#Enough to come check up on him and make sure he's doing okay and waiting for him - encouraging him - to try to come back out

[hungharrington]

i love every single one of the summer smut prompts and am manifesting them for everyone this summer but "utilisation of the ties on the sides of bikini bottoms" for stevie? 🥰

i wish that for everyone also!! okie this became filthy so quickly lol but i also hope everyone looked at this prompt and went 🙂‍↕️ steve's a munch. afab!reader, 1.8k, overstim, a very unsanitary use of a kitchen counter, nearly mean!steve, mdni this entire blog is 18+

unravelled

"You know," Steve murmurs in your ear, his breath hot across your skin. "This is normally much harder."

The kitchen counter digs into your lower back lightly, the stone cool compared to your flushed skin. Steve's crowded against you, his hands wandering, with a particular interest in the sides of your bikini. He's close enough you can feel the scratch of the hair of his chest, feel the heat of his body.

He kisses your neck. You try to hold even a modicum of power here.

"Is that—" Your sharp inhale interrupts, due to the hickey Steve's beginning to paint onto the sensitive skin of your neck. "—some, like, stupid dick joke?"

You feel, rather than hear, Steve's responding laughter. It's light and immediately buried beneath another scrape of his teeth along your neck. You gasp softly, entirely unsure what to do with your hands.

It's not as if you're surprised you ended up here — you and Steve cooling off in the pool, with minimal fabric between you, is hardly a difficult equation.

It's more the here, the now.

You're still in the kitchen for christ's sake—and yet no part of you wants to tell Steve to wait so you can move it upstairs just yet. You're more eager than you'd expect to see where this goes.

"No," Steve says raspily, dragging his mouth off you.

You wonder if its because he knows you can't pay attention to anything else when he's kissing you — because you become rapidly aware of the way his fingers have slipped beneath the ties of your bikini.

"'M talkin' about these," He says, pulling back. His lips are pinker than ever, his eyes darkened with desire. He smirks. "They make for such..."

He toys with the string on one side, giving it the lightest tug. Your stomach twists up, in excitement though you realise, as it dawns on you that might not even make it up to the bedroom.

"Easy access." He finishes, releasing his hold on the string and instead letting the tie ping back against your skin with a snap!

Your breath shudders out of you, nipples peaking beneath your bikini, and suddenly you're absolutely sure you'll do anything to have this man ravish you. Steve must see it, the heaviness that sinks into your gaze, because he's grinning all of sudden.

His hands on your hips shift back, palming over your ass, before he mumbles, jump, and you're swiftly lifted up and onto the counter. The marble is still cool, though not enough to explain the goosebumps prickling along your body. That's from Steve entirely.

His hands bracket your body as he finds space between your parted knees, leaning in and kissing you hotly.

Your pulse rabbits in your chest, your hands finding their place either side of his face, pulling him closer. You're both on the same page now, you can tell.

Still, Steve still asks. "You okay?

He's toying with your bikini strings again as he does, evidently what he's asking about. You nod, a little mmhm coming from your throat because you're a little scared about how debauched you might sound before he's even started.

Steve grins, hazel eyes shining with adoration as he peers over your face. "Good. Just want my baby to have fun."

It's gooey enough to make you roll your eyes, just so you don't have to deal with how sappy it makes you feel. Still, with your hands cupping his face, you urge him closer.

"So long as you're also having fun, yeah?" You check, stealing a kiss from his lips. Your noses touch and Steve nuzzles in closer, another kiss shared.

"Fun? Absolutely." He sounds so sure, so you don't stop him when he pulls back. He glances down to where his long fingers are still playing with your bikini strings, then back up at you, a hunger to the lust in his eyes.

"See?" He says nonchalantly. "It's like you're gift-wrapped for me, honey."

Then he tugs on the string, slow and continuous, until the knots unravels, undoing your bikini. You watch with bated breath as he does the same on the other side til the fabric sits loose and free. The sticky evidence of how riled up he's got you just inches away.

Your cunt pulses hotly, heartbeat too strong. You need him to do something, like, yesterday.

Steve moves slowly, as if drawing out the moment for himself, dragging a finger down the crease of your thigh. It pushes the fabric with it, slowly revealing you to him. There's a string of slick still connected and you can hear the soft groan Steve makes the moment he sees it.

"Oh, honey," He coos. "S'cute how excited you are."

Some biting response rises on your tongue, but then his hand is moving again — his thumb this time, rubbing along the lip before he nudges your folds open more.

Something flames inside you, feeling oddly inspected, as his other meandering hand sinks lower and lower. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, urging him in, but Steve only makes another soft groan. His finger traces just below your leaking hole, finally picking up some slickness.

Your patience runs out. "Steve," You say pitifully. "You said fun."

He grins, gaze switching up to your face, already well aware of your impatience from the twitch in your hips.

"Okay, baby, we will," He promises. Then he nods to behind you, "Lay back if you want."

Then he sinks to his knees, bringing his face aligned with your hot cunt. Your tummy warms, your hole clenching around nothing again, as what he wants dawns on you. Your hands stumble back, letting you lean back a bit, but your eyes stay glued to your boyfriend.

The air is thick with heat. Cicadas sing in the background, through the open door. You can't hear anything but your heartbeat.

Steve looks like a goddamn angel, on his knees between your legs, and something keens inside you when he uses both thumbs to spread your silky folds — then he leans forward and begins to lap softly at your clit.

A shuddering gasp is pulled from your mouth instantly. "Oh fuck," You whisper, already fighting against closing your eyes.

A heady warm pleasure beginning to drizzle through your core. Steve's tongue is warm, the way he's spread you giving him access to a thousand more nerves. You fall into heaving breaths as you try to keep up.

Steve licks, tongue flat, tortuously slow against you, gentle in a way that makes it hard to chase. It's a buzz of pleasure you can sink into, but it's almost... teasing.

"Steve," You whine his name again.

Steve moans in response, the hum of it against your clit friction enough to make you squeak. Your elbow buckles and you let yourself lower down to rest on them—it'll hurt like hell later but for now, nothing matter more than Steve's mouth between your thighs.

One of his hands shifts, the thumb moving from where its holding you open, down, down, til it rests near your entrance.

You clench unwittingly, hips tilting up, trying to clue him in. A whimper slips through your teeth — and you get another moan against your cunt in response.

But if Steve gets your hint, he doesn't show it. His thumb only moves to rest over your hole, beginning to draw slick circles, taunting you wickedly.

The combination of his lapping tongue and feathersoft touches are maddening. Your stomach burns hotly. Your hips twitch again. Your chest heaves, desperate noises warbling from your mouth. You're burning up from inside, tortured from the waves of soft pleasure driving into you.

"Steve," You whimper his name again, suddenly desperate for more. You want his fingers sinking in you, crooking and finding that spot he knows so well. You want the filthy suckle of his mouth, twisting his tongue over your clit in a way he's done before.

All your pleas come out in a stilted, jagged moan, "St— Steve, please, oh fuck, please—"

"Sh, sh," Pleasure tapers off as Steve pulls back to hush you, the thumb over your entrance still circling, pressing ever so slightly from time to time. "It's fun, isn't it? You're having fun?"

You're nodding quickly, not wanting him to stop, and he resumes his lapping, his other thumb shifting to ensure the hood of your clit is lifted.

You moan, languid and pitiful, as the same flow of pleasure begins — a drip, drip, drip, that feels amazing but not enough to satisfy.

You're not sure how long it goes on like that.

The stroke of Steve's tongue, relaxed and slow, continues whilst you squirm on the counter, leaking wetness onto his teasing thumb. It feels like hours, though you know it's realistically closer to barely twenty minutes.

All you know is at some point, the drip fills the bucket.

It'd been building so long you hadn't noticed — that at some point your pleasure, agitated enough in small amounts, over and over, was still working towards going on the edge.

You tense, shallow pants suddenly heaving your chest, your head thrown back and your back arching. Steve is the same, keeping his soft licks and gentle touches, and you writhe as the blazing feeling mounts.

"Steve," You mewl pathetically.

The next lick will be the one that does it. It has to be. You can't keep building.

The pleasure singes in your gut, Steve's tongue pushing over your clit, and it's not enough.

"S-Steve, please, pleasepleaseplease," Your voice sounds wrecked. "Just— c'mon- I'm— please—" You sound truly desperate.

Steve moans against you, low and hot, and he finally, finally pushes his thumb forward, sinking into the slickness easily. Clenching around it immediately, a flame zips up your spine, sending the bucket tipping over completely.

Pleasure melts over you, hot and fiery, and you make a high-pitched gaspy noise that Steve will undoubtedly call adorable later. For now, he works you through the orgasm dotingly.

Using one hand, he keeps your hips pinned to the counter while the other toys with your fluttering, gushing hole. You moan pathetically, hips working furiously against Steve's hold futilely.

His tongue keeps the same soft laps the whole time.

Eventually, you have to tap his forehead to get him to stop, when the pleasure fades off and you begin to near overstimulation.

Steve pulls back slowly, almost reluctantly. His face is pink, his lips sheened in your arousal, pulled in a smirk.

"Fun, right?" He asks. His voice is gravelly from underuse and you swallow back the desire it sends through you. You're still panting, still trying to catch your breath. You nod, knowing Steve wants the feedback, wants to know he's done well.

"Why stop then? Don't you wanna keep having fun?"

Your eyes snap back to him, focused now, as you realise no that is not what Steve was asking for.

You watch as his head lowers back down, then he slowly resumes the kitten-licks to you clit. His hungry eyes stay fixed on yours, taking in every twitch of your overstimulated body with a soft groan.

You realise, pleasure bleeding in through the overstimulation, that you'll let him do it over again.

You take his advice this time and lie all the way back.

come join the celebration <3

[hahaifolded]

Cellophane - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Tags/Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), one-sided relationship Author's Note: I genuinely have no clear where this came from. I had to take a lap while writing this because wtf. Read with precaution!

Johnny: Sorry about that. My phone died but on my way.

So many emotions swirl your head as you pick at the loose threads on your couch. You weren’t sure what you were feeling right now. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Betrayal. 

All you knew that if Johnny doesn’t have a good reason for this, it’s ov— 

Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is your Johnny for fucks safe. Your boyfriend of two years. Your safety. Your home. Your heart. There has to be a logical reason for this. There just has to be. 

Your front door suddenly opens and interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mo ghradh! I’m home!” announces your lover. Normally, his arrival brightens your day but right now, it just reminded you of the growing tightness in your throat. He rushes past the couch, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. “Was really worried that I wasn’t going to make it,” he jokes. 

You give him a half-hearted laugh as your heart nearly jumps out your throat. It was now or never. 

“So how was dinner with the boys?” Your mind races with what your question implicates. If he comes clean, crisis adverted. 

Wiping his hands on his pants, Johnny breaks your heart. “Pretty good.” He walks over to you and pulls out a bill from his pants, boasting at how he was able to swindle 50 pounds from Gaz. 

Funny how the world works. Here’s Johnny dragging the same man who gave him away in his lie. If your heart wasn’t actively breaking right now, maybe you could have laughed at the irony. Instead, you’re recalling the fact that after three failed attempts in reaching your boyfriend tonight, you called Kyle in the hopes that he could tell your Johnny to check his phone. 

“You know I would, love, but he already left.” “What do you mean “he already left”? I thought the team was grabbing dinner around 7. It’s barely 7:15.” “Tonight? I thought Soap was grabbing dinner with his pa—“

A hand waves across your face, bringing you back to the present. “Sweetheart, you okay?” Johnny’s voice is laced with worry. “You don’t look so good.” Your Scottish lover takes a seat next to you and presses the back of his hand across your forehead. 

You grasp his hand and hold it down in your lap. You take a deep breath and rip the bandage off. 

“I called Kyle today after I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Silence filled the room. Johnny’s face went blank. “He told me where you were.”

“And?”

And? You let go of Johnny’s hand, shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

“And?” You repeated back incredulously. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Johnny stands up and paces in front of the couch. His neck turns red but you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or anger. “What do you want me to say?” he shoots back. Anger. 

“Why?” He pauses to look at you. You both stare at one another, shocked by the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t know.”

Your body goes hot. “Johnny, that’s not good enough.” You stand up. “We’ve been dating for two years. For fucks safe, Johnny, you’ve met my parents,” You fight against the tears. “So why, why didn’t you invite me tonight to meet yours?” You must look crazy right now as your chest heaves with anger - probably even more since Johnny stood so composed. 

But in actuality, a storm brewed inside Johnny. The moment that he hoped would never come has arrived. Delusional. He knew it was inevitable. After he met your parents a few months ago, he knew this was going to happen. After he said “I love you,” he knew this was going to happen. After the the first date, he knew this was going to happen. But, he wasn’t - they’re weren’t - ready yet. Just a little longer and then it can happen. He just needs more time. They need more time. 

So like an interrogation, he’ll stay quiet.

“I don’t know.” It’s clear you don’t like his answer as you take a step back away from him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Now you begin to pace. “Johnny, I know how fucking important your family is to you. It's important for me too.” Your face contorts as you find the right words. “You even said how you couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t get along with your parents.” 

Johnny can’t help but wince which only startles you. The entire room goes cold. You freeze completely and your body slumps at the insinuation. 

“Oh.” You take a deep breath in and in your plain voice, you conclude, “you don’t plan on marrying me.” 

The Scot’s heart pauses.  No! He rushes towards you and grabs your head, immediately cradling it. You’re clearly in shock. If I don’t say anything, I’ll lose them, he realizes. So in an act of desperation, he tells you the truth.

“You not meeting my parents has nothing to do with you.” He stares deeply in your eyes, hoping you’ll stay after this. “They just want me to marry someone… like us.” He internally cringed at his words. He knows his parents are in the wrong here, but he knows they'll come around to it. They're good people, right?

Emotion, specifically confusion, reappears on your face. Standing face to face to him, you push his hands away and ask, “didn’t your little sister marry a Frenchman?” 

Johnny normally loved how you saw the cracks in people’s facades but right now, he wished that beautiful brain of yours would just stop. “Yes bu—“

“So what’s wrong with me?” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you realized the stark difference between you and Johnny’s brother-in-law, Johnny, and his entire family. You recall the picture Johnny had showed you early on in your relationship of his family - a big family with one similar characteristic. 

You fall back to the couch. Johnny falls to his knees before you and begins to ramble about how his parents aren’t necessarily bad people, just stuck in their old ways, but you really don’t catch his words. You couldn’t believe it. Your boyfriend of two years won’t introduce you to this parents because of something you can’t and didn’t want to change. You couldn’t believe this was happening…

again. You promised yourself that if you ever found yourself in the shadows because of someone’s inability of loving you in the light, you would…

“It’s over,” you gently announce. John immediately goes silent. He probably wasn’t expecting that and you can’t blame him, you really didn’t think this conversation would be the end. 

With red ears, the Scott begs you to reconsider. “It’s not like you can’t meet my parents. I’m just asking you to wait. Give it some time. I know they’ll come around it. There’s no need to rush—“

“Do they know that I exist?”

“…”

“Do they even know that you’re dating someone?”

“…”

You couldn’t believe it. While you were proudly parading and even defending your love for him, he hid you out of shame. 

You shoot up from the couch, desperate to leave this man and, really, this relationship behind. Unfortunately for you, John is right behind you. 

“Mo ghradh, please,” he begs. Mo ghradh - my love… just not in front of your parents, you bitterly think. Your face felt tight as you fought against the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. After giving everything to him, you couldn’t believe that Johnny John played you as a fool. You stopped and turned around, startling your “fearless" SAS sergeant. You just had to ask one question.

“John.” Johnny’s eye widened. You never call him John, not even when you’re mad. “If your parents never change, would you pick me over them?” John gasps and stutters for an answer. That was enough for you. 

You march off again, but before you leave your own apartment, you gave him your heart once more, “Just so you know, I would have chosen you.” And with that, you shut your door behind you, leaving the stuttering soldier behind. 

Word Count: 1350

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Plea: Please, please, please - if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, choose yourself and leave. Everyone deserves to be loved under the Sun.

[merrybloomwrites]

When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 3)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: Throughout rehearsals and the start of tour, the boys continue to keep their distance from Y/N, leading to her developing touch deprivation.

Previous chapters: One , Two

Word Count: 1.9K

Tags/CW: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, cat calling, touch deprivation

AN: Normally I write longer chapters (like 3k-6K words) but I’m enjoying these shorter quicker chapters for this series. Feels like it works better, plus there’s less waiting time between posting, which I know I enjoy as a reader haha

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The beeping of your alarm slowly wakes you up, and you get ready hoping that today will be better than yesterday. It’s your first official rehearsal with the band, and you hope to win over the others by being able to show off your skill. If yesterday's meeting is anything to go by, you won’t be winning them over by your charming personality. Not when they’re apparently so determined to not let anyone get close to them. 

Just before leaving you pick up your bottle of scent neutralizers, about to methodically put them on before remembering the rules Simon had for you. He told you not to wear blockers, that they should always be able to pick up on your floral omega scent. You don’t really like this, as it makes you feel vulnerable, especially in a city you’re unfamiliar with, but you follow the rule anyway. 

The rehearsal space is a bit farther than the offices were, so you leave early to make sure you give yourself enough time to walk there. A wrong turn takes you down an alley that leads to a side street. Checking your map app shows this will get you where you need to be, so you follow it rather than turning around. 

The main street had been loud and filled with people, most probably on their morning commute. But this way is quiet, practically deserted. You nearly jump out of your skin when a voice shouts out, “Hey pretty thing!”

Turning around you see a man behind you. You can get just a whiff of his scent but it’s enough to know he’s an alpha. Internally cursing yourself for taking a back road, you start walking faster. 

The footsteps behind you grow louder, and you know that the man has picked up his pace to get closer to you. Now panicking, you start jogging down the road. You just need to get to the end of the street so you can turn back to the busier part of the city and you’ll be safe. 

Just as you get there he seems to admit defeat, and angrily shouts out, “You shouldn’t be wandering all alone with a sweet scent like that!” 

Doing your best to ignore that comment, you finish your walk and arrive at the rehearsal space. You try to compose yourself, but you’re still shaky, and you know your scent has probably turned a bit sour from the fear you’d just been feeling. 

After taking some deep breaths you walk into the room. Niall, Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Liam are all there, and they turn to look at you. After quick good mornings they go back to what they’d been doing. Not wanting to bother anyone, you head to the drums and take out the music you’d been sent. 

As you flip through the pages, you sense eyes on you. Looking up you see Louis staring your way, his eyes calculating, even a little bit worried. Like he can sense something is wrong. Maybe he does have some alpha instincts in him. But instead of coming over to check if you’re okay, he simply shrugs and goes to talk with Niall. 

Finally the rest of the band and the music director arrive and it’s time to actually get to work. It’s a bit chaotic at first, but it doesn’t take long for everyone to click. By the time you break for lunch, any negative feelings have gone away, replaced now by excitement. 

You grab food and sit at one of the tables, soon being joined by the boys. At first you think this is an improvement in your friendship with them. But then they start talking among themselves, barely acknowledging that you’re there. 

Rehearsals last a few more hours, and everyone’s ready to head home by the time you’re dismissed. As you head outside you’re surprised by Zayn saying, “Good work today.”

“Yea, you’re really talented,” Harry adds. 

“Glad you’re on the team,” Louis then says before all five of them get into their car. 

While walking home you think about that interaction. The words were nice, even if they seemed almost reluctant to say them. Sighing to yourself, you accept that for now, you’re looking at an amicable working relationship at best. 

You just hope Simon can accept that as well. 

Weeks pass in a flurry of planning, rehearsing, fittings, and numerous meetings to make sure everything is ready for the upcoming tour. 

A few days before setting out, Louis gets called in to meet with Simon once again. 

“Y/N will be joining you on your bus,” he states with no preamble. 

“Excuse me?” Louis says, shocked by this news. 

“She’s an omega. She’ll need to be close to alphas while touring.”

“She’s an omega. What if she slips into heat? Or one of us goes into rut? It’s not safe!”

“You know that won’t happen,” Simon answers. “You’re all on the best suppressants, not a chance you’ll fall into a cycle unexpectedly. You just don't want her around, and to be honest, I'm disappointed in you boys. You’ve rejected her since she got here, pushed her away, ostracized her.”

“We didn’t ask for her to be here. She’s a great drummer, and we respect her as a musician. But as we said before, she isn’t going to just push her way into our pack.”

“And as I’ve said before, you cannot be a pack without her. She will be on your bus. Maybe the time together will open your mind.”

Louis leaves that day feeling frustrated, like his words don’t matter. He gets home and shares the news with the rest. 

“I don’t like this,” Zayn says. 

“Seems like a bad idea,” Harry agrees. 

“What if having her around triggers one of your ruts?” Liam asks nervously. 

“I said that to Simon, he said it won’t happen cause of our meds,” Louis replies, clearly still agitated from the meeting. Niall moves close to him, tucking to the alphas side in an attempt to comfort and calm him. It helps, but Louis suddenly thinks that it might be nice to have the true calming pheromones of an omega when he’s upset. 

He shakes away the thought a moment later and instead enjoys a night with his pack. 

He manages to put the news of their bus mate out of his mind for the following days, but as they load up to get on the road there’s no denying it. 

“D’ya think you could wear some scent blockers?” Louis asks you the first night. 

“Not allowed,” you reply curtly. 

“What do you mean not allowed?” Harry asks. 

“I mean that Simon told me I can’t wear them. It’s one of my rules.”

“He’s such a wanker,” you hear Zayn say under his breath. 

Not wanting to cause any problems, you get into your bunk and try to sleep. Even with all the stress you’re feeling, the familiar lull of the bus driving down the highway helps you fall asleep in minutes. 

The next morning is tense, and you can feel the boys' annoyance at your presence. The logical human part of you knows it must be difficult to have someone new, especially someone with a strong scent, invade their bus. The omega part of you is less understanding. It’s on edge, upset at the rejection of the others. 

Luckily you arrive at the first venue, and you no longer have to worry about your dynamic with the others. Now it’s time to just worry about your job, about putting on a perfect show for the fans. 

And that’s just what all of you do. Opening night is a success, and everyone heads back to the bus on a high. You’re even invited to hang with them in the lounge as everyone comes down from the adrenaline of performing. 

For a little while, everything feels right. But then it shifts once more and you find yourself being pushed out of the conversation again. Not only that, but you watch as the boys huddle closer together. Liam rests his head on Louis’ chest, and Niall finds himself sandwiched between Zayn and Harry. The betas look perfectly content, and your omega cries out for that kind of affection. 

Not wanting to broadcast your feelings to the others, you rush out a good night and head to your bunk. You spray scent neutralizers on the curtain that separates you from the rest of the bus, hoping it will block your scent from getting out. 

More than that, you don’t want the boys knowing about the scented clothes from your former pack mates. You still have a couple from both Kevin and Joe, and you pull out one shirt from each of them. You place them by your pillow so their scent will be close to you. It’s a sad imitation of a nest, but it’s the best you can do. 

As weeks pass you start feeling drained. You write it off as exhaustion from the constant work and travel. But then you start to get shaky, cold, itchy, not to mention the headaches that seem to get worse daily. 

The European leg of tour ends, and you all spend a few weeks in South America for a run of shows there. After the first few days you finally admit that you’re experiencing touch deprivation. It shocks you, since you’re constantly surrounded by alphas. Their scents around you should be enough to keep this all at bay. 

But their constant rejection of you must be distressing your omega more than you’d realized. It’s never that they did anything major. They were never mean, or rude. They included you at mealtimes, would check in and see how you were doing. But it was always them just being polite. 

You’d also learned the dynamic between the five of them was deeper than you originally thought. On numerous occasions you’d walked in on them being physically intimate with each other. You’d seen duos, trios, even walked in on all five of them on the floor together sharing kisses. 

Even though you hadn’t expected that, it didn’t bother you. Part of you was happy for them, glad they had one another, and that they all seemed to have a healthy relationship. 

The part that did bother you was the jealousy you felt. You wanted that type of intimacy as well. Every time you watched the alphas dote on Niall or Liam, you’d feel another pang of jealousy rip through you. It’s not like you were looking for a relationship, but seeing how happy they were, it felt like they were rubbing it in your face. 

Plus the pheromones. They were overwhelming. Especially whenever the boys would get intimate. That always led to you hiding in your bunk and breaking the no scent blockers rule. Anything to prevent the others from picking up on the sweet smell of your slick. 

As the symptoms of touch deprivation worsen, you count down the days until your first US show. It’s at MetLife Stadium, and you consider it your hometown show. Your family and previous pack members will be there to support you. If you can just make it to New Jersey, you can spend time with Kevin and Joe. Hopefully being around the alphas will help with the depri. 

And hopefully your bandmates will accept you as one of their own before it’s too late.

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AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one should see the dynamic between reader and the band starting to shift, which I’m excited for!

[writing-whump]

On the train

We are starting the road trip! Have some sick Rip at the train with Dylan and Hector.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Hector said, chewing his lower lip.

"Totally sure," Arnie repeated.

"Absolutely and completely?"

"Urreversibly," Arnie said with a grin.

"I don't know. Isaiah is finally feeling better, the trip is a great opportunity to spend quality time with him..."

Arnie lifted his hands. "Go and enjoy it. I'm glad you guys are reconnecting."

"You should be reconnecting too."

"You need it more. Besides, it's basically a wolf road trip."

"I'm taking Olive to meet Isaiah. He is taking Seline. They are historical tourist cities. Enough space for humans."

"It's gonna be all couply and cheezy. I won't stand in the way."

Hector must have looked pathetic, because Arnie's expression softened.

"To be real with you, I'm really okay. I don't believe you are neglecting me or leaving me out. I want to try to have two weeks for myself without your check ins and control and random bursts into the place."

Hector eyed him sceptically. "That makes me want to go even less. What do you want to do without my supervision?"

Arnie stuck his tounge at him. "No parties, passing out drunk or doing drugs. Swear. I'm gonna be responsible."

Hector frowned, looking down.

A sigh from Arnie. "Hex, I love you, man, but you are smothering me. I'm trying to make friends outside the freaking pack and I can't have them over, stay over and you scare whoever stops by the door. Please, just go."

"Arnie..." He didn't know what to say. It made sense. It also made his chest heavy with panic and dread.

"We are gonna figure something out, okay? I'll look into apartments-"

Hector jumped up from where he had been leaning against the table. "What-"

"Two apartments," Arnie cut in. "Two. Next to each other. So you can hover behind another wall, if you won't allow me the student dormitory. And honestly, this could solve crap for you too. You spend most of your waking time with Olive in that tiny place, cause you can't bring her over to the pack base. You need a place where you can be together and you can keep me safe. Perfect solution."

"I have no idea where such a place could be," Hector said dryly, looking away in shame. Maybe he really did spent a lot of time with Olive now. He hated he couldn't have his two most important people at one place.

Sure, he did get Arnie and Olive together from time to time and they were on good terms. But he couldn't bring Olive to the pack as his human girlfriend. Not as his chosen partner. It was dangerous and risking an upheaval he wasn't ready to deal with. He needed more people in his corner first.

Plus, it would put Olive in danger too. Uncomfortable at the very least. He didn't know how to explain what being with him would entail...and if he could, he would spare her from it for as long as it was possible.

"I can't believe you're gonna leave me alone with Rip," Hector said, cause it was easier than acknowledging the rest.

Arnie watched him knowingly though. "It's not gonna be so bad. You spend 2 days in the car with him last summer. A one day train ride will be much easier."

"That's just the first part. I thought you would be there keeping me company."

"You will have Dylan and then Isaiah, Sel and Olive waiting for you there after the flight. You won't even notice the guy for the rest of the trip."

"That would be too soon. I don't like him."

Arnie chuckled. "I don't think so. You are jealous, but that's not really his fault, is it?"

"I know. It's Isaiah's."

That earned him an eyeroll. "Jeez. One of these days, you could also stop thinking about relationships in hierarchies. People don't just get replaced, they create new roles for themselves."

The younger boy leaned into Hector's side casually. "I'm so not worried about Olive replacing me or whatever you keep stringing up in Hector-fantasy-land, okay? Go and enjoy the trip."

...

Rip wasn't particularly happy about the travel arrangement either.

On one hand it was cool they didn’t have to take an extra car for him. And that this wasn’t a training trip but a real holiday kind of thing.

Rip loved travelling. He had managed to criss-cross most of Europe on his own — on top of trains, hitchhiking rides, walking the backroads. He avoided crowds and tourist traps, sure, but he could move through cities on top of roofs with his parkouring skills just fine.

Being invited like this—being trusted enough to tag along with Isaiah, Seline and Dylan—it was unbelievable. He was still getting over his excitement and disbelief.

Okay, not trusted exactly. Isaiah probably wanted him as backup. Extra eyes and muscle. Someone who could move fast, stay alert, cover for them if things went south. Maybe, maybe, Isaiah felt a little safer with Rip watching his back when he wasn't at a hundred percent.

That was fine. Rip could be useful. He wanted to be useful.

It had been a couple of weeks since Isaiah's hospital release and he had reassured them all he was ready—which they had believed, once Seline confirmed it.

Rip was glad just to be included. He would bring his best game. Be sharp, strong, effective. Maybe if he proved himself enough, Isaiah would trust him again on future trips. Even the ones involving wolves.

Especially the ones involving wolves.

The last half-year under Isaiah’s care—going with him to meets, not just lurking in the shadows—had been so different. Like someone had pulled a blindfold from his eyes.

He hadn’t even realized he had gotten used to living like that. Half-blind, half-feral.

Isaiah was helping him see it.

Rip had thought he didn’t miss wolves. Or company. But being seen—being able to walk through crowds without shrinking, to meet the eyes of those who would have spat on him before—it was different.

He had fought for survival, for his right to exist, wherever he went.

But now he could walk among wolves who once judged him an outcast and a waste of oxygen—and face them directly.

It made him feel dangerous. In a good way.

Not that he knew what Isaiah was really after. The guy moved like he was playing three games at once, seeing five different meanings where Rip barely caught one. Held ten agendas, eleven sets of cards.

Rip didn’t get it. But somehow, Isaiah always ended up helping people. Even the ones no one bothered with.

It was...something to see.

Isaiah wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t even easy to read most days. But what he was building—whatever this was—it felt solid. It felt good.

Rip wasn't supposed to think about that. As long as wasn't betraying strays and he wasn't hurting anyone who didn't piss him off nonetheless, he didn't give a shit about what he did. Feelings really had nothing to do with life.

This was new. Risky, even. He wasn’t sure what the hell was happening to him. But he knew this much: He wanted to stick around and see what Isaiah did next.

...shame he was stuck with Hector of all people in the train. They had their own compartment, so it was just Rip, Dylan and Hector. Even with the six seats, it felt way too crowded.

Rip offered to come on his own. He could hitchhike the trains just fine, thank you. But then Dylan said he would come with him and Isaiah shook his head in that exasperated way...but nobody wanted to make it difficult on Isaiah so early after his recovery and there was no way Rip could handle a flight.

So here they were. In the spirit of being helpful, Hector offered to take the train with them, sending his girlfriend ahead with Seline and Isaiah to fly for one hour, instead of riding the night train.

Rip honestly wondered how long this pretense would last. Someone with such a fiery temperament as Hector wouldn't take long.

On most days, Rip considered himself quite resistant to most things. But he didn't like loud, explosive people demanding attention and things to be their way with that implied or else.

Hector fit that to a T.

"I'm telling you, trains are the most comfortable rides," Dylan said, getting comfortable over two seats next to Rip. "Rode them for half of my life. You can move more than in a car or plane, you are way more steady, there are snack bars. What's not to like?"

Rip had to admire how unconcerned Dylan was. Crowds of people filling the train in the other compartments didn't seem to register to him at all. For all looks and purposes, he acted like a real human.

Dylan's shadow was so tightly suppressed that Rip could barely feel it. That had its own kind of limitations. Getting in touch with it would take a couple of days. But it was more than fitting for a two-week road trip through Italy.

Hector scoffed. "The best is obviously the car. You can control the ride, stop and go off some predetermined path. That's why we are getting a rental car, when we arrive and you two are both going to be okay with it."

Dylan rolled his eyes, which was precisely what Rip wanted to do. Someone should remind Hector that he wasn't in charge of them, like with every other wolf in his life.

Someone other than Rip, preferably.

Rip crossed his arms, like that would keep Hector out. He didn’t want to need him for anything. Mildly disappointed by not having Isaiah there was one thing, but he couldn't even talk with Dylan like he wanted to. Not with Hector staring at Rip the way like he wanted to have a fight Rip couldn't retaliate.

Urgh.

Dylan wasn't bothered. Got himself earphones and kept showing Rip some kind of game on his phone that made Rip's eyes hurt.

The stray wolf was content to get some sleep. If Isaiah was there, he would want to show off and be alert and helpful. But with Hector eager to be in charge and Dylan's shoulder against this, he didn't care.

Rip wasn't sure why he was feeling so sleepy. He kept yawning, although he could go less than 4 hours of sleep a day and be fine for a couple of weeks—something Isaiah wouldn't allow him, anyway.

It was unsettling, feeling this sleepy with Hector right there, glaring and scowling.

There was this pressure behind his eyes though. When the promised snack handling mini-bar came over, Dylan cheerfully took over their orders and got sparkling water, coffee, croissants...

Rip wanted to share into Dylan's enthusiasm, but the smell of the croissant and coffee repelled him. Settling on sipping the sparkling water, he couldn't understand the feeling of unease that was drying his throat.

The sparkling water wasn’t sitting right.

Half an hour later, his stomach sloshed with every lurch of the train, bloated and tight. The compartment felt smaller by the minute, buzzing like a tin can full of bees.

Rip shifted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Heat pulsed under his skin.

Tried to forget the noise, the motion, the way Hector’s scowl seemed to scrape against him even when he wasn’t looking. But the heaviness behind his eyes wouldn’t go away. And every breath tasted like iron and heat.

Rip leaned his elbow on the armrest, pressing his forehead into his palm.

The coolness helped, a little.

At least until the train jerked again and the nausea sloshed back, hotter and heavier.

He shifted, trying to breathe slower. Maybe if he focused on the window—on the blur of trees and concrete flashing past—it would ground him. He rested his forehead lightly against the glass.

The cold bit into his skin, but it wasn’t enough. The buzzing in his ears didn’t stop. Neither did the sickly heat pooling deep in his stomach, twisting like a rope pulled too tight.

He heard Dylan laughing beside him, tapping something on his phone, chatting about a game Rip wasn’t even registering anymore.

He didn’t have the air to answer anyway.

Rip closed his eyes, trying not to look obvious, trying not to draw attention.

Dylan didn’t notice. Hector sure as hell wouldn’t care.

The pressure behind his eyes had turned into a pounding throb now.

Each sway of the train sent another wave rolling through him—heat, cold, nausea, dizziness—until he didn’t know if he could stay upright.

He gritted his teeth. Counted down stops in his head.

Tried to convince himself it wasn’t that bad. He just needed to last a little longer.

He elbowed Dylan into the side. "H-hic-how much longer?"

Dylan blinked, pulling out one earbud. He checked the time on his phone. "Uh... two hours down, about five more to Bologna, if everything’s on time," he said easily. Then he turned properly toward Rip, frowning. "You good?"

Rip nodded, which was a mistake. The world tilted sideways for a second, the heat in his face flashing hotter, making his stomach clench. He jerked his head away, pressing it back against the cold glass like it could pin him there, hold him still.

"Yeah," Rip muttered hoarsely. "Fine."

Dylan didn’t look convinced.

"You’re pale, man. Like...ghost-level pale," he said, peering closer.

He lowered his voice. "You gonna be sick?"

Rip tightened his jaw. He hated the question. He hated the hiccup that slipped out again when he tried to answer.

"I’m good," he said through gritted teeth. Mostly because if he said anything else, he wasn’t sure he’d keep it together.

Dylan didn’t push, but Rip could feel his friend hovering now, his easygoing buzz replaced with a low, sharp awareness — the kind only wolves could slip into when something was wrong.

"Uhm," Dylan said, voice sarcastic now, "you say it, but you don't look it. Just lemme know if you need-"

Another hiccup cut him off, rough and wet in Rip’s throat. He hunched lower, elbow slipping off the armrest as he pressed his fists against his mouth.

The train rocked slightly, and Rip swallowed hard against the rising bile. The sparkling water sloshed miserably inside him, his stomach cramping up in waves.

"Obviously not fine," Hector said dryly. "Get him into a bathroom before he throws up all over the seats. The train's too full to find a new compartment of our own."

Somewhere beyond the pounding in his head, he registered Dylan getting to his feet, dragging him up by the arm.

Rip wanted to snap back, but the words wouldn't come. The train lurched and he lost his balance, stumbling sideways into the seat.

A strong hand caught his arm at the elbow.

Hector.

Rip flinched instinctively, but Hector just steadied him with a grim, impatient look. "Get a grip," Hector muttered under his breath.

Dylan was already at the door, sliding it open and peering out into the corridor. His eyes were blown wide and he was glancing at them and back, as if not sure what to do, how to best intervene. "Bathroom’s two cars down," Dylan announced. "Come on. You can make it."

Rip tried to push himself upright, but the movement made his vision gray out around the edges. He swayed—and Hector caught him again, this time gripping his shoulder with a steadier, almost awkward firmness.

"Move it," Hector said, quieter now. Not as angry, just brisk. Far cry from Isaiah's calm, gentle tone, though.

Rip swallowed down another hiccup, the taste of bile burning higher in his throat.

The train lurched, stronger and faster than he'd expected, throwing Rip sideways. His vision was all out of sorts, stomach in turmoil, insides practically wringing together.

Dylan was too many steps away, hurrying towards the bathroom and then jumping back for him.

"D-" Rip coughed, then gagged into his hand. Another violent lurch. He couldn't catch his balance at all, shoulder hitting the door of another compartment hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, sweaty bangs falling into his vision. "S-stop moving so fast- I can't-"

"Okay, okay," Dylan said, suddenly appearing by his side. He hooked his arm around Rip's, giving him something to latch onto. The walk was painfully slow, Dylan holding into the railing in the hall while Rip held onto his sleeve like a lifeline.

Rip retched into his hand, the sparkles climbing up his throat, but managed to swallow it back down. It made him stumble, legs all tangled up.

Dylan grunted with the effort of keeping them upright. "Almost there."

The bathroom door loomed ahead, just a few steps more, and Dylan kicked it open with his foot.

Rip basically fell inside against the small sink built into the wall and sank to his knees painfully. The moment he was sure they were inside, disgust shivered through him like lightning from the sheer crampiness. And his body gave out.

He lurched against the movement of the train, seeing stars as the water rocketed out of him. His stomach squeezed and he groaned as his breakfast made a reappearance into that dark grey toilet.

"Christ," Dylan cursed beside him, trying to fit his long limbs inside the bathroom. He had to keep it halfway open.

Rip was panting over the toilet, not feeling better at all. He burped up another mouthful of bread crust, wrapping an arm around his gurgling middle.

"You are okay, man. Did the sandwich from morning-"

Rip whimpered at the mention, pressing his forehead into his elbow. "D-don't talk about food..."

The toilet flushed above him. Shortly after, Dylan lowered himself next to Rip, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "What brought this on? We did the same thing all day...if you aren't allergic to Hector, that is. Totally fair."

That should have made him laugh, he knew, but all he managed was a hitch and a queasy hiccup. "I still feel so sick, D."

Dylan squeezed his shoulder, his hand warm. "Now that we are on it, do you like, get motion sick?"

"I didn't before..."

Dylan pressed the back of his hand to Rip's cheek from behind. "Well, you aren't feverish, so that's the only explanation I got for now."

"G-got something that would make it better?" Rip's stomach rolled along the train, a whole new wave of nausea crashing over him.

"Not here, I'm afraid. We can get you something for carsickness when we stop." Dylan sounded as mournful as Rip felt. "I'm sorry."

Rip just groaned, curling tighter against the cabinet. This was going to be a hellish ride.

[jenosonlywife23]

Soft Jeno thoughts (request from anon) — imagine these are the things running through his mind when he’s with you:

💭 "How did I get so lucky?" Every time you smile at him — really smile — Jeno feels it hit him all over again. Like the first time. He’ll just stare at you, heart squeezing painfully in his chest, thinking he must have done something really, really good in a past life to deserve you.

💭 "I wanna take care of her forever." Whether it’s making sure you ate, that you have a warm jacket on, or that you're safe walking home — Jeno is the type to quietly, naturally, always look after you. Not because he thinks you need him to — but because he wants to. It’s how he shows love.

💭 "She’s my whole world." When you laugh too hard at something stupid, or you trip and catch yourself and then look around all embarrassed — those tiny, unfiltered moments? Jeno falls even deeper. You’re not just someone he loves — you are his definition of happiness.

💭 "I hope she always feels loved." He worries sometimes. Late at night, when you’re asleep curled up against him, he’ll brush your hair back and wonder if he’s showing it enough. Telling you enough. That you’re everything to him. So he holds you a little tighter, hoping you feel it even if he doesn’t have the words.

💭 "I want a future with her." Sometimes when you're talking about something random — a vacation you want to take, a dream you have — Jeno finds himself thinking about rings, about homes with light-filled kitchens, about a dog you pick out together. And it feels so natural, like there’s no if, just when.

💭 "No one else compares." Other people come and go, but you’re it for him. No one else makes him laugh the way you do, no one else makes the world feel so light. He’s not interested in looking around. His heart already chose you.

💭 "She’s the best part of my day." Even on the busiest, most exhausting days — even when he feels like collapsing — knowing he gets to come home to you, hear your voice, hug you, kiss you... that's what pulls him through everything. You’re his safe place. His soft landing. His favorite feeling.

💌

: Soft Jeno thoughts when he misses you— like he’s apart from you for a while (work, tour, schedules), and he’s just full of aching love for you.

💭 "I wonder if she's eaten today." It’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up in a different city. Even before checking his own schedule, he’s texting you — "Good morning, baby. Did you eat yet?" He just wants to know you’re taking care of yourself, even when he can’t be there to nag you in person.

💭 "She probably looks so pretty right now." It hits him at random. Walking down a hotel hallway, sitting in the back of a van, brushing his teeth. He’ll stop whatever he’s doing and smile to himself, picturing you — messy bun, comfy clothes, maybe your nose a little scrunched up in concentration. God, he misses seeing you just exist.

💭 "I wish I could hug her." Jeno loves hugs — but only your hugs. When he's tired, overwhelmed, or just existing, he craves the feeling of you pressing your face into his chest, your arms wrapped around him. That kind of comfort no one else could ever give.

💭 "I hope she knows I’m thinking about her." Even if he’s too busy to call or text properly, he finds little ways to show it — sending you pictures of things that remind him of you, a quick selfie with a peace sign captioned "for you :)," a voice note saying "miss you, love you, be back soon." Small things, but so full of heart.

💭 "I can't wait to come home to her." He doesn’t care if it’s just sitting in silence together, if it’s eating takeout on the floor, if it’s falling asleep on the couch mid-conversation — home isn’t a place to Jeno. It’s you.

💭 "She makes everything better." Bad day? He imagines your hand in his. Your voice telling him it’s okay. Your laugh pulling him out of his own head. You're the background music in his mind, the person who turns noise into something beautiful.

💭 "Maybe I should buy her something." He’s strolling through an airport shop when he sees a stuffed animal, or a cute keychain, or a hoodie that looks just like something you’d love. He immediately grabs it. Not because it’s expensive or big — but because he wants you to have little pieces of him while he’s away.

💭 "She’s gonna tease me for being soft, huh." He can already hear your teasing voice when he sends you a text that says something like "I miss you so bad it’s not even funny." But he doesn't care. He wants you to know he’s soft for you. Always will be.

💭 "When I see her, I’m not letting go." When his flight finally lands and he sees you standing there — sleepy, maybe, or bundled up in a jacket — he doesn’t even bother trying to play it cool. He drops everything and wraps you up in his arms, heart pounding against yours like it never skipped a beat. "I missed you so much, baby. So much."

[inseobts]

Don't Look at Her

chifuyu matsuno x fem! reader

you go to look at the fight agaist tenjiku in case chifuyu needs help but get caught and now chifuyu has to save you.

words count: 3.6k

tags: tenjiku arc spoilers I guess, mutual pining, fight scene, found family, slow burn, protective chifuyu, emotional tension, everyone knows but them

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You can’t go” Mitsuya says.

His voice is calm, but firm. His face is bruised, and his jacket’s still stained with someone else’s blood. He’s in front of the door like a wall.

“I’m not here to fight,” you tell him “I just want to know where it is.”

Smiley snorts from the bed, chewing gum like he’s got nothing better to do “She says that now. Then boom—she’s swinging a pipe at someone’s skull.”

You glare at him “Not funny.”

“I thought it was” he shrugs.

Mitsuya sighs “Look. It’s bad tonight. We can’t be there. They also don’t have Mikey. They don’t have Draken. This is Tenjiku we’re talking about. These guys don’t hold back.”

“I know” you say quietly “That’s why I need to go.”

Smiley tilts his head “Let me guess. You’re not worried about us.” His grin widens “It’s Chifuyu, right?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is loud.

Mitsuya looks at you, then looks away “You really care about him, huh.”

You cross your arms “He’s my friend.”

“Yeah,” Smiley says, leaning back “That’s why you nearly cried when you saw him limping last week.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs.

“I won’t get in the way,” you say to Mitsuya “I just want to make sure they come back alive. Please.”

Mitsuya closes his eyes. For a moment, the room is quiet.

Then he moves aside.

“I’m not telling you where it is” he says.

You wait.

“But if you happen to check the paper in my jacket pocket while I’m in the bathroom…” He goes away without finishing the sentence.

You don’t waste time.

As you head for the door, Smiley calls out, “Hey.”

You pause.

“Don’t get caught,” he says, “Chifuyu’s heart might actually stop.”

You blink.

“What?”

But he just grins and blows a bubble “Nothing.”

The wind stings your face as you walk. You keep your hood up, head low, hands stuffed deep in your pockets.

You’re not supposed to be here.

You repeat that in your head over and over. Just watch. Just make sure they’re okay. That’s it.

You find a spot behind a stack of old crates at the edge of the lot and crouch low. You peek between the wooden slats and see chaos.

Bodies slamming into each other. Shouts. Blood. Different ones from Toman already down, not moving. You recognize too many faces.

And then you see Chifuyu.

His face is cut. He’s panting hard. But his eyes are sharp, and he’s still fighting, pushing forward even as a Tenjiku guy grabs his arm. He shakes him off like nothing.

You grip the edge of the crate, heart hammering.

Stay hidden. Stay calm.

Something shifts behind you.

A hand grabs your shoulder and yanks you back.

You gasp.

“What the hell—?!” you twist, but a fist shoves into your side. The breath leaves your lungs.

“Found a little rat,” the guy sneers “Thought you could spy from the shadows?”

You kick, elbow, bite, but he’s stronger. Another one joins him, laughing.

“Looks like we got a bonus.”

They drag you out into the open and suddenly it all stops.

No one speaks. No one moves. It’s like time pauses.

Chifuyu’s eyes lock on you instantly.

He doesn’t blink. His mouth parts, blood trailing from his bottom lip. He doesn’t even seem to hear the fight anymore.

“Y/N?” he says, barely loud enough to carry. But everyone hears it.

“Wait…” another Tenjiku guy says, stepping forward with a grin “She’s important?”

Inupi’s eyes narrow “Let her go.”

“Ohhh,” the first guy laughs, tightening his grip on you, “this is rich. Look at ‘em. All frozen. You really got their hearts wrapped around your little fingers, huh?”

“Maybe we should keep her,” another one adds, eyeing you “Could be fun. Make her scream in front of all her little friends.”

“Say that again,” Hakkai growls, trying to lunge forward but Angry grabs his sleeve, pulling him back.

“You see this?” one of the Tenjiku boys says, voice full of cruel joy “Every Toman brat’s got their eyes on her. That makes her useful.”

Chifuyu’s still staring at you. His hands are shaking.

Then one of them yanks your hair.

You cry out and Chifuyu snaps.

“You lay one more finger on her—” his voice breaks through the air like a gunshot.

He’s already moving. Sprinting. Fast.

“CHIFUYU!” Takemichi yells behind him “Don’t—!”

But it’s too late. His fist slams into the guy’s face with a sickening crack and everything erupts again.

There’s blood on the ground.

You’re on your knees now, pushed down by one of them while the others stand back just enough to enjoy the show. They want Chifuyu to break. They want to see what happens when the calm one loses control.

And he does. He explodes.

The man who touched you is already on the ground, Chifuyu above him, fists coming down again and again.

“Chifuyu!” you cry.

But he doesn’t hear you. Or he does, and it only fuels him more.

Takemichi tries to reach him, but another Tenjiku punk slams into him, knocking him back.

“Stop him!” Takemichi shouts “He’s not thinking straight!”

“Let him go,” another Tenjiku member laughs “It’s fun watching him fall apart.”

You try to stand, but someone grabs you again, yanking your hair.

You gasp, twisting.

“You’re the reason he’s like this,” the guy sneers in your ear “You made them all weak.”

Chifuyu turns so fast it’s almost a blur.

“Let go of her!” His voice is full of something raw. Something you’ve never heard from him before.

The guy just grins, and shoves you hard.

You hit the ground. It burns. Your palms are scraped, knees stinging. And then you hear “DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Chifuyu’s there in a second, tackling the guy. He hits him like he doesn’t care what happens next. Like he’s ready to destroy him.

You force yourself up and stumble to him, heart racing.

He’s got the guy pinned, fist raised again.

“Chifuyu, stop please!”

You drop to your knees, grab his wrist with shaking fingers.

“You’ll kill him!”

His whole body locks.

His fist hovers mid-air. His chest heaves. His jaw trembles.

Then he turns his head and sees you.

Bloody. Bruised. Crying.

“Are you... did he hurt you?” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you breathe “I just...”

Your voice cracks.

“I just wanted to protect you. But I did the opposite.”

Chifuyu stares at you like the world tilted under his feet and for once, he has no words.

Just pain in his eyes, and something more dangerous under it, something soft. Something scared.

“I thought I was supposed to protect you” he says.

You look at each other like the fight isn’t even there anymore.

But around you, Toman’s still struggling. Takemichi’s voice cuts through the air again, calling Chifuyu back to the chaos.

He doesn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until he knows you’re safe.

Chifuyu’s crouched in front of you, fist still shaking.

You see it all over his face, he’s not okay.

The fight rages behind him. Toman is struggling. Takemichi’s getting overwhelmed. Someone screams. Another body drops.

You press your hand against Chifuyu’s arm “Go,” you say, voice shaking “I’m fine. You have to help them.”

He doesn’t move.

“Chifuyu,” you whisper, “they need you. Just end this fast.”

He looks back over his shoulder. The battlefield is chaos. And it’s clear, without him, they might not hold.

But then his eyes flick back to you.

“I can’t leave you.”

“You have to,” you insist “Please. I’ll hide. I swear I’ll be safe.”

He hesitates just a moment longer.

Then finally, he nods “Alright. But if anything—”

“I know.”

He stands, torn, glancing back one more time before turning toward the fight.

He takes two steps.

And that’s all the time it takes. A new voice cuts through the mess “Heyyy, look what we’ve got here.”

A tall guy from Tenjiku strolls out from the smoke, grinning. His face is bruised, one hand cracked and bloody, but his eyes are on you.

Chifuyu whirls around, already moving back “Stay the hell away from her.”

The guy raises his hands mockingly “Easy, easy. Didn’t know she came with a leash.”

You step behind Chifuyu’s back, heart pounding.

The guy keeps grinning “Cute little thing. Didn’t think Toman brought pets to fights.”

“Say one more word” Chifuyu growls, his voice low and dangerous.

The man shrugs “Relax. I just wanna make it fair.”

He tilts his head at you “How about this? You and me. Right now. Whoever wins, keeps her.”

You feel Chifuyu freeze in front of you.

Your breath catches “No.”

The man smirks “You don’t get a say, sweetheart.”

Chifuyu takes a step forward, body tense like a wire “You think I’d let you touch her? You’re already dead.”

“Or maybe you’re just scared,” the guy mocks “If you leave her for one second, someone else might get a taste.”

You watch the blood drain from Chifuyu’s face.

His fists clench.

“Chifuyu,” you whisper “Don’t listen to him.”

He doesn’t blink.

“I can handle this. You don’t need to—”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

There’s panic in his voice now. Guilt. And something deeper.

The guy steps forward, and Chifuyu shoves you behind him fully.

“I swear,” he says, deadly quiet, “if you so much as look at her again, I’ll break every bone you’ve got.”

The guy only laughs.

You grip the back of Chifuyu’s jacket, and under your breath “I just wanted to protect you.”

He stiffens. Like the words slice deeper than anything else could. And this time, he doesn’t move at all.

Chifuyu’s still in front of you, tense, wounded, barely standing.

Blood drips from his jaw. His shirt’s ripped open down one side. His eye is already swelling shut.

He can’t take another hit and the Tenjiku guy knows it.

“I thought Toman boys were tougher than this,” he says, laughing “You can’t even stand up straight.”

Chifuyu says nothing.

Just breathes hard. Fighting not to drop.

You want to scream at him to stop, to run, to do anything but stand there like that.

But you know why he won’t move.

He’s trying to keep you behind him.

Safe.

The Tenjiku bastard throws his fist back.

“CHIFUYU!” you shout, seeing it too late.

And then you move. Your body acts before your mind does.

You throw yourself in front of him, arms out, heart in your throat.

The punch lands on your side.

All the air leaves your lungs. You drop hard to your knees. Everything goes white.

“NO!” Chifuyu screams like something inside him tears open.

And that scream cuts through everything.

All the fighting stops one more time.

Takemichi turns, bloody and gasping. Inupi freezes mid-swing. Even the Tenjiku members pause, looking over.

Because there, in the middle of the lot, you’re kneeling. Arms still half-out. Body trembling. Eyes wide with pain.

And behind you, Chifuyu is on the ground, struggling to crawl forward.

“You hit her...” he gasps, voice raw, broken “You hit her!”

He tries to rise, hands slipping in the dirt, arms barely holding him up. Blood spills from his mouth. But he gets up. Somehow, he gets up.

“No more” he breathes.

He lunges.

Something shifts in the air like everything twists to match his rage.

He tackles the guy, lands a punch so hard it cracks something. He doesn’t stop. Left, right, again, again, like every blow is punishment for what they did to you.

The Tenjiku guy tries to fight back but he’s too slow.

Chifuyu’s broken and bleeding, but furious. Because you bled for him and he’s never going to let you do it again.

And then the sound of a motorcycle cuts through the night.

It screeches to a stop at the edge of the lot.

Two figures get off.

“Y/N?!” Hina’s voice rings out.

She sees you crumpled on the ground. Sees Chifuyu losing control. Sees the way every Toman boy is too beaten to help.

Mikey walks in like death itself.

And for the first time all night Tenjiku stop smiling.

You don’t know if you passed out.

Everything’s hazy.

You try to lift your head but it won’t move.

Your side aches like something broke. You can’t breathe right. Everything’s ringing.

Then you feels arms around you, gently pulling you up.

“Hey, stay with me” Chifuyu whispers, panicked. His voice cracks like he’s trying not to cry.

You look up at him, barely able to focus.

His face is smeared with blood. His hands shake as he tucks them under your knees and behind your back.

“Don’t move,” he says “I’ve got you.”

You feel him lift you.

It’s shaky. Painful. His knees almost buckle under your weight. But he refuses to let go.

Behind you, Mikey moves like a shadow, cold, perfect hits, each one worse than the last. Someone cries out. Another person runs.

Chifuyu doesn’t look back.

He limps through the battlefield, holding you tight against his chest.

Inupi stumbles after them “I’ll clear the road” he says, voice hoarse.

Chifuyu can’t even answer.

He just walks.

One foot in front of the other.

“Hospital,” he breathes “I need to get you to the hospital.”

You blink, weak “You’re… hurt too.”

“I don’t care,” he says “You took a hit for me. You...” His voice breaks “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

You rest your head against his shoulder.

“I told you,” you whisper “I just wanted to protect you. I tried.”

His arms tighten.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you again,” he says “I swear.”

Then he keeps walking.

Even though his vision’s blurred. Even though he tastes blood. Even though his legs feel like they’ll collapse any second.

He’ll get you there even if he has to crawl.

The hospital room smells like antiseptic and something too clean to be comforting.

You lie still, the bandages on your side tugging every time you breathe. The bruise across your ribs is deep and ugly. But the doctor said you were lucky.

You’re alive.

Chifuyu walks in slowly, one arm in a sling, gauze wrapped around his forehead. There’s tape across his cheek and a stitched cut on his jaw. He looks like hell.

And you’ve never felt more relieved to see anyone.

He closes the door behind him, quietly.

“Hey” he says.

You try to smile “Hey.”

He sits in the chair beside your bed, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be closer.

Neither of you talks for a second.

Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He won’t look at you.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

You blink “What?”

“Thrown yourself in front of me. Taken that hit.” His voice is tight. Angry, but only because he’s scared.

You say softly “You would’ve died if he'd hit you one more time.”

“I don’t care.”

You stare at him “Don’t say that.”

He looks up now and his eyes are red. Not from crying. Just… everything.

“You don’t get it,” he says “You could’ve died too. And I would’ve had to live with that.”

“I wasn’t going to just stand there,” you whisper “I was scared. But not of him. I was scared I’d lose you.”

He swallows hard.

“I kept thinking,” you continue, “what if this is the last time? What if I let you go and something happens and I never... never get to say...”

You stop yourself but he doesn’t.

“I love you.”

The words fall out of him like he’s been holding them back forever. His voice is rough, raw, but steady.

You stare.

“What?”

“I love you” he repeats, louder this time “I’ve been in love with you for—I don’t even know how long. And I was stupid. I thought it would be safer if I didn’t say it.”

He laughs bitterly “Didn’t want to put you in danger. Didn’t want to make things complicated. But none of it matters if I lose you anyway.”

Your heart thunders in your chest.

He finally looks at you.

“And then you jumped in front of that hit,” he whispers “And all I could think was... she’s dying because I couldn’t protect her.”

You reach for his hand.

“Chifuyu,” you say softly “You don’t get it either.”

His breath catches.

“I love you too.”

His eyes close for a second. Like the weight lifts just a little.

You squeeze his hand “You’re not the only one who’s scared. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

He leans forward slow, careful not to hurt either of you and presses his forehead against yours. And for a long, quiet moment, the world outside doesn’t matter.

Fingers interlaced.

Quiet breaths shared.

Then the door flies open, crashing into the wall behind it.

You both jolt apart.

“Mitsuya!” you gasp.

He’s there, leaning on the doorframe, breathing hard, clearly not ready to be out of his own hospital bed. His bandages are tight across his ribs, arm still in a sling. Smiley stands behind him, holding a can of vending machine coffee and a half-finished eye-roll.

“You shouldn’t be walking” Chifuyu says quickly, starting to rise.

“Shut up” Mitsuya says, breath still shaking.

You freeze.

But he’s not angry. Not at you. Not at Chifuyu.

He stumbles into the room, gripping the end of your hospital bed for balance. His head drops down.

“I let you go.”

Your chest tightens.

“Mitsuya...”

“I gave you the location. I let you go alone. I didn’t tell Smiley to follow. I didn’t ask anyone to keep an eye on you. I didn’t think…”

His voice cracks.

“I wasn’t there.”

He presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, like he’s trying to push the guilt out physically.

“I’m supposed to protect the people I love,” he says, softer now “And I let you walk into that mess because I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Smiley finally walks in “You couldn’t even stand up, bro.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mitsuya snaps—but there’s no heat in it. Just pain “She got hurt because I wasn’t there. That’s on me.”

You slowly sit up, even though your ribs scream in protest.

“Mitsuya,” you say “Look at me.”

He hesitates, then lifts his eyes.

“I made the choice to go,” you say “You gave me the location because I begged you. This isn’t your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

Chifuyu reaches across the bed, placing a hand on Mitsuya’s arm.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, quiet but firm “None of this is on you. If anything… I should’ve been stronger.”

Mitsuya looks between the two of you.

Your hands.

Your bruised faces.

The silent closeness that says more than words.

He blinks slowly.

“…Did we just walk into something?” he asks, voice rough but lighter.

Smiley lets out a low whistle “Man, finally!”

You flush, but Chifuyu doesn’t look away from Mitsuya.

“We figured it out” he says.

Mitsuya exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the second he opened the door.

“Good,” he says “That’s good.”

Then, quieter “At least something good came out of it.”

“You always try to carry everything,” you say “But you don’t have to, okay?”

His jaw tightens but he nods. And Smiley, watching the whole thing from the corner of the room, just mutters, “This is way too much emotional growth for one day” and sips his coffee.

Weeks pass.

The bruises fade.

The stitches come out.

The hospital air stops clinging to your skin.

Toman doesn’t talk about Tenjiku much anymore, not like they used to. There’s sadness around, but also peace, the kind that feels earned.

And today you’re finally being discharged.

Chifuyu’s waiting right outside the door with a tote bag full of snacks you didn’t ask for and your favorite hoodie already slung over his shoulder.

“Hey” he grins, eyes lighting up the second he sees you step out “I brought your stuff. Also Takemichi said the guys are hanging out at the usual spot. Want to stop by?”

You raise a brow “You sure it’s not too soon?”

“Are you kidding?” he says “Half of them have been waiting just to see if we’d show up together.”

You blink “Wait... do they know?”

Chifuyu scratches his cheek, sheepish “Well… Smiley talks.”

“And Mitsuya?”

“Way worse.”

You laugh.

Together, you walk through the familiar streets again. Chifuyu keeps your hand wrapped in his the whole time, like he’s scared to let it go.

When you reach the usual spot, Takemichi and Hakkai are already there. Inupi sits. A few others gather near the door.

“Yo!” Hakkai waves “She’s back from the dead!”

Takemichi’s eyes widen “You look way better than Chifuyu did when he got out.”

Chifuyu makes a face “Thanks, man.”

You step forward but before you can say anything, Chifuyu casually places a hand on the small of your back. Smooth. Protective.

Then he leans in and kisses your cheek.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

Dead silence.

Takemichi freezes mid-sip of his juice box. Inupi’s eyes flick to the side like he’s trying not to smirk. And Hakkai just yells.

“I knew it! You guys were being weird before but now it’s confirmed!”

Chifuyu shrugs, cool as ever “What? I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

You blink up at him, trying not to melt.

Everyone loses it.

Smiley shows up five minutes later with Mitsuya, spots your interlocked fingers and just grins like he’s been waiting.

“Told you” Smiley says “You owe me ramen, Takemichi.”

Takemichi groans “This is so unfair.”

Mitsuya doesn’t say much. He just gives you a smile, soft and proud, like a big brother who’s been rooting for this the whole time.

Chifuyu pulls you closer without a word.

And for the first time in a long time everything feels light.

Not perfect.

Not healed.

But better.

Because now, you’re not hiding, you’re not pretending. You’ve got each other.

[sitkowski]

coeur d'alene (jolly karlsson x matt dierkes)

pairing: jolly karlsson x matt dierkes cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ friends to lovers, vehicle accidents with minor injuries, mentions of blood, nightmares, a little bit of angst, bed sharing, light bondage, making out, hair pulling, choking, anal fingering, protected anal sex. word count: 3.1k author's note: one of two fics for the birthday boy! this one is probably the less angst ridden of the two. title comes from a movements song, divider by @strangergraphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || read on ao3

Jolly’s jolted from a dead sleep by the feel of the van careening off the road, and he’s barely sat up before the impact. It’s the middle of the night and they’re stranded on the side of the road, front end of the van crunched up against a guardrail and the back axle of the equipment trailer snapped. Everyone gets tossed around a little, not enough to warrant a trip to the hospital from the looks of it, but the minute that Jolly sees Matt's bleeding he forgets about the possible damage to their stuff. He scrambles out of the back of the van, making sure Folio and Noah are okay as he passes them. Nicholas is checking on Davis and Bryan, who was driving the night shift. Matt’s standing by the front of the van, and he’s got just enough of the headlights on him for Jolly to see the red streaked across his mouth and on one of his arms.

“Hey, hey,” his voice has an edge of panic to it as he grabs onto Matt’s face and tilts his head towards the light. “Are you okay?”

Matt winces but nods, “Yeah, just bit my fucking lip. I’m fine.”

Behind them, the driver of the car that Bryan was trying to avoid hitting had come over to start explaining what had happened and apologizing. It really was just an accident, and they waited for the cops to show up to get all of the information they needed. The next few hours seem to drag on; contacting the venues they need to inform them of cancellations, scheduling a tow truck and another van to come and take them to the nearest hotel. They even have to get checked out by paramedics before they’re cleared to leave. They can’t look over the stuff in the trailer until the morning because it’s too dark.

They’re stranded in some city in Idaho for the weekend.

By the time they check into a hotel, everyone is running on fumes. They pair up randomly, and head off to their rooms. Matt is rooming with Jolly, and they’re too tired to care that there’s only one queen sized bed in the middle of the room. They throw their stuff down on the floor, and Matt drops down on the bed, pushing his hat off and scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“I gotta call people and get shit sorted—”

Jolly cuts him off, “You’re not gonna do a thing but sleep, Matt. Here, let me clean that up for you.”

Matt frowns like he’s got no idea what he’s talking about, not until Jolly comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the blood off of his arm, and then dab it gently at Matt’s lip because even though the paramedics cleaned it up, he’d split it open again somewhere between the side of the road and now. Matt wraps his fingers around Jolly’s wrist, stopping him.

“Your hands are shaking,” he points out, which Jolly hadn’t even noticed. “You okay?”

“Not really. Never been in a wreck before. And then I saw all this blood on you and I…”

Matt doesn’t need him to tell him how scared he was. He knew how much worse this could have been for all of them. Matt squeezes his wrist and Jolly lets out a shuddering breath, nodding to himself.

“Did you want to grab a shower?” he asks, but Matt shakes his head.

“Nah, you go ahead. I’m going to sleep, apparently.”

Jolly takes the fastest shower of his life because he’s too wired to sleep but the idea of dragging out something as simple as washing his hair makes him exhausted. By the time he falls into the bed beside Matt, he’s already asleep, blankets pulled up to his ears and a little furrow between his brows that Jolly is kind of desperate to make disappear. The bed doesn’t leave that much room between the two of them, and Jolly falls asleep watching Matt’s face.

He wakes up at an undetermined time, unable to catch his breath. Whatever the nightmare was, he can’t remember anything now beyond the panic he felt. Matt stirs beside him, reaching over to him.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles sleepily, and Jolly realizes that he’s there, and he’s fine. They’re all fine. “Hey, c’mere.”

He lets Matt pull him closer into his space, and when he presses a soft kiss to Jolly’s forehead, he can’t help but let out a surprised sound. It’s not that they’re not all touchy feely with each other anyway, it’s more that it’s Matt, who is normally walking around grumpy most days. Now, he wraps an arm over Jolly’s chest as if he’s got to prove that he isn’t going anywhere, and waits for Jolly to close his eyes again.

He sleeps better after that.

When he wakes up again hours later, he doesn’t expect Matt to be there but he is. He’s still beside him, not asleep but sitting up against the headboard fully dressed, scrolling through his phone. Jolly can smell coffee, which means he slept so hard he didn’t even realize that Matt had left and come back.

“Coffee might not be hot, but it’s gotta be mouth warm still.”

Jolly rolls his eyes at the term but gets up and grabs the cup from the table. It’s still warm enough not to taste bad, and it does something to him, the fact that Matt knows his coffee preferences without having to be told. He sits down on the bed beside him again, yawning and leaning his head back against the headboard.

“Any word on the gear?”

“I guess we should be glad we packed that shit like we’re playing tetris, because other than one amp and a couple merch boxes busted open nothing else was damaged. Everything should be fixed by tomorrow afternoon, Monday morning at the latest. We’re only gonna miss two shows, but we can add them back on at the end of the run and come back through.”

Jolly nods along to his words, and his eyes keep drifting down to the small cut on Matt’s bottom lip. Then again, occasionally staring at Matt’s mouth is nothing new for him. With the adrenaline and the exhaustion from the night before gone, he’s finally caught up to the fact that he’ll be sharing this room—this bed—with Matt and he feels butterflies in his stomach about it. It’s kind of hard to avoid a crush on someone when they’re this close.

Matt snaps his fingers in front of Jolly’s face. “Hey, you okay? Did you hear anything I said?”

“Uh yeah,” he mumbles into his coffee cup, trying not to blush. “Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

If he doesn’t know any better, Matt is smirking at him. “I asked if you wanted to go get some lunch?”

“Oh, yeah, let me toss on some clothes and we can meet up with everyone—”

“I meant just you and me? I already checked with everyone else and they’re doing their own thing today since we’re stranded here.”

The invitation brings a shy smile to Jolly’s face and he nods. He likes the idea of spending time with him, even if it’s just hanging out in the motel room or going to grab lunch together. He goes to get dressed and they head out, finding a diner that’s within walking distance of the motel. He feels nervous for some reason, sitting in a booth in the back of the diner with Matt across from him, looking over his menu after the waitress got their drink order. He doesn’t want to keep staring at him and make it weird, so he looks down at his own menu.

“Do you know what you want yet?” Matt asks and for some reason it sounds like he’s asking about more than food.

Jolly can only nod dumbly and he sees that little smirk on Matt’s face again before the waitress comes over to bring them their drinks and take their food order. By the time their food comes, Jolly doesn’t feel as nervous as before as they get lost in conversation about finishing out the tour, plans for afterward. And maybe he’s going crazy, but he thinks that Matt might be flirting with him. It almost gives him whiplash because he’ll say something that he knows is going to make Jolly blush and then change the subject so fluidly.

“You okay over there?” Matt asks, nudging his foot against Jolly’s beneath the table. “I can stop if—”

“No,” Jolly insists, shaking his head. “I just didn’t think you—”

Matt cuts him off, “I do. I kind of always have? I’ve just been…waiting for you to catch up to it. I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for.”

Instead of saying anything, Jolly nudges Matt’s foot in return and then flags down their waitress to get the check.

The walk back to the motel is filled with tension, Jolly itches to touch him but doesn’t yet because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen once they’re in that room. He waits patiently behind Matt while he unlocks the door, and Matt steps aside to let him walk in first. The sound of him relocking the door seems loud to his ears, and he turns in the middle of the room to face Matt again.

“Now what?” he asks, holding his arms out at his sides.

“Well…” Matt steps closer to him and Jolly draws in a deep breath. “Now I’m gonna kiss you. Want to start with that?”

Jolly nods eagerly. Matt immediately surges forward, and cups Jolly's face in his palms, kissing him hard. Hard enough that Jolly's teeth knock against the cut on his lip and Matt pulls back, hissing.

"Sorry." Jolly murmurs, thumb brushing over his bottom lip carefully.

“It’s okay,” Matt shakes his head. “Come back here.”

Matt kisses him again, softer this time. Jolly takes Matt’s hat off, tossing it aside so he can bury his hands in his hair and back him up until he hits the edge of the bed. Matt lets out a soft noise of approval against his mouth, and when he sits down on the bed, he pulls Jolly along with him so that he’s spread out over top of him, pressing him down into the mattress. When Matt arches up into him, tries to get him closer even though it’s impossible at this point, Jolly pulls back, lips just barely touching him.

“What do you want?”

Now, Matt looks uncertain for a moment. “I just…I just want you?”

“Be specific,” leaning back, Jolly lets his hands slide beneath Matt’s shirt, tracing his fingers over the warm skin there. He likes the way Matt twitches and squirms beneath him, and he hasn’t even really touched him yet. “I want to know what you like, what makes you feel good. I’ll give you whatever you want”

Matt relaxes against the bed, seeming to think about it. Jolly tries not to distract him but it’s impossible for him to stop touching him, rucking his shirt up his chest and leaning down to drag his mouth over the skin he’d just been touching. Above him, Matt gasps and reaches down to grab onto a fistful of Jolly’s hair. He doesn’t pull, but it’s obvious he wants to.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Matt sighs and tries to push himself up, and Jolly lets him, taking the time to tug off Matt’s shirt and throw it aside before removing his own. His fingers tease over the fly of Matt’s pants, barely grazing the outline of his cock and watching avidly as his hips twitched up towards his touch.

“I want your hands on me, I want you to hold me down,” Matt says. Jolly looks up at him and starts to tell him they already are but Matt pushes himself up on his palms so that they’re close to each other again. “I want you inside me.”

 Swallowing hard, Jolly nods. He closes the distance between them again because he just has to kiss him, until they’re both gasping for air against each other’s mouths. They move apart long enough to get out of the rest of their clothes, and Jolly rifles through his bag to find a condom and lube. Matt gives him a look when he comes back to the bed, muttering something about being presumptuous, but he pulls him back in and kisses him.

“Lie back for me?”

Matt does as he asks, flopping back against the mattress. Jolly looks him over. He traces his fingers over the ink on his thigh, down to his knee and back up again, up higher to wrap a hand around Matt’s cock. He keeps his eyes on Matt’s face as he strokes him slowly, only stopping long enough to pop the cap on the lube and coat his hand. When he touches Matt again, he lets out a gasping sigh beneath him, arching into the mattress.

“Please,” Matt’s not quite begging, not this soon, but Jolly slows down his hand until he’s just holding him in his palm. “Come on, Joll, I want—”

“I know what you want. And I want you to be patient for me, pretty boy.” Jolly says.

He can feel the moment Matt completely gives himself over to him, very nearly melting into the bed. He nods slowly, and Jolly resumes his careful pace, his hand slowly twisting up and down his length. Matt fists his hands in the bedding, trying to stay still. When Jolly slides his fingers down and nudges two of them into Matt, he groans and tosses an arm over his eyes. He twists those fingers inside of him, wondering how the stretch feels for Matt.

“Feels good,” Matt mumbles, despite not looking at him. Jolly hadn’t realized he asked that question out loud. “You could give me more if you wanted.”

So Jolly does, pulling back enough to ease in a third finger. When Matt rocks down against his hand, Jolly can’t help but fold himself over his body and kiss him desperately. He rocks against Matt a few times, cocks sliding together and despite the awkward angle of his wrist he doesn’t stop until Matt is begging him for more than this.

He lets out a disappointed whine when Jolly pulls away and takes his fingers out, but Jolly wastes no time getting the condom on and lifting Matt’s hips to slide into him with a satisfied groan. He presses his forehead to the middle of Matt’s chest, just breathing for a minute as he gives Matt time to adjust. When he looks up, he sees Matt watching him, something in his expression that makes Jolly’s stomach twist. It looks a lot like love. It takes Jolly’s breath away and he slides deeper until there’s no space between them, fingers digging into Matt’s skin as if he could climb inside.

“Thought you were going to hold me down,” Matt’s voice is ragged and Jolly pulls back slowly, making sure that Matt feels it. “You don’t have to be considerate or careful with me.”

Jolly pulls Matt’s wrists above his head, pinning them together with one hand. Matt’s fingers tangle with his gratefully and he pushes his head back into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed as Jolly starts fucking him with sharp, hard thrusts. He makes sure that Matt feels it, every quick shove in, every slow drag out. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he wants to remember it tomorrow.

“More,” Matt begs. He locks his legs around Jolly’s hips, meeting every movement with a roll of his hips. “Please please please…”

He keeps saying that one word and Jolly is losing his mind a little. Instead of reaching down and getting his hand around Matt’s cock like he probably thought he would, Jolly changes his mind and wraps his free hand around Matt’s throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, not yet.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and Matt nods rapidly.

“Yeah, yes,” he presses up a little into Jolly’s light grasp. “I trust you.”

Jolly’s grasp tightens minutely, fingertips digging into the sides of Matt’s neck. He sees his eyes roll back, feels the way he clenches down around his cock and digs his fingernails into Jolly’s hand. He can feel it as he tries to swallow, and Jolly waits a few more seconds before releasing his hold but nothing taking his hand away. Matt gasps for air and then turns his head, catching Jolly’s mouth in a kiss. Jolly can feel the noises trapped in his throat against his palm, and he sighs softly, pulling back to press his forehead to Matt’s.

“Again?”

Matt nods, and Jolly tightens his fingers again, the high whine that escapes Matt’s mouth making his stomach twist pleasantly. He pulls Matt tighter to his body, letting him rub off against him. He has no intentions of taking his hands off of him for anything. He looks down at Matt, takes in his flushed cheeks and the way he gasps for air through parted lips, eyes clenched closed tightly. He’s close to coming and he’s got a feeling that Matt isn’t that far behind him.

"Hey, look at me Matty?" The simple request makes Matt's eyes open and he clenches his fingers down on his throat once more, feeling the moment that Matt gives in and spills against his stomach. “There you go.”

He lets go of Matt’s neck completely, bringing his other hand up above their heads to join their clasped fingers, and he ruts into Matt desperately, chasing his own orgasm. Matt presses kisses against his chest, urging him on until he finally fell over the edge. He tries not to completely collapse down against him, but Matt gets his hands free and tugs him as close as possible, kissing him in the afterglow.

Eventually, they manage to move and get cleaned up. Jolly waits for it to get awkward, but that never happens. The two of them share a shower, and they find a restaurant that’s willing to deliver to the motel, ordering for themselves and for everyone else. He wonders how different things will be once they’re back out on the road, or back at home. He lets himself be distracted by going down to Noah and Nicholas’ room for food and a movie. He and Matt don’t act any different around each other, despite the slowly forming marks on Matt’s throat that no one else seems to notice and Jolly can’t stop staring at. He likes that there’s something for Matt to remember this by.

As if Matt can sense his wariness as they’re walking back to their room, he laces their fingers together, lifting their joined hands and pressing his lips to the ink on Jolly’s fingers.

“I’m kind of glad we got stranded.”

Jolly smiles, managing to get the door unlocked one handed before he pulls Matt inside. They’ve still got one more night here, and he plans to make the most of it.

⇉ taglist

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if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[sysig]

Smol just now tossed me the idea of Ethan being Heisenberg's visitor if he were in the Institute and I'm still losing my mind about it a little bit

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | finding out you're pregnant

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : finding out you're pregnant with their baby even after agreeing on waiting a little bit before starting a family of your own.

୨ৎ : genre : romance & angst ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, pregnancy, mentions of abortion ୨ৎ : word count : 2786

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from watching s2 of squid games, won't explain why, no spoilers here honeyyy

ʚ・max verstappen

max’s eyes widened as the words hit him, his gaze flicking to the pregnancy test in your hands. for a moment, he looked genuinely frozen—like you’d just told him red bull had switched to making bicycles instead of cars.

“we… agreed to wait,” he said slowly, blinking at you as if the sheer force of logic could undo the situation. he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“max,” you said gently, biting back a laugh despite your nerves.

he stopped pacing, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. “you’re sure it’s mine?” he deadpanned, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

you smacked his arm lightly. “not funny.”

he cracked a small, dry laugh, stepping closer and taking the test from your hand to set it aside. “okay, okay. it’s not what we planned, but…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i guess this is what i get for not reading the fine print in life.”

his hand found your waist, his expression softening as he pulled you closer. “look, it’s… unexpected. but it’s not the end of the world. just the end of uninterrupted sleep for the next few years, right?”

you couldn’t help but giggle as he placed a hand on your stomach, his confidence and dry humor kicking back in. “guess i’ll have to start winning every race now. baby formula might run through all my checks.”

despite his jokes, his eyes shone with something deeper—love, determination, and just the right amount of "what the hell do we do now?" but that was max: grounded, honest, and ready to figure out a solution to every challenge that was about to come flying at the two of you.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis’s face fell the moment the words left your mouth. his brows knit together, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process a race-ending penalty that came out of nowhere.

“you’re… pregnant?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it even more real.

you nodded, suddenly feeling unsure. “i know we talked about waiting a few more years, and i understand if you’re not ready. we don’t have to—”

“no,” he interrupted, his voice firm but his eyes wide. “no, don’t… don’t say that.” he stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours instinctively. “don’t even think about that. i want this baby.”

“but, lewis,” you started, “this isn’t what we planned. you’re so busy with your career, and i don’t want to—”

“i know,” he cut you off again, his voice cracking just slightly. he let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a mix of worry and determination. “i didn’t expect this, yeah, but… that doesn’t mean i don’t want it. i do. i really do.”

his hand slid to your waist, pulling you gently closer. “i mean, yeah, i’m terrified. what if i mess this up? what if i’m not good enough at… being a dad?” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head at himself. “i’ve driven a car at 200 miles per hour, but this? this is scarier.”

you reached up to cup his face, your touch grounding him. “you’re not going to mess this up, lewis.”

he sighed, leaning into your touch. “i just… i want to do this right. for you. for us. for the baby.” his hand drifted hesitantly to your stomach, resting there as his lips curved into a small, uncertain smile. “i guess i’ll have to trade in some podiums for bedtime stories.”

the stress was still there, lingering in his furrowed brow and the way his jaw clenched, but beneath it, you saw something else—a flicker of hope and excitement. lewis was many things, but when it came to the people he loved, he never backed down. and in that moment, you knew he’d do whatever it took to be the best father he could be.

ʚ・george russell

george froze, his blue eyes locking onto yours, disbelief etched across his face. “you’re… pregnant?” he asked, his voice tight.

you nodded, your heart pounding. “i just found out. i—”

“what do you want to do?” he cut in, his tone sharper than you expected.

“what?”

“i’m asking if you want to keep it,” he said, running a hand through his hair, pacing the room with a mix of panic and frustration. “because it’s your choice, and i’ll support you, but i need to know where your head is.”

his words stung, and you stood up straighter. “do you think i’ve figured it all out already, george? i’m just as blindsided as you are!”

“i’m not accusing you of anything,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’m just trying to get us on the same page. this wasn’t part of the plan, and now everything’s—” he stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

you watched him, your own anger fading as his shoulders slumped. “i don’t know what i want yet,” you admitted softly. “but i’m scared.”

his eyes opened, the frustration melting into something gentler. “i’m scared too,” he admitted, stepping closer. “but if you want this baby, we’ll figure it out. together.”

his hands found yours, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll support whatever you decide. but… if you’re asking me? i want this. i want us. even if it’s messy and terrifying.”

tears pricked your eyes as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “we’ll make it work,” he whispered, his voice steadier now. “and maybe… maybe this wasn’t part of the plan, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the best thing to ever happen to us.”

for the first time since you found out, you felt a glimmer of hope—and in george’s arms, you knew you wouldn’t face this alone.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos’s face went pale the moment you told him, his wide brown eyes staring at you like you’d just dropped the most shocking news of his life. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly struggling to find the words.

finally, he let out a string of rapid-fire spanish, his hands flying around as he started pacing. “¿estás segura? ¿cómo pasó esto? dios mío, esto no estaba en los planes.” (are you sure? how did this happen? my god, this wasn’t in the plans.)

you couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, despite your own nerves. “carlos, calm down.”

“calmarme? ¿cómo quieres que me calme?” (calm down? how do you expect me to calm down?) he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “this is huge, my love, this is a baby."

“yes, it’s a baby,” you said gently, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. “and i need to know how you feel about it.”

he froze, staring at you for a moment before his expression softened. “how i feel?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything.

then, slowly, a smile started to spread across his face. “a baby,” he said again, but this time it sounded different—softer, filled with awe. “we’re going to have a baby."

“yes,” you whispered, watching as his entire demeanor shifted.

his smile turned into a grin, and he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he let out a laugh of pure joy. “amor, i’m going to be a dad!"

when he finally set you down, his hands immediately went to your stomach, his eyes sparkling. “i can’t believe it,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “this wasn’t in the plans, no, but… this is amazing. you’re amazing.”

you laughed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, still grinning like he’d just won a race. “i promise, i’ll do everything. i’ll be the best dad. and you—” he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “you’ll be the most incredible mamá.”

all his earlier panic was gone, replaced by uncontainable happiness. carlos was over the moon, and in that moment, you knew this baby would be so loved.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles froze, his green eyes widening as the words registered. he stood motionless for a moment, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no sound came out. then, he exhaled sharply, his hands raking through his hair, leaving it tousled in that way you loved.

“mon dieu…” he whispered, his accent thicker as he switched to french without realizing. “comment… comment c’est arrivé?” (my god… how… how did this happen?)

you hesitated, unsure of how to answer, but before you could, he looked up at you, his expression torn between panic and guilt. “no, i know how it happened. c’est ma faute.” (it’s my fault.)

“charles,” you started, stepping closer, but he backed away, pacing the room like he was mentally replaying every decision that had led to this moment.

“i should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice shaking. “i should’ve… i mean, how could i be so stupid? you trusted me, and now…” he trailed off, his hands on his hips, his head hanging low.

“charles, stop,” you said firmly, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. “this isn’t just on you. it takes two people, remember?”

he lifted his head, his eyes glistening, and the vulnerability in them broke your heart. “but i was supposed to be more careful amore, and now i put a baby in you.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want this to happen yet. not because i don’t want it,” he rushed to add, his words tumbling out in a whirlwind of emotion. “i do. i just… i wanted to give you more. to be ready. to make sure everything was perfect… amore you deserve everything, you deserve the world.”

you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “charles, nothing is ever perfect. and i don’t need perfect. i just need you.”

his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “you’re too good for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “but… i promise, i’ll do everything i can. i’ll be there for you, for the baby, for everything. je t’aime tellement.” (i love you so much.)

tears slipped down your cheeks as he opened his eyes, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “this baby… it’s not what we planned, but it’s ours,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “and i already love it because it’s part of you.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing away your tears. “we’ll figure this out together,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet determination. “i’ll make sure you and our baby have everything. i swear.”

in that moment, all his earlier worry and guilt melted away, leaving nothing but love and promise in his eyes. charles wasn’t just happy—he was ready to give his entire heart to you and the life you were building together.

ʚ・lando norris

lando froze, the lighthearted grin he’d been wearing vanishing in an instant. his eyes widened as he stared at you, his usually bright expression clouding over with uncertainty. “you’re serious?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost disbelieving.

you nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped them together. “i just found out. and… i don’t know what to do, lando. we’re so young, and there’s still so much we want to do.”

he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he sat down heavily on the couch. “bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.

“i mean… we don’t have to go through with it,” you said hesitantly, your voice breaking a little. “we could—”

“no,” he interrupted, looking up at you sharply, his voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “don’t say that. don’t even think about it.”

“lando, be realistic,” you said, your own frustration and fear bubbling up. “you’re in the prime of your career, and i’m still figuring out my life. how are we supposed to raise a baby when we’re barely adults ourselves?”

his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly overwhelmed. “i know it’s not what we planned,” he said finally, his voice softer now but still tense. “and, yeah, i’m terrified. but this… this is part of us. and i can’t just… let it go.”

you sat down beside him, your shoulders sagging. “i’m scared, lando,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t want to mess this up. i don’t want to ruin your life.”

he turned to you then, his blue-green eyes filled with emotion. “you’re not ruining my life,” he said, reaching out to take your hands in his. “this is a curveball, yeah, but… i love you. and if this is happening, then i’ll be there. i’ll figure it out. we’ll figure it out.”

tears welled in your eyes, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “we’re young, and we’ve got so much ahead of us,” he murmured. “but maybe this is part of that. maybe this is the crazy, unexpected adventure we didn’t know we needed.”

a small, watery laugh escaped you, and he smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “hey, if i can survive driving at 300 kilometers per hour, i think i can handle a baby.”

you laughed again, the tension easing slightly as his words sank in. lando pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, and for the first time since finding out, you felt like everything might just be okay.

“we’ll still live our lives,” he said softly. “we’ll do it all—travel, race, everything. just… with a little plus one.”

and despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, his words filled you with hope. because with lando by your side, you knew you’d figure it out together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar stared at you in silence, his face unusually still. for a moment, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the knot in your stomach tightened.

“you’re… pregnant,” he finally said, his tone flat, almost like he was testing the words.

you nodded, your breath shaky. “yeah. i just found out.”

he let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up and started pacing. “of course. of course this would happen now,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, your voice rising defensively.

“it means this isn’t what we planned, y/n!” he snapped, turning to face you, his calm demeanor slipping for once. “we’re not ready for this. you know that.”

“you think i don’t know that?” you fired back, standing now, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “you think i wanted this to happen? i’m just as scared as you are, oscar, but this is our reality now.”

he raked a hand through his hair, his expression torn between frustration and guilt. “we’re still figuring everything out—our lives, our careers. a baby? how are we supposed to handle that?”

“i don’t know!” you yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “but i can’t do this alone, oscar. i need to know where you stand.”

he stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as he let out a long breath. “do you even want this?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “because if you don’t… if you think it’s too much… i’ll support you. whatever you decide.”

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t know what i want. but i’m terrified of making the wrong choice.”

oscar stared at you for a long moment, his usually calm eyes filled with a storm of emotions. then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.

“i’m scared too,” he murmured, his voice soft now, all the anger gone. “but… i don’t want to lose this. i don’t want to lose you. and if this baby is part of you, then how could i not love it?”

your tears spilled over, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “it’s not going to be easy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “but we’ll figure it out. even if it’s messy, even if it’s hard. we’ll figure it out together.”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as the weight of the moment settled over both of you. it wasn’t the perfect, joyful revelation you might have dreamed of, but it was real. and as bittersweet as it felt, it was enough.

for now, it was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[sloaneispunk]

“betrayal at its cost”

dark!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when in-ho could no longer keep up with his facade, he had to choose between gi-hun or you

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

part one

“i think the control room is right above us! we just need to push past the guards, can you buy us some time?!” gi-hun shouted over the roar of gunfires.

“are you sure? what if you can’t find it?” you asked, slumping behind a wall as you reloaded your gun with the last bit of ammunition you had.

in-ho watched closely as you carefully held the now fully loaded gun. he noticed your entire being trembling, shaking even, with adrenaline or fear, your eyes were filled with regret as the team fought hard against the guards.

“jung-bae! come with me, the rest of you should stay here and help y/n and in-ho!”

“but we’re almost out of ammunition! they’re going to notice soon!” hyun-ju stated, noticing the last few rounds everyone had.

everyone sat in silence for a brief moment. it was as though the reality of the situation had just hit. nobody had any idea how they were going to outsmart the guards, let alone the front man.

just then, you leaned forward towards a guards motionless body not too far away. in-ho instinctively shielded your body from the guards which somehow stopped firing their guns at that exact moment.

it was strange, but there was no time to argue.

you reached inside the pocket of the guard, fumbling around before you pulled your hand out, just one round of ammunition for the guns in hand.

“i think they all have an extra round in their jackets! we just have to head to the room where we came from, get the ammo and we’ll be able to push them further back enough to reach the control room.” you said as everyone nodded.

in-ho however, looked at you with a small glimmer in his eyes. maybe you were smarter than he thought, he loved it. but then again came a question, how will he deceive you when the time comes for him to be the frontman again?

“i’ll go!” dae-ho exclaimed, raising his hand high in the air.

“i’ll go with yo-”

“no. you’re staying here.” in-ho cut you off.

“but-”

“no, dae-ho will be okay. you should stay and help us.” in-ho argued, making you frown in confusion.

“come back as soon as you can dae-ho, we’re all counting on you.” player 246 said as dae-ho nodded.

with that, dae-ho, gi-hun and jung-bae were off, leaving you panting heavily as the gunfires refused to cease.

“you’re shaking.” in-ho stated, taking your hand.

“i’m okay, it’s just the adrenaline.” you tried to play it off, pulling your hand away when a bullet shot right past your shoulder.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

part two

what gi-hun wasn’t expecting was the number of guards who were expecting them. he and jung-bae had no choice but to take over behind walls of a staircase where they had nowhere else to go.

“what do we do, gi-hun? we’re running out of ammo!” jung-bae shouted, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“we wait for dae-ho to come back. he’ll give us the ammo we need and we can get to the control room!” gi-hun replied as he picked up the walkie talkie. “in-ho! as soon as dae-ho gets back, get him to come give us the ammo, we don’t have much time!”

“got it.” in-ho replied.

“i don’t think they can last! i’ll go up and help them, you guys wait for dae-ho!” he instructed the group. “y/n and you come with me.” he said, pointing to another player.

the three of you grabbed your guns and headed up the way gi-hun went. somehow, in-ho didn’t look like he was afraid at all. he didn’t bother inspecting each corner to check if it was safe and he knew where every turn was.

something was definitely wrong with this and you knew it.

when you found gi-hun and jung-bae, they were hanging on for dear life. there were way too many guards up on the staircase for them to take down alone.

“in-ho, you’re here! where’s the ammo?” gi-hun asked.

“dae-ho hasn’t came back, i figured we come help you in the meantime.” he replied, easily shaking off the fact that he had just abandoned the plan.

“i think i saw another way behind on the way here, we should check it out. we might be able to take the guards down from there.” you explained as gi-hun nodded.

“stay safe, keep the walkie’s on… in-ho, take this.”gi-hun took his last round of ammo he had, giving it to in-ho.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

part three

“you sure you know the way?” in-ho asked as you led the way as you insisted. “i don’t think it’s that way, my dear.”

“i swear it is!” you insisted, turning the corner but again, you were met with a wall.

“you’re cute. it’s this way.” in-ho said, pulling you back from the way you came from.

“how do you know?”

“i’m just more observant than you.” he shrugged.

believe or not, in-ho was somehow right. he led you right behind the guards that threatened gi-hun and jung-bae.

you took your place carefully behind a wall, aiming your gun, so did in-ho and the other guy.

but just as you were about to take a shot, an even louder one rang loudly. you dropped your gun and dropped to the floor, your back slamming against the wall as you covered your ears. the shot was near, it wasn’t something aimed at the guards further up.

when the ringing came to a stop, you checked yourself, seeing if it was a shot that hit you. when you were clear you looked at in-ho.

his demeanour had changed, he had a cold look on his face, the same cheerful in-ho gone. looking down, you saw his hand…

the gun in hand, pointed straight at your fellow player while now laid on the floor in a puddle of blood, choking.

“in-ho?” you managed to utter out, body growing cold in fear of the man standing in front of you.

“yes?” he replied, drawing back his gun, eyes not meeting yours.

“w-what… did someone shoot-? how?” tears were now forming in your eyes as you crawled towards the body, pressing your hand against the man’s wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“y/n, please step away from him.” in-ho asked, voice calmer than ever.

when you didn’t budge, he asked once more, extending his hand out to you. “please y/n?”

you slowly moved away from the body, taking his hand.

it was so wrong, you knew that he did it. he had double-crossed you, but why were you still being drawn in by him? you couldn’t help but follow whatever he asked you to.

“good girl, now come here.” in-ho smiled, wrapping his hands around you, holding you tightly in a hug. he kissed the top of your head as you let out shorts breaths.

he took the walkie talkie from his pocket, bringing it up, slightly pulling away from you.

you took a step back, but in-ho held on tightly to your arm.

“young-il? what’s going on? did you take them down?” you heard gi-hun over the walkie.

you opened your mouth to call for help but in-ho moved quickly, bringing his hand from your arm to your mouth.

“gi-hun…” in-ho said into the walkie, faking an exasperated voice. “…they got us, i’m sorry… it’s over.”

he then leaned down towards the poor player choking on the ground on his own blood. the gurgles of his blood sounded so ghastly.

“no! young-il! young-il? what’s going on?! what do you mean?!” gi-hun shouted, his voice being echoed throughout the stairway.

then in-ho changed the channel of the walkie talkie.

‘wrap it up.’

you struggled under his grip. you weren’t sure what to do, but you knew in-ho was not the man he was anymore. this man was a monster, a betrayer at it’s finest.

“are you scared?” in-ho asked, cocking his head to the side.

you nodded.

“but i’m still the same young-il. the young-il you trust, the one you love.” he smiled. “let’s go, we have so much to do together!”

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[celestialprincesse]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

When Simon had given you his work address, and the password for the door to get in, you’d scoffed at the thought of needing to use it. You’d grown comfortable in your quiet life, no longer plagued with the urge to run, with the fear of being caught up with. 

You and Charlotte. 

You’d never been able to picture your position now, shaking fingers prodding at the keypad, a crying Charlotte on your hip. So absorbed in your fear, which had struck you the moment you’d returned from Charlotte’s school pickup to see your apartment door open, that you don’t even see the bearded man opening up the door from the inside for you. 

“Everything alright, Miss?” He questions in clear concern, ushering you into the entry hall with blue eyes darting between yourself and your wailing daughter. 

“I’m here - Simon said i could find him here if I needed anything.” You hiccup, not even having noticed the tears ebbing down your cheeks, so consumed by the realisation that you need to get out. Find safety. Find Simon. Maybe even that other man you met once - Mac something.

Too distraught to protest, you allow yourself to be ushered into some sort of reception room, noting the way the older man looks behind you with a vigilant scan before shutting the door. "Is Simon Riley here?" You plead with him again, terrified at the thought of being unable to see your neighbour, having someone to soothe your wailing daughter whilst you yourself calm down.

Before the blue eyed man can get a word out, two other men are barrelling into the reception area, one of them, thankfully, being Simon. You can't help but choke out a relieved sob when he tentatively comes closer, allowing you the chance to deny his approach, which you don't.

"What happened? Can you take some deep breaths for me?"

The entire room seems to pick up into a flurry of activity the minute the other two men in the room, Simon's friend you'd met that one time, and the other man, seem to realise that not only do you and Simon know one another, but also that you and the little tot in your arms are important to him.

Simon quickly ushers you to one of the worn leather couches, although he never forces you to sit, seeing how high strung you are at the current moment, the way you clutch Charlotte to your chest like she'll be ripped from your grasp at any given moment. Meanwhile, MacTavish looks on in concern, checking the car park you'd just come in from, and the other man slowly guides a glass of water into your shaking hand.

"Door was open when I got home." You manage to choke, letting Simon ease your vice grip on your daughter, just enough to hoist her up on his hip, before pulling you into his chest.

"S' okay, yeah? Promise you're in good hands here." He soothes, rocking the three of you from side to side, taking the opportunity to share a look between Price, Soap and himself. "Listen, the boys will go and have a look, okay? Promise they won't touch anything or mess anything up, just make sure everything is okay."

You give a hesitant nod, sniffling into Simon's chest as another taller, leaner man walks into the room, his handsome features immediately twisting into concern at the odd sight.

Over the next few hours, you, Simon, Charlotte and the sweet man you'd come to know as Kyle wait out on base, nervously awaiting the return of Captain Price and Simon's closest friend Johnny.

Admittedly, your situation is terrifying, and you're still not quite sure where to go from here, but at least you're in good hands. Four pairs of them.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[gf2bellamy]

hiii, you can ignore this request if you don’t want todo it!! It’s sort of fluffy/hurt comfort. Spencer and reader have been pining over each other for ages until reader finally asks Spencer on a really cute date to a museum or something. Reader shows up a little early to make sure they are there on time, and waits for Spencer to arrive. Spencer is super super late because something happened on the underground/metro, and reader thinks Spencer has just stood her up so she flees to Penelope. I’m not sure how it would end, and sorry it’s so long!! :)

date — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling upset bc she thinks spencer stood her up a/n: hii !! i love this idea and i hope you like this :) also this gif might be my all time favorite spencer gif

You were early. Maybe a little too early.

But sitting at home, pacing back and forth, obsessively checking the time—it was only making things worse. You’d spent the better part of an hour staring into the mirror, pulling and adjusting your clothes, second-guessing every little detail. At some point, you just had to force yourself out the door before you talked yourself out of it completely.

And now, here you were. Standing outside the museum, shifting from foot to foot, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp afternoon air.

It was a history museum. The moment you’d heard about the new exhibit, your thoughts had gone straight to Spencer.

It had taken you a month to work up the courage to ask him to come with you. A full month of rehearsing in your head, psyching yourself up, only to completely fall apart when the moment actually came.

You had been a stuttering mess, stumbling over your words, barely able to get the invitation out. But Spencer—Spencer had been just as awkward. There had been a long, heart-stopping pause where your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Then he nodded. Enthusiastically.

His curls bounced with the movement, and for a second, you thought he might actually be more excited than you were. The two of you had grinned at each other, wide and dorky and entirely too pleased with yourselves.

The memory made you smile as you stood there, phone in hand. You glanced at the screen. 1:55 PM. Five more minutes.

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh as nervous energy buzzed through you. You weren’t sure if it was the anticipation of the date itself or just the fact that it was Spencer.

Maybe both.

Time passed. More than five minutes. More than ten. Too much time.

You had started out standing near the entrance, glancing around every few seconds, expecting to see a familiar figure rushing toward you with an apologetic look on his face. But as the minutes ticked by, your stomach slowly twisted into knots.

Now, you were sitting on a nearby bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check. You stared down at your phone, heart sinking as the screen lit up. It was much, much later than 2 PM.

Spencer wasn’t coming.

And you knew him well enough to know that Spencer was the most punctual person on the planet. If he hadn’t shown up by now, there was only one explanation.

Spencer Reid stood you up.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled up your contacts, pressing the call button.

Penelope answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sugarplum! What’s up? Are you geeking out over fossils and artifacts yet?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Hi, Pen… are you busy?”

Immediately, her tone shifted. The warmth in her voice was still there, but now it was layered with concern. “No, not at all. What’s wrong? You okay? I thought you and Boy Genius were off on your little nerd date.”

You let out a small, shaky breath, staring down at your shoes as you nudged a small rock. “No… uhm… no.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a softer, more careful voice. “Do you wanna come over?”

You nodded before realizing she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I made cupcakes this morning. I’ll have some waiting for you.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before hanging up, already pushing yourself off the bench. Penelope’s apartment wasn’t too far from the museum—thank God. You just needed to get away from here.

The walk to her place was a blur, and before you knew it, you were curled up on her couch, a plate of cupcakes in front of you. You picked at the frosting absentmindedly before finally whispering the words that had been weighing on your chest.

“He stood me up.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

You took another bite of the cupcake, trying to drown your sorrows in the taste of chocolate.

Penelope was still staring at you, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But… he was so excited.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced up at her. “Hmm?”

She shifted closer, her expression troubled. “Spencer. He had been talking about this all week.”

That caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter, swallowing the bite of cupcake.

Penelope nodded, as if replaying the memories in her head. “He actually bought a new tie for it,” she added, her voice full of certainty. “A completely new tie. I helped him pick it out.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. “What?”

“He wanted it to match you.” She gave you a knowing look. “I mean, he didn’t say that, but I know these things. The man was so particular about the color, the pattern, everything. He kept fidgeting the whole time we were shopping. It was adorable, really.”

Your mind reeled.

Spencer had been planning for this. He had been excited.

So why hadn’t he shown up?

You were suddenly wide-eyed, staring at her as she continued rattling off all the things he had done in preparation for the date—how he had debated over restaurant options in case you wanted to get food after, how he had even worried about what books he might mention so he wouldn’t ramble too much.

He had wanted this.

“Oh.”

It was all you could manage to say. Your brain was still trying to process everything Penelope had just told you.

He had been excited. He had planned for this. He had even bought a new tie.

You couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your neck, a soft blush blooming across your cheeks. “So… he wanted to go out with me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

Penelope tilted her head at you, giving you a look that practically screamed, Seriously? You still have to ask?

Silence settled between you.

Then, finally, you spoke again—quieter this time, your confusion only growing. “So… why didn’t he come?”

Penelope hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Maybe he got the day wrong?”

You gave her a flat look. “Garcia, it’s literally our only day off from work. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mix it up.”

She groaned, slumping back into the couch. “Right. Good point.”

The two of you sat there, completely stumped.

Penelope let out a dramatic sigh. “I also have some cookies if that helps?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “That helps.”

She shot up from the couch. “Good, because emotional support baked goods are my specialty.”

You managed a small smile, but even as she disappeared into the kitchen, your thoughts remained elsewhere.

But then you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a knock at the door.

Before you could react, Penelope’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m trying to heat up the cookies.”

“Sure,” you called back, pushing yourself up from the couch and making your way to the door.

The last thing you expected when you opened it was him.

Spencer.

Your mouth fell open slightly.

He stood there, slightly breathless, his shoulders slumped like he’d just run a marathon. His curls were messier than usual, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead. But what caught your attention most was his outfit—something you’d never seen him wear before. A soft button-up, a tie you knew had to be the new one Penelope mentioned, and a blazer that was slightly wrinkled, as if he had been gripping the fabric with nervous hands.

Neither of you said a word. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you just stood there, locked in place, staring at each other.

Then, from behind you, Penelope’s voice broke the moment. “The cookies are ready!”

You heard her footsteps approaching before she finally reached the door, holding a plate of freshly warmed cookies in her hands. “Who’s at the—”

Her sentence cut off the moment she saw him.

Spencer.

She froze.

Now she was staring too.

More silence.

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Spencer,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but the words just wouldn’t come.

“How dare you stand her up like this?”

Garcia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. She held the plate of cookies in one hand while the other jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Spencer’s face.

Spencer’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he stammered, shifting nervously. His gaze flickered from Garcia to you, his expression almost pleading.

“I took the metro,” he rushed out, “and then it broke down. Completely. They couldn’t get it fixed for an hour and 10 minutes, and my phone didn’t have service underground, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his ramble faltering as he let out a breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m so sorry.”

Garcia pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as if debating whether to keep scolding him or let him off the hook. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically and slowly backed away toward the apartment.

“Alright, alright. I see what’s happening here,” she muttered under her breath, before giving you a not-so-subtle wink and slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Now, it was just you and Spencer.

You weren’t sure what to say.

You had been so sure he had stood you up. The hurt, the disappointment—it had all settled deep in your chest. But now, standing here in front of him, hearing the way his voice shook with sincerity, seeing the genuine guilt in his hazel eyes, you felt your frustration unravel, piece by piece.

“Oh.”

It was all you managed to say—again.

Spencer winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that’s not really an excuse. I should have—I don’t know, found another way to get to you, or—” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m really sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “So you didn’t ghost me on purpose?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he rushed to correct himself. “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His voice dropped slightly, filled with sincerity. “I was actually looking forward to today. I did my research on the museum, and I heard there’s a painting on the second floor that—”

Spencer abruptly stopped himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. He tugged at the strap of his satchel nervously, clearly embarrassed by his over-explanation.

You couldn’t help it—you smiled even wider.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Spencer seemed momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Oh.” He blinked, looking slightly flustered. “Well, you’re very good friends with Garcia,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

From inside the apartment, you could hear Garcia mumbling with an exaggerated tone, “Good? We are best friends, Dr. Reid.”

You grinned, knowing she was eavesdropping. Spencer’s cheeks reddened further, and he seemed to realize that his conversation was no longer entirely private.

Spencer continued, recovering quickly. “Every time you’ve had a bad day at work, you tend to go to Garcia.” He gave a small shrug, like it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that one time when Hotch made you rewrite your report—remember that? You went to Garcia then.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Or when Strauss got mad at you,” Spencer continued, his voice now soft with the memory. “You also went to Garcia.” He fiddled with his satchel again, clearly fidgeting with nerves.

You let out a small chuckle. “I see how it is. I’m predictable.”

Spencer gave a sheepish smile, his hands finally falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just—well, you seem to always go to her for advice when you're upset.”

You could hear Garcia mutter a small “As she should,” behind you.

Your heart warmed at his words, and you pushed yourself off the doorframe. “I guess you’re right. I do tend to run to Garcia when things go sideways.”

He nodded, looking slightly relieved that the tension seemed to break between you. “So, I just assumed you’d be here… and when I got here, I wanted to explain… before you thought I had just… forgotten.”

You stepped forward, offering him a smile. “Well, i'm glad i can stop worrying that you've stood me up.”

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, his eyes soft and earnest.

You looked him in the eye, the teasing edge of your voice gone, replaced by something warmer. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

A small, relieved smile spread across his face as he let out a quiet sigh, trying to smooth down his disheveled curls. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, attempting to look a bit more put-together in front of you.

Then, as if on cue, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, loud and clear from the other room. “Dr. Reid, ask her if she wants to go to the museum now!”

You could almost hear her taking a bite of something, likely one of the cookies she’d been baking earlier.

Both you and Spencer immediately blushed, the heat rising to your faces at her suggestion.

“R-right—yeah, uhm…” Spencer stammered, his voice faltering for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Would… would you like to go to the museum?” His voice was shy, and the way he stumbled over the words made your heart flutter a little.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to bubble up. “I’d love to.”

You turned to Garcia, who was still sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with a smile so big it practically took up her whole face. “I’ll, uh, see you at work, Pen,” you called over your shoulder, still feeling a bit giddy.

Garcia shot you two thumbs up, still grinning like she was the proudest friend in the world. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she yelled after you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm as you turned back to Spencer, whose face was still a little flushed. “Shall we?” you asked, motioning toward the door.

Spencer nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… let’s go.”

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."