#we can always count on his terrible terrible time management

[sharkshenanigans]

Some things will never change 😌😇

[tender-rosiey]

“GOOD! NOW PUNCH HIS FACE!”

— when your baby and gojo, geto, nanami, toji, and sukuna get protective over you (f!reader)

a/n: I am alive!! as an apology here is a multi-character post 🙏 btw in toji's part, you're megumi's mom

GOJO SATORU:

two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they’re not wrong. your son has his father’s looks—satoru swears he has your nose and ears but anyway—and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can’t count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with satoru against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what’s happening right now for example.

you’re out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor—especially since satoru got this new type of paint for s/n and it’s quite an endeavor to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can’t take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing alone?”

“buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone.”

he quickly frowns, “don’t be so stingy doll,” his hand extends towards your arm, “I can show you a good time; I promise—“

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, “what’s your wrong with your kid, man?!” he yells at the person behind you.

he then grumbles, “ruined a potential good night.”

“my kid was absolutely right in what he did,” you hear satoru’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a chest you’re all too familiar with, “’toru—“

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, “that last throw was very good, s/n! throw another one but just below his stomach."

a cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband’s face as s/n prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son’s face as he yells, “don’t you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!”

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn’t be the son of gojo satoru if he doesn’t manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

so satoru picks both you and s/n and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, “wait, ‘toru, the groceries!”

“we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!”

your son grumbles, “but I want to hit the rude man!”

“me too, champ, but—“ satoru sweat-drops and glances behind him, “I doubt the angry security guards would like that!”

GETO SUGURU:

your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

in a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

the sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially—in any argument—at least one will try to win you over.

if it’s suguru trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. if it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

so it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

you turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

you’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

she smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

geto’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a calm peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

she grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

the woman gasps, “how dare you—!”

you cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

a snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman, “shrek! you look like shrek!”

then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final—subtle—blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline anymore.”

it seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as she starts sobbing and running to the hills.

a moment of silence is shared across the four of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil girls!”

they squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

geto chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

you pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

the color drains from your husband’s face, and he watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

you giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. he reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

NANAMI KENTO:

you and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

you can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

it also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. his hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

you remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

the way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

today, you were going on an outing with your—now 6 months old—baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

your husband never brags about his muscular form, but he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

you have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this is the least I can do.’

so yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever, but that’s not the point.

you’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. you hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. she takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

“with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

on the other side, your husband is just as speechless. your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! you wouldn’t know that! you immature nugget!”

nanami frowns lightly, “d/n, that’s not nice—“

and for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

she starts babbling some nonsense that you're pretty sure are curse words in baby language.

having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter disrespect,” and starts walking away.

the rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

you giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

nanami cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them—“

your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. she starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more—she was successful.

meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, kento; it was kind of funny.”

his resolve softens at the sound of laughter from all three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but—“

“yay!!”

ladies: 1

kento: 0

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

however, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

for example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

not to mention that megumi wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

it was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. he was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

you have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

he giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

he laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

you nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?—“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a—“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

megumi squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

the guy was about to reply to your son, but toji pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “kid is right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

the guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him.

on the other hand, your—shameless—husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

you hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before toji makes even more of a bigger scene.

you also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

the guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky—since he is too scared to cuss out your buff husband. once the man is out of sight, toji ruffles megumi’s hair, chuckling, “good job, kid.”

your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks away, “…thanks.”

you’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “toji, literally why?” you grumble, patting megumi who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged toji.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” toji grumbles, staring down at megumi.

unfaltering, megumi looks up at him ,“dad, I want ice cream.”

“god damn it, listen here you—“

“divine dogs.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

there is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both—very aggressively—compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally throws the kid across the room kind of aggressive, and your son, in turn, throws whatever he has at him.

it’s eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

so their very aggressive nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

a person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

for example, this one new servant was clueless to where the broom is, and unluckily for him, he saw you sitting with your husband and son in the gardens. he humbly approached you, “excuse me, m’lady.”

you turn to look at him with a smile, “yes?”

he clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I—I wanted to ask where the—“

“up your ass, you disgusting fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s ever-permanent scowl.

“who gave you the permission to come and speak to her so casually?” sukuna presses, and the servant quickly falls to his knees.

“m-my apologies, my lord! I did not mean to disturb you!”

sukuna crosses his arms, “well, you did, and you also disturbed your queen and prince,” his eyes narrow at the servant, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything to save the poor guy. you finally find your voice, “sukuna, it’s okay; he didn’t mean—“

your son hugs you tightly and glares at the servant, “to think he would so brazenly speak to you like you’re old friends is terrible, mother.”

you can almost see your son’s cursed energy flaring, and you can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son.

before it escalates any further and you find yet another dead corpse in your palace, you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your neck.

you look at the servant, “you’re dismissed, and you can ask the head maid about anything you need, okay?”

“y-yes, m’lady!” he, however, stays glued to the ground, “may I have the permission to lift my head?”

sukuna grunts, “sure.”

“thank you, m’lord,” the servant says, before scurrying towards the gate, having secured his freedom after his little mistake.

or at least, that’s what he thought.

your husband slices his legs off with a flick of a finger, and your son, who has inherited his father’s technique, slices the head off.

and so the body falls to the ground, and the other servants hurriedly start cleaning up the mess.

you frown at your husband, “sukuna! he apologized!”

he rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care? he shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not—“

“hands off, old man!”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[mrsbarnesblog]

Hi girlie! Can you write something about baby daddy Rafe? Set in a FWB universe and reader ends up pregnant because he loves c*ming inside her? Love your works they keep me up at night in the best way 🤭🤍

masterlist

requests are open

word count: 0.9k

warnings: smut at the beginning, unprotected sex, fwb (kinda?)

a/n: hey, love❤️ i wasn't sure whether you wanted them to end up together or not, so i made something in between. i got inspired and wrote another part for this one which i may post later, but i'm open to changing/adding something if y'all have any ideas.

“Rafe… we shouldn’t do this— ah, fuck, please!” You cried out, your back arching from the bed, seeking more attention from his lips to your sensitive nipples. 

“I can’t stop. It’s gonna be okay, just one time, baby.” He grumbled, sucking in your skin. Rafe was pounding into your poor body without any mercy; he was too excited to be bare inside of you for the first time. 

When you came to his place, you two quickly found out that you ran out of condoms that were usually stacked on his bedside table, but you were too far gone to stop it. You were naked, your pussy was leaking with arousal, his dick was so painfully hard and it was hard to think straight. You didn’t want to stop and Rafe managed to convince you to let him fuck you raw. 

You knew how fucking stupid you were and that he might easily get you pregnant, but at that exact moment, the only thing on your mind was the feeling of his bare cock. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. I wanna cum inside of your pretty pussy. Shit—you're squeezing me so hard, you like this idea, hm?” He kept slapping his hips against yours harder and harder, causing you to moan in despair and grip his shoulders. You tried to say no, but, in all honesty, you didn’t want to. The stretch was so delicious, and the feeling of his cock filling you completely made you feel dizzy. And having him cum inside? You could have an orgasm just thinking about it. 

No more than thirty seconds later, when you finally reached your height, his cock twitched inside and Rafe let out the sexiest moan you’ve ever heard. You felt liquid warmth covering your inside and moaned, squeezing and milking everything he could have you. 

You were playing with fire and it was just a matter of time before everything would go wrong. No matter how stupid and reckless it was, you didn’t stop. Rafe was now obsessed with the feeling of being inside of you without a barrier; he could not help himself when he had you spread out in front of him, ready to be filled. 

It was the best feeling that both of you experienced, but for some reason, you didn’t even try to find another form of contraception. You should have known better. You should have insisted on protection, but there was something intoxicating about the way he took you—the way he groaned your name as he filled you up. It was reckless, dangerous, and oh-so-addictive.

So it was not that big of a surprise when, just two months later, you saw two lines on the test. 

You weren’t dating, even if it has always felt like much more than just sex, so you never expected Rafe to be happy about the possibility of having a baby. You thought he would end everything immediately and simply run away. Yet he was the complete opposite. 

During your pregnancy, Rafe never left your side and made sure to attend every medical appointment, buy every single vitamin and satisfy all of your cravings.

You wanted to eat some weird shit from the store at 2am? He brought it to you in less than twenty minutes. Your body was aching and you didn’t want to do anything? He organised a spa day for you. You had terrible mood swings and cried every ten minutes? He was patient and he did everything he could to make you feel better. 

You quickly fell into that kind of domestic routine. It was comfortable, and it felt right to have him beside you all the time. While your baby was growing inside of you, you both realised more with every passing day that the feelings that you two had were serious. Because you were on each other’s mind’s 24/7, you stayed in yours or his place all the time, and you couldn’t just keep your hands away. 

When Rafe first felt your baby kick, he was over the moon and he had the biggest smile on his face. He repeatedly kissed your belly before falling asleep with his head on your thighs and his hand on your bump. 

As soon as your little girl arrived in the world, Rafe completely fell into daddy mode. He was fussing over her, insisting on spending as much time with her as possible. He never complained when he had to change her diapers or wake up in the middle of the night because of her cries.

He is such a girl dad, and the moment she looked at him with her blue eyes, he was wrapped around her tiny finger. 

Rafe loves being a dad; he loves taking care of his girls, even if you are still not officially his. He makes sure to do everything to make you feel comfortable and give you enough rest. 

He may not be perfect in it, but he’s trying his best and he hasn’t regretted ever getting into this with you. 

[blublublujk]

good girl, gone bad

oneshot

word count: 6k

genre: established (secret) relationship

pairing: good girl y/n x bad boy jk

summary:

“I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.” You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.” What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

warnings: basically just pwp but plot went missing (oops!), swearing, smoker jk (i swear if anyone complains in my inbox i'll haunt you), explicit sexual content; jk has a huge dick ok, consensual recording/pictures, car sex (don't fuck in a car), hickeys, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, spanking, squirting, breast play, blowjob, fingering, cunnilingus, come shot (on face), slut shaming (again lol), come tasting/swallowing, stomach bulge (my fault i love this one), choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie

a.n: sorry for a late update hope yall dont mind, but i just wanna get rid of all my drafts they are PILING. lol forgive me for only always writing about jungkook, but he's so easy to write about. he breathes, and i instantly open my notes app (im not even joking). this has been sitting in my drafts since his LA trip (iykyk) it sparked a conversation and i wrote it. i want that man bad... and im lesbian :D

ANYWAYS enjoy and STREAM GOLDEN for our golden bunny <3

p.s: i'll probably come back to this couple but its a oneshot for now... but wouldn't no nut nov be fun with this jk?? everyone say yesss. ok bye.

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

—-

“Ugh, what a piece of shit.”

Before you even get to ask who, the motorcycle roars back to life across the parking structure belonging to the very one and only, Jeon Jungkook. A group of college jocks crowd around the man. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, he’s not paying it much attention though. He's deep in conversation, laughing at something one of them said, clearly more invested in the joke than anything else around him. 

As the laughter dies down, he looks over, eyes connecting while he brings the cigarette to his pierced lip, slowly inhaling the toxic fume. The terribly annoying (yet somehow sexy) tattooed jock on his loud motorcycle winks towards your direction, before selfishly exhaling that poisonous smoke into the air. Fuck, you really, really wanted to hate him too. 

“Yuck.” Karina gags with a scrunch to her nose, turning a cold back to them and you’re grateful to her because you almost get stuck in his lustful gaze. 

“Yeah… yuck.” You reply with no real meaning somehow managing to convince her you meant it.

“I hate him and his stupid friends. They are killing the Earth slowly and they don’t even give a fuck!” Karina argues in all her given glory and in her environmental science major mindset. “Plus those cancer sticks reek, why must the general public suffer because they can’t last thirty without them.”

Jungkook could last thirty without them. Way more than thirty when you were around him, especially when he was given something (or someone) to entertain himself with, but you couldn't say that aloud so the sudden thoughts stayed safe and sound in your head. 

“No, no they don’t. But what can we do?” There’s a sigh and then you clear your throat. “Should we get going now?”

Your arm wraps around hers, gesturing the way back to campus with a swift wave where you both had been meaning to study given that classes finally started cramping in heavy assignments.

“Yes, please.” Karina is quick to sharply turn her heel and walk back towards the building. “I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.”

You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.”

What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

—-

“You taste disgusting.” There’s a muffled laugh pressed into your lips, as your tongues meet halfway, meeting each other’s lips in a bruising wet kiss. Your ass grinds roughly against his lap, groaning into your mouth while you bring your ass flush down, feeling his soft cock harden below you. His right hand grips your right ass cheek, jiggling it in his hand, before smacking it (with love, of course!). 

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirks, bringing his mouth against your throat, sucking and licking everywhere there was space. He sneakily leaves little love bites behind even though he knows you’ll kill him for this later because you have somewhere to be after this. He even bites your ear lobe gently between his teeth, before he cockily whispers. “You love it though.”

The whimper that leaves your mouth should be illegal. It only drives Jungkook crazier. 

Both hands find purchase on your ass now, spanking you once again in each cheek. Though Jungkook was a bit disappointed he wasn’t seeing your flushed bare cheeks on top of him, but he guesses he can settle for now. “You gonna let me fuck you now baby?”

He gropes your asscheeks without any hesitation, still leaving wet kisses buzzing onto your skin, stealing a quick kiss from your raw-bitten lips. 

“Mm, only if you ask nicely.” You tease, dragging a finger along his jawline.

With this, Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. Your hand comes to fist his hair, while he drops another wet smooch onto your lips. “You know I’d do anything for a piece of this ass angel.”

You smile into the kiss, grinding harder against his now– hard cock. You felt your folds leak of your own arousal. It was so undeniable. The attraction between you two, the desire to take each other apart, to be within each other’s arms. There was no place like Jungkook’s lap. Here you could stay forever.

“Imagine what people would say if they saw you like this baby.” Jungkook starts teasing, tugging your shirt off with no trouble. Your breasts catch his attention, noticing that you are wearing that black lingerie set he had bought for you last Valentine’s Day. “Fuck. Look at you baby.”

He squishes your breasts together, leaning up to kiss the uncovered tender flesh on both sides. You don’t even attempt to hold your moans back. “I– nghhh.”

“Did you expect to get fucked today princess? Hmm? Is this all for me?” Jungkook’s words work like magic, they drip off his sinful tongue like honey. You bring your body flush against his, burying your blushing face against his neck. “Don’t get shy on me baby, tell me. Did you wear this all for me?”

He purrs sweetly and you only nod, cheeks burning red. 

It's not like you were embarrassed of him, no in fact, you were happy to announce that the college campus’ certified bad boy is all yours and has been for the past two years. 

There was no exact moment to this, the attraction had always been there. 

You had first officially met Jungkook in one of your general ed classes. Statistics, to be exact, which he would have one-hundred percent failed had it not been for you passing him the answers mid exams. It wasn’t like that to begin with of course, it took you some convincing. To be fair and to your excuse, it was so hard to say no to those beautiful big brown eyes.

At first, you assumed he was doing this all, acting lost and playing dumb, to get into your pants which he succeeded. However you had enough dignity left to make him work for it. Until you realized those secret smiles, stolen glances, and subtle hand holds were much more than just a silly game. You had fallen for his charm, and against everyone’s advice to stay far away from him, you fell in love with the (not so terrible) bad boy and let him take over your heart completely. It happened so randomly and so all at once. It was confusing, new, but most of all, liberating. 

Being with Jungkook was so freeing and the thrill of being caught with him was so worth it. It didn’t matter what people thought of you or him, you both were willing to die on this hill of love. 

Jungkook, too, had fallen quickly. How could he not? There was nothing to dislike and everything to love. Your pouty scolds, he looked forward to. The stolen glances across campus were his favorite, a secret only you and him held close to heart. There were times where your cheeks would flush pink, because he would steal kisses from you behind the campus library. You were seriously his favorite person ever. 

“Jungkook stop! What if someone sees us?” You would whisper-shout, a pout would form against your will. 

Jungkook would just kiss your worries away again and again and then say. “You’re the cutest little thing alive baby.” 

“Are you trying to change the subject?” It was hard to speak between kisses, that and the fact that he would squish your cheeks together like the adorable boyfriend he was. 

“I don’t know. Is it working?” His reply was cheeky and lips would start trailing down your neck and then you determined, yes. Yes, it is working. Fuck it all. 

It’s safe to say, he was yours since the start of it all, as you were his. Wrapped in each other’s fingers before anyone had realized it, now you were inseparable. 

“Answer me princess.” Jungkook pulls you back gently, observing your flushed face. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Of course, this only makes you blush harder, but you do manage to admit. “Y-Yes… I wore this only for you. Always for you.”

Jungkook smiles, pecking your cheek. “Then I’m the luckiest man alive angel.”

He cradles your face, before leaning in to kiss you. This time, you guys take your time. Your mouths stay closed, taking the time to really feel the plushy feeling against your own and enjoy each other’s presence. You felt as if you were floating in clouds. 

“Jungkook.” You mumble onto his lips and he hums, but that’s not enough so you call his name once more with intent. “Jungkook.”

He pulls back with a questioning look. “Yes, my love?”

“Can you please just fuck me already?” The words come out barely above a whisper, even after fucking you so many times, you could be so shy at times.

Jungkook breaks out into a bunny-like grin, holding back a stifled laugh. “So much for wanting to make me say please, look at who’s pleading now.” 

“J-Jungkook…” Your face goes hot again and he laughs once more, patting your ass softly.

“Okay. Okay, my love. Enough teasing, I’ll fuck you since you asked so nicely baby.” Jungkook takes his sweet time taking off his own shirt, and pulling your skirt off. It was a bit tricker, given you were both in your car which was not fit for two people even in the backseat, but you guys always made it work. 

You were still scared to ride to campus with him as much as he begged you to because it would blow your secret relationship, but fucking on campus has yet to be off-limits. Mainly because Jungkook fucks you all too well, and you aren’t one to say no to good dick (oops).

He attaches his mouth right above the bare skin of your left breast. He holds your tits in his hands, pushing them together, stuffing his face right between them. Jungkook makes sure to pay attention to both breasts (it’s only fair), rubbing your hard buds through the black lace which hardly covers them. You bite back a moan, feeling him rut up against your heat, his hard length pressing stiffly against you, your walls already clenching, desperate to feel him inside you.

His tattooed hand slips below, releasing the nipple he had been tugging on earlier. You feel the tip of his fingertips brush against your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet baby. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Surely by now, you were dripping onto the lace. His erection is still pressing against your inner thigh. “D-Don’t wait then.”

Your boyfriend smiles, bringing his lips to yours. “Behave. You’ll get some dick inside you soon.”

Like the brat you were, your eyes rolled back so used to being spoiled. He pays it no mind though because his tongue comes out again, licking your lips apart. Your tongues meet once more, this time you suck his tongue into your mouth, brushing it against the roof of your mouth. He taste quite bitter, it’s the cigarette from earlier, yet somehow and against all judgement, he tastes fucking delicious. Especially when a grunt slips from his throat, feeling you roll your barely covered folds against his fingers.

He allows this, putting more pressure with two fingers, feeling you drench his fingertips even through your panties. Jungkook pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth, spit mixing as he reciprocates the favor, sucking gently on your tongue. You tasted like the strawberries you had earlier for lunch and Jungkook groans, greedily swallowing the taste in your mouth. 

What an innocent sweet little thing you were and he was about to ruin you all. 

Cigarettes and strawberries. 

Quite the pair. 

You whine into his mouth, unable to hold back much longer. “Please, Jungkook…”

He smirks against your mouth. How much he loved the way you fell apart on his cock. Especially more, when he had barely had his hands on you and you were already begging for more. Jungkook pulls back, but not before you whine a soft “no.” He holds your cheeks in his palms, forcing you to look directly into his hazy eyes. 

“Imagine if people knew baby.” His voice comes out more sultry, rough around the edges. His thumb carrasses your cheek, patting your mouth open. “How much of a slut you were for this dick.”

His words make you mewl (he knows how much you get off to this thought), he slowly eases two fingers into your mouth, holding your chin in place. You made sure to suck on them as he liked, your tongue coming flat against them. 

Jungkook bucks his hips into yours, chest rising while he watches you suck, like the good girl you were. “Imagine if they really knew, baby? Such a sweet girl like you, with someone so dangerous and reckless like me. What would they say? Hmm?”

He pulls out his fingers, seeing them barely glisten under the light.

“I- I don’t know.” Your voice is dry and soft yet, you are incredibly horny.

“You don’t know? I have a few ideas.” Jungkook chuckles, hands brushing along your back. “Can this come off?” 

He tugs your bra from behind and you hesitate to nod permission. “Good, I wanna watch them bounce when I finally fuck you.”

By now, you have given up resisting him, so you moan pathetically as he shreds your bra with ease and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking the tender bud into his tongue, flicking it and placing it between his teeth. He tugs and licks the sting away, watching with hooded eyes as you squirm against him. Your face burns imagining the idea. 

What if people knew? How would your friends react? They would surely be disappointed, Jungkook was good for nothing but trouble. Yet, he was perfect to you. You were willing to defend him from hell and back. Whatever it took for them to believe you. 

Jungkook moves to the other bud, placing it into his mouth, cupping and gripping your breasts. His mouth was hot and heavy against your nipple, his tongue caressing the hard bud. He squeezes them one last time before letting them drop, watching them bounce gently against your chest. Yup, Jungkook was the luckiest man alive. There was nothing better than this moment right here.

Heat travels your body quickly, feeling your own chest rise, struggling to breathe in the steamy car. Your boyfriend looks down, communicating with his eyes instead of actually saying anything, your hands quickly move to his belt, tugging them off and throwing it anywhere else. Desperately, you unbuckle his jeans, harshly pulling his boxer down, just enough to watch his dick spring out. The flushed, wet length smacks against his stomach, watching as his abs clench at the sensation. If you stare any longer, you’ll start drooling. “So good for me angel.” 

There’s no time to waste. 

“Wanna suck you off.” You breathe out, voice filled with desire and lust, clearly it takes over because usually his girlfriend was much shyer and timid, but that all disappeared when Jungkook’s cock was present. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook watches you drop on your knees, your pretty knees will for sure suffer the consequences of your horny choice, but there was no stopping this. He pats his thighs as he leans back to give you enough space. “I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek when he feels your warm mouth wrap around his dick. Your tongue comes out messily, practically salivating and dripping all over him. There’s probably not a single day that goes by that you aren’t sucking his dick, but it was quite the experience every damn time. 

“F-Fuck, I wish you could see yourself.” He struggles a bit because the sight is fucking sinful and if people knew you like he did, they wouldn’t believe the person in front of him. 

His personal little cockslut. 

You pop off for a second, hand still wrapped around his length covered in your spit. “Yeah? Then take a picture for me, Kook.”

Double fuck.

When you first started dating Jungkook, you were against any pictures at all. After time passed and to his luck, you came around and you would let him take pictures, but only if he promised your face wasn’t in the frame. Now, his camera roll is covered with images of you and your blooming relationship. You didn’t care anymore about covering or blurring your face out. His camera roll consisted of just about everything, pictures of you sleeping peacefully against his chest as you would nap, videos of you laughing on the random adventures he would take you on, but never images of you nude. Never ever was he allowed anything that could probably incriminate you both, even if he would beg, ever-so sweetly. It seems like you came around after all. Bless you.

“Fuck, don’t talk to me like that princess, you have no idea what that does to me.” He’s never heard you sound so fucking sexy. Jungkook bites his lip, recovering his phone that had dropped earlier on the carpet. “You sure about this baby?”

“Yes.” Then you are back on his cock and he shudders, already snapping a few pictures. Your eyes looked up at the camera, making a show out of it all.

Jungkook tries controlling his heavy breathing but with a sinful tongue like yours, it’s impossible. “Can I record this princess, only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You take him deeper into your throat and nod furiously on his cock. You trusted him enough, you knew Jungkook could never hurt a single soul, unless they tried him. Point is, he would never do anything to break that trust so hell yeah, why not add more to his long collection.

“God, you are so perfect baby. Made for me and only me.” Jungkook’s voice is nothing short of possessiveness. He presses record, caressing your hair softly, almost petting you for your work like the good girl you were for him. “Imagine if they knew how well you take cock baby. How perfect those plump lips look around my dick. You’re like a dream come true princess, my personal cockslut.” 

You moan around his length, loving the bitter taste on your tongue and Jungkook has to hold back from fucking your throat, though he thinks you’ll love it anyways. 

“Can I fuck your throat?” His voice is raspy and you open your mouth wider, nodding so prettily with dick stuffed in your mouth. Jungkook is careful when placing your hair in a little makeshift ponytail for the meantime and as best as he can with one hand as he starts to thrust into your warm mouth. “So beautiful and all mine. Isn’t that right princess?”

You don’t get to reply, but the vibrations of your moans that manage to run through his cock  answer for you and it almost makes him smile. What a good girl you were. Pretty things like you deserved to be spoiled and he couldn’t wait to give you the fucking world. 

And was he fucking loving the show you were putting on for him becoming more needy and desperate on camera, your eyes rolled as he brutally used your throat for his liking. 

Jungkook bites at his bottom lip as he begins to roll his hips with much more force, feeling your throat take him down with greed. “Fuck baby, your throat feels amazing. Taking me so good.” 

He lets you go when he feels you tap his thigh and you gasp for air, tears threatening to leak down your face. “W-Want you to come on my face.”

Your voice is hoarse and his eyes widen at your sweet request. 

“Aren’t you just perfect for me today baby. Just you wait, you’ll get the best dick of your entire lifetime.” Not that you would know since he was your first and he knows that, proudly carries that in his cocky ego, but you always believed him. No one could fuck you better than this, you were sure. You bat your eyes at his promise and he comes down to kiss you messily, the camera records jackshit, but it captures your whiny moans and the sound of your lips smacking against one another. He pulls off with one last kiss and adjusts the camera frame back towards you as he takes his hard length and slaps his swollen, wet dick along your cheek. “Open up princess, I’m really fucking close.” 

You take him in with no hesitation and go to fucking work. Slurping and licking all over his length, your chin dripping with saliva, but you don’t even care anymore because his grunts and whines keep you going. 

Every now and then you look up at the camera making sure you do your best to keep him coming back. You know he will probably rewatch this every night that you aren’t there with him. And your predictions are correct because Jungkook’s already planning on watching this tonight and jacking off to it while you are out with Karina doing God knows what. All he knows is his sweet girl will be doing something productive while he’ll be coming undone in your gracious honor.

“I’m close baby.” He groans sexily, and his breathing starts to become sharp. “Look up baby, right into the camera, gonna come all over that perfect fucking face.”

Doing as he says, you look up sucking him dry, your hands come to relieve what you can’t cover with your tongue. His hand pushes you off for a second. “Tongue out baby.”

He fucks his fist and it doesn’t take long before he squirts his load all over your face, grateful that most of it lands on your tongue, you swallow it all immediately, humming gracefully at the salty taste. 

Jungkook’s eyes are blown out as he catches his breath and lets his dick flop back down against his thigh, you look like a fucking sin and he must be the Devil because he’s about to commit about thirty tonight. “Give me a second princess.”

He says between breaths as he stops recording with one last picture of your come-soiled face, still breathing heavily as he throws his phone on the floor again, thankful that he has something for later. You giggle against him and he almost awes as you throw your head against his bare thighs into a laughing fit. “Okay.” 

He huffs a dry laugh and pulls you up. “Times up. Come here.” 

Jungkook is quick to capture you in a sloppy kiss, not minding the leftover mess of come on your face, he doesn’t wanna mess up his masterpiece just yet. You soon grow desperate in his arms, but this time he doesn’t mess around. 

“Lay down.” Your bare back lands on the seats and he shoves himself between your thighs. Again, it’s steamy and fucking cramped in your car, but you both couldn’t care any less right now. 

His tongue hits your slit not bothering to move your matching panties, but the effect is almost the same. He licks a long strip watching you soil the silky lace mixing his spit with your own arousal. 

You moan sweetly as your legs come apart letting him completely devour your heat. Jungkook pulls off, tugging your spoiled little black panties to the side and continues on with his mission. His tongue finds your clit and you swear you could come like this. 

“R-Right there. Please.” Your boyfriend doesn’t let up either, eating your sweet pussy like it deserves. His tongue flicks your bud, building the sensation in your tummy. Jungkook sucks on your clit selfishly.

His chin is covered in your arousal. He’s humming and moaning deep inside your pussy, your juices stick onto his tongue like candy and he greedily swallows the treat whole. 

“B-Baby.” Your voice is struggling like his was earlier, but it’s there. He lifts his face from your heat, eyes in a lust-filled trance. Jungkook knows he’s pussy-whipped, but at least he admits his problems!

“Yes, my baby.” Jungkook’s eyes are blown out and he looks just as wrecked as you are. 

“C-Can I take a picture?” He almost gapes at your request, the amount of times you took him by surprise today. At this point, he would let you do anything, fuck his morality!  

“Do whatever you want princess. Pictures, videos. I’m all yours.” He gives you his full consent and permission to do anything so you are quick to grab his phone (you’ll send them over to yourself later) and start snapping pictures while he dives back in for seconds. 

Jungkook keeps your legs open while you are a whimpering mess above him, struggling to get the best picture. You have no idea how he was doing this himself, the pictures come out blurry as he continues to devour you as if it was his last meal.

He also puts on a show for the camera like you did so nicely earlier for him. Jungkoook’s eyes hood as he stares up, he even winks for the shot. If college didn’t ever work out for either of you, this would be something to look into. Good thing that was not the case, at least for you, his little straight A student. 

“I’m g-gonna come.” This only makes your boyfriend go crazier between your folds. He drops eye-contact with the camera and instead solely focuses on that pretty pussy presented for him. Jungkook’s tongue is sin itself, not letting up once as more arousal drips out of you. He slowly teases a finger inside, building your orgasm quickly as he fucks you open with his middle finger. “I’m– nghh. Fuh-fuck!”

The sentence is never finished as you start to squirt onto his tongue, creating your own little masterpiece on his face. Jungkook has never swallowed anything down faster than right now and he’s loving every second of it. Completely pussy-whipped and all, but at least he’s happy!

Your boyfriend finally detaches himself from your heat and the sight is nearly adorable. His hair is now all fucked up and he’s a sticky mess everywhere (you are sure you look no better). 

“Yum, I could do that all day.” Jungkook shamelessly says. 

“Mm, I’m sure.” You say coming down from your own orgasm, he gives you a few seconds to breathe as you set his phone down again. Jungkook takes his shirt from the floor and wipes himself clean. He does the same but it’s no use, the come that landed on your face has dried up and he doesn’t wanna scrub it off and end up hurting your precious face. 

Jungkook kisses your cheek affectionately as an apology. 

“There’s dry come on my face right?” You start to scold him, but he smiles with all his teeth apologetically and you forgive him at that moment. 

“Guilty.” He smirks, proud of his work, he thinks you truly haven't looked better. 

Wrapping arms and legs around your boyfriend you whisper innocently. “I was promised dick of a lifetime, unless… unless you lied to me?”

Jungkook scrunches his nose cutely while he looks at your perfect pouty face, doe-eyes begging to be fucked. “I never lie, not to you at least.”

He makes you laugh and he detangles your legs from his waist. “Now let me focus, I have a reputation to uphold.”

There’s no laughing once two fingers press into you and you gasp at the invading feeling, but the stretch only burns for a while before it turns into pleasure and you are whimpering at his touch. “Fingers so deep.”

He smiles and you throw your head back. “Yeah? My dick goes even deeper baby, I’m just making sure you can take it.”

“I can take it.” You breathe out against his pink lips. “I was made for you.”

The taller’s eyes nearly eat you alive, fuck you were so sexy. “That you were baby. My perfect little cockslut.” 

His fingers pull out of you brutally and you whine, but he kisses you roughly making you forget the loss. A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it with purpose. You squirm in his hands and he pops off your lips. 

Fingers coated with your arousal trace your lips and you take them in greedily, sucking your own juices off the tattooed fingers, moaning at the delicate taste, his other hand still locked around your throat. 

“That’s my girl. All fucking mine.” You nod around his fingers and he finally lets go, gasping for fresh air. “‘M gonna fuck you now baby.” 

Your legs fly open in response, letting him have his way with you. 

“Do me a favor?” He asks while taking his hard length in his hand, jerking himself off while he awaits your response. 

“What?” You hum, confusion written all over your face. 

“Record this for me. I want you to see how I break you apart. How this pretty pussy makes a mess all over my dick. I want you to remember this fuck for the rest of your life.” His voice drops a few octaves and you can’t help but gasp and moan at his vulgar use of words. 

You used to be innocent, at least, that’s what Jungkook used to think. In a way, he thinks you still are. Untouched and pure, only for his eyes and his hands to touch. Jungkook is honored that he was your first, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was gentle and took care of you every step of the way. It was like that until you were begging and pleading for more. Sweet then, and sweet now.

He’s created a little monster, but he knows that your heart is pure and that’s what he loves most about you. 

“Okay, yes.” His phone is back in your hands and you click record, watching him line-up his cock. Jungkook groans as he disappears snuggly inside you. “Mmm.”

He lets you get used to the feeling and once he feels your breathing stabilize he starts to thrust himself with strong strokes inside you. 

Like the first time, you are struggling with the phone because you can’t stop shivering and shaking, you feel him in your guts and recording is much harder than pictures because it lasts longer and you can't stay still for that long. Not with dick inside you.

“K-Kook. I— oh.” You stop to moan when he hits your g-spot and he continues ramming that same spot over and over. “I- I can’t. Hand’s shaking.”

Your sweet boyfriend grabs the phone and lets you settle yourself. “That’s okay princess, I got you. Just lay there, I’ll take care of you.” 

He records himself ramming into you for a few minutes, watching himself disappear into you on camera. The taller one can't even believe this is his reality. How did this even happen and most of all with him of all people? He truly was the luckiest man alive! 

“‘S deep, Kook.” He fondles one of your breasts as he keeps a harsh pace, rubbing the hard nub with his thumb. 

“Yeah baby? Tell me where you feel it.” He whispers loving the way you tremble, your gaze struggling to keep up with his. 

“Right here.” You touch right below your belly, palm flat against the feeling of his cock inside you. “So so deep.” 

You mumble something else, but he doesn’t get to hear it because your high pitched moans drown everything out. He lets go of your breast watching them bounce as he continues to pound straight into your sweet spot. 

The camera catches it all though. The mess between your thighs look just as delicious on film as they do in real time. The sounds you make, the squelching noise that is being created by his cock going deep inside you, and most of all, it captures your beautiful face as it comes apart. 

He presses on your stomach right where your own palm rests and you strangle out a whine. “I- I can’t. T-Too much.” 

“You can take it. Remember?” His dick tears through you from the inside and you start yelling when he increases his pace. He’s fucking you mercilessly now and you can’t control the sounds that escape. “You were made for me, princess.”

“Yes, yes, I am.” You sound beautiful, but you would kill him if you guys got caught now especially in the position you guys are in. 

His firm hand finally comes off your stomach and instead two fingers go inside your mouth, muffling your screams and whines. 

The car rocks back and forth. He’s sure people know what the fuck is going on, the windows are foggy as fuck, for fuck’s sake, but you would hate him much worse for not finishing you off.

“Mmff, don— stopff.” He nearly giggles as you struggle to speak, but he keeps his promise quite well. He fucks you ever harder and deeper, his cock will surely fall off after this, but it’s all worth it. He slams inside, bottoming out fully before pulling out and repeating the same steps. “Fuhh-uk.”

“You like that baby?” Jungkook rasps feeling you squeeze tightly around him, which only means one thing, you are really fucking close. “Gonna come all over my cock princess?” 

“Mmff.” You are quick to nod and hum sweetly. He decides to pull his fingers out, spit dripping all over. “Yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Harder Kook- ah!”

Jungkook almost forgets he’s recording and he centers the camera again, wanting to capture every last second of this. You are glistening all over, he’s made a complete mess of you, but he is no better. Jungkook is dripping sweat and yet, that doesn’t stop his mean and precise strokes against your velvet walls, stretching you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. 

The final straw is when you feel his messy fingers start toying with your clit and you are coming once again all over your back seats and wetting his cock just how he likes it. Being a squirter had its own perks with a boyfriend like Jungkook because that meant he never stopped fucking you until you completely had nothing more to give. 

Jungkook curses when he starts to see your orgasm trinkle out, he fucks you all through it though, feeling the water-like pressure against his slit. And it doesn’t take long before an orgasm catches up to him. 

“Inside.” You plead with a pout, eyes completely blown out. 

With one last curse Jungkook comes deep inside your walls. He catches his breath for a few moments before pulling out slowly, making sure to capture the dribble of his come which sadly hangs onto your hole. “Push it out for me princess.” 

“Nooo, we’re gonna make a mess Kook.” Jungkook shakes his head, a smile on his face because a mess has already been made. 

“I’ll clean it. Now, push it out baby.” You almost cover your face because you are sure you turned red, but you start to push his seed out of your hole and he’s tempted to fuck it back inside. 

“Fuck. That’s it baby. Perfect comeslut. Isn’t that right?” He stops recording once he’s gotten the shot he wanted and he starts to wipe you down with his shirt, lucky enough that he has a back-up hoodie to cover him after he’s done. 

“Yes, all yours.” 

You both smile against each other’s lips before he whispers. “I love you princess.” 

“I love you more.” 

“Impossible baby.”

—-

JK❤️: hiiii 🙂

me: hi baby :) everything okay?

JK❤️: marvelous 😇 i just came watching that video we took earlier ;))

me: baby! 😠  i'm out with karina! can you not talk about sex for two seconds while im out

JK❤️: sure! just came all over myself totally wasn't watching our sextape back ;)))

me: nice talk jungkook.

JK❤️: come home soon~~ i miss you :((((

me: love you too lol

JK❤️: not more than me. come home soon im serious!!!

me: i'll see you later jungkook. ❤️

JK❤️: 😠😠😠 

me: ❤️❤️❤️

[wqnwoos]

Your first and only semester as TA throws your previously unassuming college life into disarray, fuelled almost entirely by the brown-eyed and charming student who’s slipping closer to failing with every lecture. And in return for your mathematical assistance, Lee Chan decides he’s going to set you up with the guy you’ve been persistently pining over for a year and a half. It’s a simple equation: you teach him calculus, and he’ll teach you how to flirt. Except, as you’re both quick to discover, mathematical equations don’t translate over to real life as easily as you’d expect.

as part of the svt ta collab hosted by @camandemstudios !

⇢ pairing: lee chan x ta!reader

⇢ genre: fluff, idiots2lovers, minor angst?

⇢ wc: 10.2k (i’m just as surprised as u are)

⇢ a/n: so many people to thank (the whole collab server for all the sprinting!!) but especial thank u to cam (@/highvern) and em (@/gyuswhore) for hosting this collab. they put SO much work into this and i couldn’t be more grateful to be part of it, so thank you both for everything!!! and thank you to alta (@/haologram) for being my first official beta ever and managing to convince me to not trash the whole thing <3

“I NEED YOUR help.”

Those are probably the last four words you expect to come out of Lee Chan’s mouth. Because you’ve graded his assignments and you’ve seen his work and you’re pretty sure he’s doing above average in the calculus class you’re TA’ing this semester. 

So when he manages to corner you after one of the lectures to ask for some extra tutoring, you’re startled, to say the least. “You need my help?”

He nods, once. You cock your head to the side, and your surprise must show on your face, because he fishes a slightly crumpled looking paper out of his bag. You recognise it as the latest quiz, one that, fortunately, landed on the other TA’s marking pile. Scrawled at the very top, in Joshua’s unforgiving red pen, is a glaringly large ‘F - 27%’.

“It was only a pop quiz,” you say encouragingly, hiding your sympathetic wince. “Doesn’t count for anything.”

“I can’t afford to let my grades slip,” he counters quickly, like he’s prepared for this. “Which they are And I really don’t get this module. I just think some extra time could help, but I’m terrible at teaching myself.”

You look at him for a long moment. He can’t be more than a year or two younger than you, this boy with eager brown eyes and a hopeful smile; it’s almost charming, how he leans forward in anticipation of your reply, how worried he is about one small test. And — well. You’ve seen the grade sheets, and his grades are slipping. Not drastically, but this is your job, after all.

“Well,” you say finally, glancing at your watch. “Why don’t you come to the office hours tomorrow, and we’ll go over the quiz? And we can go from there.”

He smiles then, so sudden and bright you almost feel caught in it. “Perfect!” he agrees, as he takes his quiz back, shoving it haphazardly into his bag. “I’ll see you then. Oh, wait — my name’s Chan, by the way.”

You cast him an amused look as you zip up your own bag. “I know that.”

“Oh! Cool! Nice! That’s — yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And as he backs away he stumbles over his own feet, catching himself before he topples over. He sends you a sheepish, flushed smile that makes you smile too. You’re always quick to smile at the students, and you send off the younger boy with a wave. Despite being a math major who loves her subject, you know just how much people despise it. Especially calculus.

“What’s got you thinking so hard?” A light voice interrupts your thoughts, and you jump, before turning to face Hong Joshua with a smile just as sheepish as Lee Chan’s was only moments ago.

“Nothing much,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Trying to look anywhere but at his honey brown eyes, you shuffle papers as you continue. “Just about how much people hate math.”

Joshua smiles that breathtaking smile, and your stomach quite literally does a flip. “Why? People bullying you for being smart again?”

You’d mentioned to him that you got made fun of in high school once for liking math. He refuses to let it go: you roll your eyes at him. “No. It was just a train of thought.”

“People who hate math are just not as cool as us,” he says, picking up his own folder, flashing you another smile.

(Us. Your stomach could be Simone Biles, with the amount of somersaults it’s landing today.)

“But anyway,” he continues, checking the time with a frown, “I gotta go. I’ll see you around, dude.”

Dude. There it is: just as quickly as you inflate, you deflate, watching him leave with a wrinkled brow. The problem with Hong Joshua is that he makes it incredibly easy to fall for him — and all the while, he’ll remain incredibly oblivious. You’re just another one of the sorry suckers who isn’t careful enough to nip it in the bud. But really, can you be blamed, when he looks like that? When he acts like that, all sweet and caring and let-me-hold-open-the-door-for-you?

You snap yourself out of your reverie with a sigh. Back to reality, as your mother always says — and your reality is the pile of algebra waiting for you back home.

“What I don’t understand,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully, pacing Chan’s room with his hands folded behind his back, “is why you’re putting on cologne to go to office hours.”

Chan hears the know-it-all tone under his roommate’s pretension, and he resents it. Running a final hand through his hair, and glancing himself over in the mirror one more time, he turns back to Seungkwan with a frustrated scoff. “Does it matter?”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Seungkwan wheedles, “In this case, it’d be a problem thirded. Three’d. You know what I mean - there’s three of us to share your problem. Right, Vernon?”

Vernon just blinks from his seat on Chan’s bed, slow and confused. “I don’t really know what we’re talking about. But sure.”

“Nothing,” Chan answers brutally, snatching up his bag. “We’re talking about nothing. Because I don’t have a problem, and Seungkwan’s just being nosy.”

“Look at him!” Seungkwan gesticulates loudly to Vernon, “look how dressed up he is. For class — for calculus! Nobody dresses up for calculus!”

“Ahhh,” Vernon nods slowly, drawing it out; and then he pauses, furrows his brows and asks mildly, “But isn’t that just because he has a crush on his TA?”

Chan hisses; Seungkwan triumphs. “I knew it!” he declares with glee, “I knew there was something! Who is she? Do you have a picture?”

“Nobody,” Chan grinds out, grabbing his backpack and jamming his feet into his worn-out shoes, casting Vernon a resentful look. “And I do not have a picture. But if I did, I wouldn’t show you. Goodbye.” And with that magnificent gesture, he shuts the door firmly behind him.

He’s not late to office hours. He never is. In fact, he’s three minutes early, but you’re already there, along with one or two other classmates he knows by sight but not by name. You’re leaning over one of their desks, talking rapidly as you gesture to the papers in front of them, lanyard swinging.

Chan doesn’t have a crush on you, contrary to what seems to be popular belief. Well. Not a big one. Like, a teensy tiny one, maybe. He thinks you’re pretty, and you’re smart, and you’re incredibly kind. But does he have a crush on you? No. Are his intentions here solely to get to know you better, in order to have a crush on you? Yes. In fact, that’s exactly what this is. Pursuing the butterflies in his stomach. Just out of interest, he reminds himself, as he pushes open the door and you turn around. Pure, innocent interest.

Within an hour of his entrance, you’ve explained every one of Chan’s mistakes — and there were a lot — in digestible detail. Twice as efficient and twice as digestible as Lee, the old, weak-voiced professor with an evidently wrong glasses prescription. He says as much to you, which has you laughing and shaking your head. (“Don’t,” you scold, even as you smile, “he’s so nice, though.”)

The professor is nice. Chan thinks you’re nicer.

He leaves office hours even brighter than he entered. Those butterflies are multiplying.

And, as it turns out in the very next week, when there’s yet another pop quiz — Chan is under the suspicion that Professor Lee doesn’t plan his lessons and just shoves last year’s quizzes at them instead —  he does actually need your help. His grades are getting worse. There’s always the other TA, Joshua, who Chan actually happens to know, but Chan thinks that his half-crush is worth following up on. At the very least, you could be a good friend.

Is pretending to need calculus tutoring in order to get to know a girl his finest moment? No. Because as much as he tries to justify this with his slipping grades, he knows perfectly well he could be doing excellently (well, averagely) if he put a little more effort in. But is that as appealing as the TA with the best laugh he’s ever heard? And so, somehow, with impressive persuasive skills he probably picked up from Jeonghan by accident, Chan manages to wheedle you into tutoring him, smiling as you hmm’ed and haa’ed and bit your lip nervously. 

“I’ve got a full list already,” you had said slowly, and he’d jumped in before you could go down the route of polite refusal.

“I know, I know, but seriously — I’ll be the best student you’ve ever had! I’m a good learner, I swear. I can study whenever you want.” 

Which is how he landed himself early morning sessions — and when you said early, you weren’t kidding. The times you’ve scheduled for him to start range between eight to ten, and he specifically didn’t book morning classes this semester because he loves his sleep. But still: his grades are slipping, and there’s a cute girl on the line, so he takes his success with warmth  — or perhaps it’s just the thought of spending more time with you, but whatever it is, he feels like he’s glowing, inside out. 

Your first tutoring session with Lee Chan goes surprisingly well. The moment he began halfway guilt tripping  you into tutoring him (“Imagine if my grades slip so far, I don’t get to graduate on time. Could you live with that?”), you knew he was something. And somehow, you still agreed to this, despite being loaded with all the shit a master’s student has on their plate, on top of TA’ing. Maybe you should work on saying no sometimes, but who are you kidding? You don’t have time to deal with your possibly self-destructive flaws, not when your to-do list is three miles long 

Despite your qualms, however, Chan turns out to be a great listener. He doesn’t act pissy when you tell him he’s doing something wrong, either, which is already better than half your students. 

“I probably seem really stupid,” he says with a quiet laugh, as he re-attempts a question from the last quiz.

“Not at all,” you say instantly. “Don’t tell Lee, but calculus is the worst, anyway.”

He lifts his head with curved lips — “Oh? From the words of the mathematical extraordinaire herself?” 

Immediately, you’re growing hot, shaking your head and laughing, looking away. “Oh, come on. Don’t call me that.”

Chan’s eyes don’t move from yours — it’s like you can physically feel the weight of his gaze, sometimes. You’ve never met someone with so much… presence. “Why not?” he asks. “Own it. Professor Lee says that about you all the time.”

“Okay, not me specifically,” you correct quickly, “he says that about Joshua too.”

Chan clicks his tongue dismissively. “Yeah, but Joshua’s a piece of shit anyway, so…”

Your surprise must be visible on your face, because when Chan looks back at you, he laughs out loud, louder than the other students in the library are happy with; they cast him dirty looks, but it’s like they bounce straight off him. He only lowers his voice a little, leaning closer. “Joshua and I are friends,” he explains, amused, “I’m not serious. But anyway, if you don’t even like calculus, what are you doing TA’ing it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, just… Lee asked me to, so I was like, why not?”

“I can’t imagine anything worse,” Chan says bluntly, “than teaching a bunch of people how to integrate shit.”

A giggle slips out of you before you can prevent it; he makes you do that a lot. Laugh, without meaning to. “Well. That’s why I majored in Math. I don’t mind.” You hesitate. “What are you actually majoring in?”

His eyes do that thing again. Sparkle. He bites down on his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Math.”

“What?” You can’t help it, you’re laughing again, louder this time and trying to stifle it. “You never said!”

“You never asked!” He mirrors your incredulous tone teasingly. 

“You just let me embarrass myself like that.”

“You didn’t do anything embarrassing.” 

You try to ignore his eyes on you again, picking up your pencil to doodle awkwardly in your notebook. “I thought you were like… on a sports program. Or in, like, accounting or something.”

Impossibly, his smile widens. “Those are two very different things.” 

The playful lilt to his tone does something to your stomach. “Have you finished your question yet?” You change the subject so sharply that he laughs again, sliding his notebook over to you.

You glance over it, blinking in surprise. “That’s perfect,” you say, pushing it back towards him. “Well done.”

That smile shifts into something more — well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d call it flirty. Lopsided and charming. “Yeah, well,” he says, packing up his stuff, “I‘ve got a great teacher.”

The tutoring sessions continue to pass much the same. Chan does his work, but keeps stopping to ask you all kinds of questions in between. Your favourite colour. Your favourite type of coffee. Your favourite movie, TV show, your hometown — somehow, his easy, open nature has you telling him all kinds of things, and more than that, you’re asking him all kinds of things in return.

“You know, I’m not like this with the rest of my tutoring roster,” you observe quietly, as you finish a story about your high school prom. “Like, at all.”

“Good!” he says, grinning at you. He’s wearing glasses today, you notice. He looks — nice. Cute. “That’d be like you’re cheating on me. I’m your favourite student.”

Slightly appalled, you nudge him. “Not true! I’ve never said that. I don’t play favourites.”

“I do,” he says just as swiftly. “I’m your favourite. I can tell.” He pats your hand. “It’s okay, you’re my favourite too.”

You pull your hand away, ignoring the swoop of your stomach. “Focus!”

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re right there?” 

“Easily,” you snap, “since you’re my favourite student.”

Chan positively beams when you say it, not even attempting to hide it as he returns to the problems in front of him. “As long as you can admit it.”

At the end of the session, Chan digs into his bag and slides a candy over to you, and you can’t help the smile that splits your face open. “No way,” you cry, picking it up, “I love these! How did you know?”

He smiles, not even glancing at the candy once, fixing his eyes on you. “You told me. Like, a week ago.”

You barely remember that Something swells up inside you, tight and hot and sweet. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Chan.” You hope he can hear how touched you are, because you can’t quite express it. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, with a small smile, one you can’t quite read. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah,” you say after the shortest of pauses. “Of course. We’re friends.”

He truly is something else. Almost your opposite, with his confidence and his openness and outright friendliness. You can’t quite put it into words, but something warm just pours out of him.

When you say as much to Minghao, your best friend, he laughs in your face. “Chan? Lee Chan?”

“He’s nice,” you protest lightly. Minghao somehow knows him, through Jeonghan or something or other. Briefly, you wonder how many people Chan knows — which really just proves your point. He’s annoyingly likeable, and even though you have to be forced to admit it, he is easily your favourite out of all the students you tutor. It’s barely even a competition; it’s not a competition. Your other students are fine, but they’re not quite Chan.

“Lee Chan is a little shit,” Minghao says with a hidden affection you’ve had to learn to detect. “But, yeah. He’s a good guy.” There’s a pause filled by the surrounding murmurs of people in the coffee shop you guys are in. It’s always overflowing with people, but it’s the only place that serves halfway decent herbal tea for Minghao, so the two of you always end up meeting here.

“How’s Joshua?” Minghao asks suddenly, doing the annoying thing where he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Still as sexy and gentlemanly as ever, is he?”

At the very mention of his name, you feel yourself growing hotter. “He’s fine,” you say shortly. “Busy.”

Your crush on Joshua has never been a secret from Minghao. Even if you’d wanted it to be, Minghao would’ve worked it out in two days, tops. But, as you keep reiterating, it’s just a stupid crush. It’ll fade. Just like your crush on Kim Hongjoong two years ago, and your crush on Kim Namjoon the year before that. You have a habit of letting things die out, and you’re very comfortable in that habit. 

“___,” Minghao says seriously, “you should tell him.”

“There are literally so many things I’d do before I confess. I’d rather memorise the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem than do that.”

“You never know if you don’t try! And besides,” Minghao adds, softer, “even if he, you know, doesn’t feel that way, Joshua’s not... well, he won’t make you feel bad about anything. You guys can still be friends. Joshua’s nice.”

Which is the sentence that echoes in your head later that same day, when your meeting with Professor Lee and Joshua is over. Lee is long gone, leaving you and Joshua to go over a few minor details with your tutor schedules and office hour planning. Joshua just looks… really good, with all his files spread out in front of him, his silky voice talking about something stupid one of his tutees had done, his long, dyed hair slightly mussed. 

“…and then he asked me how to find where the line intercepts the asymptote!” he finishes, chuckling. You’re a little late with your laugh, too busy focussing on how the afternoon sun lights up his hair, making it look lighter than it actually is.

Joshua calls your name, his smile shifting into something more concerned. “Are you okay?”

Your words stumble into each other on their way out. “I — well, yeah. Fine. I’m fine — good. I’m good.”

You guys can still be friends. 

“Actually, Josh, I wanted to ask you something,” you say in a sudden emboldened rush. 

“Go for it,” he says, smile fading ever so slightly. “Everything okay?”

“I — ” You hesitate, and in that split second, your courage disappears. You stare at him, and your brain decides for you: unattainable. Untouchable. “I forgot,” you finish lamely, ducking your head and shuffling your papers. Surprisingly, you’re not quite at the level of mortification you thought you would be.

“Ookay,” Joshua drags out, still watching you with concern, before he shakes it off and starts to gather his things. “Well, just let me know if you remember. I’m here for you, okay? We’re friends, not just TAs!”

That fucking word again. Friends. Only this time, you realise suddenly, it barely even hurts. 

Maybe you’re just getting used to it.

“So…” Vernon says, sidling up to Chan in their shared kitchen, “how’s your TA?”

Chan sighs, looking mournfully at the spicy ramen he’d just made for himself. So much for peace. It must’ve been the smell that lured Vernon out of his bedroom, but he’s clearly an opportunist; killing two birds with one stone by prying into his life and poaching his food. “Joshua is fine.”

“That’s great, but I know that already,” Vernon says, as he helps himself to some of the ramen. Chan lets him, and that must be how his friend realises something is wrong, because he’s suddenly narrowing his eyes at Chan around his mouthful of noodles. “What is it? Did she turn you down?”

Chan drags out his words. “I haven’t said anything to her. She likes someone else. I can tell.”

Vernon considers this for a moment, characteristically quiet and contemplative. “Are you sure?”

“Well — not really. But I’m like, eighty percent sure? But also I don’t really know her that well, and Jeonghan once said to me she’s always super nice to everyone, so I don’t think she’s into me. But then I also don’t know if she’s into him either! Because she’s nice to me and him and apparently every motherfucker on the planet, so it’s, like, confusing, you know? But like. I think she is into him. She looks at him in a kinda way, so…”

Vernon chews with wide eyes. “Damn. That’s crazy, bro, what are you going to do?

Chan exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I think we’ll be better off as friends. I’ll probably just… give up.”

Vernon nods slowly, already backing away. “Good luck, dude. Here for you.” He raises an awkward fist in solidarity, and that’s when Chan glances at his bowl of ramen and realises it’s empty.

Chan allows himself one day to mope. He even cancels a session for the first time, shooting you a quick message to let you know he isn’t feeling great, and he wallows. Stays in bed the entire twenty four hours, scoffing all the ramen in the house, and now he owes Seungkwan and Vernon two packs each, but still — he feels better. He’s grateful he didn’t let it get too far, at the very least. You guys can still be friends, and one day this will be a funny joke he slips into conversation.

When he shows up to the next session, a few days later, he’s determined not to show any hint of awkwardness. He plunks his books down with a renewed energy, startling you as you take out your headphones. 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling better,” you start dryly, “but I can see that’s clearly the case.”

“Yeah. Nothing big, I’m fine now,” he waves off your concern. Heartsick, maybe. It still twinges at him, when he sees your soft smile, faintly smells your trademark perfume, your colour coded notes in front of you. He doesn’t know when highlighters became so endearing, when he learnt that you always overuse the pastel green one. 

“Okay, so asymptotes,” you begin, and Chan scoots closer, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You’re my asymptote,” he says with solemn seriousness, “because I always tend towards you.” 

You fluster easily, Chan has noticed. You avoid his gaze, but you’re laughing, telling him how terrible his jokes are but still — you’re laughing.

Suddenly, in only a few minutes, the thought of getting over you is a lot more daunting than he imagined. You make it harder when you laugh at the stupid joke he quips a moment later, too; you always tell him he has an infectious laugh, but yours is like music to his ears, no matter how hard you try to suppress it in the library. 

“Come on,” you say, finally, gathering yourself together. “Asymptotes. It’s our last lesson for a bit. Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he confirms. “What about you?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “Asymptotes will be the end of this chapter, so it’s perfect timing, really. We can start the new stuff after the break.”

Privately, Chan thinks the break really is perfect timing. He can wallow a little more, back at home with the comfort of his mother’s food and his father’s baseball reruns. He’ll come back ready to finish his tutoring, ace calculus, and be your friend. With firm emphasis on friend. For a moment, he considers you and Joshua as a couple, and honestly, as much as it stings, it’s cute. It makes sense. 

After the break, winter hits full force. Your first tutoring session at the library is with Chan, and you’re layered up to the max, treating yourself to coffee as a shield against the bite of the cold outside. Vaguely, you remember Chan saying something about how he only drinks lattes hot, and so you order one for him too, taking extra packets of sugar and a stirring spoon on your way out. You know he likes to do the sugar himself.

“I’m late, I know.” You shrug off your coat when you arrive at your guys’ usual table, shaking the raindrops off your coat and hair with an apologetic smile. “It literally started pouring just two minutes before I got here, but here — coffee.” You unload your arms on the table in front of him, slightly breathless, tugging a hand through your untamed hair. 

You catch Chan looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze, and you wince. “Sorry,” you apologise again.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’ve just — I’ve never seen you so…”

“Messy?” you finish, laughing half self-consciously.

“Disorganised,” he corrects, and it feels gentler. “You’re kind of, like, windswept?” He pauses, quieter. “You look — pretty.”

You ran to the library a solid ten minutes ago. Your heart shouldn’t still be beating this fast. “Thank you,” you reply, just as quietly. There’s silence for a beat, fraught with some sort of tension, before you slap the textbook with too much enthusiasm, “So, uh, next chapter!”

“Next chapter,” he agrees quickly, and just like that, the weirdness dissipates, and it’s just you and Chan.

At least, until Joshua steps in the library. He’s browsing the section near you; you see him before he sees you, but only by a few seconds. You just have enough time to think how cute his scarf is, and then his eyes fall on you and Chan, and he waves with a smile. 

You wave back as he nears the table. “I don’t want to interrupt,” Joshua explains quickly, “just wanted to say hi. To both of you. How’s it going?” He directs his question to Chan, adding — “Is she running you to the ground?”

“She wouldn’t,” Chan says simply. He doesn’t say much else as Joshua says his goodbyes and disappears between the shelves, but you’re still a little harried-looking, dusting down your clothes unnecessarily. 

“So,” Chan says casually, as you return your focus to him and take a sip of water to try and cool you down, “how long have you had a crush on Joshua?”

You choke. Heat curls up your neck, and not because of your coughing — hot-faced and spluttering, you demand, “What are you talking about?” Even as you speak, you can tell your voice is pitched too high. Too defensive.

The younger boy gives you a look. “Come on. I’m not blind.”

You duck your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, so this question about limits — ”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he sings, cutting you off. “You have a big fat crush on Hong Joshua!”

Eyes wide, you slap a hand over his mouth, glancing behind you in horror. “Oh my God, keep your voice down!”

Beneath your palm, Chan gives you the most self-satisfied, victorious look, and belatedly, you realise you’ve given yourself away. “Fuck you,” you say, without any venom, releasing him and leaning back, trying extremely hard not to sulk. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“It is when you’re making googly eyes at him right in front of me. Your student.”

“I don’t make googly eyes!” you object immediately, horrified. “I’ve never made googly eyes.”

“Whatever you say, teach.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t!”

“Okay, I said.” He still has that smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s infuriating.

Briefly, your mind flits back to the stumbling boy you’d spoken to when he’d first asked for your help, back in late September. You miss him, you think sarcastically. He was the total opposite of the guy in front of you now.

“So?” Chan leans forward over the desk with raised, expectant eyebrows.

“So what?”

“So, how long? A month? Two?”

Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Again.

“Longer?”

 “A year,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze.

“A year?!” He practically yelps, and you have never wanted to bury yourself alive more than you do at this moment.

“A year and a half. Or something,” you confirm weakly, and then shake your head. You gently push his forehead with the eraser side of your pencil, forcing him back to his side of the desk. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m meant to be helping you with limits today.”

“I think you need more help than I do,” he says with sudden, sweet sympathy, patting your hand how he always does. You snatch it away and glare at him, but he ploughs on. “How have you not made a single move for a year and a half? You should do something about it. Move past the googly eyes.”

“Don’t want to. Can’t make me.” You tap your pencil against his open, untouched /textbook. “Now focus. On your work, and not on prying into my love life!”

He clicks his tongue softly, but picks up his own pencil again; inwardly, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Mortification still boils in the pits of your stomach — a guy you barely even know caught on so quickly. Are you really so obvious?

Chan works quietly for all of three minutes, and then he glances at you again. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say warningly, cutting him off before he can even start.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I didn’t say anything!”

”You were going to.”

“I think you should make a move, that’s all.”

“I think it’s none of your business.” 

“You said we were friends now! I’m trying to help my friend!”

“I take it back. Strictly tutor and student. We’re no longer friends.”

“No, seriously. I think you could totally get him to fall for you.”

You audibly snort. “Chan, do you know how many people have a crush on Joshua? He wouldn’t look twice at me. And I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not!”

You groan, tip your head on to the textbook in front of you. Then you turn, glaring at him and his entertained smile — with a smushed cheek and sulky pout, you ask, ”Why is this such a big deal to you, anyway?”

Chan almost seems to fold in on himself when you ask that. For someone so open and friendly, he has a way of shuttering down that startles you a little. It’s subtle, but you’re starting to notice it; his avoidant eyes and the faint pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging with obviously feigned nonchalance. “I guess — I think you deserve to be happy.”

Sometimes people say things that hit you straight in the gut. Wind you. Leave you just a little bit breathless with their sincerity. 

You open and close your mouth like a fucking fish. “Oh,” you say at last, stupidly, “that’s — that’s really nice of you, Chan.”

Whatever brief embarrassment he was experiencing, he seems to be over it. “I know. I’m the best. And that’s why I’m going to help you.”

You laugh again, amused and slightly endeared by his enthusiasm. “Okay, fairy godmother. Let’s get back to work, maybe.”

“No, seriously,” Chan insists, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m going to teach you how to flirt.”

The previous flattering you felt disappears in the space of a second. “Excuse me?” you say incredulously, but you’re laughing already, simply at the pure audacity. “Who says I don’t know how to flirt?”

“You did,” he says, matching your smile, “when you didn’t make a single move for a year and a half. But don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“No, but you need it, so I’m going to help you anyway,” he nods generously.

“How kind,” you say sarcastically, before thwacking his shoulder with your thinnest textbook.

Chan bursts out laughing as he dodges it, before switching back to that tone — the one that had you caving into him only a few weeks back, when he asked you to be his tutor. (Briefly, you wonder how it’s only been a few weeks. Part of you feels like you’ve known him forever.)

“Seriously,” he continues, “I can help you. I’ve literally never been rejected in my life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You snort, but honestly, you don’t doubt it. 

He tilts his head to the side. “Well, like, once in middle school. It doesn’t count. 100% success rate, baby.”

“99%, maybe.”

“That is not how statistics works,” he says smugly. “Thought you’d know better, teach.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best. I’m going to get you a boyfriend; literally just give me twenty minutes at the end of the rest of our tutoring sessions.”

“We only have, like, three left.” 

“That’ll be enough.”

Fuck it, you think. You don’t think this will help you with Joshua — nor do you want it to — but why the hell not? If it makes Chan happy, as it so clearly seems to…

“Ten minutes,” you sigh.

His eyes brighten. “Fifteen.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce after a short moment, waving your hand dismissively. “From next time, though. I don’t have time today.”

You try to ignore his Cheshire cat grin, but it’s infectious. You’re mirroring it by the time he slaps the desk victoriously, assuring you, “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“I’m sure I will. So, limits — ”

“Limits,” he agrees, an infuriatingly triumphant smirk on his lips. 

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. “You have no limits.”

“Lesson one,” Chan says, a little too gleefully, only a few days later. “Body language.” 

He watches you pass a hand over your forehead with a grimace. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“First tip is to not be doing things like that when he speaks,” Chan says lightly, pulling your hands away from your forehead. He places his index fingers either side of your lips, and gently, carefully, he pulls the corners of them upwards. “Smile.” 

You blink at him, and it is, unfortunately, the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “But,” he continues, shaking it off and pulling his fingers away, “you’re good at smiling anyway, so that’s not a key concern.”

Surprise appears on your features. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I usually get the opposite.”

Chan is slightly taken-aback, because you’re always smiling. You’re quiet, definitely, but you laugh super easy, and smile even easier than that. 

“But go on.” You change the subject quickly, and Chan realises that despite yourself, you’re getting intrigued now. 

“Tip number two,” he continues, magnanimously, “eye contact.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What? Why not?” The swiftness of your refusal startles him, but even as he asks, he kind of knows; you tend to avoid eye contact, especially when you’re shy, or embarrassed, or confused, or… well, a lot of the time. “You can practise.”

You look at him with horror. “Practise?”

“With me,” he nods, steeling himself already. “Now.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” he lies straight to your face, just to make you relax. Sure enough, your shoulders loosen almost instantly, and you let out half a smile. “Come on. Just for two minutes.” 

“Okay,” you finally agree, meeting his stare. Chan leans forward just the slightest bit, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to sink into someone else’s eyes. Your gaze isn’t intense, but it’s captivating, and he’s not sure if that’s his own feelings surfacing up again, or it’s just — natural. Either way, being this close to you is doing something funny to his ribs, the same thing that happened when you brought him coffee. 

He tries to distract himself. “Can’t believe we only have two tutoring sessions left.” His voice has lowered instinctively, taken on a slightly gravelly tone that seems to surprise you a little Your lips part for a second, and then you nod; he watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Yeah,” you say, equally as hushed. “Time flies, huh?”

His lips are dry. The tip of his tongue darts out, and he watches as you seem to follow it. “Yeah. When you’re having fun.”

Chan goes home that night more confused than before, and it only gets worse when Seungkwan’s waiting for him in the living room, hands on hips. One look at him, and Chan can tell he’s going to play interrogator.

“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Seungkwan says, at last, after Chan slumps on to the couch. “Helping her get with Joshua. You’re going to break your own heart.”

Chan wrinkles his nose. “I am not. We’re just friends, Seungkwan. I’m over it.”

Seungkwan looks at him disbelievingly, and Chan rolls his eyes. “I’m getting over it,” he corrects himself. “But we’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’m your best friend,” Seungkwan replies instantly, “Of course I’m going to worry. You just — you open your heart so easily. Which is a good thing!” he tacks on hastily, “But she… well.” 

Arching a brow, Chan leans forward. “She what?”

“Let me put it this way. You’re a romantic, and from what I can tell, she’s a cynic.”

Chan has never given much thought to what other people think about you, not until now. In all honesty, he’d had a similar perception of you, at first. Extremely organised. Kind of stoic. Nice, but distant. But now, he’s sure that nothing has ever been further from the truth. You’re reserved, that goes without a doubt, but you’re not cold. You’re kind. Care immensely for your friends, even though there are only a few of them. Shy, but sweet, and he thinks it’s a fucking shame that people can’t see that. He’d thought you were distant, but he’s heard other people describe you as uptight. Snobbish.

All people do is talk, he thinks with a little contempt. 

He looks back at his roommate. “You don’t know her, Seungkwan. She’s not a cynic.”

His friend shrugs. “I trust you. Just… be careful.”

Your second “lesson” with Chan begins with him grabbing you by the hand and pulling you in between random bookshelves. 

“Stand here,” he instructs, before patting you on the shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his hands through your sweater. “Okay,” he says, “lesson two is all about conversation. He’s going to fall in love with your mouth — not like that,” he adds quickly, when he sees you biting down on your lip to hide your laugh. “Mind out the gutter, teach.”

You grin at him cheekily. “You’re the teacher now. Come on, then.” The truth is, these lessons are more entertaining than anything. You’re enjoying it, hanging out with Chan without having to remind him to finish his questions or double-check the textbook. 

“Be serious!” he complains, but his eyes have that usual sparkle to them. He glances at your clothes for a moment. “Nice sweater, by the way. You look good in blue. But anyway, quick tips — remember what he likes, compliment him, talk about what you have in common, stuff like that. Okay, I’m going to go over and I want you to imagine I’m Joshua. So you see me randomly in the library, what are you doing?”

You snort. “Running in the other direction.”

He holds a finger up, hiding a smile at your silly answer. “Bzzzt. Wrong answer. You lose ten points.”

“When did I have ten points to begin with?” you argue, but still, you’re struggling to suppress your giggles. 

“You didn’t. You’re in the negatives.” He flicks you gently on the forehead. “Try again.”

“Ow,” you complain, pouting. “Okay, I’m meant to say hi.”

“Ding! Ten points. Back to zero.” Chan waits expectantly, and you look at him in confusion. He motions with his fingers. “Go on. Say hi.”

“I am not roleplaying with you!” you hiss, horrified, pushing his arm gently. He stumbles back exaggeratedly. “We do math, Chan, not drama!”

“Actually I do math and history,” he corrects nonchalantly, “and history is dramatic.”

Flummoxed, you repeat after him — “History? Since when do you do history?”

“Since, like, three years ago…?” He laughs at your expression, but you can’t bring yourself to mirror his lightness, for once. 

You feel rooted to your spot. “You’re a double major?” Something uncomfortable stirs in the pits of your stomach, and you know you’re not being rational — there’s no reason why this should jar you so much, but you feel jarred. “How did I not know this?” you ask, more to yourself. You turn to him, head moving so sharply he almost steps back. “Did you ever mention this?

Chan’s smile is fading. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs awkwardly, “it never came up. It’s not a big deal!”

“It is to me,” you insist, “Chan, you’re my friend! I should know this stuff!”

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, his brows furrowed. “Seriously. You know me better than half my friends already, and we’ve only been friends for like, a few months.” He attempts a smile — “You even know about the whole story behind that girl rejecting me back in middle school, I don’t tell that to everyone.”

“Yeah,” you say distractedly, “I guess so.”

Chan looks at the time. “Don’t you have a meeting now? With Joshua?”

You tilt your head, confused, your mind still on his history major.  “I do?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminds you, and you snap out of it, checking the time yourself. “You’re going to be late,” Chan laughs, gently pushing you towards your bag. “Go!”

You wave at him as you gather your stuff haphazardly, calling an, “I’ll text you later!” ok your way out. 

“Remember my top tips!” he calls back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You laugh and flip him off, bundling yourself out the library — only to run smack into another girl leaving at the same time. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you apologise, helping her pick up her pencils. “I wasn’t looking!”

“It’s okay,” she assures you quickly. “By the way,” she adds, “you and your boyfriend are so cute!”

“My… boyfriend?” You hand her stuff back to her with a furrowed brow.

She beams at you sunnily. “Yeah! I always see you guys on your cute study dates over there, it’s soo sweet. The way you guys look at each other is, like, to die for.”

“Thank you,” you say automatically, before opening your mouth to correct her. But it’s too late, she’s gone and you’re left standing in the exit with a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind, ones that preoccupy you all the way back to yours and Joshua’s shared office. 

They only multiply when you see Joshua, and feel absolutely nothing. There’s no typical dip in your stomach, no stuttering heartbeat, just a familiar smile and nothing else, which is when you realise — you haven’t been feeling anything like what you used to feel.

At least, not around Joshua.

“That’s the first time you’ve been late, like, ever,” Joshua observes, “Were you with Chan?”

“Yeah, I — uh, how did you know that?” You cut yourself off to stare at him in surprise.

“Our tutoring schedules are right there,” he smiles, nodding to the pinboard next to him. You almost sigh in relief. A normal explanation, finally. Something that makes sense. These realisations and observations are nothing more than —

“But you always have a certain look after you see him anyway,” Joshua continues obliviously. “Your eyes get all shiny. You smile more.” He pauses, grins at you knowingly, “You guys are close, huh?”

“I — I don’t — ” You stutter feebly, because suddenly everything is hot and you need to lie down. “I don’t feel well,” you almost shout, way too loud; Joshua startles, but nods. 

“Okay,” he says, worriedly. “We can reschedule, but do you need a ride home?”

“No!” you snap, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. No. I think — the fresh air will be good for me.”

Joshua lets you go, and you feel close to tears the whole way home. 

You can’t stomach this, you think, curled up in a ball under your duvet. It doesn’t make sense; you may be a math major, but none of this is adding up.

“I like Joshua,” you say out loud, and it sounds hollow. It sounds false. It doesn’t bring anything with it. 

Slowly, tentatively, you say, “I like Chan.” 

That brings so much, but more than anything, it brings warmth. Warmth like the serious brown of his eyes, his rough hands, his smile, his laugh, the way he chews his lip when he’s thinking hard about a question. 

You stick your head in a pillow and let out a scream.

Chan doesn’t know if he should invite you to the end of semester party that Seungcheol is throwing, considering his absolute failure in getting over you, but he does it anyway. He invited you to the Halloween one, and you turned him down, saying you had plans with some other friends, but he reckons it’s worth trying again, so he does just that.

Your response comes within minutes. 

[16:43] you: isn’t that the night before our last tutoring?

[16:44] chan: i know! but i’ll be on time i promise i wont even drink that much [16:44] chan: it’ll be like a celebration!!

[16:45] you: of what?

[16:45] chan: you put up with me for a full semester :)

He watches your typing bubble appear and reappear multiple times with a frown, until:

[16:48] you: i don’t “put up” with you chan

A smile. A big cheesy one that has his cheeks aching a little.

[16:48] you: we’re friends, aren’t we?

No matter how hard he tries, that still stings. 

The party sneaks up faster than expected, and Chan agrees to meet you there, because you’re coming with Minghao, and he agreed to help Seungcheol set up before he knew you were coming. Which is, you know, whatever. He’s not a little upset that he doesn’t get to pick you up in his car and do the whole opening-your-door-for-you thing — not at all, no matter what Seungkwan tries to imply.

Joshua probably would’ve, he thinks miserably, as people begin to arrive. That’s what you’d once said, ages ago, that you liked about him. 

‘He’s sweet,’ you’d said, ‘and he, like, holds doors open for me.’

‘The bar is in hell,’ Chan had said in response, making you snort with laughter, hiding your face. 

“No moping at my party!” Seungcheol yells as he sails by, carrying a load of ping pong balls — they’re setting up beer pong in the other room, but for once, Chan doesn’t feel the need to take up Jeonghan’s challenge. He dithers by the door, looking up hopefully every time someone enters, and every time, it isn’t you. 

Until it is. You come in just after Minghao, and Chan’s breath is quite literally taken away. It’s horrifyingly cliché, how gorgeous you look — you always do, but he’s never seen you dressed up before. Not like this, with a blue dress that falls to your mid-thigh, hair done to perfection. Makeup too, that makes your eyes look bigger and softer, that matches your outfit exactly.

Something swells inside him when he sees you on your tiptoes, craning your neck this way and that; instinctively, he thinks you’re looking for him. And when your eyes finally land on his, you smile so big that his insides turn molten; hot and tight and full, so incredibly full. He moves towards you without even realising, a moth to a flame. 

“You look — ” He swallows. Hard. “Amazing. You look amazing.”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can, Minghao mutters something in your ear, gesturing to a room on the right before tugging you away. Chan watches as you send him an apologetic wave — and then you’re gone, melting into the sea of people that Seungcheol somehow knows. And he’s tugged in completely the opposite direction, casting one longing look after you.

About an hour into the party, you see Chan with someone else. A girl. Short, dark-haired, bright-eyed — pretty. So pretty.

You’re not one to get jealous, usually. But that’s the only word to describe the way your stomach drops and your heart twists. Green-eyed monster, rearing in your chest. She makes him laugh, and he touches her arm when he does, and honestly, it’s a completely innocent picture. They’re probably just friends, and you’re usually so secure in yourself, but with Chan — you feel everything but secure. It was only last week you allowed yourself to acknowledge you were halfway to falling in love with him.

Joshua was familiar, at least. This is not, which is why it took you so long to accept it. 

You smooth down your dress (“You look good in blue.”), and watch as Chan leans down to hear her over the music. Maybe it’s the second drink in your hand, which you’d only taken after being egged on by Mingyu — he’d handed you his “professional” jungle juice. It tastes like shit, but recent events have brought with them a desire to get absolutely fucking wasted.

Tragically, you’ve managed tipsy at best, but it’s still enough to have you over-emotional, and with one last look at Chan and the pretty girl, you escape the watchful eyes of Minghao to the balcony of Seungcheol’s disgustingly wealthy place to cry. Which you do, with shaky, gulping breaths, and blurred vision.

When you’ve calmed yourself just the slightest bit, you glance at yourself in your phone camera, lit up by the yellow lighting inside. The girl in the mirror is almost unrecognisable — drunk and face streaked with cheap mascara (advertised as waterproof but clearly not).

God, your head aches. When did life become so fucking complicated?

You know when; you know exactly when, that little snarky voice in the corner of your head tells you, flashing you an image of a certain brown-haired boy with his stupid smile. You know that this mess started somewhere around when he waltzed into your life, brandishing his flirting tips and stupid math puns.  What you don’t know is when he slipped his way into your heart, when you somehow gave him the power to crush it in his fingers. 

That’s what it feels like. Lee Chan has your heart in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

The thought makes you feel slightly sick — or maybe it’s the overconsumption of the jungle juice that Mingyu cooked up, but whatever it is, your stomach churns uncomfortably, leaving acid climbing your throat. You cast a contemptuous look at the mixture in your red solo cup, and with a sigh, dump the rest of it over the balcony next to you. You ignore the call of hey, fuck you! that comes from below, instead sinking to the floor, hugging your knees and leaning your aching, hot against the cool metal railing to blink away the tears that burn behind your eyes.

Momentarily you consider how at the start of the year, you’d never have expected yourself to be here, not in a million years. At the SVT frat house, hidden in a corner to weep over a boy. A boy that isn’t Hong Joshua — a boy that is, technically, in some ways, your student.

“Fuck you, Lee Chan,” you say bitterly, and as always, you can’t bring yourself to mean it.

“Why’s that?” A familiar voice has you snapping your head towards the balcony doorway. Tall and smiling as always, Joshua regards you with a look of mixed sympathy and pity. You resent it. 

“Fuck you too!” You try to scowl at him; it doesn’t quite work, and you’re too drunk and tired to muster up the energy to be angry at him. Joshua didn’t really do anything; the only crime you can hold against him is obliviousness. He’s not the one holding your heart in his hands. You don’t think he ever really was — at the very least, what you felt with him was never like this. There was never so much.

Joshua doesn’t say anything, just laughs and sits next to you on the floor. Both of you have your backs pressed to the railing, and he nudges you softly with his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

You swallow thickly. “No.”

He smiles ever so slightly, nodding to your tearful face. “Yeah, I mean, I figured.”

You let out a watery giggle. “God. I’m such a mess.”

Joshua hums, like he’s actually considering your words deeply. “You aren’t, really. You’re like, the least messy person I know.”

You sniffle a little. “What?”

“Come on, ___, you’re like the most put-together person in this whole university. It’s kind of refreshing to see you outside of that.”

“What, you enjoy seeing me cry?” 

“No, of course not,” he says quickly, bumping your shoulder. “Just. In general, I mean. You’ve been happier lately.”

You gesture to your tear tracks. “This is happy?”

Joshua clicks his tongue at you. “I think Chan is really good for you,” he says finally, quietly. Like he knows he’s broaching a forbidden topic — which he is. You flinch at the very sound of his name. “He makes you happy. That’s what I mean. You should give yourself a shot.”

“No,” you say immediately, automatically. “I can’t.”

“You could,” he says, without reproach. “If you let yourself.”

You let that settle. Silence falls — or at least as much silence as you can get when you’re metres away from a house party. “I used to have a crush on you, you know.” You don’t look at him, facing straight ahead thoughtfully.

Joshua smiles, rueful. “I know.”

You snap your head round, and your disbelief must be etched onto your face because he laughs. “I could tell,” he shrugs. “You got flustered so easily, sometimes.”

The slightest of groans. “I do that, apparently.” You hug your legs to you again, resting your cheek on your knees as you look at Joshua, sitting by your side. “I almost asked you out, too.” 

“I probably would’ve said yes,” he confesses honestly, but still, somehow, you don’t feel anything. “But then I saw how you are with Chan. And that is not like this,” he continues gently. “The way you looked at me back then is nothing, compared to how you look at him.”

“Don’t tell him.” You’re not afraid to beg.

“God forbid you let yourself feel something, right?” Joshua laughs a little, but his eyes bore into you with sincere sympathy. “Why are you so afraid of your own feelings?”

You don’t know what to say. But you’re saved from having to think about it, because Lee Chan himself sticks his head through the door, something shifting on to his face when his eyes finally land on you. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for — ” he freezes for a second, the exact moment his eyes land on Joshua sitting next to you “ — ages,” he finishes, slowly, before taking a step back. “I should go.”

“No, stay,” Joshua says, quickly, standing up. “We were just finished.”

Chan fidgets with the end of his shirt as Joshua leaves, casting one more empathetic smile at you, and the moment the older boy is gone, Chan steps closer towards you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t realise he was — you’re crying.” His change in tone is so abrupt, from apologetic to dead serious in half a second. ”What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, too high-pitched. “I’m fine now. It’s fine.”

“Was it Joshua?” he demands, already looking back in the direction his friend disappeared to. “What did he say?”

“What? No. It wasn’t him.” You try to change the subject. “I am older than you, you know, I don’t need to be babysat. I hope you didn’t interrupt your fun just to come looking for me.”

He smiles, but his eyes don’t. “Only by a year. And anyway, I have more fun with you.”

You hate that your mind flits back to that girl, the laughing one. “What about your friends? I saw you with, um, what’s her name? The pretty one, dark hair?” 

Subtlety is not your strong suit. 

Chan just blinks at you. “You mean Jana? Yeah, she wanted me to play beer pong against her and her girlfriend. But I did that.” Something untwists in your stomach. He steps closer, fishing a tissue out of nowhere, and with the tenderest touch, wipes at the makeup staining your cheeks.

He’s so close, you can see every individual eyelash. “Why? Were you jealous?” he asks lightly, referring to Jana as he uses one hand to cup your cheek and remove the dark mess under your eyes more carefully.

“No!” Your voice is harsher than intended, jerking out of his grip. and his eyes flick to yours with worry.

“I was kidding,” he says softly, frowning, “Is everything okay, teach?”

Alcohol blurs your rational thinking. You lean your forehead against his chest with the deepest sigh. “Sorry. Sorry.” A short breath. “Chan, I’m so tired.”

He wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back up and down. “Are you drunk?”

You shake your head. “I was tipsy, but I only had two drinks. I’m sober now. Just… exhausted.” 

“I can take you home,” he murmurs against your ear; he’s so warm, he always is, but his touch sends goosebumps all over your skin. “Is that what you want?”

You lean back, look him in the eye, but neither of you let go of each other. Eye contact. From lesson one. “What’s the third lesson?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. Our last lesson. What’s it on?”

He’s silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he replies, at last. 

You cock your head to the side, questioningly, and it’s like something in him snaps, and the words come rushing out, stumbling into each other — “I’ve been making these up as I go along. On the spot.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised but too numb to feel it properly. “Why?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, looking defeated. “I don’t know. Well. I do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

Something clicks for you. I’ve got a great teacher. You’re my favourite too. You look — pretty. I think you deserve to be happy. You look good in blue. 

“Chan,” you say, taking an abrupt step back. Your voice is hoarse suddenly, scratchy with yet another realisation. “What colour is my dress?”

He looks utterly perplexed by your swift change in subject, but he obliges you anyway. “Blue. Why?”

“Do you remember,” you begin, voice shaking ever so slightly. This is the precipice. You’re taking the leap. God forbid you let yourself feel something — well, you are. “Do you remember a week ago? Lesson two?”

“Conversation,” he nods, and you can see his mind working a hundred miles an hour. 

“I was wearing that sweater, and you said — ”

“You look good in blue,” he finishes at once. His eyes flit between you and the dress, and you see the exact moment it dawns on him; the light of comprehension. “But you — Joshua — ”

You shake your head at the question he doesn’t ask. 

It’s like he’s frozen. A minute or a century passes, you’re not sure which, before his eyes meet yours again, filled with something heavy, raw, tender emotion. “How long?”

“Long enough,” you say, and then you’re kissing him, or he’s kissing you, you’re not sure who moves first, or if you move at the same time, but whatever it is — you’re melting into him and he is melting into you, and it’s like your heart gives a happy little sigh. Your shoulders relax, and the tension of the past few weeks evaporates in a few gentle touches.

You break apart with a soft little ‘tch’ sound, and he looks at you with full eyes and the shyest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. 

“You know, technically, you’re still my student,” you say, slightly breathless, entirely giddy. 

He rolls his eyes, tugging you back in already, sliding his arms around your waist. “Yeah, for a week.”

“And a half,” you add, as he begins to kiss up your neck. “You’d better ace your exam next week, after all our hard work.”

He presses his nose into your neck, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about. Now, of all things.”

“That’s what you should be worried about,” you say, bringing a hand up to his hair, running through it with your fingers as you’ve wanted to for so long. “That, and walking me home, maybe.”

“I fully intend to do at least one of those things,” he says, landing a chaste kiss on your lips. “We have a lot to talk about, you know. Starting with me asking you out. Properly.” 

A hint of mischief appears in your smile. “Do well in your exam, and I’ll consider it.”

Chan pulls back, a familiar, confident smirk on his lips. “You have yourself a deal. But until then…”

“We’re still at a party,” you say, dodging his lips with a laugh, even though you really don’t want to. Not at all. “We can’t be that couple.”

He drops his forehead against yours. “We can be whatever the fuck we want. Nobody’s looking, anyway.”

And so you let him kiss you, again and again and again, until he walks you home, and does the same at your door, and the same in your living room. Over and over, making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t, he whispers. Your whole body softens at the weight of his hands, travelling the small of your back, cupping your cheek, squeezing your hips. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and everything makes sense. Everything adds up.

a/n: (yes another) i hate this so much but i think i’ve been dealing with it too long so im just going to. throw it out there. thank you for reading!!! i’d love to hear what you think!!!! hopefully i’ll venture into longfic more often <3

[springtyme]

Steve request! Reader dragging dr*gged up S3 Steve and Robin around the mall with Dustin and Erica and every chance he gets to flirt with r he takes (you can totally ignore this if you want!)

𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun! I loved this idea, and it was so much fun to write <3

Steve Harrington x f!reader || Masterlist || Steve playlist

summary: Throughout your entire friendship with Steve, you've always had terrible timing. But having him confess to you while drugged out of his mind and running from Russian spies might take the cake.

word count: 3.5k

warning/tags: Idiots in love. Childhood best friends. Mention of Steve and Robin being drugged, and Steve's bruises and dried blood. This turned out a lot different and a lot longer than I had first planned, but I do fear I suffer from too much gene. I haven't proofread this, so there might be a few mistakes.

The hum of the fluorescent lights buzz overhead as you try to navigate through the nearly-deserted mall, your heart pounding for reasons beyond the simple adrenaline of running for your life. Your grip on Steve’s arm is firm, trying your best to keep him steady while keeping an eye on Dustin and Erica who are leading Robin after you. 

“C’mon, Steve,” you huff as Steve stumbles over his own feed. He is leaning against you, his usually bright eyes glazed over but still sparkling with mischief. He is truly an absurd sight right now in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, a goofy grin on his heavily bruised face. He has patches of dried blood at the corner of his mouth and on his chin, and the area around his right eye is purple and swollen. Having him drugged out of his mind is far from ideal right now, and you hate not knowing what they injected him with, but you can’t help but feel a little thankful that whatever it is seems t o take his pain. “We have to keep moving.” 

Steve lets out a soft chuckle, the sound slightly slurred, yet still unmistakably sweet to your ears. “You’re really taking charge here, huh? Who knew you could be so bossy?” he teases, leaning a little too heavily against you, making you stumble a little to the side. You roll your eyes at his playfulness, trying to focus on the task at hand which Steve seemingly doesn’t have a single concern over right now.

“Yeah, yeah, bossy but effective,” you shoot back, glancing over your shoulder to make sure the kids and Robin are still behind you, before giving Steve a little push to keep him moving.

He just giggles, flashing you that charming smile that always makes your heart skip a beat—even now, with the haze of whatever the Russians had pumped him full of filtering his brain. “Very effective,” he replies, his voice a drunken whisper as he leans closer, as if sharing a delightful secret. 

“What the hell did they give you two?” you mutter as you stumble slightly to the side from Steve’s weight before catching yourself.   

“I don’t know,” he says, stretching his arms out dramatically, nearly losing his balance again. “But I like it!” he declares, throwing his head back and laughing. 

“I like it too!” Robin chimes in from behind, her voice slightly loopy and higher than usual as she, too, joins in on Steve’s laughing fit. You try to shush them, but your warning only fuels their giggles.

The sound of their laughter echoes through the, luckily nearly-empty, corridor of the mall you’re currently navigating. You huff in frustration, trying to maintain your composure amid the surreality of the moment, glancing around to ensure no one is noticing. “Guys, shh! We don’t want to attract any attention.” 

When Steve leans in again, his breath is warm against your ear, making it increasingly difficult to focus. “I think you’re the one attracting all the attention,” he whispers, a teasing smirk on his lips as he fixes you with a gaze that manages to be both hazy yet intense. The closeness of his body to yours sends a jolt of warmth pulsing through you, even amid the chaos surrounding your group.

 “Can you not flirt right now, Steve? We’re literally dodging a Russian military operation!” Dustin exclaims in exasperation from a few paces behind, his frustration evident as he pulls Robin along, who’s still hanging on to some bizarre delight in the situation. 

“Stop being jealous, Henderson,” Steve shoots back playfully as he sways slightly, and you have to quickly adjust to keep him from toppling over. “Just because your so-called girlfriend is all the way in Utah.” He points dramatically back at Dustin, making Robin break out in laughter again. 

“Focus, guys!” you insist, your voice low but firm. “Just follow me and try to stay quiet, okay?” You force yourself to focus on the path ahead, but every other second you glance to the side at Steve. He winks at you this time, the move so exaggerated that it comes off as almost comical, a poorly executed attempt at charm. 

“Oh, I’ll always follow you, to the end of the world,” he slurs.

“If you say so,” you murmur, which makes Steve knit his eyebrows, doing his best to appear thoughtful, though it only makes him appear more ridiculous. 

“Well, can you blame me? You’re the best,” he declares, sincerity mixed with the haze of his drugged state. “And, not to mention, like… the coolest girl in Hawkins.”

“Shut up, Steve,” you huff, trying to ignore how flustered his compliment makes you feel. 

“Are you gonna make me?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow before stumbling again and you have to swiftly tuck him back under your arm to keep him upright. You barely manage to catch him this time, your heart racing as he leans into you completely, resting his head against your shoulder.

“Just stay on your feet, okay?” you say, your voice carrying a mix of annoyance and affection. You truly can’t believe what’s happening right now.

You have been in love with Steve for what feels like a lifetime, having to watch him date and break up with countless girls, without him ever once seeming to realize the way you felt about him. But now, in a moment where he’s utterly out of it, after being drugged by Russian spies and running for your lives, he flirts with you. It feels like a cruel joke.  

“Okay, okay, I will stay on my feet,” Steve promises, straightening up (or at least attempting to) and puffing out his chest in an attempted display of bravado. It’s a strangely endearing sight, one that almost makes you forget, for a split second, the insane situation you’re fleeing.

The four of you keep moving, dodging through the mall until you finally spot a small storage room with a heavy door slightly ajar and you make a quick decision. The Russians took Steve’s car keys and Steve and Robin are still way too out of it, you need a break from running around so you can figure out what to do.   

“Erica, Dustin, we’re going in here,” you instruct, pulling the door open wider and pushing Steve inside before ushering Robin in with a gentle nudge, making sure Dustin and Erica follow closely behind before joining them, shutting the door behind you, the lock clicking into place.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of dust and industrial cleaner, and the dim light offers a brief reprieve from the chaos outside. Steve and Robin slumps against the wall, chuckling, seemingly entertained by the situation.

“Are you two okay?” you ask, turning towards Dustin and Erica.

“Yeah, we are fine, but those two?” Erica says, hands on her hips as she looks over at Steve and Robin who are giggling to each other with the kind of carefree joy that can only really come from being blissfully unaware of the danger surrounding them.

“Are you two okay?” you ask, more pointedly this time, directing your concern towards Steve and Robin. 

They briefly pause their laughter, turning their silly, unfocused gazes to you, their expressions shifting from amusement to a classic ‘who, us?’ look.

“More than okay. I feel amazing!” Robin announces with a giggle, her voice a bit too loud for the cramped space, her laughter filling the confined space. She barely seems aware of the tension in the air, her cheeks flushed from the adrenaline and whatever the Russians had spiked her with. You, on the other hand, take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and the whirlwind of emotions inside you. 

“Well, there’s your answer, they are okay too,” you say, trying to keep your composure. They are clearly not okay, but there is not much you can do about it right now, most likely the drug will start to wear off sooner or later and all you can do is wait for that. In the meantime you have to figure out what to do. 

“Dustin help me move this crate,” you direct, pointing to a heavy storage crate in the corner. “Erica make sure those two stay put and somewhat quiet,” you say, trying to sound authoritative  . 

After a little bit of struggle you and Dustin get the crate and get the door barricaded before he joins Erica and the others and you take an inventory of the room—cleaning supplies, an old mop, and shelves lined with boxes. Nothing particularly useful to escape a Russian army, but at least it’s quiet.

You have just peaked your head out of a box, in which you finally had found something useful, as Steve, who apparently had maneuvered over to you, tries to lean on a shelf, but ends up leaning too heavily and almost toppling down. You rush forward to catch him before he hits the ground, your heart racing as you feel the warmth of his body against yours. 

“Whoa, careful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The way he grins at you is both charming and infuriating, a painful reminder of why your heart races despite the absurdity of your current situation. “I thought I told you to stay put,” you scold gently, trying to mask the concern lacing your voice with a little frustration. 

“I missed you,” he replies, resting his head against the shelf beside you, the admission slipping out with an exaggerated, almost theatrical sweetness. 

“I was only a few feet away, Steve,” you remind him. 

“I know, but… you were still too far away,” he responds, tilting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze is a little more lucid, he is still out of it, but there is an earnestness that transcends any drug haze. “And I told you I’d follow you to the end of the world, remember.” There’s honesty in his tone that tugs at your heartstrings, and for a moment, you’re taken aback by his words.

“That’s sweet, Steve,” you say, giving him a little smile, which he reciprocates tenfold, clearly pleased to have garnered a smile from you. “Now look what I found,” you say, pulling out the first aid kit you had found from the box you were rummaging through before.  

“Uuuh,” he drawls as he leans closer, inspecting the kit with an hindering interest.

“Wanna come here and sit with me?” you ask, gesturing over to the crate by the door. 

“Always,” he replies, grinning as he attempts to maneuver himself but ends up colliding with the shelf instead. You can’t help but laugh a little as you reach out to steady him again, your hands brushing against his sides as you guide him over to the crest and help him sit down.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, is that okay?” you ask softly, clicking open the first aid kit, trying your best to try ignoring the chaos that lingers just outside the door.

“That would be nice... You’re so nice,” he replies, before resting his head back against the wall, a goofy smile plastered on his face as he looks up at you with such admiration that it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you in that dimly lit storage room. You  feel that familiar rush of affection as you watch him. Drugged or not, he radiates that special warmth that brings a flutter to your heart. 

 “Okay, this might hurt a little, but try not to move, I promise to be gentle,” you say, pulling open an antiseptic wipe. You take a moment to steel yourself, your heart sinking as you study the bruises that mar his otherwise perfectly chiseled features. It must hurt, but he seems completely unfazed by it, lost in the bliss of his inebriated state. 

“Oh, you’re always gentle with me, even when you’re mean.” His voice is filled with a warm admiration. You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile creeping onto your lips as you dab the antiseptic wipe against a cut on his cheek.

“When am I ever mean to you?” you ask him, focusing on wiping the blood from his chin while trying to ignore the way his gaze makes the air feel thick with unsaid emotions.

Steve chuckles softly, the sound warm and syrupy in the dim light of the storage room. “You’re always calling me an idiot, and you give me that look—” he pauses, his hazy expression suddenly serious, though it’s still marred by a goofy smile. 

You frown, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden shift in demeanor. “What look?” you ask, your brows knitting together in confusion. 

“That one! The one that says I’m a total dork who couldn’t find his own feet without you,” he replies, his tone teasing but somehow more sincere than usual. He tilts his head slightly, trying to penetrate the fog of the drug clouding his thoughts. “But, I know what you really mean. You just care. Besides, I like when you’re mean. It’s pretty hot…”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. He’s always known just how to get under your skin, but this is different—this feels more intimate, more real, especially given the current circumstances. “You might only think that because you’re high,” you counter, trying to play it cool despite the heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. 

He knits his brows, looking up at you like you just gave him the world’s meanest insult. “Nah, I mean it,” he insists, his eyes wide and sincere, though still glazed with that loopy energy.

“Maybe keep that thought for when you’re not under the influence of whatever crap those Russians gave you. I doubt you would say all this.” You carefully dab at his split lip, your fingers brushing against his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Somehow, it all feels surreal—this moment shared in the darkness, just you and Steve.

“Doesn’t matter, really. Even if they hadn’t—” He pauses, searching your eyes, and for the first time, you can’t help but notice the flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I would’ve said it anyway. You have always been the one, you know?”

Your breath catches in your throat—what does he mean by ‘the one?’ You blink, trying to find your voice. “Steve—”

“No, wait. Let me finish,” he interrupts, shifting closer, entirely oblivious to the way butterflies have taken flight in your stomach. “I don’t know if we are getting caught by Russian spies, so please listen,” he says earnestly, and in that drugged haze, it feels deeply sincere, stripped of pretense or playful banter.

“I know I’ve been a total idiot when it comes to, well… everything, but especially with you. I just… I was scared. Scared to ruin our friendship.” 

You hold your breath, caught up in the gaze of the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember. A part of you wants to stop him, to put your hands over his mouth and make him stop spilling his unfiltered, drug induced thoughts, but you feel like you’re frozen.

“Even when I was a total jerk in high school, even when I was wrapped up in all those other girls, I always wanted it to be you. You’re… special to me. You always have been. You always save me from myself, you know? And not just today... but like, all the time.” His voice lowers to a near whisper as if he is sharing a secret that only the two of you exist to hear.

Your heart races, a torrent of emotions coursing through you. The words are both a balm and a weight, wrapping around you tightly.

“Steve… I…” You struggle for the right words as the weight of their significance swings like a pendulum between you. You love him, have done for years, and hearing him voice sentiments that resonate so deeply makes your heart ache—in a good way, but still aching hard. “Why would you think you’d ruin our friendship?” you ask, your voice gentle but firm. You’d buried your feelings for so long, only to have them rise unfiltered at this moment. 

“I thought—” He sighs, running a hand through his messy, yet somehow still perfect, hair, an absent gesture still filled with that same childhood charm you had known since you were kids. “I thought that I’d never be able to look at you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He chuckles softly, but it’s tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. “But now, I think—I mean, right now it feels like that doesn’t really matter. I have an assumption that I might be a little bit out of it right now, but I’m not that out of it, like… I am still here, in front of you. And if I die today because those Russians catch us, I just… I need you to know that you’ve always been the one for me, ‘cause I don’t want to die, or end up in a gulag, without you knowing that.”   

His confession hangs in the air between you like a fragile thread—part of you fears that it may unravel at any moment. Your pulse quickens as you dare to let yourself bask in the warmth of what he is saying. A weight lifts from your shoulders, giving way to a sense of hope you hadn’t anticipated.

“You wouldn’t ruin anything, Steve. I promise.” You take his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I think we will have to talk about this later though, when we aren’t fleeing for our lives. But thank you for telling me.” 

“Yeah… yeah, definitely later,” he agrees, a mix of urgency and longing mixing in the hazy look lining his features. 

You interlace your fingers, giving his hand another squeeze. If you’re actually making it out of this crazy situation, and when Steve isn’t drugged out of his mind and can confirm that he actually meant all that he just said, you’re gonna kiss him silly. But for now, the moment hangs in the air like a delicate suspension bridge, strung tightly between adrenaline and longing, with the threat of the outside world looming just beyond the door.

“Uhm, are you two good?” Erica interrupts, her voice cutting through the thick tension in the air. You whip your head around to find her standing with her arms crossed, raised eyebrow, looking way too sassy for a ten year old. Robin is propped against the far wall, watching with wide eyes and a goofy grin plastered on her face.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you respond quickly, feeling a hot flush rush to your cheeks as you release Steve’s hand, the warmth of his skin lingering even as you separate.

Steve shifts, nudging you playfully with his shoulder as he leans back against the wall. “Just bonding over our collective trauma, you know?” he says, his tone light but his eyes still holding that depth, the seriousness lingering just beneath the surface.

“Right, because that’s totally normal,” Dustin mutters sarcastically, eyeing the two of you with a knowing look. “Just keep it PG. Kissing isn’t going to save us from the Russians.” 

“We weren’t kissing,” you exclaim immediately, your heart racing as you avoid making eye contact with Steve, who wears a grin that communicates far too much mischief for your sanity.

“Oh, please,” Erica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “We all saw you two get all mushy. If we weren’t in the middle of a hostage situation, I might actually find it cute.” Robin giggles beside her, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Shut up, guys,” you mutter, suddenly very much aware of the heat flooding your veins. You can feel Steve’s gaze on you, and even in his loopy state, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. The last thing you need is the audience right now, especially when it involves Dustin and a ten-year-old like Erica, who take far too much joy in teasing you about this kind of stuff.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Robin slurs out with a giggle, leaning her head against the wall with a dreamy smile. “At least we know you’re safe together. Just don’t let those spy guys catch you making out in here. That would be truly embarrassing.”

“Thanks, Robin,” you reply dryly, your cheeks still flushed with heat. The absurdity of being stuck in a storage room, surrounded by your friends while hiding from Russian agents, yet feeling like the most pivotal moment of your life is unfolding, is almost laughable.

“Can we please focus on survival rather than on whatever is going on right now?” Dustin groans, exasperated. 

“We most certainly can,” you reply, helping Steve, who keeps looking at you like you hung the moon, up from the crate and onto his feet again, but you keep your fingers interlocked as you help him over to the others again.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ♡

[captainsophiestark]

A New Man

Colin Bridgerton x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Colin has had feelings for his best friend for some time now, and has decided his new skills in charm and flirting are the perfect way to win her over. He is unfortunately very mistaken.

Word Count: 4,713

Category: Angst, Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"This is by far the best part of these society events," mused Benedict, one of my best friends, as the two of us perused the dessert table. "Sometimes it even makes putting up with all the marauding mamas worth it."

I laughed and picked up a delious looking cupcake.

"The mamas must be truly terrible this season if the food only sometimes makes them worth putting up with."

Benedict sighed. "You have no idea."

I nudged him with my shoulder, smiling as we stepped away from the dessert table together.

"Well, you have no need to worry, Benedict. As long as I am unattached, I am more than happy to act as a shield for you, especially when society dictates you must find a partner and dance."

"Thank you. You are a true friend. I know I can always count on-"

"Colin!" I turned to grin sheepishly at Benedict in the wake of my outburst and found him staring at me with a mocking, raised eyebrow. But I couldn't quite bring myself to care, since I'd just seen my absolute best friend in the world, Colin Bridgerton, standing across the lawn chatting with a group of ladies.

He'd left England this summer for another lengthy international trip, and I'd missed him terribly while he'd been gone. He looked different now, too, a little more sure of himself and wearing a style that had clearly come from somewhere on the continent rather than from here. And if my heart raced a little at the sight of him, well, that could easily be chalked up to excitement at the prospect of seeing a friend. I couldn't keep a smile off my face at the sight of him, even as I turned back to Benedict and found him with crossed arms and doubly raised eyebrows.

"When were you going to tell me that Colin had returned?" I demanded, completely ignoring Benedict's judgey look and barely managing to keep my voice at a socially acceptable level. Benedict just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"It is why I came over here in the first place, but then you distracted me with talks of friendship and cupcakes. And now I see it was all a lie, as you are clearly about to abandon me to the whims of this social event to go rush over and talk to my brother."

"Sorry, Benedict," I said, giving him a grin. "But I saw you throughout the summer. It has been much too long since I last saw Colin, so he takes precedence for the day. But I promise you I will come to your aid if you find yourself cornered by the mamas, or any other dangerous creature roaming the society grounds."

Benedict snorted, but I didn't give him the opportunity for a comeback as I turned back to Colin and walked quickly across the gravel paths, the smile growing on my face the closer I got to him. He didn't notice me as I approached, wrapped up in conversation with the handful of ladies in front of him, and my smile grew even more at the thought of his face when he finally caugh sight of me.

"...will be fighting over you," I heard Colin saying as I walked up to join the group. "I cannot compete."

All the ladies in the circle giggled, giving me perfect cover for my smile as I came to a stop in front of Colin. He turned to face me, a beaming smile on his face, then froze a bit as his eyebrows shot up when he realized who I was.

"Lady Y/L/N!" he said, the shock melting back into his charming smile. "What a pleasure it is to have you join us."

"Mister Bridgerton, what a pleasure it is to have you back in England with us."

Colin dipped his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a roguish smile before he returned his gaze to me.

"Believe me, Lady Y/L/N, the pleasure here is all mine."

Rather than the earnest excitement I'd been expecting, Colin's demeanor and voice dripped with a slick charm I didn't recognize. I'd been expecting his usual earnest, genuine emotion, not... this. I gave Colin a little frown of confusion, but quickly let my expression return to normal as he returned to addressing our entire group. He had an energy about him that I couldn't quite place, but it was much different than the Colin I'd gotten to know so well before he left. Still, we were in public. Neither of us were allowed to be anywhere near as effusive and close as we would've been in a more private setting.

"We were just discussing the season," Colin said, including me seamlessly in the conversation I'd joined between him and the other ladies. "Truly, it is amazing to me that all of your dance cards are not already full of suitors."

All the ladies around me giggled, hiding behind their fans and fluttering their eyelashes at Colin. I just stared at him, letting my brow furrow again as I watched my friend. He met my eyes, a smooth smile on his face and his eyes roaming me with an interest and flirtation they'd never had before. If Colin had looked at me like that when I'd last seen him, my heart would've started doing backflips. But his new demeanor made the gesture seem much less sincere, and much more shallow. I let my frown deepen.

"So..." I started, trying to clear the air of whatever strange energy seemed to be lurking here. "Mister Bridgerton, tell us of your travels. You sent so few letters this time, I have simply been dying to hear about everything you saw and did."

Colin flashed me a brilliant smile that didn't totally reach his eyes.

"This time, my stories from abroad are not suitable for such tender young ladies." Everyone around us giggled into their fans again, but Colin's eyes never left mine. "Were I to tell you even the tiniest adventure, well... I'd be forced to marry you."

He delivered the final few words with dramatic flourish, as if expecting for them to have some groundshaking impact. And with the way he stared at me with a simmering gaze, the words clearly intended to make every lady in earshoot swoon, he accomplished his goal. I couldn't hold back a snort of laughter, which I quickly hid as a cough behind my fan.

Colin looked shocked when I glanced up at him, but I still couldn't keep another laugh from bubbling up. He was being so ridiculous, so arrogant and flirting with everyone in sight like he was God's gift to the women of England, and I truly couldn't take him seriously this way.

I cleared my throat and straightened back up, keeping it together just enough as I faced Colin and the other ladies, giving each of them a shallow curtsey.

"Forgive me. I think... something in the air, it must have gotten to me. Excuse me, please."

With that, I turned on my heel and didn't look back. I walked quickly across the garden, seeking out and immediately finding Benedict among the crowd once again, hovering by some shrubbery in an attempt to hide from the ladies and their mothers. I sped up to reach him, the giggling smile returning to my face as I approached.

Benedict must've heard me coming, because at the sound of laughter in a semi-high pitched register he turned on his heel and started moving in the other direction without looking to see the origin of the sound. I walked faster, until I was close enough to call out to him without drawing undue attention.

"Relax, Benedict, it's just me!"

His shoulders slumped as he stopped and turned to face me, relief written in every line of his face. After a moment, however, his expression changed to one of confusion.

"What are you doing back here so soon?" he asked. "I thought you would spend at least the next hour with Colin, catching up on all his travels and making every eligible lady here incredibly jealous of the two of you."

"Well, I planned to catch up with him, but... Benedict, you will never believe what he said." Benedict raised an eyebrow, so I glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then took a step forward and lowered my voice all the same. Laughing about Colin with his brother was one thing, but I didn't want anyone in the rest of the Ton talking behind his back. "He said he couldn't possibly tell me his stories from abroad, because they weren't 'suitable for tender young ladies'."

Benedict scoffed. "Truly?"

"Truly! Benedict, he's come back from abroad strutting around like some peacock, as though he is God's gift to eligible young women everywhere. You know I love him, as you do, but... I cannot take him seriously with his new attitude. I do not think I could if I tried."

Benedict smiled and shook his head, staring over my shoulder, presumably at Colin. Then he turned back to me.

"Did he seem to be directing his newfound charm at anyone in particular?"

I frowned. "No, not that I noticed. It seemed to be more like buckshot, just aiming with broad strokes at everyone in range. Why? Are you joining the side of the mamas in trying to help your brother find a match?"

"No," Benedict sighed, sounding truly tired. "Simply trying to guague exactly how long I may have left before I am the only eligible Bridgerton son for the mamas to focus on."

I laughed. "Do not worry, Benedict. I think you have some time yet."

Benedict didn't respond, but I thought I heard him mumble something into his drink that sounded like, "we'll see". When I raised an eyebrow at him and prepared a question, however, he quickly changed the subject, and I let him. We spent most of the rest of the afternoon together, hiding out from societal obligations and occasionally laughing about how strange his siblings could be sometimes.

After the garden party, I didn't get much of a chance to speak with Colin again until Lady Danbury's ball. He'd approached me once or twice when we'd seen each other in passing at other events, but we'd always been interrupted by other ladies, and Colin seemed suddenly incapable of interacting with me without his base layer of extreme, over the top charm. I would've felt bad for how little time I'd spent with him since he'd returned home, but every time I'd tried to ask him about his travels or how he was doing, he turned it into a truly ridiculous line of flirting, the likes of which we used to make fun of other suitors for before his most recent summer travels.

As a result, when Lady Danbury's ball rolled around, I didn't seek Colin out the way I would've last season. Instead, I found Eloise, Benedict, and even Francesca for a while when she clearly needed a break from her first season out in society. I danced with a few of the men who were tolerable, and otherwise enjoyed my time at the refreshments table and talking to people I knew. Colin didn't seek me out for the first half of the ball, either, so when I heard a familiar voice trying to get my attention after I'd found a spot along the wall for a bit of a break from the rest of the party, it was more of a surprise than it should've been.

"Y/N."

I turned around with a smile to find Colin standing behind me, a grin on his own face. We were out of earshot of the rest of the party, so we could dispense with some of the titles and formality that had lost all meaning between us long ago.

"Colin, hello! I was beginning to think I might not see you at all during this ball, such your other engagements seemed to be."

"Well, I could never let my other engagements prevent me from conversing with the most beautiful woman at this ball, could I?"

He said it with an easy smile and a charming sincerity, but I'd seen him use the same attitude and similar words on enough other ladies in our few interactions this season that his words didn't work to sway me the way they seemed to sway others. My smile slipped, and I fought to hold back a sigh.

"Yes, well..."

Colin smiled at me for another moment, and when I didn't pick up the conversation, he gave an easy chuckle and fixed me with another roguish grin.

"As delighted as I am for any opportunity to spend time with you, my lady, I did come over here to ask you if you might do me the honor of a dance. I truly cannot think of a partner I would rather have than you."

I fought a grimace, barely managing to turn it into a polite smile. I looked around briefly to make sure we were still out of earshot of any other party-goers or servants, which we were. I turned back to Colin with a sigh.

"Colin... I am going to tell you this because I truly care about you, although that may not seem to be my motivation at first glance."

"...Alright," said Colin, blinking a few times and trying to hide any confusion with another easy smile. I took a deep breath.

"I do not wish to dance with you." The smile dropped off Colin's face and his eyebrows knit together as I continued. "I never thought I would say such a thing, as quite often dancing and laughing with you were the only things that made attending society events bearable. But ever since you've returned home from your trip, Colin... it has been nearly impossible to talk to you.

"The man I thought I knew, my friend, whom I deeply cared about and whom I could talk to about anything, seems to have gone. And in his place I have found a Colin Bridgerton who not only flirts with anything that moves, but who does so in a way that is incredibly condescending and impossible to have a meaningful conversation with. Your letters from your previous travels were wonderful, Colin, and when you returned we were able to discuss them at length. You know I have an interest in learning and the world at large, and yet now, whenever I bring the subject up, I am told I could not possibly handle hearing about the things you saw and did, since I am but a fragile woman. Your sincerety and genuine expression of yourself has become cloaked in an oily layer of false sentiment and charm, directed equally at everyone you speak to, no matter your relation to them or your true feelings. I have no idea what brought about this change in you, Colin, but I am sorry to say I do not enjoy it the way the rest of the ladies here seem to."

Colin just stared at me, blinking and gaping like a fish. I frowned, feeling a big guilty, but lying to him would serve no purpose for either of us. Still, he was my friend, and I did care about him regardless of his recent changes. Choosing to ignore society for a brief moment, I put my hand out and rested it gently on his arm.

"Do not mistake my words as an insult designed to hurt you, Colin. You are my friend, and always will be. I have simply... found it harder to be around the person you have become recently. I am truly happy for you and your newfound confidence, but it seems to have extended a bit beyond confidence and into something more challenging, especially with ladies. Even ones you've known as long as you've known me."

I gave him a tight smile, which he seemed too stunned to return. I gave him a moment, but when he still didn't seem capable of a response, I curtsied and took a few steps backwards.

"Well. I will... take my leave. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball."

Colin just watched me as I took another few steps backwards. Finally, I turned on my heel and walked away. I wasn't sure how I'd been expecting him to take my statement, but complete speechlessness certainly hadn't been my prediction. I could only hope I hadn't wounded him too badly, and that he might come around enough to be the man I remembered as my friend and confidant, who could discuss the world with me as an equal and laugh with me through anything.

Thankfully, no one at the ball seemed to have noticed our exchange. Colin kept his distance from me for the rest of the evening, although I did notive him staring in my direction once or twice.

I debated finding Benedict to ask him his opinion about what I'd said to Colin, and how Colin might be feeling, but eventually decided against it. No matter how true my words had been, or how I'd tried to keep them from sounding harsh or designed to hurt, Colin would likely need his space for a time while he processed. And sending his brother in as my proxy would be the opposite of giving Colin space.

I expected Colin to keep his distance from me for a few days at least, if not for much, much longer. But as I took my seat in the sitting room of my family home the next morning for the start of the calling hours, I turned out to be quite incorrect. Before the clock had finished chiming to mark the start of the first hour, none other than Colin Bridgerton came striding through the door, ahead of the butler who normally would have announced him.

"Lady Y/N," he said, bowing to me and then to my mother sitting on the couch next to me. "I have come to call on you, if you are willing to entertain my company."

He still walked and spoke with confidence, but the layer of charm that had honeyed his words since the first day he'd returned for the season was gone, replaced by a directness and frankness that felt like taking a breath of fresh air. I gave him a small smile.

"I would be more than happy to have your company, Mister Bridgerton."

Colin gave me a small smile in return, and the two of us moved to the other end of the room, still able to be chaperoned but out of immediate earshot. I settled into the couch, Colin sitting right beside me.

"Y/N... thank you for being willing to speak to me. I had to see you, to apologize... and to explain."

My eyebrows shot up. Now that we were sitting closer together, I noticed a few irregularities in Colin's appearance. He had a few shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept well, and his hair wasn't as neatly quaffed as I was used to seeing it. His shirt was rumpled in a few places a maid or a butler or a hovering older sibling might've insisted on fixing if they could've, and although Colin's new confidence appeared to be mostly intact, the charm had been replaced with a nervous energy I'd hardly ever seen from him.

"Colin... are you quite alright?" I asked, leaning a bit closer to him as I studied his face. When I looked up to meet his eyes, I found them instead scanning my face, until he apparenlty snapped out of it and met my gaze. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"Yes. Well, no. Perhaps. I am not sure, I think my wellbeing may depend a bit on the outcome of this conversation."

"Colin, before you begin, if I was too harsh on you the other night then I must apologize-"

"No! No. You were not." He took another fortifying breath, closing his eyes for a moment and dropping his shoulders from where they'd been creeping closer to his ears, before meeting my eyes again. "I have been quite different since I came home. I found myself while I was away from society, in a way I have never felt able to do here. But... I also learned the kind of charm that most of the Ton enjoys. It worked so well from the moment I got back, I did not think much of it. But I should have. And I am sorry if our relationship suffered as a result of my attitude."

Colin paused to take a deep breath, and I took the opening to reach out and rest my hand on his forearm.

"Colin, you do not-"

"Y/N, please. Please allow me to get all the way through this. I need to say it all, and I may not be able to get it out if I have an opportunity to change the subject."

I leaned back a little to stare at Colin, though I didn't remove my hand. His eyebrows were knit together with worry and his eyes never left my face. Slolwy, I nodded. Colin let out a sigh.

"Thank you." He squared his shoulders and sat up straighter, resting his hand on top of my own. "I understand why my approach was... not appreciated when we spoke in the garden and at Lady Danbury's ball. But the sentiment behind what I was saying was genuine. I have been searching for the way to tell you this for years, and I thought the charm and flirtation I learned abroad would be the way to finally do it. Clearly I was wrong. You should have seen the face Benedict made when I talked to him last night..."

Colin trailed off, shaking his head and apparently lost in thought. After a moment, I took a breath to say something else, but the noise must've been enough to jar Colin out of his memories. His stare snapped back to me, eyes slightly wider than usual.

"I love you. I have been in love with you for years, and when I returned home from this trip, I decided to finally do something about it. I thought the charm that worked so well on everyone else would work just as well for you, but... clearly I was mistaken."

I huffed a laugh. That was certainly an understatement.

"I wanted everything to be perfect, to come home changed and sweep you off your feet, but I've already failed at that, and I cannot keep my feelings to myself a moment longer. I love you, and I want to share everything with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, and the only woman I could possibly imagine spending the rest of my life with. Is there even the slightest chance you may feel the same way?"

Colin looked at me with the most open, vulnerable expression I'd ever seen, from anyone. My heart raced in my chest, and all I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and never let go. But I forced myself to take a moment, rather than letting my emotions run wild.

"I need you to answer two questions for me, Colin," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and level. Unfortunately, I didn't totally succeed. Colin nodded quickly.

"Anything."

"First... how were your travels? Where was your favorite place to visit?"

Colin huffed a laugh, relaxing and leaning into me slightly as a faint smile pulled onto his face. My heart raced, but I forced myself to keep a neutral expression.

"I apologize for even making this test necessary, but my travels were... incredible. I may ask you not to share details with the rest of the Ton, but anything you ask, I will be happy to share with you. And my favorite place was Paris. I could not stop thinking about the two of us returning someday to visit together. It is a truly romantic city."

Colin's words removed any hope I had at keeping a smile off my face. I leaned into it, grinning at him and squeezing his hand a little as my heart began to race.

"Well then, I look forward to hearing all about them."

"And I look forward to telling you. Your second question?"

"...Did you truly go to Benedict for help with this last night?"

Colin groaned and threw his head back, which made me laugh. He shook his head as he met my eyes again, but he was smiling all the same.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I know you are close with him, and I noticed you going to speak to him after you abruptly left our conversation at the garden party. I thought he might have some insight, and I was right. It just came at the cost of quite a bit of mocking."

"You truly must be serious to give Benedict such ammunition to use against you for the rest of your lives."

"I am incredibly serious. And I would brave the teasing of every one of my siblings if, at the end, it brought me to you."

"Colin, that may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Does that mean... you return my affections?"

I smiled. "Yes, Colin. It does. You are my best friend, and I cannot think of anyone I would rather spend my time with than you."

Colin absolutely beamed at me. He began to lean forward, then thought better of himself even as his eyes still strayed to my lips.

"I cannot begin to tell you how desperately I wish we were alone in this moment," he said, voice low and husky. My heart did a backflip as I felt myself flush.

"Hopefully we will not have to wait long," I replied. We stayed there together, the tension and heat growing between us, until my mother cleared her throat from across the room and we were both brought back to reality. We leaned slightly further apart, although we didn't let go of each others' hands, and shared a grin.

"So... does that mean you will marry me?"

I laughed. "Colin, you cannot be serious! You began courting me a handful of minutes ago!"

I met Colin's eyes, expecting to share the joke, but instead I found him staring at me with a burning sincerity to go with his words.

"I am happy to wait as long as you need me to," he said, voice lowered slightly. "But I would also happily announce our engagement today."

I smiled and shook my head, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I thought Colin might actually be able to hear it.

"I may ask you to wait at least long enough for us to spend an evening or two together while courting, to see what it may be like to have a different relationship, rather than to spend time together as friends. But... I do not predict you will need to wait long."

The grin that spread across Colin's face was blinding, rivaling the happiest looks I'd ever seen from anyone in my life.

"That is good to hear. There are quite a few things I can hardly wait for, all of which come with engagement and marriage."

"Hm. Thank goodness we are both of positions and family that allow us to disappear for months on a honeymoon, finally sharing some travels around the world together. Among other things."

Colin squeezed my hand, and I could see him fighting back a handful of inappropriate responses and actions. I just grinned back at him, the two of us settling into our usual ease on the couch togehter after a moment so I could finally get Colin to tell me about the things he'd done on his travels. Hopefully, no one else would show up during the calling hours, and Colin and I could spend every moment of the day together just like this.

I'd meant what I'd said about wanting to wait, at least a short while, before announcing an engagement, and I did think it was a good idea. But I also couldn't imagine anything coming between Colin and I again after this. My best friend was back, and we were in love. What more could I possibly ask for in a match than that? Even if Benedict would be insufferable, claiming to be the one who'd set us up. It would be worth it, especially because we would weather the storm of his siblings together. Just like we'd do everything else that came for the rest of our lives.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

[writingsbychlo]

HOME TO US | rhysand

summary; rhys and nyx are a family of two, but they're both pretty hell-bent on making it into a trio, with you.

word count; 12,151

notes; I have no idea how this got so long? I planned for it to be like 4-5k, and @azsazz can vouch for that. also big shout out to @acourtofwhatthefuck for proofreading this for me when I just had no motivation, but I needed this one to be perfect.

Fate had always seemed to have the worst timing for you.

Whether it be relationships, the sunny skies turned to rain, or simply this; balancing precariously on a stool and getting startled by your own phone, which you could have sworn was on silent mode. 

Blaring out across the shop in a sudden burst of cheery notes and tones, you almost dropped the stacks of books in your hands, cursing a little as it vibrated in rhythm in the back pocket of your jeans. When the call persisted after the usual three rings signalling a cold caller or market salesperson, you sighed. 

Shifting the books to one arm, you fished the phone out before it could go to voicemail, wondering just who would be calling you so urgently at this time of the day. The question didn’t linger for long, though, as your eyes widened at the caller across the front of the screen. 

‘Velaris Young-Education Prepatory School’.

A ridiculously fancy name for an elementary school, you thought it every time you saw the name, and yet right now, your heart skipped a beat as you pressed answer. Bringing it to your ear as you shuffled the books in your arms more, you lowered yourself down from the ladder carefully. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello! Is this Nyx’s mother, (Y/N)? It’s V-Y-E Prep.”

The woman on the phone sounded somewhere between relieved and panicked, and your heart leapt into your throat a little at her tone. “Well, yes, that’s me, but-”

“Oh, good, we weren’t able to get in touch with dad, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of either of you.” She cut you off before you had a chance to finish, your lips clamping shut as she let out a sigh of a laugh. “I’m Nyx’s class teacher, but he’s had a little bit of an accident today, do you think you’d be able to come and pick him up from the reception?”

Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest entirely. “An accident, what kind of accident, is he okay?” 

“Oh, he’s fine! He had a fall during playtime, and he bumped his head. There’s a mark, and a scratch we’ve cleaned up, but he’s understandably a little shocked and upset. We know dad can get… concerned,” 

Understatement of the century, you wanted to butt in, because Rhys was more than just concerned. He was overprotective, in an endearing way, but he tended to freak out over the smallest things. Then again, it didn’t help when teachers said things like ‘accident’ when it’s not so serious. Perhaps it was a good thing that they got you, not him. 

“So, we thought we’d give you a ring, and see if you could pick him up?”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. You still had four hours left of your shift, and you felt terrible just ducking out, even if the store was dead, excluding the few people idling over lukewarm coffees in the connected café. “Sure, yeah, of course. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then.”

The line clicked dead, your eyes sliding shut as you let out a slow breath. You could have just said no, that voice in your head taunted, he’s not your child to fret over. And yet, the thought of his sad face lingered in your mind, triggering all those maternal instincts inside of you and sending them into overdrive.

“Sounds urgent.” Somehow, despite walking with a cane and always wearing heeled boots that clicked on the floorboards, Margaret had managed to sneak up on you. When you turned, the seventy-something-year-old was standing with a smile on her face behind you, eyeing the phone in your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Margie. It’s Nyx’s school.” You grimaced, lips pressing together into a thin line. She only laughed lightly, waving a frail hand idly in the air as if to bat the moment away.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I know what it’s like to have your child’s school call you up in the middle of the day.” Her smile only widened, her eyes glazing over a little. “Our Tommy was a terrible little troublemaker, I had constant calls about his behaviour. And our Jenny, well, she was the clumsiest kid you ever saw. Tripped over thin air.”

A wistful sigh escaped her, and your lips flicked up at the edges. You’d met both Thomas and Jennifer, lovely people, but just as she’d described. Jennifer seemed even more prone to bad timing than you, and Thomas had turned all that troublesome energy into bad flirting and a heated temper. 

“You do what you have to for your kids.” She’d finished her recollections, her voice snapping you from your own, and you could only nod.

“I know, but he’s not my kid. Not biologically, or in any way that matters. It’s not the same, and-”

“Hon, if I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.” Her words made a lump in your throat that was impossible to speak around, a quick flash of emotion swelling up that you were quick to fight against, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she’d seen in. “He may not have your genes, but he’s yours. So, go get your son. The store will still be here when you come back on Monday.”

“Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me force you out of this door.” She tapped her cane at your feet, just close enough that you could feel the floorboards vibrate under the harsh taps, a wordless threat, and a grin broke out on your lips to hide the blush on your cheeks. 

“Alright, I’ll see you Monday, then.”

She gave a curt nod, and you were flying through the store. Grabbing your bag and coat from the backroom on the way, you were out of the back door and at your car in less than a full minute. Only when you’d put your bags onto the seat and checked the car seat permanently attached to the back of the car did you get into your own seat.

How you’d gotten to this point, you had no idea. It hadn't been your intention four years ago when you’d first met baby Nyx, to end up with a box of his things in your trunk for emergencies, a child seat of your own in the back of the car and your name registered as a parental contact. Yet, as you stared, twisting to look at it and brushing your fingers over the fabric, you didn’t have a single regret about it. 

In fact, only a smile pulled at your lips as you thought about him. Him, and his father. Rhysand had been your best friend for many years, and his baby only seemed to bring you closer. You’d never have wished Nyx’s mother to have abandoned him, you loathed the woman every day for what she did to them both, but it had created a space in their lives that you’d somehow patched a part of up. 

When Rhys had needed support and guidance, you’d been there.

Now, you’d be there for Nyx, too.

As you started the car, flicking a glance back to check the mirrors on the seat were still aligned, Margie’s words flickered through your mind. 

If I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.

They lingered on your mind for the entire drive, hanging over you like a cloud on an April day, unsure if it was going to rain, or simply pass by. Until you were parked outside of the school, hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as you stared up at the tall glass entryway only a few paces away. You couldn't see Nyx yet, not with the doors on the other side that truly sealed off the building, but you could make out figures and shapes on the other side.

Your eyes moved to the clock, the digit clicking over another number, and your fingers felt numb when you finally released them from the wheel. With another sigh, you released all thoughts about mothers and genes and Rhys. 

One day, perhaps, you’d confront them. Today wasn’t going to be it.

Stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it, as you took a slow jog up the main pathway before the school. The doors hissed open automatically before you, the smell of fresh cotton coming from the air freshener in the corner of the office, and the receptionist behind the desk looked borderline bored as she glanced up. 

“Hi, um- Hi. I’m here for Nyx.”

Her eyes widened a little, looking significantly more interested now as she took your name, and called through to the classroom. The thought almost amused you, had you not been so concerned. Rhys had quite the reputation around here, the big checks and hefty donations gained him and Nyx quite the special treatment, one that clearly seemed to pass onto you, too. 

The doors to the school buzzed open a second later as the magnetic locks released, and you stepped through. Sitting in one of the large plush chairs lined up along the wall of the office was Nyx, looking utterly swamped as his feet swung in the air, head bowed and hands clutching tightly to his backpack in his lap. 

At the scuffing of your shoes, his head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, turning to relieved as he saw you. He dropped his bag to the floor, moving to slide out of the chair but you were faster, dropping down to kneel before him. Up close, you could see more, enough to break your heart. 

His eyes were red, cheeks pink, tear-marks tracked into the smears of playground dirt and classroom muck on his face. When you brushed the edge of his inky hair back from his forehead, it was to reveal a cut across his forehead to his temple, bumped and bruised, growing into a lump on his head. His bottom lip wobbled, eyes growing shiny again. 

“Oh, Nyxie, did you get hurt?”

“Yeah…” His voice trembled as he spoke, sniffling lightly and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. Patting his hair down once again, you tried to choke back the emotions clogging in your throat as a tall shadow fell across the both of you. With a glance, you confirmed that it was his teacher, looking more than a little nervous as she watched you take in Nyx for yourself. 

“We just have some forms for you to sign, and I can tell you a little more about his injury, and then you’re good to go.” At your nod, she let out a heavy breath, wiping her hands down subtly on her skirt.

“Nyxie, I’m just going to go sign some forms for you, okay? Do you want to wait here?” He shook his head, eyes widening a bit as his little hand clamped down onto your arm, gripping tightly and shuffling across the seat closer to you. “You want to come with us?”

“Can I have cuddles?” His voice was low and shy, your heart swelling a little more. 

“C’mere.” Opening your arms up for him, his damp cheek fell to your shoulder, nose tucking sweetly into your neck, and you scooped him up, his legs dangling on either side of your body as he slumped against your chest happily. Standing up with a little more effort than usual, Nyx’s hands patted idly over your knitted jumper, body bouncing with each step you took to follow her inside of the office. 

The forms were already laid out, four to be signed, and she pushed the first one over to you. “This one is just to state you acknowledge the injury, the second is a copy for you, because dad requested always having a copy of forms.” Her cheeks flushed with a little colour, the edges of your lips flicking up at Rhys’ quirks. “The third is just an injury form, that you know we’ve given you all the information, and you’re satisfied. The fourth, another copy.”

You quickly signed your name on the first two, pushing one over to her and keeping the other on your side. The pen hovered over the paper of the third, your fingers clenching a little on it, eyes flicking over the page. “What did happen, exactly?”

“Well, uhm…” You rubbed a hand over Nyx’s back, a soft affirmation that you appreciated how patiently he was waiting. Putting on a smile, you tried to put the woman at ease, not having meant to sound quite so… pissed. 

“I know kids have accidents, I didn’t mean to sound so… well, let’s just say, be glad I’m the one that picked up the call. Dad can be overprotective.” The boy in your arms giggled a little, and you placed down the pen, using your hand to now cup his head and rub at his hair lightly. 

“He was playing on the climbing equipment. I think he went a little too high, because he couldn't climb down. Another child was trying to help him, but before anyone could get over to him once we realised he was stuck, he fell off.” Her voice was a lot more confident now, and you were glad you’d been able to ease just a little of that tension. “I can take you out to the equipment and show you what happened, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary.” You grabbed for the pen again, signing both pages, and she pulled one over towards her files as you gathered the other two. 

“Nyx was so brave, weren’t you, huh?” She swiped a finger over his cheek as she passed by to get the door for you again, and he nodded slowly against your body. “And he was so excited when he found out his mommy was coming to get him.”

There was that word again, all of those thoughts coming swarming back in a dizzying rush as you followed her. A hot blush settled on your cheeks, your mouth opening to correct her, before Nyx’s hands were bunching in your jumper as he let out another little giggle, making your lips snap closed again. He hid his face deeper in your shoulder. 

Stooping down to pick up his bags, his teacher placed it over your arm, swinging as you gripped paperwork in one hand and Nyx in the other. “I put all of his schoolwork in his bag. We’ll see you again tomorrow, Nyx!”

She held the door open for you, waving her goodbye as she watched you go, the receptionist looking far more alert now than she had earlier, smiling widely as the two of you left, and you could feel their gazes on you all the way to the parking lot. 

Putting down the paperwork and his bag on the top of the car, you opened it up, leaning in to settle him was like muscle memory now. No longer an awkward act but a practised one, as he slid from your arms and into the chair. Fastening the belt across his middle, you did the ones over his shoulders.

Eyes that were the same incredible shade of near-violet as his father’s were watching you, a ridiculously adorable smile on his face as you leaned in to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his forehead. Tucking his bags on the other side of him, you checked all his straps, not realising you were frowning yourself until his little fingers pinched at your nose. 

“Got a nose!” He whispered excitedly, waving his fingers in a way that was supposed to mock his uncle’s, the way Cassian would always tease that he’d ‘stolen Nyx’s nose’ to cheer him up. When you smiled at him, he pushed his hand back against your face, giggling to himself as he continued to imitate his uncle. “You can have it back!”

“Well, thank goodness for that!” You teased, rubbing over the bridge of your nose and taking him in. Once you were happy with his safety, you closed the door, taking only the paperwork with you and folding them in half, tucking them into the glovebox of the car for safekeeping. When the car turned on, your fingers went to the radio, and a single button pressed had some of Nyx’s favourite songs pouring from the speakers as the kiddie-CD in the player came to life. “We’ll go and see your daddy now, hopefully, he won’t be too upset about your head.”

The boy only hummed to his song, leaning to stare out of the window, breath fogging it up and one hand resting on the windows he watched his school be left behind. “Daddy will be angry with us?”

For all the fresh set of worries now swirling inside of your head at Rhys’ reaction, you’d never considered how Nyx would interpret your words. “Oh, no, of course not, baby. Never us. We make daddy smile, not frown!”

Reaching behind yourself as you came to a stop at the red lights, you squeezed at his knee lightly, retracting it only when the light went yellow. Another few minutes of quiet went past, the roads clear for the middle of the day as you drove, and Nyx was happily taking in all of the Velaris scenery as you passed by. 

From the small town outskirts and into the city centre, it was when you were almost there that Nyx stopped singing and decided to speak again. 

“I heard daddy tell Uncle Azzy on the phone that you make him smile like nobody else ever has.”

Your eyes widened, your foot nearly slamming onto the brake a little too hard as you turned a corner, and Nyx went back to singing his song. Your heart was picking up speed in your chest, the traitorous organ fuelled on hope reacting in a way you tried to resist. Your head was empty, it took a full minute to form your response, and you gave out a croaky laugh. “Were you being cheeky and listening to your dad’s private phone calls again?”

“No!” His voice sounded indignant, but with a look cast in the mirror onto him, you could see the cheeky smirk on his face. “He answered it at dinnertime! I got to say hi to Uncle Azzy. He’s in a whole different country right now, did you know that?”

You could only smile at the excitement in his voice as he spoke all about Azriel’s current escapades in Spain, or at least, the version that was completely safe and child-friendly. Soon, though, his distraction was over, and he was circling back to a topic you had hoped he’d forgotten.

“Daddy loves you. He told Uncle Azzy. And Uncle Cass, and Auntie Mor.”

“Well, now I know you’re telling me fibs.” Releasing your hand from the gearstick at the next red light, you reached it behind you, tickling at his tummy until he laughed loudly and kicked his legs, slapping at your hands weakly as he wriggled in his chair. “He would never tell Uncle Cass about his feelings, because Uncle Cass would tease him!”

“I’m not telling fibs, I’m not!” He gasped the words between breaths, face growing red, and you almost forgot you were sitting at the lights until a car honked behind you, forcing you to pull away. His laughter died down as the car started again, but he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did tell him. He said that he loves you, and he thinks that you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

Your lips pursed, your heart betraying you once again, stomach joining as butterflies erupted until you felt lightheaded, and the weight of his stare on the back of your head was obvious without you even needing to turn. 

In a far less sure voice now, “Do you love daddy?”

You had no idea how to answer that question. You’d known he’d get curious about your friendship with his father soon, you’d just been foolish and selfish enough to hope it was his father that he asked, and so you wouldn't have to handle it. 

Of course you loved Rhysand, but that didn’t make it easy to explain. 

Rhys could never know, the wound of Feyre running away with Tamlin and abandoning Nyx was sure to still be raw, Rhys hadn't been on a date in four years, and if this conversation had confirmed anything, it was that Nyx wasn’t the best secret-keeper. 

Your words had to be chosen carefully.

“Your daddy is my best friend, so, yes. I do love him.” You thought you’d done well, until Nyx made a non-committal sound, another question all ready to go. 

“Does he make you smile?”

“Yes.” Your teeth gritted, the looming office building of the company HQ filling the sky as you pulled up to the security box, not even needing to roll the window down before the gates were buzzing open for you.

“And, do you think he’s the prettiest man in the whole wide world?” His arms flew as wide as they could, and you ignored how endearing it was, choosing a parking spot instead and focusing on your alignment. 

“He’s very pretty, Nyx. Just like you.”

“Then why can’t you be my mommy?” That question felt like a punch to the gut, the car shutting off, silence filling the cabin around you as the engine stopped and the singing CD paused. He was waiting, playing with his fingers and staring at you when you turned to face him. His eyes were wide, confused, and you hated that he felt that way.

“Let’s clean up your face, huh? You’re all dirty.” The words were pathetic, you hated yourself, because avoiding his question meant avoiding your own. You were taking the coward's way out, pulling two wipes from the packet in the dash to wipe at his face. He stayed silent, lips pursed in an unhappy pout, but he didn’t push it. The next time he spoke, it was as you were unclipping him from his car seat and lifting him towards the ground. 

“No, no, no.” He clung to you more, jutting out his lip and putting on puppy eyes he knew worked every time. “More cuddles?”

If it kept him effectively distracted, that was more than enough. Settling him in your arms and locking the car this time, the two of you set off towards the building, Nyx babbling in your ear about everything he could see around him so far.

Upon entering the lobby, his chatter cut off, head lifting from your shoulder to wave excitedly at the assistant behind the main desk. Long ago, you’d felt insecure stepping into this building in nothing but your jeans and a hoodie as everyone else wore dresses and suits and polished heels. Now, even as the elegant woman stood in her pencil skirt to lean over the counter to greet him, you felt at home. “Hi, Ana!”

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day, little mister?” 

He only laughed, leaning out proudly to wave at her, and a new receptionist you didn’t recognise. “We’re here to see Daddy!”

She offered a knowing smile when you pushed his hair back just enough to show off the growing bruise, and turning to the intern beside her. “Take them up to the boss, and let him know.”

With a shaky smile and a polite introduction, she led your group over to one of the elevators, Nyx pulling faces and giggling over your shoulder at Ana the whole time. The ride up to the top floor consisted of Nyx counting the numbers off loudly, tickling them off on his fingers until he couldn't count anymore, and the doors chimed open at level twenty-six.

Guiding the both of you toward the boardrooms, you stopped outside of Rhys’ preferred meeting room, the one with ‘the good coffeepot’ he claimed, a smile flickering on your lips as you spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass while she knocked at the door.

As she entered, you could hear his voice pouring out, the back end of a speech on this year's profit margins that he’d practised on you a hundred times before today, only going quiet as all attention fell to her. “Sir, your wife and son are here.”

Your brows rose at her wording, still sitting high on your forehead as Rhys appeared, closing the door behind him and dismissing her thankfully. Left alone, his gaze flickered over you both, an emotion you still didn’t understand settling on his face when Nyx sat up in your arms, still cuddled against you. 

“Hi, daddy! I got a bump on my head, look!” Pushing his hand over his hair, he moved his fringe out of the way, Rhysand’s eyes going comically wide as he stepped closer to get a look at it. “I fell off the climbing frame!”

His frantic gaze swept to you as he ran a thumb over his son’s forehead, the other hand settling on your hip subconsciously, but all your attention seemed to fix on the way his thumb swept over your waist in a matching way. 

“I took care of it all, don’t worry.” You mustered the best smile you could, getting a whiff of his expensive work cologne when he dipped down to press a kiss to the same spot you had when tucking Nyx into the car. He examined the cut a little more, frowning at the mark on his son’s face, and you wanted to say something, to reassure him, to quash the thoughts about being a bad father that you knew were flying through his head. Before you could speak, though, he was acting once again.

He nodded, seeming to have already fought the war inside his own mind, and if the way his shoulder’s slumped from their tightened position, he’d won this one. Leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead too, your breath caught in your throat at the intimate brush of his lips over your skin. Rhysand had always been affectionate, this part of your friendship was nothing new, but somehow, it had become so much more than a flirty comment or wink. Your eyes fluttered shut, pressing selfishly into that hint of affection as it dragged on just a second too long, warmth coating your cheeks when he pulled back. 

“Give me five minutes to finish this meeting up, wait in my office.” His attention moved to his son. “You can get one toy out, just one.”

At the mention of the toy-box tucked away in the back corner of the office, Nyx’s face lit up, hands clapping together excitedly, and Rhys chuckled at him. “Do you need anything?”

“We’ll be fine.” You’d been to his office more times than you could count, knowing the building like the back of your hand. “Go finish up, gods know you didn’t make me suffer through your rehearsals a thousand times just to mess it all up now.”

He only smirked, adjusting his blazer and ruffling his son’s hair, cautious of his injury. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” Before you could respond, he was placing a quick kiss on your cheek, and backing away and returning to work, the door closing behind him. 

When you stared at his empty space a little too long, Nyx let out an impatient sigh. “I want to play with the racing cars, darling.”

“Hey, now, cheeky! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were feeling absolutely fine, and perhaps I should take you back to school!” 

Nyx burst out into more laughter, shaking his head and clinging to you. Even if his movements did make it harder to carry him, you didn’t care, grinning at the enthusiasm and excitement on his face. As soon as you had the office door open, he was squirming in your arms to get down, racing over to the box in the corner the second his feet were touching the floor. 

Tearing off the lid, you flicked the light on, shutting the door and frowning as he began to pile toys up all along the floor. “Nyx, your dad just told you only one toy. Pick one, put the rest back.”

“But the cars all count as one, I have to get the whole set out!”

“Nope. You know that’s not how it works.” He scowled, but remained silent, making a point of pulling out the black truck with flames on the wheels, the one you hated, because it made terrible sound effects of grating engines and monster trucks. Piling the rest of the toys back inside haphazardly, the lid remained off the box, and he switched the volume up, glancing at you as he did. You only granted him a sigh, collapsing down into the plush leather chair of Rhysand’s desk.

Five minutes of watching Nyx push the truck around the floor and over every surface as he made car sounds himself soon slipped into ten. He changed toys to a small fluffy dog, and at fifteen minutes, an action figure. Just as he was setting up for his meeting with the plastic army man, Rhys appeared at the door, tugging his tie loose and smiling when you straightened in his chair. 

Tucking the tie down into his suit pocket, he circled the desk, eyeing Nyx on the floor, who didn’t even bother to look up from his life-or-death mission. Taking a seat in one of the cushioned meeting chairs on the other side of the desk, he turned a questioning gaze to you, raising an eyebrow.

“He climbed too high on the climbing frame at school, and slipped when another kid tried to help him down. He got all checked out by the school first aid, he’s totally fine. No dizziness or headaches or nausea, nothing wrong. Just a bruise and a bump.” It didn’t stop Rhys from worrying, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze moved back to his joyfully-distracted son. “Rhys.”

He didn’t look up, biting down on that lip harder. With one hand, he popped free the button on his collar, and the one below, taking a deep breath. 

“Rhysand.” With a firmer tone, you managed to gain his attention, a reluctant stare shifting to you, and you held your hands out across the desk, palms up. Wiggling your fingers, he placed one hand in both of yours, sighing sadly at the look on your face as you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Nyx is fine, I made sure of it. I checked him out myself, signed the forms after reading them, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Look at him. He’s perfectly okay.”

“I’m sorry you had to leave work.” He whispered, ashamed gaze trailing to your joined hands, the edges of his lips barely flickering as you smoothed your thumbs over his knuckles. He squeezed a little harder, tugging a little closer, ensuring you weren’t letting go just yet. You’d had no intention to, anyway.

Tugging on your hands a little more, he guided you around the desk, back to your feet until you were standing before him, between his knees, and he could tip forwards to brace his head against your ribs. He still held tight to one of your hands, running his fingers over your skin now, but you managed to fight one hand free. With it, you patted his hair softly, smoothing over it until he let out a shaky but light breath. 

“Thank you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you two. Absolutely anything, you have nothing to thank me for, or say sorry for.” He only nodded, tipping his head up enough that the tip of his nose dragged over your skin, until his chin was propped there instead, glancing up at you.

“Not true, I’m thankful for you every single day.”

You willed your body not to react, not to give you away, other than the small smile you offered him, settling with your hand on the nape of his neck for a second. It was intimate, romantic, far too much for friendship, and the sudden flash of thought made your spine stiffen, and your hand retract down to sit safely on his shoulder instead. “Rhys?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Why does Nyx’s school have me listed as his mother?”

He blinked, once. “What?”

“When they called, they asked me if I was his mom, and I never got a chance to correct her before she was telling me everything. Then when I got there, she said it again.”

He was silent for a moment, before sitting up once again, disentangling himself from you and putting on an easy-going smile to match his shrug as he slumped back into the seat. “I have no idea. Maybe she just got confused, or forgot.”

“Okay…” You gave only a moment's pause, leaning yourself on the edge of the desk beside you, and crossing your arms. “Well, why does your receptionist think I’m your wife?”

“She’s new.” The words rolled off of his tongue so fast it was like he’d planned them, your brows shooting up a little. “I mean, you come in here carrying Nyx, and what else would she know?”

Despite his casual demeanour, a soft layer of pink tinged those tan cheeks, so faint you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t so good at reading him. His eyes studied you for a second, a deep look as he stared, gaze taking you in just as much as you seemed to take him in. There was a lull, a pause, like so many moments lately where the air seemed positively charged between you both, lingering on an adrenaline-filled precipice and just waiting for something to happen.

Rhys broke it, just a second before it would have become too much for you, too. Clearing his throat, he caught Nyx’s attention. “Why don’t we go and get some ice-cream, buddy? Put the toy away and we can go right now.”

“Before dinner?” The child’s eyes widened, throwing the army man into the box without a care for the way he slammed off of the wall, all love gone now at the mention of ice-cream. Clicking the lid back into place, you watched them interact in a daze, the joking and chatter becoming background noise. 

You’d never given yourself a chance to think before, too scared to get your heart broken and to lose them both, but a small flame of hope in the back of your heart had been steadily growing bigger and brighter, and it was starting to become hard to ignore. 

Only when a small hand slipped into yours did you snap out of it, Nyx swinging happily with one hand in yours and the other in his father’s, telling him all about the school work he’d done as Rhysand grabbed for his briefcase and coat. Once he’d acquired them, you were on the move, trailing through the building in much the same way, swinging Nyx between your bodies and letting him bounce excitedly at the prospect of frozen sugar before a healthy meal. 

As you wandered through the lobby, you took stock of yourselves, noting just how much the three of you really did resemble a family. The receptionist would be right to assume, simply from what it looked like. And, even if the teacher did know you hadn't been, from the number of mornings you’d dropped Nyx at school or picked him up at the end of the day, it could easily be misread as merely a development in a complicated relationship. 

Perhaps, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and Rhys was right. 

The butterflies in your stomach died down to a heavy weight. One of both relief, and disappointment you refused to acknowledge, the hot flush of anxiety cooling into a steady calm, and you were finally able to take a deep breath once again as you reached the car.

“We just need to grab his bag and forms from my car, and-”

“You’re not coming for ice-cream?” Rhys’ head snapped up from where he’d been looking down at his son, brows furrowing at you, and Nyx fell silent, turning to stare up with an identical look of confusion. 

“You don’t like ice-cream?” He echoed in his father’s tone, the two were far too alike for your good, and Nyx was nothing if not a clone of his father. One silver lining had always been that Nyx seemed to be 99% Rhys, only getting 1% from his mother. It was the smattering of freckles over his nose that only came out in the summer.

“Of course, I like ice-cream.” You tapped at the tip of Nyx’s nose and he beamed.

“So, you’re gonna’ come with us, then?” Your gaze moved from him, to Rhys, whose brows only furrowed further. 

“What’re you lookin’ at me for? You know you’ve always got a place with us. Frankly, if you decided to move in tomorrow, I wouldn't bat an eye.”

Your eyes rolled, and when you were looking back at him, he was grinning. “What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back here to get it.”

“What about work?” You motioned to the building behind you, and he opened his car door, motioning for Nyx to hop up into the back. 

“I own the company, I can take off an afternoon to be with the people I care about.”

“What about-” He leaned in close enough that your noses almost brushed, a smirk forming on his lips at the hitch in your breath, cutting off your words.

“Shut up, get in the car, and let me take my family for ice-cream.”

You couldn’t breathe, never mind form a response, that word ricocheting through the inside of your skull like a bullet. Nudging you to the side, Rhys opened the passenger door, motioning you too, until you were sinking into the spacious car and letting him close the door behind you. 

By the time he’d strapped in his son and gotten into the car himself, you’d regained your calm and your ability to speak. “You’re bossy.”

“I’m the boss.”

“Not in this car, you’re not.” You muttered under your breath, his chuckle only dulled by the purr of the engine as the SUV roared to life. Setting the car into gear, he cast a cheeky look in your direction. 

“Oh, I know. You’ve been calling the shots here since the day I met you, and I’m just fine with that.”

He settled a hand on your knee, innocently enough, after turning on kid’s songs to match your car to keep Nyx happy. He never flinched, never even glanced at his hand on you, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world. The scariest part, was that it felt exactly that way to you, too.

Nothing about it seemed wrong, or off, and the longer you stared at his hand, the more you wanted to take it. To lace your fingers together, set your hands in your lap after kissing his knuckles. Despite your attempts to push it down, it was seeming more and more like your ignorance of your situationship with Rhysand was making itself known.

It didn’t make sense. You were perfect together, in every other way, so why had he never made a move in this way? The spike of confused pain through your chest stung like a needle through the heart.

The drive to the ice-cream parlour didn’t give you much time to think, everything today was too fast, not enough time to think or clear your head. Before you knew it, you were pulled to a stop, Rhys climbing from the car to release his son who was practically tearing out of his car-seat to get to his favourite dessert store. He could have done with the run, the walk, anything to burn off some of that energy, but Rhys scooped him up into his arms, pressing several kisses to his son’s head, who only moaned and pushed at his father’s head.

He didn’t want kisses, he wanted sprinkles.

Too bad Rhys was beating himself up again about it all. Freeing yourself from the car to alleviate his worries, you squeezed his arm as you stepped out, shooting him a look to tell him that Nyx was more than okay. “One bumped head does not make you the world’s worst dad. Kids have accidents all the time, but look how happy he is right now.”

He didn’t need to look, shuffling his son to his hip and reaching out for your hand instead as he nodded. Lifting it up, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before lacing your fingers together.

There was a bell tinkling over your head as Rhysand guided you into the cold store, looking for all the world, once again, like a real family, and you allowed yourself a few selfish seconds to eat it up. Finally, Nyx gained his freedom, darting over to the large glass display cabinet and plastering himself to the front of it as he took in all the flavours available today.

By the time the two of you had reached the front of the queue, he’d seemingly made up his mind, turning to stare at you both with a look on his face that could only mean trouble. 

“You pick what you want, bud?”

Rhys’ cautious tone meant he’d picked it up too, his hand squeezing a little tighter around your own when you chuckled, cutting you a glare as Nyx rolled on the balls of his feet and nodded. “I want the chocolate fudge, two scoops,” He held up two small fingers, for emphasis. “With chocolate sauce and the little fudge-chunk sprinkles.”

The woman behind the counter only laughed, staring down at him adoringly as he placed his hands on his hips, expectantly. Rhys’ eyes widened, his head shaking a little. “How about vanilla, with strawberry sauce, and rainbow sprinkles?”

“Ew, yucky, no.” Nyx’s face crumpled, and Rhysand’s jaw dropped, glancing from his son to you, and back. 

“It was your favourite last time.”

“But, this time my favourite is chocolate fudge with chocolate sauce and fudge chunks, Daddy!” Nyx stated it like it was obvious, and you tugged on your connected hands to bring an indignant Rhys’ attention to you. 

“Oh, let him have his chocolate-fudge extravaganza, he bumped his head.” Rhys’ only scowled, muttering under his breath about being ‘ganged up on’, before nodding to the woman behind the till but indicating for only one scoop. 

“You’re putting him to bed when he gets a sugar rush.” Was all Rhys could snipe back with, a smile forming on your lips against your control once again, letting him lead you over to the display stand as Nyx watched his ice-cream being constructed with rapt attention. Turning from the cabinet to you, he nudged his nose lightly against your temple, a feeling that had blood rushing to your cheeks and your head spinning at the intimacy. “The usual?”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke a little as you spoke the single syllable, and had you been capable of speaking properly at the time, you were sure you’d have been a little more embarrassed about it. 

“One raspberry victoria-sponge chunk ice-cream with, two scoops, and one triple-scoop rocky road.” He added to the order, the woman only nodding, piling them up on top of the counter as Nyx tried to reach for his, sparkles in his eyes as he stared at his sickly-sweet monstrosity in awe. 

Lifting it down for him, you stuck a wooden spoon into the cardboard cup holding it, a soft ‘thank you’ tumbling from his lips as he accepted it, cradling the pot patiently in his hands like it was a rare treasure. You remembered the same look being on Rhys’ face when he’d first held his son, the same tender and gentle astonishment, the shock in his eyes at something so special. You could only smile. 

“Darling,” Rhys tugged on your arm, your head snapping up from Nyx to look at him, only to find both his eyes and the servers on you. You hummed, brows raising, and watching Rhys balancing two ice-cream cones in his hand. “I said, can you get my wallet? It’s in my jacket pocket, your side.”

“Oh! Right, sure.” Twisting to him, he smoothed his thumb over your hand in silent appreciation as you rooted around the inside of his pocket, fingers brushing across worn black leather, and pulling it free. 

You were more than familiar with Rhys’ money and his cards, he often handed you a small fold of notes or one of his shiny cards whenever you took Nyx out or needed to buy something, refusing to ever let you pay, but you rarely held the whole wallet.

Flipping it open, your eyes scanned over the folds inside to search for the right card, but your gaze snagged on the fold of an image inside. Pinned lightly behind clear plastic, the image preserved perfectly, was a picture of you and Nyx. You remembered the moment clearly, you’d been out with the whole family, one of the rare moments that Azriel had been home at the same time Mor was back from travels and Cassian had a day off. Amren even freed the day up to sit in the park with you all, celebrating Nyx’s third birthday. Mor had been on her Polaroid camera hype, and you didn’t even know she’d snapped this picture. 

Nyx’s hands were on your face, pushing your sunglasses on upside down after he’d finished playing with them. He was stood between your legs, the sundress you’d worn that day still had small stains from the muddy bottoms of his shoes, but the smile on his face that was caught in the picture was worth it. You rubbed a hand over the plastic protecting it, treasuring that day with all of your heart, and uncovering Rhys’ writing at the bottom as you did.

‘My loves’.

“Darling, the purple card. C’mon, the ice-cream is getting warm.” He nudged you again, Nyx staring pleadingly from the ground below as he clutched his treat, still waiting, and you slipped the purple card out with your thumb. Tapping it against the car reader and being sure to add a tip to compensate for your daydreaming, you slid the card back, sliding the wallet back into his pocket as the three of you found a table.

Just because you could no longer see the picture, didn’t mean it, and, more importantly, the caption, wasn’t seared into your mind. My loves. If he truly felt that way, why hadn't Rhysand ever made a move? It didn’t make sense, you’d been here since before Nyx had even been born, almost a decade of best-friendship and flirty comments that never became anything more, while secretly harbouring a picture of you in his wallet and holding your hand, kissing your forehead and smiling in a way that read as far more than just friends.

You’d barely even settled into the booth before Nyx was digging into his ice-cream, and your hand finally being freed and you were given your cone. Twisting it around and towards yourself, your eyes narrowed a little on the chunk missing from the side, somewhere where an obviously large piece of cake had been pulled out, and your glare turned to Rhys.

“You ate some of my ice-cream?”

“We always share, stop acting so surprised about it.” He grinned, taking a large scoop from his own, and you scowled at him. 

“I hadn't even tried it yet, and you ate the best piece of cake!” He only smirked. 

“Do you want to try my ice-cream?” Nyx offered, and you turned to look at him across the table. His hand was gripping the spoon like he was stirring in a cauldron, the contents inside had been churned up into a gloopy mess, and he held a spoonful of it out to you, chocolate and fudge-covered cheeks stretched in a smile. 

“That’s okay, Nyxie, it’s all for you.” You passed your cone back to Rhys after unwrapping the napkin from around it. “Hold this, and don’t eat any more.”

He nodded dutifully, but eyed another piece of cake hidden within the ice-cream nonetheless, as he ate his own. There was a particularly large piece of dark chocolate with a marshmallow on the side of his own that he’d yet to notice, and you stored that away for revenge. Reaching across the table, you wiped at Nyx’s cheeks, unsure why you’d bothered since he was only going to end up in the same state again soon, but you did your best with the sticky mess anyway.

You gave up when he got ice-cream on your hand too, refusing to pause eating even when you tried to clean him up. Leaving the scrunched-up napkin on the table, his father only chuckled in your ear and handed you your cone back. Turning to him, you held out your other hand. Wiggling your fingers, his face pinched for a second, before he sighed, giving in. He pulled that same face every time, despite being right that you always shared, a victorious smile on your face. 

You made a point of turning the cone, flashing the delicious chunk of chocolate and marshmallow to him, watching his jaw drop to stop you, but not fast enough. Clamping your mouth down around it, you pulled the chunk free, chocolate melting across your tongue as you let out a moan of appreciation.

His eyes flared, leaning in and snatching his cone back, but leaving his face close enough to your own that when you licked over your lips, you almost licked him too. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Payback is a… well, you know the saying.” You smirked, ensuring not to swear in front of the child across the table from you both, and he only growled a little. His eyes flickered over your face, every spot his gaze touched made your skin burst out with heat, lingering for a moment on your mouth. He smirked, raising a hand, and brushing his thumb along the edge of your mouth as he pulled back a fraction.

“You missed a spot.” He breathed, thumb slipping to settle on your chin instead, and his eyes found yours once again. The air between you both crackled like it never had before, electricity sparking between you both again, but so much more intense. “I, uhm, I’ve been meaning to talk to you lately...”

“Yeah? Well, we never see each other, I can see how it’d be hard to find the time.” You teased, his softly sighed laugh brushing over your face as his gaze held yours. Smoothing his thumb along your jaw until he was cupping your face, it was only when a drop of ice-cream dripped from your cone and onto your finger, the cold sending a jolt through you that made you gasp and snap back. 

Glancing down at it, you winced, licking away any more drops that looked like they may fall, and using Nyx’s napkin to wipe your fingers. When you turned back to Rhys he was facing the table again, eating his ice-cream and acting as though nothing had happened. The bubble was broken, whatever he was going to say he clearly wasn’t planning on anymore, and so you let it pass.

You ate your ice-creams together, conversation steadily flowing onto other topics, far safer ones, no doubt, and you did your best to clean up Nyx’s face once again. Smears of chocolate covered his cheeks, and you knew Rhys would have to scrub it off later before bed. 

The ride back to the office was where you grew to regret convincing Rhysand to allow Nyx’s choice, his sugar rush beginning to kick in at full force. He screamed his songs at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make you both wince as you drove, bouncing chaotically in his seat and threatening to break right out like a miniature beast. 

The hand, now sitting on your lower thigh rather than your knee, squeezed at a particularly loud shriek as he played with the window settings, up and down, up and down. “This is your fault.”

“I know!” You wailed, glancing back at Nyx, who was all but vibrating as he rocked side to side, giggling hysterically to himself. “I figured the sauce would be sugar-free, and fudge isn’t that much sugar, it’s like-”

“It’s half sugar!”

“What?” Your eyes widened a little, turning to look at Rhys with wide eyes, and he contained his laughter as he watched the road, trying to tune out the din from the backseat. “Regardless, I apologise for this.” There would be no calming him now.

Rhys rubbed his hand up and down your thigh softly. “I already told you, that's your problem. You think I’m going to let you go home and leave me with this?”

“I have some very important work to do-”

“Liar.” He called your bluff, and you scowled, turning your glare on his hand as it set warmth firing along all of your nerves. 

When he finally pulled back into the parking lot, it was considerably emptier than it had been when you’d left, and he spun to park across two full spaces into place beside your car. He left the car with a happy sigh, closing the noise that his son was making inside the vehicle, and rolling his neck from side to side. Finally, he opened his son’s side, lifting the boy from his chair and setting him on the concrete, where he immediately began to jump up and down, holding onto his dad’s hand.

The pair accompanied you to your car, retrieving the school bags and taking them back to their own while you gathered the correct forms from the glovebox, meeting him by the back of the SUV that made your car look tiny in comparison. You pressed them into his hands, and he tucked them into the front pocket of Nyx’s bag, setting his son off to put the bags away, who remarkably, did as told.

“I know you said no thanks, but, thank you for today. I mean it, you were so wonderful. You’re always so wonderful, I couldn't do any of this without you.”

“Any time, Rhys. You know that.” He shrugged, hands tucking into the pockets of his smart pants, leaning against the side of the car only a foot away from you.

“I know, but that doesn’t make me any less lucky to have found you, and to get to keep you in my life.” 

Small padding of feet came rushing back, bags no longer in sight but a picture clutched in his hands to be held up in the air as he came to a stop. It was decorated with pieces of glued-on dried pasta, glitter and sequins, and some splatters of paint. The most important part, though, was the drawing at the bottom. 

You’d grown used to his style of drawing now, easily able to pick out what each scribble was supposed to be, or rather, who each scribble was supposed to be, and the attempt at writing underneath. It didn’t matter, though, because he was quick to enthusiastically point it all out. 

“Look, look! It’s us! This is daddy, in purple. And this is you in blue, because it’s your favourite colour. And this is me! I’m wearing a crown.” His chest puffed up proudly, the broken piece of pasta on his head acting like a crown, and you traced the words written in matching colours under each figure. 

Daddy. Nyx. Mommy.

Casting a look up, Rhys was staring at the paper, a horribly crushing mix of longing and pain in his eyes as he stared at it, throat bobbing in a swallow, before he was blinking it away. He’d always been good at playing another role, hiding his feelings when he needed to, but you’d caught him too many times. 

All the pining and want, you’d always assumed it had been for Feyre, for the missing woman who had birthed his son, but when his eyes met yours, the façade cracking just a touch, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe it was for you. Whatever it was today, this last few months, it was something new. It was like those walls you’d built up were finally crumbling, he was fighting through his own, and he let out a shaky sigh. 

He let Nyx lower the photo, occupied with admiring his artwork. He leaned down, lips finding your cheek and lingering there in a soft kiss. You hooked a finger under his chin, twisting his head up until your noses were brushing, his eyes snapping open wide before you, as your lips brushed lightly. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was thinking about kissing you.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you second-guessed yourself, second-guessed it all. His hand found your hip, smoothing around to sit on your lower back and tugging you close enough that your chests pressed together, his forehead resting on yours. 

He didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop you, he just gave you your chance to decide. 

So, you did. 

You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss that set your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and drew a soft noise from Rhys as he tightened his hold on you. After only a second of hesitation, he kissed you back, a push and pull with his lips that was as intoxicating as it was grounding. You felt like you were floating, tethered only to him as you gave into a desire you never thought you could have, his lips melding to yours in slow drags. 

It felt like it went on forever, and you were certain that you could easily have stayed there, just like that, for the rest of your life. 

When he let you breathe, when your mouths fell only an inch apart, you wanted to nudge closer to him once again, to seal yourself back to him, to sink into him wholly and entirely and never come apart again. If the tight grip he had on your hip was any indication, Rhysand felt the same way.

The fog cleared after a few moments, and he shifted back some more, eyes fluttering open once again, and this time, they were filled with questions. Swirling in the violet like a storm brewing at dusk, and you lifted a hand, running a finger over his cheek lightly, and smiling when his head tipped into your touch. 

“I’m so telling Uncle Azzy that you kissed Daddy.”

You practically jumped out of your skin, having forgotten about the babbling little boy at your feet, who was now staring up at you both in nothing but shock and smugness, one hand planted on his hip as the picture that had sealed the deal hung limply from the other.

“Daddy and-” You scooped him up before he could even get started into that little riddle, the taunting making your cheeks warm, even if he was only four, and making your way back toward the car. Rhys shuffled along behind you in a silent daze, holding the door open for you and standing by as you tucked Nyx back into his car seat. He never gave up on his childlike-smirk. 

“How about some dinner, huh? A little someone can have his favourite mac n’ cheese.”

“It's me! It’s me!” He cheered happily, and you took the opportunity while his arms were raised to strap the belt around his waist, sealing him back into the chair as his arms strapped through the other two. “I’m calling Uncle Azzy tonight. And Uncle Cassie.”

“You do that, Nyxie.” You bopped the end of his nose, switching on the small TV set that was attached to the headrest to face his way, and watching it load up. You could feel Rhys’ stare burning into you, like a fire crawling along your skin, impatient and needy and desperate for answers, making you grateful for this small distraction as you scrolled the shows on the tablet.

Like a warning, a warning not to make him wait much longer, Rhys settled one large hand over your hip, squeezing tightly and tugging you a fraction out of the car towards him, a shiver travelling down your spine. You hit play on the first show up. 

Backing out of the car to close the door, you didn’t get far, Rhys didn’t move, only pulling your body back into his with the grip on your waist, slamming the door shut for you and leaving you pressed to him. In a quick spin, he had your back pressed to the cold metal of the car, out of sight of his son and closed in by your own, the cold metal making for a relieving contrast to the heat. 

“Do it again.” There was a pleading note to his voice, his sights fixed entirely on your mouth now as he bit down on his lower lip, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Kiss me again.”

You took your time, teasing him just a little, by running your hands up his arms, over his shoulders as he tensed, until you were holding his face. He sagged closer to you, like he couldn't even hold himself up anymore, pinning you between his body and the car. With a sweep of your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes closed, noses brushing in sweet motions until he gave an aggravated breath at the waiting.

At long last, you gave in, closing the gap between you both once again. This time, he let out a soft moan when your mouths connected. He kissed like a man starved, like a man who had waited every moment of his life for this. It was like your first taste of air after being underwater, his mouth insistent and unrelenting, like he was memorising the way it felt to kiss you.

You gave him all you had, committing every part of him to memory too. Every sound he made, the way he panted against your lips before diving back in, teeth scraping your lower lip and sucking softly, before following it with a sharp nip. He ruined everyone else, no kiss you’d ever had compared to this and nothing else ever would. 

When his tongue smoothed over your lower lip, you were forced to pull back, to try and think somewhat clearly, one of you had to, because if you let this go on anymore, you weren’t sure you could stop. His hand was already shifting, exploring, dragging his fingertips up your spine to tangle in your hair, and you lowered yours to his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to take a breath that didn’t taste like him. 

He groaned, licking over his swollen lips to take away the taste of you, his eyes darker than before when they found you again, and you pressed your lips together to fight temptation. “You should… you should get our boy home.”

At that, he blinked, his gaze softening endlessly at the endearing claim, and his hand let your hair go to slip back to your back. Pulling you closer, he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, nodding against your temple as he left a kiss there too. When he pulled back, it was to simply stare. There was nothing hidden now, the kind of dumb-in-love look shining in his eyes that you couldn't miss. Had it always been there, and you’d just never seen it before, or had he just stopped hiding it?

“You okay, Rhysie?”

He melted into you at the nickname you rarely brought out, eyes shining as he continued to stare. “So, so very okay, darling.”

Silence lingered between you both, the same comfortable quiet it had been since day one. No matter what, no matter how anxious or nervous or rattling, Rhys always had a way of making you feel at ease. You felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe with him, voice coming out in a whisper to speak into the gap between you both, “Can I ask you a question, Rhys?”

“Are you going to ask me if we can have carbonara with chicken for dinner again?” He teased, putting your nerves even more at ease, or maybe it was for his own, by making a joke. 

You indulged him, “It’s a classic for a reason, because it’s so good. Besides, who said I’m coming for dinner, anyway?”

“You think there’s any way I’m going to be able to let go of you now?” He mumbled, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder instead, and you chuckled, feeling his lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder through your jumper. “What did you really want to ask?”

That brought the nerves back in full force. “Why did nothing ever, y’know, happen between us?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening to look at you, but no words came from his parted lips. 

“Don’t you ever think about it, Rhys? I mean, look at us. There’s so much that would work, and I guess-”

“Of course I think about it.” He breathed the words in a rush, and your jaw snapped shut as words finally began to pour out of him, unrestrained and uncontrolled. “I think about it all the time. Every minute of every day you’re on my mind.”

“Rhys…” He let out a slow breath, but there was no stopping him now. You’d uncorked the bottle, the contents unable to be stopped from spilling. 

“Since the day I met you all those years ago, I knew that I would hold onto you for the rest of my life. I couldn't let you go. But, I was a stupid kid who just inherited a company, and I was terrified of that. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. You just dropped into my life and filled holes and cracks I didn’t know I had, you made me feel complete. I fell for you, so hard and so fast, and I was so godsdamned scared of that.” He looked away, unable to look at you any longer, and swallowing thickly. 

“So, we became friends…”

“So, we became friends.” He repeated, sighing like he couldn't hold the weight of the world anymore. “I thought, selfishly, that I could hold onto you as my best friend, until I was ready for more. That it would be fine. I was too slow, though, and you started dating Lucien.”

Your mind flickered back, hardly remembering the man you’d been with for only a couple of months almost six years ago, flashes of red hair and tanned skin in your mind recalling it.

“He was good to you, and I hated that. I hated him, but I wanted you to be happy. But, I was so miserable. I was so sickeningly, maddeningly, obviously in love with you, and I had to do something before you noticed. So, I dated Feyre. It wasn’t… we moved too quickly, too fast. I threw myself into it and then she got pregnant. Nyx came along, and she abandoned him. I thought I’d lose you too. I was scared again, but you stayed. You helped with everything, you made it better.” 

His voice started to crack, and so your arms raised, looping around his neck, pulling him in until his forehead was pressed to your own. 

“I wasn’t scared when you were there. You taught me everything, you stayed for every step. I knew within days that you should have been Nyx’s mother, that being with you like this was all I’d ever want, I started to want everything cliché, a white picket fence and a little house of our own and a street where Nyx could learn to ride a bike with us. I mean, I picked out the house you liked best from the viewings even though it was gonna cost so fuckin’ much to renovate and repair and clean, but it was so worth it.” He laughed emptily, and you sniffed back tears.

“I had no idea.”

“I know, I never told you. I wanted you to see your dream house without the guilt.” He rubbed at his nose, and you kissed his cheeks, feeling him smile under your lips as you did, stopping the tears clinging to his lashes from falling. “But, you were still with Lucien, so I settled to take what I could get. If having you as my friend, helping me raise him like this, was all I could ever have, I’d take it. Then, you weren’t, and I thought maybe you’d be heartbroken about your break-up, or sad, and I wanted to give you time. I gave you too much time, I was a coward, I was nothing but a lonely man who already had a son. I couldn't offer you all the things you wanted anymore. I couldn't travel or go out and party or do anything. I’m always working or with my boy, and I didn’t want you to be forced to take that on.”

You were shocked, his candour had left you breathless, and he sniffled lightly, blinking away the tears he was unwilling to let drop. “We broke up because of you.”

“What?” He let himself look up, to you, of all the expectations he’d seemingly braced himself for, this obviously wasn’t it.

“Lucien and I. He- he said, understandably, that it felt strange to have a relationship with a woman who was practically a part of another family. It made him feel like some sort of home-wrecker. He didn’t say it, and he never would’ve, he was a good man, but it was a choice. You and Nyx, or him.” Giving the best smile you could despite the emotions overwhelming you, he matched it with a watery laugh. “I didn’t even have to think about it. That’s why I was never sad.”

“You chose us.”

“I’ll always choose you.” Your smiles were real this time, shared and intimate and frighteningly tender. “So, the real question, is whether you’re still sickeningly, maddeningly in love with me?”

“You forgot ‘obviously’. I can’t believe you don’t know it, I haven’t been subtle. I tell everyone you’re my wife, and let them believe you’re Nyx’s mom.” Your scoff only made him smirk, smacking at his shoulder lightly, pushing him away only to have him grip you tighter, tugging you closer to him. 

“I knew those weren’t ‘little mistakes’, or miscommunications!” He only shrugged, dipping back in, every intention clear as he moved slowly. 

“I intended to tell you today, and so many other times, but I was always so scared of losing you.” The confession hung between you both, the unspoken promises and words as he tried to give you a chance to leave, to back away, to call it too much, but you didn’t. 

You let him kiss you, let him kiss you until your lungs burned for oxygen and your head was spinning, and it felt like hours had passed by as you learned one another’s mouths. You let him kiss you until you were sure he understood that you felt the same, that you always had.

“I still love you. I will always love you. You don’t just get over this kind of love.”

You could only grin at him, cheeks aching but you didn’t care, because you couldn't have contained your happiness even if you’d wanted to. “Good, because it would have been horrible if my feelings were unrequited.”

“Never.” A few more stolen kisses, mumbled promises between them. “So, you’ll follow us home for dinner?”

The leap in your chest at the word home was enough to make you breathless, the knowledge you now had that he’d chosen it just for you, in hopes you’d one day live with them. It was almost too much to bear. “Only if you’re making carbonara. And garlic bread.”

“I’ll make you anything you want if it means you’ll keep kissing me.” You hummed, pressing another peck to his lips before managing to disentangle yourself, despite his complaints and tight hold.

“I’ll see you soon, where we can continue this.”

“Don’t take too long, I’ll miss you too much.” He winked, looking messy and kiss-ruined as you stepped back to fully take him in. His shirt was rumpled, his blazer was a little askew, and his cheeks were flushed red, swollen lips to match. 

He was perfect. 

“Hurry home to us, darling.”

[moviecritc]

good luck, babe! ⋆ lestappen

pairing: lestappen x driver!reader

summary: charles doesn't want to accept that he has feelings for both of max and you

word count: 1.1K

warnings: charles being stressed, idealizing, insinuations, making out

a/n: so, ik that good luck, babe! is tecnically abt a sapphic relationship. but it adapted perfectly to the plot and i love chappel with all my heart so i couldn't resist

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

part 1 | part 2

It had been three weeks and Charles was still feeling guilty. Just by feeling them close to him, Charles saw all the problems that this would bring to his work. Just the rumor would have terrible consequences. It was illegal to be with a man in countries they raced in, it would be unthinkable. But this was just the tip of all the emotions he was dealing with.

He couldn’t get them out of his head. Neither of them.

Having to see them almost every week didn't help at all. Both Max and Y/N seemed totally unconcerned; they were present in interviews, responding normally and acting naturally. Not Charles, he was tired and it seemed his mind was elsewhere. Because it was. He excluded himself from conversations with the other drivers while he overthought all his interactions from the last few years. He even wondered if he was the first person they had asked to do that.

Y/N had tried to approach him several times, asking how he was or how the race went, Charles always answered in monosyllables or directly escaped the conversation. Y/N noticed his discomfort but kept trying to talk to him because she didn’t want to lose a friend.

“Let it go, Y/N,” Max would tell her after she told him how Charles had responded. “We can't do anything if he doesn't want to accept his feelings.”

“I know,” she responded, curling up under Max’s arm. “But it still annoys me.”

That week was the Monaco Grand Prix, so the attention would be especially focused on Charles. Between that and his urge to mess up his home race, Charles was on edge. Somehow Y/N noticed, as there had been several times when Y/N had noticed the nervousness of her teammates and had talked to them.

"Charlie!" That nickname again. After the interviews, she managed to corner him in his garage. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t think so…” he said, although he struggled to swallow the words.

Y/N grabbed him by the arm. “Please,” she leaned her head a bit, with a compassionate look, almost as if she pitied him.

Charles didn’t resist, feeling submissive to Y/N’s touch. He couldn’t say no, nor even make a gesture of denial, her presence paralyzed him.

They went to his room in the motorhome. Charles realized it was a bad idea too late.

“Are you nervous about the race?” asked Y/N, with a sweet smile.

“Do you really have to ask?”

Y/N didn't take Charles’s sharp tones seriously, knowing he was just trying to put space between them.

“It’s normal, Charlie,” Charles wanted to tell her not to call him that, because it wouldn’t end well. “Everyone expects you to win your home race. It's usual.”

“But you always end up winning. Or Max,” Charles shrugged, leaning against the wall while Y/N had sat on the cot in the room.

She averted her gaze with a little smile. It was true that she was on a very good streak, if she won in Monaco it would be her sixth victory in a row.

“You and Max don't talk much, do you?” asked Y/N, although she knew the answer she wanted to hear Charles talk about them. She was dying to hear his name from his lips.

“No, obviously not,” Charles started biting his nails.

“Obviously?” She seemed confused.

Charles clicked his tongue, knowing it was all a ploy to seduce him again. He was just a kink for them.

“If you came to talk to me about what happened… it's better that you leave,” He tried to sound confident, though his voice said otherwise.

Y/N pursed her lips and stretched out her arms for Charles to sit beside her. He didn’t even need to be touched, he went to her side without resisting.

“Charlie, it’s eating you up inside,” She made a gesture to put her hand on his knee, but changed her mind at the exact moment.

“Y/N, it's wrong,” That sounded sure. “Do you know the problems it could bring us?”

“People don't have to know,” Now, she placed a hand on his knee and moved Charles’s chin so they could look at each other.

“Y/N, no,”

Charles looked at the wall again and Y/N repeated the gesture. “But you want to,”

“Of course I want to!” he burst out, running his hands over his face. “But…”

“No buts,” Y/N decreed. “Kiss me already. Satisfy yourself.”

Charles licked his lips, staying still for a moment. “And Max?”

Y/N suppressed a laugh. “Aren’t I enough for you?” “If we do this, we do it right,”

Charles still thought it was going to be a one-time thing.

“Then let's go to our penthouse,”

Charles slightly frowned. “Do you and Max live together?”

“Sure. For about three years or so,” Y/N was almost opening the door.

Charles understood that getting involved in their relationship would surely bring problems. Seeing that Charles wasn’t moving, she turned, seeing him still seated.

“Y/N… I'm not a homewrecker,”

She rolled her eyes instead of letting out a groan in front of Charles. “Do you really think you’re going to wreck our home?”

Y/N took a couple of steps toward him, kissing him. He followed the kiss for a moment, but then pulled away.

The next day Max caught him off guard and practically cornered him after practice.

“What… what’s up?” Charles stuttered.

“Damn, Charles,” Max grunted. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that we want a relationship with you? That you're not a homewrecker? On the contrary, you're going to improve our relationship, damn it. We need you.”

Charles grabbed him by the shirt collar and kissed him as if his life depended on it.

“Where’s Y/N?” he questioned, with his lips and cheeks reddened.

She won that, with Charles P2 and Max P3, and the feeling on the podium was incredible. The way they looked at each other and touched each other occasionally "accidentally". They didn’t go to any club to celebrate, although they practically didn’t sleep that night.

Six months later, Charles had practically all his clothes in Max and Y/N’s penthouse. One morning, Max simply dropped the question that had been going around the heads of the three.

“Char, why don't you move in here? Officially,”

Y/N loved the idea and it showed on her face.

Charles didn’t even hesitate. “I’d love to,”

They took advantage of the winter break to move, and although it took Sassy and Jimmy a while to get used to the presence of Leo, everything was so simple and natural that it was almost perfect.

[benedictscanvas]

saved you a seat - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x reader

word count: 3.1k of pure fluff

a/n: no warnings for this one except language, obviously. i just wanted to imagine having a fluffy little coach trip with jamie tartt so i hope there are others out there who want to imagine the same. requests are SO open for jamie/roy/sam/ted please do send some ideas <3

---

You weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to engineer this situation, but you were worried that if you thought about it too hard, you might end up losing it. Somehow, on a coach to Amsterdam, you’d ended up wedged between a window and Jamie Tartt and despite that being the stuff of nightmares only about a year ago, now it was something you couldn’t have hoped for in advance.

“I said I’d save a seat for ya, didn’t I?” he’d claimed proudly when you shimmied past him to sit in the window seat.  He’d been smiling hopefully at you as he patted it when you’d walked down the aisle of the coach. You’d thought you’d be sitting with Rebecca at the back until he’d tugged at your wrist to stop you in your tracks.

“To be totally transparent, I thought you were joking,” you murmured to him once you were settled, bag tucked underneath your seat, “You also said the same to Roy yesterday, and I heard you saying it to Sam this morning.”

“Yeah, but I was fuckin’ with them,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Besides, we have a whole conditioner campaign to plan, right? Now’s as good a time to start as any.”

You tried not to let your heart sink a little. Of course it was work-related. You’d just have to be happy with the grin he was sporting as he nudged your arm.

“You’re on,” you grinned back, then, with a show of boldness, “But only if you promise not to complain when I inevitably fall asleep on you later.”

If anything, his grin grows wider.

“Shoulder’s all yours, love. I’m told it’s pretty comfy.”

“Who’s told you that? Roy?”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s too fond. You busy yourself trying to manoeuvre your laptop out of your bag, but a hand on yours stops you in your tracks. When you look up, Jamie’s face is soft and he’s tucking your laptop away again.

“Relax. The coach’ll take hours yet. We can get comfy first, yeah?”

“You’re right,” you concede, shuffling into the back of your seat again with a content sigh, “Don’t know why I’m pretending to be eager to work.”

He laughs and you join in. You want to tell him he’s got a downright infectious laugh these days, because its lighter than ever and always filled with genuine happiness, but you don’t. Too much. Instead, you push up on the back of the seat in front of you to tap Dani urgently on the shoulder, then sit down quickly and turn a fake-reprimanding glance at Jamie.

“What is it, amigo?” he directs his question towards Jamie who’s looking incredulous, “Or are you playing a cheeky prank?”

You tut and sink further into your seat as you shake your head at Jamie. He begins to point at you, but Dani is already ruffling Jamie’s hair and turning back around as he mutters happily in Spanish. Jamie turns to you, brows furrowed.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?”

You shrug, as playful as you can manage with your heart beating a little harder in your chest. He narrows his eyes at you, then settles into his seat, and you know he’s plotting revenge. You can’t wait.

---

It’s been an hour and a half, and you and Jamie have been going back and forth almost the entire time, the very idea of doing any work on his new ad campaign buried in favour of having fun. Jamie had snuck your phone from your lap and prank called Ted who was sat at the back of the bus. You’d then somehow managed to do the same with Jamie’s phone, but decided to send a rather inflammatory text to Jan Maas, which was followed by a half hour argument between the two men that was incredibly entertaining.

Most recently, Jamie had made a terrible noise putting his mouth to his elbow and blamed it on you, but luckily Sam had seen him do it and you’d been able to clear your name. It had been a stellar effort though, so you were giving it some time before you found something perfect to retaliate with.

“Can I ask y’ something?” Jamie spoke suddenly, but his voice was softer than you’d heard it on the journey so far. You turned to him and nodded encouragingly, “I was jus’ sat here wonderin’ - and please don’t take this the wrong way - but why y’ decided to come with us? I’m happy about it, ‘course I am, but-“

“I get it, Jamie,” you said quickly, because you could see how much he was struggling. It was heartwarming how earnest he was when he’d said he was happy you’d come with them though, and you were fighting an urge to lean in and kiss his cheek to stop his rambling, “I’m not exactly essential personnel for a trip to Amsterdam.”

“Fuck, that’s exactly what I was tryin’ not to sound like - wait, y’ don’t really think that do ya?”

“Jamie, seriously, stop worrying! It’s sweet but so unnecessary. Hannah, you know the one that usually handles socials? She couldn’t make it so Rebecca asked if I’d fill in. I’m not one to turn down a free trip with some of my favourite people.”

His smile was genuine until the last sentence, where it morphed into something cocky as he puffed his chest.

“You wanna name any of those favourite people of yours?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you pretended to think about it. God, it felt like it would be so easy to admit that you’d jumped at the chance to come because you jumped at any chance to spend time with Jamie these days, but you couldn’t. There were hours of this bus ride left to sit in awkward silence if he didn’t take it well.

“Well, Ted’s gotta be right up there,” you began, shifting in your seat to look around the bus, “Sam, of course, and, god, Colin is a must. Rebecca, obviously-“

“No one who’s last name might happen to rhyme with a part of the body, or somethin’?”

You scrunch up your face in fake confusion. It’s easy to imagine doing this forever, just playing pretend with Jamie Tartt for the rest of time, and you’ll play along as long as he lets you.

“Ohhh you mean Jan Maas? Rhymes with ass, very clever. Didn’t know you were such a poet.”

“I dabble, me,” he deadpans, but neither of you can keep it up as you dissolve into giggles. Jamie pulls his cap further down his forehead to hide just how much he’s cracking up and you tuck your face down - no need to have the rest of the bus trying to get in on the joke. When you both calmed down, he turned, looking back up at you from under his hat, “Very quick by the way. Jan Maas, ass. You’re good, you are.”

“You’ve only just noticed?” you asked incredulously, intent on teasing him just a step further, but he takes his hat off to look at you properly when he answers, running his hand once, twice through his hair first, of course.

“Nah,” he replied, voice that soft whisper that you’d come to crave, “Y’ wanna know when I noticed?”

You swallowed thickly, leaning into him in the same way he had, all conspiratorial and close.

“I dunno. Do I wanna know?”

Jamie ignored you and continued, eyes flitting from your face to a thread on his joggers he was picking at.

“It was when I’d just come back to Richmond an’ everyone was mad at me. Rightly so, I know. But I was sat in me car, havin’ lunch cause no one would eat with me yet. You were walking past with Rebecca going to lunch and you waved at me, with this mad bright smile on your face y’know?”

“I may have a vague memory of that,” you said, as if seeing him alone in his car hadn’t broken your heart at that time.

“An’ then the day after, when you ate in your car an’ invited me to join. I knew y’ were only doin’ it for me, but I didn’t care. I jus’ remember being so grateful. So, so grateful. That’s when I knew you were…”

He trailed off, but he was stuck staring at your face. You could feel the heat sparking down the length of your spine as he seemed to search your expression for something. His own was unreadable.

“…good?”

It was like you had snapped him out of a trance and somehow you wished you hadn’t said anything.

“Good, yeah, that’s what I mean,” he murmured, then seemed to let that cocky mask fall back into place, “You wanna tell me when you realised I was good now so I don’t just sit here like a prick? Or, let me guess, you’re still waiting for it to happen?”

Despite the teasing tone, you somehow knew this wasn’t an opportunity to joke. There was a newfound vulnerability in Jamie that you were always careful not to tread on; it was such a welcome change after all.

“Nope, I know exactly when it was. I walked past the boot room one day, a couple weeks before we had that first lunch I think, and you were making sure things were tidy enough for Will to sort. There was nobody to watch you do it, either. I just knew that you were a different Jamie. That you were…good.”

Good didn’t cut it at all. You’d sworn then and there that you were going to help him find his way at Richmond whatever it took, and eating lunch in your car just so that he could join you a few weeks later felt like a good start. It had been. As Jamie worked to gain the love of his teammates, he had you as a constant sounding board, willing lunch partner and occasional movie night holder. He wasn’t invited over often, not wanting to seem too eager, but he’d never turned you down.

Yes, that was the moment you’d realised he’d changed, but there had been a million moments since that had turned him into the first person that came to mind when he’d asked you for your favourite person on the bus.

Now he wasn’t meeting your eyes at all, fully trained on that thread he’d been picking at. You sighed and flicked his hand to stop him ruining his favourite pair, and he finally looked up at you, wide puppy eyes that always made you melt when they showed up.

“You really mean that?”

Rather than replying, you hold out your pinky to him and watch his smile grow as he twists his own around yours. You let it linger then lean in to kiss your own hand and gesture for him to do the same. He does it so tenderly you think you’re getting lightheaded.

“Every word,” you assure him, settling back into your seat and untangling your hands from each other, “Now that I’ve been so nice to you, think I can cash in that shoulder offer from earlier?”

It was easier to revert to the easy banter than continue down this sincere path. And even though it was only just beginning to get dark, you couldn’t look at him any longer. Maybe if you were resting on his shoulder, you could grin for a bit without him wondering what was wrong with you.

He patted his shoulder invitingly and you snuggled down into it, until your cheek was smushed into his jacket and you could smell the cologne radiating from him. You threaded an arm into the crook of his elbow without thinking, just because it was more comfortable, but when you moved to take it away, he rested his hand on yours to keep you there. That same hand then came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, staying to cradle your head for a moment.

You held your breath.

He quickly thought better of leaving his hand there, squeezing your head for just a moment before dropping his arm back to his side.

It took a while to breathe naturally again, especially knowing he’d feel every painstaking inhale and exhale against him, and it took even longer for your eyes to close and to finally drift off.

---

When you woke up again, you had to squint as your eyes adjusted to the almost total darkness of the coach. It had to have been a couple of hours. You wiped your mouth to ensure you hadn’t drooled on your very kind seat partner then risked a glance up at him without moving your head too much.

He looked asleep. His chin was tucked against the crown of your head, and his whole body was turned into yours in a way it hadn’t been when you’d fallen asleep. There was nothing that would make you want to move and disturb the moment, except for the unfortunate cramp in your neck you were simply going to have to stretch out.

You tried to gently ease your head out from under his but his eyes fluttered open immediately as he looked at you in concern.

“Y’alright love?”

 That voice. Huskier and broader than ever in its newly woken state. You smiled up at him and whispered back, noticing that the rest of the bus were either asleep or resting as you stretched your neck.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry. You can have my shoulder now if you like, ‘s only fair.”

“Nah you’re alright. If you’re awake, I’m awake. What kind of seatmate would I be if I left you on your own, hm?”

“A normal one?” you offered, but he shook his head, holding a hand to his heart as if wounded.

“I will not have myself being described as anythin' but fuckin' extraordinary, please,” he insisted quietly, making you chuckle, “Did ya sleep well?”

“Very. Whoever told you that you have a comfy shoulder was annoyingly right.”

There was a note of jealousy in your tone that you didn’t expect to be there when you started talking. If Jamie noticed it, he didn’t say anything, even though you could have sworn you saw a smirk pass across his features.

“Well, I’ll let Colin know you agree with him,” he said matter-of-factly, and you wondered if he was telling you it was Colin on purpose. It was so difficult to second guess your every interaction with him, feelings getting stronger every minute you spent with him. Really, you were tired of it and tired in general and it was enough. Your usual caution had been left behind. You opened your mouth to speak, to maybe finally confess, but he was talking before you could begin.

“Actually, can I tell ya a secret?”

It took you a moment to recover from what you had been about to say and respond to him. 

“Uh…yeah, of course. Anything, you know that.”

“I do, yeah. Yeah, that’s part of it actually,” he was so in his head, but he was looking at you like he had earlier, searching for something. Nowadays, he looked so soft all the time, but there was a selfish part of you that hoped maybe he was especially soft with you, “It’s about what we said earlier. I lied to ya, and I’ve been fuckin’ kickin’ meself for it ever since.”

“You lied?”

“Yeah. I said the day we had lunch in your car was when I realised you were good. That’s not true,” he admitted, as if he was saying something shameful, “I already knew you were good, way before I was done bein’ a full-time prick. Anyone could tell you were good.”

Your heart was hammering away in your chest, in your throat, in your ears.

“That day in the car park was actually when I realised you were just…fuckin’ incredible. Like, the most beautiful person I know. Not just fit, I knew you were fuckin’ fit, I’ve got eyes, but like- y’ were just somethin’ else. You are somethin’ else. Special, like.”

You felt frozen in your seat. It was hard to tell with how 'Jamie' the whole speech had been, but you were pretty sure there was a confession in there. It didn’t sound like something he’d say to any of his mates. Still, you had to be sure.

“Sorry, Jamie, I might be being thick here but are you saying you’re like…into me? Like, romantically?”

You cringed instantly at your choice of words but he didn’t falter. This time, when he laid his hand over yours, he kept it there, stroking a steady rhythm into the back of your hand.

“I’m saying I’m into you in like…all the ways y’ can be into someone. I’m fuckin’ mad about you, Y/N. The only one who doesn’t see it is you, but you fell asleep on me shoulder and I was in fuckin’ heaven so I’m telling ya. Look, I’m not expectin’ anything-“

“Well, you should. Expect things, I mean,” you cut him off, because you can’t go another second without reciprocating, “I thought you saved me a seat to talk about your conditioner campaign.”

He scoffed loudly then glanced around to check he hadn’t woken anyone as he lowered his voice again.

“I couldn’t give a shit about all that,” he said as firmly as he could whisper, “I give a shit about you. A lot of shits.”

You let out a breathy chuckle as you reply.

“God, I give so many shits about you, Jamie. Too many shits. Have done for fucking forever, I was just about to tell you.”

“What, before I did?” he said, making a face, “As if I’d let you steal my thunder.”

You take an opportunity and a boldness you can’t help but seize as you take his face in both hands and pull it towards yours until you’re both a breath apart. He closes his eyes and pushes towards you but you keep him just a moment away, stroking a trail along one of his eyelids.

“Well I think you’re fucking incredible too. Prick,” you mumble, without any venom. It sounds like the most loving pet name in the world, the way you utter it for his ears only.

“Yours,” he counters quietly, winding his arms around your waist until he can pull you fully onto his lap and you have to bite back a squeal. You both glance around for onlookers and find none, “Think the coast is clear, babe?”

“Crystal,” you insist, surging forward to press a searing kiss to his lips, gratified when he responds just as enthusiastically, pushing back into you, both hands clutching at you like you were about to disappear any moment.

There were still plenty of hours left on the coach, however, and you were content to stay exactly where you were as long as Jamie would let you.

And there was no chance of him letting you go anywhere.

[imaginesmai]

Promises to keep - Azriel

You've been happy for too long here is your daily dosis of angst. Part two already written and will be posted in a few days!

Plot: while you are held in a rotten cell, Azriel asks you to promise him something you can't. Because no matter how much he wishes it wasn't true, there was little you wouldn't do for your mate.

Warnings: blood and violence. Kind of graphic.

Azriel had stopped counting the days, the hours stuck on that cell. He had given up around the second week, when he realized losing mental strength over the time wasn’t worthy. Now, the only time keeping him partly sane was the constant drip of water from the corner of the room. When the thoughts were too overwhelming, when the pain wouldn’t let him breath, he focused on the steady drip and tried to drift away.

The cell was cold, almost icy. The clothes he had been wearing when they took him weren’t warm enough – and yet he had given away his jacket, claiming he was fine as he tried to control the chills that rocked his body. It now laid over your body, tucked close to his chest.

It had taken him two days to convince you to take it, and only when you shivered so hard it wouldn’t let any of you sleep, you did.

“Don’t take it off” he begged you when they took him away. “Keep yourself safe”

It had worked so far, because Azriel put enough of a fuss when they approached you that they decided to punish him instead. Other times, it didn’t work, and the jacket came back stained with your blood when they threw you back in.

He felt the first tear of many roll down his cheek, matching the drip of the corner. He tried to keep his body still, not to let you know that he was breaking down again.

But as always, you turned in his arms and caught the tear with the tip of your raw finger. Azriel looked down to your bruised face, that hadn’t healed yet, and his throat constricted around a cry. The soft touch against his own bruises and cuts felt underserving.

“Hey” you whispered, breaking the sinister silence of the cell. Straightening against his hold, you turned so you could face him and held back the groan of pain. “We agreed there would be no tears”

“I know”

It was a silly promise, one neither of you had kept so far.

“I’m okay” you tried to convince him, but your voice was tired, and he knew. “Don’t waste your energy worrying. I’m fine”

“Y/N”

His voice was broken, just like his body. He had always been the strong one, the person who held his ground against torture and pain, who inflicted torture and pain. But with you there, with the life of his mate in the line, he crumbled like a paper boat against the water. Azriel had managed to keep it together for the first two weeks – by the time he stopped counting the time, he had broken down in the night.

If your captors would tell you what they wanted, if they made demands, Azriel knew it would be over for him the moment they put a hand on you. But they hadn’t so far – and that was the worst part. Not knowing what they wanted or why they took you, not being able to consider if the information they wanted was dangerous enough to risk your safeties. He knew he would give them anything by that point.

“They will be coming for us” you repeated like a mantra, over and over again.

Azriel didn’t doubt Rhysand and Cassian were shaking the word to find you, he just doubted they would be able to.

“I need you to promise to never do that again” he started, thinking about the previous hours. “Never, Y/N”

“You know I can’t, baby” the corner of your mouth lifted sadly. “You would have done the same”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t –“ he choked out, the urge of making you understand seeping through his words and body.

“Can’t protect you like you protect me? That’s what you want me to promise?” you cut him off. “To promise you to stay still while they drag you away once more, with those terrible promises?”

“Yes” he hissed, feeling anger, guilt and many other feelings he couldn’t talk about in his chest. “I can handle it. You being hurt? That I can’t do. And they know they can get anything out of me with it. So next time they barge in, please Y/N, please, just… don’t”

“I could ask you the same thing. Would you promise me that, hm?”

That morning, or what Azriel could guess was morning based on the meals they brought, the masked fae had opened the cell before you woke up. Azriel had brushed the sleep fast when he saw them, asking the same questions he had repeated many times before. Who were they, what did they want, where were you, why did they take you. He made demands too, repeated so many times he had learned them by heart. To let you go, to keep him so he could be useful, to have a blanket and more food.

Only silence followed them, and the realization of what they were about to do.

His inner demons, the crumbling fear of his past, had stilled him enough time for you to wake up and come to the same realization. A tall woman carried oil and matches, and a sickening smile on her face. Another fae laughed behind her, deep and masculine, when he saw his face. Before Azriel could finish processing what was happening, you copied his actions from the past. Jumped on the woman who carried the oil, assuring Azriel wouldn’t be the one taken that day.

And no matter how much he had screamed his throat raw, how many fingers he had broken trying to break through the bars, he couldn’t stop it. He would damn those seconds of panic and tightness the rest of his life.

For any answer, Azriel gripped softly your elbow, careful of not moving your burnt hand. The pink skin was raw, the first blisters breaking through.

“I would have preferred them to burn me alive” he confessed, staring at your hands.

“This is not your fault. Any of it”

“Feels a lot like it is” he scoffed, not lifting his eyes. “You need to promise me that. I can’t – if they, if it happens again…”

“Baby, look at me” you begged him, but he didn’t concede. “Az”

Nicknames rolled down your tongue easily, like they had always done. Something about you calling him baby warmed his heart each and every time, the way his name tasted so good on your lips. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his face contouring in sorrow. They had broken his leg, pierced his wings, beaten him senseless. Still, the sight of your burnt hands, knowing the similarities with his own, was what broke him.

“I’m sorry” he cried out, shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry”

You didn’t answer, only fell against his chest and let him hug you.

The flames licking up your skin hours ago didn’t feel half as bad as hearing Azriel sob. You contained down your own tears, days of torment seeming endless. You were scared, too, mostly for Azriel. Because, since you both had woken up in that cell, he had taken every possible beating and lashing so that they wouldn’t touch you. And you noticed, smelt, the blood on him when he was brought back. Feared the day he wouldn’t wake up.

The faebane in the food you were fed kept the shadows away, but some of his power was still available and circled your ankles. The panic and guilt he felt was palpable through the watered bond, and in the way he pressed against your bruises without noticing.

“We will make it out” you promised him that, or tried to. “They will come. I know”

He only cried in response. Azriel, your tough, brave mate who tortured people for a living, broke in a dark cell that night. He sobbed until his throat was raw and couldn’t mutter any more apologies, cradled your burned hands as if they pained him more than you. He let his broken wings cover you both until you could pretend you were back in Velaris, in your wide bed, hiding from the world.

Dinner was pushed through the bars and you didn’t miss how Azriel held you tighter, even if he knew they wouldn’t come back until the next day.

“Please” he begged once more. “Please, don’t do that again”

The moment you had seen the oil, had guessed their intentions, you were done for. You would have gladly let them burn your whole arms if that meant they would leave Azriel alone. It had hurt, and you didn’t want to think about it, but Azriel was barely hanging by a thread and you would do anything to keep that thread hanging.

When, a few hours later, the cell opened again, you both turned your heads to meet the only male who talked out of your captors. He was tall, ridiculously tall, thin and with long arms that hung loosely. He wasn’t threatening at all, at least he didn’t seem like it. But you intuitively cowered against his presence, and Azriel intuitively hugged you closer.

His onyx eyes were deep pools of nothing, of wisdom and age that had you doubting Rhysand or Cassian would find you. They moved between Azriel and you, earning a growl from the earnest. If he could, you knew he would get up and fight him. Would try, like many other times, to fight his way out. But there was a reason why he had begged you to stay put, why they had the chance to take you.

Azriel’s left shoulder was broken, his arm only twitching and covered in blood. His wings had been ripped to shreds and were healing too slowly. And his legs, sprawled on the ground, had been twisted and sprained too many times.

“You’re losing your charm” he commented, his lip curling in disgust at the sight of Azriel. “I was tempted to think you would be dead by now. One of you”

“Why don’t you come closer and try to kill me yourself?” Azriel hissed, his good arm curled possessively around your waist.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. My friends are doing a mighty job at that”

“And who are your friends?”

It was a common question. When the male had first appeared in the cell, Azriel had bombarded him with questions that had been ignored. But that day, the male looked between you and Azriel, and tilted his head.

“Let’s trade answers, shadowsinger. I will answer your questions as long as you answer mine” he rocked slightly on his feet, the only indication he was curious. “Where does that power come from? What makes you worthy of wielding it?”

“Mine first. Who are you?”

Azriel had been conscious for a long time, considering the things he had gone through. Normally, he lasted conscious enough for you to try and clean his wounds and for him to promise that he was fine. Then, maybe giving his body a day to rest had accelerated his healing process. Still, you felt his attention rapt and alert as the male considered answering or not.

It felt wrong. He could easily pry the answers out of him. Azriel himself had sworn to answer and give anything when you were in their hands. And still, he only pursed his lips.

“I hope you are smart enough to understand that I cannot give you my true name” he smiled apologetically, as if he was truly capable of feeling anything. “But to answer your question, I could say I am someone interested in your powers. Where does it come from?”

“If you want me to talk, you better give me a real answer” Azriel cut back. “You’ve burned my mate’s hands. Beaten her, cut her. Why”

“Because it is funny what love can make out of powerful people” the male looked at you without dropping his smile. “You are powerful enough to kill any of those fae. To break down this place and destroy it from the inside out. But knowing your mate is here too? Love can undermine so much power. May I?”

Azriel’s grunt of pain almost developed in a scream of pain when he stepped on his broken knee. Blood seeped on the ground and bones creaked under his weight. Still, Azriel only threw his head back and bit down his agony, not willing to move away and expose you any further.

The edge of his boot pressed farther on his wound. Proof of how badly hurt Azriel was, was the lack of movement of his foot. His leg had been so brutalized that he couldn’t even move it to step away from danger.

Your heart rose to your throat and you broke another promise you had made to Azriel the first time you woke up in that cell. Don’t show them. Promise me you won’t show them. Let them think I’m the strong one, I’m the one they can’t break. Promise me, darling.

When Azriel lost his breath and his chest stilled from pain, you couldn’t control the sudden urge of power that broke through the room. Without moving from his grasp, that was now painful against your waist, you filled that room with light and threw the man off your mate.

His back hit the wall with a sickening crunch, and if he had been human just like his smell suggested, he would have died. But he didn’t.

He only looked at you with bloody tears on his eyes and dark stains on his ears.

“Oh my! Oh, how wonderful!” the male chuckled. Laughed. His chest trembled with joy as his broken body stared at you from the other side of the room.

You realized that he had been talking about you. About your power, that you had thought was well hidden. You didn’t bother stopping to think how pointless the torments Azriel had endured for its sake had been then, knowing that thought would haunt you back.  

Not using your burned hands for support, you raised by Azriel’s side. The faebane wasn’t enough to keep it hidden, since it wasn’t from this world. It only dulled your senses and dimmed the mate bond. But now that it had been set free, your power roared at you to let it go. To wrack that place to ashes and kill them all.

You stopped yourself when you got on your feet. Azriel, still out of breath, gripped your calf and looked up at you with terror. He knew what they had done to your parents, what they did to your kind. Why you were the only one left, and how precious you were to them. All of that paled in comparison of you being his mate.

You could havoc that place, but your power was destructive enough to risk his life. And that made the light of the room dim.

“You’re – you’re wonderful. I had heard rumors, but this! Look at this!” the man kept talking, but you could only look at Azriel. He begged you silently to run, to use that opportunity to flee. “We’re going to be amazing friends, my darling. The best of friends!”

“Sir?”

Standing next to the open door, three pair of eyes stared at you. Your tormenters looked between the remains of light at the tips of your burnt fingers and their fallen master, who wouldn’t stop smiling. Panic rose like bile when you realized what you had done. What he had done to make you do it.

You had only agreed to Azriel sacrificing himself because you knew if they discovered your powers and how much you cared about him, it would be worse. The sudden burst of power had left you dizzy, yet you were aware enough to notice that the male was healing way too fast. Way too powerful for a normal fae.

He pointed at you with a bloody smile, the onyx on his eyes not leaving any white left.

“Seize her”

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Let me know if you want me to do an Azriel taglist!

[sluttywonwoo]

no nut november — i.n (loser #2)

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (18+), dry humping, messing around with clothes on

a/n: part of @gimmeurtmi and i's collab <3

word count: 2.9k

To say you were suspicious when Minho approached you at the surprise birthday party Jisung threw for him (over a week late) would be an understatement. He was one of the friends who would only come to you when he needed something, and you assumed this time was no different. 

“Happy birthday?” you offer, wondering if that’s what he was expecting. 

He’s unfazed by your greeting in the form of a question and just smiles, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Thanks.”

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to get to whatever it was he wanted from you but he stares right back with that stupid grin of his.

“So, um, were you surprised?” 

“Not really. Hannie talks in his sleep and he crashed while we were watching a movie together the other night. But hey, anyway, you like Jeongin, right?”

You’d have whiplash by now if you weren’t so used to Minho’s abrupt subject changes. This one, however, did manage to catch you a bit off guard. 

“Of course I do. He’s a good friend.”

“But you like him as more than a friend.” He wasn’t asking, he was stating. 

You blink, stunned. “Wh- I don’t-”

“Come on, don’t play dumb. I can see the way you look at him when you think no one’s paying attention.”

Well fuck. If Minho of all people had noticed your crush on Jeongin, who else knew? Did Jeongin know? Did everybody know?

“Relax, I'm not going to tell him,” he continues when he sees the look on your face. That wasn’t necessarily what you were worried about but good to know nonetheless. He sneaks a look at the younger member from across the room as he talks. “I just thought that you should know that he likes you too.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“You know I’m like one of his best friends, right?

“I-I mean, yeah, but...”

“And we live together, he literally never shuts up about you,” Minho adds. He raises his eyebrows expectantly but you don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t believe you… it’s just, why are you telling me?”

Minho shrugs. “Think of it as a favor.” 

“Since when have you done anyone a favor?”

“Ouch.”

“I’m serious,” you insist warily. “You’re acting weird. Why are you suddenly so invested in me and Jeongin? You have to have some kind of stake in this.”

Minho sighs and drops his head, which confirms your suspicions. “Okay, fine. Here’s the deal...”

Jeongin’s pleasantly surprised when you approach him at Minho’s birthday party. You’re one of his good friends but it’s rare that the two of you ever spend time alone together. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just gets so nervous around you. He can barely get a word out when you’re in the room, which is why when he sees you making your way across the room he prays for strength and holds his breath. 

“Hey,” you say casually, sliding into the seat next to him, and Jeongin feels his heart rate pick up almost immediately. “Bored already?”

Jeongin chuckles. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you’re sitting over here all by yourself. It wasn’t very hard to guess.”

“Yeah, I guess I should mingle more,” he sighs and puts his hands on his knees to push himself up.

“Wait, but not now! I just got here.”

Jeongin’s half-relieved he doesn’t have to move from his spot, half-panicked because now he’s forced to have this one on one conversation with you. He started sweating the minute you walked in the door how the fuck was he supposed to get through this in one piece. 

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Did you get Minho a birthday present?” you ask, thankfully skirting right past Jeongin trying to ditch you. 

He nods. “I did.”

“What’d you get him?”

“It’s a secret.”

“You didn’t get him anything, did you?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was in the mail?”

“No.”

“I forgot,” Jeongin admits sheepishly. “I always get the guys birthday gifts after the fact. I’m terrible at that stuff.”

“You can just add your name to mine, if you want,” you offer. “People group us together all the time anyway.”

“Wha- they do?” 

“Yeah, you know like whenever I show up at the dorms the boys are always like ‘Jeongin’s in his room’, ‘Jeongin will be right out’. ‘Jeongin isn’t here right now, I thought he’d be with you’. Do they not say that stuff to you?”

“Uh, no. Not really.” 

Probably because they all know about his giant fucking crush on you. 

“Oh.” 

You sound disappointed. Fuck. How does he always manage to put his foot in his mouth? 

“I mean, because they just tease me right in front of you anyway.”

“They just like giving you a hard time,” you reason. 

“So you’re on their side now?”

You crook an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there were sides.”

“There are.”

“Then I’m on your side, obviously.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Cause you’re friends with all of us, not just me.”

“Yeah, but you’re my favorite.”

Jeongin isn’t sure if he totally believes you but he’s elated regardless. He beams at you. 

“You’re my favorite too.”

-

He doesn’t know why, but after Minho’s birthday party, things between him and you feel different. The next time he sees you is on that Saturday, the fifth. You come over for game night like you do every weekend, and you take your spot next to Jeongin as usual. Everything seems normal. But it isn’t. Jeongin can feel it in the stiffness of your posture, in the nervous tapping of your foot against the hardwood floor. 

The night progresses as smoothly as any other game night, with Jeongin losing every single one, but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. 

You’re not mad at him, he knows that. You still laugh at his dumb jokes, you still let him cheat off of you, both good signs. 

When Felix calls for a break, Jeongin takes the opportunity to lean over and check in. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You jump in your seat a little like you hadn’t been expecting him to address you, which was fair because he was usually too much of a coward to, and turn to face him. “Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Yup. Just fine.”

“Not good?”

“Neither good, nor bad,” you say with a shrug. 

“Why? Is something wrong?”

You open your mouth to answer but Felix’s voice from the kitchen cuts you off as he calls out to suggest that the group of you watch a movie instead of finishing the game of Uno you were currently playing.

“You never want to watch movies,” Hyunjin says, scrunching his face in confusion. 

“Yeah, you’re only suggesting that because you’re losing!” Seungmin adds.

Felix comes into the room, hands on his hips, and lips pursed. “Do you want to watch How to Train Your Dragon or not?”

-

Seven and a half minutes later, you’re all on the couch watching Hiccup struggle with his daddy issues. Jeongin didn’t have much say in the matter but you had seemed eager to watch the movie so obviously he was… also eager. To watch the movie. 

A lot of the guys’ girlfriends were over so you asked Jeongin to share a blanket with you, seeing as there were only so many to go around. 

He agrees, of course, even though he isn’t cold. If anything, he’s overly warm. He hopes you can’t feel the heat radiating from his body. 

It’s hard to focus on the movie with you so close, not that he was really interested in it in the first place, but then you snuggle close to Jeongin and rest your head on his shoulder and his brain short circuits. You must feel his body tense because you sit back up immediately after, frowning. 

“No, you can lay back down,” Jeongin insists, going as far as craning his neck in the opposite direction to give you more room. 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you mumble. 

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” he asks.

“Because you’re being all weird.”

“I’m not-”

“Hey, you two,” Jisung hisses from the other couch, “could you keep it down? Some of us are trying to watch the movie.”

Jeongin apologizes and you shift away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s really done it now. He tries to remedy the situation by scooting closer but you don’t even look at him. 

From across the room, Jeongin makes eye contact with Minho, who gives him a look as if to say what the fuck are you doing? 

Minho’s been trying to get Jeongin to make a move on you for months now, claiming to be tired of listening to him pine over you from afar, but Jeongin knows his friend really just wants him to be happy, put himself out there and all that. Minho’s been especially insistent ever since the eight of them made that stupid bet. He’s somehow under the impression that if Jeongin tells you how he feels it’ll eliminate him as competition. But for that to happen, you would have to like him back. 

He doubts he’ll win No Nut November anyway, girlfriend or not. Hell, half the reason he acts so strange around you is because he’s using up all of his energy trying not to get hard. All you have to do is smile at him and his dick will twitch in his pants. In fact, he knows tonight after you go home he’ll just lay in bed, hard and aching with thoughts of you as he wills his cock to soften on its own. 

But at least he wouldn’t be the first loser. Jisung made sure of that by losing on the second day of the month. Everyone saw it coming. 

Jeongin’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of you yawning. 

“Are you tired?” he asks softly, not wanting to get scolded by his members for talking again.

“A little.”

“Do you want to lay down in my room? You could stay the night if you want, I know it’s getting late.”

“That’d be great, Innie, thanks.” You smile sleepily at him and reach for his hand. “Will you come with me? I don’t want to go by myself, I’d feel weird.”

Jeongin nods, brain going on autopilot as he takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom. No one questions where the two of you are going, either too engrossed in the movie to notice, or too uninterested to care. 

You flop down on his bed as soon as the door’s shut behind you. Jeongin chuckles. 

“Make yourself comfortable.”

“I will,” you hum. 

Despite the fact that the two of you don’t spend much time together, it isn’t uncommon for you to end up in Jeongin’s bed. He offers it to you whenever you decide to stay over because he doesn’t want you driving yourself home if you’re tired or if you’ve been drinking. He always takes the couch even though you’ve pointed out that his bed is big enough for the both of you. He doesn’t trust himself not to embarrass himself if he were to entertain the idea. 

“I know you wore jeans tonight so you can borrow something of mine to sleep in if you want.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I can just sleep in my underwear,” you say as you start to unzip your pants. “Unless that bothers you?”

Jeongin’s eyes widen at the sight and he spins on his heel to face the wall and give you privacy. 

“N-no, that’s fine,” he squeaks out. 

“You don’t have to turn away, Jeongin. It’s not like I’m a stranger.”

He ignores you and only turns back around once he hears you slide underneath the covers, knowing that he’d instantly get hard if he did any sooner. 

“I know, I just... uh, let me know if you need anything else,” he says and heads for the door. 

“Wait,” you call after him. “Won’t you stay with me?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says slowly. 

You huff in frustration and throw back the covers. “I-I don’t understand. I should have never listened to Minho-”

“Minho? What’s Minho got to do with this?”

You look guilty all of the sudden, and Jeongin’s drops as his brian conjures up every possible scenario that involves you and Minho talking about him. None of them are good. 

“Y/n?” he prompts again. 

“He told me that he knew I had feelings for you and that you had feelings for me too, and then he told me about that idiotic bet you all made and tried to get me in on it, I guess to seduce you or something? But obviously he doesn’t know what he’s talking about because you don’t even like me!”

It’s entirely too much information for Jeongin’s brain to process at once. All he can focus on is that you have feelings for him??? 

“You have feelings for me?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

“Did you listen to anything else I just said?” you huff. 

“Not really.”

“Yes, I’ve had a big fat crush on you for forever now, thanks for noticing.”

“Really?”

“Really. Are you going to make me say it again?”

“I kind of want to,” Jeongin admits, finally feeling brave enough to approach you on his bed. 

“That’s mean.”

“Why? I have a crush on you too, silly.”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“Minho wasn’t messing with you. He was right.”

“You like me?”

“How could I not?”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you scoff. 

Jeongin rolls his eyes at you and pouts. “You just make me nervous, okay? I can’t function around a pretty girl.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods and takes your hand. “The prettiest.”

He’s not sure who makes the next move, probably you, but then you’re kissing. Your arms are wrapped around Jeongin’s neck, pulling him down close to you as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Clumsily, he climbs onto the bed with you and slots himself in between your legs, moaning into your mouth a little when his hand brushes against your bare thigh. 

You already sound breathy and desperate for him and it spurs him on further, hips grinding into you instinctively. He’s practically fully hard in his sweats, there’s no way you can’t feel it, but you don’t seem to mind. If anything, it turns you on even more. 

You’re the first to break away, though, pushing on Jeongin’s chest to put more distance between you. “Wait, wait, the bet! Don’t you want to win?”

He doesn’t even need to think about it. “Fuck the bet.”

Jeongin kisses you again, letting his hands travel beneath your shirt and up to your tits. He traces your curves, outlining each one, before moving down to your underwear. It seems that you have a similar train of thought because you reach for the waistband of his pants at the same time, but he stops you with a sheepish grin. 

“This is really embarrassing, but I haven’t jerked off in like a week so I won’t last long.”

You smile against his lips. “It’s okay, Innie. We can just go again if you cum too fast. We have all the time in the world now.”

The assurance is all he needs to relax. You begin to palm him over his sweats and it becomes very apparent to Jeongin that he’s going to cum way faster than he wants to. He whines, actually whines, and bucks his hips into your hand. 

“Shhh, the others are still outside,” you remind him. 

“S-sorry.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss as he fumbles for the waistband of your panties, wanting to make you feel good too. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric, lower and lower until you’re moaning and arching your back off the bed. 

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” you whisper. 

Jeongin keeps his thumb on your clit, rubbing slow circles, while he works the rest of his hand into your underwear. He figures that if he can’t make you cum on his cock, his fingers will have to do. He’s been told that he has nice hands on more than one occasion, and he’s gotten good reviews from partners in the past, so it’s kind of like a failsafe for him. 

“Shit, you’re wet,” Jeongin breathes.

“Do you believe I like you now?”

For some reason, that’s what does it for him. He shudders and falls forward into you as he cums in his pants. 

“Oh god, sorry, sorry,” he groans. 

There’s so much of it too, it seeps through the material of his sweatpants and onto your hand and he’s mortified.

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” you soothe, rubbing his back as he comes down. “You told me it was going to happen, I expected it.”

“But still.”

“It really isn’t a big deal, Innie. If anything, I think it’s hot that I have that effect on you. And you can go again right?”

He nods eagerly. “Yes! Yeah, just give me like, ten minutes.”

You laugh and pet his hair. “Well in that case, I can think of a lot of things we can do in ten minutes, can’t you?”

nnn tags: @doesthismeannothingtoyou @yellowroses-world @allyoops @thelostverse @karlitaburrito @lydataylorsversion @septemberkisses @caticorn61 @multifandomtrash-dree @cixrosie @mchslut @cutiequokka

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[ephemeral--dreams]

blood and grenadine

Scar/Reader

Word count: 1,531

Rating: M

Warnings: Scar is his own warning...!

Notes: feral cat reader who cannot accept affection is very important to me thanks. anyway I haven't stopped thinking about scar for a month. get him out of my head

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

You grit your teeth. It's getting tiring, the way he kept doing this. No, it is stressful. The way he goes around taking people you care about or causing mass destruction to get your attention. You worry that he's going to end up killing someone before you ever get there to confront him. Someone could get hurt, and it'll be your fault, because he's only targeting them because of his obsession with you. You wish he'd just come after you directly instead of doing all this. You don't like these little games he plays.

It's a typical but no less frustrating sight to show up to fire everywhere and screaming and him waiting for you expectantly. His head tilts. “What a coincidence. I've been expecting you.”

“Don't call it a coincidence when you did this on purpose,” it comes out scathing, sharp. He only smiles pleasantly.

“Why stop doing something that brings results? You should stop giving me what I want by showing up. You're conditioning me~”

“You can't-” you look away, trying not to simmer in your own guilt. It's stupid. You know it. He'd caused chaos before you and he'd do it whether you came or not. But you still feel as if it's your fault. If you could manage to stop him then these things wouldn't keep happening, but he always seems to get away after he has his fun. “What do I have to do to make you stop, then?”

It's worth a try. Maybe there's something he wants. Something you can get for him or… you don't know. Anything.

“Stop?” he laughs, as if the very idea is absolutely hilarious to him. Some thin thread inside of you snaps. You can't do this anymore. This cycle of violence. Innocent people getting hurt. The feeling of being helpless against it all.

“This is about me, isn't it? Then come after me. You want to fight? Then I will fight you. You want to hurt someone? Hurt me. Leave out the extra steps to get my attention. You don't need to involve anyone else.”

He's silent for a long moment as he stares at you. It's unusual for him to stop talking. But there's some sort of interest. That's what you're betting on. 

“Do you have any idea what you're offering?”

“I'm offering whatever you want.”

The expression that spreads across his face sends a shiver down your spine, his grin razorblade sharp conflicting with the strange infatuation in his eyes as he steps closer, heat radiating as he steps into your space. You resist the urge to step back. “You. Be mine for the night, and everyone here gets to run free! Isn't it a fair deal?”

There's all kinds of implications there that you don't like. God only knows what exactly he plans to do. Giving him free reign over you for even a night is a terrible, terrible idea. But does your safety really matter in comparison to that of others?

It doesn't. 

“...Fine. It's a deal.”

“You've made an excellent choice, little lamb. Let's not waste time,” the portal opens before you are given even a single chance to second guess, a hand on your shoulder coaxing you through. “Come, come. We'll have a good time, I promise. You'll want to join me when I'm done with you~”

☆

You're so tense. You always are. It's one of the easiest things to notice about you. Though it's rather troublesome when what he needs from you is for you to trust him, let him get into your head. 

“...What do you want me to do,” you ask the moment you're both through the portal, not even a moment to get your bearings. Straight to business. 

"Patience, dearest," Scar murmurs, hand still wrapped around yours in a one-sided grip as he leads you through the maze of halls. "First, we must prepare. Sometimes in order to experience the best in life, you have to shed the old.”

Your silence is uneasy, terse. You're waiting for the other shoe to drop, he can tell. It's like you think he's going to do something awful! As if he would, now that he's finally gotten a chance to get his hands on you in a way that isn't a mere fight. You simply don't appreciate how much effort he goes to just to get you to look at him. You act as if he's always out to torment you for the sake of it. 

Which he's not. His intentions are so clear! How haven't you realized it yet? The obliviousness is as endearing as it is frustrating. It's because you don't think of anything but the weight of the world. Stupid, overly self sacrificial little lamb. Not tonight.

He tugs you through his bedroom to the connecting bathroom. You stand in the corner watching warily as he sets the faucet on the tub running, debating which of the oils he wants to put in. What would you like? He knows so much about you but not such simple things. If only you weren't so resistant. He puts in what reminds him most of your perfume after a long moment of contemplation. Then he moved to light some candles. Too dark in here. Scar paid attention to every detail, setting the mood for the evening.

The water steams as he shuts off the stream. He turns to you expectantly, then moves to guide you over himself when you don't come over. “Well?” If you're not going to undress yourself he has no issue helping you along. 

You look at him. You look at the water. You look back. Suspicious. Hmph. You think a simple bath is an attempt to drown you, is that it? What a warped imagination. He's never met someone so overly cautious. “Little lamb, it's just a bath. You've got ash on you from all that chaos earlier, hm? Get in, come on.”

You look no less defensive over it, movements stiff as you obey regardless, clothing neatly folded as it is removed before you sink into the water with the kind of hesitance that feels entirely out of place for what is supposed to be a moment of relaxation. That's all it is. He just wants to ease the tension. That's it! 

He thinks that it's a good thing the tub is big enough for two, as he strips and slips in behind you. 

"Little lamb, relax," Scar's voice is quiet, his hands on your shoulders, kneading them. All the while, you remain stiff, a contrast to the warmth of the water. You really think he's going to harm you, don't you? Skittish. Perhaps that's not so surprising, but.. He lets out a soft sigh. Adorable, but so difficult. “Enjoy it. I’m not the grasping hand all the time, dearest.”

“You're a violent maniac,” is all you say in response.

“And you're too tense,” He feels a bit like he's coaxing a feral cat into accepting affection. It's as endearing as it is pitiful. Do you even know how to relax, he wonders? With how much you burden yourself with things he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was no. You almost seem more distressed when he's here being gentle with you than when he tries to attack you. As if it's all a complete and utter shock to your system. “It would do you good to let go of things. You can't can't carry so much weight forever, you know.”

You let out a quiet huff, but are otherwise silent. Is the idea really so preposterous to you? 

A little of the tension starts to ease from your body under his attention eventually, though. The slightest bit. But it is a step in the right direction. He's got his work cut out for him if he ever wants to get you to love him back, now doesn't he?

“This isn't a battlefield. I don't intend to hurt you tonight. Alright? I just wanted some alone time with you. You can calm down. You've got to give me a chance, dear~”

You tilt your head to look back at him balefully. “Maybe if you stopped causing me stress…”

“Poor little lamb,” he coos, hands still rubbing over your back. “Does it upset you that much?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Then I'll break into your house next time I want to see you. Then you can't complain. Yes?” Let it not be said that he can't compromise. 

“I- fine. Whatever. Just don't attack anyone. Please.”

“Please? Are we pleading now? How cute. But alright,” Scar leans down to kiss the top of your head. You tense again. “Shh, shh, let it happen~ Don't go all stiff again now.”

“What do you want.”

“I want you to be mine, of course. But I'll accept it if you stop acting like I'm going to stab you in the back every time I touch you, for now.”

“...A tall order.”

“We have all night.”

You sigh. “Try your best, then,” it's all the acquiescence you will offer to his intent. But Scar will take it.

He has you in his grasp now. It's only a matter of time before he gets your heart. 

[sophvilla]

My Reason to Exist °‧🫧

Pairing: Husband! OT5 x Wife Femreader x your baby

Summary: You always endured your Husband's protectiveness but you didn't know that you have to cope up with your kids too

Genre: Fluff, Kissing , protectiveness from your husband's as well as you kids

Warning: Nonidol! OT5 x Nonidol! Fem!reader, Husband x Wife x Baby/toddler trope, sweet fluff, protectiveness, mention of (baby , princess, wife )

CHOI YEONJUN

Two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they're not wrong. your son has his father's looks from his fox eyes to his pouty lips -Yeonjun swears he has your nose and ears but anyway-and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can't count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with Yeonjun against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what's happening right now for example.

you're out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor-especially since Yeonjun got this new type of paint for s/n and it's quite an endeavour to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can't take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, "what's a pretty lady like you doing alone?"

"buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone."

he quickly frowns, "don't be so stingy doll," his hand extends towards your arm, "I can show you a good time; I promise--"

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, "what's your wrong with your kid, man?!" he yells at the person behind you.

He then grumbles, "ruined a potential good night."

"My kid was absolutely right in what he did," you hear Yeonjun’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you're pulled into a chest you're all too familiar with, ""junnie-"

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, "that last throw was very good, son ! throw another one but just below his stomach."

A Cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband's face as your boy prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son's face as he yells, "don't you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!"

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn't be the son of Choi Yeonjun if he doesn't manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

So Yeonjun picks both you and your son and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, "wait, ‘junnie, the groceries!"

"we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!"

your son grumbles, "but I want to hit the rude man!"

"me too, champ, but-" Yeonjun’s sweat-drops and glances behind him, "I doubt the angry security guards wouldn't like that!"

CHOI SOOBIN

Your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

In a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

The sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. Luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially-in any argument at least one will try to win you over. As you know the girls have inherited their father's professional yapping mechanism since birth, the trinity force uses that card whenever they're in an argument.

If it’s Soobin trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. If it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

So it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

You turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

You’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

She smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

Soobin’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

Your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

She grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

The woman gasps, “how dare you-!”

You cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

Your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

A snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

Your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman,

“shrek! You look like shrek!”

Then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

Your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final -subtle-blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline Anymore, "

"Also ma’am you should look at yourself in the mirror before saying something to Others especially my wife, as you can see she gave birth to my beautiful daughters and she looks like a absolute Goddess to me and we actually didn't ask for any of you opinion, so keep them to you shallow of a life and excuse us please” Your husband concludes.

It seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as She starts muttering how the society is and the new generation is disrespectful.

A moment of silence is shared across the four Of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil Girls!”

They squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

Soobin chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

You pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

The colour drains from your husband’s face, and he Watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

You giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. He reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

CHOI BEOMGYU

Your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

However, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

For example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

Not to mention that your son wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

It was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. He was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

You have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

Even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

He giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

He laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

You nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?-“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a-“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

You son squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

The guy was about to reply to your son, but Beomgyu pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “My son’s right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

The guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him. On the other hand, your-shameless-husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

You hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before Beomgyu makes even more of a bigger scene.

You also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

The guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky-since he is too scared to cuss out your husband. Once the man is out of sight, Beomgyu ruffles his child’s hair, chuckling, “good job, Bud.”

Your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks Away, “…thanks.”

You’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “Gyu, literally why?” you grumble, patting you Kid who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged Beomgyu.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” Beomgyu grumbles, staring down at his and your little version.

Unfaltering, Your son looks up at him, “dad, I want ice cream.”

“- or else I’ll call Yeonjun uncle to-.”

“god damn it, listen here you-“

You laugh at their bickering

KANG TAEHYUN

There is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both- are very smart-as they compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally talk senses in your child whenever it comes to taking care of you whenever he wasn’t around and your son, in turn, lecture his father to stop being clingy to his mother as he is old enough to sleep by himself.

It's eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

So their very smartass nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

A person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

For example, today when the three of you are sprawled in grass of the public park as all of soak the sun up, as you Are making a flower crown for both your nerds when suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulders

You turn to look at the person being a men with creepy smile gracing his face, “yes?”

He clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I wanted to ask where are you from ?”

“Um-I ‘m sorry but ---”

“Don’t worry love, I’m gonn’ treat you good” as he lays his hand on your shoulders, your about to give him a good push before you son speaks up

“take your disgusting hands off my mother shoulders , you unnatural looking fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s presence as he pulls you behind him as the man hurriedly takes his hand off your shoulders, slightly annoyed as well as scared from your husband's buff figure from the two more company of your son and husband.

“who are you to lay your limping hands on my wife and speak to her so casually?” Taehyun presses, and the man cowers away at the intimidating look Taehyun gives him as well as his dead stare as the man grumbles a quick Apologise to your husband.

As the man tries to walk away your son stands in his tracks, hand folded and just like his father, that boba eyes glaring at the man

“ Aren’t you going to apologise to my mother properly for causing her inconvenience ? Don’t you have any manners, or not ? Is this how you treat a woman ?” Your son questioned him making the man conscious of his action followed by your husband’s comment

“ Well my son just said something, aren’t going to answer ? Or should we make-” Meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything but the man immediately replies in fear.

“I’m so sorry for the inconveniences I caused you ma’am I didn’t mean to do that, please forgive me ” bowing his head to you as you bowed back a little to acknowledge and accept his apology as the said man in question runs away after he saw your husband nod his head at him.

Your son hugs you tightly and glares at the man’s retreating figure “ Dad why did you let him go off so easily? ”

You immediately reply before Taehyun does “ he already apologized my Little man , so that’s enough of torment you and your dad gave him by your stares”

You can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son grumbles. As you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your Neck.

Your husband watches both of you with a smile as He rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care about the stares ? He shouldn’t have interrupted our time together And neither should’ve touched your shoulders .”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not-“

“Yes you are father, don’t lie! ”

As both of laugh at your son words, you realise your creation as you ask both of them

“ Who’s gonna wear these cute flower crowns I made ! ”

“No- no Mama, you and dad can wear that not me ” Your son says quickly to get away from looking cute, as you thought to yourself how much he is like his father in nature too, always want to be more of intimidating rather than cute but they're so cute and adorable you can't even explain

“Nope baby you and your father, both are gonna wear them—”

Before you can finish the sentence both of your boys runs off away from you, laughing as you chase after them

HUENING KAI

You and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

You can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

It also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. His hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

You remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

The way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

Today, you were going on an outing with your- now 6 months old-baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

Your husband has always been happy about helping you out with you throughout everything, as he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

You have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this Is the least I can do.

So yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever at his cuteness and his care and love for you and your daughters but that’s not the point.

You’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. You hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. She takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

Kai reply to the lady with a frown on his “with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

Your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

On the other side, your husband is just as speechless. Your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! You wouldn’t know that! You immature nugget!”

Huening frowns lightly, “princess, that’s not nice-“

And for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

She starts babbling some nonsense that you’re Pretty sure are curse words in baby language. Having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter Disrespect,” and starts walking away.

The rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. Finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

You giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

Kai cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them-“

Your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. She starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

Your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more-she was successful.

Meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, Babe; it was kind of funny.”

His resolve softens at the sound of laughter from All three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but-“

“yay!!”

Ladies: 1

Huening Kai: 0

[bu-blegh-ost]

The time has finally come, @girlsonlytreehouse !!!

Today I shall share with you the fruits of my work. But first, allow me to take you on a journey I myself have been through while counting all of this shit down.

First things first, I decided to count the rolls in the context of the characters rather than the people playing them, simply because the luck of the actual people could not be measured accurately if I only take Riptide into consideration (and also I thought it would be more fun). The guys have several different campaigns, some that I do not have access to, so I've decided to seperate all their Riptide rolls into characters they play instead, cause then we can clearly see which character is the luckiest. But ofc if you want this to be attributed differently, the data remains unchanged, so that way you all can interpret the results however you wanted and still have all the info you need on hand.

Another issue were the advantage/disadvantage rolls. When a character rolls at advantage, they roll twice and the only roll that counts is the one that was higher, while the other is discarded and the opposite goes for disadvantage. So for example if you roll at Disadvantage and you roll a nat 20 and a 2, that nat 20 technically doesn't matter. Despite that I decided to count each adv/disadv roll anyway, because despite the fact that it does not count, it was still physically ROLLED, which means it contributes to the character's overall pool of luck. I tried to separate them at first so you guys can make your own decision whether to add them or not, but in the end I decided against it cause it was insanely hard to keep up with. There were just too many and too often, which led me to believe that it was fair enough to count everything as long as they actually rolled a dice.

Which brings me to the last complication, which is of course Gillion's Prophetic Screwup. At the beginning of the campaign Gillion was able to exchange anything that he actually rolled into a nat 20, and in return the DM can change any roll he does afterwards into a nat 1. That way there was supposed to be an equal number of wild unrolled nat 20's and nat 1's to balance Gillion out back to 0, but it didn't turn out this way. In more cases than not, Grizzly would either forget or fail to find a good place to screw Gillion over, so the ability bacame much too unbalanced. So they changed it somwhere in the middle of Edison Kingdom Arc. From then on, if Gill rolled anything from 1-10 it would automatically become a nat 1, and if he rolled from 11-20, that'd be a nat 20 instead. Either way these rolls had nothing to do with luck, as he wasn't actually rolling anything, thus I decided not to count these 'artificial' nat 20's/1's. However I did keep track of them nonetheless and I'll still give you the number of those, just separately, and from then on you guys can make your own decision on whether or not you wish to count it.

OOOFFF ALRIGHT.

Without further ado, here are the nat 20's results (up to ep106):

Gillion: 52

Chip: 58

Jay: 55

Goobleck: 8

Surprised? Yeah I was as well. First things first I never expected this to be this close. And never in my right mind could I possibly predict that it would he CHIP of all people to have the highest score here. But I've seen it with my own eyes. And tell you what. Jay had this in the bag for most of the damn series. She would consistently roll good and always when you need a good roll the most. There were times when she would have such a massive lead it was unthinkable she could loose it. But then she would just kinda...stop rolling good for a bit and allow the other two to catch up. It just wasn't as visble if you don't pay much attention, but I thought it to be cute. It's as she was waiting for them <3 But she was still mostly leading. It was only the current arc that made Chip surpass her. After his terrible luck in Feywilde, he bounced back so strongly right after, that he managed to jump in front of the luck queen herself.

And now I bet you're curious about the other side of the coin. Give it up for natural 1's!:

Gillion: 55

Chip: 53

Jay: 52

Goobleck: 1

You see, I kind of expected it to be Gill, but I need you guys to know that this wasn't the case at all times. Jay? Yes. If there is one thing that's consistent is that she had the lowest amount of natural 1s at all times almost, but the person that was suffering from nat 1 curse for a long while was Chip. In the Feywilde Arc he would be so far ahead of everyone, that I was genuinely sure that there is no way anyone catches up to him. But then he popped off in the next arc with nat 20's and Gillion? Oh my gosh, Gillion didn't disappoint. I've never seen a man fail this much let me tell you XD He ended up with the least nat 20's as well, but I thought the difference would be much higher until he didn't roll 4 fucking nat 20s in ep 100 and then this double nat 20 attack roll in the Black Sea whduihdius AND HE CAUGHT UP AS WELL, more or less.

Idunno, maybe this is just how luck works, but it truly seems that the trio shares their successes and burdens almost equally. They support each other and in return fate has their backs as well. Honestly I couldn't have hoped for better results. Also can we give shout out to Goobleck, the true MVP? He's been on the show only for a while but look at this nat1 - nat20 ratio!!! Go goop man goo!!!

So now for the additional stuff that I also counted just for fun:

*Prophethic screwup nats:

Before the rules changed Gillion replaced 8 of his rolls into natural 20s, and in return Grizzly replaced 3 of his rolls into natural 1s.

After the rules changed he only got high enough number for 4 nat 20s, and a low enough number for 7 nat 1s.

So that together makes additional 12 nat 20s and 10 nat 1s from the prophetic screwup alone. I don't think they should be added, but the numbers are there so feel free to do whatever you want with them :)

Downs and death saves:

Throughout the campaign Gillion went down 14 times and rolled 8 death saves.

Chip went down 6 times and rolled 4 death saves.

Jay went down 4 times and rolled 3 death saves.

No shocker here, Gillion dies a lot XD

Knights:

In their journey Gillion knighted 4 people: Julien Booker, Clorton, Garrieth and Duke.

Corruption score:

Thus far each character has the following amount of corruption points (Black Sea):

Gillion: 0

Chip: 2

Jay: 3

Queen: 1

Gryffon: 2 (i think, unsure abt that one, may edit later XD)

Earl: 1

That is all I have for now. I may be clinically insane :)

Good day to everyone and I hope you found this data interesting. Take care <3