#AND THEN THE ENTIRE THING SPILLED IN MY BAG ON THE WAY TO WORK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thanksbutno98 · 2 months ago

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Secret Admirer

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: Your Secret Admirer becomes bold enough John Price takes things into his own hands.

Warnings: Stalking, panic attacks, violence, threats of murder, allusions to children being harmed, sexual themes, swearing, not edited.

——————

Summer was cresting and you were having a blast with your family this year. You and John decided to skip doing a holiday and instead focus on your children and the things they wanted to do here. It consisted of many days swimming in the pond, trampoline parks, hiking, museum visits, trips to London, back yard barbecues with all your friends, and numerous camping trips.

You were just coming into work after one of those camping trips, feeling a bit sore. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t the comfiest and when you tried to complain, John shot you down. Telling you, that hefty pay check that hits your bank account was from him sleeping on the ground thousands of miles away. So as your revenge you used him as a pillow and mattress. You slept on top of him so you’d be comfy and kissed him every time he complained and thanked him for the pay check.

It was not a conducive weekend for good work performance. So walking into work you felt worse for wear. Your hair was messier than you liked so you pulled it back into a messy bun that somehow looked cute; which almost never happened. You opted for dark blue jeans instead of slacks, a silk white loose button up, and powder blue heels. The heels were your minimal effort today because you almost broke and wore adidas classics.

“Indy, your husband in the dog house?” Penny one of your long time colleagues and friends asked.

“I mean he did spill his tea all over my favorite blouse this morning- but no.” You were just walking into the museum you worked at and hadn’t seen Penny coming in behind you.

She caught you mid bite of your homemade breakfast wrap, crumbs and sauce decorating the corner of your mouth. With a laugh Penny took it from you and handed you a napkin she had.

Penny didn’t have her coat on and no bag so you assumed she already made it to her desk. Her fiery red hair was neatly tied back, a few of the unmanageable curls framing her face nicely. The freckles on pale skin stood out more today with her bare face and her sweet green eyes were sparkling with mischief. Penny was an endearing, kind, and incredibly smart woman. You felt similarly about her in the way John felt about Soap and Gaz.

“Can I have that back?” After wiping your face you pointed to your breakfast in her hand but she shook her head no.

“Someone sent the whole staff pastries and tea. Marked it as a gift for us from your ‘Secret Admirer.’” Using air quotes she giggled and laced arms with you.

Your eye’s bugged out of your head when Penny tossed your wrap into the trash. You had only gotten two bites and now it was gone. You were about to complain about your food but Penny told you to wait and see because your sweet tooth would be thanking her for tossing it out.

Dragging you upstairs to the offices you two chatted about John and your weekend camping with your kids. You could tell Penny wanted to ask you a few questions about her own ‘admirer’ who you happened to know all too well.

“See!” Penny motioned to the array of pastries laid out in the offices kitchenette.

It was a decent sized room with cream wallpaper that had tiny faded green ferns as the pattern and a sage green wainscoting. When you first walk in, there was the kitchen portion of the break room. The top and bottom cabinets lined the left wall and created an L shape around the corner to the right and stopped three quarters into the room. The cabinet matched the wainscoting, the wood countertops had endless ring stains from coffee mugs. To the right were two round wooden tables with five chairs each.

One entire table was taken up by an assortment of pastries. They were set up as if they were on display, not simply left in boxes for the taking. There were cake stands used and an exquisite vase of tulips placed along side. Almost every pastry you could think of was on this table, even your favorites, they just happened to be the wrong flavor. It was a grandiose sight to see and far past what John would have done; or at least what you saw his normal efforts as. He was also way too busy to get something like this done. Usually he dropped you off lunch or surprised you by taking you out for dinner.

You blinked a few times, absolutely stunned by the sugary display. It took one of your employees thanking you to snap you out of your stupor. Natalie had a plate full of pastries and told you to pass the thank you along to your husband; who was well known here. Being the curator meant you were in charge of mostly everything, thus when your husband stopped by everyone was extra nice to him because he was the bosses husband.

“Oh wow. This must’ve cost a pretty penny.” You whispered eyes scanning over the assortment to pick your first treat.

The white card that was stuck into the red tulips stood out to you. So you reached for it to see what was written inside. In not the neatest handwriting is read ‘Yours Truly.’ It felt a bit romantic but it could be misconstrued.

“John’s so sweet. Think Johnny would ever do something like this for me?” Penny finally asked the question you knew was coming.

“Uhhhh I’m not sure. Soap’s kindaaa-“ You instantly felt caught out as you grabbed a pastry and took a bite. You were hoping that by eating you wouldn’t have to answer the question.

“Yeah, he hasn’t called me back.” Fiddling with the pastry in her hand she stared down with her lips pursed.

You felt incredibly awkward. This was exactly why you told Soap to stay away from Penny. She was easily attached and a hopeless romantic. When she told you Soap asked for her number when him and John stopped by here, you were skeptical. And now here you were being questioned by Penny.

This also wasn’t the first time Soap had done something like this. It was actually the fourth. He claimed you had ‘hot’ friends that you were hiding.

First it was Naomi a good friend from university, then Leena your best friend, Saoirse a mom at Lily’s daycare, and now Penny. Leena you understood, because she went after Soap when you had them over for drinks at the beginning of summer. Naomi you were pissed about because you specifically told Soap not to sleep with your friends and then Naomi called you up telling you Johnny was an asshole who didn’t call her back.

Saoirse kept you out of it, besides one chat at the shop when you had Lily with you. Although you hadn’t heard anything about it since, you were pretty sure they were still hooking up. Siobhan, Saoirse daughter did mention Soap from time to time to Lily and agreed how cool he was. Lily was growing jealous and would make passive aggressive comments that Soap should be spending time with her not Siobhan.

“I’m sorry Penny. I love the guy but I’m not sure how he is with relationships.” You lied with a smile. You didn’t have the heart to tell her he liked to sleep around and you thought he was striking up a relationship with someone else.

“Ugh! I’m so tired of meeting guys who only want to shag and then I never hear from them again.” She bit into her sweet angrily.

“I did not need to know you two slept together.” You laughed. It was obvious they had but you weren’t too keen talking about your employees sex life, even if you and Penny were friends outside of work.

“He’s good in bed, I’ll give him that. Charming, handsome, a little full on himself though.” Penny wasn’t stopping and the over sharing train had left the station.

“Ew I hate that I know that.” Your stomach turned hearing that about Soap. You liked the image of him in your head of the charming, golden retriever friend of your husband’s; not a man whore.

“Uh well I’ll be moving on then. No use in waisting my time on a military man.” Penny nudged you.

“Well, I’m going to call my military man and see how much money he blew doing this.” With a laugh you grabbed an extra pastry to take to your office.

On the walk you took a breath trying to figure out a way to sabotage any more of Soaps advances on your friends. Maybe you’d start a rumor that he played Screamo music while having sex or that he needed a photo of his ex in the room. Anything to keep him from sleeping with another one of your friends.

As you called John you wondered if he would have any ideas. He did know Soap better than you. Maybe he could talk some sense into him.

“Darling, how can I help you.” The raspy tone of your husband’s voice purred down the line.

He was being extra flirty to get on your good side, you knew that. But there wasn’t much he could say since you knew he was at the trampoline park with the kids.

“How much did all that cost?” You giggled at the flirtation.

“All what?” He asked. The sound of children screaming in delight in the background of the call.

“You sent a shit load of pastries to me to give to the staff. Did you not?” Sitting down in your chair you put the phone on speaker and started to go through the mountain of files on your desk.

“Uh, I want to say I did- but no.” John pulled the phone away and you could hear him telling Lily to toughen up or she would have to sit with him while her siblings had fun.

You laughed when you heard her say ‘Thank you! I hate this place.’ and then asked if she could have a sip of his drink. Lily continued to chat endlessly to John on the other end. She mentioned how it smelled gross, things were sticky, and how a little boy sneezed into his hands and then didn’t wash them.

“Hmm, my dad?” You asked taking a bite of your danish and grinning at Lily in the background. She was now asking for pretzels and whining that John told her she had to wait until he was off the phone.

“Your dad? Thats funny.” The joke wasn’t appreciated but you knew John was right. Your dad never tended to do stuff like that. Maybe the occasional flowers here or there but he was a quality time kind of guy.

“Well, whoever did, got it from my favorite bakery. So they clearly like me and know me enough to drop a ton of money. . . Signed it ‘Yours Truly” You laughed.

You had taken the little message with you for no other reason than you found it odd. Taking out the card you were now looking it over again. It was hand written and you thought it looked like male handwriting; but you could be wrong. It was probably a staff member at the bakery who wrote it.

“Bring some home.” John chuckled, not paying too much mind to who got it for you.

It was probably from the director since the museum had been doing so well this summer. There had been talks about you getting a raise since you were able to bring in so much more foot traffic from local schools and hosting events. That and the exhibits you were able to finesse.

“Will do. Love you.” John could hear the smile in your voice

“Love you too.” It was said with confidence which made your heart flutter.

“Mummy I love you! Tell mummy I love her too! Daddy- daddy tell mummy I lover her! Tell her-“

“Lily loves you too.” John chuckled.

“She loves me too right? Did mummy not hear you? Tell her again. Daddy, tell mummy again. Tell her-“

“Love you Lily!” Your voice carried far enough she heard you and you knew that by the way she giggled.

“Mummy’s the best.” Lily spoke in a day dream like state.

And it was that simple to you. It wasn’t John who sent the pasties and flowers, but it didn’t really matter to you who sent them. It was a gift to the staff in your name. It was probably the director or someone who had to do with the museum. You’d find out eventually so you weren’t going to worry about it now; not with this mountain of paper work.

——————

“Pastries again?” You walked into the kitchenette at work to see another spread of delicious goodies.

“Spoiling us Dr. Y/L/N.” Jamie smiled at you as he grabbed two sweets.

“Yeah, uh- you guys deserve it. And call me Indy, not a fan of the formality.” You said off handed as you grabbed a napkin to put your danish on.

You were looking over the spread that was not as nice as the last one since the pastries sat in the pretty boxes from the bakery. It was still the same amount of goodies, but there were your favorites this time. Whereas last time there were some good ones but the wrong flavors.

“Do I need to bring anything to the staff meeting?” He asked as he headed for the door.

“Your appetite, this is a lot of food.” There were still leftovers from two days ago so now you were wondering what was going on. You would have to send people home with some or they’d go to waste.

“Will do!” Jamie waved and left you alone in the break room.

You immediately pulled out your phone and headed to your office. Opening up your call log you saw John’s name as the only person you’d called the past few days. It was a reminder to reach out to your friends but you pushed that aside knowing you’d hear about Soap. So you gave John a call instead.

“Hey-“

“Darling, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?” John sounded a bit rushed.

Slipping into your office you plopped down in your chair, confused at the addition to your desk. There were two flower vases on your desk. One was a standard looking bouquet of roses in a glass vase. While the other was at least two dozen red tulips in a large green vase with a pristine, white card attached. Pulling it from the stems you opened it to see a similarly eerie message in the same hand writing.

“Uh, got another delivery of pastries. Again, they came with flowers that say they’re from ‘Yours Truly’.” You ignored John being in a rush and shared this.

It wasn’t unsettling per se but you knew this wasn’t John. The roses could be him, or at least you hoped they were. You didn’t like tulips and you assumed your husband knew that. Roses were the flowers he strictly got you. What was making this start to feel unsettling was the fact tulips were sent with the last bunch of pastries on Monday. They were sitting on the side table next to the couch in your office, wilting away.

“Oh I sent the pastries, didn’t need someone showing me up. And the flowers were from me too.” You may not be able to see it but you could hear John’s cocky smirk.

No wonder there were your favorite pastries then. John knew that kind of stuff about you. It was sweet he noted your mention of not getting what you really wanted because whoever sent the gift didn’t know you that well.

“Trying to get lucky?” You flirted.

It was a sweet gesture, John didn’t have to do over the top things to get into your pants but you loved to pretend he did. It always made him chuckle and that sound was like a rush of endorphins with how giddy it made you.

“Pretty sure I can give you a look and you’ll be dragging me to bed.” There was that deep chuckle again. He was right you both knew it so instead of telling him that, you rolled into your next topic.

“Oh, there’s two bouquets. Ones-“

“Roses.” John finished.

“The others tulips though. I’m not really a fan of-“

“I did not send you tulips. You have never once bought or grown tulips. I wouldn’t waste my money on those.” John spoke so adamantly you wondered if at some point down the line you hammered into his head what flowers you liked and disliked.

“Yeah, that’s the one that had the note that said ‘Yours Truly’.” You sighed.

Your intuition was telling you something was wrong, but you couldn’t explain why. Being the person you were you didn’t want to worry John. You knew he had enough on his mind and nothing had truly happened. It was just anxiety creeping up, it had to be.

“Strange.” John hummed clearly occupied by some task he was doing.

You hummed as you inspected the flowers. They looked expensive, from some high end shop. The vase also seemed incredibly pricey and it made you wonder who had this kind of money. Talks of the neighbor had swirled around your house but this couldn’t be him. You assumed he didn’t make enough money to do this.

“Maybe you have an admirer. You did just hire a bunch of new staff.” John tried to calm you. Something like this could make you spiral and he was trying to get ahead of it.

“Fair. . . Still strange.” You said with a deep sigh.

“Look, I’ve got to go.” John tried to rush you off the phone.

“Love you.” It was said in a distracted sort of way, not with the normal amount of emotion you usually used.

“Love you two. Have fun with your mystery man. . . or woman.” John joked.

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you.” You volleyed back.

“Wouldn’t mind watching. Okay, gotta run.” John chuckled deeply and hung up before you could say another word.

“Cheeky.” You snickered to yourself.

——————

“You were sent more flowers?” John sounded muffled with his cigar in his mouth.

You and John were outside enjoying some fresh air. John was fiddling with the engine of his convertible while you were sat on the back of his truck. The truck was parked in front of the cherry red convertible leaving you and John close and able to chat freely.

Today John wore athletic shorts and a t-shirt from his run not too long ago. You were dress similarly since you joined him and let your two oldest’s hang around the house by themselves for a half hour.

“Yeah. It’s getting creepy now. Whoever it is really likes tulips.” You muttered not wanting John to worry about you.

It was hard to hide how unnerving this was getting. You had tried all avenues to figure out who was sending these gifts. No part of you wanted to involve John because you were scared he’d go nuclear out of a need to protect.

“You ask around?” Looking up from the engine John watched you bite your nails nervously, perched up on the tailgate of his truck.

“Asked at the staff meeting this morning. No one knew who it was. So either someone’s embarrassed or they’re coming from someone not at work.” You were becoming fidgety now.

John pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the engine. It was obvious to him this was really weighing on you. John was always protective of you especially when he sensed a threat. It hadn’t felt that way until today with you telling him this. John truly thought someone at work had a harmless crush on you. It was impossible to avoid and John had been trying to not get jealous this time around. Clearly that was a mistake because whoever this was, was taking it too far.

“Who else would send you stuff that’s not me or your father?” Stepping forward John lightly took your hand away from your mouth and guided it down to hold his.

John smoothed his other rough hand over the top of yours and stared into your eyes. It was a silent way of reassuring you. So you took a breath and decided you should be honest about how bothered this was making you.

“No clue. They’d have to know where I work. . . I’m getting scared, John. I have this feeling in my gut that this is bad. Like really really bad.” You confessed.

John nodded and breathed in deeply. He took a moment to respond, gathering his thoughts first. It was important that he didn’t leave you feeling more anxious but instead helped calm your nerves. He knew in this moment he wasn’t going to allow this to go any further.

“Get security to reject anymore gifts. Actually don’t worry about it. I’ll go in and speak to them while I look into it.” John change his mind mid sentence. He didn’t want you handling this in any capacity. It was his responsibility.

“They’re always there before me or anyone else shows up at work. Thank you, I don’t think I can do this on my own.” Not being able to bite your nails, you were lightly chewing on your lip. The nerves were really getting to you.

“You okay, darling?” John reached out and cupped your face in his free hand the other squeezing yours.

“Yeah. Kinda I guess. If just gives me the heebie-jeebies.” You tried to shrug it off but you were clearly shaken up.

“I’ll handle this. You don’t have to worry.” John spoke with certainty which had you taking a breath of relief.

“I love you.” You said as you hopped off John’s truck.

“Love you too. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Giving you a hug you melted into John’s chest. He gave you a kiss to your cheek and you nodded at him with a small smile.

“I’m going to get dinner started.” You were still unsettled but John liked your approach of trying to stick to your normal routine. It would hopefully help calm your nerves.

“Mummy!” Lily squealed happily and was slowly running up the driveway to greet you. Her hair was damp and her Star Wars t-shirt was on backwards.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself? How was swimming?” You asked with a kind smile. Squatting down she ran into your arms and hugged you tight.

“I did! I did! Swim was soooo much fun! Papa got in the pool with me after! Then he took me to get sweets at the shop!” Lily was bursting with energy, waving her sugary treats around.

“Hey dad, how was it?” You stood and asked while Lily went over to John for a hug.

“She did amazing. I gotta run though I’m late for a date.” Your dad waved from where he was standing halfway up the drive with his car still running.

“Look, someone gave me a flower for you.” With a giant smile Lily opened up her swim bag and pulled out a beat up tulip with a card tied to the stem.

Your eyes went wide in shock and you quickly looked to John. His eyebrows were knit together and he gave you a quick glance before taking Lily’s bag and searching through it quickly. Lily’s belonging hit the ground, her bathing suit plopping with a wet thud against the asphalt.

“Where’d you get that.” The dread immediately set in.

You tossed the tulip to the ground after taking the little white card off. Opening it you felt your stomach twist, like you might be sick.

‘Yours truly’

And then you noticed the picture of you. You were in your bra getting dressed for bed. The photo was taken through your upstairs window from some distance away. Eyes trained on yourself the photo was slid from your fingers. John was staring at you with gentleness and then smoothed his hand down your back.

“I’ll handle it.” He whispered.

John had dropped what he was doing and immediately flagged down your dad.

That picture was taken from the kids treehouse, there was no other way to snap a picture through your upstairs bedroom window. John would be investigating that later.

“At swim.” Lily looked up at you confused.

“Who gave that to you.” You didn’t mean to but you were forceful when you asked, the fear spilling out of you. Grabbing Lily’s shoulders and squatting down you asked her again, shaking her slightly off impulse.

Your breathing was heavier and it was clear how scared you were to your four year old. All you could think of was how this creep had approached your daughter in a place she should be safe. In a place as vulnerable as a children’s swim class. You could be sick if you weren’t so focused on getting answers.

“I don’t know.” Lily was shell shocked by how serious you had gotten all of a sudden.

You were never like this with her. You were her ‘silly mummy’ who loved to smile and play. You were only ever serious with Jj and Evelyn. Sometimes you were with her when you thought she might get hurt. So why now? Did she almost get hurt?

“Lily, who gave this to you?” You demanded. Picking up the red tulip off the ground you shook it in her face trying to get a response from her.

“Mummy!” Lily began to cry at your rougher than normal touch and angry tone.

Lily thought she was in trouble when she wasn’t. Aggression in any form freaked her out. She didn’t know why you were so upset but she didn’t like it and felt freaked out by it.

“Lily, I need you to tell me.” This only made Lily cry harder so you brought her close to your chest and hugged her.

Frantically looking around you looked to your dad and John who were approaching.

“I didn’t see anyone give her a tulip.” Your dad was by your side now with John.

“Lily.” John pulled Lily from your chest, picked her up, and sat her on the back of his truck so they were almost eye level. She was bawling at this point and sputtering about you being mad at her.

“Stop crying.” John yelled at her.

With wide eyes Lily’s tears dried up and she stared at John looking petrified to have just been yelled at. For once you didn’t mind John yelling at one of the kids. You needed to know who gave that to her. This was the closest you’d gotten to knowing who had been doing all of this and it came at the expense of your daughter’s safety.

“Who gave you that flower.” John demanded.

“Mummy friends.” Lily hiccuped. She looked at you and then back to John. She had a big frown on her face and she started to tug at her hair nervously.

“Was your mummy’s friend a girl or a boy?” John continued his line of questioning. He was forceful, practically barking at his youngest daughter.

“A boy.” She began to sniffle her breathing ragged from holding back her tears. You watched as she squeezed her knees together and became incredibly tense.

“Do I know this boy?” Again another forceful question.

“Daddy I don’t remember!” Lily was hiccuping and starting to hyperventilate. She turned and threw her hands out toward you to take her.

“Lily you have to try and remember. Has this friend come to the house?” Taking her face in his hands John tried to get her to look at him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I have to go to the loo!” Lily was frantic now, her little fists bawled up and absolute terror etched across her face. She was wiggling where she sat, kicking her legs to get John away from her.

“Lily, did you see his face?” John ran his large hand over her head and smoothed down her damp hair to try and calm her down.

“No! I- I just saw the pretty flower and said thank you.” Lily yelled as she started to cough and gag from the held back tears and stress. You felt your chest ache and then immediately your stomach dropped seeing Lily wet herself from fear.

“Did he-“ before John could finish Lily threw up all over the front of him and began to cry hysterically.

“That’s enough, John.” You pushed your husband aside and grabbed Lily and hugged her tight as she began to have what you could only describe as a panic attack.

It didn’t matter you were now covered in fluids, you needed to comfort her. This had to be traumatizing and you would be forever guilty for that. For how you and John just handled this and that you couldn’t keep her safe enough that she wouldn’t be involved in the craziness of what you now considered stalking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” You held Lily tight as she hyperventilated. John felt horrible he’d never seen Lily this upset before. Deep down he knew this was his fault and now understood what pushing Lily resulted in.

“Peanut I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” John was running his hand over Lily’s hair trying to calm her down.

Turning her head towards him, John thought Lily was going to tell him something. That she would want him to hold her like she did whenever she didn’t feel well. But Lily threw up all over him again.

“Jesus, it’s like she’s aiming for you.” Your dad mumbled, now rubbing Lily’s back as you cooed and swayed.

The unfortunate fact about your dad was he was well revered in having a child who would have inconsolable meltdowns. You had trouble regulating your emotions for a long time after losing your mom as a little girl. It trained your dad in how to help an emotionally fragile child and in turn he gave you many tips and tricks on how to help Lily.

“I didn’t see anyone. The only time Lily was out of my sight was when the instructor took her to the bathroom.” What your dad said made your blood run cold.

Had someone approached Lily in the bathroom?

“Must’ve been then.” John concluded.

You didn’t respond and took Lily inside with you. You sang to her and rubbed her back as she screamed into your chest crying.

“She’s had admirers before but not like what you just told me.” Your dad informed John.

John half listened, his phone already pressed to his ear as he called the swim class and shucked off his soiled shirt.

“Is Lily okay?” Evelyn was distraught as she watched you walk into the house with her little sister.

“Yes, uh- I’m going to give her a bath. Pick out a movie to watch together in my room?” You pulled yourself together so Evelyn couldn’t see the turmoil you were in.

So much had unraveled and you were having trouble keeping yourself in check. For the sake of your children you held on by a thread.

“Okay.” Evelyn was off and ran upstairs ahead of you.

It took some time to calm Lily down. Once you got her in the bath she seemed to catch her breath. Eventually she asked for you to put on music and if she could use a bath bomb. It felt like a weight was lifted off of you when she started acting like her normal self. After her bath Lily was asleep on your bed soon after and cuddling with Evelyn as a movie played.

“Is Lily okay?” Evelyn whispered.

“Someone gave Lily a tulip at swim today. I accidentally was too pushy asking who gave it to her and she thought she was in trouble. So if she mention anything about it would you let me know.” Placing a kiss to Evelyn’s head she seemed to immediately be on board.

“Of course mummy.” She smiled and you went downstairs to talk to John.

On your way down you stopped on the stairs and sat down. With your face in your palms you caught your breath and allowed yourself to cry for a minute and only a minute. You didn’t have time for a break down you had to take care of your family. Your feelings on the matter had to come last.

John was in clean clothes and just putting his shoes on to head out when you walked into the kitchen.

“Where are you going? We need to call-“

“Just got off the phone with her swim instructor.” Walking over John gave you a quick kiss and grabbed his keys.

“And?” You were clutching the collar of your shirt.

John could see you had been crying and as much as he wanted to comfort you he needed to ensure your and Lily’s safety first. He would make time tonight to talk to you and check in.

“She said Lily was with her the entire time. That she looked away for only a minute to ask another instructor something and when she looked back Lily had the flower.” Recounting the message John then slipped his jacket on.

He was incredibly calm which was helping you not freak out. It was clear to you he was going to handle this. Now you needed to trust that and handle everything at home.

“It can’t be a stranger John.” You told him fearfully.

Lily cried at any stranger trying to talk to her or even look at her. For her to take a flower from somebody they either had to be one of those performers at Disneyland dressed as Mickey Mouse, a swim instructor she’s had before, or someone you and John knew.

“No it can’t. She wouldn’t let a stranger talk to her without crying or hiding behind Ms. Stephanie.” John agreed.

“I’m going to go over now and get security to pull up what they can. Lock the doors please. Your dads staying until I get back, he’s in the garden with Jj.”

——————

After the incident with Lily lead to a dead end John had been hyper vigilant. He walked you to your car in the driveway every time you went out now and watched you leave before going back inside. The kids were no longer allowed to play outside without adult supervision. John closed the treehouse for the summer after finding food wrappers that weren’t from them.

John had been staying up and smoking endlessly on the patio in the darkness with his gun and then napping on the couch during the day. It was making his voice incredibly deep and he was much more irritable. You wondered if this was how he was during deployment. Even his eating habits had changed completely and he was living off coffee, protein, and whatever you made and ate it cold from the fridge. It was as if he stripped himself of the luxuries of home in order to keep himself on guard at all times.

John had sat the whole family down at the kitchen table and went over stranger danger like it was a briefing on base. You commended him for his thoroughness and he explained even friends of yours can be scary people. That if they ever felt like someone was even a tiny bit off to come tell you or him immediately. He wanted to know what adults were around when they went to friend’s houses or extracurriculars. Which wasn’t a real issue since you and John pulled your children out of everything and you took work off, not trusting anyone else with them at the moment.

Lily had come around but was holding a grudge towards John. When he would ask her to do things she would get overly defensive and ask if he was going to yell at her again. She had also started wetting the bed at night which left you and John feeling like awful parents.

This had John spoiling her to an extent you’d never seen before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. Lily clearly needed a lot of extra love after what happened and no longer being able to go to swim. Jj and Evelyn were complaining constantly about being stuck at home during the summer but when you explained things they begrudgingly said they understood. You and John were trying your best to appease them but they missed their friends and their freedom.

Today you and the children were home and you decided since they weren’t going to camp until this was all solved you’d make it a fun one. You had charmingly called it ‘Explosion Day!’ Where you were going to do a bunch of science experiments that resulted in things exploding.

Throughout the day you would be doing fireworks after your spiel on the periodic table and what elements resulted in which colors. You were hell bent they’d learn something by the end of the day. You would have them guess and then set it off but you didn’t want to terrorize your neighbors so you spread it out throughout the day. You even went as far as inviting the neighborhood kids over at the end of the day for a firework show. That way your children could have fun in a controlled environment.

To your surprise everyone with kids very happily agreed and it had turned into a neighborhood get together in your backyard. You were going to have to break the news to John at some point. He wasn’t going to be happy to have so many people over but he’d survive.

You had just sat your kids down after doing one firework and they were all beaming. They wanted more and were excited for the end of the day. It was a win in your book since the complaining about not going to camp ceased. So you served them sliced apples and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chatted until your doorbell rang.

“Officer Parker.” You sighed heavily. You were standing in the doorway of your house and you couldn’t hide your disapproving look.

Your instinct was that someone complained about the fireworks and now you’d be accused of gun shots again. This guy was also a jerk who you had no intention of being cordial to.

“Hello Mrs. Price. Sorry to bother you.” This time he seemed a lot more polite. With a kind smile, almost as if he were happy to see you.

Odd. But hey, you’re a gorgeous gal maybe he was just happy to see pretty you. At least that’s what you told yourself so you could feel better. It was also what John would say every time this cop came by.

“Hm?” You hummed with a quirked eyebrow.

“First off, heard something going off when I pulled up. Fireworks?” He questioned

“Yup.” You said flatly.

“Kids must love that. Anyway, we’ve gotten some reports of a peeping Tom and wanted to check in.” Again, he was being overly nice. It was a surprise, you really thought he would be giving you trouble. Maybe it was because John wasn’t in sight. You stared blankly trying absorb what you were just told.

“I’m going door to door to take statements if anyone’s seen anything.” Waving his note pad as if saying hello he motioned for you to go ahead.

“Wait seriously.” Opening the front door fully he now had your full attention. With everything going on for you this peeping Tom could very possibly be who John was looking for.

“Yes, have you or any of your family seen anything?” With his pen ready to go Officer Parker looked up through his eyebrows at you.

“Uh, I’d have to ask. . .” You looked down the hall to where you kids where having their snack then back to the officer.

“Come in, the kids are having a snack. John’s not home but he would’ve said something.” Your former unpleasantness faded fast at the prospect of getting answers and help.

John had been adamant you weren’t to file a police report but that didn’t mean you could gather your own information from them. He really thought they’d be completely unhelpful in what was going on. That police would get in his way and John wouldn’t be able to enact the consequences he saw fit. That they might even protect whoever was doing this to you.

Officer Parker was surprised to be invited into your home. You didn’t seem like the type to do that but more of someone who would ask him to wait on the porch. Walking into your home he wasn’t sure if it surprised him of how neat it was. The only true mess were your kids things lying about which was mainly in your living room.

The home was bright with all the windows allowing constant steams of sunlight. It was the perfect house to try and peep through a window if Officer Parker was honest. The decor was nice, timeless pieces that left it feeling like a farmhouse or a cottage in ways. It was homy, comfy. A great place to raise children with the bright colors and lots of space to run around.

Once in the colorful kitchen Office Parker watched all your children turn to look at him. Not one of them seemed happy to see him. That was until Lily shyly waved.

“Why are you waving at him.” Jj pretty much snapped at his baby sister.

“What? We learned at school that police men are our friends. That if we are ever in trouble we go and find one. Just like we find a teacher at school.” Lily explained thoroughly.

“Dad said we’re not suppose to be nice to him.” Evelyn whispered thinking you couldn’t hear.

“I don’t like being mean. It’s really mean to be mean.” Lily pouted back.

“Good school.” Officer Parker nodded at you and you honestly agreed with the sentiment.

Although what you taught your kids was very different and John thought you were a genius for it. You had taught them that if they were ever lost or in need of help they should go ask a mom with kids. And if they didn’t see anyone who was a mom they needed to ask a lady.

“How are the chickens you three?” Stepping up to the kitchen table with his hands on his hips and a warm smile Officer Parker tried to win the kids over with kindness.

“Alive. No thanks to you.” Evelyn was instantly snarky. She had a judgmental look cast at the officer and for some reason slid her plate further away from him as if he’d take her food.

“Evie’s right. Our chickens would be dead if dad listened to your shitty idea.” Jj tacked on.

“Hey, manners.” You crossed your arms over your chest as you corrected them firmly.

You quietly apologized to the officer and then gave each of our children expecting looks. This was John’s doing you knew he had been in their ear and told them to give Officer Parker a hard time if they saw him. He probably even told Jj he could cuss because your son almost never swore in front of you.

“I have to ask you three something. Can I sit with you?” Motioning to their fathers chair the sharp looks he got had his hand shifting to your seat next to Evelyn instead.

Jj then slowly nodded his head seemingly skeptical about this. You could only roll your eyes. He was so much like John at times.

“Dad wouldn’t like that.” Jj said in a very touchy way.

Lily smiled at the officer now sitting across from her and pushed her plate towards him to take an apple slice. Sitting down at the table, the officer cleared his throat and began.

“Apparently there’s been someone in the neighborhood looking through windows. Do you know anything about that?” He spoke in a way that was to hopefully gain your kids trust. You were pretty positive that would never happen with John around.

“Why would we be looking in people’s windows?” Evelyn asked cleary offended, her immediate reaction defensiveness. Her response was a clear tell that she was accustom to getting into trouble. It made the officer chuckle before he continued.

“I don’t think any of you were looking through windows. You’re too smart for that-“ He paused and looked at Lily.

“And she’s too short.” He joked.

“Hey!” Lily whined not appreciating the jab.

The joke made Jj sputter into his milk and fight back laughter. Evelyn’s eyebrows raised and she bit her lip trying to contain herself at her sister getting teased.

“I wanted to know if you’ve seen anyone looking in your windows.” With a smile he hoped some humor may get honest answers.

“Oh, no, I haven’t.” Evelyn looked at Jj checking if he had. Jj shrugged back at her.

“Why would someone be looking in people’s windows?” Jj then looked at you for an answer instead of the officer. Taking a breath you decided it was better you answer truthfully.

“Sometimes it’s to check if people are home because they want to rob the place. Other times they’re trying to look at people for bad reasons.” You explained. Officer Parker was surprised at how straight forward you were.

“Bad reasons?” Lily asked, years welling in her eyes. Officer Parker quickly looked to you at the fact your youngest was about to cry all of a sudden. You put your hand up and waved it off to show it wasn’t anything for him to worry about.

“We will keep a look out thank you so much Officer Parker.” After a kind smile you kissed Lily’s head and he watched you whisper something to her that seemed to get her back in good spirits. You then waved at your kids silently telling them to do something.

“Thank you.” They said in unison. Lily was the only one who seemed happy to say it while Jj and Evelyn stared at each other, clearly only saying it so they didn’t get scolded.

Giving the kids a wave Officer Parker headed to the door and you walked him out. Stopping in the foyer you internally groaned thinking he was about to make a pass at you again.

“Here’s my personal number.” Grabbing a card from the pocket of his shirt he handed it over.

You stared at it for a second hoping he’d take it back but he only pushed his hand slightly forward for you to take it. So you did and it was obvious you didn’t want to. You were going to throw this out as soon as he was gone so John didn’t see it. Then he shifted back-and-forth on his feet, before quickly continuing.

“I want to apologize for my behavior, last I saw you. It was inappropriate and if you’d like a different officer working on this just say the word. My only intention is to make sure you and your neighbors are safe.” It seemed extremely earnest and you found it thoughtful to have Officer Parker apologize.

“Thank you I appreciate that. My husband was a bit crude so I’m sorry for that.” You decided starting over might be nice. If another officer showed up he could have no intention on truly helping whereas Officer Parker seemed truly invested.

“He was. I hope you have a good rest of your day. And please call if you need anything.” With a final smile Officer Parker opened your front door and stepped out on to the porch.

“Oh wait. Was there a description of the guy?” You blurted out before you even realized you had followed him out on to the porch.

“Mid 20’s black hair and everyone that’s seen him says he has unsettling eyes. If I’m honest it sounded like the man I caught going through your mail box.” He spoke matter of factly.

“Who’s seen him? Were they able to see if it was our neighbor?” You leaned forward and pointed in the general direction of where the guy lived. After all Officer Parker said he was going house to house.

“Unfortunately I can’t disclose that. Feel free to ask around. But between you and me, I spoke to that neighbor and he wasn’t the man I saw going through your mail box.” He seemed displeased by this information.

“Okay. You sure? I won’t be letting the kids play outside unsupervised then.” You could feel your anxiety rising at all the strange things happening.

“Not positive but I’m pretty sure.” He nodded and went to leave again.

“Wait- sorry. I know you have better things to do. But I, um, I- never mind.” You had grabbed him by the elbow so he couldn’t leave. The way he looked at you touching him made you realize quickly you shouldn’t grab a police officer so you laughed awkwardly and removed your hand.

“What?” Officer Parker looked at you concerned.

You couldn’t tell that your anxiety was visible on your face and your body language. To you, you thought you were masking it well.

“This is weird. I know it’s weird and probably nothing. But I’ve been getting gifts at work and no one knows who’s sending them to me.” You were hesitant as you spoke and that seemed to raise alarm bells for the officer. It was like he put together some pieces in his head.

“What kind of gifts?” Squaring his shoulder he now seemed very invested.

“Pastries for my staff. Shitty flowers.” It rolled right off your tongue.

“What makes the flowers shitty?” The description of the flowers was a surprise to him.

“They were tulips. I hate tulips.” You said offhandedly.

“Didn’t realize women could be so specific about what type of flowers.” Officer Parker tried to lighten the mood seeing how tense you had gotten.

“Yeah I’m more of a rose type person.” You paused, surprised with yourself for nervously babbling.

“I don’t know why I just told you that- anyway. There’s been pastries for my staff which had to be incredibly expensive. My daughter Lily was even given a flower at swim class with the same note that I’ve gotten for the work gifts.” You were rambling at this point. Spilling all this out felt so much better than having it bottled up.

“Where do you work?”

“I’m a museum curator at-“

“The one off Sheffield?” He asked seemingly surprised. You weren’t sure why, maybe he thought you were some dumb house wife or something.

“Yeah that’s the one.” You nodded

“May I ask what name you go by there?” Taking out his note pad you watched as he began quickly scribbling down details of what you had just told him.

“Indy, or my maiden last name. I got my doctorate before I was married.” Pointing to your degree hung up in the living. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to prove it.

“Oh. . .”

“What?” You breathed out feeling on edge.

“Do you want me to take a look into it?” He asked. It didn’t seem like he would take no for answer.

“Yeah. That would be great.” You nodded vigorously.

“When will your husband be home?” With his pen officer Parker pointed at the driveway.

“Soon. Why?” You asked feeling your blood pressure spike. Something was looming in the humid summer air and felt like it was about to come crashing down.

“Look, I don’t mean to alarm you. But this admirer of yours might not know where you live. But could know the general area. Hence why someone’s peeping in windows and rummaging through mailboxes. Fella might only know your maiden name so once the mailboxes were a bust he’s resorted to looking through peoples windows.” The officers words made your heart stop for a moment and then rapidly pick up pace as if you were running a marathon.

“That’s scary.” You whispered.

Breathing was starting to feel like a chore from how you had to manage it and not start hyperventilating. You placed your hand on your chest, true panic setting in. No part of you wanted to admit you were being stalked. You had been telling yourself John had this handled and you didn’t have to worry. But he didn’t because it was only getting worse. That picture of you in your bedroom only confirmed the peeping Tom had found you. It hit you all at once and the acceptance came in the form of terror.

You had to take a step back into the house and away from the conversation. Breath coming in ragged you rolled your shoulders back and tried to catch your breath. Your hands were shaking and you felt sick to your stomach. You weren’t sure why it took until now for it to sink in but it had.

This was real. This was happening to you.

You were being stalked.

“Ma’am are you okay?” Officer Parker stepped towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry. I just-“ Cutting yourself off you rubbed a hand down your face and with the other pinched your thigh to try and help gather yourself.

“It’ll be alright.” There was a gentleness in the way he spoke that was helping somewhat.

But what you needed was John. You needed to break down in his capable arms. To cry your pretty eyes out and ask him to fix this. Because you knew he would. That you knew he’d been trying but you couldn’t wait any longer. He had to get it resolved today because living like this would end with you having a nervous breakdown.

“Would you like me to stay in my cruiser until your husband gets home?” Officer Parker’s hand slid from your shoulder to your upper back, his touch feather light and almost not there. It was a kind touch, one meant to ground you.

“Why don’t you just stay in the kitchen. John should be home any minute and I know he’ll want to talk to you.�� Taking one last shaky breath you nodded at Parker to silently tell him you were okay.

“Of course.” There was a softness to him you didn’t think he would posses from the encounters you’d had.

It helped in this moment to know that police were aware, involved, and compassionate toward your situation. You’d heard so many cases of stalkers going ignored by the police. Or women being told they were imagining things or overreacting.

“I’ll make tea.” You smiled meekly and didn’t wait for a response.

You headed quickly toward the kitchen embarrassed that you cracked like that in front of someone you hardly knew. That kind of vulnerability was suppose to be reserved for John.

“I appreciate the hospitality.” With a kind smile Officer Parker followed you into the kitchen.

Just as you entered you saw John through the window behind the kitchen table that looked out on to your backyard. He was walking from his truck, across the patio to come inside through the back door. On the way John noticed this officer in his kitchen standing a little too close to you. He knew the man was somewhere here since his car was in the driveway.

“Why are you in my home?” John barked, one foot in the door.

“Tom’s peeing in people’s windows and he wanted to know if we saw him.” Lily informed her father and then stuck her plate out for him to finish her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Lily’s mistake helped your anxiety riddled heart. Eyes shifting from your four year old John hadn’t looked at you but had his blue eyes fixed on Parker.

“There’s a peeping Tom in your neighborhood.” Officer Parker informed your husband while giving Lily a strange look. To you it was obvious the man was not use to being around children and their shenanigans.

John stopped in his tracks hearing that. There was a pensive look that took over his face. It was no surprise to you John became quiet, he was being thoughtful now. Which was better than being rude like he wanted to be toward the officer.

“When you say peeping. Peeping on women?” John paused, his icy blues unfocusing for a second before he continued.

John knew you were being peeped on but he wasn’t willing to share that information with the police. Now John was wondering if other women in the neighborhood might also be experiencing what you had with the gifts and photos. But his mind wandered to something much more sinister and you wondered what it was that came to mind.

“Or children?” He asked now seemingly angry at his own question. John grunted after he spoke and continued taking off his boots.

“Not sure. I do have a theory.” Officer Parker looked to you to silently ask you if this was alright to share.

“Oh do you?” John said sarcastically but put a finger up for Parker to wait.

“Go play in the living room.” John ordered after taking the half eaten sandwich from Lily who had been quietly whispering ‘daddy come eat this’ the entire time.

“But-“

“Now.” John left no room for discussion.

Evelyn offered John her unfinished sandwich too while Jj’s plate was licked clean by Molly.

“Can we get milkshakes later?” In a hushed voice Lily asked John who shook his head yes. Lily left the room with a huge smile meanwhile Jj and Evelyn glared at the officer as they left.

“Who’s reported it?” John asked forcefully.

He was now at the kitchen island chewing his ‘dad snack’ as you liked to call it. Pointing to the kettle you caught his drift and started some tea.

“I can’t disclose that.” The officers statement had John rolling his eyes so hard his entire head went with the motion.

“That’s not fucking helpful. And this ‘theory’ of yours?” John and you were making intense eye contact. You were silently screaming at him to stop being rude and his eyes were saying a big fat ‘no.’

“Since someone was going through mailboxes I think the guy may only know your wife’s maiden name. Which is why he’s resorted to peeping in windows. I-“ John waved his hand cutting the office off.

“We both know who’s doing this. I’m not sure why we’re pretending we don’t.” With a pointed look John went and grabbed his favorite mug and treating the once tense situation nonchalant.

“I spoke to your neighbors nephew. He was not the man I saw at your mailbox.” Officer Parker spoke adamantly. It was clear he was getting agitated by your husband’s lack of respect.

“Bullshit. Like I trust you to positively identify someone? I doubt you’d be able to pick your own mother in a line up with how daft you are.” John had resorted to blatant insults now. Before the police officer could respond you cut in.

“You know I don’t think this is as productive as I thought it would be. Thanks for stopping by.” You motioned toward your front door for him to leave.

There was an anger pointed at John that you thought was justified. It looked like the officer wanted to ring his neck but was practicing self control. So he gave you a nod and left without a word. You watched from the end of the hallway and turned to John when the front door shut. The look on your face said it all.

“What the hell was that?” You weren’t sure if you were more shocked by John’s behavior or embarrassed.

“Don’t invite police in our home again.” John spoke evenly but you could sense he was about to blow a fuse.

“Why? he’s suppose to help.” You were immediately defensive because you knew John well enough that he was about to be rude.

“Because I said so.” John snapped.

“I can tell you one thing, and it’s that you’re not gonna treat me like that just because you disapprove.” It took a lot of patience to not snap back.

“Sorry. I-“ Running his hand through his hair he was clearly agitated.

“Look. You and I know who it is. Right? And someone needs to put an end to it.” John’s eyes bore into yours.

There was a deafening silence for a moment until the dryer began to thump quietly in the laundry room. John didn’t have to continue for you to understand what he was saying. Knowing him so well you knew when he was about to take matters into his own hands.

You weren’t sure if this was what would help the overwhelming anxiety. Having a conversation felt like a much better solution than whatever was on John’s mind. Telling him how scared you were and that you needed him. But he was skipping all of that and barreling toward a solution.

“I don’t. . . And you don’t. It’s just a hunch.” You spoke softly, trying to convince yourself.

Your chest was becoming tight and nerves lighting up. Taking a breath through your nose you let it out slowly through your mouth. A second later your fingers were at your mouth and you began to chew nervously on your fingernails.

“That creep can be exonerated by the police, the neighborhood, or god for all I fucking care. I’m not going to let that prick continue living in that house and not fear walking out his door to bother us again.” John was aggressively pointing in the general direction of the Patterson’s house.

Seeing the pain and fear etched into the face of the woman he loved most dearly had him stepping toward you. He took your face in his hands. John was gentle with you as if you were made of glass. It always amazed you that your loving, caring, protective husband could be a violent man. That these hands that had only ever held you gently and lovingly were capable of unspeakable things.

“I’m going to keep you safe. No matter what. Trust me.” Laying a feather light kiss to your lips John allowed you a moment to think.

And before you could speak John tried to convince you to let him do this. Because the last thing he wanted was for you to become scared of him so he needed your approval. He needed to do this, to give you back your peace of mind.

“I know you’re scared, darling. The whole point of all of this is to scare you. The prick gets off on it. . . Let me show him what it feels like and I promise he’ll never bother you again.” John spoke softly yet with such conviction you hadn’t realized you were nodding along half way through.

“Don’t hurt him.” You choked on your words.

This was an impossible situation to you. You needed John to step in and protect you. You needed him to keep your children safe. But with no proof besides finding the neighbors nephew creepy you couldn’t morally support whatever it was John decided he would do; but you also couldn’t stop him.

“I’ll just talk to him.” It was a lie and you knew it.

“John-“

“I’ll be back.” With a final kiss John put on his boots and walked out the back door not looking back. You watched from the window as he marched down your driveway to go confront your neighbor.

The walk didn’t take too long and John waved to a few neighbors who were outside with their children or mowing their lawn. A few stopped and gave him a wave back but found it odd how friendly he seemed today. Usually John gave a simple nod with barely a smile and went on his way, or ignored them completely.

John made it to the one story house with a neatly manicured lawn and well taken care of white picket fence. It was a slate blue home with a red front door. The windows had white trim and flower boxes. They spilled over with pretty ivy and tiny white and purple flowers. The freshly painted white picket fence had no gate so John was able to walk up the cobble stone walkway and jog up the three stairs of the front porch quickly. Once out of the sun and ducking under the shadow of the front porches roof John’s entire demeanor shifted. The once friendly attitude was swallowed by a fervent rage.

John knocked firmly. Then a second later banged on the door with so much force it shook the frame. His eyes had gone crazed and nostrils flared as he waited. The seconds ticked by until John watched the red front door begin to open to reveal the face of Paterson’s nephew, Freddie.

His black mop of curls were damp from what was assumed to be from a shower. Those light grey blue eyes were wide like they always were and stayed unblinking and unsettling. He looked upset, a dusting of stubble distracting from his thin lips fixed in a frown from having someone bang on his door so violently.

“What’s your problem?” The young nephew opened the front door and before he knew it there was the sound of skin slapping skin and he had a hand around his neck.

John walked forward with purpose, this man’s neck firmly in his grasp and then slammed him up against the wall of the foyer. Along the way John kicked the door shut behind him so no one walking by could see. It took all his restrain to not immediately snap this man’s neck.

The man’s eyes were somehow wider than normal with fear and he was shaking so bad it could almost be mistaken for convulsions. Freddie had no idea what was going on and he couldn’t find the words that were trapped in his throat and beneath the hand growing tighter around his neck.

John brought his face so close the man could feel John’s hot breath. To Freddie, John looked like a bear taken shape into man. With claws sinking into his neck and eyes fixed on his next meal, his prey. Freddie was staring death in the eyes, and in the darkness of John’s icy blues staring into his soul Freddie began to make peace with his life.

“Come near my house, my wife, or my children again and I’ll gut you like the pig you are.” John spoke with venom.

There was murderous intent with sick and twisted rage as the driving force. There was an unspoken understanding that Freddie would be lucky to keep his life by the time his front door opened again.

“I- don’t know what y- AH~” Snot and drool dribbled down Freddie’s nose and mouth as he saw a silver glint and then felt the cool metal of a blade pressed firmly to his neck.

“Do I make myself clear?” John asked, a new found calmness taking over.

“I’ll never look their way again.” Freddie sputtered out and began to lightly sob as the knife was pressed firmly against his jugular.

John could see this had worked from the panic and fear in the man’s eyes. There would be no more convincing. John had achieved the outcome he desired and that was for this man to fear for his life.

A trickling sound joined the ragged breathing. Glancing down John saw a wet spot forming in the man’s jeans and then darkly chuckled.

“Disgusting.” With a final violent shove, John returned his knife to his back pocket and turned to leave.

Being the man of conviction he was and how he thrived under pressure and conflict John was leaving this house feeling much lighter. On his way out he noticed a horseshoe sitting atop the front door frame. Grabbing it he turned to see the man now sitting in a puddle on the floor. Those wide unblinking eyes were fixed in terror instead of that unsettling glare John was accustom to seeing.

“Thanks for the gift.” John lightly flicked his wrist with the horseshoe in it, smiled politely as if he were at the shop, then left.

John left the front door open so the man could hear his jovial whistle to the tune of ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ and watch John pull out a cigar. After lighting it he took a nice long drag at the end of the houses walkway. Turning back around Freddie hadn’t moved and John waved and gave him his typical neighborly smile.

“Cheers!” John called with an unsuspecting laugh and went on his way, whistling and smoking.

——————

“So, it’s been a week. Haven’t gotten anymore pictures, flowers, or random gifts.” Your voice came from the bedroom as John finished brushing his teeth.

“Hm, have you?” John called back sounding uninterested but you knew better.

Deep down you knew he was happy to hear that but wouldn’t let on. When John had gotten home from his ‘talk’ he was in high spirits. You were confused but let it go when he took your family out for dinner, ice cream, and then piled on the couch to watch a movie together. The stress seemed to have left his body and was replaced by content pleasure. Which to you meant this was over, that you could rest easy from now on. John didn’t go out to sit on the patio that night but joined you in bed.

John even somehow romanced you out of your former anxieties and made love to you in a way that felt primal and all consuming that night. If you were honest the memory of how passionate he was had continuously popped in your head and helped distract from anything untoward.

“What’d you say to him?” Your voice was a lot closer now.

Looking up into the mirror above his designated sink John saw you, his beautiful wife. You had your head cocked to the side with a shy smile dusting your pretty lips. He loved how you looked with your hair braided for sleep and in nothing but his black t-shirt and little grey cotton sleep shorts. Your skin was smooth and glowing from your nightly routine and you had those gold patches under your eyes. Those always made John laugh, the memory of you holding him down on your bed and practically attacking him until he relented and let you put them on him.

“Nothing really.” With a shrug John tried to move past you but you stepped in the way.

“That’s a lie.” You placed your hand in the center of John’s firm chest and drummed your fingers. With a small smirk he kissed your cheek, grabbed your hips, and moved out of his way with ease.

“And?” John teased, leaving you with a playful pinch to the bum.

You watched as he peeled off his white t-shirt and tossed it on to the floor by his nightstand. Next came his plaid pajama bottoms, leaving John in his black boxer briefs. Looking over his shoulder he caught you admiring him and nodded toward the bed.

“Why won’t you tell me?” You sounded all sweet and John knew you were going to try and get the truth out of him one way or another.

There was no effort in batting you away. John pulled back the covers and patted the bed for you to crawl in beside him. So you did. The pair of you turned off your lamps and laid together like you did most nights. You had your head on John’s hairy chest and his rough hand was caressing your back while you cuddled close.

“Tell me?” You whispered into the darkness.

“No.” With a kiss to the crown of your head John settled into bed and allowed his head to lull to the side so sleep could take over.

“I love you, darling. And I’ll always keep you safe.” John spoke against the hair atop your head and held you close so you could drift off to sleep together. Laying in silence you both listened to the crickets chirp from your open window. The two of you too consumed with each other to notice the light shutter of a camera in the distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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unsteddie · 10 months ago

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Steve and Eddie are on again off again for years after the events of st4. It's never too serious, they have basically opposite schedules. Eddie tends bar and plays with his band, existing mostly at night. Steve gets a degree and moves onto being a school counselor, late nights are the bane of his existence. It's easier when they live together, but over the years they've moved in and out of the little place they share with Robin.

Eddie's moved cities a few times, tried living with the band, has been on and off tour. Steve moved back home when his parents divorced for about a year to help his mom out, moved in and usually quickly out with partners. He volunteered a few summers to live in low income rural areas and help with the schools summer programs.

They just never quite get the timing right to try anything other than casual. It's honestly tearing Steve apart, it's been the source of every break up he's had since meeting the man. Eddie however seems entirely unbothered.

Steve knows for a fact he's Eddie's favorite person. Even when Eddie is "seeing" someone else, Eddie's relationships are never serious, he still prefers to spend his time with Steve. He just doesn't get why Eddie doesn't want something real, but he doesn't push, doesn't wanna lose what he has

It's a full decade of this nonsense before the song Quit Playing Games With My Heart by The Backstreet Boys comes out. Steve doesn't really care much about the band, he likes boy band music well enough. It's fun and catchy and danceable. But he's picking Eddie up from the airport, back from a three month stint in LA recording and promoting with the band. And the air is tense as the lyrics spill out of the radio, and it makes Steve feel heavy.

The song ends but he's still pretty misty, it's only ten minutes back to the apartment. He can hold it back, and when they're home he'll just excuse himself and cry quietly on his bed. He's done it plenty of times before, this is no different, he's got this, he's good.

"Stevie?" Eddie asks softly, and his his voice sounds strained, like something's got him worked up too.

Steve can't respond, not with his voice, so he just sort of nods, doesn't look at Eddie, but can feel the weight of Eddie's stare.

"What is it about me that you don't wanna stick around for?" He asks quietly, but there's a solid quality to his tone, like this is a question he's resolved to ask many times, and finally got his nerve up.

Steve doesn't respond for a long time, as pieces slowly move into place. Eddie has always seemed so unaffected, even congratulating Steve when things got serious with someone else. But if he looked closely at Eddie's reactions now, in retrospect, with the way he asked his quiet question, it clicks.

Eddie never liked any of Steve's partners, always gave Steve an out of he needed it, was always a little petty about Steve's ex's after a breakup. The thought that maybe, for all these years, a decade now, they'd been wasting their time keep things casual was just...well it was fucking hilarious. Terrible and heartbreaking, sure. But it kick started ridiculous sounding giggles.

Giggles quickly snowballed into full hysterical laughter. He glanced at Eddie who looked hurt, which was absurd. Steve's laughter became unhinged, and he had to pull off the road. Eddie didn't look hurt anymore when he looked back, he looked furious, and he was wiping his cheeks. Steve hadn't seen tears, but the idea that Eddie was crying over him did nothing to quell the laughter.

The moment the car stopped Eddie threw the door open, and climbed out. Grabbing his duffle from the back seat. He managed to stomp a good distance away before Steve could get himself together enough to chase after him. He was still giggling when he caught up enough to grab the strap of Eddie's bag. He pulled it back hard enough to knock Eddie off balance, and had to reach out to steady him.

"Eddie please," he paused to laugh and catch his breath as Eddie struggled to pull out of his grip. "Please, baby, give me a minute."

Eddie froze at that. They didn't use pet names like that. Nothing so relationship-y. It was enough to make Eddie wait for him. Steve didn't let go though, terrified Eddie might run off without a proper explanation.

He didn't know how to explain it, the years of longing, the way he'd wanted to ask the same question so many times, how he ached for him. He certainly didn't know how to explain his reaction.

"I don't know why it made me laugh like that." He started once he had his breathing under control. "Some stupid pop song-" and he was laughing again because this was stupid. He threw his hands up in frustration, immediately grabbing onto Eddie again when his hands came back down.

"some stupid pop song had me on the brink of tears, because my stupid, broken heart-" more laughter, and Steve was getting really tired of this. "Aches for you, when you've, I guess-" laughter, "been feeling the same way. God Eddie how stupid are we?"

And with that the giggles were gone, his insides had gone suddenly still, and he felt the loss of the time they could have had.

"how long?" Eddie asked, quiet again, he was never this quite. When Steve looked at him now his face was hard to read, tears still brimming in his eyes, but the anger and hurt were gone.

"since the boat house probably, at least since the hospital, for sure. When you woke up and you were cuffed to the bed. The first thing you said was some joke about being flattered they thought you were that dangerous. I knew for sure then, but I think it started in the boat house." Steve flushed, his face hot and pink.

"God, no, that's ..we can't have been feeling the same way so long. Stevie, what have we been doing?" Tears were falling, both men crying on the side of the road, and Eddie was holding onto Steve now too.

"Didn't think you'd want me for real. Didn't think anyone-" Steve coughed around the lump in his throat. "Tried to move on, so many times. Never could, it always came back to you."

And Eddie was suddenly in his arms, weeping, getting tight words out between sobs. "Never. Anything. Compare. No one. Even close. Just you. My Stevie."

"Didn't catch all that sweetheart. You'll have to tell me the rest later." Steve whispered into his ear, and Eddie melted in his arms, nodding emphatically into Steve's shoulder.

The time they waisted sat heavy on Steve's shoulders, but he had Eddie now. Eventually they would joke about it, about pining after each other for a decade before getting thier shit together, but it was gonna hurt for a while still.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #we're in the happy sads boys

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hurtblossom · 4 months ago

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On thin ice ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female Iceskater!Reader

Summary : Lando is jealous of his girlfriend's iceskating partner.

Warnings : Angst, established relationship

The sharp scrape of skates against ice filled the cavernous rink, the sound bouncing off the empty seats and high ceilings. (Y/N) exhaled deeply, her breath clouding the chilly air as she steadied herself. Ethan skated toward her, his movements effortless, his presence as comforting as ever.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Ethan teased lightly, stopping in front of her.

She gave him a weak smile. “I can’t help it.”

“You don’t need to. You’ve got this.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, their fingers locking with the ease of years spent practicing together. They moved into the opening position of their routine, the soft strains of music echoing through the rink as they began.

Every spin, every lift, every glide was a testament to their hard work, their connection honed over countless hours of practice. Ethan’s hand on her back, his voice low and steady as he guided her through a lift, was nothing new to her. It was simply a part of the dance.

But to Lando, it was something else entirely.

Lando had been her biggest supporter in the beginning. When they first started dating, he’d been captivated by her passion for skating. He admired her dedication, often comparing it to his own drive for Formula 1. They bonded over their shared understanding of sacrifice and ambition, and for a while, it felt like they were unstoppable.

But as their lives grew busier, the cracks began to form.

(Y/N) had always made time for Lando, traveling to his races whenever her schedule allowed. She’d spent hours in the paddock, enduring the chaos and noise just to be there for him. She cheered the loudest when he stood on the podium, comforted him when he didn’t, and never once complained about the toll it took on her own life.

Lando, however, struggled to do the same.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did—deeply. But his jealousy over her partnership with Ethan was a wound that festered, growing more painful with each passing day. He hated the way Ethan’s name was always on her lips, the way she spent more time on the ice with him than she did at home with Lando.

He hated that Ethan got to see her in her element—the part of her life Lando could never truly understand.

The tension between them came to a head one evening when (Y/N) returned from practice later than usual. Lando was waiting for her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

“Practice ran over,” she replied, setting her bag down.

“With Ethan, I assume,” he added, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) sighed, already bracing herself for the argument she knew was coming. “Yes, Lando. With Ethan. Who else would it be?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he snapped, pushing off the counter. “It’s always Ethan. You spend more time with him than you do with me.”

Her jaw tightened. “Lando, we’ve been over this. He’s my skating partner. That’s all.”

“And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?” he demanded. “You don’t see how weird this is? How it looks?”

She crossed her arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. “How it looks? Lando, this is my career. I’ve been skating with Ethan for years—long before I met you. Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you,” Lando shot back. “Like you’re more than just his partner.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank at the accusation, her chest tightening. “That’s not fair. Ethan and I are teammates, nothing more. You’re my boyfriend. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less pained.

She stared at him, her tears threatening to spill. “Do you even realize how much I’ve sacrificed for you? How many races I’ve been to, how many times I’ve put you first? And now, when I need your support, all you can do is accuse me of things that aren’t even true?”

His expression faltered, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

The words hit her like a slap, leaving her speechless. She turned away, unable to look at him. “If you can’t handle my life, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Lando grabbed his jacket, his movements abrupt.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed in the empty apartment, leaving her standing alone, her chest heaving as silent tears streamed down her face.

—

The day of the competition arrived, but (Y/N) felt hollow. The weight of Lando’s absence pressed heavily on her chest as she laced up her skates backstage. Ethan sat beside her, his presence steady and comforting.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice calm.

She nodded, though her hands trembled as she tied the final knot. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

The arena was packed, the cheers of the crowd echoing off the high ceilings as they stepped onto the ice. She scanned the stands instinctively, half-hoping to see Lando’s familiar face. But he wasn’t there.

The music began, and she forced herself to focus, moving through the opening steps with precision. But her mind betrayed her, Lando’s words echoing in her head. “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

Her foot slipped slightly during a turn, the mistake small but glaring to her trained eye. Ethan caught her immediately, his grip firm as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

They continued, but the mistakes kept coming—hesitant steps, uneven spins, moments of faltering confidence. Each one felt like another crack in her resolve, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill.

By the time the routine ended, her face was damp with tears. Ethan kept her close as they bowed, his hand squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

Backstage, (Y/N) sank onto a bench, her head in her hands as the adrenaline faded. Ethan sat beside her, his voice soft as he said, “You did great.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I messed up.”

“No one noticed,” he said firmly. “You were incredible.”

But his words did little to soothe the ache in her chest.

When she returned home that night, she found Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes heavy with guilt.

“I saw your routine,” he said quietly. “You looked beautiful out there.”

Her chest tightened as she dropped her bag by the door. “But you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there after the fight,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Her tears spilled over as she stepped closer. “I always want you there, Lando. Even when we fight, even when I’m angry, I need you to be there. But tonight, you weren’t. And it broke me.”

He stood, reaching for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I let my jealousy get in the way, and I should have been there. You deserved better.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Do you even realize how much I’ve given for you? And the one time I needed you, you weren’t there.”

His voice was thick with emotion as he said, “I know. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She stepped back, the pain in her chest unbearable. “I don’t know if you can, Lando.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final, as she turned away, leaving him standing alone in the quiet apartment.

⁴

an : leave comments please 😞😞 i love to read them, i feel important

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 fluff #lando x you #lando norris #lando norris angst

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bunny-1111 · 7 months ago

Text

Did I stutter? TN x fem!reader Part 2.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

WARNING: SMUTTTT, Reader discretion (18+) NO MINORSSSSSSS PLS

Authors note: first smut kinda nervous... this is a long one, I hope y'all enjoy <3

Part one here

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

What the fuck now, you think, making your way to the common room.

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s useless. Theo’s always been hard to read, kept his cards too close to his chest, but this feels different—like he’s dropped the mask just enough for you to glimpse something darker lurking beneath. Something you’re not sure how to deal with, what the fuck is next, this sudden dominance is not hard to accept but hard to understand.

When you finally return to the common room, Pansy lounges on one of the sofas, flipping through a magazine. She barely looks up when you enter.

“Well? Did he say anything?” she asks, her voice dripping with casual curiosity, but you know her well enough to recognise the gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"How did you even see us having a conversation?" you enquire, brows furrowing

"I saw you walk past, then I saw Theo walk back The opposite way with a tiny but telling smile on his face", she smiles "So tell me, what did he say? Did he ask you to the dance?" she continues.

You toss your bag onto the floor, sinking into the chair opposite her. “No, not exactly,” you mutter, more confused than ever. Your mind still replaying the look Theo gave you, the way he practically claimed you without saying a word.

Pansy arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of gossip. “Not exactly? That doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, spill.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. “He asked if anyone had asked me, and when I said no, he said… ‘Good. Keep it that way.’” The words feel strange in your mouth as if they don’t belong to a casual conversation but something heavier and more serious.

Pansy stares at you for a moment, then her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Oh, that’s rich. Typical Theo.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Pansy tosses the magazine aside, leaning forward like she’s about to reveal some grand secret. “He’s marking his territory, babe. Telling you not to go with anyone else, without actually having the guts to ask you himself.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? Was Theo staking some kind of silent claim over you? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and not entirely out of fear. There’s a part of you—a part you’re not sure you’re ready to admit to—that likes the idea of being claimed by him.

But that doesn’t mean you’re okay with the way he’s going about it.

“So what?” you say, exasperation creeping into your voice. “He’s just going to tell me to wait around for him while he ignores me at the ball?”

Pansy shrugs, unbothered. “Pretty much. That’s how these boys work. They want you, but they’re too proud to ask. So they’ll just… hover.”

You roll your eyes, sinking further into the chair. “I’m not going to just sit here and wait for him to make up his mind.”

Pansy grins, eyes twinkling with something dangerous. “Then don’t. Go with someone else. Let him squirm.”

The idea sounds thrilling, but you know it’s not that simple. Theo’s not the kind of guy you can make squirm. He’s the kind that would shut down any attempt to get under his skin, the kind who would lash out rather than admit any kind of weakness. And yet, the thought of pushing him—of seeing just how far he’ll go to keep you—lights a fire in your chest.

That's what you will do. Push him until he can't hold off any longer.

Toying with Theo was a dangerous game to play, even if you knew that, but if he's just going to sit there and not make anything happen, then, fuck, you need to take matters into your own hands.

Yes, you could just do the normal thing and pull him aside for a conversation, but now, where's the fun in that?

The next day, arriving at charms class, you don't take your usual seat with Theo and your friends. Instead, you skip over and find a place next to Anthony Goldstein, a cute Ravenclaw boy, who you knew would piss Theo off.

"Morning", you smile at Anthony. He looks at you, confused but excited.

"Good morning," he returns, starting what would become a cheerful conversation. As you laugh and talk throughout the class, you quickly glance over at a visibly upset Theodore and a very wide-smiling pansy. She knew what you were doing, and Theodore was catching on, too.

Theo’s eyes are burning holes into the back of your head, and you can feel it. Every time you lean in a little closer to Anthony, let out a laugh that’s just a touch too loud; you know Theo’s watching. It’s exactly what you wanted—his attention, focus, and jealousy. But now that you have it, it’s making your skin prickle in anticipation in a way you hadn’t fully prepared for.

Anthony’s sweet, too sweet. He’s charming, and he’s kind, but he’s not Theo. There’s no edge to him, no danger. And while the conversation flows easily enough, your mind keeps drifting back to the boy brooding in the corner, whose eyes haven’t left you since the class began. You know he’s seething. Good. He should be. He warned you to keep away from any guy who could want something off you, but you weren’t getting enough out of Theo, so he pushed this out of you, you determine.

As the class drags on, you notice the shift in the air. Theo’s presence feels suffocating, almost predatory like he’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You can’t help but glance over again, meeting his gaze for just a second—long enough to see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, and for a second, you think he might snap right there in the middle of class, but he doesn’t. He’s controlled, as always. And that only frustrates you more.

You knew you were aggravating him. You have no idea what the consequences are; you have a feeling brewing in your chest that you would find out sooner than later.

When your professor dismisses the class, you gather your things slowly, lingering by Anthony’s side, pretending not to notice the way Theo’s already standing by the door, waiting for you. Anthony smiles, oblivious, and asks if you’d like to walk to the Great Hall with him. You almost say yes, just to push Theo a little further, but before the words leave your mouth, you feel a hand wrap firmly around your wrist.

You turn to see Theo, his eyes dark and dangerous, staring down at you with a look that makes your heart race.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

You don’t even have a chance to respond before he’s tugging you out of the classroom, pulling you through the corridors, a man on a mission. You stumble to keep up, your mind racing to catch up with him, but there’s no mistaking the tension in the air now. He’s pissed. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you wanted.

When he drags you into a broom closet and slams the door behind you, your pulse is pounding in your ears. Theo’s still gripping your wrist, his fingers tight around your skin, and when he finally lets go, your breathe was still held tight, like he was the one who could allow you to exhale

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his voice cold, but his eyes—God, his eyes are on fire.

You straighten up, refusing to back down. “What do you mean?”

Theo takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours as he looms over you. “You know exactly what I mean,” he growls. “Sitting with Goldstein. Laughing with him. What was that, huh? Trying to make me jealous?”

You raise an eyebrow, refusing to show how much his proximity affects you. “Is it working?”

His jaw ticks, and for a moment, you think he might lose control. But then he surprises you—he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “You want to play games, fine. But you’re playing with fire, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re ready for what happens next.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. The tension between you is electric, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his body is coiled, ready to snap. You know you’ve pushed him to the edge, but you’re not backing down now. Not when you’ve come this far.

“I think I can handle it,” you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s enough to break whatever restraint Theo’s been holding onto.

“Are you sure?” he stalks even closer, leaning down to you, his fingers forcing your face up to his all you can do it nod as an unexpected wave of shyness hits you. Your heart drops when you hear a gentle but quick knock on the door, please, you think no one interrupts what might just finally happen. You both look at the twisting door knob, silence falls.

“Hey, it everything ok in here? It’s Anthony” your heart drops, Theo might spiral.

His hands loop around you, pushing you behind him, opening the door, “Everything's just fine. You don’t go following girls into broom closets all the time, do you? Shes with me. Now fuck far off,” Theo replied, slamming the door in his face.

You hear his footsteps quickly rush off

He flicks the lock of the door so quickly, so quick to kiss you that anything you feel melts away, in an instant, his hands are on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. His lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, like he’s finally letting go of everything he’s been holding back. You don’t even have time to think before you kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, harder, deeper.

It’s all heat and intensity, a wild storm brewing for far too long. Theo’s hands roam over your body, possessive and hungry, like he’s claiming every inch of you as his, his lips never leaving yours as his hands work quickly, almost frantically, to tug at the hem of your shirt. You gasp as his fingers brush against your skin, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Theo pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness.

You nod, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

That’s all he needs to hear. In one swift motion, he lifts you onto a surface, everything happening so fast you dont even know what he’s sat you on; all you can focus on is his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he moves between your legs. His lips are on your neck now, kissing, biting, leaving marks that you know will be there tomorrow.

Your hands fumble with his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. When you finally get it off, you run your hands over the hard planes of his chest, savouring the way his muscles tense under your touch. Theo groans against your neck, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. But you don’t care. You want more. You need more.

“Theo,” you gasp, arching your back as his lips trail lower, his hands working quickly to undo the buttons of your blouse. He doesn’t waste any time, pulling it off and tossing it aside before his mouth finds your skin again.

He’s everywhere—his hands, lips, teeth—and it’s all too much, not enough. You’re dizzy with it, consumed by him, by the way, he touches you like he’s been starving for it. For you.

He only stops for a second, his lips not far from yours but far enough to speak, “I can’t take you in a broom closet, alright? Let’s go to my dorm; you’ll be more comfortable” he quickly says, almost out of breath.

“Theo” you mutter “You can take me anywhere. Here’s just fine, please, I can’t wait anymore, please, I don’t want to waste another second” you whine, quickly joining your lips together again.

He doesn’t protest; when he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. “You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. “Fuck, no one else gets to touch you. Understand?”

You nod, your heart racing as you reach for him again, pulling him back to you. “Only you.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and there’s no going back this time.

Theo’s mouth crashes against yours with even more intensity, his hands gripping your hips as though he can’t stand the thought of being apart from you for even a second. It’s not just a kiss anymore—it’s a declaration of something raw and primal that neither of you have the strength to fight off any longer.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against you. You can feel the hard press of his body against yours, and it sends a wave of heat through you so intense it makes your head spin. His hands slide up your thighs, slipping under your skirt, and your breath hitches as his fingers brush over the thin fabric of your underwear. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, eyes dark with desire as they roam over your flushed face. “All worked up for me, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You want to come up with some smart reply, something to challenge him, but all that comes out is a soft whimper as his fingers tease the edge of your underwear, barely grazing where you need him most. Your body arches and pulses into his touch, silently begging for more, and Theo’s smirk deepens.

“Patience,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll give you what you want, but you must tell me what you want.”

Your pride screams at you not to give in, not to let him have that satisfaction, but the ache between your legs is too much. You need him, now. So, you swallow your pride, your voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

“Please, Theo. Please”

“Tsk tsk tsk, please, what? Come on, words, sweet thing,”

“I need you to touch me Teddy, need to feel you” You practically whimper

Your pleading seems to flip a switch in him, and suddenly his teasing stops. His fingers slip under the fabric, brushing against your soaked core, and you gasp, your head falling back as the sensation sends sparks shooting through your body

“Good girl,” he growls, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck as his fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Your hands grip his back exposed, your body trembling as his fingers work you over with an expert precision that makes it clear he’s been thinking about this for a long time. You can barely breathe, your mind going fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure as Theo’s thumb presses against your clit, drawing out a moan that you can’t hold back.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watches the way your body reacts to his touch. “Falling apart for me already. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, send you spiralling closer and closer to the edge, your body tightening with the mounting tension. You can feel it building, coiling in your stomach like a spring ready to snap, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you fall over the edge.

Theo must sense it too, because his pace quickens, his fingers moving faster, harder, and his lips find yours again, swallowing your moans as you cling to him. Your entire body is on fire, the pleasure so intense it feels like you might break apart at any second, and then, finally, you do.

The it hits you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You cry out, your nails digging into Theo’s shoulders as your body trembles beneath him, completely lost in the sensation. Theo doesn’t let up, his fingers continuing their steady rhythm as he helps you ride out every last shudder of pleasure. You can’t help but sink your teeth into his shoulder.

By the time it finally fades, you’re left panting, your body limp and spent as you rest against the desk, your forehead pressed against Theo’s shoulder. He’s breathing hard too, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, but there’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice a low growl as he brushes a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “No one else. Ever.”

You nod, still catching your breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Only yours,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Theo leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and for a moment, the intensity between you softens. His hands, once rough and demanding, now hold you gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid of breaking you. And in this moment, you realise just how deep his feelings for you run, how much he’s been holding back.

“You don’t have to make me jealous to get my attention,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. “You’ve had it from the start.”

You smile against his mouth, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him into a deeper kiss. It’s softer now, slower, but no less intense. Because even though Theo might be possessive and a little rough around the edges, you know that this, you, means more to him than he’s ever let on.

“Let's go to my dorm, alright? Get you cleaned up,” he smiles, leading you out of the now very messy broom cupboard. To your surprise, Anthony is waiting for you a few metres up; Theo moves your body to the other side of him so that it is Theo that is closest to him. When you both walk straight past him he casually says, “Don’t worry about that piece of shit, Ravenclaw, I’ll fix him up tomorrow.” You wondered if that should worry you, not a problem for right now though, your mind still racing with lust and love.

The next morning, you wake up with a warm, almost surreal feeling in your chest. Everything feels different, like the air’s lighter, the world softer, and it’s all because of him. Theo. Yesterday's intensity, the way his hands gripped you like he’d never let go, still lingers on your skin like a secret that only the two of you share. You stretch out on your bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the memories replay in your head. You can’t help but smile as your body remembers the feeling.

But then, of course, reality hits you in the form of Pansy bloody Parkinson.

She barges into the dorm room with all the subtlety of a troll, her arms full of bags from her morning Hogsmeade run. Merlin, that girl has a shopping addiction. "Good morning, sunshine," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she drops the bags onto her bed. "You’re glowing. What did you do? Save a baby unicorn?"

You roll your eyes, pulling the covers up to your chin, trying to hide the ridiculous grin that’s threatening to spill across your face. But Pansy, being Pansy, is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out drama, and she narrows her eyes at you.

"Hold on," she says, pausing mid-unpacking, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip. "What is that look? That is not a ‘just got a full night’s sleep’ look. That is a someone rocked my world last night look."

You burst into laughter, but it’s the nerves that I’m hiding something kind of laugh, and Pansy’s eyes widen like she’s hit the jackpot.

"No fucking way." She abandons her bags completely, climbing onto your bed and sitting cross-legged before you. "Spill. Now."

You bite your lip, wondering how in Merlin's name you’re going to explain this without sounding completely insane. But then again, it’s Pansy. There’s no hiding anything from her, and part of you wants to tell her, to relive every second of it by saying it out loud. So, you do.

"It was Theo," you admit quietly, your heart racing as the words leave your mouth. "Yesterday. We… we hooked up."

Pansy’s jaw drops so hard you’re pretty sure you hear it hit the floor. "Theo? As in Theo Nott? The same Theo who’s been brooding over you for months and never made a move?"

You nod, feeling your face heat up under her gaze. "Yeah, that Theo."

For a moment, Pansy is entirely silent, just staring at you like she’s processing this monumental piece of information. Then, suddenly, she lets out a shriek so loud it probably wakes up half the castle.

"Holy shit!" she squeals, grabbing your hands and bouncing on the bed like an excited child. "I knew it! I fucking knew he had it bad for you! So? Was it amazing? Was he, like, all dominating and rough like I always imagined? Tell me everything!"

You laugh, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you think about last night—the way Theo touched you, the way he claimed you, like he’d been holding back for so long and finally couldn’t anymore.

"It was…" You pause, searching for the right word. "Intense. And, yeah, he was definitely possessive. He kept saying I was his."

Pansy squeals again, throwing herself back onto the bed dramatically. "I knew it! I knew that brooding, quiet thing was just a front. Ok, you’re my best friend you owe me the whole story, Don’t miss a detail." as you explain step by step you watch her eyes widen and her smile grow

Before you can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door. Matteo and Blaise stroll in without waiting for an invitation, looking far too smug for your liking. Blaise immediately heads for Pansy’s bed, flopping down like he owns the place, while Matteo leans against the dresser, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"What’s with the giddy shrieks?" Blaise asks, raising an eyebrow. "You two plotting something evil this early in the morning? We haven’t even had breakfast yet"

Pansy rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. We don’t need to plot evil. It just comes naturally."

Matteo snickers, but his eyes flick to you, narrowing slightly. "Wait a minute… what’s going on? Why does she look all… flustered?"

Before you can even think of a response, Pansy, being the absolute traitor that she is, jumps in with, "Oh, didn’t you hear? Our girl here finally got some action. With Theo."

Matteo and Blaise both freeze, staring at you in shock. For a split second, there’s dead silence, and then, like a synchronised team, they both throw their heads back and shout, "Finally!"

Your eyes widen as Blaise shakes his head in disbelief. "I was starting to think you two would just brood at each other for the rest of eternity."

Matteo crosses the room, sitting on the edge of your bed and giving you a playful shove. "Took you long enough."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Can everyone just stop? This is mortifying."

"Mortifying?" Matteo laughs. "No, what’s mortifying is how long you two have been dancing around each other. Honestly, I’m just relieved one of you finally made a move."

Blaise leans back against Pansy’s bed, smirking. "Yeah, we’ve been placing bets on when it would happen. Matteo won, by the way."

You look up, horrified. "You’ve been betting on us?"

"Of course we have," Pansy says, grinning. "It’s been, like, the slowest burn of the century."

You sigh, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. As much as they’re embarrassing you right now, there’s something comforting in the way your friends are reacting—like they’ve all been rooting for this to happen as much as you have.

Blaise stands, giving you a teasing salute. "Well, I’ll leave you to bask in your post-Theo high. Just… try not to kill each other, yeah?"

Matteo follows him out the door, tossing one last look over his shoulder. "Finally."

Once they’re gone, you collapse back onto the bed, shaking your head. "I can’t believe them."

Pansy grins, lying next to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can. We’ve been watching this unfold for ages. I’m so happy for you."

“Thank you Pans”, you smile, turning as you lay closer next to her

“Oh! I heard the most unusual thing this morning. Draco told me,” she starts

“Go on” you giggle

“That Anthony Goldstein practically crawled to the hospital wing this morning, black eye, bloody shirt, it seemed pretty ruff” she continued “wait, weren't you sitting by him just yesterday?” you remembered.

Oh, Theo, he did indeed ‘take care of it’.

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kotoku · 1 year ago

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ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ! ꜱ/ᴏ

pairings - sunday x injured! reader / aventurine x injured! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ angst but with comfort/ fluff in the end

warnings - a bit of angst (?), maybe like two sprinkles..

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

Sunday had been filing through his paperwork, eyes skimming over the contents before tucking it into its rightful folder. The ticking of a clock was the only sound that filled the room, besides the noise of papers being shuffled. It was then his mind had begun to wonder, filtering out the ambiance and recalling the last conversation the two of you had shared before leaving for work.

“It seems that something urgent has come up at work. I’ll be leaving now, Sunday.” You quickly put on your footwear that you normally use for work, making sure that it isn't loose. Sunday stood near the front door and offered you your bag that held your belongings when you got up.

“Alright, stay safe, my dear.”

And with a quick peck on the lips, you had set off to work, leaving Sunday in the doorway feeling a little lonely.

With a shake of his head and the shutting of the door, Sunday had made his way to the bedroom to start his own routine.

There was no need for him to feel lonely. As you would be back in his arms later that day.

He wouldn’t have had to wait that long, as he was notified of your disappearance by your boss.

Sunday had dropped whatever paperwork he was doing, the papers that were once neatly organized scattered across his desk. When he had got the call from your superior, knots of dread had weaved itself in his stomach and it made him want to puke.

He left his office in a hurry, not bothering to close the door fully as he sprinted to the place your superior had sent you to. Your superior had said that you had an assignment within the real dreamscape, something about the memetic entities within it that were disrupting the environment. The group that was sent to the area had lost you somewhere deep within it before they were attacked by those monsters.

The thought of you being by yourself while facing those things made a shiver run up his spine. He knew how capable you were but he didn’t want to risk losing another person again.

Not after what happened to his sister.

When Sunday got to the real dreamscape, he had met with the group you were sent with before leaving on his own to find you. He tore the entire place apart, searching for any traces of where you could have gone before stumbling upon a trail of freshly spilled blood. Your blood.

Sunday cursed under his breath, following the trail that led him through door after door. It was then the trail stopped, your beaten up form sitting up against the wall, a pool of blood beneath you from the blood that you were losing. You were on the verge of unconsciousness.

For a moment he felt his heart stop, hands clenching in anger and fear at what had done this to you. But despite the urge to eliminate whoever was responsible, he needed to focus and bring you somewhere safe.

You hadn’t registered the footsteps that were quickly approaching you, the gentleness of the person who was carrying you and the soft fluttering of wings against your face, nor the warm grip on your hand while you got transported to the infirmary. It was then when you could barely make out a couple of people above you that you were swept away to darkness.

-----

There was a faint noise coming from beside you. It was the sound of the monitors that were hooked up to you, the IV pole sitting nearby with its saline bag half empty. The bright lights that flooded your vision as soon as you woke caused you to wince, slowly shuffling in the medical bed you were set on.

The pain you felt was almost unbearable. The myriad of bandages on your body and the cast around your leg were proof of where the pain originated. You could barely move around that much with how everything was restricting you, yet you attempted to find a comfortable position.

However, you felt a lightweight resting on your thigh and a loose grip holding your hand.

“Sunday..?” You croaked out, peering over at the man who slept peacefully with some of his loose feathers around you. You figured that he must’ve been so stressed that some had popped right off, poor thing.

Reaching out a hand and carefully swiping away some of his disheveled hair, you saw the bags that had formed under his eyes. How many days has it been? It was clear that he had spent a while there with you, waiting for the moment that you’d awaken, but his tiredness eventually caught up to him. You couldn’t help but shake your head, feeling a little guilty you had caused your lover this much stress.

Sunday stirring awake snapped you out of your thoughts. He slowly blinked his eyes open and lifted himself away from where he lay as he noticed that you were awake.

“_____..? You’re awake..! Thank Xipe..I almost thought you weren’t going to wake up anytime soon.” Sunday breathed a sigh of relief, the feelings of stress and anxiety that ate away at him disappearing. He carefully cupped your face and pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get there in time, My Love…”

“Sunday… You don’t need to apologize for that. I should be apologizing for my recklessness…” You murmured, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You sunk further into his touch, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheek.

“Nonsense, you were only doing your duty.” Sunday firmly stated, nudging you to look him in the eyes. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, not just from the pain but the reassurance that Sunday gave you. You would not have known what to do if either one of you lost the other, so you were eternally grateful that both of you were alive at this moment.

A brief silence fell between the both of you. It wasn’t uncomfortable but rather comforting, enjoying the presence of each other for a little longer before the nurses would check in on you.

“If you think about it… You’re kind of like my guardian angel, Sunday.” Sunday chuckled.

“I guess I am."

-----

You and Aventurine had an..interesting start to your developing friendship that brought you to where you are now. The both of you had first started working at the IPC in the same department so the frequent appearances of the other never really surprised either one of you. There would be times when you’d guys share small talk, but that never really lasted long as you got swept away to another assignment.

When you had started rising through the ranks, there was an unspoken rivalry that began to form between you and Aventurine. You never really cared or bothered to feed into this ‘rivalry’, but you had to admit that it was pretty funny seeing Aventurine so fired up if something fortunate happened to you. This led to constant teasing and bickering whenever the two of you encountered each other. It got even worse when you got paired to the same assignment as him. Yet he did know when to take things seriously so you both could get the job done.

It had been a rather uninteresting day of work for Aventurine, bound to his desk and reviewing important documents that had been submitted to him from his subordinates. Eventually, he had concluded everything and placed them into a cabinet for further inspection later. He just wanted to take a quick walk to stretch out his body after being strapped to his chair for the entire day.

The scenery outside the spaceship was what you’d expect, yet he never grew bored of it. Sometimes he’d stare out into the vast sea of stars and planets, distracted by the idea of just how small he and his problems were. In a way, it distracted him from the stresses of life.

Aventurine had begun to near the area where people would come in, a group of workers that had recently finished an assignment passing him. He noticed some familiar faces amidst the group and started to wonder when you’d be back to see him.

It had been 2 weeks since you left for your assignment, giving him a long kiss that left him dazed before departing. Aventurine didn’t lie when he said that he’d miss you as he whined about you leaving for 2 weeks, clinging to you when it was the morning of your departure. Yet he whined a little less when you promised to text him whenever you had a moment of free time.

Speaking of which… The last message you sent to him was a while ago, around 2 days in fact. He never heard anything from you since you bid goodnight to him which made him a little worried. But he knew more than anyone that you were a capable and dependable person, so his worries grew a little less.

…Yet he could feel a small twinge of dread in his stomach whenever he thought about the time span.

The opening of the doors leading to the docking area brought him out of his thoughts, glancing over to check what ship had come back. To his surprise, it was you..but in crutches and countless bandages as you awkwardly made your way past the door with someone assisting you.

Aventurine stared for a couple of seconds, registering your beat-up form before rushing over. “_____!”

You had strained your neck to look towards where the voice came from, seeing a distressed Aventurine catch up with you and your coworker.

“Ah.. Aventurine–,” you started, giving him an awkward smile. “--didn’t think I’d see you so soon. How has work been–”

“What happened to you??” Before you could finish your sentence, Aventurine had taken your coworker’s place, assisting you towards the infirmary. You were trying to explain what happened during your mission and brushed off the injuries, as it was never uncommon to come out with a few scratches and bruises… Aventurine disagreed in a heartbeat.

“Missions can be dangerous so you must take care of yourself.” Aventurine huffed, getting you checked into the infirmary.

After you were settled into your room with everything taken care of, Aventurine came back in to stay by your side. You could tell he was upset and concerned for your well-being, sighing as he continued to whine and lecture you about safety.

“You should’ve given me a call, you know I’d be there in a heartbeat–”

“Aventurine…”

“Who knows what could’ve happened to you if the circumstances were different–”

“Aventurine.”

“Whatever happened… Whoever did this to you I’ll–”

“Aventurine!”

He stopped pacing around the room, head snapping towards you when your voice finally got his attention. You sighed softly, looking down at your hands that had medical equipment attached to them. “I’m okay. Everything is fine–” “How can you say that?”

Aventurine gave you a frown, crossing his arms as he stood at the foot of your bed. “You came out with multiple injuries, hell you could barely walk. How could you say that everything is fine?” His eyes had narrowed, staring down at the tiled floor that reflected back at him.

You stared at him for a bit, thinking of what you could say to him. After all, he was right, you came out bearing a multitude of injuries that would leave a couple of scars. But..you didn’t want him to be so worried for your sake, you couldn’t bear burdening him. The grip you had on the sheets loosened, your head leaning back onto the pillow.

“I…” A pause. “..I’m sorry, Aventurine. I didn’t want to cause more stress for you but.. I’ll be fine. I promise.” You firmly spoke, watching him look back at you before coming over to sit beside you.

“No I… You don’t need to apologize.” Aventurine sighed, moving to hold your hand. “I was just..scared. I’m sorry for lashing out on you, _____.” His gloved fingers felt warm against your bare skin, thumb gliding over your knuckles.

You hummed in response, your hand interlocking with Aventurine’s. “I know, Aven.” He gave your intertwined hands a kiss, pressing his forehead against them.

“Geez… You really don’t know how worried I was when I didn’t hear anything from you for two days.” Aventurine whined, head moving to rest on your stomach. You stroked his hair, fingers gliding through his golden strands as he sighed in bliss.

“...I missed you.” He mumbled, peering up at you like a kid through his lovely eyes. You smiled softly at him.

“I missed you too, Aven.”

“You won’t believe how work has been without you, though…” “Really? I’m all ears.”

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - sorry for the sudden disappearance everyone! 😀 i hope that you guys haven't missed me too much but i'll promise to post stuff soon! thank you guys for your patience and i hope you guys have a safe and wonderful break/week!

#writing➠#honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #angst #fluff in the end tho #comfort #injured s/o

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ink-n-shadow · 2 years ago

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Alright...hear me out. Ghost with a fem!reader that wakes him up with a blow job, and he later returns the favor by waking her up by either eating her out or very gently fucking her awake. I am a FERAL for consenting somno.

this, THIS is what i needed to write about😌

WAKE-UP SEX

𝜗𝜚 the one where you wake simon up with a surprise and he returns the favor

𝜗𝜚 pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), consensual somnophilia (m! and f!receiving), oral (m!receiving, mentions of f!receiving), slight dirty talk? (basically just simon having a way with words), not proofread 𝜗𝜚 note: pt. 2 can be found here ⤳ link

you wouldn’t even know how this whole thing started with simon. you would both probably be a bit tipsy, trying to celebrate his most recent mission with a few sips (an entire bottle) of wine at home.

you would be sitting in simon’s lap, thighs hooked on either side of his hips and leaning back against the hands he was running along your spine. you weren’t even sure you heard him right at first, which made your eyebrows furrow a bit as you met his gaze.

“you want me to what?”

simon rarely got sheepish or embarrassed, but when it came to sex, he was typically a bit more reserved.

“c’mon…don’t make me say it again, sweetheart. that’s fuckin’ cruel to do to a man.” he joked quietly, the touch of his hands on your back becoming a bit firmer as he pulled you closer. “just wanted to give you somethin’ to think about, lovie. i think it’d be bloody sexy to wake up with my cock halfway down your throat."

simon never mentioned it again. but you remembered, letting the idea hang in the back of your mind for weeks. the more you thought about it, the more it excited you. so when you woke up early one morning with simon still fast asleep next you, you knew that it was the perfect time.

you slowly slipped down the bed, nestling yourself under the blankets and between simon's slightly opened thighs. you gently tugged down the hem of his briefs until you could fish his semi-hard cock from its confines, unable to hold back the soft hum that fell from your lips as you felt its heaviness in your palm.

it didn’t even matter that the blanket over your head concealed simon’s peaceful face—all you could focus on was licking a long stripe along the underside of his cock, tongue flicking against the soft pink tip and fingers squeezing along the base. the heady taste of simon bled out on your tongue, making your eyes slowly flutter closed as you closed your lips around him and gave him a gentle suck.

simon’s legs twitched at the sudden stimulation, his brain slow to catch up and stir out of his tired stupor. “mmm…what’re you—oh christ.” his hand found the back of your head beneath the blanket, his other making quick work to push the fabric away from your face and letting his eyes feast on the sight in front of him. “jesus, sweetheart. m’not—fuck, not gonna last long with your throat squeezin’ me like that.”

simon was still half-asleep, his movements slow and sluggish as he shifted further up on the pillows to get a better look at you sucking him off. one hand remained on the back of your head, not as a guide but simply to touch you, the other resting along your opened jaw and fingers brushing at the corner of your stretched lips. he was right—he didn’t last long. it took only a few more languid dips of simon’s cock into the back of your throat before he spilled his cum into your eager mouth with a soft hiss and whimper of your name.

what you didn’t expect to happen after that morning was for simon to return the favor.

you had fallen asleep on the couch one afternoon, legs splayed open and head nestled against the armrest as you slept. it was a blazing afternoon, one so hot that you were only wearing a pair of silk shorts and a tank top—all of which exposed too much and not enough all at once.

simon was walking through the door, arms loaded with his bag of gear and dirty laundry he’d collected while away at base. his eyes caught on your figure immediately, and it took everything in him not to drop the items in his grip. you looked so peaceful as you slept, but simon couldn’t care less about that.

once he had placed this things into a neat pile by the door, simon made his way over to the living room and sunk down on his knees in front of your sleeping form. he didn’t even bother pulling your shorts off of your hips, afraid the movement would stir you from sleep too quickly—so he settled for pressing heated kisses directly along your clothed core, a soft groan leaking from his lips as one arm curled around the thigh propped up against the back of the couch and tugged you closer to his waiting mouth.

a smirk flitted on simon’s lips as your sleeping body reacted perfectly to him, your legs falling open a bit more as you shifted your hips up in your sleep. he continued pressing those kisses along your covered slit until a breathy whine fell from your mouth. he peeked one eye up to notice your tired eyes fluttering open, a soft ‘what’re you doing, si?’ falling from you in a panted breath.

“remember last week? woke up cummin’ down that pretty little throat of yours.” simon mumbled into the heated skin of your thigh as he sunk his teeth into your flesh, pulling away with a lewd pop. his hand dragged up your body, palm pushing against your balmy skin from the top of your cunt until his fingers were splayed on your sternum. “just returnin’ the favor, sweetheart. relax f’me, baby—yeah, that’s it. go back to sleep and let my tongue do all the work, m’kay?”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley headcanon #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost headcanons #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod smut #call of duty smut #ghost mw2 #iNs requests ⭒#iNs anons: ✧w✧#iNs over 1k ❂#iNs Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀#ink's personal faves ❁

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 1 month ago

Text

exhibitionism

part VI

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: He dressed you up, paraded you through rooms full of monsters, made you beg for release with a smile on his lips and a hand on your throat. He didn’t just want their eyes on you—he needed them to know you were his. Fuck the price of that drink anyway.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,817

A/N: It's done!!!!! Omg!!!! I am so sorry for how long this took. And I can only thank you guys for the reception to this series. I've loved every second of it. <3 God, do I hope I've proofread this one properly. I also LOVED writing Victoria into this one. I love Neuman so much. :') Please give me any feedback, my disgusting little mind loves hearing y'alls thoughts on my depravity. Smin signing off. Over and out. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Friday evening.

The end of the week, the start of his time.

You stood in your bathroom, steam curling around you, skin still dewy from the bath, a towel wrapped loosely around your body as you moved through the motions. Moisturiser. Perfume. Little rituals that felt more like routine now.

The bag on your bed was barely packed. A formality more than a necessity. There wasn't much you needed to take—Ben already had everything for you at his place. Clothes, toiletries, things you hadn't even thought to buy for yourself.

You glanced around your apartment, the one he picked, the one he paid for. It was beautiful, curated, a place that should have felt like home. It didn't. Not really.

It felt like a waiting room. A place you stayed until it was time to go back to him.

Your stomach fluttered at the thought, and you weren't sure if it was anticipation or something else. Something darker.

Last weekend replayed in your head in flashes. Hot. Filthy. Unrelenting.

The sex on the floor—feral, desperate, raw. The way he dragged you against him, fucked into you with bruising force, kept pushing and pushing until you broke apart above him. The way he came with his hands gripping your hips like a vice, eyes wild, jaw tight, filth spilling from his lips.

Then later—another round, softer, slower, but just as consuming. The way he woke you up in the morning, face between your legs, hands pinning your thighs apart like he had no intention of letting you go. The low groans against your skin, the way his tongue worked you open, lazy and indulgent.

Lunch was an afterthought, a moment of normalcy that never lasted. The dinner you made? Completely forgotten the second he reached across the table, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into his lap. The food went cold while he fucked you against the dining room chair, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your ass, growling Mine, mine, mine.

Sunday, he took you out for a drive. One of his vintage cars, because apparently, he had an entire fucking collection. The speed, the power, the way he smirked as you clutched the seatbelt while he pushed the car to its limits—everything about him screamed excess.

Then the week came, and you fell back into your other life. Classes, textbooks, essays, deadlines. But even then, he bled into it. Your remaining books arrived at your apartment, courtesy of Ben. So did a box of toys, lingerie, things you wouldn't have even known to ask for. You never questioned how he knew your sizes.

Tonight though? You had no idea what he had planned. The thought thrilled you. And maybe, just maybe—it terrified you too.

The knock came sharp and impatient, cutting through the quiet of your apartment. You blinked at the door, surprised—it wasn’t time yet. Ben was never early.

Then—

"Open up, love. Need to take a fuckin’ slash. Normally wouldn’t ask, but I’m about to piss meself."

Butcher.

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you padded over, unlocking the door and pulling it open.

He stood there, looking as unimpressed and impatient as ever, arms crossed over his chest like he had better places to be.

"You couldn’t have gone before you got here?"

"What, and use a public loo? Be serious." He grunted, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation. "Where’s the shitter?"

You just shook your head, smirking as you gestured down the hall. "Same place it’s always been. You did find this apartment, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I find ‘em, Ben buys ‘em. Ain’t that how this works?"

You didn’t answer. Just watched him disappear into the bathroom while you turned back toward your bedroom, finishing the last touches of getting ready. Your bag sat open on the bed, barely filled. Just a formality at this point. You didn’t need to take much—Ben had everything waiting for you at his place. Everything.

Perfume. Final touch-ups. A glance in the mirror, and you were ready.

When you walked back out, Butcher was already by the door, arms crossed again, watching you like he was assessing something.

"Ben said to make sure you got to the car safe."

You scoffed. "It’s literally right outside."

"Yeah, well." Butcher shrugged. "'E’s particular about things, ain't he."

That was an understatement.

You grabbed your bag, shaking your head as you stepped past him, heading toward the elevator. Butcher followed, hands in his pockets, too relaxed, too knowing. The car was already warm when you slid into the backseat, the city stretching out beyond the windshield as Butcher started the drive to Ben’s. You exhaled, settling in. The leather seats were too familiar now, the routine too easy.

A thought struck, and you glanced up toward the rearview mirror. "You know what we’re doing tonight?"

Butcher smirked. "Course I do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you gonna tell me?"

"Nope. Not allowed to spoil the surprise."

Your stomach twisted. That meant you weren’t just spending the night in. That meant Ben had plans. You weren’t sure whether to be excited or terrified. Maybe both.

The car slowed to a familiar crawl, the towering silhouette of Ben’s building swallowing the skyline, all glass and steel and quiet menace. Your stomach twisted—not with nerves anymore, not really. With anticipation. With hunger. With the ache that only he could satisfy.

Butcher didn’t say a word until he pulled to the curb. Just flicked his eyes toward you in the rearview and muttered, "Go on, then. Try not to be late next time."

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and stepped into the city’s pulse.

The lobby swallowed you whole in a hush of marble and low lighting, security nodding without a word as you crossed to the elevator. Everyone here already knew who you were.

Ben’s girl.

The elevator purred upward. Your reflection in the polished chrome walls stared back at you—lips glossed, dress strap slipping from your shoulder, hair curled just enough to look like you hadn’t tried too hard.

You looked like something curated.

The second the elevator doors opened, he was there. And then he was on you. He didn’t wait. Didn’t say hello. Just grabbed you by the waist and dragged you inside, kicking the door shut behind him with a low grunt, his mouth already crashing down on yours.

Hot. Claiming. Open. Tongue and teeth and possession.

Your bag slipped from your hand. You didn’t even notice.

His fingers found your jaw, tilting your face as he devoured you, groaning low against your lips like he’d been waiting days to taste you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped between kisses, lips brushing yours, then your cheek, then your jaw. “Missed you. Been thinkin' about tonight all fuckin’ week.”

You barely got a breath in before he was on you again. Hands under your ass, palming the curves he paid for and protected like art.

Your laugh was breathless, dazed. “Hi to you too.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded and greedy, lips wet and parted.

“Don’t need ‘hi,’” he muttered. “Need you. Right now.”

You melted. You always melted.

His hand smacked your ass once, hard enough to make you jump. He grinned at the reaction. “Come on,” he said, tugging you along. “Got your dress ready.”

Your heart fluttered. “You picked it out?”

“Course I did.” He looked over his shoulder with a crooked smirk. “You think I’m gonna let you wear whatever the fuck you want to somewhere like this?”

The bedroom door swung open, and there it was. Laid out like an offering. Cream satin. Barely there. Draped like water, strappy, cut to cling. It shimmered under the soft light, delicate and obscene.

You blinked. “It matches your shirt.”

Ben smirked, tugging his own cuffs down, the fabric clinging to his arms. His dress pants fit like sin, tailored within an inch of their life, the crisp line down his thigh pulling your eyes right where he wanted them.

“Yeah,” he drawled, smoothing a hand down his stomach. “Thought we’d coordinate. Make it real obvious you’re mine.”

You couldn’t stop staring at his thighs. Or his ass. Or the way the muscles in his back flexed under the thin fabric.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

His smirk sharpened. “Wanna ride it?” He asked, voice low, dirty. “Get your slick all over my pants? Hump me like a fuckin’ desperate little doll?”

Your breath hitched. You nodded before you could think.

Ben stepped closer. Close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips. His mouth hovered over yours, and you could already taste him.

Then—

“Too bad,” he whispered into your mouth. “We’re already late.”

And then he pulled away, leaving you reeling, skin hot, thighs clenching, dress untouched. You were already undone, and the night hadn’t even started.

You stepped toward the bed, the soft sigh of satin whispering beneath your fingertips as you lifted the dress. It felt like liquid in your hands—cream-coloured, near-sheer in the light, slinky and obscene, the fabric cool and supple as it slipped through your fingers. It had no sleeves, only delicate straps that promised to sit high and tight on your shoulders, leaving the curve of your collarbones and back exposed to the world.

The neckline was a shallow cowl, dipping just enough to hint at the tops of your breasts, but the real danger was the hem—indecently short, barely grazing mid-thigh. One wrong movement and the dress would bare you entirely.

Ben lounged in the doorway, watching like he was starving.

"You gonna let me see, or you just gonna stand there fondlin' it all night?"

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were already flushing. You turned away, stepping out of your clothes with a practiced grace you hadn’t known you’d learned until now. His gaze burned into your back, heavy and indulgent.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "That ass is a goddamn masterpiece."

You slipped the dress over your head, the satin cascading down your skin like a lover’s tongue, clinging to every dip, every curve. When you turned, his breath caught—audibly.

He stepped forward slowly, like a man approaching a shrine.

"Turn around," he rasped. "Slow. Let me see it all."

You obeyed.

His groan rumbled deep in his chest. "Fuck, baby. You look like sex and royalty had a kid."

You glanced down, brushing invisible wrinkles from the fabric, your skin prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"You done ogling?"

"Not even fuckin’ close," he breathed.

He crossed to you, unhurried, one hand dragging down your arm to where your fingers were still clutching the hem.

"Heels. Now."

You slipped into the little black stilettos he’d left out for you—simple, strappy, cruel. They elevated you just enough to make your legs look endless. You felt dizzy already.

When you looked up, Ben was holding a small velvet box. He popped it open with one thumb.

Gold, emerald, and pearl.

The necklace glinted like it had been plucked from royalty. Emeralds the exact shade of his eyes, cut to catch the light and throw it back like fire. The pearls were soft, creamy, luminous against the sharper stones.

Matching earrings. A delicate clip for your hair.

“Ben—”

“I fuckin’ know,” he murmured. “They’re perfect. Like you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He took the necklace out, stepping behind you. His fingers brushed your neck, and you shivered as he fastened it in place. The cool metal kissed your skin like a promise.

Then the earrings, one by one, careful, reverent. The clip came last—nestled just above your ear, gleaming against your hair like something holy.

When you turned to face him again, his expression had darkened. His tongue swept slowly over his bottom lip, then he bit down on it, hard.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he said, voice hoarse. “I should cancel tonight. Should drown between your fuckin' thighs instead. Spend hours there. Days. Never come up for air.”

You blinked, throat tightening. “Ben.”

He stepped in, chest brushing yours, one hand gripping your hip, the other ghosting down the front of your thigh.

“I mean look at you,” he said, nose dragging up the side of your neck. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. You got any idea what you do to me, baby? Any idea what it’s gonna take for me to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Your breath hitched.

He grinned, then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and smooth. He pressed it into your palm.

A toy. Discreet. Sleek. Wicked.

He leaned close, lips brushing your ear.

“Put it in,” he whispered. “You got five minutes, doll.”

You swallowed hard.

He smirked. “Remote’s in my pocket. Which means your night? Belongs to me.”

The toy felt obscene in your hand. Small. Innocent, almost—until you slid it inside and realised just how not innocent it was.

You braced a hand on the bathroom counter, heart fluttering as the slick heat of it settled deep inside you. It didn’t vibrate. Not yet. But it felt like a wire pulled tight beneath your skin.

You straightened your dress, adjusted the hem. Checked your lipgloss. And stepped back out into the fire. Ben was waiting by the elevator, jacket slung over his shoulder, jaw working as he looked you up and down. He grinned the second your eyes met.

“Got it in, baby?”

You nodded once, already breathless.

“Good,” he said, hitting the button. “You look fuckin’ edible. Might not make it out of this building.”

The doors opened. You stepped in first. He followed. And the second the doors slid shut, he pressed the remote. The vibration hit low and sharp, punching a gasp out of you. Your knees buckled. Your hand flew out to brace against the mirrored wall.

Ben laughed. Deep and smug. Ravenous.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

He winked. Click. It stopped.

“Just checkin’ it works,” he said, casual as ever. “Wouldn’t wanna take faulty gear out in the wild.”

The elevator opened.

You tried to remember how to walk.

The air outside hit your skin like glass—cool and sharp and thick with the city’s low hum. The black car idled at the curb, Butcher leaning against the hood, arms crossed, cigarette pinched between his fingers.

He flicked it away when he saw you and pulled the door open without a word.

Ben helped you in first, one hand firm on your lower back, another trailing down the curve of your ass as you bent to slide in.

“Gotta start wearin’ longer dresses, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Or don’t. Shit, don’t.”

You flushed and sank into the leather seat. Ben climbed in beside you, legs wide, arm already around your shoulders like a fucking throne.

Butcher glanced in the rearview, deadpan. “Jesus. You two done dry-humpin’ or we takin’ the scenic route tonight?”

Ben grinned. “Shut the fuck up and drive.”

Butcher snorted but put the car in gear.

City lights streaked past in a blur. The toy inside you pulsed with phantom memory, your thighs pressed tight together. You shifted slightly, but Ben’s hand gripped your knee and dragged it back open.

“Don’t even think about hiding,” he said. “You wanted to play, you fuckin’ play.”

His hand slid higher, inching toward the hem of your dress. His fingers teased just under the edge, not touching the toy, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“She’s soaked already,” he said, loud enough for the front seat. “Fuckin’ faucet.”

Butcher didn’t even blink. “You keep talkin' like that and I’m gonna end up drivin' into traffic.”

Ben grinned. “That a compliment?”

Butcher’s eyes flicked to the mirror, landing on you.

“Never seen you like this, mate,” he said. “You’ve lost the fuckin’ plot over her.”

Ben didn’t deny it. Didn’t blink. Just grinned wider, like being unhinged over you was a badge of honour.

“Wouldn’t you?” He said. “Look at her. Fuckin’ perfect. Should’ve heard her the other mornin'—cryin’ on my tongue like she wanted to marry it.”

You slapped his chest, mortified. But Ben caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, slow and filthy.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t,” he murmured.

Butcher groaned. “You two need a goddamn leash.”

The car rolled to a stop. Outside, the venue loomed—faceless, nameless, but humming with power. There was no line. No music. Just velvet shadows and the hush of wealth. Ben stepped out first, adjusting his jacket, looking every inch the monster in silk and tailored wool.

He offered you his hand. You took it. He pulled you in tight.

“Try not to make too many people fall in love with you tonight,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “I fuckin’ hate sharing.”

And then you walked through the doors, straight into the mouth of the beast.

The venue looked like nothing from the outside—just a black door, tucked between glass towers, guarded by two men in earpieces who didn’t ask for names. They didn’t need to. Ben nodded once. The door opened.

And you stepped into something else entirely.

All shadow and heat and reverence.

The floors were black marble, veined like smoke. Velvet curtains carved out the space into dark corners and dim alcoves, while the ceiling arched high above in glass and steel and soft gold light. The air was thick with perfume, cigars, and the kind of money that didn’t speak out loud.

Everywhere you looked—eyes.

Men in tailored suits with expensive watches and hungrier stares. Women like sculptures. Everything glittered, but none of it outshone the possessive heat of Ben’s hand on your lower back.

You felt exposed. Seen. Desired.

Displayed.

Ben leaned down as you stepped deeper into the space, his mouth brushing your ear. “You feel that?”

You swallowed.

He smirked. “They’re lookin’ at you, baby. Every one of ‘em.” His palm slid a little lower. “They wanna know who the fuck you are.”

You pressed closer into his side. Your heels clicked like a heartbeat against the marble. The dress clung in all the wrong—and perfect—places, and the toy inside you was a presence, a promise. Not on. Not yet. But waiting.

Ben steered you through the crowd like he owned it. And maybe he did.

You saw them before you reached them. John—smug, drink in hand, grin like a blade. His eyes lit up when he saw you. Not kind. Not warm. Just sharp. Earving stood beside him, dressed to kill and silent, a girl tucked against his arm like an accessory.

And then—

A woman. Short hair, sharp suit, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She was laughing at something another man had just said—immaculate in grey, expression unreadable.

Ben led you straight to them.

“Stan Edgar. Victoria Neuman. This is my girl.”

Stan looked you over like you were data. Victoria’s smile sharpened.

“Pleasure,” she said, voice smooth. “Ben’s been...talking.”

You nodded, barely able to speak under the weight of their attention.

Stan only nodded once. “She’s very... visually efficient.”

Ben barked a laugh. “She’s more than that.”

You were still reeling from their gazes when John stepped forward, cocking his head as he looked you over with that same dripping smirk.

“Benjamin! You finally brought her out again, huh?” He whistled low. “Fuck me, you’ve been hiding a masterpiece.”

You stiffened. Ben didn’t. He stepped in front of you slightly, shielding you with his frame. “Careful, John,” he said, smile tight. “She’s not a museum piece.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” John replied, eyes still on you. “I’d pay to take a closer look.”

Ben’s laugh was dark. Low. Dangerous. His arm locked tighter around your waist.

“You wanna keep your teeth in your mouth, you keep that fuckin’ look off your face.”

John just raised his hands in mock surrender, but the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade.

You pressed closer to Ben, dizzy from the lights and perfume and how exposed your thighs felt under all that satin. He bent low again, his mouth hot against your ear.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Takin’ it all like my perfect little doll.”

His hand found your thigh.

The toy was still silent.

But not for long.

The booth was tucked into the back corner, elevated just enough to offer a panoramic view of the velvet-drenched chaos below. Private, but not hidden. On display. Designed to be watched. Just like last time.

Ben slid in first, legs wide, jacket draped lazily behind him like he owned the entire venue—he probably fucking did. He crooked a finger at you without speaking.

You stepped into the curve of the booth, your body already trembling with the residual tension from the car, the entrance, the stares. He caught you by the waist and pulled you down into his lap.

"Legs open," he muttered into your neck, the command so quiet it might have been a breath. "Whole fuckin’ night. You hear me?"

You nodded.

His hands skimmed your thighs as you settled, one arm anchoring around your waist like a chain.

And then—

The toy buzzed to life inside you. It was soft at first. Barely a tremor. But it landed like a punch. Your thighs tensed instinctively.

Ben didn’t look at you. Just reached for his drink and sipped. Moved you gently from his lap to slip further into the booth. The buzzing didn’t stop. You tried to hide it—to school your face into something neutral. But your hands clenched against your lap, and your breath stuttered. Your pulse was in your throat.

Ben leaned in like he was going to kiss your cheek. He didn’t.

"What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t sit still?"

You swallowed.

His mouth brushed your ear.

"Keep your face pretty. That’s all you gotta do."

You exhaled slowly, legs trembling, clinging to the champagne flute that had just appeared in front of you.

You didn’t even see her sit down. Victoria Neuman smiled like a shark in silk. "Ben hasn't stopped talking about you for weeks," she said casually, crossing one leg over the other. "Good to see he’s not losing steam."

Your lips parted—words stalling. The toy pulsed harder. A moan threatened to escape. You bit it back. Nodded.

"You okay, sweetheart?" She asked, eyes twinkling with a dangerous kind of amusement.

You nodded again. Barely.

She tilted her head. "He’s cruel when he likes someone. You’ll get used to it."

Ben hadn’t moved. He was still across the booth. Watching. Smirking. And then he turned the toy up. High. Constant. Devastating. Your hand trembled as you set the glass down. You could barely breathe.

"He likes them obedient," Victoria murmured, swirling her drink. "But not too quiet. You’ll do just fine."

And then he was behind you. You hadn’t even seen him move. His hands were on your hips, pulling you back into his lap, then your waist, then your throat. His mouth on your neck. Kissing, sucking, biting.

You gasped. He didn’t stop.

"God, you’re fuckin’ shaking," he rasped, voice raw against your skin. "You gonna come in front of her?"

Victoria just sipped her drink, unbothered. "You always were theatrical, Ben."

He grinned into your neck.

"You should see what she gets like, Neuman," he said. "Tries to ride my face so hard she almost passes out."

You whimpered. He bit your ear.

"Don’t come yet," he said, sharp now. Low and dangerous. "Not unless I say. You don’t want me to embarrass you, do you?"

You shook your head, lips trembling.

"Smile," he whispered. "You’re the prettiest thing in the room—act like it."

Victoria laughed. "She’s a mess. You always pick the messy ones."

Ben’s tongue dragged up your neck. His hand slid between your thighs, pressed over the buzzing heat.

"Look at her, Vic," he growled. "Isn’t she a fuckin’ masterpiece?"

You couldn’t answer. You were burning. Shaking. So close it hurt. And he hadn’t even gotten started.

They came in slowly, like the tide—first Stan, silent and surgical in his presence. Then John, already smirking. Earving behind them, ghost-quiet, eyes unreadable. Victoria didn’t move. She just sipped her drink, crossed her legs the other way, and looked amused.

Ben welcomed them with a lazy tilt of his chin, but he didn’t let you go. His hand stayed on your thigh. His breath stayed in your ear.

You were still trembling when you turned. One slow, shaking motion. You straddled him. Face to face, chest to chest, your thighs wide around his lap. Satin clung to your skin, the toy still pulsing inside you like a secret heartbeat. Your hands pressed into his shoulders like you needed the anchor—like you’d float away if he let you.

He didn’t let you.

His hands gripped your waist, strong and certain. And when you dropped your face into his neck, he hummed, low and pleased.

"There she is," he murmured, loud enough for them to hear. "My pretty little mess."

You could hear the clink of ice in glasses. The murmurs of expensive conversation. Stan speaking in numbers. John muttering filth.

But Ben’s hands were creeping lower. The toy buzzed higher.

You whimpered into his throat. He laughed.

"You feel that? Huh? Right here, surrounded by billionaires and snakes, and you’re shaking like you’re gonna fuckin’ break."

You nodded into his skin.

Victoria’s voice came soft beside you. "You’re doing fine, sweetheart."

You turned slightly, cheek brushing Ben’s jaw as you looked at her. She smiled. Not cruelly. But not kindly, either.

"He’s like this," she said, dry. "He just likes the ones who squirm."

Ben’s hand slid up your spine.

"You gonna be polite, baby? Or you gonna come all over my lap while Stan’s tryin’ to talk taxes?"

You whimpered.

Victoria’s hand brushed your back, light as silk. "Don’t worry. No one’s looking."

That was a lie.

Ben kissed your cheek like a lover. Then bit your jaw like a predator. "Beg," he whispered. "You wanna fuckin' come? Say it. Say it out loud."

You opened your mouth... and he turned away. "Edgar," he said, casually. "What’s the projection on Neuman’s little tax stunt?"

Your mouth stayed open. No sound came out. The toy didn’t stop.

Stan’s voice was cold. "Stable for now. But volatile next quarter."

You nodded at something Victoria said. You weren’t even sure what. She was still smirking. Still sipping.

"You're shaking," she whispered, voice meant only for you. "He won’t stop. Not yet."

Ben turned back to you. His eyes were molten.

"You’re close, huh? Gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded. Whimpered. Your legs were trembling. He kissed you—hot and slow and brutal. Then pulled back.

"Too bad."

He clicked the remote. And the toy went silent.

You collapsed into his chest, blinking through heat and tears and shame. He held you like a prize. Like a trophy.

Like something earned, but you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

Then, it started again. A hum—low and cruel—deep inside you.

You gasped before you could catch it. Not loud, but sharp enough to draw Ben’s eyes to you from the corner, his arm tightening around your waist like he felt it too.

"Jesus, Ben," you whispered, the words barely shaped.

He hummed against your ear, unbothered, his voice molasses-slick. "Thought you were relaxin’, sweetheart."

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. The toy kept humming—steady, deliberate, tuned to that unbearable pitch between ache and ecstasy. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his. Your hands fisted the fabric at his shoulders.

And yet—

You looked at him. Really looked.

Ben was talking to Stan again, some quiet, low-stakes business chatter about offshore accounts or quarterly damage control. His voice was smooth, lilting, laced with sarcasm. He leaned back like he didn’t have you straddling him, wrecked and pulsing, on the brink of total collapse.

His beard caught the low light like it had a sheen. Soft at the edges, trimmed at the jaw. His throat moved when he laughed at something John muttered, a sharp bark that exposed those too-sharp canines. The corner of his mouth lifted as he sipped his drink with one hand, the other still heavy on your back.

And his eyes—

God. His fucking eyes.

Green like bottle glass and back-alley secrets, sharp as knives and stupidly beautiful. Bright even in shadow. They sparkled when he laughed, narrowed when he smirked. And he was smirking now.

Not at you. Not yet.

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder, the silk of his shirt damp with heat and breath and sweat. Your heart ached with how much you wanted him. Not just his cock, not just his control.

Him.

You swallowed the whimper building in your throat.

And then, soft as sin:

"Ben."

He turned. Just his head. Just enough to look down at you, eyes slipping slow over your face. One brow arched.

"You okay, baby?"

You nodded. Breathless.

"Take me home."

His face changed.

It wasn’t visible, not fully—not to anyone else. But you felt it. The way his hand stilled. The way his spine straightened. The breath he drew in, low and slow.

"Home?"

You nodded again.

"Please."

The word was a whisper against his collar.

His smirk didn’t return all at once. It built like thunder—low, slow, inevitable. His palm slid up your back, fingers curling at your nape. He kissed your temple. Then stood. Lifted you with him. Like you weighed nothing. Like you were made to be carried.

You buried your face in his neck, felt the beat of his pulse against your lips as he turned from the table.

"Excuse us," he said smoothly, like he wasn’t holding a trembling girl half-fucked in his arms. "She needs a breather."

Victoria’s smile curled like smoke. John’s eyes followed you, grinning like he knew too much. Stan barely looked up.

And then Ben was walking—shoulders square, strides long, your body cradled to his like some obscene treasure.

Through the hush of velvet and vice. Out the black door, into the night, back to where he’d promised to take you.

Home.

The car door shut with a soft click. And then you were gone. Ben didn’t wait. Didn’t give you time to breathe or prepare or brace—he just reached between your thighs, clicked the remote in his pocket, and the toy inside you purred back to life like it never left.

You jerked in your seat, legs trembling, a soft gasp curling from your lips before you could catch it. The city lights blurred past the window, glittering and disjointed, but you couldn’t see them. Couldn’t feel anything but the heat already pooling low in your belly, the friction of satin and skin and heat, and Ben’s hand on your thigh.

His voice came slow and slick in your ear.

"There she is. My girl. My good fuckin’ girl."

You whimpered, already clinging to his shoulder, your body melting into his side.

"You hear that little sound you make when I touch you?" He murmured. "Fuckin’ music. Could write a goddamn symphony off the way you moan for me."

He pushed the hem of your dress higher, fingers teasing at the edge of your underwear, toy humming so deep you swore your bones vibrated.

"Be loud, baby. Butcher doesn’t give a fuck. Hell, he’s seen worse."

As if to prove it, the partition between you and the driver stayed half-lowered. Butcher’s face was blank in the mirror, eyes flicking away like he’d seen this show before.

Your head tipped back as the pressure crested—your toes curled, your thighs trembled. You bit your lip but it didn’t help.

You came with a gasp, a moan slipping loose, high and broken. Your whole body shuddered.

Ben groaned like he felt it too.

"That’s it. Fuckin’ hell, that’s it," he rasped. "Goddamn you’re perfect." His hand didn’t leave you. Didn’t still. "You got another one in you, sweetheart? Huh? I know you do."

The toy kept going, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. You whimpered again, hips twitching involuntarily.

"You’re mine. You’ll give me as many as I want. You fuckin’ love it."

You came again before you realised you were close. A full-body quake, a cry buried in the thick fabric of his shirt, your nails digging into his arm.

The car slowed. Pulled into the private garage beneath his building.

Ben was out of the seat before the engine cut, hauling you into his arms. You barely remembered the door opening. You just remember the lift of your body, the strength in his arms, the way he growled in your ear:

"Can’t fuckin’ wait."

The elevator doors shut behind you, and before it even moved—he had you against the wall.

Dress up. Legs spread. One hand braced beside your head while the other slid between your thighs and pulled the toy free with a slick sound that made your stomach drop.

He stared at it for half a second, then shoved it in his mouth, sucked it clean.

"Jesus fuck," he groaned around it. "You taste like sin."

His fingers were already working you open again, sliding through your folds like he’d die if he didn’t feel you. Your body was limp and shaking, mouth parted, helpless.

You whispered his name.

"Say it again," he growled, tongue pressing the toy against the inside of his cheek before he tossed it to the floor.

"Ben."

The elevator pinged. The doors opened.

He didn’t stop touching you. Carried you into the penthouse with your legs wrapped around him, fingers still buried inside you, mouth on your neck.

The front door slammed shut behind you with a deafening crack. And then you were pressed to it. Your spine against solid wood. His mouth on yours—biting, hungry, rough.

"My fuckin’ girl," he breathed, tongue dragging over your lower lip. "My perfect little toy."

He rolled his hips into yours, cock thick and straining through his slacks.

"You know how long I waited for this? Huh?"

You could barely nod, already panting. He kissed you again. Lower this time. Jaw. Throat. Collarbone.

"Didn’t think I’d ever find someone like you. Someone who gets it. Who gets me."

Another kiss. Another thrust.

"You’re it, baby. You’re fuckin’ it."

And he was going to ruin you. Right here. Right now.

You didn’t feel your feet hit the ground.

Ben carried you across the penthouse like you were weightless, a trembling thing made of silk and need. The city glittered ahead, sprawling and brilliant, a thousand stories blinking against the sky.

He didn’t speak—not at first.

Just pressed you to the glass. It was cool against your back, shocking in contrast to the heat rolling off your skin. You gasped, arching into him, palms flat on the surface as the world stretched out before you like a stage.

Ben’s hands slid up your thighs, dragged along the hem of your dress.

"You feel that, sweetheart?" He rasped, breath hot against your jaw. "World’s right fuckin’ there. Every light, every eye."

His lips crushed yours before you could answer.

The kiss was filthy. Wet and starved. His tongue licked into your mouth like he was claiming it, biting your lip, licking over the sting. You moaned, open and soft for him, arms around his neck as you sagged into his heat.

"Fuck, you kiss like you’re already fucked dumb," he growled, barely pulling back, lips brushing yours. "Droolin’ for it. You hear yourself?"

You whimpered. Nodded.

His hands gripped your ass, lifted you slightly, enough to press you higher to the glass.

"Should see yourself," he muttered. "Lit up like a fuckin’ exhibit. My own personal display case slut."

Your body jolted with the words, thighs squeezing around his hips.

He laughed—low and wrecked—and then he turned you. Spun you slowly, reverently, until your front pressed flush to the glass. Your hands braced high. Your cheek flattened to the cool surface. The view blurred with heat and haze.

Ben crowded in behind you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding up your spine, fingertips dancing over the zipper at the back of your dress.

"You know how long I’ve wanted this?" He murmured. "Since the first fuckin’ night. You stood right here. Right fuckin’ here. And I thought—I’m gonna fuck her against this window. Gonna press her tits to it and split her open so the city knows she’s mine."

He kissed your shoulder. Bit it.

"And you came back. You fuckin’ came back."

You moaned, shaking. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through slick heat, spreading you open.

"Christ, baby. You’re soaked. You’re drippin’ down your fuckin’ thighs."

The sound he made when he sank to his knees was almost reverent. You barely had time to register the heat of his mouth before he was licking you open, biting softly into the curve of your ass, tongue working in tight circles over your clit while you sobbed against the glass.

And then—he stood. Dropped his slacks. No warning. Grabbed your hips. Pressed in. One long, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

You screamed. Hands slipped on the glass. Your body jolted forward, breath fogging the skyline.

"There it is," he groaned behind you. "Tight little cunt, made to be fucked right here. Right where everyone can fuckin’ see."

His thrusts were vicious. Deep. Each one lifting you onto your toes. Your cheek rubbed raw on the glass but you didn’t care.

"Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Ruined. Mine."

He wrapped a fist in your hair, tugged your head back.

"Don’t close your eyes. I want you to watch yourself come apart."

You could see your reflection in the faint smear of light on the glass. Blurred. Wild-eyed. Lips parted. You didn’t recognise yourself.

Ben slammed into you again. You cried out.

"Whole city’s out there, sweetheart. But I’m the only one who gets to fuckin’ touch."

You were gone. Drenched. Gutted. Wrecked on the glass like art. And he was still going. Your cheek was still pressed to the glass when he pulled out of you with a low, guttural sound—like it hurt him to stop.

"Fuck this," he growled. "Need you on the floor."

He grabbed your hips, turned you, and you didn’t even resist—your knees buckled, dress hiked, thighs slick. He dragged you down with him, your back hitting the floor with a thud that rattled your lungs. Cold marble kissed your spine. The city lights spun above like stars on fire.

Ben loomed over you, shirt open now, chest heaving. His hair was stuck to his temples, his pupils blown wide. He didn’t look human—he looked like hunger in its final form.

He pinned your wrists above your head, straddling your thighs, eyes dragging over your body like he was committing it to memory before the end of the world.

Then he spit in his hand. Stroked himself.

Slow. Mean. "You’re so fuckin’ good for me it makes me sick."

You whimpered, legs trembling. He let your wrists go just to drag his hands down your body, over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, gripping your thighs until you gasped.

"I’ve had every kind of pussy," he said, voice low and ragged. "And none of it ever felt like you."

He slapped your cunt. Not hard—but enough to make you jolt. Enough to make your eyes fly open and your breath catch.

"Like God made you just to take my cock, didn’t He? Huh?"

You nodded, lips parted, helpless. A mess beneath him.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dark and reverent.

"Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to."

You choked on your breath.

"Say it. Let the city fuckin’ hear it."

"You," you breathed. "You, Ben."

He kissed you like he needed it to breathe—sloppy and deep and consuming. Then he pressed inside you again with a groan that sounded like it came from his chest.

And started to move. Hard. Deliberate. His pace was brutal, hips snapping, sweat dripping from his chest onto your skin. Every thrust punched a sound from you—soft, broken, pleading.

"That’s it," he hissed. "Fuckin’ take it." His hands fisted in your hair, dragged your mouth to his. "You’re not goin’ anywhere, you get that?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I’d kill for you," he breathed against your jaw. "Burn this whole fuckin’ city down if someone touched what’s mine."

His thrusts stuttered. His jaw clenched.

"You’re it. You’re fuckin’ it for me."

You came with a sob—your body locking around him, clenching, shaking, teeth sunk into his shoulder. He cursed, loud and raw, bracing himself on one forearm as his other hand gripped your thigh.

"Fuck, I’m gonna—shit—I’m fuckin’—" He slammed in deep, buried to the hilt. "Take it. Take all of it, baby."

You cried out, fingers clawing at his back.

"Say you’re mine while I fill you up."

"I’m yours, Ben," you gasped. "Yours."

His hips jerked as he came—loud, guttural, filthy. You felt it spill inside you, hot and endless, his body collapsing over yours as he breathed you in like oxygen. He didn’t move right away. Just lay there, pressed to you, breath ragged, mouth at your ear.

"Mine," he whispered again.

Like a prayer. Like a promise. Like prophecy.

His chest was still pressed to yours. The air between you both felt heavy with salt and sweat and something so much deeper.

Ben didn’t speak. Not at first. He just lifted his head, gaze dragging slow over your face—like he was checking to see if you were real. Like if he blinked too fast, you’d vanish.

And then he kissed you. Soft. Just once. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just a press of his lips to yours that felt like a whisper, like a secret folded into skin. His breath stuttered as he pulled back an inch, eyes still locked to yours.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured, voice wrecked and reverent. "Look at you."

His hand traced your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed like it hurt to see you this way—wrecked and glowing, trembling and perfect.

"I don’t know how the fuck I found you," he whispered. "But I did. And I’m never lettin’ you go."

He leaned in again. Kissed your cheek. Your brow. The tip of your nose.

"Not ever. You hear me?"

You nodded, dazed. Stunned. Still too full of him to know where he ended and you began. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugged gently until he was hovering above you again, nose brushing yours.

"Same goes for you, Ben," you said softly. "I don’t want anywhere else. I don’t want anyone else."

His breath caught. And then he kissed you again. Deeper. Slower. Tongue licking into your mouth like he needed to taste every word you just gave him. His hands held your face like you were breakable. Precious. His. The kiss didn’t ask. It didn’t take. It promised.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were pink and swollen, and his eyes were dark with something softer than lust.

Something terrifying.

"Mine," he murmured against your mouth.

A whisper. A vow.

"Fuckin’ mine."

And you were.

You always would be.

Power is not always taken. Sometimes, it is worshipped. Wrapped in silk and spit, crushed between bodies, bared beneath glass. Given freely, and never returned.

It begins with a glance. A single indulgence. A breathless yes.

And ends here—on a pedestal of bruises and diamonds, teeth and devotion. A prize. A possession. A ruin dressed in reverence.

Because men like him do not love. They claim.

And some altars are built just to be bled on.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl <3

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gf2bellamy · 1 month ago

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Hiiii! I love your fics! How does your brain work is one mystery! I have a request - you know how in 1.17 A Real Rain where they had a case in NYC and Reid says his he has never been there and how in the ep he doesn't know how to use chopsticks, I was think a sunshine!bau!reader x spencer!reid where she gives him a tour around the city and teachers him how to use chopsticks. They can have an established relationship or friends in love or anything, up to you! Thank you Anna love you lotsss!!!

tour — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , they eat lots of food , its honestly just pure fluff a/n: i had so much fun writing this but pls keep in mind that i've never been to new york so if i got something wrong i'm vv sorry ! <3

“Okay, time to start the tour!” you announced, clapping your hands together as you and Spencer stepped out of the hotel lobby and into the crisp morning air of New York City.

Spencer adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, his eyes wide as he took in the towering skyline. You couldn’t help but grin at the way his head tilted back slightly.

God, he’s adorable.

“You’ve really never been to New York before?” you asked, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He blinked, shaking his head. “I’ve read about it. Does that count?”

“Absolutely not,” you declared, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his. “Reading about New York and experiencing New York are two entirely different things. And lucky for you, you’ve got the best tour guide in the city.”

Spencer smiled down at you, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Where are we starting?”

You squeezed his hand and tugged him forward, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. “With the classics,” you said, your voice bubbling with excitement.

Spencer let you lead, his long legs easily keeping pace with your eager strides. He watched the way your eyes lit up as you pointed out little details—the faded graffiti on a brick wall, the smell of fresh pretzels from a street vendor.

“First stop,” you announced, stopping in front of a small, unassuming bagel shop tucked between a deli and a thrift store. The scent of freshly baked dough and roasted coffee beans spilled out onto the sidewalk, and Spencer inhaled deeply, his stomach giving a quiet growl.

“We’re starting with a classic New York bagel,” you said, grinning up at him. “And—” you leaned in conspiratorially, “—they have amazing coffee. Trust me.”

Spencer’s lips quirked. “I do trust you,” he said softly. “But statistically, New Yorkers overestimate the quality of their coffee by at least—”

You pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “Hush, Dr. Reid. Just let me prove you wrong.”

He laughed, the sound warm, and you felt your chest swell with affection.

Inside, the shop was cozy and crowded. You ordered for both of you—an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese for him, a cinnamon raisin with honey walnut for yourself—and two large coffees.

“You remembered how I take my coffee,” he noted, accepting the cup from you.

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’ve seen you drink approximately three hundred cups of coffee in the time I’ve known you. It’s not exactly a hard pattern to recognize.”

He smirked. “Fair point.”

You found a tiny table by the window, your knees bumping against his under the cramped space. Spencer took a careful bite of his bagel, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Okay,” he admitted after swallowing. “This is significantly better than airport bagels.”

You grinned triumphantly. “Told you.”

He took another bite, humming in approval. “The texture is perfect—chewy but not dense, with just the right amount of—”

You reached over, swiping a dollop of cream cheese from the corner of his mouth with your thumb before he could finish his analysis. Spencer froze, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“You had a little something,” you teased.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Thanks.”

You sipped your latte, watching him over the rim of your cup. “So,” you said, tapping your fingers against the table. “After this, I thought we would check out a bookstore, its right around the corner and its perfect for you trust me.”

The moment you mentioned a bookstore, Spencer's entire demeanor shifted. His hazel eyes lit up, and he practically inhaled the last bite of his bagel in his haste.You couldn't help but giggle at the way he nearly choked in his enthusiasm, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk as he tried to chew and declare "I'm ready!" simultaneously.

"Easy there, speed reader," you laughed, standing and offering your hand. He took it eagerly, his long fingers wrapping around yours.

The walk to the bookstore was challenging.

Spencer kept surging ahead like an overeager puppy, his natural long strides carrying him three steps forward before you'd have to gently tug him back toward the correct crosswalk or sidewalk.

"You're worse than a kid on Christmas morning," you teased as you finally reached the store with its hand-painted sign.

Then Spencer saw the shelves.

His mouth fell open in pure wonder, his grip slackening in yours as he took in the towering bookcases that seemed to go on forever, the stacks of novels teetering on every available surface.

You didn't need to look at him to know what he was thinking - you could feel the excited energy radiating off him.

"Go on," you murmured, squeezing his hand once before releasing it.

Spencer didn't need telling twice. He pressed a quick, grateful kiss to your cheek that left your skin tingling, then disappeared into the literary maze.

You wandered through the bookstore, trailing your fingers along spines.

Nearly 30 minutes later, you turned a corner to find Spencer balancing a stack of books in his arms, his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it in excitement. The sight made your heart squeeze affectionately.

"They have the most amazing first editions," he breathed, his voice hushed. His hazel eyes practically glowed in the dim light. "This 1937 printing of 'The Hobbit' has the original color plates, and this copy of 'Frankenstein' is from 1823, and-"

His words tumbled out in an excited rush, hands carefully shifting to show you each treasure. You watched, utterly enchanted, as he explained the significance of each book.

"Should I ask how much all these are going to cost us?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Spencer's excited ramble stuttered to a halt. He blinked down at his armful of books, then back at you, suddenly looking adorably guilty. "...I might have gotten carried away."

You reached up to smooth a wayward curl behind his ear, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. "Good thing I love seeing you happy," you murmured.

The soft, grateful smile he gave you was worth every penny those first editions would cost.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as you emerged from the bookstore, Spencer practically glowing with happiness, his arms full with three bulging bags.

"Time for one of NYC's most famous places," you announced, slipping your hand around his bicep since his fingers were too occupied with book bags to hold yours. You'd offered to swing by the hotel first to drop off his purchases, but he'd refused - as if parting with his new books for even a moment might make them disappear.

Spencer tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Yes?"

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Times Square. The crossroads of the world."

His face immediately lit up with recognition, and before you could take another step, he launched into an animated explanation: "Did you know Times Square was originally called Longacre Square until 1904 when the New York Times moved their headquarters there? And the first electrified advertisement appeared in—"

You listened with fond amusement as his words tumbled out in that rapid-fire way they did when he was excited.

As you rounded the corner, Spencer's lecture cut off abruptly. His steps faltered as the full sensory overload of Times Square hit him - the neon lights, the towering digital billboards flashing advertisements and Broadway snippets. His eyes darted from one spectacle to another, his mind clearly working overtime to process it all.

"Look at that," he murmured, nodding to a massive screen displaying a clip from a Broadway musical. "That staging technique is fascinating."

"We can go see it if you want," you offered, already mentally calculating how to get tickets.

But Spencer was already distracted by something new, his head tilting back to take in a skyscraper's animated LED facade. You let him absorb the moment, content to watch his wonderment.

Then you spotted it - the iconic "I Love New York" store.

"Oh my god," you gasped, tightening your grip on his arm. "We're buying you a mug."

Spencer opened his mouth, likely to protest that he didn't need more souvenirs, but you were already steering him through the crowded sidewalk and into the store before he could form a coherent argument.

The shop was a riot of red and white merchandise - t-shirts, keychains, snow globes, and of course, rows upon rows of mugs. You beelined for the display, immediately grabbing one with the classic logo in bold black letters.

"You need this," you declared, holding it up for his inspection. "Every genius needs a good coffee mug for all those late-night reading sessions."

Spencer's protest died on his lips as he saw your enthusiastic expression. He sighed in mock resignation, but the way his eyes crinkled at the corners betrayed his amusement. "I suppose it would be terrible to visit New York and not get at least one cliché souvenir."

You stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "That's the spirit. Now help me find the cheesiest one they have - I think I saw a glitter version back there."

As Spencer laughed and allowed himself to be pulled deeper into the store.

Once you bought multiple mugs , you wandered down quieter streets, your energy finally waning after hours of exploration. You leaned your cheek against Spencer's arm with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm hungry," you admitted, the words muffled slightly against his sleeve.

Spencer looked down at you. The bags of books swung gently from his other hand as he adjusted his stance to better support your weight. "I'm sure you already have a place in mind," he said.

You pulled back just enough to grin up at him. "You know me so well."

Without hesitation, you guided him toward a cozy little restaurant tucked between two taller buildings. The delicious aroma of soy sauce and ginger wafted through the open door.

"We," you announced as you stepped inside, "are teaching you how to use chopsticks."

Spencer opened his mouth—probably to protest that he could learn just fine from a book—but the hostess was already leading you to a corner table draped in soft yellow light.

Soon enough, you found yourself unable to contain your laughter as Spencer attempted to maneuver the chopsticks. His brow furrowed in intense concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips. The chopsticks slipped again, sending the food tumbling back onto his plate with a quiet plop.

"You're enjoying this too much," he accused, though there was no real annoyance in his voice as he caught your poorly-hidden grin. "I thought you were going to help me," he added when the chopsticks clattered into the bowl of miso soup for the third time.

"Sorry, sorry," you giggled, finally pushing back your chair, as you moved to sit beside him on the padded bench, your thigh pressing warmly against his.

You reached over to rearrange his fingers, your skin brushing against his in a way that made his stomach flutter. "Like this," you murmured, guiding his grip with gentle pressure. "Thumb here, middle finger there... and you have to hold the bottom one completely still."

Spencer's hands were warm beneath yours, his long fingers trembling slightly as he tried to follow your instructions. You could see the exact moment when it clicked for him—his eyes lighting up.

"Ah," he breathed as he successfully lifted a piece of cucumber roll. The triumph in his voice was utterly endearing. "It's all about the fulcrum point."

You rested your chin in your hand, unable to wipe the smile from your face as you watched him carefully—proudly—eat his first successful bite.

"See?" you said softly. "I knew you could do it."

Spencer bumped his knee against yours under the table, a silent thank you that spoke volumes. Then, he used his newly-acquired skill to place a piece of salmon directly onto your plate.

Two hours later, you collapsed onto the hotel bed with a groan as you threw an arm across your face.

"I can't feel my feet," you mumbled into the crook of your elbow.

Spencer carefully set down his precious book bags—their contents now safely deposited on the dresser—before joining you on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, causing you to slide toward him until your head naturally found its place in his lap. His fingers immediately carding through your hair.

"Me neither, to be honest," Spencer admitted with a quiet chuckle, his free hand already pulling out the first book from his bag.

You closed your eyes, letting the motion of Spencer's fingers in your hair lull you into relaxation.

"I got us tickets for that Broadway show you saw on the billboard," you murmured into the quiet.

The pages stopped mid-turn.

"What? How? When?" Spencer's voice held equal parts surprise and delight, his fingers pausing their movements in your hair.

You cracked one eye open to see him looking down at you, his hazel eyes wide.

"When you were staring at that one picture in the Met Museum for like fifteen minutes," you said, a smug smile tugging at your lips. "The one with the fruit basket that you insisted had 'hidden symbolism.'"

Spencer's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed, "That was Caravaggio's 'Basket of Fruit,' and the decaying—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Wait, no, that's not the point. You really got tickets?"

You reached up to boop his nose, enjoying the way it scrunched in response. "Front row center. Tonight at eight."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at you, his expression softening into something unbearably fond. Then, without warning, he bent down and kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

"You," he murmured against your hairline, "are incredible."

You hummed contentedly, closing your eyes again as he returned to his book, though you could feel his fingers trembling slightly with excitement in your hair.

The Broadway show had been spectacular—more than you'd dreamed. His hand unconsciously reaching for yours in the dark when the romantic duet began. You'd laced your fingers together without thinking, his palm warm against yours.

Afterwards, you wandered back towards the hotel, ice cream cones dripping down your fingers while swinging bags of freshly baked cookies and still-warm donuts between you. Spencer kept bumping your shoulder every few steps—partly to avoid the jostling crowds, mostly because he wanted to be close to you.

Back at the hotel room, you changed quickly—you into Spencer's favorite sweater (the one that swallowed you whole, the cuffs falling past your fingertips), him into worn cotton pajama pants that made him look unfairly cozy.

You settled onto the bed, tucking your legs beneath you, while Spencer leaned against the headboard, already halfway through a donut.

"This is perfect," he murmured around a mouthful, his voice thick with sugar and something soft. You nodded, your own cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk's with chocolate chip cookies.

"I hope you liked my tour," you finally managed after swallowing, grinning at him.

Spencer set his donut down —a telltale sign he was about to say something heartfelt. He reached forward, his fingers brushing a crumb from your cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"I loved it." His thumb traced the curve of your ear absentmindedly. "Thank you."

Then, quieter, his gaze dropping to where your fingers twisted in the sheets: "Do you think we can spend another day here?" Before you could answer, he rushed to add, "I'd like to go back to that bookstore," his ears flushing that adorable pink you loved.

You tilted your head, unable to resist teasing. "Were the thirteen books you bought not enough?"

Spencer hesitated, his nose scrunching in that way that made your stomach flip. "No?" he said, the word lifting at the end like a question, and you couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

"Of course we can stay," you grinned, nudging the cookie box aside before gently bumping your knee against his. His smile was worth every changed travel plan in the world.

"Besides," you added, peeking up at him through your lashes, "I saw how you looked at that first edition Poe. We're not leaving until it's yours."

Spencer's smile could have powered Times Square.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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remlionheart · 7 months ago

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hiii !! may seem a bit basic, but chuuya picks up reader after a stressful day at work with his motorcycle fluff and smut 👾.

thank you, u're the best !!

୨ৎ❀ hey, there’s nothing wrong with simple! i appreciate you sending me a suggestion ♡ it's been awhile since we've visited my fave ill-tempered redhead anyway and he deserves all the attention ୨ৎ❀ fluff. smut. deep throating. praise. rich-boyfriend!chuuya x fem!reader. quick lil 1.9k word drabble. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ୨ৎ❀

♡ MDNI ♡

Me 'n My Girl ｡˚☽

so proud to be in your world, just me and my girl ⋆.˚

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A warm mid-evening breeze swept through your hair as you stepped out of large doors of your office building and let out a sigh. The smell of petrichor bounced off of the pavement while a light rain cascaded over downtown Yokohama.

Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been your favorite weather, but the stillness of it was just another reminder of the unrelenting storm of anxiety that’d been plaguing your mind all day.

Nothing had really happened. Work went okay. Your commute there was okay. Your coworkers were okay. Your lunch was okay. Everything was seemingly okay, but that's what made it worse. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your discomfort. Couldn't place the blame on any one single thing for making you feel so off. It was a phantom annoyance. A problem that didn't seem to exist to anyone else besides you.

"Shit." you mumbled, feeling your purse slip from your shoulder as it, along everything it was holding, fumbled out of your reach and spilled out into the middle of the sidewalk.

You were halfway down the stairs, your pumps clicking against the concrete when your hand suddenly reached for the railing. The heel of your shoe breaking clean off, almost knocking you completely off balance.

It wasn't the time to cry. You'd made it so far - managed to hold it together for your entire shift and you were finally at the finish line, but your capacity to handle any more minor inconveniences was well beyond its limit. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, unable to fight back the hot, frustrated tears that streamed down your cheeks while you took both of your shoes off and you gathered up your belongings in defeat.

Chuuya rounded the corner not a second too soon, the loud vroom of his engine coming to a gradual halt as he kicked his foot out to put the motorcycle in park before stepping off.

He smoothed down his disheveled hair, his smirk quickly fading the closer he got to you.

"Baby..." he said softly, looking at broken pair of shoes in your hand and the haphazard way your bag had been slung over your shoulder. "What happened?"

"Nothing," You lied, shaking your head. "It's fine."

He knew you too well though. Knew that if he simply nodded and waited a minute, it would pour out of you without him having to pry. He put a hand on your shoulder, letting you avoid his stare until you finally caved.

"Today was just stupid," You sulked, "Everything was horrible for no reason and then my fucking heel snapped and now," You were fighting an uphill battle against your emotions. More tears pricking at your eyes as your gaze caught his. "And now I can't even ride on the back with you because I'm barefoot and everything is ruined."

Even though he hated seeing you get this worked up, he couldn't deny that there was something so fucking cute about how pouty and helpless you became when things didn't go your way. He took pride in knowing that you needed him, that he was the one you relied on to pick up the pieces when life got too stressful.

"Stay here," he said, taking his leather jacket off and draping it around your shoulders. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nodded at him, watching him tuck his hands into his pockets as he crossed the street. It was easy to forget who he was sometimes. How merciless he could be with other people when he was so gentle and attentive with you. He was a Port Mafia executive who doubled as a golden retriever boyfriend when no one was looking. Calloused and feared by some of the scariest people in Yokohama and yet for some reason, physically incapable of saying no to you.

You wiped your tears away watching him flick his cigarette onto the sidewalk, an unexpectedly large Chanel bag hanging from his wrist.

"C'mere," he said, taking your hand as he led you to the Ducati.

You plopped down on its leather seat with both legs dangling off to one side while he knelt down and opened the bag, sliding a gorgeous pair of black open-toed suede heels onto your feet.

"Gimme the broken ones."

You pulled them out of your purse with a small smile, letting him throw them away in a nearby trashcan before returning back to you. "Better?" he asked.

"You know there's an Adidas store right around the corner?"

He smirked, placing both hands at either side of you, his mouth grazing yours with a whisper. "My girl had a terrible day at work and you expect me to make it worse by buying her cheap shit?"

Your heart fluttered, another slight grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you breathed in the comforting smell of his cologne. "Your girl is really lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well…" he mused, "I have a feeling she'll be makin' it up to me later.”

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

The ride back to his house was peaceful with hardly any traffic for a Thursday night.

There was something about being on the back of his motorcycle that made you feel so indescribably close to him. From the way your body pressed against his to the way he'd tell you to hold onto him tighter. You loved the looks people would flash the two of you as you'd speed past them. The butterflies that flooded your stomach each time he'd start to go faster than he should've. Even if he had a bad habit of occasionally breaking the speed limit, you still trusted him entirely. He was well aware of the difference between having a little bit of fun and being reckless and he'd never cross that line when he was with you.

You felt infinitely better by the time you pulled into the garage, carefully letting your legs fall as he shut off the engine. Your bad day felt like a distant memory - your mind now comfortably occupied with the thousand-dollar shoes that were decorating your feet and the way his eyes lit up as he helped you down.

It was hard to process sometimes that he'd been waking up next to you almost every day for the last year and still looked at you like you had put the stars in the sky.

You grabbed his arm before he could make it inside the house, gently pushing him back onto the seat of his bike. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop you as you hovered above him and began undoing his belt.

"You always make me feel so good." You whispered, reaching up to let your lips catch his while your hands continued to unbutton his pants. "I wanna return the favor."

You could feel him growing hard as his tongue swirled against yours with fervor. A gloved hand resting on the back of your neck to pull you in closer while you reached for his zipper and freed him from the fabric that was separating the both of you.

He let out a low groan when your palm met the base of his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around it as you started to move uppp and downnn at just the right pace, earning even prettier noises from him.

His grip tangled into your hair, moving your head to the side so that he could descend down your neck. Kissing and nipping away at your soft skin while you continued to stroke him. His movements were getting harder to control the faster you went, squeezing him so fucking perfectly that he nearly ripped the front of your shirt open.

You let out a small yelp as he roamed across your chest, lightly slipping your nipple between his teeth while his blue eyes travelled up to yours. "Get on your knees for me."

You nodded, keeping your stare locked with his. Your hand still going in the same motion as you repositioned yourself, kneeling in front of him so that your face was front and center with where he wanted you. You pulled his pants down further, your core aching as you obediently slid your tongue along his base.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth dropping open at how tantalizingly thorough you were, "God, that feels – hah – that feels… so.... good."

You took your time, coaxing more heady praises out of him as you made your way up his length, letting a generous amount of spit trail down his shaft while your hand held him in place. His pink tip was practically dripping with pre-cum by the time you reached it, begging to have your pretty little mouth wrapped around it.

You smiled against him, looking up at him with doe-eyes before giving in to his body's needs. "It's all mine, right?" You asked, causing him to twitch in your hand.

"All yours." He groaned, doing everything he could to stop himself from shoving your head down onto him. He wanted you so bad it hurt, but even in the midst of his clouded thinking, he was still more concerned about you. If you needed to hear him say it, then that's exactly what he'd do.

"It's all yours, baby." He exhaled. "I'm all yours… Every inch of me is all – fucking...your...s"

His words were quickly taken from him though, stolen by the way you’d flattened your tongue and pressed it firmly against his tip.

You watched his eyes roll back as his hand gripped your hair, the two of you working to find the perfect rhythm.

You loved the breathy noises he made for you. The way his hips thrusted forward while he buried himself into the warmth of your mouth. The feeling of him getting harder with each slurp and squelch that echoed across the garage as you struggled to take the whole thing.

"Keep going." He grunted, still fighting the overwhelmingly feral urge to slam into you. "Doin' so good f'me."

You went as deep as you could, easing him into the back of your throat while your tongue continued to glide across his shaft.

His movements became more frantic, his voice breaking the faster you went. "God – damn..."

You kept up the same unrelenting pace, drool spilling down your chin as your eyes locked with his again.

"Fuck," his moans turned into guttural whimpers, his body thrusting desperately in search of release. "Just like that," he choked out, "just like that, don't – fucking stop, please baby... don't stop, I'm –"

He looked lost, completely entranced by the hold you had over him as a lewd warmth coated the back of your throat. More carnal obscenities pouring from his lips as he slowly regained control over his breathing and pulled out of you.

"Next time –" he panted, helping you to your feet before leaning in to kiss you. "I'm buying you the whole fuckin' store."

⋆.౨ৎ˚.⟡˖ ࣪

#rem writes #bsd smut #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara bsd #chuuya smut #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs smut #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x reader smut #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fanart #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd chuuya

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archangeldyke-all · 2 months ago

Note

Can we get an update on paramedic sev?? I thought it was such a cute story

ehhehe sure!!

men and minors dni

when your coworker bumps into and spills an entire pot of piping hot coffee on you, the pain is so sudden and shocking that you don't really register what happens next.

your coworkers swarm you with concerned expressions. you blink. your boss worriedly guides you to sit down, gasping at the blisters already bubbling up in your skin. you sniff. somebody starts helping you out of your hot, soaked clothes. your stomach lurches.

"we should call an ambulance."

well... that'll clear you of your pain fog

"no!" you shout. your coworkers blink at you. "no ambulance!"

under absolutely no circumstances can an ambulance be called. sevika is working right now, and if she gets a call from this address she'll panic. and you don't want her to worry. plus, you probably look gross right now. actually, now that your mind's working again, you're feeling pretty gross.

your boss gives you a horrified look. "no, no, honey, you really need an ambu--"

it's the last thing you hear before you pass out.

----

"baby? you okay?" you groan and blink awake. sevika's wincing down at you. "you got burned real bad on your arms. luckily your clothes kept the rest of ya from too much damage. we're on our way to the hospital."

"oh no." you huff. sevika blinks.

"don't worry, love. they're gonna fix you up real nice. i'm gonna stick by your side the whole time, we'll get you home in no time--"

"no not that." you huff. sevika must've hooked you up to something, because you can barely feel the stinging in your arm. and you feel just a little tipsy. "i didn't-- ugh i told them not to call you guys." you whine.

"what!? why the fuck not?" sevika asks. you shrug, giggling at her glare.

"didn't wanna worry you. knew you'd shit yourself if you got the call."

ran cackles from the driver's seat. "she hit a hundred miles an hour on the way over." they shout. you snort, then glare up at sevika.

"that's not safe, sev." you huff.

she rolls her eyes. "and what's safe about taking a bath in fresh brewed coffee pot?"

you giggle. "okay. we both messed up today. but tomorrow, we'll both be safe, right?" you ask.

sevika snorts and kisses your forehead. "you're cute on morphine."

"ran, promise me you won't let her drive the rig again!" you call, glaring at sevika for the way she dodges your question.

"yes ma'am!" ran shouts from the front seat.

sevika rolls her eyes, rubs a thumb against your cheekbone. you sigh and nuzzle her hand. "we've gotta stop meeting like this." you whisper. sevika grins.

"last time i got a girlfriend outta your accident, what do i get this time?"

"mmm... i'll let you try to knock me up?" you offer. sevika sputters, the ambulance hits a curb, and ran starts to spew curses in what you're pretty sure is a dead language. you cackle.

"how much morphine did you give her?!" ran squeaks. sevika reaches out to start fiddling with one of the bags hanging over your head. you just reach up to fondle her biceps as she works.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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wibben · 2 months ago

Text

White Day

You never meant to fall for your neighbor across the hall.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x fem. reader

↳ wc: 5.4k

↳ notes: i've been wanting to write for my favorite defense attorney for a long time. i'm really excited to have finally gotten around to it! i hope you enjoy!

The day you moved in, you met Hiromi Higuruma on the fourth trip up the elevator with an armful of boxes and the vague promise of a herniated disk.

He was on his way out, manilla folders tucked under one arm, tie just slightly askew – like he’d started the day neat and polished but had since been worn down by whatever mountain of legalese he’d been tackling. There was a quiet, practiced politeness about him as he reached past you to hold the elevator doors, murmuring an apology as if the arm braced overhead were some grand imposition and not, in fact, the only reason you weren’t pancaked between steel.

“You’re new,” he said, glancing from the leaning tower of tape-bound boxes you carried to you teetering behind it. His voice was smooth, deliberate – measured in a way that suggested he was used to choosing his words carefully. “Welcome to the building.”

It wasn’t much, but it was the first kind thing anyone had said to you all week. You clung to it tighter than the packing tape holding your precariously stacked belongings together – a bond that gave out the moment the elevator doors dinged closed behind him, spilling the contents of your life onto the scuffed tile floor.

In the months that followed, you pieced together fragments of his life like a puzzle. Accidentally, you never sought the pieces out so much as found them in your pockets. Hiromi, across the hall, worked too much, slept too little, and lived almost entirely off a diet of conbini meals. He smoked late at night by the building’s front steps – just long enough for you to catch the faint trace of tobacco lingering in the stairwell the next morning – and returned emails from his phone with the grim efficiency of someone accruing more inescapable sleep debt rather than paying it off.

You were an insomniac, with a habit of ordering takeout at hours best described as ungodly. The overlap in your schedules was impossible to ignore – him arriving home as you ventured out to retrieve a bag of comfort food from the lobby. At first, you nodded in passing. Then the perfunctory nods turned into murmured “evenings,” which turned into chats on the way back to your respective doors. One night, you lingered in the entryway longer than usual, your coat doing little to ward off the cold. He stood nearby, a cigarette between his fingers, the ember’s orange glow painting flickering shadows across his face. You hadn’t meant to stay – it was cold, and you were already exhausted – but he looked over and asked, “Rough night?”

You nodded. “Always.”

His laugh was quiet, dry, and just a little self-deprecating. “Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty street ahead. “I get that.”

The next time, you started the conversation. “Long day?” you asked as he fished a lighter from his pocket.

“Mm.” He flicked his gaze toward you, his lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough to send your stomach into a curious tailspin. “They’re all long.”

And so it went – short, fleeting exchanges that somehow turned ritual, little moments you found yourself looking forward to in the long evenings when the hot languor of your eyelids paved way for dark orbital bruises.

“Do you work nights?” he asked one evening, nodding toward the takeout bag in your hand.

“No,” you replied, shrugging. “I just don’t sleep much.”

His brows lifted faintly, a silent acknowledgment of shared affliction. “Ah.”

The silences between you weren’t uncomfortable, and you found you didn’t mind sitting beside him on the building’s concrete steps, a cigarette in his hand and a carton of fries in yours with not a word spoken between you. Other times though, the quiet felt cradled in something else. A brush of his fingers against yours when you handed him a takeout menu you didn’t need anymore, the drawling rasp of his voice murmuring an apology so quiet it made your nervous laugh feel like a hyena's scream in comparison. Once, you caught him glancing back at you just as the elevator doors slid shut, and you couldn’t decide if the flutter in your chest was ridiculous or warranted.

There were the little gestures: a cup of coffee left outside your door, still warm. A text after the building’s hot water went out, letting you know it was fixed. The day he offered his umbrella because yours disappeared somewhere between your door and the front steps – you missed the endearing way he rubbed the back of his neck when you turned your back to unfurl it, pleased you’d accepted it at all.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just coincidence and neighborly kindness, just the nature of living in close quarters with someone whose schedule aligned so improbably with your own.

Somehow, those small moments stacked up – shared smiles in the hallway, quiet exchanges about the weather or the truly horrible plumbing in the building – and one day, you realized you had a problem.

You had a spectacularly inconvenient crush on a man who looked like he hadn’t rested properly in years, and wouldn’t know romance if it flashed a neon sign.

It started small. But then the little things began to stand out. The faint scrunch of his nose when he read a text he didn’t like, which was completely different from the wrinkle that formed at the curve of his bridge when he smiled. The way he always looked up – no matter how dead on his feet he seemed – just to meet your eyes when he said hello. And the way his profile seemed to cut through the gritty, timeworn backdrop of the building’s facade, stark and clean against the crumbling edges. His face would flash crimson as he cupped the end of his cigarette to shield the ember from the wind, flicking the lighter, the filter pinned between his teeth in a way that shouldn’t have been nearly as fascinating as you found it.

By then it wasn’t just noticing, but appreciating. And by the time February rolled around you were hopelessly smitten, your goggles turned the world pastel pink, and you were fully in over your head.

Which was why, on Valentine’s Day, you found yourself carefully wrapping a box of homemade chocolates. They weren’t over the top – no heart-shaped nonsense, nothing pink or frilly – but each piece was infused with flavors he’d mentioned in passing: mocha, coffee, matcha, dark chocolate. Things you’d quietly noted, stored away for no reason other than that you’d wanted to.

You left a note tucked under the ribbon. Simple, casual.

“Hope you like them. Let me know what you think.”

The elevator doors were crawling shut when you heard the brisk thud of shoes on old beaten carpet, followed by the slap of a hurried hand against metal. Long fingers curled through the narrowing gap, prying the steel doors open with a strained push.

Hiromi slipped into the elevator, slightly disheveled and a little breathless, murmuring a bitten curse under his breath as he bent to retrieve the keys he’d dropped. Folders were precariously shoved under one arm, a pen just barely hanging on to the collar of his shirt.

“Morning,” you offered, your smile kind but tinged with the quiet amusement his harried state often inspired.

“Morning,” he replied, straightening and glancing over, his tie already starting its daily rebellion against proper alignment. His sunken but shrewd gaze flickered briefly to the box in your hands, but if he thought anything of it, he didn’t say. “Sorry – didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him, shifting your weight as the elevator shuddered back into motion. The box felt heavier than it had five minutes ago. “Busy day?”

Hiromi laughed but it was throaty enough to be a scoff, clearly bracing himself for the expected impact of another brutally long day. “Aren’t they all?”

You smiled faintly. The silence that followed felt charged, and nerves jangled in your chest. Your heart was hammering, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it, but you hoped it might be mistaken for the grinding clunk of the old elevator gears.

It’s not a big deal, you reminded yourself again. Just a gift. Just a thoughtful gesture. Just a little too forward for two neighbors hovering in that nebulous space between circumstantial friends and something more, but one that might nudge things in a direction you were too cautious to name outright.

When the elevator gave its telltale groan as it neared the ground floor, you cleared your throat and stepped forward.

“Um, hey—” You held the box out to him, hands steadier than you’d feared but not quite steady enough for your liking. “I… made these. Thought you might like them.”

Hiromi blinked, his gaze snapping to the box with faint surprise. For a moment, his expression teetered between caught-off-guard and something softer, before smoothing into that burnt-out neutrality you’d seen him wear so many times. “Oh.” He juggled his folders into one hand, careful despite his hurry, and accepted the box with a quick bow. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

When he straightened, he offered you a small, fleeting smile – it made your stomach twist in on itself and spawn butterflies, no matter how many times you’d seen it.

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, and he stepped out with an apologetic glance at his watch. “I’ll see you around, won’t I?”

“Yeah,” you barely managed to eek.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the morning rush with your chocolates in one hand and his folders in the other with pages fluttering like paper wings.

You lingered in the elevator after the doors slid shut again, staring at the empty space he’d left behind.

It hadn’t gone how you’d expected – not your pre-planned worst-case scenario of a mortifying rejection of your feelings, and yet, somehow so much worse, because it wasn’t the rose-tinted reciprocation you’d naively dared to daydream about, either. The thanks and hurried acknowledgment barely registered against the clear distraction in his eyes. You’d poured so much into those chocolates, and you were left clutching distracted politeness like a consolation prize.

By the time you made it back to your floor – after a mortifying number of circuits up and down – you’d collapsed into the corner, head buried between your knees. Embarrassment wasn’t just a flush in your cheeks; it was a whole-body takeover, wrapping you in shame as thick as the tiles were cold. When the next passengers shuffled in, you peeled yourself off the floor, dodging their alarmed glances like a guilty specter as you slunk back to your apartment to lick your wounds.

Hiromi never mentioned the chocolates. Not once.

So, you did the only reasonable thing: you avoided him. It wasn’t like you’d outright confessed, but the thought of that little box sitting in his hands – or worse, the top of his trash bin – had you cringing so hard your spine might’ve snapped. Passing his door became a tactical mission: footsteps muted, breath held. The faintest whiff of tobacco from your window had you retreating like a skittish alley cat.

But while you ducked and dodged, Hiromi… didn’t. Every afternoon, he plucked another piece from that box, letting them melt on his tongue during rare, stolen breaks at his desk. Mocha when the morning slog threatened to drown him. Matcha when coffee breaks needed a little extra something. Dark chocolate after a colleague dumped another stack of case files onto his desk with an apologetic shrug.

Every evening, Hiromi waited beneath the weather-beaten veranda, the spot you both claimed without ever speaking something so official. His coat collar turned up against the cold, cigarette glowing like a signal flare, he’d scan the dim hallways for your familiar shuffle. He wanted to thank you. Tell you how your chocolates made the grind a little sweeter, made him feel a little lighter, and he was grateful for the little things.

But you never came. Not for long enough to speak, at least. Instead, you became a blur – an apparitional gremlin of mismatched pajamas, half-smushed pillow hair, and hurried footsteps. The only sign of you was the tributes he’d leave on your doorstep, his offerings of coffee and muffins, gone by the next time he passed.

Through the curling smoke of his cigarette, he wondered if you were sleeping better. Maybe that’s why you don’t join him as often anymore, why your late night rendezvous suddenly returned to being a solo affair. He hoped so.

The day had been a marathon of mediocrity, the kind of relentless tedium that blurred its edges into monotony. Paperwork bred more paperwork, meetings inexplicably managed to feel both crucial and utterly pointless, and the office coffee – gritty with a scorched aftertaste – served only as a cruel reminder of how far his standards had fallen.

Hiromi moved through it all like a ghost of himself, his body operating two steps behind his thoughts, trailing in that sluggish haze unique to too-little sleep. Four hours wasn’t the worst he’d had this week, but it came with its usual cargo: dreams that clung like cobwebs, fragile but persistent. Unfiled briefs, missed deadlines, the kind of nonsense that soaked through his undershirt and had him gasping awake at three in the morning.

By early evening, when a colleague materialized in the doorway, Hiromi had surrendered himself to the day’s slow crawl. His office, lit in jagged strips of orange from the low-hanging sun slicing through the blinds, had taken on a tomb-like quality – stifling, quiet, and inescapable.

“You’re still here?” The man lounged against the doorframe like a picture of eight hours' sleep and a decent breakfast, a stark contrast to Hiromi’s wilting state. He wore the smug energy of someone whose day had gone entirely to plan. Must be nice.

Hiromi didn’t lift his gaze from the monitor. “Where else would I be?”

“Home. Out. Making the most of the day,” came the reply, too chipper for this hour.

There was something in his tone that prickled, a faint suggestion that today should be different, though Hiromi could only just summon the curiosity to ask why. “What makes this Friday any different from last?”

His colleague shrugged, the movement loose and nonchalant. “Oh, nothing. Just, you know, White Day and all.”

Hiromi blinked, his expression an unbroken mask of indifference, save for the flicker of his eyes, which shifted upward with the kind of mechanical courtesy reserved for the truly drained. “Hm?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Should I?”

“It’s March fourteenth,” his colleague drawled, the words slow and deliberate. “White Day. The day you’re supposed to return the favor for Valentine’s Day.”

Hiromi’s brain sputtered, then juddered to life with all the elegance of an old engine coughing through winter. “Oh,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hand dragging through his hair as if trying to pull clarity from his skull. “That’s today?”

“Brutal.” His colleague sucked air through his teeth, his expression a caricature of pity, though his eyes gleamed with the mischief of someone who’d spotted an opening. “Didn’t get a gift for anyone?”

Hiromi snorted with arms stretched above his head, his exhaustion thinning his filter. “No one got me anything, so there’s no one to return the favor to.”

“Huh. Rough.” The younger man pushed off the doorframe with a shrug, his jacket slung over his shoulder in a gesture that felt entirely too self-assured. “Well, I’m heading out early. Got a dinner reservation. Gotta make sure I’m on her good side before I make it official.” He grinned, throwing a thumbs-up so cheerfully condescending it bordered on insult. “Good luck with… whatever’s keeping you here.”

“Good luck,” Hiromi replied flatly, already turning his focus back to his monitor.

But the thought lingered, catching like a burr in his mind, tugging at him with small, relentless hooks. No one had given him anything for Valentine’s Day – no soft-spoken confessions, no blushing declarations with trembling hands and gift-wrapped tokens. There had been no shyly offered gestures for him to downplay, no dramatic moments requiring his polite reassurance: “No, no, please, there’s really no need for all of that.” Nothing.

Except… there had been.

The memory surfaced slowly, a faint glimmer in the fog of his overworked mind, before it crashed into him with the force of a truck on the freeway. One moment he was scrolling through a deposition; the next, his pulse skipped, his hands frozen over the keyboard as the realization unraveled in merciless detail.

The elevator.

You’d both been in it that morning – was it really a month ago, now? – him juggling loose files and mentally compiling an impossible to-do list. You’d handed him a small box, your voice soft but steady, and said, in a way he thought was oddly shy for you, “Thought you might like these.”

He’d thanked you automatically, his tone clipped with the reflex to bury the ridiculous warmth that kindled in his chest, before all but sprinting through the entryway doors. He hadn’t even realized it was Valentine’s Day then, hadn’t stopped to consider the gift as anything more than one of your many small kindnesses that were always his undoing.

You were thoughtful like that. Always had been. The spare umbrella you’d pressed into his hands during last year’s rainy season. The mugs of instant coffee you’d offered during late-night power outages when the dim hallway emergency lights turned the corridor into an impromptu meeting ground.

You, who never made him feel like his exhaustion was something to apologize for, even when he collapsed into your shared conversations like a marionette with its strings cut.

You, who had been the quiet balm to so many of his sorriest days.

And somehow, he’d forgotten.

The box had ended up buried under a week’s worth of neglected paperwork by mid-morning that day, forgotten until a rare, unhurried moment between consults. When he finally opened it, he’d been greeted by chocolates arranged with precision that could only come from care. Not the haphazard, store-bought variety, but something deliberate – each flavor attuned to his preferences, each one a quiet nod to things he’d mentioned in passing, likely without even realizing you’d been listening.

He’d eaten them over the following days, savoring the indulgence but not the intention. The empty box, now stripped of its original purpose, sat on his desk, crammed with paperclips, pens, and a single stray thumbtack.

Hiromi leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could blot out the creeping tide of guilt threatening to swallow him whole. The past month replayed in his mind, vivid in a way they never were before – a montage of your silences, the way your smiles had grown quieter, your usual warmth edged with something more cautious. He’d chalked it up to stress, bad timing, anything but what it really was: his own staggering obtuseness.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he muttered suddenly, his head falling back against the chair as he twisted sideways, fixing his beleaguered coworker with a look that bordered on desperation.

The younger man froze mid-step, clearly debating the safest answer. “Uh…”

“I like my job a lot, sir,” he hedged, after a moment too long.

Hiromi let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Forget it. Go enjoy your dinner.”

The man didn’t wait to be told twice. The door clicked shut, and Hiromi was left alone in the oppressive quiet of his office, slumped in his chair, staring at a crack in the ceiling like it held answers.

God, he was an idiot.

Because the truth was, he noticed things about you, and he wasn’t used to being so perceptive about anything but work. The way your apartment light stayed on well past midnight, the faint glow visible from the sliver beneath your door. The way you hummed to yourself in the hallway, just barely audible, your voice low and private – except he was always listening for it, attuned to it, lingering by his own door in case he might "happen" to step out at the same time as you.

He’d been so careful not to overstep, so committed to keeping his distance, convinced that somehow, you’d notice him the way he noticed you. Maybe he’d been too subtle. Standing in the same spot every night, cigarette after cigarette, the nicotine rush indistinguishable from the pleasure gleaned from moments he stole with you. And now?

Now he owed you.

Big time.

Hiromi shoved back from his desk, grabbing his coat and his phone in one motion. His fingers fumbled over the search bar as he walked, half-blindly typing: “last-minute White Day gifts.”

Jewelry? Too much. Flowers? Too predictable. He swore under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He’d figure it out when he got there. Something would speak to him. He didn’t have time to second-guess himself anymore.

Not about you. Hiromi sprinted through the office, his coat slipping from one shoulder, tie askew as he lunged for the elevator button. When the doors stalled, he snarled a sharp curse, bouncing on his heels, as though sheer impatience could force them to hurry. The moment he hit the street, the cold air stung his face, jarring him into focus. His breath fogged in frantic bursts as he dodged through the evening crowd, weaving between briefcases and backpacks with a single refrain pounding in his skull: Weeks, Hiromi. You’ve had weeks.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this – racing to fix what he’d fumbled, clutching at something he should’ve noticed was already slipping away. You’re a grown man, not some clueless teenager. But that was exactly what he felt like as he stumbled into the nearest store, his heart sinking the moment he stepped inside.

It was carnage.

The shelves had been picked clean by people far more organized, thoughtful, and prepared than he’d ever managed to be. Half-empty displays of gaudy packaging mocked him from every aisle. Cheap chocolates in crushed boxes. Plush bears with matted fur that looked like they’d been stepped on. The sad, plastic sheen of leftover trinkets that no one with an ounce of dignity would ever gift to someone they actually cared about.

Hiromi ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration as he paced the aisles like a trapped animal. His brain, which had spent the day sluggishly dragging its feet, was now overcompensating – overthinking everything in the worst possible way.

What if she hates this? What if she thinks it’s insulting? What if this just makes everything worse?

He could picture it now: your face falling in polite disappointment, your soft, "Oh, you didn’t have to," laced with the kind of subtext that screamed you really shouldn’t have.

No. That wasn’t an option.

Hiromi doubled back for the third time, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty store. His phone buzzed with an email reminder of the job he’d abandoned, and he resisted the urge to hurl it into the nearest display of cheap candles. He grabbed at something – not because it felt right, but because he was out of time and out of options.

It wasn’t great. Hell, it wasn’t even good. But it was something.

And the rest? The rest would just have to be a groveling apology. A way to explain himself without coming off like a total asshole, to let you know he wasn’t the man you probably thought he was after weeks of appearing apathetic.

It would have to be enough.

He clutched the bag to his chest as he jogged out of the store, and started making his dash for home.

Maybe, if he was lucky, the gesture would mean more than the thing itself. Maybe.

The evening air burned in his lungs as Hiromi sprinted down the sidewalk, the soles of his dress shoes slapping against the pavement with a rhythm as erratic as his breathing. A suit, he learned – rather painfully – was not designed for anything more strenuous than a brisk walk.

His tie had long since loosened lest it choke his already struggling airway, and his coat flapped behind him like a cape, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when lady serendipity smiled upon him with pity when he saw you just ahead, reaching for the brassy bar of the building's entry door.

“Wait! Wait!” You froze mid-step at the sound of your name, sharp and startling, ricocheting off the concrete walls. Turning quickly, you caught sight of Hiromi – half-bent over, hands braced against his knees as he dragged in air a few short steps below you. “Are you okay?” The question slipped from your tongue before it even rooted in your brain, concern knotting your brows as you took in the disheveled sight of him.

Hiromi straightened, not quite gracefully, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “I realized—” he began, words forced out between gulps of air, one hand lifting to clutch a small plastic bag that swayed pitifully against his trembling fingers. “I realized – hah I’m out of shape – I never properly thanked you for your Valentine’s gift.” The admission caught you entirely off guard.

“Oh.” Your voice came out faint, startled, and entirely inadequate to convey your sudden tangle of emotions. Relief mixed with confusion, unraveling the anxious knots you’d carried for weeks.

“I’m a complete and utter ass,” Hiromi barreled on, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. “Truly, an irredeemable ass. The chocolates? Fucking stellar.” He swallowed, wetting his throat that stuck itself closed from the cold air sucked down his windpipe. “But I hope you can forgive me for my… my ass-ery.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, and the tension in your shoulders eased. Your hand dropped from the door to more casually clasp your wrist in front of you. “Your… ass-ery?” “Yes,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s a clinical diagnosis, I’m afraid.” You shook your head, smiling now as it was always so easy to do as he thrust the bag toward you. “Here. I—well, it’s not much, and honestly, it’s terrible, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes locked on the bag rather than you. “I thought you deserved something. And an apology.” Your heart warmed, then grew hotter still, a supernova blooming in your chest until you were certain you must be a brilliant viewing hazard. Oh my god, this is happening, this is really happening— Curious, you peeked into the bag…

To find a small potted cactus, squat and prickly, nestled beside a tin of mints.

You stared at the contents, your brain valiantly attempting to connect dots that refused to align. Then, slowly, you looked back up at Hiromi, blinking as the sheer absurdity of it all began to take shape. “Hiromi…” you started, your voice dragging slightly, in perfect sync with the slow crawl of your eyebrows knitting together. “What am I looking at right now?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his discomfort manifesting in the faint flush creeping up from the open collar of his shirt. “They were out of flowers,” he said, a little too quickly, his tone and expression both pleaded for understanding. “Cacti are… supposed to be hardy. Low maintenance. Practical.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out, your gaze drifting helplessly back to the cactus like it might somehow offer an explanation. Finally, your eyes narrowed on the tin of mints, holding it up as if demanding it speak for itself. “And these? Am I being politely told I have bad breath? Should I…?” You gestured vaguely toward your mouth, your deadpan delivery sharpened by the incredulous lift of your brow. “What? No! Of course not!” Hiromi’s wide-eyed horror was immediate, followed by a sigh that bordered on despair. “They were out of decent chocolates too, if you can believe that. All the ones left looked like they’d been stepped on or…” His nose scrunched slightly. “...or licked, probably.” It all hit you square in the chest then, and you couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst out. It rang across the sidewalk, echoing against the walls, and for a fleeting moment, Hiromi looked almost dazed, like the sound itself had knocked him off balance. “Hiromi…” You shook your head, trying to catch your breath as you gestured vaguely at the gifts still cradled in your hands. “A cactus and breath mints. I don’t even know where to start with that—”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners, and he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, ruffling the stubborn strands to fall in hooks over his forehead with a self-deprecating snort. “You’re not supposed to start. You’re supposed to forgive me for being an idiot, and let me take you out for dinner.” You looked up from the strange gifts cradled in your palms, meeting his gaze. His face was still flushed, his tie hanging on for dear life over his shoulder, and his chest rose and fell unevenly, but there was something so earnest in the way he looked at you – like he would and did run all the way across the city just to say this. “I’m going to put these… thoughtful gifts inside,” you said, the sickle curve of your smile applying a damning edge to the teasing lilt in your voice.

You turned to head upstairs, but hesitated, the words catching on the tip of your tongue. Your pulse thrummed, and for a moment, you felt suspended – caught between the weight of your nerves and the feather-light hope fluttering just beneath them. Before you could second-guess yourself, the question tumbled out. “Do you… want to go to the izakaya a few blocks over?” For a moment, Hiromi simply stared, wide-eyed and stunned like you’d offered him the key to salvation. His stillness stretched the seconds thin, and then – bit by bit as he finally seemed to believe you – the rigidity in his frame unraveled, replaced by something altogether softer and breathtaking in its sincerity. “Oh thank god,” he said, frayed at the edges and incredulous. He cleared his throat straightening with a sheepish cant of his head. “Yes, I’d like that. A lot.” The way he looked at you then – with such gratitude and appreciation – sent your heart into a clumsy somersault. It wasn’t all that different from how he’d looked at you all along during those late night smoke breaks or slow traipses down the hall. Maybe you were a fool too for not noticing sooner. “Okay,” you replied, your smile curling so wide onto your face in a way that made it impossible to even try to play coy. “Yeah! Yeah—okay… give me a few minutes!”

Hiromi stepped aside to let you pass. He watched until you disappeared into the building, his calm, composed exterior holding steady until the door clicked shut behind you. Only then did the cracks appear – his breath shuddered out in a rush, and he broke into a tight, eager circle of pacing on the sidewalk. His hands flexed at his sides, barely containing the bubbling energy before one shot up in a victorious fist pump. Yes. Yes! The word pulsed in his chest, each repeat hitting harder than the last. His grin stretched wide, a little lopsided, and he dragged his hand down his face to rein it in – unsuccessfully. Inside your apartment, your composure unraveled just as spectacularly. The door slammed behind you as you collapsed against it, pressing your back to the wood, chest heaving as the realization hit in waves. You were going on a date with Hiromi. Your breath caught, your hands flying up to cover your face as a giddy squeal escaped – a sound you didn’t even try to stifle. You slid down the door to sit on the floor, every inch of you vibrating with pure, unfiltered excitement. You quickly peeled yourself off the ground, your grin so wide it ached as you darted through your apartment. The little cactus found a place on the bedroom windowsill, perfectly positioned for sunlight, but your thoughts had already wandered far beyond it. You regarded the mints, staring at them clutched in your palm, your thoughts spinning out in a thousand directions. Dates. Late nights. The shape of his smile. His mouth. His mouth alone was an entirely separate line of thought that sent your stomach into freefall. Your fingers lingered on the tin before you flipped it open, popping a mint in your mouth with a little hum of delight at the cool burst of peppermint. You tucked the rest into your bag with a flicker of a grin that might’ve been a little too self-satisfied, but who could blame you? Just in case you needed them.

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