been good about limiting how much alcohol he drank, but with the rousing conversations the farmer and him had- he wasn’t paying any attention.

They are both star fished onto the floor- heads next to each other just laughing. Either of them would first start a joke or story and get about four words in until they would just start laughing.

It ends that night with actual life related conversations. With barriers down, they begin to share their fears, hopes, and dreams. They learn quite a bit about each other doing this, and they end up falling asleep on the floor, at some point, late into the night.

First kiss:

The farmer initiates this one, mostly because Harvey doesn’t have the slightest idea on how he would approach their first kiss.

They decided to go on a date to the beach to watch the sunset. It wasn’t meant to be anything particularly special, but as they sit on the docks listening to the water rush up on shore and watching the golden sun set- it became special…

As Harvey is in mid story the farmer cuts them off, “Hey, Harvey?” they ask, and he responds with a questioned, “Hmm?” and that’s when the farmer turned his head and kissed him!

At first kiss- it was quick. The farmer took it as initial rejection when Harvey basically became a wooden plank, but a part of him didn’t even know if it was real. His eyes were wide, a deep red blushing his cheeks. It takes him a moment, but he is genuinely ecstatic. He reaches in close placing a hand on the farmers cheek and gives them a deep kiss lasting much longer than their first (eyes closed this time!)

It was just a simple kiss, but to him it meant validation. It meant, ‘They like me as much as I like them.’ He certainly treasured the moment- something he would never forget. Sometimes at night, he remembers this moment and gets so giddy that it becomes hard to sleep.

First ‘I love you’:

This was at the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies event! A sight to behold no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

They stood next to each other on the docks as far out to the water as they could get. It was dark out, but with the moon shining bright, they could vaguely make each other. Once the event began, Harvey and the farmer held hands eyes bright as the jellyfish swam in close. They saw an array of beautiful jellyfish before them, in the background they could hear people breathlessly saying ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’. An assortment of colors illuminated upon Harvey and the farmer as they both would point out one’s they found particular pretty or cool. Harvey then saw his opportunity and leaned in close to the farmers ear and whispered, “Could I tell you something?” They turned to look at him, watching the colors dance across his face, he wore a soft smile and said, “I love you.” The farmer immediately gave him a big hug whispering, “I love you, too.”

The farmer couldn’t see it, but Harvey had tears brimming his eyes when they reciprocated his love. It made him feel reassured and accepted, another moment he never wanted to forget as they held each other.

First time having sex:

If Harvey couldn’t initiate their first kiss- he sure as hell had no one idea how to properly initiate them having sex for the first time.

The farmer invited Harvey over for dinner one night; something they could do together and enjoy each other’s company. It started off standard, as they’ve done this many times before, but Harvey decided that they should have dinner in front of the fireplace. The night air was cold, and this would be something comfortable for the both of them.

They sat in front of the fireplace as they ate- sharing their usual stories or making up things as they went. It became a great evening for both of them, it seemed it was perfect! When they finished, Harvey stood to clear off the table and before grabbing the farmers plate, he leaned down for a kiss. Something must have been in the air because his initial quick kiss evolved into them passionately kissing amongst the warmth of the fireplace. He set his plate back down on to the table, and they made there way into the bedroom.

Now, they both knew what this would mean, and it being their first time doing this together- they were nervous to say the least. But the passion and drive for one another quickly threw their nerves out of the window. It was a craving to be with each other and it wasn’t long until they made it to the bed… and the rest is history.

Neither of them could properly describe the night they had together. It was riveting, exciting, and loving, but they couldn’t put that into words. It was a night they both shared that memory together, and after they had finished it was left with, “Do we clean off the table now?” “Let’s just do it in the morning.” Sleeping in each other’s arms and soaking in each other’s warmth, nothing could have been better.