#trying to finish one third of this in the next half hour

[readingwriter92]

fun fact taking an intentional like. changing space break didn't help

T-minus 6 hours on this shit I gotta do and I’ve gotten essentially nothing done :/

[heavenlybodies333]

Viagra, really? -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

All you'd wanted was to satisfy a dumb curiosity—whether or not Viagra had an effect on women. It wasn’t like you were going to pop a whole pill and throw yourself at the next human being in sight. It was just a fun, stupid experiment for a boring Wednesday afternoon. You’d split the dose in half, dropped one into each of two steaming cups of black coffee—one for you, one for JJ—and left them on your desk while you stepped away to make Dr. Spencer Fucking Reid his usual. Like you did everyday.

The man had a freakish internal clock—he always took his second coffee at exactly 3:17 PM. You were the one who usually made it for him, and this time, that was your downfall. You had left your desk to go make his usual cup, completely forgetting you’d left the two tainted ones sitting there.

When you walked back in, everything went to hell. JJ looked chipper, a little pink in the cheeks, sipping from one of the cups. Spencer was holding the other spiked one. You stared at the third cup in your hand, the safe, non-Viagra-laced cup you’d made specifically for him, and your stomach dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He noticed you staring, eyes narrowing behind those glasses.“What?”

“Nothing!” you blurted, voice too high, too guilty. “Just—coffee. You know. Love it. Can’t live without it.” JJ gave you a sidelong glance over her cup, one eyebrow rising looking over at Reid, who of course, had already half-finished the drink.

Fifteen minutes later, he shifted in his seat. Twenty minutes in, he tugged at his tie. Cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, but it was.

The Viagra was definitely working.

At twenty-five minutes, Spencer Reid stopped typing mid-sentence. His hands froze over the keyboard. His brows knitted in concentration, he glanced at you. His expression unreadable. Then he stood abruptly. His chair rolled back. His hand pressed low to his stomach—almost reflexively—and he muttered, “I need to step out.”

You blinked. “What?” But he didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the hallway bathroom. You turned slowly to JJ. She looked back at you. Eyes wide. “Did he just—?”

“He drank yours,” you hissed. JJ nearly choked. “Then who—?”

“I have his.” You looked at the untouched cup beside you. “You took mine. He took yours.” JJ snorted so hard she had to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” you whisper-yelled.

“I can’t believe you accidentally drugged Reid!”

“I didn’t drug him! I—okay, technically, yes, I—” You groaned. “JJ. I gave Spence a goddamn boner pill.” You dropped your face into your hands.

It took him thirty-six minutes to come back. And when he did? You knew immediately. Because he knew. His eyes landed on you with laser precision. He didn’t speak, not at first. He just walked—calmly, slowly—over to your desk. You looked up, throat dry.

“You wanna tell me,” he said angrily hushed, “why I just spent half an hour in the men’s room trying to hide a completely inexplicable erection?”

You stared at him before looking around for JJ to be your saving grace, of course that bitch was nowhere to be found. “Spencer, I can explain—”

“Can you?” His voice was low, sharp. “Because the only logical explanation is that someone laced my coffee with sildenafil citrate.”

You winced. “We were just—curious. JJ and I.”

His jaw ticked. “We?”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—” You fumbled. “It was for JJ and me! I made two cups, left them on my desk, and then went to get your usual—”

“And you didn’t think to label them?” His voice cracked at the end, furious and scandalized. “You didn’t think to mention the presence of a powerful vasodilator in the office kitchen?”

“Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“I am hard in trousers I can’t stand up in.”

You bit your bottom lip. “Oh my God, Spencer—”

“Don’t use that tone—like I’m the one in the wrong here.”

You were fighting a laugh. He looked so mad, and so flushed, and so painfully, obviously turned on.

His slacks betrayed him completely. The sharp cut of his jacket couldn’t hide the tension in his body, couldn’t cover the way he shifted, subtle and controlled, like every move was an effort not to feel too much.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” you asked, voice low, eyes darting around.

He leaned in, his mouth near your ear. “I’m hard,” he whispered, “and I’ve been hard for forty-five minutes. You drugged me. You think this is funny?”

You swallowed. “No.” But your voice said otherwise.

“It’s not funny,” you said, grinning. “It’s just—”

“What?” His voice dropped. “It’s what?” He just sat there, visibly hard, visibly panicking, eyes darting toward his lap like his own body was betraying him in real time.

“Reid,” you whispered, “do you want me to take you somewhere private?”

“I—uh—what? No. I mean, yes, I just—” He exhaled sharply and pressed the heels of his palms into his thighs, like that would help the situation. “This is not... I don’t normally feel like this. Not around you. I mean, not because of you. Not—not that I don’t find you attractive, because you’re very attractive, obviously. It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for this. You dosed me.”

You tried not to laugh. “I didn’t dose you, I made a coffee laced with a questionable pharmaceutical as a joke for JJ, and you drank it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No,” you agreed, biting your lip. “But it does make it kind of hot.”

He gawked. “Hot?”

You leaned in, your voice hushed. “You. Like this. All flustered and mad and trying really hard to pretend you're not turned on in front of me.”

He made a wounded, embarrassed sound and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this.”

You tilted your head. “A little.”

“I could report you to HR,” he muttered, though it had no real bite. His cheeks were flushed, jaw tight with discomfort and... something else. He refused to meet your eyes.

“And what would you say?” you teased gently. “‘She accidentally gave me a hard-on in the middle of the bullpen and then looked too hot about it?’”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re the worst.” you noticed he didn’t move away when you inched a little closer, nor did he stop you when you rested your hand lightly on his knee.

He looked down at it. Then up at you. And his voice cracked a little when he asked, “What... are you doing?”

You smiled. “Making it up to you.”

“You can’t just—just seduce your way out of this,” he stammered. “This is medical. Physiological. I—I’m experiencing venous occlusion and—and increased nitric oxide—”

“God, even flustered, you’re the most ridiculously hot person I’ve ever met,” you muttered, half to yourself.

He stared at you, lips parted. “Are you serious right now?”

You nodded, still smiling. “Dead serious.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Spence,” you said softly. “Just come with me. Somewhere private. I’ll take care of it.”

He hesitated. Eyes searching yours like he was weighing every possible outcome. Then he stood suddenly, stiffly, clearly trying to adjust himself without making it worse.

He stared at you. Then he looked toward Hotch’s office. Empty. Toward the hallway. Quiet. Back at you.

He grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to register it. He pulled you down the hallway, fast and quiet, past the copier, past the tech room, past the old conference wing. His grip was hot and firm around your wrist

You knew where he was going before you saw the door: Storage 4C – Surplus Tech.

Dead zone. No cameras. Half the time even Garcia forgot it existed. He pulled you in. Shut the door. Locked it. Watching him pace in a tight circle, he looked like he might combust.

“This is insane,” he said. “I’ve got dopamine overload, I can’t think straight, my pants—” He gestured wildly toward his zipper. “I can’t even sit down like this.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Then don’t sit down.” He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell you meant—but before he could speak, you dropped to your knees.

“Wh—what are you—” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, sharp and panicked.

You looked up through your lashes, palms dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs. “You said you didn’t know what to do, right? So let me.” You reached up to undo his belt, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t have to—” he choked out.

“I want to,” you said simply.

He made a soft, moan when you freed him from the confines of his slacks—thick and flushed, already straining with pressure. The tip was leaking, glistening, and you could tell just how sensitive he was by the way his thighs trembled the second your breath ghosted over his skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god.” You wrapped your fingers around the base and leaned in, licking a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of his cock. His whole body jolted.

One hand shot out instinctively and tangled in your hair, the other hovered helplessly in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head tipped back against the wall, breath ragged.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered.

You smiled around him as you took him into your mouth, slowly, letting him feel the heat, the suction, the way your tongue curled just right. He gasped—a sharp, disbelieving sound—and his hips jerked forward before he forced himself back, muttering a frantic, “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You moaned around him in response, letting him know you liked it, and the sound dragged another whimper out of him.

He looked down at you, his face flushed, his lips parted, his expression somewhere between awe and desperation. His fingers tightened in your hair again when you took him deeper, your throat relaxing around him.

“God, you’re—” He cut off with a moan, teeth digging into his lower lip. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, deliberately, watching him unravel. He was panting now, trying and failing to keep it together. His knees buckled slightly and his grip in your hair more needy.

“I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, trying to pull you back gently. “You—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

You hummed low in your throat, and that was it. His cock twitched in your mouth as he came. you sucked harder, mouth still wrapped around him, swallowing everything, hands steady on his hips while he sagged against the wall,

You let him go with one last slow drag of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was just another Tuesday.

His eyes were still closed when you stood. Like he couldn’t quite process as you leaned in close, your voice a whisper at his ear, “I said I’d fix it,” you murmured, “consider us even.” And then you turned and walked out—leaving him dazed, pants half-open, jaw slack, completely wrecked in the supply closet of the BAU.

No shame. Just the soft sound of your boots against the tile, echoing back to him

Spencer Reid didn’t move for a full five minutes. And when he finally did, all he could say was: “…Holy shit.”

a/n: omfg it’s confirmed Matthew is coming back for season 18 of criminal minds im losing my shit

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[mcrdvcks]

— sex concept

summary: You and Matt have wanted to take things to the next level, but every time you try to get intimate, something, or someone, interrupts.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: at this point, i think i need to make a series masterlist for these two, lol. here's the third installment - and here are the first two: goodnight n go and love language

also, sex concept is one of my favorite songs, and it's by sofia isella. i recommend you go check her out!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, making out, peter parker, mention of other marvel characters, matt's a little shit, smut, oral (f!receiving), brief handjob, unprotected piv, creampie

matt murdock masterlist

It wasn’t like you and Matt hadn’t been alone since you started dating. But somehow, every single attempt at finally taking things further kept getting inconveniently interrupted.

Like now, for instance.

Matt’s lips skimmed along your neck, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist. You sighed softly, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Matty," you whispered.

He hummed against your skin, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Yeah?"

"Can we—"

Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.

Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."

You hesitated. "But what if—"

"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."

It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."

Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.

"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."

"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"

"What happened?"

"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"

"Levi."

"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."

You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"

"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"

"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."

You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."

---

A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.

The knocking grew louder.

"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"

Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."

You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."

Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."

You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."

"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."

Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."

You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.

---

It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.

You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.

“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.

You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."

Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."

Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."

You glared at her. "Shut up."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."

"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.

"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.

You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."

Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."

She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.

Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."

Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."

You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."

Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."

You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.

Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."

Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."

Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"

You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."

---

Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.

"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.

"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.

You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."

Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."

His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"

You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."

Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."

"Thank God," you muttered.

Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"

You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."

"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."

You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.

The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.

Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"

Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."

You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."

Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.

But, of course, it could never be that easy.

A knock rattled on a window in the living room.

Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."

You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."

The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"

A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."

You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"

Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."

You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.

Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"

"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.

You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"

"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.

Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"

"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.

Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"

Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"

Peter blinked. "What? No."

Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."

Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”

You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"

Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."

Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"

Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"

"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."

You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."

Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"

Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."

Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"

"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."

Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.

"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"

"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."

Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."

He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.

Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."

Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"

You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”

“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.

Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."

You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."

He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."

Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."

You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."

"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."

"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.

"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."

"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."

You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."

Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."

"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

---

It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.

"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.

"Locked," you whispered back.

"Phone?"

"On silent."

Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."

You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."

Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."

He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."

You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.

"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."

You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."

Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."

Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.

Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.

"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."

His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Lie back for me, angel."

You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."

Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.

"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.

"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."

That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.

You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.

His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"

Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.

"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.

You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.

Your thighs started to shake.

"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.

He didn't stop.

He doubled down.

His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.

"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."

You shattered.

It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.

Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.

He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.

"Hi," he murmured.

You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."

"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."

He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.

You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.

"Your turn, devil boy."

Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

"Say it again," he murmured.

You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."

Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."

"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."

His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.

"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.

You bit your lip. "God, Matty."

He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."

"I like what I see."

Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.

You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."

He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.

"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.

Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."

You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."

You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.

Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.

"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He did.

A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"

Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"

"Matt—"

"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."

Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"

"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."

You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.

Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"

He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.

Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."

You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.

"Every second."

And for once, nothing interrupted.

if you have any requests with these two, don't be afraid to send in an ask!!

[dior-luxury]

I know you probably already plan on doing the other characters, but I need at least Floyd with the kiss and make out prompt like yesterday

(Absolutely no rush tho! Loving your work ^^ don’t forget to drink water and eat food!)

Kiss And Make-Out

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - no prns mentioned .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . deuce . cater . jack . floyd . epel . silver . sebek

- [𝐩:𝐬] suggestive themes . mentions of making out . romantic tension

Note: Alright! This will be the last part of the series, so I just decided to add all the characters I didn't do yet. (o´▽`o)

Ace Trappola

It started with a tug. Just a casual grip on his wrist as he passed by in the hallway, waving off some third-year who was teasing him about skipping class again. He barely had a chance to register the way your fingers laced through his before you yanked him—hard—into an empty room, the heavy door slamming shut behind you both.

"Whoa—hey! What the hell—!?"

He stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own boots, arms flailing for balance as he turned sharply on his heel. He looked up, just in time to see the glint in your eye.

Oh no.

That glint always meant trouble. The kind of trouble Ace didn’t know whether to run from or dive headfirst into.

"You—you planned this, didn’t you?" he accused, smirking despite the flush already crawling up his neck. “Dragging me into dark rooms now? So scandalous.”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you stepped close, grabbed both sides of his collar, and kissed him like you’d been starved for days.

Ace stiffened for half a second, brain crashing like a poorly-coded spell. His hands fluttered awkwardly at his sides before finally settling on your waist, gripping you like he might float away if he didn’t hold on.

When you finally pulled back, he was breathless and dazed. Hair a little mussed, mouth parted like he wanted to ask a question but forgot what it was.

"...Okay," he exhaled, blinking fast. "What—what was that for?"

"Missed you," you said simply, already leaning in again.

Ace let out a short laugh—more air than sound—and shook his head, pretending to be exasperated. “Missed me? It’s been like—what, three hours since breakfast?!”

You silenced him with another kiss, this one slower. Sweeter. You kissed his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose, all while backing him against the wall like a predator closing in on prey.

"Y-You're being so dramatic right now," he stammered, though his voice was soft, almost giddy. “D-Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. You're trying to kill me. Death by affection.”

Another kiss. His neck this time. Right under his ear where he’s most sensitive.

He made the most embarrassing noise.

Ace clamped a hand over his mouth immediately, cheeks redder than his dorm uniform. “You—! You heard nothing. That wasn't a—hey! Stop laughing! I will hex your shoelaces together, I swear!”

But he didn’t move to escape.

If anything, he pulled you closer.

Your kisses were like fire—warm, addictive, burning away the sarcastic quips and cocky smirks he usually hid behind. With every one, you peeled back another layer, revealing the boy who secretly adored being loved this loudly.

Who basked in the chaos of your attention.

Who melted a little more every time you whispered his name against his skin.

“…You know,” he mumbled at one point, voice low and a little shaky, “you really suck at being subtle.”

You smiled into the next kiss. “Good thing I’m not trying to be.”

He huffed a laugh, arms sliding around your back as he finally gave in, completely and utterly, to your storm.

“Well, in that case… Don’t stop.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce had just finished class, books tucked under one arm, a determined look on his face as he strode through the hallway. He was focused—ready to get to his dorm, maybe squeeze in some studying before dinner.

Then you grabbed him.

It was quick. A tug to his uniform sleeve, a strong pull, and suddenly he was stumbling into an empty storage room, blinking like he’d been teleported into another dimension.

“H-Hey?! What’s going on—?! Are we hiding from someone?! Is it Ace?! Did he prank someone again—?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You pushed him gently against the door the second it shut, eyes locked onto his like a wolf who'd found its prey. And before he could take a breath—

You kissed him.

Firm. Deep. Like you had every intention of kissing away his ability to speak, think, or breathe. His eyes went wide, and he stood frozen in place like someone had cast Petrificus Totalus.

By the time you pulled away, he was flushed from the tip of his ears to the base of his neck.

“I—I—w-wait,” he stammered, lips still parted in surprise. “W-What was that for?!”

You grinned. “Just missed you.”

Deuce blinked rapidly. “Missed me? I saw you this morning—like, just a few hours ago!”

But then you leaned in again, planting kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, even brushing the tip of his nose.

His hands shot up in defense—though he didn’t push you away. Instead, he clutched your arms like he was trying to anchor himself. His knees might as well have been made of jelly.

“Y-You're really not gonna stop, are you?” he mumbled, heart racing.

You didn’t answer—just kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you were savoring every second.

He melted. Right there. Right into you.

“…Okay,” he whispered, barely audible. “But don’t tell anyone I like this so much.”

You pulled back, raising a brow. “Oh? So you do like it.”

He groaned, covering his red face with his hands. “That’s not what I—! Ugh… just—kiss me again before I start overthinking this.”

Cater Diamond

It had been a busy day at NRC—classes, club meetings, and then a whirlwind of social obligations that only someone as outgoing as Cater could manage with that ever-present smile. But even someone like him needed a break, especially when the day was dragging longer than expected.

You had been waiting for the right moment all day. Cater had been bouncing from place to place, always surrounded by others, always distracted by something. And even though he texted you little hearts and selfies throughout the day, you wanted more. You missed him—not the filtered, peppy Cater that everyone else saw, but your Cater. The one who melted when you kissed his cheeks, the one who whined dramatically when you ignored his texts for more than ten minutes, the one who looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

So, when you spotted him walking past an empty classroom, your body moved before your mind could stop it. You yanked open the door, stepped into the hallway, and grabbed his wrist.

“Wha—whoa, babe?” Cater blinked as you tugged him inside and shut the door behind you with a click. His eyes sparkled, green and gold with a glimmer of surprise and amusement. “You know, usually I’m the one doing the kidnapping~!”

But before he could say another word, your hands were on his cheeks, and your lips crashed into his.

His back hit the door lightly, a muffled gasp escaping against your mouth as you kissed him again—then again, then again. His fingers fluttered, unsure of what to do for a second. You didn’t give him time to process. You kissed his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, even his forehead before returning to his lips, completely overwhelming him with affection.

“Babe—ha—wait, are we even allowed to be this cute in school?” he tried to tease, but his voice cracked into a breathless laugh when your lips brushed just under his ear. His knees nearly gave out.

Each kiss landed with intention. Soft and lingering, or quick and fluttery, some playful and others dizzyingly passionate. You buried your hands in his hair, and he melted like cotton candy in your arms.

“Aww, you missed me that much?” he asked between kisses, his voice going soft, vulnerable. His arms finally wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but wow—this is seriously intense for a classroom makeout sesh.”

You only answered with another kiss, this time longer, deeper. And this time, he didn’t say anything. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting against yours like second nature.

Eventually, when the kisses slowed and you rested your forehead against his, Cater let out a dreamy sigh. He looked dazed, cheeks flushed with a blush that reached the tips of his ears. His hands were warm against your back, and his usual sparkly persona was replaced with something softer—something more real.

“Okay, confession?” he murmured. “I was so over today. But this? You pulling me in here like some drama movie lead and smothering me with love? Total game-changer. Honestly, if you ever wanna ruin my day just to fix it like that, go right ahead.”

You chuckled, and he grinned, brushing his nose against yours before stealing one last kiss.

“Let’s stay in here a little longer,” he whispered. “Just a little. It’s not every day I get ambushed by the best kisser in the world.”

Jack Howl

It started with the echo of heavy footfalls in the hallway—the rhythmic stomp of someone strong, composed, and dead set on getting to his next class without distractions. That someone was Jack Howl, and he was already mentally reviewing the next training regimen he’d be doing after school, earbuds tucked in, his brow furrowed in quiet focus.

You, on the other hand, had been plotting this for at least an hour.

He had been so distant today—not on purpose, of course. Jack never ignored you. But he’d been busy, running errands for Leona, staying late at practice, grunting his usual “I’ll text you later” without realizing how much you were aching just to touch him, to hear his voice in your ear instead of through a phone screen.

So when you saw him walking toward the empty corridor, you struck.

“Jack!”

He blinked, tugging an earbud out just in time for you to grab his hand and pull him forward with a firm yank. His eyes widened in confusion, his large body moving on instinct alone as you dragged him into the closest vacant room and shut the door behind you.

“Wait—what’s going on?” Jack’s ears twitched as he glanced around the dim classroom. “Is something wrong? Did someone—?”

You didn’t give him time to finish. You reached up, grabbed the front of his jacket, and pulled him down to your level—pressing your lips firmly to his.

His body froze. Every muscle locked in place like you’d hit a pressure point. His hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, trembling slightly as if afraid to touch you too roughly.

Your lips kissed the corner of his mouth. Then his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. A kiss on the jaw, one near his temple. You didn’t stop. He could feel your love in every press of your mouth—messy, heartfelt, craving closeness in a way that made his whole chest go tight.

Jack made a choked, very un-wolf-like noise deep in his throat.

“Y-You can’t just… do that,” he finally managed, voice thick and low, his tail twitching nervously behind him. “You can’t just pull me in and kiss me like that out of nowhere.”

Another kiss silenced him—right between his eyebrows. His hands finally moved, wrapping around your waist, large and warm, grounding you to his solid frame. You looked up to see his face flushed crimson, his ears flat against his hair, eyes darting between yours and anywhere else in the room.

“You missed me that much?” he muttered, voice quieter, breathless.

You nodded and kissed him again, softer this time. His whole expression changed. The lines of tension in his brow eased. He exhaled a shaky breath, as if he'd been holding it in since he first walked through the door. His hands tightened around you protectively, holding you against his chest like he didn’t want to let you go again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so earnestly it made your heart swell. “I’ve been too busy. That’s no excuse—I should’ve made more time for you.”

You kissed him again before he could start overthinking. This time he kissed back.

It was clumsy at first. Jack wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, and this kind of ambush? It short-circuited his brain. But now, pressed against you, with your warmth in his arms and your lips seeking his again and again, something in him unraveled.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Just… give me a second, okay?” he whispered, a rare vulnerability in his voice. “You overwhelmed me, and I’m not mad. I just—damn. You’re gonna kill me with those kisses.”

You grinned, brushing his white bangs from his eyes before placing a final, lingering kiss on his lips.

Jack sighed. His tail wagged slowly behind him, betraying his calm facade. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

He glanced at the door before glancing back at you. “We should get going before someone walks in. But... maybe we stay just a little longer. I think I owe you a few kisses back.”

And with that, the quiet growl he’d held in finally broke, not in warning, but in affection—low, deep, and unmistakably his.

Floyd Leech

It was one of those late afternoons where the hallways of NRC shimmered with sleepy sunlight, long shadows stretching between tall columns. The students were scattered—some still lingering after class, others already making their way back to their dorms. The air was thick with the kind of quiet that only existed in the lull between chaos and curfew.

And Floyd Leech?

Floyd was bored.

His long strides carried him lazily down the marble corridor, shoes scuffing just to hear the sound echo. His blazer hung open, his tie loosely draped like he couldn’t care less—which, in typical Floyd fashion, he didn’t. He hummed some offbeat tune under his breath, mismatched eyes scanning the area for something interesting. Anything.

That’s when he saw you.

You were lingering a little too long near the end of the hallway, eyes darting to the corners, shifting nervously like you were waiting for someone—or hiding from something. But when your gaze locked with Floyd’s, something electric jolted between you.

“Shrimpy~” he drawled, a sly smile spreading across his face as he started walking faster. “You’re actin’ sketchy again. Whatcha plannin’?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped forward, grabbed his wrist with sudden determination, and yanked him—hard—down the corridor.

He let out a bark of laughter, not resisting, even as he stumbled after you with amused eyes. “Oho~ What’s this? A kidnapping? I didn’t know you were that bold. This is kinda fun!”

You didn’t stop to explain. You just opened the nearest empty room—some forgotten classroom bathed in soft, golden light—and shoved him inside with a mix of urgency and giddy adrenaline. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the world.

Before Floyd could even finish turning toward you, your hands were on him. Gripping his collar. Tugging him closer.

Then came the kisses.

One.

Two.

Three.

They landed like raindrops in a sudden storm—fast, breathless, messy. His cheeks, his lips, his jaw, the tip of his nose. Kisses that spoke of longing, of needing, of missing him so much it hurt. You kissed him like you were starved for his touch.

And Floyd? He froze.

His arms hovered in the air for a beat too long, stunned, like his body hadn’t caught up to his heart. Then—slowly, deliciously—his grin widened, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat.

“Well, well, well~ Look at you goin’ all wild on me,” he purred, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you so easily off the floor that your feet dangled in the air. “You missed me that bad, huh? Cute~”

But even as he teased, there was something breathless in his voice. Something tight in his chest.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes half-lidded and warm.

You kept kissing him—softly now. Slowly. More like an apology than a storm. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like you didn’t want to let him go. And deep down, Floyd understood. He wasn’t exactly… reliable. Not in the usual way. He wandered off. Vanished for hours, sometimes days. Chased boredom with reckless abandon. But here, in your arms, there was a different kind of pull. One that terrified and thrilled him all at once.

“I’m not used to this,” he murmured against your lips, voice quieter now. “All this sweetness. All this… real stuff. It makes my chest feel weird.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth again. “I just love you.”

The words landed like an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

Floyd went silent.

Then—gently, reverently—he lowered you down until your feet touched the ground again, though his arms never left your waist. He stared at you with a seriousness that rarely graced his face, his usual grin softened into something real and unguarded.

“…Say it again,” he whispered.

You blinked up at him. “I love you.”

He grabbed your face in both hands and kissed you like he was drowning. All teeth and lips and raw, aching affection. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Passionate, hungry, and completely lost in you.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, voice muffled and shaky.

“You’re in trouble now, shrimpy,” he said, arms tightening possessively. “You keep kissin’ me like that, and I’m never gonna leave you alone again. I’ll follow you to class, to lunch, to the freakin’ bathroom.”

You giggled, and he nipped at your shoulder.

“I mean it,” he said, a little louder now, eyes lifting to meet yours again. “You messed me up real good.”

And despite all his chaotic energy, his violent teasing, the jokes and the nibbles—right now, in this quiet space, with your love still warm on his skin—Floyd was just a boy in love. Hopelessly. Deeply.

Dangerously.

And as he dragged you closer again, murmuring silly threats of never letting you go, of biting anyone who even looked at you—he meant it.

Every word.

Epel Felmier

The quiet clack of your shoes echoed down the nearly empty hallway of Night Raven College. It was late afternoon, the soft amber glow of the sun filtering in through the tall windows and warming the stone floors. Most students were off in clubs or retreating to their dorms, giving the campus a rare pocket of calm.

But you were pacing—nervously, purposefully—waiting.

And there he was.

Epel Felmier, your boyfriend, coming out of class with his bag slung over one shoulder, that ever-present look of mild frustration on his face. His lips were pressed together like he'd just finished arguing with someone—or more likely, fending off another comment about how “adorable” he looked. His hair was slightly tousled, the soft lavender locks catching the light just right.

You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he walked just a little too fast, like he had something to prove even when he was tired.

And suddenly, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Without giving him time to react, you rushed toward him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the nearest empty room with a force that surprised even yourself.

“H-Hey—?!” Epel stumbled behind you, eyes wide and cheeks already going red. “What’re ya doin’? Wait, slow—!”

Click.

The door shut behind you both with a soft thunk, cutting off the hallway and leaving the two of you in a forgotten classroom that smelled faintly of paper, chalk, and dust. Shafts of sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, casting golden stripes across his confused face.

“W-Why’d you drag me in here—?” he started, but you didn’t let him finish.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that silences words, that speaks of longing, of affection that built up far too long. One kiss turned into two. Three. A trail of warm, fluttering kisses scattered across his cheeks, his forehead, his jawline—so many kisses, fast and giddy, you couldn’t even keep count. Your hands tangled in his soft hair, brushing back his bangs to kiss his temple.

Epel stood frozen in your grasp for a solid few seconds, blinking in stunned silence. His breath hitched.

Then, slowly, his hands found your waist. Tentatively. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you this tightly. His fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt as your kisses kept coming, soft and hungry, until his breath came out shaky.

“…Y-You’re bein’ real unfair right now,” he muttered, his ears burning bright pink. “Springin’ this on me without warnin’…”

You finally pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was completely flushed, lips slightly parted, and eyes wide and glassy—half dazed, half drunk on your affection. He wasn’t used to this. Not like this.

But the moment he saw how you were looking at him—genuinely, lovingly, like he was the only person in the world—it broke through his embarrassment like sunlight cutting through fog.

“…Was it ‘cause I looked mad?” he asked softly, brows knitting together. “I—I wasn’t tryin’ to take it out on ya. I just… had a rough day. Some Octavinelle jerk called me ‘cute’ again and—ugh!”

He groaned and buried his face in your shoulder. “It ain’t even what they say—it’s how they say it! Like I’m some lil’ doll or somethin’. I hate it.”

You kissed his forehead gently, arms wrapping around him tighter. “You’re beautiful, Epel. And strong. And I love you like this—exactly as you are.”

That did it.

He squeezed you like he’d been waiting for those exact words. Like you were the one thing grounding him after everything else had tried to knock him off balance.

“…You always know what to say,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your shoulder. “No one else ever sees past how I look. But you… you see me.”

He pulled back just slightly, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. That strong, determined gaze you knew he tried to hide from most people.

“Ya better be ready to take responsibility,” he said, grinning through his blush. “You keep kissin’ me like that, I’m gonna start expectin’ it every day.”

You smirked and leaned in again. “Then I guess I’ll just have to give you more.”

Epel laughed—a real laugh, soft and breathless and boyish, like all the pressure melted off his shoulders in your arms.

And in that quiet, golden-lit classroom, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the warmth between you, he held you close and whispered, “Don’t let go yet… just a little longer.”

Because when he was in your arms—when you smothered him in love like this—he didn’t feel small or cute.

He felt real.

He felt loved.

Silver

The breeze outside rustled the trees, the sound like soft whispers brushing against the windows of the long hallway in Diasomnia’s east wing. The castle was quiet this time of day, almost abandoned as classes had wrapped up and most students had dispersed. Even the ever-watchful Sebek had rushed off to fulfill some loud, energetic duty elsewhere.

But not Silver.

Silver walked with a steady, unhurried pace—his long legs taking him gracefully down the hallway, the silver of his hair glowing faintly in the filtered afternoon light. His expression was unreadable as always, calm and composed, yet his pale lashes drooped slightly, the telltale signs of sleep gently pulling at the edges of his consciousness.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

Not until you stepped out from the side hallway, barely giving him a chance to register your presence before grabbing his hand and pulling him gently—but firmly—into the nearest room.

“Ah—[Name]?” he blinked, his voice low and surprised as the door shut behind you both with a soft click. “Is something the matter?”

The room was some kind of unused study or storage space—quiet, dim, forgotten. A few stray books were stacked in the corners, and light filtered in through half-shuttered windows, casting warm golden streaks across Silver’s face.

He looked at you with soft confusion, his hand still in yours, never pulling away.

You didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, you reached up on your toes and kissed him.

One kiss. Then another. Then another—each one soft, hurried, breathless with affection. His eyes widened, body tensing as your lips pressed against his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, the tip of his nose.

“Wait… ah—[Name]…!” he mumbled, cheeks flushing a delicate rose. “You’re being very… affectionate today…”

But he didn’t stop you.

If anything, his hands—gentle and warm—came to rest against your back, grounding you. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head as he leaned into your touch, just slightly, like a man surrendering to something he knew he could never resist.

You kept kissing him, brushing over the bridge of his nose, the corner of his lips, his collarbone, all the places he often forgot were kissable. His armor was off, his guard down, and in this room—with no Malleus to guard, no Sebek shouting in his ear, no duty demanding his focus—he was just Silver. Just a boy in love.

And gods, was he beautiful like this.

“Did you miss me that much?” he asked softly, a gentle laugh in his voice, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he closed his eyes under the weight of your affection. “I’m sorry… I’ve been busy lately. I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

You shook your head quickly and buried your face in his shoulder. “It’s not that. I just… I needed you. And I wanted to remind you how loved you are. That’s all.”

He exhaled, slow and tender, wrapping his arms around you fully now, like the warmth of your presence had melted the last remnants of his knightly restraint. “Then allow me to return the favor,” he murmured into your hair.

You felt him kiss the top of your head.

Then your temple.

Then your cheek.

And finally, your lips.

His kiss was slow. Reverent. A far cry from your giddy flurry of affection—but somehow just as intense. Silver kissed you like someone memorizing the feeling, like someone afraid that if he blinked, the dream would vanish. His hands cupped your face like you were something fragile and sacred, something he couldn’t afford to lose.

“You always find me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Even when I get lost in dreams… you pull me back.”

You smiled, heart thudding like thunder in your chest. “Because you’re my dream too. And I want to live it with you—awake.”

His eyes fluttered open, silver meeting yours, soft as starlight.

“…Then I’ll stay awake. As long as you’re here.”

You held each other in the quiet, the world outside forgotten. Silver didn’t fall asleep this time. No… wrapped in your arms, kissed breathless and full of warmth, he stayed fully awake—for the first time in what felt like forever.

Sebek Zigvolt

The halls of Diasomnia were eerily quiet that afternoon. Most students were finishing their classes, with Sebek himself hurrying to the next duty his unrelenting sense of responsibility had thrust upon him. His boots echoed with a sharp, rhythmic thunk against the cold stone floors, and the usually loud, energetic Sebek looked more tired than usual. The wild look in his eyes had dimmed a bit under the weight of his duties, and he was deep in thought when you stepped out from behind the corner.

Before he could even react to your sudden appearance, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him into one of the empty rooms nearby.

“Hey! What are you—”

Sebek’s voice cut off, his eyes wide with alarm, but his protest quickly faltered as you slammed the door shut behind you, effectively trapping him inside. He looked around in confusion, and his brows furrowed. His gaze locked with yours, puzzled, almost a little nervous, yet filled with that undying, unshakable loyalty.

“[Name],” he started to say, his tone more demanding than usual. “Why have you brought me here? I still have duties to—”

But before he could finish, you stepped up to him, cupped his face, and kissed him.

It wasn’t a gentle peck or a soft, polite kiss—it was fierce, hungry, desperate. Your lips met his with so much energy, so much emotion, that it almost knocked the breath out of him. The sudden closeness of it—the weight of your kiss—caused Sebek to freeze, his wide, green eyes blinking rapidly, as if he couldn’t comprehend the sudden shift in the air between you.

"W-Wait, wait—!" Sebek stammered, his hands moving to your arms as if to push you away. But the moment your lips brushed against his again, he faltered. "This is… this is highly inappropriate! We should not—mmph"

Another kiss silenced him, this time across his cheek, then his jawline. You were relentless, pressing soft, passionate kisses along his skin, completely ignoring his flustered protests. His breath quickened. His body tensed. There was an edge to his nervousness, but there was something else too—something deep within him that wanted this.

"Stop being so stubborn," you whispered against his lips, your breath warm against his skin. "I just want to kiss you, Sebek. Is that so wrong?"

The words hung in the air, hanging heavily on him. His eyes flickered, searching yours, as if his mind was caught in a storm of confusion and surprise. His heart pounded in his chest. His breath was shallow, his usual fiery persona momentarily disarmed by your tenderness.

"Ah... [Name], I..." Sebek’s voice trailed off, shaky and uncertain. His hands, which had previously been trying to keep some distance, were now slowly wrapping around you. His arms snaked around your waist, holding you close as he let his guard down. For a moment, he felt completely vulnerable in your arms.

Then, finally, after a beat of silence, his lips found yours—this time, not because you’d kissed him, but because he wanted to. His kiss was more controlled than yours, more cautious, yet still full of that fervent, wild energy that was so Sebek. His hands, once unsure, now pulled you into him with a quiet intensity. His grip on you was firm, the kind of forceful affection that came from a deep, unspoken need to protect, to love.

"I—" he started, pulling back just a little, his breath ragged. His usual authoritative voice faltered for a moment, giving way to something raw, something real. "I don’t know how to handle this, [Name]. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you. But… when you’re this close… it feels like I need protecting.”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "You don’t need to protect me all the time, Sebek. I want you. I want this."

His eyes softened at the words, the storm of his usual intensity dimming just a little. He let out a quiet, almost reluctant sigh, his head tilting down to rest against your forehead. "You’ve got the strangest way of showing affection, [Name]. But… it makes me feel… something inside."

The words were soft, but his voice held a vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. The Sebek Zigvolt who was normally so brash, so sure of himself, was now completely captivated by you, caught in the warmth of your embrace. His strong, confident stance softened as he tilted his head to meet your lips again.

This time, his kiss was more tender—gentle, yet still filled with that passion that only Sebek could give. His hands slid down to your back, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. His heart beat rapidly against his chest as he kissed you deeper, as though he wanted to pour every ounce of his heart and soul into that moment.

When he pulled away again, he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as if he had been running a race. His eyes were a little hazy, and his cheeks were a bit pink from the intensity of the moment. "I… I can’t believe you’ve done this to me, [Name]. I don’t even know what to say. But… I don’t want you to stop."

You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. "I won’t stop, Sebek. I’m not going anywhere."

Sebek held you tighter, his arms never letting you go. "Then I suppose… I’ll have to get used to it," he muttered, his voice now a little more teasing, a little more confident in its own way. "Being loved by you, huh?"

Your laughter filled the room, warm and soft, and in that quiet, intimate space, Sebek finally let himself rest. For once, his heart wasn’t racing in a battle or a training session. It was racing because of you.

And he knew, deep down, that as long as you were by his side, he would be yours. Fully, completely, always.

⟡ tag list : @dreaming-of-tae @chai-yas @yunar1 @fever-en @sol3chu @alastor-simp

[wiishopwednesday]

longing for something you can never return to

[ID: a collection of images relating to nostalgia. the first image is a genius screenshot of the lyrics to car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)." the screenshot reads "We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back/We gotta go back." the second image is the "we got the torture labyrinth tomorrow" meme template, edited to instead say "We got missing what we can never return to tomorrow/What?/We got the beginning of the rest of our lives tomorrow/Ohhhh/Okay." the third image is a discord screenshot, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and reads "Duuudeee you missed out on those 7 days where god created earth you are fucked LOL." the fourth image is a screenshot of a piece of text, which reads in bolder font "You can never leave home." underneath it, in normal text, it reads "You take it with you no matter where you go. Home is between your teeth, under your fingernails, in the hair follicles, in your smile, in the ride of your hips, in the passage of your breasts." the fifth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user ryebreadgf, which reads "YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN BITE AND SCRATCH AND BEG BUT YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK!" the sixth image is a screenshot of a piece of text that reads, "YOU KILL YOURSELF AND IMMEDIATELY WAKE UP AS A CHILD ON YOUR PARENTS BED. YOU'VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR HALF AN HOUR. THE SUN IS SHINING." the seventh image is a picture of two uneven dark yellow boxed next to each other on a off-white background. the first box reads, in handwriting, "I'm terrified of change." the second box reads, "I'm terrified of staying this way forever." the eighth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user dakotajohnsongf, which reads "women be looking at pictures of their childhood selves and trying to find a way back to them." the ninth image is a screenshot of a post made by tumblr user bestofgentleearth, containing a screenshot from a forum of some kind. a line of text reads "(16 hours ago) butterfly said:" underneath, an indented section of text reads "today, the world looked beautiful again. i'm starting to remember what kept me alive last summer." the tenth image is another tumblr post by user cursedsuggestion, which reads "the friend you miss comes home for good. you never see another mirror. it's summer forever and that terrible thought you keep having finally disappears." the eleventh image is a screenshot of a reddit post, with the original poster's username and icon cropped out so only the text is visible. it reads "I'm not sure how to word this, but I constantly go through this deep sense of loss. I feel like I terribly miss something I love from the bottom of my heart, but I don't know what it is, exactly. Nothing in life satisfies me, nothing makes me content, but l wouldn't say I'm depressed either. There's just this endless search for something, and at times I feel I can catch a glimpse of it - different sceneries pop into my head at times, like of a particular beach at night, and I'm moved to tears. Or I remember a dream and all the feelings that were stirring while I saw that dream, and feel entirely connected to them." the twelfth image is a screenshot of a tumblr post, but the original poster is cropped out so only the text is visible, which reads "wait i wasn't ready. i never finished that game of tag. i still need to learn how to do a cartwheel. my friends and i never finished making that bridge over the creek. i want to go back. can you carry me to bed one last time? and maybe i'll wake up tomorrow in my childhood room with my pink walls and we'll laugh over this dream at breakfast." the thirteenth image is another tumblr screenshot of a post by user heavensghost, which reads "uhhh yh sure u can go back but no one will be waiting for you there."

the fourteenth image is a screenshot of a reddit comment, with the user's information cropped out so that only the text is visible, which reads "HIRAETH (heer-eye-th) 'A deep homesickness; an intense form of longing or nostalgia for a place long gone, or even an unaccountable homesickness for a place you have never visited. A pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost.'" the fifteenth image is a collection of 3 rows of black boxes, with 3 boxes in each row. the first box has a white, vague form of a human. the second box pictures the human form stretching its arms and legs out. from the third box onward, the human figure starts to dissipate into white dots until it has completely disappeared and only dots remain. the sixteenth image is a tumblr post by user n1ntendos, which reads "I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST I CANNOT GO BACK TO !!!!!!! anyways." the seventeenth image is a screenshot of text that reads "I cling to everything - CDs that skip, rings that turn my fingers green, the dead ends of my hair, old love notes that turn my stomach over and over. And I'm not proud but there are still boxes under my bed. And I'm not proud but my closet is still running out of space. And nostalgia is a fucking waste of time but my heart is full with it. Tell me I won't hold this forever. Tell me there will be a day where I let gloriously go." the eighteenth image is an image of larger text that reads "It's a summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world." the nineteenth image is a photograph of a large white dog standing in a dark, flowing river surrounded by a dark forest and green trees. the dog is facing away from the viewer with its mouth open. the dog appears to be glowing, likely due to a lens flare of some kind. the entire picture feels very melancholy and nostalgic. the twentieth image is larger text that reads "Nostalgia is the aching realization that you can't go back again. The longing, no matter how intense, can never be met." the twenty-first image is a screenshot of an instagram dm, with the user's username and icon cropped out so that only the text is visible, and it reads "well the time passes anyway so I have to." the twenty-second image is a screenshot of the spotify lyrics for gerard way's song "action cat." the lyrics read "Hey/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you/Do you miss me?/'Cause I miss you too." the twenty-third image is a screenshot of text that reads "YOUR CHILDHOOD DOG IS ALIVE. YOUR DEAD BEST FRIEND WANTS TO GET COFFEE. YOU HAVE BEEN KIND AND GOOD. THERE IS NOTHING CHASING YOU. YOU CAN SLEEP. WHAT DO YOU DO?" the twenty-fourth image is a continuation of the lyrics from car seat headrest's "famous prophets (stars)" that were pictured in the first image. these lyrics read "We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/We've gotta go back/(Don't spend too much time on it)." end ID.]

[writersdrug]

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

[dokyumms]

(not so) sneaky

what happens when a drunk chan wants to cuddle while the group's in italy, except no one knows you're dating...

pairing: dino x 14thmember!reader

genre: fluff, lightly suggestive? (just very detailed making out i guess)

word count: 1.1k

cw: kisses/making out, chan had too much wine, secret relationship, set during nana tour

a/n: i'm finally back! this wasn't what i was originally going to put out, but i've been stuck trying to finish a different fic so here yall go 👀 i will be back on my normal posting schedule now!!! could NOT find a third pic so i guess it's just 2 for now

dividers by @purefantasia

someone lands onto your bed with an "oomph"

assuming it's wonwoo, for the third time, maybe coming to give you another souvenir, you wink an eye open. "you need something, won?" but instead your greeted with a sloppy, suspiciously wine tasting peck on the lips. oh lord.

you widen your eyes at the attack, staring at the culprit who pulls away with a dramatic "mwah!"

"chan? what are you doing? what if there's someone in here?" you ramble, sitting up properly to scan the room, accidentally knocking into chan's head in the process.

"ow! y/n～!," he sulks, "aren't you happy to see your boyfriend? what's with the aggression～"

thankfully, the room is empty, or at least you think so. it's basically pitch black save for the moonlight that peeks in through a sheer curtain. you turn your head back at chan, sighing when you can practically smell the wine coming off of him.

"you're so drunk, aren't you?" you ask, and all he does is nod in response, pushing you down onto your back and laying down next to you. normally, you'd nag him. you'd tell him that you've warned him about the damage he'd probably do to his career if he wouldn't stop downing glasses of wine like it's water, but it's not a normal day, so you hold back this time.

since the group's tour had started, you and chan had not gotten any time to yourselves whatsoever. and as much as you were thankful for the free trip to italy, it'd only prolonged the time till you could even kiss chan, let alone cuddle.

even if sharing the same bed was normal for the members, one of them nuzzling into your neck? yeah, probably not something you could pass off as platonic. and chan? he liked to do a whole lot of that.

speaking of the members, there's a faint sound of laughter and singing that is barely muffled by the closed door- a reminder of just how risky this whole situation is, but you try to ignore it for the sake of being able to enjoy this one moment.

chan shuffles around before rolling over so that half of his body is on yours. he snuggles into your chest, as expected, and closes his eyes.

"that wine was really good, though," he mumbles quietly, as if all the energy he had a minute ago just vanished into the warmth of your bed. you chuckle at his deliberation, pondering a bit yourself. "too bad i never got to try any, think i passed out right after the game." you respond, recalling most of the evening where you were given an hour to do a mission.

you failed (the mission being that you had to carry an egg on a spoon around the entire house without dropping it, but mingyu accidentally bumped into you...), but you were glad to see that chan had passed it (plus, it gave him a chance to give you a hug with no suspicion).

he hums. "well, do you wanna try some?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you. you blink a couple times, confused. "are you really going to go out there and try to lug back a bottle without them noticing you? because i’m not getting dragged into more karaoke.”

shaking his head slightly, he laughs, his voice vibrating against you. “no, i was thinking of something more like this,”

he pulls himself up so that he’s hovering over you. his eyes flicker over every feature of your face. you watch him, almost shuddering at his gaze. suddenly, you’re thankful for the lack of light, because you don’t want to imagine how red your face is; it’s been awhile since you and chan have been doing, well, whatever he’s doing.

before you can really ask about that, he captures your lips in a hungry kiss. you let your eyes flutter shut at the contact. the whole move is pretty cheesy, but the acidic taste of wine on his lips distracts you well enough to ignore the thought.

it’s an addicting flavor, and you swipe your tongue against his lips, greedily taking as much as he’ll give you.

it’s always moments like this where chan lets loose. normally, he’s shy about his love, even when you two are alone, so it’s always a surprise whenever he’s got alcohol in his system. it almost makes you forget that he’s the one who suggested keeping you two a secret.

he parts his lips, letting your tongue roam, sighing when he feels your hand cup the back of his neck and pull it closer to you.

you two don’t really keep track of how long this goes on for, both of you being dazed in some way. but finally, you pull back.

there’s a couple seconds of breathless panting before he grins at you. “taste good?”

you smile back, “eh, would probably be better from a glass”, laughing when he gives you a look of defeat and collapses next to you, quick to pull you back into his embrace.

by now, it’s probably some wild hour in the night, and you know that chan should head out before someone barges in to go to sleep, but he doesn’t seem to want to let go.

“chan,” you warn, looking up at him to find that he’s practically passed out already, eyes closed as he breathes shallowly. “chan, you should go.” you say, even though you don’t really want him to.

“i’ll be out before someone gets here, they’re all bound to just sleep on the ground at this rate,” he yawns, tightening his grip on you.

if you knew any better, you’d push him off the bed, but for right now, you choose to believe him and you fall asleep to the sound of his heart beat.

-

“don’t jeonghan and dokyeom do this all time? it’s not anything abnormal…”

“okay well not like that!”

“just let them be, it’s probably nothing.”

“nah, what the hell.”

“the water isn’t working again!”

you faintly hear a mush of voices overlapping each other, but it’s none of your concern right now. chan has most definitely not left yet, still snuggled up against you.

the smart choice right now is to get up and check what’s on the agenda for today, but you don’t make that choice and decide to rest for a bit more. the warmth of chan’s body is a little too comfortable right now.

he stirs and shuffles a bit before you feel his hair tickle your neck as he seemingly looks up and plants a soft kiss to your jaw.

bad idea.

“HUH?”

“THEY’RE DATING GUYS THEY’RE DATING”

“damn chan i didn’t know you had it in you!”

“eugh”

your eyes fly open as you practically pop up into a sitting position. chan does the same.

you’re both equally as horrified to see that a good amount of the members are standing near the foot of your bed. they’re either shouting or standing with a hand covering their mouths.

chan groans besides you, falling back onto the bed as basically slam your face into a pillow.

looks like you two are never being left alone again.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[dakusan]

Y O U T E X T “ I M I S S Y O U ” O U T O F N O W H E R E

stray kids ot8 x reader | quiet confessions, sleepy chaos, and hearts that ache before they answer

🌙 synopsis: You don’t mean to send it. Not dramatically. Not with tears in your eyes. Just…“i miss you.” Quiet. Honest. Unfiltered. And suddenly—They’re not okay. This isn’t just texting. This is emotional freefall in three words or less. This is “i miss you” turned into “i love you” without either of you saying it.

💌 a/n: this was supposed to be short. just a little “what if you texted ‘i miss you’” post. and then chan said “i wanna hold you while the track renders” and everything spiraled. i hope you feel held. i hope you feel insane. i hope you text someone “i miss you” and they drop everything to say “get here. your side’s cold.” thank you for reading this 8-piece set of emotional damage disguised as fluff. p.s. reblogs = forehead kisses p.p.s. if one of them ever actually said this to me i would simply dissolve into a memory and haunt their laundry.

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "All About You" — Taeyeon

Bang Chan // 방찬

It’s 1:13 AM when you send it. No emoji. No context. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it between takes — fingers hovering above his keyboard, cursor blinking on the same half-finished vocal comp he’s looped for 40 minutes. The studio is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of his screen and the flickering ‘recording’ sign outside the booth. His hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows. There’s a half-drunk bottle of Pocari on the desk. Lo-fi is playing quietly in the background — something soft, without words.

He stops.

Just… sits there for a second, staring at your message like it reached into his chest and gently pressed there.

Because you never say it out of nowhere. You’re careful. Thoughtful. Always timing your affection like a gift. And now, when you’re apart and quiet and distant—You miss him.

He exhales, thumb brushing over the screen. Smiles, crooked and slow, like it snuck up on him.

Then he does what he always does with feelings too big to hold: he turns to the mic. Doesn’t even rerecord the verse. Just switches on the track, leans into the mic, and softly hums something new — something with warmth, with ache, with the kind of sound that curls like a blanket around everything he can’t say yet.

When it’s done, he sends it.

[1:24 AM] (1 audio message) “miss you too. enough to put it in a song. come over if you can. you don’t have to say anything. i just wanna hold you while the track renders.”

Lee Know // 리노

You send it at 10:56 PM. No warning. No dramatic lead-up. Just:

i miss you.

He’s in bed. Not asleep. Not even trying. Just lying there in the dark with his phone balanced on his chest, a drama paused mid-episode and a cat curled up by his legs.

He sees your name light up, reads the message twice — once with his heart, once with his overthinking.

Immediately: suspicious. Out of nowhere? From you? At this hour?

His first instinct is to roll his eyes. His second is to reread it. His third is to sit up, grab his pillow, and clutch it in his lap like it’ll stop the way his stomach just turned to something embarrassingly warm.

You don’t say it unless you mean it. You don’t say it unless you need something. And suddenly, he hates that he’s not there — that you miss him and he can’t fix it, can’t hold you, can’t act all unimpressed while secretly tucking you under his arm like you belong there.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a while. He types and deletes twice. The third time sticks.

[11:02 PM] ...what happened? [11:02 PM] did someone say something? are you lonely? do you want me to come over or do you just want attention? [11:03 PM] ...because if it’s attention, you have it. idiot.

He throws the pillow across the room right after. Then spends the next hour watching your typing bubble like it holds the moon.

Changbin // 창빈 💪

It’s 8:14 PM when you send it. You don’t say anything else. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it halfway through a workout — hoodie tied around his waist, arms flushed and pumped, headphones in, breath ragged from a set he absolutely overdid. His phone buzzes on the bench. He wipes a hand on his towel, glances at the screen—

—and freezes.

There are a few people still in the gym. He barely hears them. Because something about that message punches the air straight out of his lungs.

You’re not usually the one to say it first. Not without a reason. Not unless something’s aching a little too much. And now you miss him — and he’s here, lifting weights like that’s gonna hold you together.

He grabs his phone and walks off into the hallway, chest still rising and falling like he just sprinted. It’s not even just the message. It’s the way his heart reacted — instantly. Like it’s been waiting to hear that from you all day.

His thumbs move fast:

[8:16 PM] you do?? 😭 [8:16 PM] pls tell me you’re free tonight i’ll cancel everything [8:17 PM] srsly. i miss u so bad i almost tripped doing lunges bc i started picturing ur face like a loser.

He stops, stares at his own text, groans into his towel.

And then:

(1 voice note) “if you’re free, come over. if not… call me? i’ll sit in my room like a lovesick sitcom character until you do.”

He puts the phone in his hoodie pocket after that. Heart loud. Arms sore. Entire soul? Yours.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭

It’s 12:01 AM when you send it. Simple. Soft. No punctuation, no drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s painting. Alone in his apartment. A candle flickers beside his easel, wax dripping slowly as strokes of deep indigo curve across canvas. There’s music in the background—something orchestral, echoing, probably a little sad. His sleeves are rolled. Fingers stained with muted color.

The message buzzes through his speaker. He pauses mid-stroke. His breath catches.

Because you say it without pretense. You say it like it’s just true. You say it like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, like your heart blurted it out without consulting your pride.

And it ruins him.

He sets the brush down. Gently. Like it might shatter. Wipes his hands on a cloth. Looks at your name glowing on his phone like it’s the first star of the night. His throat is tight.

His first text is typed and deleted. Too dramatic. He rewrites it. Softer.

[12:04 AM] i’ve been aching to hear that [12:04 AM] i miss you in every quiet moment between brushstrokes [12:05 AM] do you want to facetime or do you want me to come stand outside your window with a candle and recite pablo neruda

He stares at the send button like it might bite him. Then presses it anyway.

His heart is a cathedral when you reply.

Han // 한 🌀

It’s 2:06 AM when you send it. No buildup. No emojis. Just:

i miss you

He was literally just lying there. Hoodie on. Face half in his pillow. Watching some dumb video on mute. Laughing at something he won’t remember in 3 minutes. He’s got crumbs on his hoodie and like, four unread messages in his group chat. He’s vibing. Barely thinking. Just static.

Until he sees you on his screen.

And suddenly — he’s wide awake.

He sits up like a corpse in a horror movie, staring at your message with the kind of intensity people reserve for bomb countdowns. His heart does a full Olympic gymnastics routine. His brain? Gone. Offline. In heaven. On fire.

He starts typing and deleting. So fast.

First message: too clingy. Second: too cool. Third: accidentally a marriage proposal.

He hits send before he can regret it:

[2:07 AM] What do you mean 😭😭😭 do you miss me like... miss me or like miss my memes [2:08 AM] bc if u miss ME i am currently free and emotionally compromised [2:08 AM] if u call me rn i’ll answer like it’s a drama and say ‘you finally called…’ i’m not kidding

Then, because he hates himself but also needs you to KNOW:

(1 voice note) “hi. i miss you too. like. so bad. like ‘watching our old tiktoks and tearing up’ bad. ok i’m gonna go cry into my cereal now bye 😭”

And then he rolls over, buries his face in his pillow, and kicks his feet like a 16-year-old girl in a coming-of-age movie.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻

It’s 9:36 PM when you send it. Soft. Unassuming. Just:

i miss you

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, gaming headset half-on, controller resting in his lap. His monitor’s still glowing with the lobby screen, but he hasn’t clicked “ready” in three minutes.

Because your name popped up. And those three little words didn’t just land — they sank.

He re-reads it, smiling like he can’t help it. Like your message reached through the screen and gently cupped his face.

He’s not the type to question it. Not the type to pretend it doesn’t matter. You miss him — and he misses you too. More than he’s said. More than he knows how to say sometimes.

So he picks up his phone, pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and texts back with all the warmth he has:

[9:38 PM] angel :( i was just thinking about u too [9:39 PM] i miss u in like. the way stars miss the sky [9:40 PM] wanna call? or i can come over w snacks n cuddles n a playlist titled ‘us time’ 🫂💛

And because that’s not enough — not nearly enough — he sends a voice note too. His voice low, soft, wrapped in honey:

(voice note, 0:08) “i miss you so much it kinda makes my chest tight... but like in a good way. please come over. i’ll make hot chocolate. with the cinnamon u like.”

Seungmin // 승민

It’s 11:22 PM when you send it. No flourish. No drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s brushing his teeth. Pajamas on. Sleep playlist already playing low from his Bluetooth speaker. The apartment is still. Lights soft. Everything quiet — except his brain, which goes static the second your message appears.

He pauses, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth. Stares at the notification like it personally insulted him. His heartbeat? Loud. Chest? Tight. Eyes? Suddenly way too focused on the “i” in “i miss you.”

And of course—he has to respond the only way he knows how: with sarcasm and a mild breakdown. He rinses, spits, towels off his face, and flops onto bed, one arm dramatically over his eyes. Then, thumb to phone:

[11:24 PM] wow. desperate much? [11:25 PM] should i feel special or r u just lonely n scrolling ur contacts [11:26 PM] jk. unless.

He stares at those texts. Chews his lip. Rolls over. Sighs. Then types again — slower this time.

[11:28 PM] ...i was literally just about to text you [11:28 PM] this is annoying [11:28 PM] i miss you too

And because he knows you’re probably pouting, he sends one final message:

(photo attachment: his pillow with space beside it) get here. your side’s cold.

I.n // 아이엔

It’s 10:01 PM when you send it. Simple. Sweet. Just:

i miss you

He sees it while leaning against the balcony railing, earbuds in, hoodie unzipped, cool night air brushing against his skin. The city glows beneath him — golden windows, blinking lights, soft hum of life continuing below.

He reads your message and smiles — not wide. Just a slow, knowing curve that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You texted first. You cracked first. And he loves that.

But what he doesn’t say — not yet — is that he’d been about to text you the same thing. He’d been replaying that last voice note you left him. He’d been standing out here thinking about the way your hand feels when it’s tucked inside his hoodie pocket. He’s not cocky about it. Just… calm. Quietly wrecked.

He replies:

[10:02 PM] you miss me already? [10:02 PM] i thought u were tougher than this 🤭 [10:03 PM] ...good. i was starting to think i’m the only one losing sleep over you

Then he sends a photo: His shadow on the balcony, city lights in the distance, and the caption:

“you’d look better standing here next to me.”

And just like that — you're done for. Because so is he.

[atlabeth]

(please) spare me indignity

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 

You frown. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.  

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” 

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 

-

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 

“Fine,” you say. 

He frowns. “Really?” 

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 

“Am I not allowed to joke?” 

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 

“A couple spoonfuls but—” 

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 

“Do they have any leads?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 

“Want one?” 

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 

-

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 

Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 

“...Some,” Spencer says. 

“Like?” 

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 

“Spencer—” 

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 

He hangs up without another word. 

[fandomonetwo]

ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it. 

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording. 

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet. 

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms. 

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately. 

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer. 

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin. 

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face. 

"All done?" he asks. 

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you. 

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair. 

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby." 

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

[finelinefae]

my darling

synopsis: a love triangle

word count: 10.8k

contains: angst angst angst, love triangle, mfm, best friends to lovers, boarding school, violence, unrequited love,

a/n: i wrote this for wattpad during the My Policeman era. I wanted to post it here after re-reading it. I remember this being one of the first pieces of fanfic i felt super proud of !! warning it is pretty sad

. . .

Then — 1996

Dear Diary,

Today we moved into our new home in Halton. It’s small, quaint, and quiet—very quiet. The kind of place where everyone seems set in their routines, the same patterns repeating every day. I already miss London. Mum says this will be good for us, though. Good to get away from the drama. Good to get away from Dad.

The house isn’t as big as our old one. I have to share a room with Delilah now, but it’s fine—I’ll be off to boarding school by the end of the summer. Mum says I’ll enjoy it since she went to the same school at my age, but I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. Who actually enjoys living at school?

It’s a three-hour drive from Halton, which feels like a world away. I’m nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once. The feelings are so overwhelming they all blur together into something I can only describe as... heavy. Like my life is a snow globe someone’s just shaken up, glitter falling everywhere. It looks magical at first, but the reality is you’re stuck cleaning it up for weeks, finding it in the oddest places long after.

I miss my dog. I never got to say goodbye.

Dad cried when we left. I’ve never seen him cry before. He told me it wasn’t goodbye, just a "see you later." Mum always says Dad’s a good liar, but I don’t think he was lying this time. Maybe it was the tears—they don’t suit him.

-

Dear Diary,

Today I moved into my dorm at Southend Park School.

Mum was annoyed we had to wake up before seven to pack the car and drive me down, even though this was all her idea. She’s probably just tired—or maybe something else. I have a suspicion she’s met someone. I’m not sure how she moved on from Dad so quickly. Did she ever really love him?

My dorm has six girls, including me. I’ve mostly been talking to Ellis, who’s in the room next door. She’s fourteen, older than the rest of us, but only because her birthday is the 1st of September. Today’s the third, so her advantage is technical, but she likes to remind us.

Being alone here scares me, but it’s nothing new. Delilah always had loads of friends, and Dad was always working. Mum was usually out socializing, too.

Mum cried as we finished unpacking, promising she’d pick me up for half-term or that I could come home anytime. But I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.

Tomorrow is a full day of inductions, and I’m worried about making friends. Southend Park is a mixed school, and boys make me nervous. I’d rather have no friends at all than feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I still feel like I’m picking up glitter from months ago. I wonder when it will finally stop.

-

Dear Diary,

I made two friends. You’ll never guess—they’re boys!

Their names are Harry and Dylan. They’re both thirteen, like me, but they feel older somehow. They even live in the same dorm and invited me over this weekend.

We met during lunch in the courtyard. I was sitting alone when Dylan walked up first, chatting easily and cracking jokes. Harry followed behind, much quieter. Dylan has blond hair and a small scar on his eyebrow from climbing trees back in Morston. Harry’s hair is thick and curly—I wanted to touch it but stopped myself because, well, that would’ve been weird.

Harry didn’t say much at first, though I noticed him glancing at me. When I met his gaze, he blushed and looked down at his extra-polished school shoes.

We didn’t talk much again until the end of the day, on the way back to the dorms. That’s when we compared timetables and realized we share four classes, including English Literature. It’s just Harry and me in that one, though.

I never thought I’d be friends with boys, but I like it. It feels different from being friends with girls—less pressure to act outgoing or girly. I hope we stay friends. I like them both a lot.

. . .

Then — 2000

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N called, running across the field toward the headmaster’s office where Harry stood, focused on his Nokia flip phone.

Harry glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. He tucked the phone into his pocket and waved her over. Despite the end-of-day chaos, both were still dressed in their school uniforms. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her with a quick kiss, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. He loved how perfectly she fit against him, as though they were made for each other.

“What’s going on? Aren’t we meeting Dylan to go to Ellis’ dorm?” Y/N asked, frowning slightly as she looked around for their other best friend.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “We are, but Dylan got caught passing notes to Casey Becker in geometry. He’s stuck with thirty minutes in the headmaster’s office to make amends.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh warm and familiar. “Again? He’s going to get himself expelled if he’s not careful.” She slid her hands under Harry’s blazer, warming them against his torso.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger on her cheekbone. “How was your day?” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“It was fine,” Y/N replied. “I scored three points in netball, and Tessa Riley gave me daggers in the changing room.” She giggled, leaning into him.

Harry smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “That’s m’girl.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently.

“Oh, please, don’t make me sick,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking the moment.

“Hi, Dylan.” Y/N turned to see him strolling down the stone steps, his blazer slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She leaned back against Harry, crossing her arms.

“Hello, my darling Y/N,” Dylan teased, his tone playful as he lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

“Seriously, Dylan?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really need another detention?”

“Don’t you smoke, Styles?” Dylan shot back, grinning. “Besides, Mary would love to see me again after our chat earlier. She’s got a soft spot for me.” He smirked, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping away from Harry’s warmth. She was long used to Dylan’s antics—four and a half years of friendship had left little room for surprises.

The three of them had been inseparable since their first days at Southend Park Boarding School. Despite their differences in personality, they were like a family unit, supporting one another through the highs and lows of adolescence.

Dylan, the loudest of the trio, was notorious for his sharp wit and knack for trouble. Teachers despaired over his behavior, but students were drawn to his charm—especially the girls, who fell for his rebellious streak and the ever-present cigarette.

Harry, by contrast, was the golden boy: smart, polite, and beloved by staff. He balanced his role as student ambassador with captaining the football team, a position that made him one of the most popular boys in school. Dylan teasingly called him a “teacher’s pet,” but Harry wore the label without shame.

Y/N was the quietest of the three, rarely seeking the spotlight. She volunteered in the school library every Tuesday and spent her free time with her dorm mates. Still, Harry and Dylan were fiercely protective of her, and she often marveled at how lucky she was to have them.

The trio walked out of the school gates toward the housing blocks, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun. Harry carried Y/N’s backpack on one shoulder, his free hand clasping hers. Dylan trailed behind, typing on his phone with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Ellis doesn’t want you bringing anything to the party this time, Dylan,” Y/N warned, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what happened last time. If you pull that again, you’re getting kicked out of school.”

“My darling Y/N,” Dylan began with exaggerated sincerity, pausing for effect, ���only for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

When they reached her dorm, Y/N kissed Harry on the cheek and took her bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you both later?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Dylan saluted her without looking up from his phone, while Harry smiled warmly. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Harry,” she replied before disappearing inside.

Harry and Dylan walked in silence toward their dorm. The tension was palpable, Dylan unusually quiet as Harry’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“We’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Dylan murmured, his voice low as the setting sun bathed the path in a golden glow.

Harry’s heart tightened. “No, we don’t.”

“Harry—”

“Shut up, Dylan. Nothing happened.” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting Dylan off before he could continue.

They stopped, staring at each other, the air between them heavy. Harry’s frustration burned in his eyes, while Dylan’s sadness hung like a weight on his shoulders.

“I love her,” Harry finally said, his voice trembling. “I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love Y/N.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed into their dormitory, leaving Dylan alone on the pavement. Dylan exhaled shakily, the ache in his chest unbearable.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Diary,

It’s been a month since my fifteenth birthday, and Harry finally asked me out on a date. It feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so perfect you fear waking up to find it never happened.

To be honest, I think I’m already in love with him. He’s always been so kind to me, much more than Dylan. Harry carries my bag to class when I have netball, and sometimes, during English Literature, I catch him staring at me. There’s something about the way his gaze lingers that makes me feel seen.

In art class, he taught me how to use watercolors for the first time, his thumb brushing against mine as he guided me. Little moments like that remind me how much I care for him—so much that the thought of being without him feels unbearable. Is that dramatic? Probably. But I can’t help it if it’s true.

Even when I’m talking to Ellis during lunch or before bed, my mind wanders back to Harry—his smile, his eyes, the way he laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny, and how he hugs me differently from everyone else.

It feels strange to be fifteen and falling so deeply. What do I know about love at this age? How much further can I fall?

I think I’m going to love him forever. I hope he loves me forever too.

-

Dear Diary,

Harry kissed me today. My first kiss—with the boy I love most in the entire world.

I knew it was going to happen. We’d just finished dinner in the dining hall when he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens. Dylan wanted to come along, but Harry shook his head, saying he wanted it to be just the two of us.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked back and saw Dylan standing there, his expression heavy as he watched us leave. He kept staring at Harry, even as we walked past the window overlooking the gardens.

Harry brought me to the tulips because he knows they’re my favorite. He said my braid looked pretty today, and that’s when I knew—I truly, completely loved him. It was the worst braid I’ve ever done, but he still thought it was beautiful.

We sat on a swinging bench, listening to birds returning to their nests. When he said my name, it sounded magical, like it had been made for his lips alone. I turned to look at him, and that’s when he leaned in and kissed me.

It felt like a scene from a movie.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to kiss someone for the first time. The way their breath mingles with yours, the world fading away as you close your eyes and step into a place so tender it consumes you. It makes you wonder if you’ve ever been truly loved before.

We only stopped because we heard a rustling in the bushes. We looked around but didn’t find anything, so Harry walked me back to my dorm. He kissed me again outside the door, and I floated through the rest of the night, humming to myself as I got ready for bed.

But when I think back to that moment, I could swear I saw a tuft of blond hair sticking out from behind a bush.

. . .

Now — 2000

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of the mirror on Ellis’ floor, carefully applying mascara as Fiona Apple played softly in the background. Ellis sat nearby, painting her nails a deep red.

“I’m just saying,” Ellis began, waving the brush for emphasis, “you and Harry have been dating for two years, and you haven’t done the deed yet?”

Y/N flushed at the mention of sex, shifting uncomfortably. She hated talking about it, even with Harry. Maybe it was because she didn’t know much about it or because she’d never had a safe space to ask questions, but every time the topic came up—whether in conversation or during truth or dare—she wanted to run for cover.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” Y/N said evenly, her voice robotic as she repeated the well-rehearsed answer.

“The right time?” Ellis scoffed. “I’ve never seen a couple more in love—it’s nauseating.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind drifting to moments when she’d wanted to take things further with Harry. But he always stopped before it went too far. Sometimes it made her feel like she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, desirable enough—but then he’d kiss her softly and remind her how beautiful she was, stroking her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve done... things, but not that.”

“Is Harry religious or something?” Ellis asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Y/N replied with a frown. “He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he’s waiting until marriage,” Ellis mused.

The thought of marrying Harry made Y/N’s heart swell. She’d dreamed of it ever since their first kiss in the gardens—walking down the aisle in a white dress, Harry waiting for her at the end, tears in his eyes. Maybe they’d both cry.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Y/N said, her voice soft but certain. “I love him enough to wait as long as he needs me to.”

Ellis groaned, grabbing a bottle of vodka from her bedside table. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had a single drink.” She poured herself a shot and downed it in one go. “Okay, continue.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to her reflection, humming Queen’s Love of My Life as her thoughts drifted back to Harry.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Harry,

Today we went to the beach—the three of us. Me, you, and Y/N. I know in most situations it’s you, Y/N, then me, but in these letters, it will always be me and you.

We’d been planning this trip for weeks. It’s a three-hour drive to the coast from school, and Y/N had been complaining about the journey the entire time. I didn’t mind. Is it wrong of me to want to sit next to you on a bus full of people not one of them knowing who we are for three whole hours? Our knees touching for three whole hours? Sand on your feet and your hair salty from the sea, inhaling your scent and wanting your hand to touch my thigh for three whole hours?

When we got there, the morning was overcast, but by the time we hit the sand, the sun broke through the clouds. It was perfect. The light caught your skin, making it glisten, and your eyes shone with that impossible sea-glass green. I wanted to look into them forever, but you were too busy looking at Y/N.

I tried to catch your attention—touching your shoulder as I passed by, reaching for the beach bag at the same time as you, brushing my fingers against yours. But it didn’t matter. You only had eyes for her, and I only had eyes for you.

When you kissed her in the gardens, a part of me died. I had been pining for you for so long, silently hoping you’d see me, but it was always her. I felt stupid, running miles afterward, the wind howling in my ears: You fool, you idiot, how could he ever love you?

I didn’t want to feel this way, Harry. I tried to bury it, to pretend it wasn’t real, but when I met you, everything I’d hidden about myself unraveled.

The day wasn’t without its drama. Y/N, distracted, stepped into the road thinking the approaching van was the bus. You moved so fast, grabbing her and pulling her back before the van could hit her. I watched the terror flash across your face, the way you held her afterward as she cried. You kissed her forehead, comforted her, showed her the kind of love I’d only ever dreamed of.

And I hated her for it.

I feel terrible admitting this because I do love Y/N. I truly do. But most days, I hate her, and only because she has you.

When we finally got to the beach, the three of us ran toward the waves, shedding our clothes as we went, laughing like we were carefree children. For a moment, we were. We left our troubles behind in the sand.

You swung Y/N over your shoulder as you splashed into the water, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your muscles flexed. You were a work of art, Harry, something meant to be admired in a gallery. And I was nothing more than an observer, longing for what I could never have.

Later, Y/N went to get ice cream. Before she left, she asked for your order, and I already knew what you’d say—mint chocolate chip. The way she looked surprised made me feel smug for a second, but that quickly disappeared when she said it was her favorite too.

While she was gone, I felt a cramp in my shoulder. “Let me,” you murmured, and before I could answer, your fingertips ghosted over my shoulder, pressing into the tight muscle.

I couldn’t breathe, Harry. You were so close, your breath warm against my neck. For a split second, I thought if I just turned my head, I could kiss you.

I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Even if you do.

. . .

Now — 2000

Dylan and Harry were in their dorm room, preparing for the party. Harry stood in front of the mirror, anxiously gelling his hair back.

“I think I’m going to do it,” Harry said suddenly, turning to face Dylan. “I’m going to go all the way with Y/N.”

Dylan froze, his heart sinking. He lit a cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant as he perched on the windowsill. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice betrayed him, tinged with irritation and jealousy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, are you sure it’s the right time to sleep with her? After... what happened?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that,” Dylan said, standing now, his voice rising. “Like you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I imagined it. But I’ve imagined kissing you enough times to know what’s real and what’s not.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching. “I was drunk, and you took advantage of me.”

The words hit Dylan like a slap, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Don’t try that with me, Harry. It might work in your petty arguments with Y/N, but it won’t work on me. You’re the one twisting the truth to fit your narrative.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Harry snapped. “I only care about Y/N. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you need to step away—from both of us.”

“Step away?” Dylan said incredulously, his voice breaking. “You want me to walk away from the only two people who’ve ever cared about me? You want me to walk away from you?”

Harry hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “You know how I feel about Y/N. I love her. I’m in love with her. Even if I felt something for you, it would never compare.”

“You’re lying,” Dylan whispered, his eyes glassy. “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.”

“You don’t know anything!” Harry exploded, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what would happen if someone found out? What it would do to Y/N? To us? I felt nothing! It was a mistake!”

“Harry—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Whatever feelings you have, whatever intentions, you need to get over them.”

“That’s not as easy as you think—”

“You have to.” Harry’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Dylan stared at him, shattered, as Harry turned and stormed out.

He left Dylan standing there, broken, feeling like Harry had taken his very soul with him.

. . .

Then — 1999

Dear Harry,

We’ve been assigned as partners in media class, and now we have to make a music video. Naturally, you asked Y/N if she’d star in it. You told her she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and that she’d be perfect for it. She blushed, of course, and said yes. Then you kissed her—so long and so deeply that I had to look away.

I imagined myself in her place, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in public, to have the world see how much I adored you. If it were allowed, I don’t think I’d ever stop kissing you.

Today, we filmed the music video. You wanted it to feel like a coming-of-age story. I’d wanted something more abstract, but I agreed to your ideas, nodding eagerly at every suggestion, whether it was brilliant or terrible.

We filmed in the gardens—my least favorite place in the entire school. That’s where you kissed Y/N for the first time, and if I could erase that night from my memory, I would in a heartbeat.

The sun was shining as you whispered into Y/N’s ear while I set up the camera. I tried to block out the sound of your laughter, the sight of her hand on your shoulder.

“Are we ready?” I called, my voice louder than I intended. You straightened up immediately.

“Dylan, why don’t you be in the video with me?” Y/N smiled warmly. She had that rare ability to make everyone feel seen, like she was radiating sunshine. It was impossible not to smile back.

“My darling, you know I’m not nearly as perfect as you,” I teased, watching her blush.

I don’t even remember when I started calling her “my darling.” The first time, I remember catching the flash of jealousy in your eyes. I liked that. I liked seeing you react to me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. You’re used to it now, but sometimes, when I say it, I still see a flicker of something in your gaze.

The music video took all day to shoot. Every time Y/N nailed a scene, you rewarded her with a kiss. I worked hard too, Harry. Shouldn’t I have been rewarded in some way?

When Y/N left for her library shift that evening, it was just the two of us. You wanted to capture the soft glow of the sunset, so we stayed behind to get more footage.

“My mother wants me to go into politics,” you said as we sat cross-legged on the grass, the camera between us. “But I’d love to do this—be a director. I’ve always wanted to be an artist of some kind. It’s a silly dream, but I think about it all the time.”

I could imagine it. You had a way of leading people, commanding attention without being arrogant. You cared so deeply—for the art, for the people—that it would probably destroy you someday.

“It’s not silly,” I said. “It’s never silly to dream. My God, Harry, we only live once. Might as well do everything we can to feel something in the little time we have.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me. For the first time, I thought you might be feeling a fraction of what I felt every day. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Y/N knows.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could’ve sworn you glanced at my lips.

Then, just as quickly, you diverted the topic. Grabbing the camera, you aimed it at me lying in the grass. “Looks like Y/N’s not the only model anymore,” you teased.

I tried to act indifferent, but I would’ve stayed there all night if it meant seeing you laugh like that.

It makes me wonder, Harry—do you know how much power you have over your friends? Do you know that you have two people who worship the ground you walk on? How does it feel to be desired? How does it feel to have a choice in who you love?

. . .

Now — 2000

“You’re here!” Y/N beamed, running into Harry’s arms and wrapping her hands around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple before setting her down.

The party was already in full swing. Students from across campus had crammed into Ellis’ dorm, the air thick with music, laughter, and the faint smell of alcohol.

“Hi, Dylan,” Y/N greeted, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re dressed pretty smart. Planning on impressing anyone tonight?”

“Only you, darling,” Dylan replied, forcing a wink and a smirk despite the ache in his chest. Harry’s words from earlier still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside.

Harry’s eyes darted to the cup in Y/N’s hand. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his tone light but concerned.

“It’s water,” she whispered with a smile. Harry relaxed. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and he knew that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, marvelling at her dress. It was the one she wore for special occasions—one he had once told her was his favourite. A pang of guilt pricked at his heart as she looked back at him, her doe eyes filled with love.

“Come dance with me!” she said, pulling him toward the living room. “Both of you! My boys!”

Harry and Dylan followed her to the dance floor. The song Love My Way blared through the speakers, and Y/N moved between them, carefree and radiant.

At first, Harry danced with her, his focus entirely on Y/N. But then his gaze shifted to Dylan, who was swaying along with the music. Something unspoken passed between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer.

Harry laughed when Dylan moved towards him and for a moment they had forgotten everything around them. Dylan was just Dylan and Harry was just Harry, two boys who felt something they weren’t allowed to feel in the eyes of everyone else.

Harry was so close, their faces almost touching and for a moment Dylan thought they might kiss. But the blissful moment was broken as Harry stepped away, shaking his head, “N-No.” He whispered, “No, No, No.” He shook his head, his eyes frantic in search of Y/N.

“O-Oh, Harry,” Y/N yelped as he grabbed hold of her hand and lead her out of Ellis’ dorm and over to her own, three doors down from where the party was happening.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” She cups his face in her hands and he exhales, trying to regain composure. This was the girl he loved, the only girl he could ever love and being in her hands felt like home. Didn’t it?

“Y-Y/N, I-I think I’m ready.” He presses his forehead against hers, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Her lips part in shock. She hadn’t been expecting this tonight and she wasn’t sure where Harry’s sudden desperation was coming from. He kissed down her neck as she tried to speak to him, “H-Harry, a-are you sure?” He nodded, his mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the sincerity behind them but also a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

He started to peel her clothing off, his fingertips gently brushing against her soft skin. She tried to steady her breathing but her chest caved in and out as the oxygen in the room seemed to be escaping as he moved down her body. “Harry,” She whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Y/N was stripped down to her bra and underwear. This was the most skin she had revealed to anybody but she trusted Harry with everything in her, he was her best friend. He blew warm air over the thin material of her bra and her nipples hardened, an overwhelming sense of desire and lust flooding her insides. It was so new and overwhelming, her hands shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on the roots.

“Baby,” He whispered, his hands cupping her thighs as he pressed kisses down her body.

“Harry, wait.” She murmured, his eyes looking up from where he was laying between her legs, “You’re still dressed.” She sat up and tugged on the hem of his sweater.

He laughed softly, as she struggled to pull the sweater over his head. She marvelled at the sound and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and she grinded her hips against his, “God look at you.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me Y/N. You can never leave me.”

“I’m never going to.” She said it like it was a promise.

His hands hooked the straps of her bra and he gently pulled them down, her breath hitching as the pad of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he inhaled her.

This was going to be perfect, she thought, nothing could go wrong.

She grinded her hips against him again, a groan eliciting from his lip and a name escaping past the lips he had kissed her with so many times.

“Dylan.” Y/N froze. Her blood ran cold, and she pulled away as though Harry’s touch burned her.

“What did you say?” She pulled away, suddenly being naked in front of him didn’t feel right, being in a space alone with him didn’t feel right, everything she had ever felt for him before this moment didn’t feel right.

“Y/N,” He reached for her but she slipped away from him, slipped out of his touch, a touch she begged for just moments ago.

Harry’s heart no longer existed, wherever it was it had abandoned him and left him here in this terrible moment to fend for himself. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he watched Y/N try to pick up her discarded clothes. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she was suppose to be picking up his clothes after a night making love to each other.

“Y-You said his name.” Y/N whimpered, she was panicking and Harry could do nothing but watch.

“Baby I-”

“NO.” She spat, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Harry watched as she turned around and clutched at her head, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She sobbed and sobbed, his hear wrenching at the sound of it. He had never heard a sound so painful in his life and he wanted to die in this very moment.

“No, No, No, No.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N please just let me explain.” Harry tried, crouching down in front of her and trying to place a hand on her now clothed shoulder.

“NO.” She pushed him away and leaped back, her back hitting the wall.

Harry was broken. He was truly broken. This was something well out of his reach in fixing and nothing he could do or say could make up for the fact that he had hurt the two people he loved and cherished the most in this world, in the span of one night.

“Get out of my room!” She began to scream, “Get out of here!”

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

“Hey, you guys in there?” Dylan’s voice called from the hallway.

Before Harry could respond, Y/N lunged for the door, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Get out of my room!” she screamed, her voice raw with betrayal.

Harry caught her before she reached Dylan, her fists pounding against his chest. “I’m broken,” she whimpered, her strength fading. “You broke me.”

And for the first time, Harry knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless.

. . .

Then — 2000

Dear Diary,

You know those secrets so big they feel like they could swallow you whole? The kind you promise never to tell a soul for as long as you live? At first, they consume you, taking over every thought and breath. But over time, they settle into the corners of your mind, a quiet part of you that only stirs when something triggers it.

Well, today I made one of those secrets.

It was a Tuesday, the day I volunteer in the library after school. There’s something peaceful about wandering the empty halls when no one else is around—a stark contrast to the chaos between periods. Mrs. Ableton asked me to deliver a stack of books to the English Literature cupboard. Our copies of The Catcher in the Rye were practically falling apart, so we’d ordered replacements.

As I walked through the hall, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye near the classroom where Harry and I have English together. Curious, I paused, almost dropping the books in my hands.

Harry was leaning against a desk, and Dylan stood in front of him. At first, I thought nothing of it and smiled, reaching for the door handle to make myself known. But then Dylan stepped closer, touched Harry’s hand, and kissed him.

I froze.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The same lips that had kissed mine were now kissing the lips of my best friend.

I wanted to cry, but I was too shocked to do anything but stand there, watching. A part of me hoped I was trapped in a nightmare—that I’d wake up, call Harry, and laugh about how silly it all was. But when Dylan pulled back, Harry grabbed his arm and kissed him again.

That time, I couldn’t watch.

I backed away, the tears finally falling. My mind raced as I searched for somewhere—anywhere—I could cry louder, scream even, because this wasn’t something I could cry about quietly.

Harry was mine. But he was also Dylan’s.

By the time I went to bed, I’d convinced myself I would confront them. I’d tell them I saw what happened and ask if we could move on, pretend it never happened. But as the hours stretched on, I realized I didn’t want to speak about it. Talking about it would mean reliving it, over and over.

I didn’t want to remember.

I just wanted Harry.

So, this is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’ll never tell a soul I watched Harry kiss Dylan in a way he never kissed me.

Even if it breaks me.

. . .

Now — 2000

“What happened?” Dylan asked. They were back in his dorm now, Harry pacing the room like a caged animal.

“She knows,” Harry muttered, his fingers pulling at his hair—a habit whenever he was upset. “She knows about us, what we did.”

Dylan collapsed onto the bed, his face pale. “How?”

Harry stopped and turned to him, shame written all over his face. “I said your name.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands. Images of Y/N, broken and sobbing on her bedroom floor, flashed through his mind. She had begged them to fix her, but they were the ones who broke her.

“It’s fine,” Harry rambled, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll give her some time, however long she needs. Then I’ll explain. I’ll explain it was a misunderstanding.”

“Harry,” Dylan said gently, standing to take Harry’s hands in his own. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Y/N to get over this.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and a sob escaped him as he crumpled into Dylan’s arms. Dylan ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his cheek against Harry’s head. “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

“I hurt her so bad, Dylan,” Harry cried. “I love her, and I hurt her.”

“She was always going to find out,” Dylan said softly, the truth cutting deeper than any lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

Dylan sighed. “Why do you always talk about how things are meant to be? You act like your life was mapped out before you left the womb. Was it ‘meant to be’ that the three of us became inseparable? That you fell in love with both of us because you care so deeply? That I fell in love with you because you see art in everything? None of this was ‘meant to be,’ Harry. It just happened. And now we deal with it.”

Harry pulled back, tears streaking his face. “You still love me? Even after I pushed you away?”

Dylan smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek. “I love you despite everything.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Dylan’s, and for a moment, it felt like all their pain had been lifted. “Dylan,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he said the name again and again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You can say my name as much as you want, love,” Dylan murmured. “I’ll always be here.”

. . .

Three weeks passed and the friends were no longer talking to each other, instead they acted as though they didn’t know each other as they passed each other in the hallway.

Harry had to try and not flinch when he saw Y/N scurry pass him, her eyes red and bloodshot as Ellis comforted her, glaring at Harry as they did. He wanted to speak to her but he was never given the chance to, rightly so considering what he had done to her.

Dylan and Harry, mostly Harry, thought it would best to keep their distance for a while. It killed them both to not be around each other but for the sake of their friendship with Y/N, they shared small moments of brief eye contact and touches throughout the day. Neither of them knew what was to come for the both of them but this limbo was enough for now.

Dylan ate lunch alone and as he did, he listened to the conversations of everyone around him. He wondered what it felt like for them to go about their day feeling like they belong in their own skin and not feel ashamed over who they love. He had never felt so alienated and so out of touch with himself.

He had been given an after school detention for an hour with Mr Henley after calling him sexist in front of the class. No one was around when he left the classroom until he saw a group of girls walking across the field.

At the end of the line was Y/N, wearing her netball uniform.

She must have caught sight of him because the next thing he knew, she was walking up to him. He had to check behind him to see he was seeing correctly.

“Hi Dylan,” She keeps her distance for reasons unknown to him but being around her again made him relax, he missed the friendship he shared right at the very beginning when they were thirteen and picking each other up from class to go to the sweet shop after school.

“Hey Y/N.” He offers her a smile.

“How are you doing?” He didn’t miss the way she gripped her bag like she was trying to stop herself from saying anything she really wanted to.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Y/N huffs, “I’ve had better days.” “Y/N-”

“Just tell me this,” She starts, “H-How long?”

Dylan decided he would be as honest and as straight to the point as he could be, it was what she deserved at least.

“Y/N the only thing we did was kiss one time. Harry stopped it because he’s in love with you.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

“Y-Yes.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, “We could never just be three best friends could we? It was always going to be complicated.”

“We could still be best friends Y/N.”

“But it’s not the same now is it?” She bit back and Dylan realised he needed to be careful with what he said. “Is he sad?”

“Terribly. Sometimes I hear him crying in his room at night.”

A silence fell between them which was strange. Y/N and Dylan has always had a brother-sister relationship, Dylan was always one to tease Y/N and make her laugh but right now it seemed all he was doing was making her upset.

“I’m moving schools.” Y/N confessed, “At the end of the term, I’m moving to Bridgewater. Mum’s moving in with her fiancee, and she wants me to be closer.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Dylan was shocked.

“I was given the choice. I could stay here or move to another school but if I stayed I’d have to stay at my dad’s during the holidays and I’m not in the mood to be lectured during my time away from school.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t fathom the three of them not being together for such a long period of time. “I know what you’re thinking. I know I need to tell him but if we are going to have a shot at being friends again, I need to be away from you both.”

“Y/N,” Dylan shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to be like this,”

“You know I saw you when you kissed each other in the English Literature classroom?” She confessed, Dylan’s lips parting. “He kissed you in a way that he never kissed me. Everytime we kissed afterwards all I could think about was how different it was, how I desperately wanted him to kiss me the way I had seen him kiss you. I used to write in my diary about how I would die if I didn’t have him near me. I thought he would be the end of me but I didn’t realise you would be too.”

“I know he loves you Dylan and... I’m happy for you but I’m not selfless enough to stand beside you both and watch you fall in love when I so desperately love him too.”

“Y/N,” Dylan reaches out for her hand and takes it, “I’m sorry.” “I know Dylan, I know.”

. . .

Now — 2000

Harry’s leg wouldn’t stop jittering as he sat outside the school library on a Tuesday evening. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, replaying it over and over in his mind. He had spent countless hours rehearsing his apology to Y/N until it became a permanent loop in his thoughts.

When the library door swung open, he shot up immediately, brushing down his school trousers and running a hand through his hair. Y/N stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She looked better than she had in weeks, and Harry’s heart ached at the sight of her. He would have carried her bag for her if they were still together.

Her expression changed when she saw him, her voice barely above a whisper. “H-Harry.”

“I came,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I-I couldn’t believe it when I got your text. I’d have waited here for hours if you hadn’t shown up.”

Her face softened briefly, but she walked past him. “Follow me,” she said simply.

He trailed behind her as she led him to the gardens—the place where they’d shared their first kiss and filmed the music video for his and Dylan’s project. It was a space filled with memories of the three of them: Y/N doing homework, Dylan reading, and Harry strumming his guitar.

They sat down on the swinging bench, a familiar seat now heavy with unspoken tension. Harry noticed she kept her distance, and though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her close, he knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Who gave you those?” Harry finally asked, nodding at the flowers in her hand. A flicker of hope crossed his face.

“Debbie,” she said, referring to the school librarian. “It’s my last day working at the library.”

“You quit?” Harry frowned, his gaze flicking from the flowers to her face.

Y/N inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m leaving, Harry.”

The wind seemed to leave him. “N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You—you can’t. You can’t just leave. I won’t let you—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently in her lap. “It’s what’s best.”

“How can you say that?” he asked, trying to pull his hand away, though her warmth made it impossible. “How can you say it’s what’s best? The three of us—we’re supposed to be together.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. He looked thinner, more tired than she’d ever seen him, but she couldn’t help him—not anymore.

“Y/N, the thing with Dylan...” Harry began, his voice cracking. “I-I never meant for it to happen. We were just alone, I was stressed, and my emotions got the better of me. But I don’t feel the same way about him as I do about you.”

She shook her head softly. “Maybe that’s true, but not in the way you think. Dylan has always been there for you, Harry, in ways I never could. The way you look at him... it’s like he hung the stars in the sky just for you, like he tilted the sun so it would never blind you but still brighten your world.

“Maybe you do love me,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but love isn’t just about taking care of someone. It’s not carrying my backpack because it’s too heavy or doing my homework when I’m too tired after netball. Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about being taken care of, about laughing and crying and feeling like your heart is burning, and nothing can put it out.

“Now tell me, Harry. Did you ever feel that way with me? Were you ever vulnerable with me?”

Harry’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

“Please, Y/N,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I can’t be without you.”

“You have Dylan,” she said, trying to be the bigger person even though it shattered her inside. “It was never going to be me, Harry. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for him?”

Harry looked down at the ground, his silence all the confirmation she needed.

Her heart broke all over again, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Why do you have to go?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

“Because, Harry,” she said gently, “what good would it do for the three of us if I stayed? You need to find out who you are, and so do I. Before me, it was you and Dylan. Now, it will end that way - with you and Dylan.”

“And what about you?” he asked desperately. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m grateful for what I’ve had. You and Dylan will always be a part of me. I hope one day we’ll forget this pain, and everything will be okay again.”

She reached out, brushing his hair back the way she used to. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much, I feel like I could burst.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. For the first time, he meant it in a way that felt true—not as a lover, but as a best friend.

“Be brave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And tell him you love him.”

Harry nodded as the tears fell freely, clinging to her like a child who didn’t want to let go.

She was going to love him forever. She now knew he wouldn’t.

. . .

“She’s gone,” Dylan said softly from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Harry sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand though it hovered, unmoving, above the page. “Was she alright?” he murmured.

“She was better than we probably thought,” Dylan admitted, realizing how much they’d underestimated Y/N’s strength. They’d always thought it was their job to protect her, but she’d always been stronger than the two of them combined.

“Right,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow.

Dylan moved to sit on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. “I was thinking we could have the leftover soup for dinner instead of going to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied—a rare admission from someone who was always hungry.

Dylan frowned. “How long are you going to wallow in this? Can’t you see we’re both trying to do the right thing for your benefit?”

Harry turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what exactly are you doing?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” Dylan snapped. “Acting like we’re strangers when we’re the complete opposite. Do you know how much it kills me to not be near you? To have to hide from myself?”

Harry stood abruptly. “And you think I’m not struggling? You think I haven’t been grappling with everything I feel?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Dylan shouted, standing to meet Harry’s gaze. “You had someone who loved you for two whole years. You have everything, Harry—loving parents, the best grades, popularity. And you act like it’s all been taken from you because I kissed you!”

“Y/N is gone because of us!” Harry yelled back.

“No,” Dylan said fiercely, his voice rising. “She’s gone because of you! Because you’re too afraid to be honest about who you are! Because you care too much about what everyone else thinks. That’s why she’s gone!”

Their faces were inches apart, their anger radiating in the small space between them.

“How dare you? Can’t you see this is difficult for me to accept?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

“What is?” Dylan snapped back, stepping closer. “What is so difficult, Harry? What’s so hard that you have to sit in the dark and ignore the only two people who’ve ever truly cared about you? Huh? What is it? Tell me. TELL ME.”

“I am in love with you!” Harry yelled, the words ripping out of him like they had been clawing to escape for years. “I am a fool, and I am in love with you.”

Dylan froze, stunned. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Harry’s confession settled over him. The words he had dreamed of hearing for years hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

“What?” Dylan managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you,” Harry said, his voice softer now but no less raw. “And it’s been killing me every day since. I think of you—daily, nightly, every moment in between—and it tears me apart. Kissing you was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and denying it afterward made me a coward. But here I am now, standing in front of you, a man stupidly, hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

Harry’s eyes were red and glassy, the weight of years of unspoken emotion etched into his every feature.

Dylan stared at him, speechless. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, the depth of Harry’s vulnerability left him breathless.

“Kiss me,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking. “Kiss me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping Dylan’s face in his hands as though it had been crafted to fit perfectly in his palms. Then he kissed him—fervent and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that singular moment.

Dylan’s world ignited. A piece of him that had been dormant for years finally came alive. His heart and mind, long at odds, now burned in harmony as Harry’s lips moved against his. He felt consumed, but in the most beautiful way, as if he could lose himself in Harry forever and never once regret it.

“I love you too, Harry,” Dylan whispered when they finally parted, their foreheads resting together.

“I bloody well hope so,” Harry murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks.

. . .

Now

Dear Harry,

I’d like to tell you a story that will more than likely make you happy.

One day, I was sat in a café, only a twenty-minute walk away from Southend Park School, which is closed down now and turned into a factory to fix airplanes. I bought my usual order of a decaf cappuccino and a slice of toffee apple cake. On this particular day, they added more sugar to my cappuccino, so I knew it would be a good day.

Across from me, a woman sat, her dog lying down at her feet as she read The Catcher in the Rye whilst sipping on a fruit tea. I didn’t think much of it, but I found it interesting the way she would read something and then shakily jot something down in the little notebook on the table.

Anyway, I had originally come to the café so I could write about our trip to Brighton. You were still complaining about the sand in your clothes just last night despite the fact that Brighton has no sand.

“It’s alright, love,” I comforted you, helping you put your pyjamas on.

“It bothers me, Dylan.” You responded, coughing into your handkerchief.

We don’t leave our small bungalow very often because you don’t like to leave the dogs and I don’t like change, but this trip to Brighton was one we had been planning for a year or so, so we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

We spent a lot of time sat on the beach in the evenings whilst we were there, a blanket wrapped around the both of us as we fed the seagulls. I remember you saying you liked the sound of the ocean because it made you feel like we were seventeen again, running into the ocean without a care in the world.

You then proceeded to mention how worried you are about our Y/N, “I hope she’s doing alright, our Y/N.” You said and then went back to talking about a programme you watched the night before.

You had always worried about Y/N in the years after she left, always asking where she was or what she was up to despite the fact we never got in contact with her again. I also wonder whether or not she is okay, and I knew that if I were to see her again, I would thank her for allowing us the space to fall in love.

It was awfully difficult those months after we kissed in your bedroom. We were constantly berated by people we had never spoken to before, and I knew it bothered you for a while, but we overcame it just like we did every other obstacle in our lives... together.

Anyway, as I continued to write about our trip, the door to the café opened again and three middle-aged people walked over to the elderly lady in the corner. “Come on Mum, we’ve got to say goodbye to Dad now,” the man spoke to her, and she swatted him away. Something about that small action gave me a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Give me a moment,” the woman responded, and the three children sat at the table in the chairs around her.

Eventually, they managed to get her standing up. One of them placed her coat around her shoulders, and another handed her her walking stick. When she turned to look at me, I saw a familiar set of eyes looking straight at me.

The three people aiding her walked to the door and held it open for her. As she was about to step out the door, her walking stick fell out of her shaky hands and right at my feet. I quickly picked it up and handed it to her, her face brightening at the sight of me.

“Thank you.” Her voice still sounded the same all that time ago.

“No... Thank you, my darling.”

[eclairemaire]

Meeting the Missus pt.3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: This is the third part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I'm genuinely so surprised at how many of you are reading this; it makes my heart swoon. I hope everyone enjoys!

Heading to the cafeteria for lunch, as soon as Bob sits down, he’s surrounded by the rest of the squad. Phoenix on his right, Fanboy on the left, Rooster across from Bob, Hangman across from Phoenix, Payback across from Fanboy, and Coyote on the other side of Hangman. All of them leaning towards him as though they were high school kids waiting for the newest piece of gossip. Fanboy was almost completely pressed against Bob’s side as he started to unpack his leftovers from last night’s dinner.

“So are we going to get to try any of your Missus’ lovely food at this cookout that you mentioned yesterday?” Fanboy asked as he ogled the food that looked mouth-wateringly good. Bob hummed as he got up to reheat his food, like a pack of strays, the rest of the squad started to get up to follow him to the microwave.

“You will,” he said non-committedly as he put the food in the microwave and started it up. Looking up and seeing the team still surrounding him, he quirked up a brow, “Don’t y’all need to go get your own food?” Watching with an amused glint as the team seemed to realize they did not, in fact, have any food of their own to eat for lunch yet, and seemed to scatter to retrieve their respective meals.

Meeting back at their table, Bob was quietly typing on his phone and smiling fondly while waiting. Once everyone arrived, he stowed his phone into one of the pockets of his uniform. “Missus has decided that the cookout will be next Saturday, you will be expected to bring food or drink, you don’t have to bring both, but if you want to, you can to get in my wife's good graces.” He said after finishing the first bite of his lunch, letting out a low hum of satisfaction at the flavor.

“So what can we expect from this cookout? Will there be games? Any more munchkins besides yours?” Hangman asked as he started to dig into his food, Coyote nodding along beside him.

“Is it going to be similar to the one Riley talked about from when you were stationed at Lemoore?” Phoenix drew her attention to Bob as he thought of an answer to the questions.

Deciding to answer Hangman first, “There will be games, board games, and some digital. Maybe some dogfight football if we’re lucky. As for other kids, I’m not sure,” there might be some of Rileys friends, but that entirely depends on whether you wanted to host a sleepover, which wasn’t likely; your social battery would be pretty drained after having so many people over all day. “ We’ll likely be eating lunch around one-ish, do games for a little bit afterwards, then Riley’ll konk out for like an hour and a half for a nap, and then it’ll just be us adults for a while.” Turning to face Phoenix, he answers her question.

“Yes, and no, none of our relatives are going to be here this time, and her friends likely aren’t either. It’ll be the same in the sense that it’s essentially a party of sorts, but with y’all instead of our families.” He stated while continuing to eat his food.

“Ok, so for food, does anyone have any allergies that might have detrimental effects if said allergen is ingested?” Fanboy asked as he examined the group and turned back towards Bob. Nos and nope's flowed from everyone's mouths after pondering for a moment. “Great!” he exclaimed, shifting back towards his food.

“Sounds like we’ve all got an idea what to expect. What time should we be there?” Rooster asked.

“Shoot for around 12:30, that way Missus can have a time to have everything fresh and hot to go,” Bob stated. 

After that conversation flowed as usual, talking about drills and other happenings going on throughout the base, and the day continued. 

Before leaving, Maverick pulled Bob aside, “What’s this I hear about a cookout?” he inquires as he looks at Bob with curiosity.

“Oh,” Bob fumbles briefly, “My wife and I are hosting a cookout next weekend, and we invited the squad over. Are you interested in coming as well, Mav?” Bob asks, while twiddling his thumbs behind his back at the sudden inquiry about personal plans.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet your wife, whom I’ve heard so much about from Penny. Is Amelia welcome to come as well?” He asks as he looks at Bob’s face. Bob relaxes, remembering that you get along quite well with Penny and have been mentioning wanting to introduce her to Riley

“That sounds like a good idea, sir. I’ll make sure to let her know that you all are coming as well.” Turning to leave, Bob remembers that he needs to tell Maverick to bring food or a drink. “Sir, please, bring a drink or food dish with you, otherwise my wife may not let you into our home.” He smiles sheepishly before heading to the parking lot. Once in his car, he messages everyone your home address and the date and time to be there. 

~

Arriving home followed a similar fashion as the day before, Bob was greeted first by Nuggs, who was eagerly awaiting pats, before almost being bulldozed by your second dog, Beans, who was significantly larger than Nuggs. Followed by a “Welcome home, Sweetheart,” being shouted from the direction of the kitchen. 

“We’re still making dinner,” you say as Bob enters the kitchen to see you sprinkling cheese over a pizza. “How was work?” you ask as you grab the pizza stone to put it into the oven. Riley runs over to Bob and gives his legs a squeeze and a big grin at him before going into the living room, where he then proceeds to hear the opening of ‘Magic School Bus’ play in the background.

“Good, everyone has a vague idea of what to expect for next Saturday,” He says, coming up behind you and wrapping you up in his arms, and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mavrick heard about the cookout, I’m assuming Hangman and Rooseter were talking about it in the hangar,” He mumbles into your hair, as you hum as a response and turn to start cleaning up the kitchen while you wait for the pizza to cook, Bob clining to you like a koala all the way.

“Is he coming?” You ask as you continue to maneuver around the kitchen.

“Yeah, he asked if he, Penny, and Amelia could come. I told him yes, I figured you’d likely hear from Penny about what she plans on bringing,” he answered.

“Amelia's coming? That’s good, I wanted to meet her soon, plus I think she and Riley would get along quite well.” You finally finished cleaning up. Spinning around in Bob’s hold to lean him against the counter. You give him a kiss and a sweet smile.

“What do you plan on making for the cookout?” He asks, there's a teasing smile on his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle just around the edges.

“You’ll find out with everyone else.” You giggle as he starts to pout just a little bit.

“But I’m your husband!” He squawks indignantly, starting to gain a flush in his cheeks.

“And you’ll find out with everyone else,” giving him a mischievous smile, as reach your hands around him to place them right below his ass, and with a firm grip you hoist him up and over your shoulder and start to head to the living room where your daughter resides. 

He lets out a harrumph and then proceeds to yell, “Riley, come save me! I’ve been captured by your mama!” Entering the living room, you hear a squeal from Riley followed by uncontrolled giggles, as she sees you with Bob slung over your shoulder.

“Da–Dad–Daddy,” giggles, interrupting her as she tried to speak, “I can’t help you, Mama’s too strong!”

“You Traitor!!” He yells in false devastation as he feigns going limp in your hold.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: I swear we will actually get to the cookout in the next part, but I'm a sucker for buildup and domestic family fluff. Thank you for reading, and see you in the next part!!

[abbotjack]

What’s Duck’s story? Aside from being a traitor who is quickly forgiven, the baby, and ruler of the cabin kingdom of course. Where did it come from? Some place special? Or just the cute stuffie Jack picked up one day and he melts every time she chooses duck because it’s like her picking a piece of him?

࣭.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔 What’s Duck’s story from The Life We Grew series? ࣭ 𑀁 ͙ ۫ ⋆ ˚𖥔

Well. She didn’t start as royalty. She wasn’t born into the kingdom or bestowed upon it like some heirloom. She was smuggled in, quietly, by your husband, because Jack Abbot is many things: a trauma doctor, a former Army medic, an early riser, a sucker for banana bread, and, apparently, a man who cannot walk away from a lopsided stuffed animal when his wife is seven months pregnant and pretending not to panic.

It was November. You were out of town for a three-day audit, third-party federal grant oversight in a township that hadn’t updated its municipal books since Y2K. The firm had booked you a chain hotel near a ski slope, and Jack came with you, under the guise of "reading through case reports" and "making sure you don’t slip on ice in those ridiculous boots."

Really, he just wanted to be close. He didn't say it like that, of course, he never does. But you knew. You always know with Jack. Even when he’s 'trying' not to hover.

You were stressed. Not because of the pregnancy, though your lower back was killing you and you’d started crying over the dumbest things, like an insurance hold recording that played Clair de Lune, but because no one in that town could answer a straight question about fiscal year rollover. You’d snapped at someone’s nephew who tried to “mansplain” restricted versus unrestricted funding. Jack had looked on, then handed you a Gatorade and said, 

“God, I love you.”

On the last day of the audit, you finished early and decided to walk into town. You wanted tea. He wanted beef jerky. It started snowing sideways the second you stepped onto the sidewalk, and by the time you went into a café, your nose was red, your boots were soaked, and you were threatening to audit every single business on Main Street for emotional reparation.

You told Jack to wait for your tea, but he padded next door into a little shop with a warped front window and a bell that didn’t ring right. It smelled like dust and pine and woodsmoke, an old-world place with handmade soaps and fudge and knickknacks with no business costing twenty dollars.

He was browsing with no purpose, half-wet from snow, when he saw it.

Duck.

She wasn’t special. Just a little stuffed duck sitting alone on a shelf that drooped under the weight of local honey and novelty mugs. She was soft, not new-soft, but loved-soft. Faded yellow, stitched eyes too far apart. A little crooked. A little stupid-looking. Jack picked her up without thinking.

He held her for a long time. Long enough that the woman behind the counter said, “She’s been here forever. No one ever wants the duck.”

That was all it took.

He bought it without telling you. Slipped her into your overnight bag between your laptop charger and a lint roller. That night, ankles aching and deadlines still buzzing behind your eyes, you went into the bag for your charger, and instead, your fingers brushed something soft.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, holding the duck aloft in your hand.

Jack didn’t even look up from his medical journal. “That’s Duck.”

You blinked. “Is this supposed to be for the baby?”

“Nope,” he said, turning the page. “That one’s for you.”

You snorted. “She looks like she’s been through the Great Depression.”

“She has,” he said. “She’s earned her place.”

You rolled your eyes and tucked Duck beside your leg, muttering something about how if he was going to start buying you sad plushies every time you worked a 14-hour day, you were going to need a second suitcase.

Duck came home with you. Got shoved onto a nursery shelf somewhere between the fetal Doppler and the box of hand-me-down swaddles you hadn’t figured out yet. 

Bean was born during the first real storm of the year, week 40, middle of the night, the type of labor that comes on slow and then barrels through you like it’s always known the way. You woke Jack at 2:57 a.m., and he was already halfway to alert before you even spoke. He moved like a soldier on instinct, steady and fast, not wasting breath on panic.

By the time you got to the hospital, contractions were clawing through you every few minutes, and Jack was gripping the steering wheel like he could will the snow to part. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t flinch when he found out your OB was stuck behind a pileup on 376. He went straight to the trauma bay, found Robby mid-round, and said, “I need you in the room.” No hesitation. Just Jack, calm, direct, already doing the math on what you needed before you even asked.

He never left your side. Not once.

Not when the contractions built like fire. Not when the room blurred at the edges. Not when the pain stole your words and your pride. He held your hand, pressed his forehead to yours, and said, again and again, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Like a prayer. Like a promise. Like it was the only thing he’d ever meant.

And when she came, loud, alive, perfect, Jack didn’t speak. Not at first. He just stood there, eyes full, hand covering his mouth like the sight of her had hit something deep and old in him. Like he was seeing everything start over.

He kissed your forehead. Brushed a tear from your cheek.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it.”

And you, tough-as-nails compliance queen, accountant with a spine of steel, just melted. Because no audit, no federal code, no hard-won battle had ever been as exacting, or as worth it, as this.

And after, when she was finally home, you saw something shift in him. Like something he'd been carrying finally glided off his shoulders. He held her like she was the first soft thing that ever touched him. Like he already knew her.

Weeks later, when the exhaustion had curdled into delirium, and you were two minutes from googling “can newborns join the Army,” she started crying uncontrollably. Nothing worked. Not the rocking. Not the shushing. Not Jack’s five-part emergency plan that he claimed worked on colicky twins overseas. 

Until Duck.

Jack didn’t even hesitate. He walked to the shelf, grabbed her, and placed her, softly, next to your daughter’s little bundled body.

She stopped crying immediately.

She reached for Duck like she knew. Like she’d been waiting.

And that was it.

Duck became her person. Her shadow. Her second heartbeat. You called her a traitor within days. Jack would laugh and stitch her back together every time she got mauled in the laundry or dipped in applesauce. Duck got packed for every trip. Buckled in the car. Held out for kisses. Named before anything else.

“Dada,” she said one morning, holding Duck out like an offering. “Duck.”

And Jack? Jack melted. Because Duck was the first thing he gave her. The first quiet, unspoken gesture. Something silly, soft, entirely his, and she picked it. Picked him.

Now, Duck rules the household with toddler fists and sovereign immunity. She’s been sworn in at bedtime like a sacred relic. She gets pardoned when she’s misplaced and forgiven when she betrays. She’s the first thing your daughter reaches for when she wakes up and the last thing she lets go of when she sleeps.

And every time Jack sees her, tucked in your daughter’s arms, dragged through the yard, kissed goodnight, he just looks at you and smiles.

Because you rolled your eyes. Because you didn’t believe.

But Jack always did. About Duck. About the baby. About you.

He chose her. She chose him. And that’s the whole damn story.

[leighsartworks216]

Fistfight

Sylus x gn!Reader / Sylus & gn!Reader

IT'S FINALLY FINISHED AHHH I'm so glad I was finally able to get this goddamn idea out of my head

Can be read as romantic, platonic, or familial (ie. Sylus adopting another young bird for his flock lol)

Title from "Fistfight" by The Ballroom Thieves

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood, injury, injured animal, guns, abusive parent, slow burn, potentially confusing pov, shapeshifting, literal sleeping together

Word Count: 4,381

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third - Fourth LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus stops at the mouth of the alley. He stares into the heavy darkness, listening. He thought he heard someone swearing under their breath. If it’s another one of the bastards that tried to gang up on him just minutes ago, he’s going to be pissed.

With an outstretched hand, tendrils of his Evol dive into the depths of the abyss, shoving past and under dumpsters and discarded boxes to find the source of the sound. A yowl screams out with the distinct sound of cans being knocked over. They wrap around the source and draw it out into the orange lamplight.

A cat wriggles and hisses as it tries to futilely claw out of his Evol’s grasp. He hmphs. Of course, it makes sense for a cat to be out here. The N109 Zone is probably chock full of strays and-

He frowns and draws it closer. It tries swiping at his face, but he barely flinches back. The side of its body is stained in deep crimson. Fur matted down with blood. Fresh blood, too. It’s still dripping, landing on the sidewalk in persistent drips.

“Did you get into a fight?” He knows his question won’t receive an answer, but the cat does struggle less once he’s asked it. Perhaps it’s just growing weaker with blood loss.

He sighs. He can’t leave it here in the alley; it would be dead in the next few hours if he did. And clearly it won’t let him touch it, given the way it bares its fangs at him with a sharp hiss and a swipe of its claws.

He pulls off his coat and holds it open. The tendrils deposit the cat quickly within his arms, where he wraps it securely in the leather before it can squirm away. “You’ve still got spirit,” he hums, half-amused, as he continues on his way. “Hopefully you’ll live through the night.”

-

“Uh, Boss? What’cha got there?” Kieran trails just behind him, trying to peer around his arm to see the bundle wrapped up in them.

Luke is on his other side, doing just the same. “Why is it moving like that?”

“It’s a cat.” The Twins look at each other. “Call a vet. Have them send over a doctor to look at it.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Luke says with a half-finger salute.

“And get some fish from the kitchen.”

“Right away, Boss,” Kieran mirrors his brother.

They break away from him to go about their tasks. He can hear their hushed conversation asking each other what they think happened. The cat manages to free a paw and claw at his hand. The scratch is deep enough to draw blood. It fades away into flecks of red and black a moment later. He sighs as he pulls open the door to his office. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

The door shuts, his hold loosens, and the cat is squirming out as fast as possible. It jumps wildly onto the couch, staining the dark leather with blood and whatever god awful garbage stuck to its paws from that alleyway.

Now that he’s back home, he can see its injuries much better. It seems like there’s a hole in its side, too large and too perfectly round to be from an animal’s tooth or claws. Sylus frowns deeper. Did this cat get shot? Was it a poor attempt at pest control? Humans have been known to have a poor track record with strays and ferals, and the residents of the N109 Zone aren’t known to hesitate to remove what annoys them.

There’s a knock at the door behind him. The cat sits up straighter, like it’s ready to bolt the second it opens. He quirks a challenging brow at it. Who will win this fight, he wonders.

He turns the knob without looking away. The door opens up enough for someone to slip inside. He turns to address Kieran, and the cat makes a break for it.

It collides into a wall of smoke.

“Here’s the fish, Boss. Vet’s on their way.”

He pays no attention to the yowling and hissing of the cat as he examines the container in his hand. It’s certainly a bit fancy for a stray. Hopefully it’ll be enough to calm it down.

The door closes with a hum of dismissal. The wall vanishes, leaving only a worn-out cat and a scratched up rug behind. It looks up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hungry?” He hooks a finger around the pull tab and removes the lid on the can. Immediately, the overbearing scent of fish fills the room. He sets it down a foot or so away from the cat, steps back, and watches.

It continues to stare at him for a minute. It’s almost unsettling. Like there’s something more behind its eyes that he’s not privy to.

Soon enough, though, the hunger must be too much for the little thing. It slowly stands up. He watches it carefully as it limps over to the fish. Its back leg doesn’t appear to be damaged; maybe it just hurts to move too much with how close it is to the hole in its side. The cat lowers itself down on its stomach, shoulders hunched, prepared to run at any given moment, and gives the can a distrusting sniff.

The first bite feels like a major success. If it can fight and it can eat, maybe it really can pull through this.

-

The cat glares at him from across the room. Its tail flicks angrily from side to side. And there is no way in hell he can take it seriously.

If the cone around its neck didn’t remove any and all intimidation, its shaved fur certainly did.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat look so pissed!” Luke cackles. He’s sitting on the floor. For the last few days, he’s been trying to “be one with the cat” in order to get close enough to pet it. He’s got bandages all over his hands to show for it.

“Do you think it knows it would’ve died without that surgery?” Kieran asks. He’s sitting on the couch behind his brother, arms crossed. Of all three of them, the cat seems to like him the best. Though, the bar really is in hell.

Sylus shakes his head. “Do you think it would be so angry if it did?”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Oh!” Luke suddenly jumps up, startling the cat, and runs over to a bag by the door. “I almost forgot I got these! There’s gotta be something in here it likes.”

He hauls the bag over and drops it onto the nice mahogany desk of their leader. Sylus doesn’t say anything, merely watches as Luke pulls out various items. Two kinds of brushes, little catnip mice toys, feathers dangling from a stick, at least three kinds of treats-

Kieran laughs. “When did you get all of this stuff?” He’s suddenly by Luke’s side, picking up one of the dangle toys and bouncing it in front of Mephisto, resting on his perch nearby. The crow squawks indignantly.

Luke shrugs with a proud expression. “I have my ways. Here, let’s try these!” He grabs one of the treat bags and tears it open. He returns to his place on the floor. The cat stares up at him with interest. “Want this?”

Its tail slows down slightly, a smidge less irritated than before. Luke nearly squeals with excitement when it leans forward to smell the morsel in his hand.

A sharp ringtone startles it. It backs away, tucking itself into the corner of its makeshift bed made out of spare blankets far too expensive for a cat to be laying on like it does.

Sylus lifts his phone to his ear. “Speak.”

The Twins both turn to watch. He listens silently to the man on the other end. It seems the boss of the men who ambushed him the other night is trying to cover his ass, offering up apologies and ‘I had no idea’s and ‘How can I make it up to you?’s. He hums noncommittally into the receiver as he stands up and heads for the door. He nods to the Twins, a silent message for them to follow. The crow flies and lands on his shoulder as he leaves. Luke sets the treat down on the carpet. Kieran nudges him. The door shuts behind them.

The cat stares at the door for a minute longer. It listens carefully to the footsteps of its captors. Once it can’t hear them anymore, it waits a few more minutes…

Fucking finally.

-

Sylus's steps slow to a stop just inside the room. The cone lay abandoned on the couch. All the furniture and rugs are destroyed, clawed up and torn apart. The culprit is sitting on the desk. It stares at him blankly.

The door closes with a click. He walks over to the couch, leaning over the back to pick up the abandoned cone. He turns it over. There's no scratches, no bite marks, and the cord that holds it shut has been tied with a different knot than the vet used.

He looks back over at the cat. Its tail twitches anxiously beside it.

Trouble. Just like he suspected. Though, not quite like this.

"As long as you aren't licking at your stitches," he concedes. He steps over to the desk and drops the cone on top, near the cat. "Hm. You need more pain medication, don't you?"

"Mreow."

"Oh, so you do know how to speak nicely." He rounds the desk. The cat turns to face him the whole time. At least it doesn't try to scratch him as he opens the top drawer and pulls out an orange bottle. He struggles momentarily to get just one of the small pills, resorting to dumping some into the cap just to make it easier on himself, and holds it out to the cat. It hesitantly leans out to sniff it. "Don't most animals like to have their meds hidden?"

It makes a little sound, as though trying to chastise him for his misconception. He holds the pill patiently. Waits with all the patience of someone willing to let the world disintegrate around them. He almost holds his breath when it takes the pill from his fingers and retreats to eat it safely.

Progress. Good progress, for how short the cat's been here. Eating out of his hand is a good sign, for how odd the rest of its behavior is.

-

"Ah, shit, wait!"

The cat runs down the hall. Two sets of footsteps chase after it, hissing pleas for it to come back and be a good kitty. They cartoonishly skid to a stop when it runs through another open door.

Luke turns slowly to Kieran. Both of them are horrified for what comes next.

After a quick round of rock, paper, scissors, Kieran is the one forced to crack open the door further.

Sylus is sitting up on his bed, back against the headboard. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling in a normal pattern. Fast asleep. A frown is set deep on his face.

Kieran looks around the room. It's huge, has a lot of hiding spots, and seems to be completely devoid of the cat. Did it slip by somehow? Did it actually go into a different room? He glances at Mephisto, who seems far too busy preening its faux feathers to care about his plight.

Fearing the consequences of lingering any longer, Kieran slowly backs away and closes the door as quietly as possible. He shrugs at his brother. Luke is just as confused as he is, gesturing in a silent conversation.

Deciding they were both somehow, somehow tricked, they continue their hunt further down the hall…

The cat pokes its head out from behind its cover. Honestly, it didn't mean to get trapped in here. It was just trying to lose the two goons on its tail.

The presence on the bed doesn't do a lot to put it at ease. The man confuses it with his callousness. One minute, he's manhandling it with his Evol, and the next he's giving it food and making sure its wounds are taken care of. It's not that he's mean, as far as the cat can tell. He's nice to those guys, anyway, humoring their weird little ideas and eccentricities.

Mephisto hops down beside it. The cat's back curls, fur all standing on end as it hisses at the metal bird. He seems just as unfazed by the warning as the man is.

"Leave it."

The command startles the cat, putting it on higher alert as it whips around to hiss at the man. He pays it no mind. Mephisto caws irritatedly as he flies back up to his perch.

“You aren’t supposed to be running around.” Sylus glances at the cat. "Do you want to leave?" he asks in a low murmur, words slurred slightly with sleep. He waits for a response. Waits for any sort of tell that would let him know to open the door for the cat. But nothing comes.

The cat's fur is still standing up as it cautiously makes its way over. It stops at the side of the bed, adjusting its body as it gauges the distance it needs to jump to make it onto the thick mattress. Sylus chuckles tiredly. "You can't jump that, kitten. Want some help?"

It puts its paw on the overhanging bedding, standing on its back legs. Then, it meets his eyes. "Mreoww."

He waves his hand. Red and black Evol lift the cat onto the bed before fading. It's a little unsteady on the softer surface, but it catches its balance soon enough. It takes a single step away from the edge, then lays down.

He hums, but he doesn't say anything more. If the cat wants to stay there for the rest of the day, so be it. The Twins won't come looking for it again in here, and Mephisto isn't going to snitch to them of all people.

He shuts his eyes again, ignores the cat staring at him, and falls asleep.

Slowly, the cat's fur smoothes down. It allows itself to curl up into a more comfortable position. It keeps an eye on him until it can't anymore, as sleep claims it, too.

-

Every day for the next couple weeks, this continued.

For the first few days, Sylus would head off to bed, leaving the door cracked open behind him. The cat would come in a while later. If he was awake, he'd use his Evol to lift it up. If he wasn't, well, it meowed persistently until he was.

Sylus soon set up a pet stair beside the bed. This way, it could climb up without having to wake him. With that, it also began following him in right as he went to bed. He'd been pleasantly surprised the first time, when he opened the door and it slipped in quickly through his legs, ran up the stairs and stared at him. When he woke up at sundown, he noticed that it was just a couple inches closer than before.

Every few days, it shifted closer and closer, until it was within arm's reach. Though, he never tried reaching out to pet it. It was clear by their interactions at night that it was not ready for that sort of attention, no matter how desperately Luke tried to just pat its head once. Like a silent agreement, he would offer it protection in the day while they both slept and leave it to its own devices at night.

-

“Cat seems to be feeling a lot better, huh?” Kieran follows the feline around the room as it wanders gracefully along shelf after shelf of lethal weapons.

“Shouldn’t we get it down from there?” Luke wonders. His phone is lifted, taking photos of the cat, just as he’d been doing for all the time it’s been living in the base.

Sylus looks up to watch with them, the gun in his own hand going ignored.

The cat walks slowly. Its focus is solely on the guns on display, observing each one like it’s a museum. He watches as it comes to a stop in front of one - one he himself altered and upgraded. It stares. Paws lightly at it. It’s not loaded, there’s no danger, but there is an intense interest he’s never seen a cat have before. Like it’s thinking, trying to work something out with knowledge it shouldn’t have.

A camera shutter startles it from its focus. It turns its head toward the Twins and meows annoyedly at them.

Sylus shakes his head. “Leave it be. Start gathering product for our client.”

Luke slips his phone into his pocket with a half-salute. Both of them look a moment longer at the cat, staring down at them with a twitching tail, before getting back to work. They pack enhanced rifles into a sturdy case, fitting them into foam cutouts in layers. Big metal clasps hold the case shut. Each rifle glows dimly with protocore energy. Mostly red, some blue, a couple yellow. Sylus looks over one, turning it over in his hands, checking the quality. From the corner of his eye, the cat keeps watch, tail flicking back and forth all the while.

-

“I’m so sorry again for my men’s ambush, Mr. Qin.” The man bows solemnly, hands rubbing together. He’s shorter than Sylus, but he’s bulky, with thick arms and a barrel chest. His smile is disarming. Eyes too bright and kind. When he straightens out again, he’s rubbing his wrist, as though realigning the joint. “My child ran away, you see. I sent them out looking for them, but they saw you and decided not to waste the opportunity.”

Sylus quirks an eyebrow. “Did you men have a reason to try taking my life?”

The man laughs, quite undisturbed by the question. “To prove their capabilities, no doubt. You are quite famous for your strength, after all, and those young men did not understand the consequences to come from failing. To be sure, in their minds, they must have believed themselves so capable as to not fail.”

“Must have.”

With a nod, one of his henchmen steps forward with a bulky case. He deposits it in front of the Onychinus leader, clicking it open where it rests on his desk. Stacks of protocores, gleaming in a rainbow of colors, fill the case to the brim. They aren’t run of the mill either; a case of this size with this many authentically powerful crystals would take the Hunter’s Association years to amass. Yet here they are, for the taking.

“You should know these are worth more than the weapons you requested.”

“But of course! Consider it a gift of good will, and a hope for future business between our groups.”

There’s a scratch at the door. Soft, yet recognizable to Sylus, who flicks a finger and opens the door a crack. Just as always, the cat squeezes through. But this time, it pauses when it sees Sylus’s client. When he looks at the client, he looks just as caught as the cat.

The air becomes tense and stifling. No sound to be heard as the cat moves silently and quickly across the floor. The man and his lackeys watch, wide-eyed, as the cat leaps up into Sylus’s lap. It’s the first time it’s ever found a place there. For all these weeks, it has always kept a careful distance from everyone, even the Twins and their persistent desire to pet it. Now, out of nowhere, it chooses to cross that boundary it set entirely?

It lays down, front paws tucked under itself, large eyes with slit-pupils staring at the man on the other side of the desk.

The man’s jaw tightens. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s on a thin wire; Sylus can feel the rage beginning to leak off of his being. Even without looking into his soul, he can see the truth behind that easy-going mask he wears; the blackened heart rotting inside. When he finally looks back up at Sylus, he forces a strained grin and chokes out a sharp laugh without mirth.

“Mr. Qin, I believe you said you had no involvement in my child’s disappearance.”

Sylus’s brow furrows, an intimidating warning. “I stand by that.”

The man’s cheek twitches. “You do? Ha!” His hands fall to his sides, hands clenched in tight fists. “Then the little fuck has been pulling you along like a fool. Hiding away as a cat this whole fucking time, haven’t you?”

He feels the cat tense in his lap. It sits stock-still. Even its tail is stiff. Like one small move would pull the pin to set everything off. He doesn’t even notice himself sitting up straighter in return. Doesn’t realize he’s as tense until his finger begins tapping at the arm of his chair, ready for what could happen next.

“Tell you what, Mr. Qin. Hand them over and I’ll send over three more boxes just like that,” he offers through grit teeth, nodding to the case on his desk.

“I think if they’d wanted to go with you, they’d have done so already,” he rebuts. “Considering they could have run back home weeks ago, it seems to me their choice is already clear.”

His jaw shifts. Teeth grinding, smile starting to sour into an ugly grimace. “Mr. Qin-”

“The deal’s off,” Sylus interrupts sharply. The man blinks, wide-eyed in shock. “If you refuse to respect my guests in my own home-”

“THEY’RE MY CHILD!” he roars.

“In my home.” He gestures. Luke and Kieran step out from behind him, grabbing the cases of guns and settling them behind his chair, safely out of reach. He tilts his head. Shadows cast over his eyes until they’re embers in the dark. “Why would you send trigger-happy men to retrieve them?”

The man is silent. Fuming. Steam would be pouring from his ears if it could. His fists shake by his side with force, aching to hurt something - someone.

A large, protective hand rests gently over the cat’s back. Barely even touching.

“Get out.”

The man stays still. His guards stand rigid.

Sylus tsks. Red and black tendrils of mist erupt from his hand. They shoot out, grabbing hold of the man and his guards, contorting their legs and arms and bodies like dolls. Sickening cracks, gut-wrenching screams. Their bodies puppeteered out the door, down the hall.

He uncovers the cat. “Make sure they leave without a fuss,” he commands, nodding at the case on the desk. “Take that with you.”

The Twins shut and lock the case back up, whispering questions to themselves as they glance back on their way out. They don’t fully understand what happened. To them, it just sounds like this guy was a crazy pet-dad whose cat got out.

The cat slowly stands from his lap. He watches as it hops on top of his desk, turning back around to face him as it sits. Its tail still shifts anxiously. Paws shift nervously against the wood, as though it’s trying to knead it.

Sylus’s lips quirk into a slight smirk. “Jig’s up, kitten.”

It looks away from him. Fur begins to recede and shift. Limbs elongate and the body sits upright. In a matter of seconds, where once a cat sat, sits a person. You rub your arm, still looking away. He shifts to uncross his legs and you flinch. He slowly finishes the action with a sigh. All of your attitude, your defiance, locked away from the presence of your father alone. He can only imagine how such cruelty against you began. Every scenario makes him wish he’d done worse when “escorting” him out.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

You glance at him. “I used you.”

He nods. “I knew something was strange weeks ago,” he admits. You look at him wide-eyed and he chuckles. “Ever since your cone was removed and I gave you medicine. You removed it yourself, didn’t you?”

“... It was uncomfortable.”

He grins, but continues with an edge of softness, “You used me for your own protection. And given what I just witnessed, I’d say it was well justified.”

You let out a soft breath. Your shoulders relax slightly, adjusting to his kindness. It was nothing you didn’t already witness in your time here, with you in your cat form and the two kids he keeps around, but it’s still quite foreign. “I would have left sooner, but then you kept getting phone calls from my dad. I was scared he’d still be looking for me, so I stayed… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to.” He glances at the time. When he stands, he moves carefully, but you don’t flinch away. He holds out a hand, an offering. “I’d imagine you’re getting tired of eating cat food every day. I’ll have my chef prepare something for you. Anything you’d like.”

You look down at his open palm. Then up at his face. There’s nothing guarded or threatening, outside of his height and aura. And the promise of real food - your stomach growls at the thought alone.

You put your hand in his. His touch is soft and gentle. He helps you down from his desk and leads you out of the room, down familiar halls. “What about after?” you ask uncertainly.

He shrugs a shoulder, like he’d already thought of every outcome before you even thought of the question. “That’s up to you, kitten. You’re welcome to stay here, or you can leave. Either way, I’ll make sure you remain protected.”

It’s like a weight lifts off your shoulders. Freedom and protection rolled into one. You’re no longer confined to your home, in fear for your very life. You can go anywhere, do anything, and know, no matter how far, you’ll be safe. You hold on tighter to his hand, catching up to walk directly by his side. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“That’s my name.”

He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

That night, a familiar cat curls up tightly in his lap, fast asleep and purring loudly.

---

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[sturniqlo]

THE MOVE- MATT STURN

summary: y/n and matt, once former classmates, reunite when both of them move down the street from each other and become closer than ever

cw: cursing, mention of underage drinking(main characters are 18!) , SMUT; car sex, unprotected p in v, making out, hickies, oral!f!receiving, cream pie

an: thank you so much for 1000 followers??! HELLO?! i love every. single. one. of. you.💋💋

masterlist | join my taglist

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

"I'm moving to Springville in the summer." Y/n tells her best friend. "What? Really?" Her best friend cries. "Yeah, my parents found a really good deal on a house over there. I'm leaving after graduation." She frowns, trying to not let the tears out. Her and Steph have been friends for over thirteen years.

"Hey, don't make me cry." Y/n tries to smile to lighten up the mood. "At least we have a couple of months left together." Springville was about two and a half away from where they currently live. "And- and we can drive back and forth to meet each other!" Y/n wipes her best friends' tears away.

"Okay, okay you're right! No crying! We still have a couple of months." Steph repeats Y/ns' words. "Let's go get milkshakes and fries." Y/n suggests, they love going to their local diner and getting their usual vanilla milkshake and a basket of fries. Ever since they turned eighteen, their parents granted them permission to drive alone and they've been driving everywhere together any chance they could.

"Good idea."

The next day at school, the word spread around their friend group and distant friends that Y/n would be moving in the summer. "Y/n, we're going to miss you!" "Y/n don't go!" "What? Are you serious?!" Were phrases she heard all day. At lunch, she stood up to go to the bathroom and she ran into one of her other friends.

"Hey, Y/n. I heard you're moving to Springville this summer. My friend Matt is also moving over there this summer. You know Matt, right? He's one of the triplets." The girl dried her hands on a paper towel. "Really? And yeah, I know of Matt. He's the one we have third period with?" Y/n makes sure she doesn't mix the triplets up. She's talked to Matt here and there, however she's 'closer' with Nick due to the fact that they have and have had a lot of periods together over the past four years. As for Chris, she's had at least five conversations with him. "Yeah! That's him! You two should hangout when you settle in!" Y/n nods. "Totally!"

When they get out the bathroom, they go their separate ways. Y/n texted her friend group that she wouldn't be returning to lunch due to having to head to the office for some paperwork. Which was a lie, she just wanted a break from socializing so she headed to the library.

It was now summer and it had been a couple of days since Y/n had graduated. Y/n and her parents were packing up their belongings into the moving trucks. "I'll miss you so much! Promise we'll try to hang out as much as we can?" Steph hugs her tightly now that they had finished moving Y/n's boxes into the truck. "I promise, I'll miss you so much too." She rocks them side to side. "Y/n, it's time to go." Her mom comes up, from saying goodbye to Steph's parents, and puts a hand on Y/n's shoulder.

"I'll try to come and visit you within the next few weeks okay?" Steph pulls away from the hug and Y/n nods. "Bye, Steph." "Bye, Y/n." Steph gives one last hug to Y/n before stepping to where her parents are standing. "We'll see you there, Mr.Y/l/n." One of the movers tells Y/n's dad before getting in the truck and backing out of the driveway.

"Y/n, honey, we're leaving in ten." Y/n and her parents have been in their new house for about seven hours now and they were going to head to dinner since they hadn't gone grocery shopping yet. "Coming!" She finishes putting her bedsheets on her bed. Once she finishes, she rummages through the many boxes of clothes and picks out a simple outfit. "I'm ready." She says, coming down the stairs. "You got some stuff done?" Her mom asks, looking through her purse.

Y/n had been working on her room for about an hour because she was helping her parents unpack the living room and kitchen. "A bit, just need to hang my clothes up and fix my vanity." Her dad comes into view. "Garage is all set, let's go eat dinner. I'm starving." He grabs the car keys from his pocket.

"Oh look, another family is moving in." Y/n's dad slows the car down as they drive past the house with many boxes outside. "Maybe we can welcome them." Her mom says from the front seat. "We look like some stalkers just stopped in front of the house." Y/n giggles.

The next week, Y/n had luckily made some friends while she was out shopping. When she had gotten home from hanging out with them for the first time, she got many new friend requests from unknown people. omg! do any of you guys know any of these people? lol Y/n sends a screenshot to the group chat of the thirty new requests. yes accept them!! we went to school with them, the boy group is hosting a party on saturday you HAVE to come with us!!! One of her new friends types back. really? i'm down!! She replies.

Once she accepts and follow the people back, many stories pop up on her feed. Clicking on someone named Easton, a picture of a table full of food pops up, the next one is a quick video and it pans to a group of boys, in the corner she spots Matt. Holding down on the video, she makes sure it's him and suddenly remembers that Matt also moved down to Springville.

"Should I dm him?" She whispers to herself. Going to her following, she searches Matt's name up and clicks on his profile. She goes to click message, but then decides to press the following button to unfollow him. Waiting a couple of seconds, she follows him again, hoping to get a dm from him. As much as she wanted to text him, she didn't want to make the first move.

Y/n turns off her phone and places it face down on her chest, looking up at her light bulbs. Soon, her eyes start to closes but she feels her phone buzz on her chest. She grabs her phone and sees a dm from Matt.

matt.sturniolo

hi y/n :))

y/n/y/l/n

hi matt!!

matt.sturniolo

i heard you moved down to springville a couple of weeks ago

y/n/y/l/n

yeahh i did

i also heard you did too

matt.sturniolo

yeah, i've been here for a couple of weeks now, we should hangout sometime

my friends are throwing a party on saturday i could pick you up if you want?

y/n/y/l/n

oh yeah, my friends told me about that party.

sure, it seven a good time?

matt.sturniolo

alright! send me your address

y/n/y/l/n

it's 123 Vine St

matt.sturniolo

no way?? you're down the street from me. i'm 129

y/n/y/l/n

really?? what a coincidence lmao

They eventually exchanged numbers and texted for the next hour or so. That night, Y/n fell asleep with a smile on her face. Both Y/n and Matt had never really talked throughout high school even though they had mutual friends.

Saturday came fairly quickly. Y/n had started working at a restaurant as a hostess and she had just came back from her shift. "Are you still going to that party?" Her mom says. "Yeah, remember Matt? He's one of the triplets." Her mom nods. "He's picking me up, I found out he lives in that one house we saw when we moved in."

Y/n was now getting ready, she was finishing her makeup up when she got a message from Matt.

matt

hi are you almost ready?

y/n

yeah, just finishing my makeup

i can walk to your house if you want me to

matt

no, it's fine i can pick you up

y/n

alright, thank you :))

Five minutes later, she heard a beep outside her house. "I'll be back later." She tells her mom before exiting the house. "Hi, Matt." She says as she gets in the passenger seat. "Hi, Y/n. You look nice." Y/n blushes. "Thanks, so do you." Now it's Matt's turn to blush. "Your brothers aren't coming?" Y/n asks as she doesn't see the two other guys. "They decided to stay in. They said they aren't ready for their first Springville party, whatever that means." They giggle.

"So, how do you feel about moving down here?" Matt spins the steering wheel to get out of their neighborhood. "It's okay, I miss my friends back home. Especially Steph, you know her?" Matt nods. "She's the one who has purple highlights, right?" Y/n hums. "Yeah that's her. How about you? You like it here?" Y/n asks. "I love it actually, I like how it's a smaller city. My brothers are having a hard time with it though."

Once Matt finds a parking spot. They hop out the car and make their way to the house that's blasting music. "Y/n! Hey!" They both turn around and see Y/n's friends making their way to them. "Hey girls!" The three girls smile at Y/n and then look at Matt who is standing next to her. "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Matt, we went to high school together!" Matt does a small wave. "Awe, you drove two hours to come see Y/n, how sweet." One girl says. "O-oh I- uh I moved here the same time she did." He chuckles. "Hey, Matt!" They hear a distant voice from behind. Matt turns around and sees his friend calling him over. "I'll see you inside?" Y/n nods. "Yeah!" As Matt walks away, her friends gasp. "Y/n! You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend!" Her face turns red as they continue to walk again.

"Matt's not my boyfriend! We just started talking." She shrugs. "Oh, so you two are talking talking." One smirks. "What?! I don't know? Yes- no! We're not. Just- we're talking as friends." She states. "That's what they all say." Her friends then tell her how bad of a driver their uber was.

"Hey, sorry I haven't been with you." Matt touches her waist to make himself know to her. "It's fine." She turns around and smiles at him. "My friends wanted me to keep track of their beer pong score since I'm probably the only one sober here." He laughs. "That makes two of us." Y/n takes a drink of her water bottle. "Wanna go outside? It's a bit stuffy in here." Y/n nods and Matt grabs her hands and leads her outside.

On the way outside, her friends spot her and give her a thumbs up and she rolls her eyes jokingly. "Holy shit, it's so much better out here." Matt feels the fresh air hit him. "I agree." They both find an empty bench in the backyard and decide to sit there.

"I can't believe we've never hung out during high school." Matt says, looking at her. "I cant believe it either. You're actually really fun to be around and talk to." Y/n nods. "So I was boring in high school is what you're trying to say?" Matt raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "No! Of course not!" She laughs. "I'm kidding, I thought you were pretty intimidating, though." He says. "Really? Why'd you think that?" He shrugs. "You always looked so serious, and you never really talked much."

What seemed like hours of talking, Y/n looked at the time and saw it was almost one in the morning. "You ready to go?" Matt asks. "I think so, you?" He nods. "Come on let's go." Matt stands up and holds his hand out for her. "You don't wanna say bye to your friends?" Matt says and she shakes her head. "They left quickly, one of my friends snuck out her house and she got caught so they left."

"Are you hungry? We can go eat somewhere or do you have to be home?" Y/n shakes her head as Matt leaves the parking spot. "We can go eat somewhere."

Matt gets onto the main street and takes Y/n to a 24/7 diner. "Have you been here before?" He asks as he pulls into the parking lot. "Mm-mm," She shakes her head before speaking again. "I've driven by here, but I've never eaten here." Matt parks and turns off the car. "It's really good, probably one of my favorite places here." Before he gets out the car Y/n asks him a question. "Hey, Matt. Do you happen to have a sweater or something? I don't want to go in wearing this." She motions down to her see through shirt.

"I think I do." He closes the driver door and opens the back door, Y/n gets out the passenger door and meets Matt where he's at. "Here you go." He hands her a plain black hoodie. "Thanks." She grabs it from him and puts it on. "Let's go." He nods his head towards the diner.

"Hi, welcome to Rubys." The hostess greets them, a nice middle aged lady. "Hello, for two, please." Matt speaks next to Y/n. "Of course," She grabs two menus. "Right this way." She signals them to follow her. "Thank you." Y/n says as they sit down and the lady lets them know she'll be back to take their orders. "Are you hungry hungry or hungry?" Y/n giggles and opens up the menu. "I'm hungry. We can share a meal if you want." He smiles at her.

"Chicken tenders and fries?" Y/n raises an eyebrow, smiling. "Sounds good!" When the waitress comes back, they order their shared meal, and order their own milkshakes. "And- sorry, I'm getting a call." Matt is interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. "What Chris?" He says impatiently, wanting to go back and talk to Y/n. "Where are you?" Chris says. "I'm at Rubys with Y/n." He replies. "Ouu, a date." Matt scoffs at Chris' teasing. "No, stop it." He mutters. "Can you bring me and Nick some food? We'll pay you." Chris asks. "Alright, I have to go, bye." Matt hangs up, already knowing their order. "Sorry, they wanted some food." He laughs. "It's fine." She giggles.

Matt was now dropping off Y/n, parked in front of her fence. "Thank you for tonight, Matt. I had fun." She says, grabbing her purse. "Me too, I'll see you around?" Y/n nods. "Oh! Here, your sweater." As she goes to take it off Matt stops her. "It's okay, you can keep it." He smiles. "You sure?" She says. "Of course."

"Thanks." She leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. "See you around."

It was a week after the party, and both Matt and Y/n have been texting every hour of everyday ever since that night. "So are you two talking or what?" Nick asks his brother. "I guess you could put it that way." He tries his hardest not to blush. "Look at him! He's blushing!" Chris teases, pointing at Matt. "Leave him alone!"

Nighttime came around and Matt was antsy to see her. do you wanna go driving? He types and sends it to her. just me n you. He adds on. i would love to. Matt smile at her text before replying back. pick you up in three ;)

Matt throws on a hoodie and grabs his keys, heading out of his room. "Where are you going at," Nick says from the couch in the living room, looking at his phone. "ten fifty two pm?" He adds. "I'm going on a drive with Y/n."

I'm here. Matt sends Y/n a message instead of beeping, knowing half of the block is probably in bed by now. Going! She quickly replies back. Matt looks at Y/ns' house and sees the front porch light turn on and then the front door opening seconds later with Y/n coming out.

Y/n quickly makes her way to his car. "Hi, Matt." Y/n leans over the center console and kisses his cheek. "Hi, Y/n." He kisses her cheek quickly after. "Wanna go to the convenience store and get some snacks?" He asks, looking over at her before looking back at the road. "Yeah, I could go for some chips right now." She agrees.

After their quick trip to the store Matt finds an empty parking lot and parks the car. As they finished their snack, they washed it down with their drinks. "I-" "So," They say at the same time and they giggle. "You can go." Y/n says. "I- I wanted to tell you that I'm really enjoying our time together." Y/n's mouth opens a bit in shock. "Oh, Matt, I-" Matt can't really read her expression. "Shit! I'm sorry did I ruin it? Fuck, I should've never-" He gets cut off by Y/n smashing her lips against his.

It takes Matt a few seconds to realize what's happening before he moves his lips against hers. The kiss gets heated by the second and before they know it, Y/n is on his lap. Unfortunately, they get interrupted by Y/n's ass pressing up against the horn startling them. "Oh shit!" They say in unison and laugh with their foreheads pressed against one anothers.

Matt rubs his hands over her waist. "Wanna meet me in the back seat?" He presses a wet kiss over her jaw, sucking lightly. "I thought you'd never ask." She leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. She gets off of his lap and crawls into the back seat. Matt steps out the car and opens the back seat dooor climbing in and immediately grabbing Y/n by her waist and pulling her to his lap and kissing her all over again.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since the party." He says in between breathes. "Really?" She smiles against his lips. "Mhm, looked so fucking sexy in your little outfit." He squeezes her ass. Y/n rocks her hips against his, feeling his bulge against her thin shorts that are riding up her thighs.

After minutes of rocking against each other, Matt lays Y/n against the seat and hovers over her, kissing over her neck. "Can I take this off, baby?" He tugs at the end of her oversized tee. "Please." She whines. Matt brings her shirt up and Y/n lifts up a bit so he can remove it. The chilly air makes her nipples harden and Matt groans.

"No bra?" He goes to suck on her nipple, kneading her tit in his other hand. "Fuck, Matt." She gasps, arching her back. "You like that, babe?" He hums, nibbling on the bud. "Yes, fucking love it." She kneads her hand through his hair. Matt pulls away for a second and Y/n could almost whine from the loss of contact. He pulls his hoodie off and throws it in the front seat with Y/n's shirt.

"Can I take these off as well?" Matt's hand comes down to the waistband of her skimpy shorts. "Yes, yes, take them off." She nods, lifting her hips and Matt pulls them down her legs and is met with her white cotton thong. Matt gives her a look and Y/n nods. He hooks a finger through her thong and removes them swiftly. Matt looks down and sees her cunt glistening. "So wet already." He growls at the sight before diving down getting a taste of her.

"Oh, Matt." She sighs in pleasure as he sucks on her clit, slurping her juices. The sounds coming from her are going straight to his cock. "Fuck- get- get up here." Y/n pulls Matt up to her and kisses him harshly. "Please, Matt." She whines against his lips. "What do you want, baby. Hm, I don't know what you want unless you tell me." He kisses down her jaw, to her neck, sucking on the soft skin there leaving red and purple marks. "I want you to fuck me, Matt." She runs her hands down his front and stops when she reaches the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Yeah, want me to stuff you with my cock?" He lowers his sweatpants, along with his boxers, his dick springs up slapping against his lower belly. "Yes, want to be full of your cock." She reaches for his erection and holds him in her hands. Slowing moving her hands up and down. "Fuck, baby." He rolls his hips against her hold. "Wait, wanna cum in you." He stops and brings his dick over her pussy, running the tip up and down, gathering her arousal.

"Ready?" He asks, looking down at her. "Yes, give it to me, Matt." Matt brings his tip to her leaking hole and slowly pushes in. "Oh- fuck!" He groans, feeling the tightness of her pussy wrap around him. "Matt, you feel so good." She moans, feeling him balls deep in her. "Shit! You like being stuffed with my cock don't you, baby." He starts to thrust his hips in and out of her. "Just like that, shit!" Y/n brings her hands up her body and squeezes her tit adding on to the pleasure.

"Holy fuck- keep squeezing me like that." Matt brings two of his fingers to her mouth and makes her suck on them, getting them wet, before taking them out and bringing those fingers down to rub her clit. "Mmph, so so good." She whines scratching her nails down his back. "I'm close, can I cum in you, baby. Cum in this tight little pussy?" He kisses her neck over the marks. "Yes, cum in me. I'm so fucking close." She cries as Matt hits that one spot deep in her.

A couple more thrust in her, Matt stills his movements and cums in her. "I'm cumming, shit baby." He burries his face in her warm neck. "Me too, fuck!" Y/n says heavily, running a hand through Matt's hair at the nape of his neck. "That was- that was amazing." Matt laughs in her neck. "I agree." She giggles.

"Let me clean you up." He untucks his face from her neck and places a kiss on her lips before getting up and slowly pulls his dick out. "Fuck." Matt says lowly as he sees a mix of her and his cum dripping out her hole. Matt spots one of his shirts from the other day draped over the backseat headrest and uses that to clean her up. "Oh!" She hisses. "Sorry, baby." He whispers.

"All done." He throws the shirt on the floor and leans over to get her discarded clothes. "Here you go." He hands them to her. "Thank you." Matt pulls his boxers and sweatpants and grabs his hoodie. "I should take you home then?" Matt grabs her and pulls her onto his lap. "Mhm." She hums before kissing him.

"Get in the front seat."